Contributing Author: Zeusified
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Dr. Hugo Hugo threw his wireless mouse into the side wall of his security van. He grabbed his keyboard, stood up, and broke it in half over his knee. Breathing heavily, heaving for air, he flipped his horribly long hair back over his shoulder and glared at his widescreen display.
It read, in bold red letters, “DEFEAT.”
“I told you General Stab wasn’t a good champion,” Vice Roid said, grimacing. No matter what he did, the massive man just couldn’t find a way to get comfortable inside the surveillance van. He’d tried sitting down, early on, but that attempt had just managed to break the bad doctor’s favorite chair.
“He told me to believe in him. I trusted that hornet!” Dr. Hugo Hugo fumed, tossing his broken keyboard aside. He reached into a compartment, pulled out a new keyboard and mouse, and started to connect them to his workstation.
“He was my finest recyclobot. His body was formed out of the most exquisite collection of beach-harvested sandals the world has ever seen.”
“He’s a puddle of melted plastic and rubber now,” Vice Roid grunted, pointing at General Stab’s insectoid blip on the viewing screen. “We need a new plan, doc.”
The bright red “DEFEAT” sign faded away. Footage from the drones hovering over the battlefield streamed across the screen, playing out the fight within the greenhouse in real-time.
It wasn’t pretty.
Chunks of plastic and recycled pieces of used water bottles and straws and soda cans were all that remained of the doctor’s rats and insects. Several animatronic butterflies hovered above the mess, flapping their wings like colorful metal angels.
The Host was still there, safe and unharmed–but he was changing. Parts of his gear-covered form were turning back into flesh.
Dr. Hugo Hugo took a deep breath and exhaled. He stroked his far-too-wide chin, then said, “The box is still priority number one. We’ve got to figure out a way to retrieve it.”
The box wasn’t just a box anymore. It was a robot, a massive robot, and it stood like a legendary titan, blasting grenades and fire and death from its shoulder launchers, unleashing unreal destruction with brutal efficiency.
Vice Roid recognized Tater Tot–who he still considered to be his friend–clinging to the robot’s metal torso. The potato-man was barely hanging on as the robot swiveled to blow apart one straggler of Dr. Hugo Hugo’s recycled army after another.
“I don’t think your makeshift minions are going to cut it,” Vice Roid said. “Are you going to send in the real army?”
“Nah,” Dr. Hugo Hugo said, shaking his head. “That wouldn’t be fun. My real army would tear them to shreds. Besides, I’ve got a better idea.”
He was looking right at Vice Roid, and Vice Roid didn’t like the glint in the mad scientist’s eyes.
“I’m not fighting the Host and that massive robot,” the big man said.
Dr. Hugo Hugo frowned, “But I’ve got to make this interesting.”
“Why?”
“Because of the one true law of physics, meathead.”
“Equal and opposite reactions?” Vice Roid asked, puzzled.
Dr. Hugo Hugo put a palm to his forehead and let out a long sigh.
“Why do I bother? It’s not like you attended Evil University.”
Vice Roid shrugged.
“What is the new plan, then?”
“You, big guy, will be my new champion. You’ll fight their champion. You’ll challenge them to a one-on-one duel, and they won’t be able to resist.”
“And if I win, the box comes with us?” He skeptically glanced at the screen, where the box was firing off more rounds from its grenade launchers.
“Bingo. You win, we get the box.”
A bead of sweat dripped down Vice Roid’s chiseled jaw. “That’s all fine, but how am I supposed to win? I don’t see how I can fight back against that. You’re really not selling me on this, doc.“
“Don’t worry, muscle boy. You won’t lose. Besides, you’re not going to be the one in control of your body.”
“I’m not?”
“Of course not. You’re too soft. You ever play that game as a kid? Rock’em Knock’em Robots?”
“Yeah, I did. And now I’ve got an even worse feeling about this,” Vice Roid said. “You’re gonna be controlling my body?”
Dr. Hugo Hugo cackled, nearly falling out of his chair. He pointed at Vice Roid’s chest.
“Nope! Wrong. Your heart is. Unlike you, it’s got the instincts of a bonafide killer.”
“LIFT,” Vice Roid’s heart thundered. Its voice was so loud that it shook the surveillance van.
