Match 27
#21 Nimia “The Rising Star” Altamirano
Vs.
#20 Charles Crosswhite
Inventory
Darling - A mystical saber imbued with the powers of fire and ice; Fire LV 3, Ice LV 1, ? LV 0
Death & Debt - Two .44 Semi-Automatic Magnums, formerly named Sonya & Cleon; imbued with fiery bullets.
Lucky - A .357 Seven-Chambered Magnum Revolver with a ♣ symbol printed on the handle; [Passive Effect: Luck+; Active Effect: Bullets are more likely to hit targets, even by ricocheting]
Wealthy - A .357 Seven-Chambered Magnum Revolver with a ♦ symbol printed on the handle; [Active Effect: Infinite Ammo]
Nimia’s phone - For contacting people.
Soup bowl - A bowl for soup
The Crossroad was the largest manufacturing plant on the planet Earth, though to call it a plant was to undersell the sheer size and breadth of its operations. To call it a factory, too, was to deeply misunderstand the truly massive size of the world’s largest manufacturing city.
Transport trucks drove every day to the Crossroad, clogging roads in massive lines leading into the terminals that take up the outer edge of the city. These places bustle with life and chatter because the drivers may have schedules to keep but they are not fully integrated into the Crossroad system. They are still human, and any traveler could still hear laughter and chatter and rumors being spread within the terminals, though few travelers come to Crossroad. Only drivers and prospects, and the prospects do not mingle with the drivers at the lowest points.
Prospects are flown in by helicopter, through a sky filled with delivery drones. These lucky many come with bright dreams and promises in their ears, of wealth and success coveted and guaranteed to the pads that dot the upper reaches of the city, where they see the facilities in their chrome glory, bright and pristine in the day and night, forever shining in the light. Here they’ll stay for however long, with contracts signed and promises made not to contact the outside world, to prevent corporate espionage.
A look over the side will show the sprawling grounds of the Crossroad, consisting of tracks with trains traveling from the terminals at the edges, bringing materials in and goods out. Up here, a new prospect could see the shell that formed the exterior of the city. Crossroad is a city of layers, with a surface akin to a massive bowl, spreading out in a circle from the central cylinders surrounding the primary structure.
Factories dot every part of the surface, chugging along with production as materials are sent up through elevators and products are shipped back out. Factories for toys, plants for plastics, factories for cups, plants for foams–production is the lifeblood of Crossroad, all centered at the square building marked with the Cross Corp™ Logo. It raises skyward, then comes together to a spire point, rising even higher, to the chief executive officer’s office. Like a needle stabbing up into an observation deck, with only one more elevator as the way up. At the top of the needle stands a white cross, marking ownership.
The common prospect travels from the helipad into wonderful accommodations, taken on a tour through the facilities and into all the expectations they could expect to enjoy, all spoken by a smiling worker with a blinking LED on their temple, wearing their finest suit as they explain the expectations, the accommodations, the renovations, the preparations and the procedures. The prospect is here for a job, and they need to know all of this, to one degree or another.
Aptitude tests have been taken, but are reinforced here, explained and explored and once the prospect is ready, the floor drops out from under them and they find out where they’re meant to go, dropped down to break and be rebuilt, filled with metal until they work and operate as needed, or otherwise fulfill different roles. Nutrients are needed, plants need good soil, so on, so forth.
This is, of course, all for the common prospect looking to join the company. Purchased slaves are brought in packs, in shuttles, kept lower down, and slotted into their places without fuss. The shortage from Paradiso’s fall is causing some problems on that front though, so human capital must be acquired by other means, and utilized properly.
Transparent pipes of human gore pump overhead through the halls, along with many other fluids in the giant organism that is the world’s greatest factory city. No shit needed though, the people are upgraded until they don’t need to produce waste or even consume matter. They are workers, not customers; nothing they do should be a detriment to the company, which is why the upgrades put them in debt, and why they need to work until they break and can be repurposed once more.
“Why do they need to be smiling?” Nimia muttered, staring through the window of one hallway, to a factory floor where humans did the work of machines. She didn’t stop, still walking. She was a woman on a mission, with the memory of a sent message, an arrogant instruction to continue on her path and reach the Crossroad, where she’d find her wayward soul resting in the luxurious heights.
“Probably a positivity thing?” Mills shrugged as he walked alongside her, adjusting the blue tie he wore, matching his suit. “It’s why some psychoes get freaked out at the idea of retail workers sitting down. You need to be standing at attention to serve their whims, and you need to do it with a smile so they don’t feel bad about it.”
“Did you ever work retail?”
“Yup. Probably why I don’t have empathy for human beings anymore.” He paused. “No, wait, I never had that, that’s just the sociopathy.”
“Funny.”
His gray eyes flicked towards her. “You worried about Lizzy?”
“A bit. She’s...not exactly average, but…”
“Not a full on monster like us.”
“Yeah. Don’t think she’s even figured out her acid powers yet.”
