Dark City - Random Dingy Apartment (The Fuck Nest)

“You can call me a whore. I don’t mind. I’m technically a slut, but I prefer the term whore because it’s sluttier. If the inconsistency offends, you can shoot me a few bucks. But I gotta warn you, I’ll only spend it on drugs.”

“Does your brain have an off switch?”

“It does. You’re actually rubbing it right now.”

He moves more vigorously. I forget how to talk for a bit.

Eventually I can’t take anymore, and faceplant on the mattress.

“I like you.”

“Yeah, you’re okay too. Also, your phone is ringing. Again.”

I blindly paw it over. “Oui, allo?”

“You’re late.” rasps Harkon. “Where are you?”

Should I tell her that I’m in a fuck nest with her father? No. Too soon. I wanna see her face when I tell her. Should probably be armed too. Will she call me Xan or Mom? Both seem too casual. I’ll probably insist on Ma’am. Mistress is too much. Her dad can call me that.

“Hello? Are you awake?”

“Probably. What’s up?”

“We’re baiting a trap for the forces of autonomous oppression.”

“Cool. Send me the coordinates. I’ll be there in… however long it takes to get there.”

I’m texted a map and a few cryptic diagrams. Is this the plan? Jesus.

My lover watches me gear up with a scowl I’ve learned to interpret as anxiety. It’s endearing, though I doubt he’s worried about me. I flash him the coordinates. “You coming?”

He shakes his head. “If I go, she won’t be there. You may be the only friend she has. Hopefully you’re better than nothing.”

“There’s some debate about that.” I armor up in a dazzle pattern trench coat, wonky goggles, and light helmet. Eight hunters snap into my drone gun with a sharp click, and a bug-bot skitters to my shoulder. “But I’m going anyway.”

He sighs. “Just, please, have an escape plan. Total resistance doesn’t mean you win.”

I give him a kiss, then go. Off to destroy vital infrastructure.

Volt meets me outside in a freshly stolen truck. It’s crawling with bugs. They pop the door for me.

M’Lady.

I hop in. “This is nice. Why have you never stole a truck for me before?”

Volt peels out. Never thought of it. Harkon said my bugs were replicating too slow, considering how fast they ate. I explained they spent most of their time traveling to their next meal. Then she explained the concept of force multipliers. Now bugs drive trucks and eat all fucking day.

“So we have more bugs?”

And more trucks. One of her bugs is bopping and grooving on the dash. We’re gonna fuck shit up.

I guess so. Interesting how Volt and Harkon are buds now. I stare moodily out the window. The apartment megaplexes have more lights on than usual. Not that many, but the usual is zero, so it’s noticeable.

Harkon is waiting for us in the parking lot of an abandoned strip mall. The lot has one working streetlight, and she’s standing under it. Very emo.

She has the same boots and helmet as her father. Except hers has an ultraviolet vee. A drone gun and ballistic dirt bike gear complete her outfit.

I approach, nod, and toss her half the drones I stole from her father. “Liberated from the patriarchy.”

“Thanks.”

“At what point do you inherit?”

“Not relevant.”

“Sure, but how do you assume control of Checkov’s Gun if your dad dies? He’s a planner. Must be some kind of deadman’s switch.”

“Not relevant.”

“If we stopped his heart for two minutes, the brain damage would be minimal. We probably wouldn’t notice. He definitely wouldn’t.”

Harkon points directly into my face. “No.”

I shrug. Look over the cryptic notes for our plan. “So, we’re killing the dream?”

“Ostensibly. Definitely giving it a hard poke.”

I guess so. What a weird fucking plan. Attacking the dream is a petulant rebellion. Any damage we do will be quickly repaired. Partly because the internet was literally designed to be unkillable. But mostly because living the dream is the only thing most of the city agrees on. They’ll actually work together to get it back on.

That said, trashing it the night before an election is provocative. If everyone wakes up angry tomorrow, they will vote to punish. Big Cheddar may want to stop that. Which could distract his forces long enough for us to hit the prison.

“There's four systems that make up the dream. Which one are we hitting?”

“All of them.”

“Why? We want all the interlopers in the same spot.”

“Gotta rile them up first. They’ll all group at the last place we hit.”

