I stumbled back around the corner, my back hitting the wall and ejecting the breath from my lungs. Eyes stung and my re-breather was thick with the smell of burning leather. Tactical gear was hot to the touch, and I could feel warmth radiating from my gun-arm.
Stims washed through me and kept me lucid as my vision cleared.
//Clara: High-yield photon laser
//Clara: Sounded like the power source malfunctioned.
It turned out that I much preferred doing the ambushing rather than being ambushed. There were only a handful of times a contract target had run from me, and it was normally just a small firearm or group of goons that would be flung in my path.
A lesson learned - I couldn’t be so sloppy against villains as compared to average criminals. If the power hadn’t run dry when it did, I would be a lot more melted together. Nothing fatal, as I had moved out of the way - but certainly with serious burns on my front. Something of that size would be able to melt flesh from bone, if given enough time.
I flexed around to test my gear. All seemed to be fine and was rapidly cooling in the natural air. Would need to test the integrity of the straps and shells when I got home, but I hadn’t exploded or fallen apart.
Not taking another chance, I selectloaded a Rubber shot, tilting to fire it at an angle to the wall opposite. A ricochet up the stairs and the smash of glass. If Jolt was smart, he wouldn’t be standing around with a broken machine - but I wanted to make sure it was inert. Without a working bulb, it would be useless.
So, I powered up the stairs. Third floor, and the stairs up to fourth, were blocked by debris, anyway. I rolled across the broken glass through the doorway, around the circular device that had tried to fry me.
Gun-arm hummed with V-Force as I righted into a crouch, but I found no target.
Or rather, there was too much going on to see the target.
Part workshop, part armory - the rooms in this section had all been broken down to form a long and cluttered hallway. Benches, containers full of miscellaneous parts and junk, devices in mid-assembly or put out on display. It would be impossible to tell if something had been grabbed to utilize or set as a trap for me.
The drone hovered in beside me, and I watched as she bobbed up and down as if unable to contain her excitement. While I was sure none of the tech here would be near the quality she would find acceptable for either of us, it was the nature of the ideas presented here she enjoyed. Like reading through the pages of Jolt God’s brain itself.
//Clara: Stairs to the launchers are about halfway down this room.
//Gunquake: Understood.
Just an unfortunate coincidence that both our goals took us through the villain’s lair of potentially deadly gizmos. Still, I’d stalked worse through more dangerous terrain. Possibly.
Thumbed a replacement shell to fill my selectloader to max, before standing slowly. Switched the magazine from Smoke to Tazer. The place was like a maze that went back and forth between worktables and stacks of metal and half-complete machinery. The villain could be hiding in any corner - or could easily have sprinted off toward the launchers, leaving me simmering in the stairwell.
While most of his subordinates hadn’t been too bloodthirsty, Jolt himself had been nothing but wily and full of disdain for my presence. Didn’t even give me a chance to sweet talk him. That being the case… although running off to save his own skin was likely, I was willing to gamble on the fact that he wanted me dead overriding the real possibility that he could escape if quick enough.
This was his factory-lair, after all.
I moved between the next row of gadgets and dissembled appliances they had probably stolen from the nearest dump. Ears focused on any kind of sound as my eyes tried to find the gap where the staircase would be. Maybe I needed goggles with infra-red or other detection things built in. Night vision would be somewhat useful. More ideas for the…
My breath held in my lungs as my feet paused. A split second and then I whipped around, as Jolt leaped up on one of the tables, managing to hide from me and be patient enough for me to wander past. He now held something that looked like a speargun, although the shining rod loaded into it crackled with activated electricity.
Tazer shot fired quicker than he could aim at me, my years of experience and Advanced abilities just making me quicker on the draw. The arcs of blue danced around him, darting themselves into the machinery part of his weapon and leaving the hobgoblin villain mostly unharmed.
He grinned. “I’m the Jolt God, stupid human. I bring the lightning down on you!”
Denied. Reflex rushed around my system, some extra anger still lingering at him trying to melt me to death. Six shots of Tazer straight into his held weapon. After the fifth, the mechanism inside whatever he had built overloaded and burst, sending dark smoke wafting away and his aim wavering. He still managed to fire the sharpened rod at me, but as he flinched away from the snap of the breaking electronics, the projectile grazed my cybernetic arm instead of hitting center body mass.
Sixth hollow shell bounced on the stone floor as I loaded another that hopefully would hit the villain himself.
