Chapter 42: Twich Reflex

Acid peered back at Buttstroke from underneath. “Okay, man. No problem.” He matched Buttstroke’s volume, but calm and matter of fact.

“You cannibalize one kill, and I’ll fuck you up worse than Animal. Got it?” Buttstroke stabbed his finger into the skin of Acid’s forehead.

“Yeah.” Acid batted the finger away. “I’ll go where I came from.”

“Nah.” Buttstroke pointed in the opposite direction, to the room with the locked door. “You fuck off that way.”

Dozer squeezed in between them. “There’s nowhere for him to go.” He spoke over the comm to keep the noise down.

“The fuck do I care?” Buttstroke spoke out loud through snarled teeth. His eyes shook with rage.

Acid raised his hands, a show of capitulation, and slid out. He slunk into the room behind the group with his eyes lowered to the ground. After a heartbeat, Acid whispered to himself, “What the fuck?”

Buttstroke gestured at the wall for the fireteam to take their places. They made their way back to the central hall, and every corner got checked. Without an established perimeter, a fireteam of bots could still swoop in from behind.

None did. In the monochromatic red illumination, a drone coasted along the central hallway’s far wall, past Coldcase and Pasty hunkered down. They took up the suitable cover behind one of the thick struts. Dragstrip and Brigham took cover behind the strut on the close wall.

Coldcase’s drone plugged itself into the panel beside the blast doors. Dozer’s cheeks burned a bit when he saw it hacking from a distance. If Errorist got Level 2, they could use it to check corners and Model wouldn’t have to put his literal neck out.

Buttstroke and Errorist kept to the close wall.

Dozer switched his lights off while he followed Model across the wide hall and squatted with his back to the wall. “You got power?” He spoke under his breath.

Coldcase tapped his tablet. “Busy.” The shadow from the brim of his helmet hid the features of his face.

“We do.” Pasty sat up. “I’m guessing there’s none on your side?”

“You guess right.” Dozer nodded.

Coldcase’s arms went limp, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Got locked out. There’s a power node on here. It’s powering these,” he pointed upward with his chin, “but it’s one of three. Who wants to bet we need all three to put this place in working order?”

Model balanced his shotgun on its end beside him. “There’s gotta be another way to power up those side doors.”

A burst of gunfire from Acid’s direction obliterated the quiet. Footsteps in a full-out run came closer. “It’s me! It’s me!” Acid emerged from the darkness, rushed across the hallway, stood against the wall, and pointed his rifle where he came.

“Yeah.” Buttstroke twisted his face. “Nobody shoot him.”

Dozer stood and got his pistol ready. “What was that?”

“A bot,” he panted, and a bead of sweat ran down his face, “came through that door.”

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Pasty pushed himself up the strut until he stood. “It alone?”

“Yeah.”

Buttstroke stood with the rest. “You take it out?”

Acid closed one eye. The other darted around while he checked the WarFace. “Nope. Didn’t even hit it.”

“That’s a shock.” Buttstroke smirked.

“Okay.” Pasty held up a hand to get attention. “This is what we’re going to—”

The blast door opened just enough for something to pass through. A device, no bigger than a fist, rolled to a stop at Dozer’s feet. It let out a metallic shriek. Its pitch skyrocketed.

“Grenade!” Coldcase launched himself toward the closest door. His drone followed on autopilot.

Dozer yanked Model by the shoulder. They dived to the ground behind the doorway. The grenade let out an ear-piercing crack. Pasty crashed to the floor, limp.

Dozer picked himself up and blinked. His ears rang in the sudden silence. He had expected an explosion. Model, Coldcase, and Acid lifted themselves off the ground with mouths agape. From the looks on their face, they hadn’t processed what happened.

Still, those fake weapons still posed a threat. Pasty lay in an unceremonious heap across the doorway. Dragstrip’s twisted form had settled at the bottom of the far wall. Brigham pushed himself along the floor with his legs and good arm to the safety of the doorway on the other side. The rifle in his hand clanked against the metal floor. His other arm dangled from its shoulder.

“Fuck me sideways.” Buttstroke sent the words out on the team comm. Buttstroke stood behind the cover of the doorway. “You guys alright?”

Model brushed himself off. “Think so. You?”

“We’re good.” Errorist poked his head out from behind Buttstroke. “Cold’s team, not so much.”

Brigham dragged himself past Errorist.

“You guys get over here.” Buttstroke waved them over. “Keep your eyes on those blast doors though.”

“We should all stick together and get across that hallway,” Dozer said out loud.

“Good idea.” Coldcase stretched the muscles in his neck.

“Yeah.” Acid nodded.

“Ready?” Model took point.

“Hold on.” Coldcase’s drone coasted overhead and out into the hallway. He closed one eye. “We’re good.”

Model held up three fingers and counted down. In tight formation, all four of them sidestepped into the central hall with their weapons trained on the blast doors. Fortune smiled. The blast doors didn’t budge, and they reached the other side unscathed.

Buttstroke pulled Dozer and Acid aside. “We’ll hold down the fort here,” he spoke out loud. “You two take out that other bot back there before it bites us in the ass.”

Dozer scowled. “Why us?”

“Get moving.” Buttstroke nudged Dozer toward the darkened doorway.

Dozer relented. The fireteam couldn’t afford to pick a fight when they already had one on their hands.

Acid took point. “Good to go?”

“Guess so.” Dozer shrugged and readied his pistol.

Acid flipped on his lights, checked the corner, and slipped into the darkness. Dozer followed. Together, they crept through the rooms. With every corner check, Dozer expected Acid to see the bot and halt their progress. Each room proved empty until the last possible one.

The red emergency lights had turned on in the last room. They pressed their backs to the wall. Either that lone bot hid in there or had gone through the door.

Acid turned off his lights and checked. He pulled back and whispered into Dozer’s ear. “Bot’s there.”

Dozer whispered back. “It see you?”

“No. Staring at the door.” Acid shrugged. “Hacking?”

Dozer elbowed Acid’s shoulder. “All you.”

Acid took in a shuddered breath through grit teeth and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, a steely glint materialized behind them. He pressed the butt of his rifle in his shoulder and breached the room.

Before Dozer got around the corner, Acid’s rifle spat out a thunderous staccato. The full burst hit the bot in the back. The thing’s arms spasmed with each shot. It dropped its weapon and pivoted on its heel. The burst ended in its chest. Its legs gave out, and the thing landed backward with a thud. Acid snorted through his nose.

“It dead?” Dozer lowered his pistol.

Its arm reached for its weapon. Dozer raced past Acid and stepped on its wrist. He put a single shot into its hand. Digits and parts flew in every direction.

“Shoot it in the head!” Dozer put more weight on his foot.

“I’m empty!” Acid discharged the magazine and fumbled inside his ammo pouch.

“Hurry—”

The bot lifted its stub against Dozer’s weight. His knee thumped against his chest, and Dozer landed on his ass. Electric shocks of pain bolted through his back. Dozer’s lights shuddered on the wall.

Acid slammed the fresh magazine into the well, took aim, and fired. Its brainpan shattered. The bot fell back to the ground, dead.

He stood beside Dozer and offered his hand. “Would have been an easy kill for you.”

“I figured you needed it more.” Dozer pulled himself up.

Behind Acid, a box—black under Dozer’s helmet light—dangled from a thick wire connected to the panel.

“The fuck is that?” Dozer cocked his head.