“I’d forgotten about that. It gained sentience with… whatever you did, to save my life.“
Dr. Hugo Hugo just grinned.
“Exactly. Now, get yourself over there so that bloodthirsty heart of yours can challenge them. I’ll send out my mechanical buddies, maybe a nice, neat, 10,000-strong squadron. They’ll form a ring around you, act as your audience, and make sure that the Host follows the rules.”
Vice Roid moved to open the van’s rear doors, but stopped. He turned back to the bad doctor and asked, “You want me to challenge the Host, right?”
“What? No, that’s too predictable,” Dr. Hugo Hugo scoffed. “Challenge the box.”
“The robot?”
On the screen, Vice Roid saw the giant robot squash a plastic rat beneath a massive metal foot.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“You’re sure you want me–well, my heart–to fight the robot?”
“Don’t get cold feet,” Dr. Hugo Hugo laughed. “Your heart’s got this, don’t you buddy?”
“LIFT.”
“See?”
Vice Roid sighed. He opened the doors, hopped out into the night air, and quickly stretched his tight muscles. He broke into a jog, making his way into the botanical gardens and toward the greenhouse.
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This is Joe Grover with Channel 15 News. We’re back, continuing our live coverage of the chaos that’s hit New City this morning and afternoon like a freight train with its brakes cut, strapped to hell and back with explosives. All you wonderful New Citizens that are out there listening in, remember: We’re in this together. We’re strong. The terrorists will never win.
In a few moments, we’ll be hearing from our team on the ground about the collapse of the Marrago Building on Fifth-Sixth Avenue and Broad Large Street. The nearby New City General Hospital states that their beds are approaching capacity, but they still–
George searched his small, overpriced studio apartment for his TV remote. It was squished beneath the cushions of his loveseat. He muted the TV, then turned back to face his newest prized possession with a goofy grin.
“Baby, I can’t believe you’re real. I can’t believe someone would just give you up like that.”
The Road Rocket of Death didn’t say anything, but George could tell from the way its sleek black frame caught the light of his DIKEA lamp that it couldn’t believe it either.
The bike was mean as hell. Meaner than hell. It was the kind of bike that would give Satan a wedgie, shove his face into a toilet, steal his lunch money, then use that money to take his mom out to a nice steak dinner.
George did one final diagnostic check on the killer bike before putting his hands on his hips and letting out a long, happy sigh. He’d examined it several times now, carefully going over the gears, shocks, suspension, tires, brakes, and frame.
Initially, he’d thought that the man who’d handed over the bike like it was a piece of chocolate might’ve been one of the many Snitch Stream trolls that stalked his channel. But his tests said otherwise: the bike was in flawless condition. Even the rocket fuel was still at three-quarters capacity.
For months, George had stared at the Road Rocket of Death on the wall of Fred’s Bike Shop. Each morning, before riding out with the New City Cycling Club, he’d see the bike and it would stick with him as he’d pump his legs, swerve through traffic, and struggle to keep up with the rest of the peloton.
He’d wondered what it would feel like to press the ‘TURBO’ button and blast through traffic or up a steep hill, like the one near Tall Heights Mall, and stream past Josie and Eric and Alfonso to take the lead for once.
Tonight, though… he’d finally feel what it was like to go fast.
But first, George had some business to take care of. He had to keep his fans in the loop.
After a quick run to the bathroom to make sure his hair still looked okay–it was getting late into the night, and his gel only lasted so long–George pulled out his MyPhone and scrolled over to Snitch Streams. He opened his channel, sent out an email notification that he was hopping online, and got to work.
He set his phone on the stand next to the section of his studio he’d partitioned off for bike tune-ups and MooTube videos. He adjusted his DIKEA lamp to get the right lighting, fixed his hair again, then pressed RECORD.
The countdown popped up on the screen, and butterflies flitted about in George’s stomach.
3. 2. 1. Live.
“What’s up my bike bruvs! It’s me, Gearhead George, coming to you straight from New City’s Nexus. You are not going to believe what happened to me today. See this bad motherfudger right here? I know, I know. It’s a Road Rocket of Death. A limited edition model. See the skull and flame decals? Crazy, right? Want to know something even crazier?
“This motherfudger is my new ride.”
George clapped his hands together, then made finger guns and pointed them at his phone’s camera.