He dropped the weapon and tried to drop back behind the workbench as I managed to clip him on the shoulder. Amongst the clang of falling components, I ran over to follow-up with another shot - but he had gone. Scurried off like a rat.
[Turn yourself in, Jolt. Do not make this any harder than it needs to be.]
My advice fell on deaf ears, as the workshop fell into silence once more - aside from the low hum of Clara watching me. No doubt the villain had scrabbled around for something else to assail me with. I was growing… tired of this cat-and-mouse game. In saying that, going full non-lethal hadn’t been so bad.
Mostly because of the attitude of most of the hobgoblins. I had fought human thugs with more spite and criminality in them. A drum full of normal shot and I would have been finished by now, but I was learning to be less of a killer. If the hobs’ held a grudge and brought the fight to my doorstep, that would be different, however.
Had plenty of space on the outskirts for shallow graves, especially for those endangering my own little enclave. Thus, my softer touch was a little bit of ‘treat others as you wish to be treated’. Once I’d captured Jolt for the League, then… well, best cross bridges when I got to them.
Dropped the magazine from my gun-arm to replace it with my drum of Nerve once more, and lobbed the near-empty Tazer mag out down the room. It struck a wide metal can with a clang; the container falling off the rickety shelving and bursting its payload out onto the floor with a resounding crash.
My own ploy - I used the noise to mask my movement and strode quickly through the maze. Caught the sight of the stairs on my right, and could almost feel the cooler night air seeping down. Turned and flashed out with a Nerve shot as Jolt popped out to throw something at me. The mind-altering payload struck his throwing arm, and he dropped the handful of tech.
I did my best to turn from it, but a bright yellow light crackled all around us. Some form of flashbang that tickled at my legs as much as it filled my vision with an afterimage of the cluttered workshop. Gun-arm hissed sharply, and I spun back to where he had been, my eyes gradually clearing.
Although I was sure he had been affected by it too, he wasn’t where I last saw him. I took a few dizzied steps over to where he had popped up from, but the wavering light in my eyes didn’t help pick up any clues.
Of course, the sound of a grunt and then a thud did.
I turned, a faux-smile crinkling the edges of my eyes, to see the hobgoblin pressed up against the wall by the stairs. In seeing me, he attempted to sprint up to freedom - but instead, his feet just rotated in place as if he was a cartoon character. The puddle of lubricant I had sneezed out, emptying the tank while I was blinded, was now all over his feet as he had run through it to get to the stairs.
His footing finally gave up the charade, and he spun forward, hitting the stairs with a crack. Chipped one of his tusks right off. He groaned and tried to push himself up, but in falling, he had gotten the smelly stuff all over his arms and torso. Jolt struggled to right himself, before turning his head, eyes burning toward me.
"You think this will end well? You will rue the day you meddled in my plans, League-shit."
[If you're trying to apply to be my nemesis, I expect a much higher caliber, Jolt. Do better.]
“Bitchless human, I’ll gouge out your-”
Nerve shot struck him in the undefended face, putting him out for the count. It would be difficult enough to restrain him while he was all lubed up without him also squirming around and talking dirty to me. Oh, what had my life become?
//Clara: Target subdued.
The techie had warned me that the League was likely to request the recording from her drone after this little adventure. Part of me being here was to drum up marketable clips, after all. One of the reasons I tried to ham things up and pretend to be more heroic than my usual drab fare. I was neutral about it all. It was… work.
Restraints around the villain’s wrists, and then ankles - I managed to only get a small amount of lubricant on me. With a long step, I managed to make it over the puddle and onto the stairs, the hobgoblin in my other hand.
I dragged him unceremoniously to the top and turned to see the launchers. Cylinders, much like mortars, stood in a line inside a thick base of metal and electronics. Each was a good eight feet wide and had open faces like a sliding door. First three had rockets in - or whatever type of bombs they had been making, but looked inert, as if they were still doing fit-testing. Lights flashed red on the control panels in front of the trio. Fourth launcher was empty, no lights. The last in the row had something else in it.
//Clara: A drop-pod. Looks like they haven’t altered this launcher to house the rockets yet.
As I stepped a little closer, I could see that the fourth one had a panel open, some tools laying strewn around it - there was clearly some modification required for it to turn into something that could fire the missiles.
I brought Jolt over to the fifth one, popping the latch on the pod and opening the thick door. Inside looked… comfortable. Dense padding surrounded a small chair, the whole thing built to be shock absorbant above all. I slung the villain inside, pushing his legs in so he was all curled up. Fetal. I closed the door and twisted the handle to seal it shut.
