Contributing Author: Zeusified
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DEFEAT.
For the second time that night, Dr. Hugo Hugo glared at the bold red letters that flashed across his security van’s viewing screen. Unlike the last time, he didn’t break his keyboard. He didn’t fume. The bad doctor just let out a long, tired sigh and leaned back into his second favorite chair.
“This is why I stay in the lab, Rose. This is why I work with machines.”
A little golem, an amalgam of colored wires and computer chips, leapt onto his workstation. A tiny MEGO rose stuck out from the top of its head. Its eyes, LED bulbs that blinked with curiosity and intelligence, watched with interest as Dr. Hugo Hugo steepled his fingers.
“I shouldn’t have trusted that damned heart to listen to directions. You heard me, Rose. I explicitly said it was to fight the robot, not the Host. And what did it do?”
The golem spoke. Its voice wasn’t robotic, but soft and gentle, kind and sweet. “Well… it did fight the robot. It just destroyed it, rather quickly. After that, the heart did exactly as our models predicted it would, Hugo Squared. It saw a very large object, the gigantified Host, and it tried to lift it.”
“I didn’t even get the chance to move my force into position. There wasn’t even an audience,” Dr. Hugo Hugo groaned. “Do you know how disappointed I am right now? Look at me, Rose. Look on and shudder at my disappointment.”
The little golem tried to shudder. Its wires wilted and the mess of computer chips haphazardly sewn into its tiny frame shook with dismay. But after a second or two, it gave up on the attempt.
Rose leapt into the air instead. It did an excited, hopeful spin. Its cheery voice echoed inside the security van, causing Dr. Hugo Hugo to wince.
“The robots are still on the way, sir. They march through the city as we speak, injecting mayhem into society. Would you like to redirect them to the Host’s next destination?“
The viewing screen changed. It showed an aerial view of the Host, that measly nobody named Trey, as he left the botanical garden, heading in the direction of New City’s Nexus. He had friends now: the crate, the potato man, and Vice Roid.
Rose waved its red and yellow and blue wire arms around in the air like one of those inflatable things in front of a car dealership. Its voice rang with the repeated dings of cell phone notifications.
“We could crush them into the pavement. We could burn their bodies with lasers and plasma. We could bring in the Shredder 5000 and shred them. We could light them on fire, collect their ashes, and blast them off into space. We could–”
Dr. Hugo Hugo held up a hand. The chipper little golem deflated.
“And for what, Rose? To show that I have the power to do so? To make myself feel a bit better for missing out on the Rock’em Knock’em robots match of the century?”
The bad doctor paused. His eyes lingered on the crate, the potato man, and Vice Roid. They’d been his experiments, once upon a time. Now… they were something new. Something different. He’d need to continue to observe them, continue to collect data on their conditions. He felt a twinge of inspiration. Could their change lead to fresh discoveries?
Rose plopped down into a seated position, as if deep in thought.
“Hugo Squared, I am confused. Our massive army of killer robots is on the move. Will we not use them for their intended purpose?”
Dr. Hugo Hugo ran a hand through his greasy, black hair. It was long. Far too long. He turned to his creation.
“Not tonight, Rose. We’ll leave it to Captain Corrosion. Our two forces don’t work well together, anyway.”
The golem nodded. That did make sense.
“No, we’ve got bigger plans,” the doctor continued, “I haven’t left the laboratory in–”
“Eleven years, seven months, thirteen days, five hours, fifty-three minutes, and two seconds.”
“Exactly, Rose. And when was the last time I got a haircut?”
The little golem stood back up and pointed a wiry arm at the mad scientist. It gave him a shocked, hurt look.
“I cut your hair last month!”
“A real haircut.”
Rose’s LED eyes shifted to a sad amber hue.
“It has been eleven years, seven months, eighteen days, four hours, twelve minutes, and fifteen seconds since your last real haircut, sir.”
Dr. Hugo Hugo nodded. He raised a finger into the air, as any respectable mad scientist would, and issued a command to his robotic legion.
“Change of plans. Redirect all forces to Jay’s Barber Shop on Fifty-Two Five Third Broad Big Street. Send a flanking team to King Albert’s Pizzeria on Tin Can Avenue. Send at least seven tag-team duos of stealth wrestler ninja robots to keep an eye on the Host and its team. Make sure they are equipped with anti-corrosion gear.”
“Yes, sir! It will be done, Hugo Squared!”
The little golem on his workstation saluted, transmitting his orders to every killer robot in his massive army.
Under the light of the moon, the robots began to move.
One force went to get pizza.
Another went to set up bleachers in the street outside of a barber shop.