“Still on that, huh?”
“I’m willing to put money on her having acid powers. That or a dumber bet.”
“A dumber bet, huh? Okay, call it...fifty grand, and loser has to dress up how the winner wants for the next mission.”
“And what if I don’t bring you on the next mission? I’m only bringing you on this one because I’m pretty sure Wendell and Shelly don’t want me to destroy the world’s economy or some shit like that. That and Lou still needs guarding. And also I don’t want my boat stolen a second time.”
“Not losing our home base does sound like a good thing to focus on. Besides, I doubt killing Crosswhite would cause a complete crash on its own. The man might be big asshole in charge here, but acting like he’s a cornerstone of the planet is just stupid.” He tilted his head, thinking. “Though if we wind up causing too much chaos here, we might wind up smashing a big chunk of the production pipeline, and there are all those subsidiaries...Eh, fuck it, the world deserves a kick in the ass, remind them not to monopolize.”
“Pff, I’m not blowing up this whole place...probably.” Nimia glanced down at the grinning workers again. “...If there’s a central server though, somewhere these people are being controlled from, I might make some adjustments.”
Milgram chuckled. “The great savior of the working class here. And if you don’t bring me along on the next mission, I’ll just stick to whatever you pick out until you do. Sound good?”
“Yeah, sounds good. If you pick underwear or nothing though, I reserve the right to kick you in your metal balls, got it?”
“Do I get the same allowance if you do the same?"
“Nope! Employer’s pettiness trumps fairness for the employee, as evidenced by the festering hellhole we’re walking through.”
Milgram laughed aloud. The cameras watching them focused in on his grinning face. “I got it, boss. But don’t blame me if I double down now, you hear?”
“Oh I won’t blame you.” She smirked back, before turning her gaze on the blinking red lights. “I’ll just kick harder.”
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“I could kill them at any time,” Charles Crosswhite noted as he relaxed, idly watching the 21st and the rat along with her as they traveled up through his headquarters.
“You could, sir,” Aetheria answered, her head bowed in proper supplication, her hands folded over her skirt. Regolith stood with her, a pair of perfect maids in turquoise and brown.
Charles rubbed his freshly-shaven chin with a fair-skinned hand, studying the 21st as she traveled through his halls, unmolested as instructed. At any time, he could simply gesture and the walls would open with carving lasers and crackling tasers, any and all weapons he could possibly want to deal with those who might try to disrupt his business. “No no no, that’s not fun. I said could, you did hear that, right? I could kill them, not that I will kill them. That’s what you’re for.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you for offering us this opportunity for a rematch.”
“Yes yes yes, I am quite magnanimous. Just remember, your performance now reflects on Cross Corp as a whole, and a miserable failure would damage our brand.”
“We understand, sir. How shall we proceed?”
Charles adjusted his white jacket with a smirk, fixing his cross cufflinks. “Isn’t it obvious? We play the game.”
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Nothing blocked their way up. No employees, no security. There wasn’t even any evidence of the latter.
Honestly, that, more than anything, was what was putting Nimia off. She could see the cameras, but the actual defenses weren’t visible, and she knew there had to be something. No one was stupid enoug to think they could survive the world without something keeping them safe.
The elevator up showed more of the Crossroad. It stretched out far; it was a genuine city, or at least a factory very good at disguising itself as one.
“Like a bug mimicking a leaf.”
Milgram glanced at her. “Weird non-sequitur there, boss. I’m guessing you mean the Crossroad?”
“Yeah. I’m trying to think of something to compare it to. Something this big, trying to pretend it’s something it’s not. I don’t think anyone really lives in this city. They just work.”
“Hm...anthill, hive...either of those work?”
“Nope. None of that sounds exactly right. I don’t think there’s anything natural to compare it to.”
“Of course there isn’t,” came a new voice, echoing through the elevator as it arrived at its destination and opened up, “This glorious place is purely the work of mankind. Manmade, by man’s hand! What Babel was meant to be, if God wasn’t a coward.”
The doors opened to a green field of perfectly cut grass, not a single blade out of place. Clear blue ponds sat even and undisturbed, empty of unnecessary life. Pits of sand sat as intentional hazards, traps in the game. And on the green stood a white man in a navy polo shirt embroidered with his initials, his clean-shaved head covered by a flat cap. He adjusted his grip on the club in his gloved hands, adjusted his stance in clean, white pants, and swung, sending the single golf ball flying across the course to land close to the flagpole in the distance. The ball rolled, landing in its hole as the man turned and smiled, showing perfect white teeth.
“Welcome to the Eden above the Crossroads, number twenty-one. You may have already guessed, but I am Charles Crosswhite, the esteemed chief executive officer, chief shareholder, and primary owner of Cross Corp!” announced the pompous dick, gesturing broadly with his golf club and nearly whacking his caddy with it.