“I’m about to tear up the streets. You know what time it is, and like I do every night, I wanted to give all my bike bruvs a taste of the action. This time, we’re going all out. Y’all ready to follow along? Let me hook my gear up, then we’ll get to slayin’.”
George reached into the nearby cabinet and pulled out his streaming backpack, the one with the shoulder mount and battery extender. He connected a few cables, slotted his phone into position, then pointed its camera toward his face. He gave his audience a cheesy smile and strapped his striped helmet on. The buckle gave a nice, satisfying click as the clasp came together.
George caught up on his chat as he guided the bike to the elevator.
> Terrancethetig3r55: Those are dangerous XD They stopped making them because so many people died ::sadbruv:: Why ride one???
“Guys, the danger is part of the appeal!” George said, waiting for the elevator doors to open. He shifted his hand a little to the right–the last thing he wanted was to accidently activate the massive red ‘TURBO’ button on the handlebars inside a building.
> Madex-5: Danger is good. You never know when you’re going to get stuck in a computer. If only they had a cyberpunk model… maybe with a handheld torch. ::robobruv::
>
> HapiVibes666: No way ::confusedbruv:: The Road Rocket of Death is perfect just the way it is ::gigabruv::
>
> GeorgesM0mma: Georgie don’t go killing yourself on that thing!
>
> HapiVibes666: Is that really his mom?
>
> Terrancethetig3r55: Yes ::noddingbruv:: she’s always on his streams.
“Hey mom! Look, I’ve got my helmet on. I’ve got my glasses. I even broke out the kneepads,” George said, wiggling one leg to show off his protective plastic armor.
The elevator dinged and George ducked inside.
> GeorgesM0mma: Glad to see my Georgie is protecting himself.
>
> Madex-5: Guess that is his mom ::motherbruvver::
>
> EagleEalgeEagle: No one rides like Georgie!
>
> EagleEagleEagle: Bikes! No one rides BIKES like Georgie XDD
Outside, the night air was cool. Streetlamps cast an orange glow onto the sidewalk. The luxury shops across the way were closing up, lowering their shutters.
> Vi0l3nC3: Why isn’t New City’s Nexus on fire? Everywhere else is.
>
> EagleEagleEagle: Did you see that clip of the docks from this afternoon?
“What happened at the docks?” George asked.
> Terrancethetig3r55: Some guy in a pirate ship ::piratebruv::
>
> Vi0l3nC3: Yeah. It was awesome ::ninjabruv::
>
> EagleEagleEagle: They said over fifty people died. A ship with red sails ran them over :(
George hopped onto the Road Rocket of Death and settled into a comfortable position on the seat.
A group of chatting businessmen in suits and loosened ties saw the brutal bike and decided that they should walk somewhere else. They ducked down an alley and out of sight.
George made a serious face and turned his head to look right into the camera.
“Well, bike bruvs… this ride goes out to all those that are struggling today. I’ll ride as fast as I can so that we can leave behind all the bad and come out stronger for it.”
> Terrancethetig3r55: ::sadbruv::
>
> Vi0l3nC3: You can’t bring back the dead by riding a bicycle, idiot.
>
> GeorgesM0mma: Don’t call my son an idiot.
>
> User Vi0l3nC3 has been banned.
George flicked on the bike’s bright LED headlamp and focused on the road. His heart thumped in his chest, excited, as he clipped in one foot, kicked off the sidewalk, then clipped in the other.
As the gears began to turn, as his legs began to warm up, George felt the power inside the bike come to life. He laughed, peddled harder, and sped out of the Nexus and toward New City’s Shoulder, making sure to keep his head down and his body position low and aerodynamic.
He blew through Broad Wide South Street, only needing to dodge one stray sedan and a motley crew of college kids.
The roads were nearly empty. The Shoulder was quiet, as it often was on a Tuesday night. George couldn’t wait to get to the Armpit. There, the streets would really empty out, especially near the manufacturing district.
Coming out of a tight turn, George eyed the red ‘TURBO’ button in the center of his handlebars. It almost felt like it was yelling at him, screaming at him.
PRESS ME! PRESS ME!
But George was patient. He was waiting for the wide-open roads outside the factories and warehouses.
Soon, he thought.
He kept peddling.