A third, much smaller force, donned anti-corrosion luchador masks and piledrived into the darkness.
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Big Jim and Large Tom felt like they were missing out. The boss, Mayor Wanton, had said that they were to help secure New City’s Casino from threats for the night. It’d been a crazy day, with all those fires on the docks and that building collapsing over in the Shoulder. So, if they were stationed as security guards for the night, that was fine.
Really, it was.
What wasn’t fine was that they’d drawn the short straws. Now, they had to watch from the casino’s camera room as Heavy Mike and Giant Steve and all the other bodyguards played poker and blackjack, undercover.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Big Jim and Large Tom hated overwatch. It wasn’t like they knew a thing or two about computers or communications. They just knew how to hit things. Still, maybe if they were lucky, Mayor Wanton would let them do a bit of gambling before the night was over. In the meantime, they’d sit in the back of the camera room while all of the casino’s pencil-pushers chatted about what was happening on Screen A or Screen F or whatever.
“Are you seeing this?”
“Seeing what?”
“Screen W.”
“Screen W? Is it working?”
“Yes it’s working.”
“Why is it all red then?”
“You don’t see it?”
“Oh. I see it.”
“That’s a massive sail. A pirate ship’s sail.”
“Screen W isn’t working anymore.”
“Neither is Screen X.”
“Screen Z is out.”
“Are any of the exterior screens working?”
“Look at Screen S. Uh, guys, is this one of Mayor Wanton’s special guests?”
Big Jim and Large Tom each leaned over one of the pencil-pusher’s chairs to get a good look at the screen. The pencil-pusher’s finger was shaking as he pointed at a massive pirate ship that was sailing across the asphalt, headed straight for the casino’s gaudy doors.
“Ain’t one of ours,” Big Jim said. He moved the chew around in his mouth.
Large Tom just frowned. The wrinkles on his bald head shifted around as he tried and failed to think of what to say.
“Uh,” the pencil-pusher hesitated, “should we, you know, do something about it?”
Screen F went out.
Screen M went out.
Big Jim continued to watch the screen. He watched it until the ship slammed into the door, blasted right through it, and the building shook with the impact.
Screen S went out.
Screen C went out.
“You lot stay here,” Big Jim said. He reached for the shotgun on his back. Large Tom did the same.
“We’ll go take care of it.”
“Yeah,” Large Tom added sagely. “What he said.”
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In one of New City Casino’s better back rooms, Mayor Wanton won another hand.
“Well, cowpokes, tonight’s a good night for me, ain’t it?” he grinned, laughing as he released another puff of smoke from his cigar. The smoke hung there, above the table, like a dirty cloud.
The dealer smiled and collected the cards. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She knew how fast luck was to turn traitor, and she knew Mayor Wanton was relying on luck, not skill, to win.
If she was to bet on any of the seven sitting at her small table–and, really, she already had–her money was on New City’s Bishop. The pious man had an incredible poker face. She wasn’t that familiar with the Faith, but the Bishop had her thinking that it might not be all about sunshine and happiness. There was a calculating darkness in his eyes. The kind of darkness she was trained to watch out for.
Mayor Wanton took another sip of his Demigod’s Tears whisky. He reached for his winnings, started stacking the new chips onto his ever-growing pile.
Then, there was a terrible, rumbling BOOM as the entire building rocked, struck by a tremendous force. The Mayor’s neat stack of chips tumbled to the table, and the dealer heard a voice call out into her earpiece.
“CODE RED. WE HAVE A CODE RED, PEOPLE!”
The dealer looked to the door with wide and worried eyes. Code Red meant an intruder. Someone–something–that wasn’t welcome in the Nexus was making its way inside. She glanced at the seven that stood or sat or shook in various states of disarray around her table, and she had the feeling that it was time for luck to turn. And not for the better.
She eyed the small mountain of winnings in the Mayor’s little corner of the table, and she realized that it was about to crumble to dust.
Then, she heard squelching footsteps–from the hallway.
The door to the room didn’t open. It eroded. It fell apart into grains and splinters, before a heavy boot kicked through and a man in a yellow coat and a yellow tricorne stepped inside. He was covered in terrible spines and he smelled like rotten fish and the sea. When he smiled, the dealer shuddered involuntarily at the barnacles and algae covering the man’s teeth.
“Ahoy, mates. Be a good sea dawg and deal me in, will ye? I lost me invitation.”
“Who are you?” the dealer asked hesitantly. She looked at the Bishop. People of the Faith had a sense for things like this, for the unknown and mysterious. The stern man had bowed his head, almost in acknowledgement, toward the pirate. She wasn’t sure what to make of that.
