>> Percussive Maintenance

“It's over! Get down here! Everyone! Regroup on me! We're grabbin' that Carrier and we're gettin' the heck out!” I yell over comms as former slaves clutch their numbed ears and panic. Stunned and shaken by the sheer, numbing, sound. Maybe even the tail of the shockwave, which must've hit like a slap to the face.

Their GMOs are worst hit. Their eyes blank. Shaking. Sobbing. Some literally bleeding from their ears.

Lucky me, mine are bionic.

I give the scrapped, burning, truck a wide berth as I scurry back toward the main street. Job well done, but the heat is crazy and it stinks of.....

Plastic. Flesh. Char. Bone.

I try to ignore it. Knowing it was right. Knowing the damn monsters needed a culling. But It don't make it any easier.

What does make it easier are the huddling, screaming, very alive - very pacified - former slaves. Who look upon me with the horrified whites of their eyes as I stab my tool into the chips of their collar like a sewing machine.

Breaking one after the other, and ripping it off for salvage as I go.

Hope they’re alright, but damn if I don't got time for medical nonsense. Just gotta hope they didn’t catch too much of the shockwave. That's the fun part of the bomb, medically speaking. Compared to that, shrapnel's only a polite second.

But, either way, internal bleeding ain’t a joke.

I make it back to the sedan, and fumble out my second distraction. Some poor rat kid coughing and grabbing at my leg - making me jump. I disarm him with a fast swat, and do terrible things to his collar's electronics.

Ripping it off his neck, and slapping it to my armour like a massive - dangerous - bandaid. That done, I whip down the street to the junction. Drones are still active, on pure internal AI, acting out their last objectives. That leaves most of em stuck in a search-pattern I easily avoid. Slipping under trucks, and fallen walls.

Street is an absolute mess. Our mum would be horrified.

A few tanks still about, roving the ruins, but most show clear signs of Demonic destruction. Claw marks. Dents. Savage rents in the sides. I shiver at one, banging itself into a wall - over and over. It ain’t a bother to anyone. Not anymore.

“Guys? Ya read me? Gonna need ya help don' here.”

“Cool, yeah, leave me out.” Zip jokes. Spinning a cheerful jet past me, on wings torn ragged by crossfire.

“We’re down a lotta kit, and they're all outta the fight.” I carry on, veering back into the ruined street. Dodging tanks and startled slaves on my way to the Carrier. "Which means." I grin. "It's time for everybody's favourite warcrime."

"Oh cool, mate! Warcrimes yeah!"

Kami sighs. "Which one is it this time?"

"I told ya! We're gonna nick their bloody stuff!" I chuckle, ripping the neck-wear off a little girl-rat and her brother - who goggle at me silently, holding each-other. Like I just saved their lives, or something. "If ya can grab collars, great. But the real prize is their damn army. Or what’s left o’ it.”

“Ooops. Sorry mate.” Zip smirks as his avatar reappears in a flash of smug cubes. Flying, sideways, to keep pace.

“Yah will be.” I grin back. “That’s your new bloody drones you've been wreckin’.”

His avatar blinks. Then jumps. “WHAT. Oh. Oh crap, like, I didn’t even think-”

“There’s still a whole bunch around.”

“Yeah, but…. Damn......” He kicks a mournful, virtual, foot through a scorched tank. “I could’ve had, like, an army. Y'know?”

“Nah. You had to defend us. It was kill drones, or get crap all.” I snort back, swiping the avatar. “Anyways, Kami helped. So feel free to blame her.”

“HEY!”

“Oh! Mate! That’s a great idea! It’s all her fault!”

“OI! I CAN HEAR YOU!”

“Like, I’m gonna give her so much shit for wrecking all my drones! She’s gonna totes owe me!”

“ROT IN HELL, FU-”

“KAMI!”

“-STAIN!”

“Kami! Badger n’ Tuft are on the line!”

“WOO! YEAH! I LEARNT A REAL BAD WORD!!!” Bomber kid cheers through scrambling static. “I’m gonna use it FOREVER!”

“Ok, yeah, like - now it’s totally Kami’s fault.” Zip snickers.

“RRRRRGGGGGGH!” She screeches through her teeth. But I’m barely listening - too busy bolting back to that baby GMO I shanghaied.

But he’s gone.

I grab the sawn-through plasti-tie off the ground, and swear under my breath. GMO claws and plastic cuffs are a bad combo. Heck, even metal ones sometimes. You've really gotta bind up their fingers - but good luck doing that under fire. I take a good sniff. “Hmmm. Ratty-licious….” I sniff again, then go to all fours. Tracing a crawling path under narrow cars until I catch a trace of grazed leg. Hoisting out a scrawny verminKin.

Who, of course, squeaks.

“Hey. Easy. Gimmie that.” I rip the shaking pistol off him a second time - followed by the ruined, velcro-tied, collar. Slapping both on my armour. He boggles at me, wildly. Gripping his neck. “Yep. You're a free mousie. Now. Go scurry off n' tell ya friends the collars are junk. Got me? Start with that Carrier. I want all of em off. Got me?"