“Which is?”

“The main data center.”

“Jesus. That’s right across the street from the prison. The whole point of the drone gun is to have the explosions far away from where we’re gonna be. Can we not lure them somewhere else?”

“There’s only three high value targets they’re sure to defend - and we don’t want to blow up the prison. That leaves the data center or the nuclear power plant.”

I’m getting a headache. Being a stepmom is hard. “This plan is insane.”

“Thanks. It was Soca’s.”

“Was it?” I frown. “How are you hitting all these places?”

“I’m not. Volt is.”

“I thought we were using you as bait.”

“That was a metaphor.”

Pity. “Fine. What are we waiting for?”

“Soca. He’s late too.”

“Why?”

“I assume he lacks discipline.”

“No, why are we waiting on him?”

She doesn’t answer. Probably doesn’t know.

Another bug truck squeals in and barfs out my favorite monkey.

“S’up! Let’s do this!”

“Why are you here? This is a job for people with guns.”

“I have a gun.” He waves the slaughter gun.

“Nope.” I snatch it from him. Use its strap to sling it on my back. “I’m not having a guy who shoots with his eyes closed stand behind me with a gun that shoots sideways. Get to fuck.”

“Screw you. I’m coming anyway. Don’t trust you mother fuckers.”

“Father fuckers.”

“What?”

“Nothing. What will you even do if we betray you? You don’t have a gun.”

“I’ll look at you with sad monkey eyes.”

Dammit. Teenage girls are especially susceptible to sad monkeys. I’m starting to realize why we were waiting.

I briefly consider pistol whipping the pair of them, but I’m too tired. Not physically, but emotionally. Physically, I’m feeling pretty good. Sex and drugs, baby.

“Fine.” I give Volt a nod. “Let’s kick this off.”

Volt looks at Harkon. She nods.

The bug gives her a lazy salute. I shall die with dignity. Huzzah! The bug trucks peel out.

Unbelievable. “Wait. How are we getting to the prison?”

“Walk.”

“God dammit. We just had trucks.”

“They’re gonna be real unpopular in a minute. We wanna be on foot.”

We trudge through the city. Volt gives a play-by-play of the action. The top layer of the dream is the wireless internet that permeates the city. WiFi and 5G. Trashing half a million WiFi routers is not feasible. It’d be easier to knock out the power grid. Which is Layer 3. So, Volt starts with the 5G towers.

There’s 2,000 derpy looking 5G towers sprinkling the city. One on every street corner. Each of them defended by a squadron of skeeter drones - primed to puncture any Rider or bug-bot that fucks around. It’s pretty effective. Unless the bug-bots are driving a half ton.

A hundred trucks trash a hundred 5G towers every few seconds. The clanging is god awful. The Interlopers are slow to react. They’re designed to oppress small groups of nervous pedestrians. There’s probably a plan for coordinated vehicular rampages, but it must take a minute to spool up. Too slow. After 50 seconds, half the towers are down, and Volt’s on to phase two.

Beneath and around the wireless internet is the old school wired internet. A much hardier beast. Volt’s good at chewing wires, but there’s a lot, and they’re spread out like spaghetti, and we don’t have a lot of time. That said, most of it lacks batteries. So - unlike the wireless internet - it’s dependent on the power grid.

Now, Volt can’t chew power lines. Too zappy. But there’s a limited number of transformer stations - where high voltage power from the nuclear plant is stepped down to the low voltage that’s distributed to neighborhoods. These stations are typically fenced-in lots full of metal boxes. They’re not particularly susceptible to truck attacks, but they’re not unsusceptible either.

Volt’s got 30 trucks still running after the 5G collisions. 26 of them pile into high voltage transfer stations at highway speeds. The results are mixed, but a few stations are totalled, and a few catch fire. Maybe five or six percent of the city loses power. Coupled with half the cell towers down - and give or take a little battery life - that means about 50 thousand extra people will be up tomorrow.

“Is that enough to fuck everything up?”

Soca grins. “Maybe for rookies. We’re just getting started.”

I look to Harkon for her reaction, but her angry helmet gives nothing back.