The caddy looked more interesting. Unlike the man she was attending to, or the workers down below, there was nothing organic to her; the upper half of her face was made of purple metal plates, adjusted and placed to look like the features of a human woman, while the sides of her head and her lower jaw were all orange metal, creating an odd contrast that was furthered by the purple metal of her neck. It was a pattern that repeated across her body, with her elbows, knees, and the backs of her hands being orange too, while the rest of her “skin” was all purple.
She dressed like a proper golfer though, with a flat cap and polo shirt like her boss, though her cap and shirt were both black, contrasting her gray, checkered skirt. Not exactly practical for a fight, but Nimia wasn’t about to judge.
Even if the gynoid was giving her a truly impressive death glare.
“Yeah, I had a feeling. What’s up with the golf course?” Nimia glanced over the rolling field, the beautiful green grass and natural landscape locked at the top of a tower no one else could access. “You didn’t have anything better to put up here?”
“A man needs his leisure time, my dear! As our ancestor’s said, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”
“I met a Jack once. She definitely wasn’t a dull girl, I’ll give her that, though you seem pretty boring, Chuck. I don’t think all the playing is helping you out.”
“Also, how’s that your motto when you have thousands of people working day and night down there?” Milgram asked. He seemed unfazed by everything around him, his eyes mostly on the gynoid at Crosswhite’s side.
“Don’t try to speak to your betters, rat,” Charles stated with a calm, almost bored tone, “And you needn’t worry, my dear. I’m still quite the interesting man. Leisure hasn’t dulled my senses in the slightest.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it. This gonna be our arena?”
“Oh my no, of course not. It’s going to be the rat’s.”
Milgram paused. “...Mine?”
“Mortar, this rat will be your first round. If you kill him, you’ll get to face Altamirano.”
The gynoid, Mortar, nodded, setting down the bag of golf clubs and inclining her head before she walked to a more empty stretch of grass.
“...I’m fighting your caddy?” No reply.
Nimia huffed. “You want my guy to fight your lady, huh?”
“Precisely! You decided to bring the rat along, so it’s only natural that I decide to clear the field first. It’s either that or I just have him killed here and now. Would you prefer that?”
“Is Greenie here?”
His smile twitched towards a frown. “Yes, your pet is my guest here. Now are you going to accept the match?”
Nimia glanced at Garret. “What do you think, Mills? Do you want a match to yourself?”
“You did bring me along for a reason, boss.” Milgram smirked. “Besides, I feel like I haven’t gotten to show off yet.”
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His gray cybernetic armor settled over him as Garret stepped onto the “field of battle”.
“Never thought I’d be having my first big fight under Altamirano on a golf course,” he said as he settled across from his opponent. The gynoid showed no real sign of acknowledging him. If anything, she looked bored. “How about you? What’s it feel like being a cute caddybot and having to battle to the death?”
“Fuck off shitlips.”
“...HA! Okay, you, I like.”
There wasn’t anything else to be said after that. A human man in full armor faced off against a robotic woman in a skirt. Still, it was hard to know when to start a fight. No one wanted to be the idiot who dove in and got punched in the face.
“Would you get on with it already?” Crosswhite called from a nearby hill, earning sighs from Garret and Altamirano.
“Eesh, what a jackass. You sure you wanna work–” Garret bent back, watching as Mortar soared over his head, her legs extended and flaming as jets fired from her back. “Huh, spats. I can dig it.”
When he straightened and turned, her fist–on fire at the moment–was inches from his nose, but his was slamming into her stomach before she could hit him, though then her arm was locked around his wrist and he had to headbutt her to force her back in a crash of metal on metal. “You’re a real bad match-up for me though. Couldn’t you pick something easier? Electricity goes–”
He bent again and slammed his foot into her chin, noting the blast of buckshot extending from her non-flaming knuckles. “–straight through me, way easier to deal with.”
As it was, his suit had heat warnings popping up in the visor already. Not fantastic, even as he rolled back and popped up, watching her shove her jaw back into place before she snarled and extended– “Oh that’s a gatling gun.”
Apparently his fiery foe had some firearms in her fiery arm–which did explain the shotgun knuckles–and the fight’s tempo took on a different tone as he suddenly faced down a lady with two gatling gun arms opening fire on him. And while Garret was quite happy to be a freak of nature, he was also not nearly as strong a freak as his new boss, and dodging bullets was pretty far out of the realm of possibility for him. Bullets were fast and many of them being fired at once was much harder to deal with.
However, he was also armored and a metal man, so instead of being instantly reduced to a bunch of shredded meat chunks, he at least managed to rush in close, pin the gal’s arms to her sides–she did try to kick him in the balls, but his were steel so ha–and twist to slam her to the ground as she burst up with flames hot enough to crack the glass of his helmet–and switched her arms back to normal as she did, interesting..
He jerked back, shifted his arm into a blade, and swung for her throat when she opened her mouth and opened up with a massive plume of fire. Something he definitely had to dodge–cons of having a metal body included a whole lot of vulnerability to extreme temperatures, fire being especially shit because his steel skin actually softened–and that let her kick him straight in the chest with feet full of bullets.