//Gunquake: Apologies for disturbing your reading time, Stacy.
//Stacy: Not a problem, GQ. How can I help? Are you still on your mission?
//Gunquake: Tying things up. I need the League to pick up the villain...
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
//Gunquake: But from the following coordinates, if you could kindly arrange.
//Stacy: Consider it done. Looking forward to the debriefing. GQ.
Closed down the chat to see Clara hovering over by the control panel. It looked simple enough that I could probably operate it by guessing… although that was a dangerous precedent to set.
Through chat, she guided through which levers to pull to engage the mortar part - the metal door sliding around to fully encompass the drop-pod. A button needed to be pressed to accept the coordinates she had previously sent through the other control panel, and the mortar adjusted its angle to point toward the city. With the press of a big red button, the deed was done.
We stepped back to the staircase as whatever tech it used powered up with a hum that vibrated through the very building we stood on. Just as it felt as though the pitch wouldn’t stop rising and it was going to explode, the mortar popped with a thrum, blasting the air around us - the drop-pod jettisoning off in a high arc.
I watched it careen through the sky until not even the glint of moonlight could pick it up against the darkness of the night. Would land on the outskirts of the city, as close as I could pick without the risk of property damage or a civilian coming across it before the League could.
//Clara: As far as the League is concerned, the mission is complete, Gunquake.
//Gunquake: Understood.
//Gunquake: So now we can have some fun?
//Clara: Oh? Was this a little too pedestrian for you?
//Gunquake: You can disconnect if you want to leave.
//Clara: …
Fun wasn’t really the word for it. While I was still new to this world of being a superhero, I like to think that I… understood people? Mostly how to convert them into corpses, but as my old life started to empower who I was, I found myself able to empathize more. Twist social situations to not only suit me, but be beneficial to others as well.
The point was, if I just fucked off right now, the hobgoblins would have a greater desire to hold disdain for this ‘hero’ who came and kicked their teeth in. There was no point in creating additional trouble for my future self. None more than I was already due.
[You can have a few minutes, but we’re not taking anything.]
I stepped back down the stairs into the workshop, ensuring I didn't slip over on the slick part of the floor. The drone whizzed past me, pausing every so often to observe the various half-formed inventions. While she continued to do that, I went over and sat against the workbench nearest the staircase. Just in case the hobgoblins decided to oust me before we were done here.
A notification pinged through, taking my focus to my lense.
//Roxy: Hey~
//Roxy: Amazing work tonight, Dubs!
//Dubs: You think so?
//Roxy: I fucking know so x
//Roxy: Seeing you in action… your background makes sense.
//Roxy: Like, other than walking into a laser beam. That was some covert ops shit.
//Dubs: I’m glad you’re a fan.
//Roxy: Come home nice and safe soon, okay? We’ll celebrate.
//Dubs: I like the sound of that.
By ejecting the villain far from the location, I had forced the win condition. There was no chance any of the hobgoblins would have the time to go rescue him, let alone the inclination. You always removed the head, so that the rest of the body withered away. There was nobody to lead them or whip them up into violence—something they clearly weren’t built for.
I sighed, my re-breather filter spinning around. Although I had gotten away with not melting to death, the heat of the blast had made me exceptionally sweaty. I’d need to check for actual damage when I returned home, but my status was clear. Another bath possibly needed. I seemed to spend half my time amongst bubbles these days.
Bliss.
The noise outside had diminished quite a bit. Most of the machinery now powered down or left inert. I couldn’t hear talking or the stomping feet of a formed militia, but it was too soon to find comfort in the brief lull in activities. My eyes went over to the drone, who was still excitedly trying to visually catalogue everything going on here. She was now nearing the end of the long room.
Despite having performed a couple of sidekick trials, this felt more like being an actual hero for the first time. Like I had stepped out into the real world and started to build a reputation for myself. I had very few living witnesses to my hitman years, so there was a chance I could actually cobble together something of an actual existence.
I sighed once more and shook my head. If this bullshit was what Boss wanted for me all along… well, I’d still kick the bastard in his balls. If he was alive and had them, at least. I had briefly entertained the idea that Boss was actually just my broken older psyche, or perhaps my skeletal arm living beneath me - and that contracts were something I made up…
But that had too many plot holes. Like with how I got paid for it, and having digital records of his communications. I wasn’t so desperate for answers that I’d stoop to conspiracy.