At one point, Volt and I considered recruiting unstable criminals for allies. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

We crest a small berm, and behold our Waterloo. The prison is a massive fucking warehouse with a short office building on top. Probably started life as a fulfillment center. It's also where the police have been storing their drones. The data center is a small warehouse with a tall office building on top. They’re separated and surrounded by a huge parking lot that’s full of Interlopers. Thousands. With thousands more pouring out of the prison. Operation Rile Up has been a success.

“Some of them are looking at us. Is this part of your metaphor?”

“We’re good.” says Harkon. “They’ve got bigger problems.”

Those problems manifest as Volt’s last four trucks. They gun it towards the data center, plowing a path through the Interlopers. The bots respond by clustering in front of the trucks - blocking them with their bodies. An expensive, but ultimately effective ad-hoc defense. Halfway through the parking lot, the trucks get hung up on piles of crushed enemies.

Then the trucks disgorge four bloated cubist tumbleweeds of bug-bots, who easily roll over the busted Interloper blockade.

Hmm. Maybe their defense wasn’t effective.

We watch in awe as Volt’s chaos balls trundle towards the data center. They’re hard to stop, because they’re not exactly solid. It’s like a furball and an ooze had a baby who bites. Interlopers who tackle them pass right through. Those going for a grab just get a handful of bugs that skitter up their arms to eat their brain.

The Interlopers in Volt’s path quickly adopt a strategy of flailing wildly. Attempting to disperse her tumbleweeds with helicopter arms. Or maybe they’re panicking. Either way it’s working. Kinda. The balls trundle on but they’re chucking weight. As they shrink, they get slower. The flung bugs try to regroup, but they’re quickly stomped by fresh Interlopers rushing to the scene.

It’s shaping into a photo finish. Hard to say if Volt will get to the data center or not. But one thing’s for sure - the thousands of Interlopers are now tightly packed around the tumbleweeds.

We watch the conflict in silence, but Soca and I exchange shifty looks. According to the plan, this is when we fire explosives at the Interlopers. They’re not getting any closer together. But Volt’s got a chance of getting to the data center, and Soca would rather the explosions happen there. I’d rather the data center survives, but I’d also rather keep my explosives. For personal reasons. I don’t know what Harkon wants. Neither does Soca. That helmet has a darn good poker face.

This leads to a long awkward moment, until Harkon finally asks a question.

“Can you get your bugs clear of the killbox?”

Some of them.

“Impact in two seconds.”

Harkon fires eight hunters straight up. Volt’s tumbleweeds snap open, flinging a small hail of bugs towards the prison. The hunters arc back down. There is fire.

When the smoke clears, the parking lot is littered with smoldering robot anatomy. None of it moving.

“Well shit. I can’t believe that worked.”

Soca sighs. “It didn’t.”

He points to the prison. Thousands of interlopers are charging out and wheeling towards us. Then he points to the data center, which is also disgorging thousands of bots running at us. Then he points back at the city, where an absolutely massive mob of off kilter murder-bots are sprinting at our backs.

“Fuck.”

I fire wild, trusting Volt to aim. Eight hunters gone, then my other eight. Harkon fires her reserves as well. We chew up hordes of Interlopers, but not nearly enough. They hurdle the flaming corpses of their brethren to rush us. I toss Harkon another bunch of hunters. Reload myself. That’s the last of what I pilfered from her father. We fire them to devastating, but temporary, effect. It’s not enough. Not nearly enough. I look at Harkon.

She shrugs. “Total resistance doesn’t mean you win.”

Deep in my brain, something clicks.

“You fucking brat.”

The Interlopers charge us from all directions. Clouds of skeeter-drones swirl overhead. Soca tries to hide. Behind me. When that doesn’t work, he seeks safety in higher ground. By climbing me. Sensorily, that’s a lot going on, but my attention’s locked on Harkon. She’s not worried. I am, but not about the Interlopers. We both know what comes next.

The city’s skyline lights up. Not in a huge way, just little flickers flying from every tall building. Like the Fourth of July - the little thump and sparks you get two seconds before the explosions start.

I curl around Soca. Put my hands over his ears. Here comes Chekhov.