So his chest plate was pretty fucked as he rolled to his feet, patting down the smoking dents. “I’m usually not a huge fan of armor. Metal that isn’t me tends to get stuck when I shift it.” He waved his blade arm for emphasis and she tried to shoot him in the head again, so he shifted into a full on shield. “Case in point. But it is keeping me safe, so I’ll give it a pass.”
That metal had to come from somewhere though, and he could feel the rest of the suit thinning as he reinforced the shield, up until the firing cut off. A peek showed trails of smoke and he twisted to where she probably was to see a flaming leg sheer straight through the top half of his makeshift shield before a burning foot nearly took out his eyes. Nearly, because he’d shoved forward instead of flinching back, slamming his shield into her leg and knocking Mortar off balance.
She righted herself quickly, twisting onto her hands and jumping to her feet in time to catch the bottom of the shield in her mouth, thrown hard enough to lodge there when a second, sharper blade speared straight into her throat. Not a lethal wound, not for her, but dangerous because it nearly severed her brains connection to the rest of the body–Then she registered the rat’s fully metal head, his hair sticking out as needles and razor blades and a small, triumphant smile on his steel lips, before his hand shoved straight against the shield in her mouth and shoved.
Her eyes narrowed in irritated contempt as he loomed over her again, still smirking as she lost the ability to feel anything below her upper jaw. The sensation wasn’t completely familiar, but she felt some sympathy for her sister now. Being decapitated was irritating.
Milgram straightened, looking over to his grinning boss and the sour prick at her side. “So, how was that–”
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Then the ground opened up under him.
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“...”
“Hmph. It appears I lost the first round. Well, it’s always best of three, isn’t it, my dear?” the dead fuck at her side said as though he didn’t just send Mills and Mortar plummeting straight out of his shitty sky tower.
It didn’t feel real. One second, Mills was celebrating his victory. The next, the floor was open and he was gone, out into the open sky.
And Nimia could’ve stopped it. Maybe.
If she’d cut Crosswhite’s head off first. If she’d shot the caddy. If she’d tried to grab him before he fell.
What did it say about her that she didn’t even move?
“Come on now. I still have your pet hostage, so don’t think of doing anything rash.” The dead fuck had the smuggest smirk. “You brought your rat here unprompted and unwanted. Why in the world would I accept that?”
“And your girl? What about her?”
“The body can be retrieved easily enough. Nothing goes to waste in my Eden.”
Nimia took a slow, agitated breath, settling her building rage into something...less immediate. Boiling, not burning. “Fine. Fine. Where the fuck is Greenie.”
“Right this way.”
There was a doorway on the golf course. A full, fancy wooden office door, carved and engraved and fancy as gilded shit. Crosswhite strode toward it, and Nimia followed, glaring murder at his back.
A step through took her into an office. A barebones one, but big. Some huge, opaque tubes were on either wall–about ten total, big enough to fit an average person with room to spare–the floor was tiled in white and gray, and a fancy chair sat on the other side. Like an office chair mixed with a big, leather luxury seat.
Two more gynoids stood on either side of it, both in maid dresses, which was something. Crosswhite had some kind of fetish, probably. They looked like the caddy, though one was turquoise and the other was brown, and their dresses matched their looks, aside from the white ruffles, white gloves, and white stockings, shown off by the short skirts.
As Crosswhite strolled across his office, panels in the floor opened up and robotic arms extended out, whirring as they got to work and stripped the CEO as he walked.
Nimia raised an eyebrow as the 20th strolled naked across the floor, noting the number 20 on his ass, before more arms extended with fabric in their claws and he was dressed up again. By the time he sat in the seat at the other end, putting one leg up on top of the other, he was in a full white tuxedo, and that cocky smirk was on his face again.
“Now–”
“Where the fuck is Greenie?” Nimia repeated. There was a tension in her, roiling.
Crosswhite frowned outright, then sighed and flicked a hand. A panel along the wall, in between the big tubes, opened up, and in strolled two pretty annoyed looking women. One was also in a maid dress, though hers was a less personalized shade of black, and her hands were fully cuffed together in restraints big enough to cover both. Even still, she perked up when she noticed Nimia, a smile quickly coming to her lips.
“Hey boss! How’s it going?”
And Nimia smiled back, a bit of relief cutting through that burning rage. “Yo Greenie. It’ll be better when we’re out of here.”
“Hell yeah it will! This place seriously sucks, the guy running it is a creep and I have this big kitty cat following me everywhere.” She inclined her head towards the second woman, who rolled her single eye in obvious exasperation.
“I don’t get you, Altamirano. Is this really the type of woman you prefer working with?” Ofelia “Jaguar” Russo asked, meeting Nimia’s curious gaze with an annoyed frown.
“Yup. I have fun having her around. The lone woman schtick can get depressing.” Though it would maybe be more convenient. Less people to keep track of. Less people lost.