He just boggles at me in terror.

"Then all of you get lost. Fast as you can.” He gives me a shifty, nervous, look. And I sigh. “Please? I ain’t lying. Look. Here.”

I drop the kid, and he scurries to the end of the row. Shooting me an incredulous look.

I toss his crappy gun after him, and he jumps. Staring at me.

“It’s bloody dangerous out here. Go on. Take it.”

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

He blinks. Suspiciously. Itches a ratty ear with a claw. Tilts his all-too-human face. Then snatches it up in his jaw, and bolts off on all fours - with a hop and a damn skip. I skulk right after, peeping over a car as the kid chirps in nervous excitement at the bigger rats.

Who promptly laugh in his face.

“That's total catshit, Nee-nee. Get back in position.” The biggest snarls, causing me to face-paw. "We gotta-"

“Hold on.” Says the one human.

“No. It’s a damn trick. Take the collars off, we die.”

“Then where’s his collar? Why ain't ours triggering?”

“Shit if I know. Illusion? Jammers?” They poke the kid’s neck. “Okay. Not an illusion. So. Little brat kids disarmed one. Probably did it to trick the rest of us. Make us kill ourselves. Not gonna work.”

“Yeah. Gotta nab those damn kids. Squeeze the trick outta em.” Another agrees. "Maybe we can-" He stops himself, and shivers. "-get a reward. Yeah."

"Yeah." Another says, slowly, eyes titling between the collars. "Reward."

“Wait.” A teen rat puts in. “What if it ain’t catshit?”

“I saw cat ears on the green one.” Another snarks. “There’s catshit about, aright.”

“Yeah but-”

"No. And that's final. You hear-"

RIIIP.

They all jump as the teen tears his collar off, hurling it away - fast as he can. “SHIT! You-” They all go quiet, eyes opening. Laughter brewing. “Ho. It’s…. It's real..... We're..... we're really......”

Slowly, the others reach up - tearing off their collars. “Damn….. We’re….. We’re bloody free….. We’re-” A softnose bullet slams into his gut. Then another. Every drone snapping to face the group - as if suddenly seeing them, for the very first time.

One of them fires, and the big ratman doubles over. Choking, and winded, as the rat-kids scream and panic.

As one, they discard their collars and bolt for it on all fours. Pursued by air and ground forces galore.

Some of which have real bullets, now.

“It seems the collars act as an ID system.” Polybius notes in that same, dreary, electric monotone.

“Hah. Yeah. Well spotted.” I grumble, patting fretfully at the ‘rescued’ collars still strewn about my person. Just checking they're still dead, with the chips smashed.

For safety, you understand.

“That will not work." Polybius says, voicing my secret thoughts. "You will need to wear a whole one.... Around your neck.”

“No.” I snarl. “No way. Not again. What if they reactivate?”

“You know how to disable it. You can remove the explosives.”

“Piss off! No!” I crick my neck, rubbing it. “I got armour. They got softnose bullshit bullets. I’ll be bloody fine.”

“A hail of Softnose bullets can break armour, bones, and organs.”

I round on the machine-mind’s avatar. “Shut it. You emotionless…. bloody…. robot. Do you even….” I grip my face, and shudder. The machine silent. As if letting me have my moment. “Sorry. Sorry. I know….. It’s just….” I swallow. “The School never…... it could never bind you. Not like that. You could get out. Abandon your.....”

“I would have lost everything.”

I stare at it. “No. Not even close to…..”

"I would have lost my only friends."

A blink.... a hesitation.... then I shake off the moment. “I’m goin’ in. So ya better hack this damn thing, fast as ya can.”

“Understood.”

I crack my knuckles, my neck, and aim myself into a low crouch. Tail whisking. "Alright. And-" I blur and bound across the junk on all fours. Directly towards the Carrier - which hums and clicks gently, above us. Turrets shifting on its sides.

Even now, it demonstrates the sheer power of air supremacy - drones flowing in and out of its open sides, on full automatic. Reloading. Repairing. Adapting with slotted modules.

Yet - even now, in full fight - it could pass for a regular package drone system. Armour, guns, and all.

Guns. Oh shit.

I freeze, then dive aside as it spins bulky dome-turrets toward me. Blasting out high-calibre geltips that hammer the car behind me. Chasing me back into cover, yelling "CRAP! CRAP! CRAP!" all the way. "Zipper! You are gonna BLOODY owe me!"

Jeepers. Maybe Pol had a point. Worse - the bastard thing has control of the tanks, and here they bloody well come. “Spook!" Kami leaps on comms. "Shit. I can snipe, but I’m really low.”

“How many?”

“Four explosive. Ten plain. One guided plain. One guided explosive. No specials.”

“Right! Hit their rear! Make em count!” I spin to my virtual audience. “Zip! Distract em if ya can! Demon! Do ya thing! Last push, an’ we take their entire damn airforce! Maybe their ground, too! Badger! Stay hiding! Tufty! We’ll come get ya!”

“It will be done.” Demon snarls across the battlefield. And for the first time, I see him.