The detonations hit with a beat - a rapid precision rhythm. Like your finer death metal. It’s also very hot, concussive, and scary. More so than death metal. A thin slice of World War 3. What death metal wants to be when it grows up. It’s fucking horrifying. And painful. But musical.

It’s also brief. After a few bars, there’s a long rest. Soca and I slowly uncurl. Harkon is surveying her domain of death. The Interlopers are gone. Replaced by a field of orderly craters. Very geometric.

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“Holy shit.” says Soca. “Were we expecting that?”

“Nope. Dad said he’d never do that. Swore an oath.”

“Well, I’m glad he broke it.”

“I’m not.” I point at the skyline. “Look.”

It’s like the previous lightshow, but in reverse. Little flickers descending from the heavens. Peppering the top of every tall building. There’s also activity on the ground. Hundreds of huge trucks wheel through the city, disgorging crowds of Interlopers and clouds of skeeter-drones.

We watch our failure in silence. A wake. Witness.

Soca’s the first to question. “I don’t get it. If they have gun drones, why didn’t they shoot the trucks? Why didn’t they shoot us?”

I shake my head. “This was never about us. They don’t care about the prison. Or the election, or the dream. None of this matters to them. They were just fucking with us, hoping we’d fire Checkov’s Gun.”

Some of the Interloper transport trucks pull into the parking lot.

“What do we do now?”

“I dunno. We’re fucked.”

“Oh, so nothing’s changed.” Soca pops out of my arms and scampers towards the prison. “Imma get Henry.”

Fuck. I look to Harkon, but she’s no help. Surveying her domain of death. Goddammit. I run after Soca.

“Where’d he go?”

Henry’s on floor 3, tube 54.

“Does Soca know that?”

Yes, I told him.

“Of course you did.”

I puff my way to 3-54. Only take one break. Fuck me, monkeys are fast. He’s already got Henry’s tube cracked. Helping the old guy out. Pulling wires and hoses off him. He’s wearing the same helmet as Harkon. Doesn’t wake until it’s removed.

“GAHH!! Jesus! Oh, hey guys.” His eyes are taped open. He paws the tape off, and looks around blearily. “What’s up?”

“This is a jailbreak. We’re leaving.”

“Okay.” Henry staggers to his feet. He does not look good. Pale and frail. Kinda chipper, tho. Happy to see us. A little concerned by the hundreds of sleep pods around us. “Jesus. Nietzche really outdid himself.”

“This isn’t Nietzche.” Soca pauses. “Probably. It doesn’t matter. We gotta go.”

“Right.” Henry cranks the latch on the tube beside his. “I’ll start pulling these suckers out. You pull the truck around.”

“Uh…” Soca and I share a weird look. “We’re not… We’re just saving you. I mean, we were gonna save everybody, but we fucked it up. It’s just us running into the night now.”

“Shame. Can’t run. This guy probably can. Yank off his hoses. Maybe go easy on the catheter.”

“Goddammit, do you even know this guy?” Soca is irate, but also pulling off hoses. Now we have two naked guys who can’t run. Should have brought pants.

They bicker as they crack a third tube. I guess we’re not running. When did we stop doing that? I try on Henry’s helmet. Get blasted with thousands of images of traffic. A stroboscope of left hand turns. Weird, but I found all the people. If this video’s live, then there’s at least a dozen cities jammed full of commuters.

Soca’s looking at me when I take the helmet off. “Did you figure out how they’re piloting the Interlopers? It’s somewhat pertinent, because I don’t think we’re running.”

“Oh hey, that’s a good idea. I was just curious about my immediate future. But, no. I didn’t figure out shit. They’re just watching traffic videos.”

“It’s exhausting.” grumbles Henry. He’s unlatching another tube. “So many left turns. Take the bus, people.”

“The fuck?” asks Soca. “I thought these guys were piloting the Interlopers.”

“Not pilot - Harkon said it was subconscious human oversight. That’s why the pictures are moving so fast. Which lets them… Dang.” I look around the huge warehouse stuffed full of sleep tubes. “Each tube is overseeing thousands of d-bots. They’re driving millions of cars from this place. This is some kind of prison labor scheme. They’re arresting people on trumped up charges so the rest of the world can have self-driving cars.”