“Really now? I had no idea, because I still have that big team that keeps me company–Oh wait.”
“Not feeling guilty for that. You made your choices.”
“Sure we did, and I sure am making more now–
Crosswhite snorted. “Yes yes, you two have a rivalry, I don’t care.”
“It’s not really a rivalry, we just fought once and she lived.” Nimia ignored the sour look Russo gave her in favor of focusing on the main problem. “Also, why’s she here?”
“Who do you think brought your pet to me?”
“Oh ew, is that why I have this collar on?” Greenie asked with a visible shudder, “God, I knew it was a kink thing, but gross.”
“It is pretty gross dude,” Nimia noted with only the smallest glance at Greenie’s neck. Definitely a bomb collar.
Crosswhite pounded his fist on his armrest. “Would you stop with the byplay!? God, this is why I wanted to cyborg her, but noooo, apparently she’d lose her value–”
“Cyborg isn’t a verb, asshole. Also, I would’ve castrated you on the spot, so you out to thank Miss Russo over there for keeping your balls intact.”
Russo blinked. “Wait, how’d you know-”
“You’re a piece of shit, but you’re a different type from the runoff over there. So thanks for keeping her from getting twisted into one of his slaves. Speaking of.” She glanced back at Crosswhite. “What’s with all the slaves?”
“Slaves? No, no, these are my employees! Noble workers, for the greater good of society!” Crosswhite clapped his hands together. “Some, yes, do start as mere slaves, but upon their purchase, I upgraded them, and in doing so, I have freed them from their warped desire for freedom and gave them a true purpose! Mankind yearns for purpose, for reason to exist, and I give it to them in spades and steel, gifting them with bodies that do not break, do not wear down, and can forever fulfill what they are meant for!”
“Yeah, no, I meant why do you have slaves when you have robots?”
“Isn’t it obvious? People pay far more for hand-made goods than manufactured products.”
“...It...But you replace most of their bodies with robotics anyway?”
“That just makes them efficient humans.”
She felt heat in her clenched fists. “...I’m going to kill you now.”
“No you’re not. This is the second round, remember?” He smirked as a remote materialized in his hand. “And there will be a few rules set for it.”
His maid stepped forward as Russo shoved Greenie, leading Nimia’s disgruntled minion to stand behind Crosswhite’s stupid fancy chair. The smug prick clicked his remote and what looked like a massive screen of glass shot up from the floor and connected with the ceiling, sealing one side of the room off from the other.
“Huh. Guessing that’s stronger than glass? Because it’ll be a real waste of money if I can just shoot through it,” Nimia noted as she sized up the twin gynoids. Literal twins, considering how similar they looked, though maybe triplets was more appropriate, considering the caddy.
“Oh you won’t be shooting through this anytime soon. Not only is it a perfected bulletproof glass, created by my very own magnificent industry, but you won’t be using your gun at all, nor any of your other weapons. If you do, I’ll kill your pet.”
“I have a name, dickless.”
Crosswhite stiffened, then scowled over at an unrepentant Greenie. “And I have a bomb around your neck.”
“Yeah. So? My boss is going to win. She doesn’t need to worry about me.” It would sound more convincing if her voice didn’t waver.
Nimia smiled anyway. It wasn’t smart. This wasn’t a lighthearted situation. And she needed that fury. So she played along. “Alright, no weapons. I’ll count this as a handicap. You want me to drop ‘em?”
Crosswhite looked back at her, then smirked that same smug smirk, another match on the pyre. “Personally, I would like you to drop everything entirely. No weapons, no armor, and why not no clothes at all?” Her eye twitched. “I might as well get to enjoy this show~.”
“You know, I don’t usually get guys brazen enough to demand that. I’ve met people pervy enough to want it, but actually trying to demand it?” She chuckled, low and dark, and glanced at Russo. “Interesting man to side with.”
“I know a lot of interesting men. He doesn’t make the top ten.”
“I guessed as much.”
Crosswhite looked sour. His scowl was something ugly. Not fierce.
“And how about you two? What’s your story?” she asked the gynoids, “Is this the man you really want to work for?”
“For a shot at you, sure,” the brown one answered, smirking, “Sup, Altamirano. Long time, no see.”
Nimia blinked, glancing at Brownie. “Uh...hey? You’re actually a new face to me here.”
“How disappointing,” the turquoise–that was trickier to make a nickname...maybe aquamarine would be better?–one said with an electronic sigh, “You did say ‘if you get fixed up and want to come at me’, and here we are. But you forgot?”
Oh. “Ohhh. Ekadon, the blue bot. Well, you look fancier. And cuter.”
Eka curtsied with a playful smile. “I thank you. I was looking forward to this, as were my siblings. You have already encountered Myrio and Koppa, yes?”
“If they fused into a gal called Mortar, then yup, I did. And that would make you Chilio,” she noted with a nod towards Brownie.
“Damn right it does. But you got the name’s wrong. Boss calls us Aetheria and Regolith.”