I looked up as the drone returned to me.
//Clara: Everything digitally scanned, at least.
//Clara: Are you sure we can’t steal anything?
//Gunquake: Once I’m done here, you won’t need to.
//Gunquake: Oh, question?
//Gunquake: You seemed distracted at Stacy’s office earlier. Everything okay?
//Clara: I was waiting until after the mission…
//Clara: Wren wants to meet with us. I notified her you were interested in discussion.
//Clara: She made the space.
//Gunquake: Interesting. Thanks, Clara. Send it through to my calendar.
It was just a handful of seconds before the ping came through. Tomorrow morning. The fact that the elf wanted to meet was potentially a good sign… although made me wonder why. The rest of the group often said she was the most level-headed, so I wasn’t too worried about any ulterior motives. Maybe I’d see if Roy was up to much in the evening. Belle would have to wait for now.
With a grunt, I stood back up and headed to the staircase. At the second floor, I stopped to look at the force-field doorway. Part of the mission was also disabling the bombs or whatever the threat to Goldarch was. While I was naïve enough to believe the hobgoblins would be a bit more lukewarm on assaulting the place I came from - it would only take one fervent believer in Jolt to start the wheels spinning again.
High Explosive shot blew out a chunk of the wall, loosening the metal struts where the force-field generated from. It crackled and flickered as the static piece became unmoored from the wall. A swift kick and the whole thing popped, expelling a burned ozone smell as the metal piece clanged across the floor inside.
I stepped in to see a surprisingly small room - with no exit doors. A couple of shelving units with cylindrical barrels on, around the size of a cookie jar each. An… odd unit of measurement for me to make. Two wide metal boxes on raised tables, each humming - warmth radiating that I could feel from here.
[Something tells me this isn’t a normal payload.]
First guess would have been something electricity based… but that wasn’t really an effective munition to levy against a city. Other than maybe acting like an EMP? But Clara had said the coordinates had been suburbs. Civilians. Any thought over what his actual motivations had been washed away as the drone skimmed past me to look at the barrels.
I turned around to look at some… blueprints? On the back wall, there were sheets with sketches and numbers, but the hobgoblins had their own dialect and way of taking notes. Something about what I was looking at was familiar, but I wouldn’t place it.
//Clara: We need to destroy everything in this room.
//Clara: In a controlled manner.
My eyebrow raised as I turned to her, the drone somehow staring at me more seriously than usual.
[That bad?]
//Clara: Remember the Flesheater shell I made for you?
//Clara: That, but worse.
//Clara: Have you heard of Borehounds before?
I nodded slowly and shuddered. Not that I could remember where or when I had, but the name was enough to bring my thoughts of them to the forefront of my mind.
Some creature that was an odd mix of dinosaur, dog, and unbridled disdain for the natural order of things. While most things had a place in the world for good or bad, Borehounds were killed on sight. If you were found to own, trade, or breed them, the jail sentence was incredibly hefty.
They started out the size of a basketball. Rounded and scaled, with two larger chicken-like feet at the back and smaller forelegs with short, grasping claws. Large dark eyes and rows of teeth like a shark. Mostly mouth and stomach. It ate anything living. Then it grew. A marvel of the natural world that it could convert so much energy from food into growth.
Most were found and destroyed by the time they got to the size of a large dog, but there were tales of some as big as horses. Even one known as Worldeater, that a mutant tribe in the southeast of the continent intentionally kept in a pit and constantly fed it, until it was the size of a house.
Not entirely believable, but I couldn’t discount it either. The fact that Jolt God was considering sending these into the city… in a residential district of all places…
Perhaps I should have killed him.
//Clara: These are mutant hybrids, not the real deal.
//Clara: Only the pure strain has the capacity for the terrors I'm sure you are imagining.
//Clara: But intended mass-murder is no less vile, even if inept.
I agreed on principle. I was a mass-murderer myself, but although I wasn’t keen to throw stones - I never targeted innocents.
The two tanks were germinators. Removing their power source would be enough to eradicate whatever was within in less than an hour, Clara told me. There were six jars with young versions of the hybrid hounds in, although two looked to have died already. Two Tazer shots killed off the rest. I sighed and left the room.
Down, around the stairs, and paused at the sight on the ground floor.
The large metal door was now open, and there was a group of hobgoblins standing around. Well, most of them were laying in disarray on the lubricated floor, with a couple on the dry sides of the pool trying to drag their companions out without getting pulled into the muck themselves.