Soca frowns thoughtfully. “That sounds bad. Like we have more enemies than we thought.”

“Yeah, we’re fucked.”

“Then nothing’s changed.” Harkon slides in next to us. “If one tube oversees thousands of d-bots, then there’s only one guiding the interlopers.”

She looks to the bug-bots hopping over the tubes. “Have you searched the building?”

Yes.

“Where’s Victoria Cheeseman?”

Volt doesn’t answer. Which is gratifying, but annoying. Now I have to make a decision. Dammit.

Henry’s still decanting prisoners. Soca is helping. The transport trucks have unloaded, and Interlopers have secured the data center. Some are turning to the prison. Harkon is staring at me.

Fuck.

“Tell us.”

Top floor. Tube 9.

Harkon bolts off. Well shit. I tear after her, but much slower. So many stairs. Heart’s hammering. This body was meant for sex and drugs. Not sprinting. Fucking slaughter gun keeps banging into me. I grab it in both hands and chug up the stairs.

The top floor is different. Not like a warehouse stuffed with sleep tubes. More like a chapel, with a few heavy stone coffins. A mausoleum. Functionally the same as downstairs, but more intentional. Like people would be here on purpose.

The stone pods are seamless. Works of art. There’s no obvious way to open them. That has not stopped Harkon. She’s wailing on one with her metal batons. They were clearly designed to take a beating, but Harkon’s rage exists outside their tolerance. Chips fly, cracks spread, until the front half of the coffin gives up and crumbles away.

Inside is a little old woman in a nighty. No helmet, no hoses. She looks like Victoria Cheeseman, but where’s her visual interface? My tummy feels strange.

Harkon gives her a backhand. “Wake up.”

The old woman’s eyes flutter open. They’re big and beautiful. “Hello.”

“Turn off the Interlopers.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Her voice is mellow, and kind, and sends shivers through my whole body.

“The oppression-bots.” snaps Harkon. “The grabby fucking kidnappers. Turn them off. We know you’re Big Cheddar.”

The old woman blinks dreamily. “There is no Big Cheddar. Or there’s many. It’s just a role in a delusion.”

Her voice is driving me nuts. Harkon is also agitated. Looming closer, shaking with rage.

“Don’t give me that hippy bullshit. You wrecked two worlds. The Dream could have been perfect. We needed nothing. Had everything. But you made it hard for no reason. Why did we have to struggle? So you could be better than us? So you could have power? Or was it to give you power in this world? Leveraging our virtual labor to fuck us over for real!”

The old lady smiles into Harkon’s rage. “I think you’re mistaking me for a smarter villain. I didn’t make the Dream. I just made a space for it to exist. There was nothing in there, except what people took with them.”

That’s an interesting statement, but Harkon’s in no state to receive it. I’m not sure where her breaking point is, but we may have cruised past it. Probably when her manipulations exposed her father to gun-drones. He’s probably fine. A lean mix of rugged and paranoid. That’s survivor fuel. But that’s my cold ass assessment. Harkon’s a hot cauldron of fear, guilt, rage, and teenage hormones. Pretty sure she’s gonna kill this lady.

A nigh imperceptible flick of her wrist snaps out a baton. There’s a slightly louder click as I pop the safety on the slaughter gun.

“Slow down. Something’s not right.”

My old friend looks over and smiles. “Hi Xan. You look good.”

“Thanks. I did two push-ups last week. Wait…” Something about her voice and spacey philosophy clicks. “Pizza Girl? Aww dang. It’s the mirroring problem. A self generating group consensus. We couldn’t imagine a better world, so we didn’t get one.”

Pizza Girl nods. Harkon gives side-eye. “Is this relevant?”

“Unfortunately.” I walk to the window. Look out at the Interlopers surrounding us. The gun-drones sacking the city. “She really isn’t Big Cheddar. Here or in the other city.”

Harkon takes off her helmet. There’s a scared girl underneath. She grabs her face, folds down next to Pizza Girl’s coffin. “Dad was right. I’ve killed us all.”

I watch the Interlopers muster. The gun drones target the Chekhov's Gun, but the skeeters and off-kilter kidnappers converge on our position. They’re thick in the parking lot around the prison, lit by the ever-present flickers of the courier drone swarm.