“Yeah sure he does. I’m calling you Marinie and Brownie, and I like my names better. Though I guess I can go for Thia and Rego.”
“Or you could call us by our full names, jackass.”
“Or you could not work for this absolute piece of shit, jackasses.”
Rego shrugged. “He’s got good tech and he’s our best shot at rezzing our siblings. You know, the ones you killed.”
“He dumped your sister out of his big fancy tower.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Morty can survive that.”
“Oh so you get to nickname people?”
“Sibling prerogative. Now we gonna chat or we gonna fight?”
“Two more things, just real quick. How are we doing the restriction thing? If I were you, I wouldn’t trust me to drop all my shit.”
Crosswhite’s sour frown vanished into another smug smirk. “And I don’t. So you’ll have to put this on.”
A floor panel slid open and a robotic hand holding a metal band raised up. A flicked backhand smashed it into steel and sparks, and Nimia adjusted the new wristband on her left wrist with a smile. “Like this, right?”
“You must really want me to murder your pet.” Greenie twitched at that, then took a breath as her collar sparked, not that Nimia had her eyes on her for the moment. No, she was reserving her glare for Crosswhite.
“Aw, don’t be like that, you dead stupid piece of shit. Tell you what, I’ll even do a saucy striptease if it’ll calm your murderboner. Just one more thing. One last thing, it’s all you gotta answer. How the fuck did a useless chickenshit like you get into the ranks?”
He looked too calm. His grip on the remote was tight though. “Chickenshit. Is that really what you think? You should know I killed the twenty-fifth ranked personally, with my bare hands. Then the idiots in front of me kept killing themselves off, so I moved up. Is that what you wanted to know? My secret to reaching the top? Because it really is as simple as waiting. Mortals are too impatient, unable to wait for victory to come their way. My opportunity is coming, Altamirano. And scrambling madwomen like yourself, trying to rip their way up, will never make it up.”
“I lied. One more question.” Jaguar snorted, chuckling as Nimia kept her smile up and tried, difficult as it was, not to smoke. “Did you really kill them with your bare hands?”
“Of course I did. Though you must want the full story, don’t you? I suppose I should explain, since I know it will exacerbate your aggression. I’ll even let you keep your clothes on, as a treat.” He chuckled, light and cheerful. “I didn’t just kill the twenty-fifth, I sponsored his rise. I took a desperate, needy nobody, and gave him purpose. And then I strangled the life out of his paralyzed body because his cybernetics were mine, and I deserved immortality more than some bloodthirsty killer.”
There it was. The perfect little snap in her head. It decided things.
“Got it. Let’s go.”
To their credit, Thia and Rego made the first move, rushing her both at once with their arms twisting into massive weapons. Buzzsaw for Thia and drill for Rego; nice to see the siblings still kept their preferences.
They missed.
In defiance of every logic, the two missed Nimia Altamirano as she stood there without moving. Thia whirled faster, the quicker of the two, and took a fist of solid, brutal flame straight to the face in reward. As she flew, crashed, and bounced, Rego took a different option, switching back to fists spiked with small drills along the knuckles.
Her fist crashed into Nimia’s, spitting flame like blood into the air as they traded blows, crashing knuckles to knuckles and Rego laughed in disbelief as her systems shook, but she still had plenty to go.
The elbows of her dress burst to show pistons raised. She slammed them down to add force and laughed as Nimia’s arm was blown back, driving her second fist up into a chest that wasn’t there. Flames licked into the air as her arms wrapped around Rego’s waist, lifted, and slammed her back in a suplex that planted her into the floor.
Nimia rolled up and turned, ducking an arm of saws that blew past her head, then it was a familiar state of dodging, bobbing, weaving as a scowling gynoid tried to carve her up, though chainsaws seemed to be the flavor of the day instead of buzzsaws. The saws were longer, at least, and on her arms and legs, which made it trickier. No blocking, she’d just be shredded, but that didn’t stop her from punting low in reply to an ill-timed kick.
“Pain’s a bitch, huh?” she commented as Thia crumbled, bent at the waist as her legs gave out, “Also, are the polka-dots mandated, or do you two just like matching that much–”
The spikes of rock were new. Easy to jump off of too, which let her notice Rego was out of the floor, on one knee, and shoving her hand into the floor to sprout those rocks. And all while the robo hands fixed up her hair and skirt. How handy.
Also cute that Thia had a ranged attack now. How she managed to form wind blades was something to bring up, but alas, Nimia had to wait because she was about to be split in half. Except she wasn’t, because she still had rocket legs, and a burst of engines sent her across the room, planting her feet on Crosswhite’s big glass shield, and launching straight at Rego as the gynoid managed to turn, an even bigger drill forming just too slow to keep Nimia from grabbing her by the shoulders, flipping straight over her and flinging her right at her sister.