Bloodied. Scratched. SMG roaring. Visor cracked. His armour cracked, and torn. Sparks igniting in the joints as he leaps, deep, into the fray. Like some broken hero of old, facing down the impossible.

He lands directly in the massed tanks. Horns smashing through the back of a bot. SMG locked to his armour as golden claws fly free - cracking the thinner shell of a sentry bot. His other hand working to rip the damn thing in half. Roaring like a monster unleashed, all the way.

Another spins to gun him down, but he blurs. Catching the barrel one-handed. Foot slams on the shell, and he tears the damn thing clear off. Spinning to smash it into another. Rocket-rounds flashing off his heavy-grade [Berserker] armour.

With everything suddenly on on him, I make a mad - four-legged - dash for the Carrier. Heart rattling my ribs. Bullets screaming overhead. Tanks turning to pound shots across my flanks. Annihilated, even as they move. Heavy CRACKS marking the last of Kami’s regular ammo, as she knocks out the reinforcements. Turrets on the Carrier swinging to face me.

Blasting swarms of tiny rockets that hammer off the shell of my armour.

I dive behind it - right into the massive blindspot that is its gigantic ass. Fumbling the maintenance hatch as another tank comes speeding around. Only, this time, it ain't a dead Carrier - and the hatch fights back. Resisting my tools with tiny prongs, and shifting innards.

Shit. No way they built this damn thing…..

“Spook. I am attempting to breach the system wirelessly, but-”

“I know! I know!” I snap, spinning to blast that tank with multiple quad-shots. Which it shakes right the Hell off. “This ain’t as easy as- SHIT!” I need cover! But there is none! The whole rear of the Carrier is exposed!

Barging down the right side of it would work, if the damn thing weren’t bloody shooting at me too! And, holy shit, there’s a second tank roaring outta the rubble. And the heavy rubberised bullets from those things could pulp a skull.

I spin my back to the Carrier. Flat, in desperation. Flipping the last two Wheeler bombs into my hand, and-

A massive anti-materials [Sniper]-rife BOOMS across the street, and a real bullet smashes the micro-tank. Hammering a hole through one side, pulping the innards, then rocketing out the back. Swerving, hard and fast, into the second tank. Then out the back of that too. Burning a wide track of smoke and flame as it curves a massive loop around the street.

Ending its journey in the innards of a third.

“Thanks...... Kami.” I groan.

“OOH! YOU MEAN ‘TANKS’ KAMI!” Badger cheers, earning himself a swift mute.

“Hey, like, I helped too. I was spotting.” Zip adds as I attack the panel again.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re all real special.” I growl at the machine, stabbing a third tool into the works, and levering hard. “Shit. Could ya at least help-?” I yelp as a beat-up fighter drone drops to damn-near eye-level. Floating on atop the steady roar of ionic plasma jets.

“Oh. Like. One of these.” It rolls LED eyes.

And then it streaks off.

“Hey- What-” I stutter as its tiny blue trail curves a streak of hot light, ringing the street. “Zipper. What are yo….” It curves a trail, suspiciously close to Kami's. “Zipper?” The afterburners ignite. “Uh, Zipper....?" It tilts toward me, trumpeting battle-music. "ZIPPER! YOU LITTLE-” I dive aside as the drone impacts the panel at Holy Shit Speeds. Shattering in a spray of parts. I stare at it. Flabbergasted. He never-

“Hey, mate.” Zip’s avatar appears. Grinning smugly. “I hacked the panel.”

“You..... little.... shit.” I breathe. “I thought- I thought ya never- If ya ever- I’m gonna-”

“Hey! Hey! Come on! Like, it worked? Right? Now, quick, like-”

“We. Are. Gonna. Have. Words.” I growl. Wrenching myself up, and fumbling out the cable.

“Yeah, maybe.” He mutters. As if suddenly distracted. “Hey. Uh…. Like you might wanna hurry though.”

“I know.”

"Noooo. Noooo you don't....." Zip stutters. "Mate. Like, there's another command van. And, y'know.... they're getting out."

"What? What're gettin' out?" My hand hovers the cable-jack, right by my implant.

“Mercs! Real ones!! Like, adults! Armour! Guns! Real hardcore! It's Wayman! It's, like, their other team!”

“WHAT?” I pause - cable in hand. “WHAT!? I thought they were bloody-”

“SPOOK! SHIT! LIKE, QUICK!" He screams, his hands a frantic blur. "LIKE, YOU CAN STILL DO IT! THEY'RE STILL TOOLING UP! JUST GET THE CARRIER! I CAN USE IT! LIKE, FIGHT THEM OFF-”

“NO! We gotta go! If-”

“Mate! Kami's still engaged! And, like, we need this! Trust me! Don't waste this! Just be quick! We can, like, hold them off! Just-”

“Fine!” I shove the cable into the slot. “But you better-” My entire world turns inside out as I’m folded up into a point of light, and sucked down a hole. Into a universe of numbers, icons, and crystalline data.....

And I know, instantly, that we made the wrong bloody choice.....

That we should have run.

> > >< < <