“Meh.” I pop a few No Thoughts. “You dad don’t know everything. Hey Volt!”

Yes.

“Initiate the Flash War Protocol.”

Parameters?

“Total Resistance.”

The multi-colored chaos of the stratospheric drone swarm hiccups. Then patterns emerge - funnel clouds of light - lancing towards tall buildings, parking lots, gun-drones, and Interlopers.

“Kill’em all.”

Thousands of courier drones divebomb the Interlopers. It’s noisy. The lights are pretty. I like it. Doesn’t seem terribly effective.

Harkon frowns. “They’re not killing anything.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “I guess you can’t disable military equipment by gently smacking it with ultralight junk-drones. I was hoping if we used enough of them… but it doesn’t seem to… you know. Anyway, fuck it. Hey Volt! Can you slow them down at least?”

Sure. Probably. For a couple minutes. Maybe.

“Perfect. All we ever have is this moment. Okay, listen up. We don’t have time to make a new plan, so we’re gonna do the old one, but faster. How do we disable the Interlopers in the next two minutes?”

“The overseer may still be in this building.” says Harkon. “Can Volt chew the wires?”

No. Lost too many bugs. The skeeter-bots are giving me hell. Wait! I just figured something out!

“What?”

I know the difference between drones and birds!

“Great. We’ll circle back to that. Any other ideas?”

Pizza Girl shrugs. Harkon continues to frown.

“The only other way to quickly fuck this whole building involves explosives.” says Harkon. “And we don’t want to do that. Also, we’re out of explosives.”

I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly.

“Hey Volt. Did you take control of the d-bot running the nuke plant?”

Yes. Do you want to blow the city?

“Not yet. Which building uses the most power?”

This one.

“Yeah, well, other than this?”

The data center.

I look across the parking lot of doom at my architectural nemesis. It’s the only tall building in the city without an aerial battle above it. “Do you have any bug bots in there?”

I did. They’re all dead.

“Did you see any sleep tubes in there?”

No. But…

“Yes?”

I think there was a room on the top floor that I missed. Couldn’t find a door.

The parking lot is packed with Interlopers. They have stopped engaging with the courier swarm and are pouring into the prison. Our odds of getting to the data center are grim. Which is annoying because we were just over there. Also, so many stairs.

Fuck it.

I kiss Pizza Girl. “Hang tight. If I’m alive later tonight, we’ll have a threesome with Harkon’s dad.”

Pizza Girl nods. Harkon looks concerned. I snap the slaughter gun up and shoot the window. It gets a small hole and a spider web of cracks, but doesn’t give up until I throw my body through it.

“Trustfall!”

Volt swears in my cochlear and a mass of courier drones forms beneath me. I briefly dream of flying to the data center before I crash through it. And the mass under it. And the one below that.

Four or five collisions later, and I’m sprawled on a cushion of mangled junk drones. Not the smartest way to check my bone density, but I’m okay! And halfway to my goal. So efficient. If only I could fall sideways.

I’m surrounded by Interlopers battling courier drones. Fourth battle of the day. They’re not getting easier. Thank god I’m on drugs. Shit. They’re starting to notice me.

I shoot one with the slaughter gun. Not the one I was aiming for, but still a win. The other gets the butt end. Eat shit.

I blast or bash a few more, but it’s hopeless. Fucking zombie horde. Are their fingers made of Tazers? This is gonna suck. Or maybe not. Volt stops dive bombing, and pulls couriers down low. Their holographic blades nerf their obsolete ads and start showing images of me. Small mes, big mes, angry, running, scared, hiding, dancing mes. A thousand whirling mes, to baffle their hybrid threat detector.

The Interlopers pause, then freak out. Savage attacks to the closest version of me. Not great, but better. Volt’s broke their focus. Of the thousand would-be death-bots, only five or six attack the real me. Which is still too many, but definitely an improvement.

I evade, pummel, and punish to the best of my ability. Make some moves, but no progress. Data center is no closer. Frustrating. My lover would mow through this crowd. Should I text him? Is it too soon? I don’t wanna seem needy, but I have needs.