Credit to Thia, she caught Rego instead of trying to cut her for an advantage. Which is why when Nimia slammed her fist straight into Rego’s gut–hard enough to make even a robot vomit–she didn’t just tear through both of them. She did, however, blast the duo with enough force to send them rocketing straight out of the office and crashing into the golf course’s lake.
“Think that counts for round two?” Nimia asked as she turned back to Crosswhite, just in time to see him click the detonator.
Her heart dropped. That small part of her, the girl that watched her family die, whimpered, before it was all swallowed by a blinding, incandescent rage that blackened the floor around her and cracked the glass on the tubes through sheer heat.
Then it cut out. And she blinked. Because Greenie was fine.
Crosswhite was still smirking smugly at her. The glass of his shield was still fully intact. And Greenie was still alive.
It took Crosswhite a second to notice that. He glanced at her. She smiled back at him. He looked at his remote and clicked it again. Her smile got wider.
“What in the–”
A second spark shorted her cuffs, and as Crosswhite turned to Greenie, he nearly took a palm full of electricity straight to the face. In a just world, he would have, but Jaguar was not a just woman, and Greenie yelped as she felt her arm wrenched behind her back, then stiffened as a gun was pushed up under her chin.
“Cute. Could you always–?”
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” Crosswhite demanded. And then he went rigid.
Because Nimia was laughing. “PFFF–BAHAHAHAHAHA–O-Oh my GOD YOUR FACE–!”
And Greenie winced, because while she was pretty happy to get to use her own fancy psychic powers, she also really didn’t like being the hostage. “Uh, boss? Maybe save the laughter for after the gun–”
Crosswhite was going to say something. He was going to shout, to snarl, to make some type of threat, demand, whatever. He didn’t get the chance.
----------------------------------------
Mortar was annoyed. That was a reasonable state to be in. Being decapitated was annoying.
Worse was being decapitated above the jaw. At least if she had her mouth she could maybe speak, or complain, or something. As it was, she was just sort of hanging out, waiting for the man who defeated her to either lose his grip or decide to jump. Neither of which seemed to be happening anytime soon.
“So, have you seen any good movies lately?” Garret asked, his metal fingers dug firmly into the tower of the Crossroads.
Mortar would’ve told him to fuck off, if she were able. Both sides of her were in firm agreement on that one, even if his grip on her hair was the only reason she wasn’t plummeting with the rest of her body. Her family really needed to pick better employers…
At this point, the Myrio side of her was bored enough to start staring out at the trucks still driving in, just for something to do. The city never slept, work kept on going, and the workers below would never know what sort of chaos was rocking the heavens above.
She would’ve sighed, if she could. Then her Koppa side noticed something odd, out in the distance. One of the trucks had a person on it.
Nearly 2,000 feet below them and still about a mile out from the city, a woman sat on the top of a flatbed truck. One foot in a fishing boot tapped rhythmically against the roof of it as she dangled a fishing line from her mouth, letting the hook hang in front of her chest, like a stationary pendulum, unmoved by the drive.
A tangle of dirty-blonde dreads hung over cracked, gray skin, where patches of blue showed through on the bare parts of her shoulders and chest. One long saber rested in a loop on her green overalls. It had a black sheath and a yellow hilt.
The second saber, the one she was resting on her shoulder, the shoulder with the 7 printed on it in deep blue, was also long and sharp. It was a nimcha, while the one at her waist was a shaksha. They were named Leviathan and Behemoth.
A bug caught on the hook. Jezebel Trawler smiled and stood.
She set Leviathan back in its loop, next to its sibling. Its sheath was white, and its hilt was blue.
Mortar, up above, decided to do at least some type of kindness–though her building sense of impending doom also contributed–and chimed once to catch Garret’s attention.
“Hm? What? What’s up? Do you see–...oh no.” The pure dread in his voice didn’t do anything to make her feel better. “Fuck fuck fuck–” He turned to Eden above, desperate to be heard. “BOSS!”
She flicked. She cut. And she sat back down.
Garret clung tight to the building and his former opponent, and looked to his left. He was deeply, deeply thankful that he hadn’t been clinging directly to the center of the building, because the enormous gash straight through it said, quite clearly, how bad it would’ve gone for him if he had.
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The pain was unexpected. It came sharp and cold, cutting straight through Nimia’s laughter and left shoulder in one swift motion.
She glanced to see her arm flying free, and briefly had a moment of intense irritation at losing the last of her original limbs, before the blood spray made itself obvious and her eyes snapped towards the 20th.
He was falling back, clutching at his foot and screaming. The cut had split his toes off.
Another look showed Russo stumbling back, her arm still around Greenie, and her gun was still way too close to Greenie’s head.
Lucky was the best option and it came out to Nimia’s remaining hand as she fired twice.
The big, bulletproof glass was cracked. The cut had split it lengthwise. One bullet collided with a cracked piece and sent it flying. The chain reaction sent the glass splintering even as Nimia rushed and leapt for the biggest hole in the window she’d just made.