In seeing me round the corner, most of them froze, eyes wide and panicked. Aside from the one in the slick puddled who tripled their efforts to scramble away and mostly just remained in place, kicking at their companions.
I held up a hand and sat down on the stairs.
[Jolt God is gone now. Already in the city and arrested.]
Their shock remained, some of them now looking rather confused. One in a jumpsuit who was also sporting a colorful bruise on his head drew up the courage to speak.
“Did you use t-the launchers?”
[Yes.]
“Are you… are you going to arrest us t-too?” His eyes narrowed, but it was more of a wince—expecting doom—than suspicion.
[I have no need, unless you’d like me to? Running a private factory isn’t a crime, as far as I know. Although…]
My eyes went back up to the floor above us, and I pointed my finger in the direction of the room we had just left.
[Borehounds are incredibly illegal. If you disavow Jolt God and promise not to do anything that could harm Goldarch, then this could be the last you see of me.]
Their shock subsided, and their weird eyes went to each other - some murmurs escaping their lips before the bruised one spoke again.
“What if he comes back and is mad? Makes us work again?”
[I will give you a way of contacting me and I will deal with him again. Whose side would you rather be on? I offer you the prospect of self regulation and League protection, while he works you for sinister motives that cause heroes like me to show up.]
The worker licked his lips, tongue running up a tusk. “I can’t speak for us all, but I like working here, and don’t like getting punched in the head.”
[Statistics show those aligned with the League receive eighty percent less head-punches. Plus, you have a good thing going on here. I don’t doubt you could turn this into a more lucrative and sustainable enterprise now that you’re not beholden to a megalomaniac.]
Perhaps I had overdone it a little, as the hobs’ looked halfway between expecting imminent death or being completely star-struck. I supposed that’s just how I wanted it, in retrospect. I mostly just wanted to get through the lubricant without falling over and looking like a dickhead.
//Clara: A couple of Water shots will break it down enough.
Ever my savior, I did just as the techie suggested. The hobgoblins winced and squealed as I fired twice amongst them, soaking the ones laying on the floor with the expanding water. With the suggestion of my hand, they managed to stand up to their feet and step cautiously away from the area.
I hit it with another Water just to be sure, before I stepped down myself.
[It is understandable that you do not trust me. I hold no grudge if you don’t take me up on anything I have suggested - I only reiterate that threatening Goldarch will only make things worse for you.]
They gave me some begrudging grunts and half-hearted murmurs, thankful at least that I wasn’t shooting them currently, even if they couldn’t commit to anything I was saying. My feet took me into the dining area, where they had re-lit the fireplace and were using the area as a makeshift hospital. Many hobgoblins were still unconscious, a couple with broken bones or heavy bruising. I glanced at the mute worker who was still out of it, drooling on the blanket he had been placed on.
Would he take me up on my offer? Didn’t really matter at present. Sometimes a promise was enough to change the course of your life. Maybe I’d have an army of hobgoblins march on my house to get revenge. Their loyalty to the villain too great. They didn’t seem like… expendable goons to me. A nuanced take for me at this stage in my life.
I stopped at the end of the room before the glass-less double doors and turned back to the group who had been following me nervously.
[This is where we part ways. I strongly suggest nobody follows me.]
They didn’t need telling twice. A chorus of acknowledgments and eager nods met me before I left.
//Clara: Hold so that I can dock.
//Clara: No need for me to follow and record the drive home.
//Clara: Just message if any issue, I’ll keep audio on.
//Gunquake: Understood. Thanks, Clara.
//Clara: Thank me later~
I stood in position so that the drone could tilt, powering down as the magnets clipped it into place on my backpack. Just for my peace of mind, I preferred this to having her hang around nearby in the van. Was almost like going solo once more, just with some added key information.
Down the short corridor I had entered from, I lowered myself into a sitting position on the edge of the doorway. A fresh breeze cooled me before I pushed off, landing just past the bike against the wall.
Not a bad evening.
I grabbed a hold of the handlebars and walked it away from the wall to point it in the rough direction of home. Swung my leg over and sat down. Hand hovered over the start button, before I paused.
My eyes blinked twice as I stared at the inert display. Then I turned my head and looked out to the wastelands to my left. Barely lit by the dim moonlight, nothing was visually there past the side of the hobgoblin dorms until the distant horizon. I lowered my hand down to my side and held my breath.
I continued to glare at the silent emptiness of the wastes, before breaking the silence myself.
[Silhouette, I assume?]