Volt’s holograms shudder and switch to images of Harkon. The Interlopers pause. Glitching or nervous? Should be nervous. Harkon sails past to crush my immediate adversaries. How? Did that bitch fall sideways? She leaps fifteen feet to boot another pair of Interlopers. So lateral. Kinda jealous. But she’s cleared a path so I shant complain.

“You’re a lot like your dad.”

“Stop talking about my dad.” The batons snap out. “Follow me.”

She’s a whirling cyclone of destruction. Unstoppable. I causally ride her wake. Pop the odd cap. This is alright. Ah, crap. Here come the skeeter-drones. Ow. Ow, ow, ow. Dammit. That’s a lot of sleeping poison. A numbness seeps in that’s not completely unwelcome. Their poisonous sneak attack has only made me stronger. Shit, here comes another wave.

The courier drones twitch towards the skeeters, but they’re too slow. I brace for an impact that never comes. A black cloud thrums past me, snatching the skeeters as they pass. Sucking them into a dark maelstrom of smoke and burning embers. A shadow detaches and lands on my shoulder. It’s a small crow.

“Uh, thanks?”

The crow flicks his cigarette at a skeeter. “Vive le Quebec libre.”

That means it’s on, bitches. There’s a bug-bot riding the crow, wielding a skeeter’s severed proboscis like a sword. Also, could we bitches move faster? I’m almost out of drones.

Harkon pauses. We’re almost at the Data Center, but the Interlopers are thick around the entrance and pack the lobby. Getting through there will be grim. And slow. Also, I’m getting sleepy. But there’s no other way, so we should get to it. Why has Harkon stopped? Oh god, is she thinking? That’s not good.

Her arm snaps and a baton rockets through a second story window. Her free arm grabs the collar of my armored trench coat. Crap. I’m dragged three explosive steps, then a double detonation blasts us over the door mob and through the window. Where we immediately crash into a second mob of Interlopers.

I’m thrown into one’s arms. We struggle. It tases me a few times, but my coat’s apparently insulated against shocks. It tries to pin me. I try to bring the slaughter gun to bear. We both succeed, which leaves me under a headless robot. I wriggle out, in time to see Harkon dispatch the last of the mob. There’s at least fifty busted Interlopers strewn about. A good team effort.

“We need to get upstairs.”

“Let’s take the elevator.”

Harkon lunges, scooping me onto her shoulder, and pounds through the building, launching up stairs. She kicks down doors and enemies with equal ease, getting us to the top floor in seconds.

“Where’s the secret room?”

Centre of the building. Straight ahead.

Straight ahead is a wall, which Harkon kicks her way through, because of course she does. We crash through the building until we don’t. Slamming into a concrete wall that refuses to concede.

“Ow.”

“Shit.” Harkon pops back up and kicks the wall with intent. It doesn’t budge. “Shit.”

I’m out of couriers. Interlopers are flooding the building. And climbing the walls. Gun drones inbound.

Harkon’s angry vee turns to me. “Where’s the door?”

I shrug. “If your secret apartment is on the top floor, you put the secret door in the elevator. That’s basic super villain shit.”

“Is the elevator adjacent to the secret room?”

Yes.

And we’re off! The elevator barfs a dozen Interlopers upon our arrival. More grist for the mill. More concerning is the hundreds trooping up the stairs. They’re also smashing in the windows. Not good.

Harkon scoots me into the elevator. “Open the door. Fast.”

Cool. I love pressure. The elevator has buttons, and keyholes, and mirrors, and an inspection notice. All the elevator shit. There’s probably a tricky way to use the buttons and the keyholes to open the secret door. But off-kilter murder-bots are force feeding themselves to the woodchipper that is my young companion. All well and good until the gun drones get here. Feeling pressed for time, I smash the mirrors. Mirror number two reveals a peephole, a keypad, and a thick steel door.

Hmm. I don’t know the code. Check the slaughter gun. Two bullets left. Do I shoot the keypad? It won’t work, but I have no other ideas.

A crow flies in, delivering a feisty bug-bot. Shoot the peephole.

Fair enough. I ream it out. Volt skitters through. Six skeeters hover on the other side. There’s only one button over there. Volt dives for it, but the skeeters mob her.