The pirate took off his tricorne and swept into a bow. “I be Captain Corrosion, madam. Captain of the Red Scare, fiercest ship on the seas. Just here for a friendly game of cards. But a game of cards isn’t much if there aren’t any stakes.”
“This isn’t the kind of game with a low buy-in,” the pudgy City Treasurer scoffed. “It’s 1.5 million.”
The pirate grinned. Somehow, the barnacles on his teeth caught the light. He patted the many pockets on his yellow coat, then began to pull out gem after gem, golden artifact after golden artifact, placing them on the table. They were still wet, dripping saltwater onto green felt.
“Be that enough?” Captain Corrosion asked. He raised an eyebrow covered in coral and tiny starfishes.
“Yes… that’s more than enough,” a bead of sweat ran down the City Treasurer's jowl.
“Dealer, if it be alright with ye, I’ll take a seat over here, portside.”
The dealer didn’t care where he sat, so long as she got out of this with her life intact. She nodded, went back to shuffling, but hesitated as Mayor Wanton got up from his stool.
The man used to be a movie star, back in the day. He used to play an action hero in a series of westerns. But this wasn’t a typical Western standoff. He had to realize that, didn’t he?
Mayor Wanton turned and faced the pirate, barring the spined-man’s path. His hands hung at his hips, as if he still carried the same revolvers he did in his movies, and he spoke in his usual drawn-out drawl.
“I don’t know who you are, pirate. I’ve never heard of a Captain Corrosion, and I know for a fact that you were not invited to this event.”
“Years ago, there’d be quite a few sea tales about me crew ‘n meself in these waters,” Captain Corrosion said, idly swirling his tricorne around one finger. “It be strange how fear comes and goes like the tide, don’t it, Mr. Mayor?”
Mayor Wanton puffed out his chest, “New City doesn’t negotiate with terrorists. It doesn’t negotiate with pirates, either, ya hear? We’re not swayed by fear.”
Captain Corrosion laughed, and his laughter was enough to turn the Mayor’s shining cufflinks into ugly orange metal. The retired star’s eyes went wide as his cufflinks rusted out and clinked to the marble floor.
“Everyone be swayed by fear, even you, cowboy. Tell ye what. I’ll raise my buy-in like me sails. I’ll throw in my ship, my crew, and all the gold and treasure we been plunderin’ across the seas these many decades.”
The dealer, still watching, still sitting there with half a deck in each hand, almost thought she saw dollar signs appear in the City Treasurer’s eyes.
The rotund man butted in, calling out from his side of the table, “Mr. Wanton, we can’t say no to that kind of money. Think of the things we could do for this city!”
Mayor Wanton glanced from the City Treasurer to Captain Corrosion. He started to speak, but the Bishop beat him to it.
“You’re assuming that we’ll win the pot in the end, Mr. Treasurer. Can’t you all sense it?”
“Sense what?” Mayor Wanton asked.
“This Captain here… his power fills the room. His Presence is like the Old Ones, like the ones in the myths. Hungry. Overbearing. Impatient,” the Bishop said, voice low and solemn. “We’re only still alive because we have something he can’t just take from our dead hands.”
The dealer felt a shiver go down her spine. The Old Ones weren’t part of the Faith. They were stories passed down as warnings to children, warnings about greed and gluttony.
The Captain brushed past Mayor Wanton, spines leaving small tears across the fabric of his suit. He slid into a stool and set his tricorne beside him.
“Alright lads. Enough talk. Let’s play some cards. But before we do, let’s make one little change.”
They all felt it, then. That pressure, that hunger, that filled the room and threatened to tear them all down until they were nothing more than disparate particles floating in the air, floating like the dirty cloud of smoke that still hung there, above their heads.
“No more playing for money. Yarr, don’t worry. The winner still gets to keep it all. No, instead of money we’ll be betting with our lives.”
Captain Corrosion clapped his hands together. Mayor Wanton, the Bishop, the City Treasurer, and the four others gasped as something was pulled out from deep within them. The dealer felt nothing. But then, she wasn’t really part of the game.
Stacks of ethereal coins appeared before each player, each a slightly different color. A stack of black coins appeared in front of Captain Corrosion.
“These are bits of yer souls. Bits of the city’s soul, too. This is what we’ll use to gamble.”
“A-are you the devil?” one of the other four, a celebrity game show host, asked.
The pirate grinned, barnacles and algae catching the light just right.
“Nah, lad. I’ve seen the devil. Met with him. Talked with him. I’m nowhere near as special as he be.”