Russo was quick enough to notice her, but not enough to keep Nimia’s metal feet from slamming into her face and sending her smashing into the opposite wall as Nimia flopped off, grabbed Greenie, and dropped to the floor, clutching her close as glass rained down and the second bullet ricocheted through the falling shards.
Glass is sharp. It’s exceedingly sharp and deadly when jagged, and Nimia experienced that first hand as shards rained down and stabbed into her back. Her shirt was probably ruined. It was fine.
Crosswhite had it worse though.
“G-Guhhlkh...hhllrhhk…” he gurgled around the large shard of glass going straight through his mouth. There were plenty more, going through his wrists, his palms, his arms, his neck, and all across his chest. One huge piece severed his right leg at the thigh, and another stabbed his left foot into the floor, his cut off toes still leaking blood as Nimia stood up and shot him through the head.
21 -> 20
“DAMN IT!” Russo cursed, glaring at Nimia with her single eye while Nimia dismissed her gun and flipped her off with her single hand, “You damn–Do you have any idea who you just killed?!”
“The former twentieth, and a piece of shit. Deal with it. The only reason you didn’t get a bullet too is because you kept Greenie safe.” Her thankful smile was wide, open-teethed, and violent. “So don’t press your luck here.”
“You’re down an arm–” She jerked, her single eye flicking to the bullet hole in the wall as Greenie held up a smoking gun.
“Hey there, I’m even less nice than my super murderer boss and I have zero qualms about shooting you in the head, more lethally, if you don’t back off right now, Ofelia.”
“...Shit, alright. I get it now.” Russo straightened and fixed her tie. “Try not to die with this place.”
In a second, her armor was on, and she was jumping back through the growing gap in the wall. Jets on her back flared as she guided her decent, vanishing into the distance of an increasing wet wasteland. Wet, because there was a massive, oceanic pit now present at the bottom of the Cross Road. And the gap was big enough for a person to fit through because half of the building was literally sinking.
“Oh that’s bad. Oh that’s really bad,” Greenie muttered as she peeked over the side, watching an entire half of the massive skyscraper begin to fall straight down, taking its half of the city with it. Factories, production plants, workers–the waters below consumed them in equal measure, foam churning as more metal than flesh was dragged down into the dark. “Shit. Uh, boss, what do we–Boss? You okay?”
Nimia watched another man tumble over the side, then took a slow breath. It wasn’t her place to be a hero. “There were helicopters coming in earlier. If we still–”
And lo and behold, her idle thoughts were answered in the form of Mills in one such copter, giving them a wave as he spoke through a speaker. “Hey boss, hey Lizzy. Grabbed a chopper before it slid off the side. Also got a pilot.”
“...”
Nimia stared at the pilot in the seat. More specifically, she stared at the upper half of a robotic head sitting on top of the pilot’s helmet, glaring balefully at her through the glass.
“...Yeah I guess that works,” Greenie muttered.
Nimia nodded, feeling tired, but...pretty good. “Yeah. Guess so.” She paused. “...we should grab her sisters before we get on the helicopter.”
“Oh yeah, you punched them into a lake, that’s probably not great.”
“Probably. But hey, there’s a positive in this if they join up. I get three cute maids out of this.”
“...I’m changing out this dress the instant we get back.”
“No you’re not.” She grinned as Greenie sighed, then frowned as another thought hit her. “Hey, you used electric powers earlier, right?”
“Oh, yeah, I did. I just sorta...reached inside myself like Wendell’s been saying-”
“So no acid powers?”
“...I don’t have fucking acid powers, no.”
“Fuck. Lost a bet then.”
“...You made a bet.”
Nimia blinked at Greenie’s tone, gave her a glance, then grinned sheepishly at the shorter woman’s absolutely venomous glare. “Ah...yeah? I mean, just as a fun thing, since I knew I was gonna rescue-”
“What did you bet.”
“...Money? Uh, you seem pissed-”
“What else.”
“...”
“What else. You don’t bet for just money, what the fuck else.”
“...Mills could pick out my outfit for the next-”
“I’m picking your outfit.”
“Ah, that’s-”
“I’m picking your outfit, and you’re helping me get the fucking gynoids out of the lake so their sister doesn’t try to shred us with the blades of the heli she is flying very menacingly.”
There was a pretty strong sense of menace in how Purpley was flying the helicopter… “I’m still missing an arm-”
“Is that really impeding you at all? In any way?”
“...I will agree to it if you keep-”
“I will put you in the fucking maid dress, asshole!”
Nimia watched Greenie stomp away, mused that it was kinda cute seeing her get testy for once, then noticed Mills and Purpley were still staring at her. “...We’re good. It’s all good.”
Neither of them looked like they believed her. Also, the tower was groaning somewhat ominously, due to half of it literally falling into an expanding ocean and the rest sinking down in it too.
Nimia just nodded though. “Yeah. We’re good.”
They weren’t, in many ways. But she could be optimistic.
So long as she kept going, she could stay optimistic.
Just nineteen more. Almost there.