My girl’s incredible. Sword flashing like precision lightning. Really channeling Harkon. But there’s six of them. And they’re all much bigger and can fly. She gets shanked a foot from the button. That skeeter loses its head, but Volt’s stopped, and there’s two suckers left.

She grounds her sword. Torn and heaving, she utters. Do you concede?

The proboscis flash, and Volt’s gutted. Her innards drop in a quivering pile, empty husk falling back. It’s a grim end to our thunder run, until those guts unfold into smaller bug-bot. Volt’s last daughter ungrounds her progenitor's blade.

Then we shall begin.

Two quick thrusts carry the day. Volt whacks the door-open button, and Harkon pushes us through. Volt slams the door shut and it’s quiet. How disorientating. Been living explosions and detonations and rending metal. Forgot about quiet.

We’re in a small but opulent apartment. Chef’s kitchen. Luxury bathroom. Large screens flickering with subliminal information. No bedroom. Just a base model sleep tube.

I crack it. Inside is a skinny old man wearing a black helmet. Weird. Really thought he’d be awake.

There’s a thunderous, but muted, beat. Thousands of interlopers beating on concrete walls.

“This is him?”

“Yeah.”

“Do we… kill him?”

“Nah.” I reach behind his helmet. Yank a cord. The muted thunder stops. I reseal the tube. Job done, I guess.

I back away from the tube, but Harkon’s transfixed. Glitching from achieving her objective. Or possibly feeling a human emotion. Either way, she’s shut down.

I’m less affected. Second time I’ve conquered a city and seized control of a robot army. Though last time was ruined because I couldn’t find Harkon or Big Cheddar. But here they are. I could get both with one shot.

The next step is obvious. It makes me feel terrible, but I can’t help myself. The urge to complete my mission is too strong. I slip behind Harkon. There’s a sharp click.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s still one enemy left.”

Harkon’s helm flashes with a chaos of information.

“Dogs surround this city.”

“Yes…” Harkon sighs as the soporific effect of the overseer protocol drags her to the floor. Around the city, off-kilter Interlopers straighten. Their brows pull down to angry vees.

“Kill the dogs.”

The entire data center wobbles as a thousand interlopers leap off it, bolting towards the city limits.

Oh my god! Can I go too? I hate those fucking dogs!

“Sure, knock yourself out.” Volt skitters off. I slump on the floor next to Harkon. Totally wiped. Also, disgusted with myself. Can’t believe I gave the Interlopers to Harkon. My victory threesome better be banging.

May just lie here. Not doing another thunder run without better drugs. Should I find a bed? Oh yeah, this place doesn’t have one. Perhaps a quick nap on the floor?

There’s a god awful clanging from the secret door.

"DIE!! DIE!! DIE!!”

Jesus fucks. Totally forgot about that guy. I just wanna sleep. At least he can’t get through that steel door.

I listen to him freak for a minute.

Actually, fuck this guy. I stumble to my feet. Slaughter gun has one bullet left. Can I shoot a guy for yelling? Probably miss anyway. Need my shillelagh. Look around the secret apartment. Find a single spoon in the kitchen.

Good enough.

I buzz open the door, and a small, wizened, naked guy stumbles in. He has a large chipped knife. Shocked to see me.

“What the fuck, dude?”

He takes a poke at me, so I stab the spoon down on his forehead. It doesn’t break the skin, but he looks concussed. Raises both hands gingerly to cover his head. Lost his knife. Oh! It’s in my shoulder. Prick.

“Why are you after me?”

“Cause you… You just…”

“Shut up.” I pull the knife from my shoulder and beat him with the blunt end. “I don’t care. Do I kill you now or the next time I see you?”

“Well… I…”

The heavy knife handle raps his skull twice more. He stumbles back and I slam the door behind him.

I stand and listen for a minute. It’s quiet. Good. More tired than ever. Arm’s bleeding pretty good. Which is frustrating for a couple reasons. Funny. It’s my other arm that hurts.

I slump to the floor. A little flying saucer bobbles over. Ants fly. The saucer emits a bing, then fires a business card at me. Then another. Then another.

“Okay guys. It’s cool.”

Not sure what’s happening. But it’s just like going to sleep.