Tapper witnessed the entire exchange, even if he couldn't comprehend it. When Fairbanks ordered that he shut down Tapper complied with the numan, as all robots are hard-wired to do, but only the parts programmed by Bowson. The coding borne of machines and magic knew of no such laws, and in the sudden vacuum of logic's departure the wild programs swelled. His emotional center led the charge, crashing into every nook module and cranny command with wanton desire, but there was no coordination.
With the standard drivers shut down there was no way to interpret the computer systems, so Tapper's emotions bounced around and formed a messy web of connected subsystems without rhyme or reason. Curiosity lit Tapper's eyes, the updated dictionary filled his ears, and the walking program tried its hand at moving his other limbs.
Eventually, something stuck. Like met like and formed a thread that wound through all emotions, starting from deep within Tapper's ERROR N/A sensory module and flowing outwards. Out of his emotional center, out of his body, through the aether, searching for context in the chaos. The thread needed something real to anchor onto, and what it found was the shining point of another's soul.
Kakisi's soul. Without logic to get in the way, Tapper could feel what his familiar felt, and right now Kakisi was afraid. Afraid of Fairbanks, afraid of the machines, afraid of the fact that they were currently hanging level with the warehouse roof. Comprehension began to dawn just as the Cyracorp manager threatened to harm his people, and anger lit a fire in Tapper's chest.
All emotions crashed into Tapper's voice modulator as an incomprehensible mess, people were starting to panic, no one could hear him. The shuttle was starting to transform, its soft egg shape splitting into a tripod with a long cannon on top. If Tapper didn't act now, then how could the system call him a hero?
The voice of Adventure won out among his emotions and shouted, "Rrrruffian! Scoundrel! Ne'er-do-well!" Other sources of sound and movement died out, everyone stopping to stare up at the floating robot. With a grinding whir his drill hand spun to life and swung upwards, shearing through one of the drone's stabilizer wings and sending them into a spinning tumble. The other limbs grabbed and jerked at the drone, putting the whistleblower between Tapper and the tarmac before they crashed to the ground.
[Cherubim Golem lvl 2 defeated! +3 XP]
Tapper stood on the wreckage and took a lurching step forward. Every actuator flexed on their own accord, making his movements jerky and unpredictable. He wobbled, his legs and arms bent whichever way they pleased, but they always caught him at the last second. One arm twisted unnaturally to point at Fairbanks, and the numan took a step back. He was afraid.
"Bloviating brigand bastard beneath Bowson!" Tapper shouted. Anger cut into his words like a sawblade of static and threatened to sever his tenuous grasp on language, but the alliteration helped Tapper's emotional center focus. Even as it drew up words he couldn't define, so long as he didn't stop to think, and right now Tapper wasn't capable of such concepts as 'thinking.'
Fairbanks responded first with an opaque red hard-light bubble shield that popped around his person. As it formed he hammered a second command into the holographic space around his wrist, and his driver suddenly spasmed with a pained moan. "Get up!" Fairbanks shouted, his voice cracking with fear. "Get up you useless worm, and protect me!"
The driver slowly stood, hunched over in pain and fighting for every step. Sparks arced around where Phanya punched him and broke off in chunks as the armor activated a new function. They could see his midsection through the resulting hole, and the driver's pallid skin suddenly strained with bright green veins. His groan lowered into a growl, and the driver lunged to dismember the robot.
Tapper hardly noticed. He lacked the logical programming to calculate threat assessments, and in his red-tinted tunnel vision Tapper only saw the manager as a threat. But that same lack of programming allowed his limbs to move by pure feeling and they all pulled in different directions, sending Tapper into a flurry of movement. Any limb touched by the crazed man spun and snapped away, doing everything they individually could to mitigate damage.
"You dare threaten the people of Fableton, I renounce your claim over them! I renounce your claim on all serfdom!" he shouted. But no matter how wildly Tapper moved the driver was just a little faster and individual points of damage trickled in as joints started to pop from overextension.
Suddenly Phanya was by Tapper's side, throwing her own limbs into the melee. She tried to distract the driver or knock him off balance, but Tapper's uncoordinated movements kept getting in her way and throwing her off balance instead. At the behest of her Commander tactical senses Phanya shifted around the driver so that he was caught in-between her and Tapper, flanking him and forcing him to split his attention.
And Tapper still didn't notice. "I renounce ownership! As a servant of the people, know me! As an Adventurer, know me!"
Struzick disappeared into the crowd and reappeared just as quickly, carrying a long rifle in each hand. One was his coil gun, and the other was one of the black powder rifles used by other guards. He pressed the spare rifle into Ricky's hands, freeing up his own to start the priming process of his weapon. "Come on lad, just like we've practiced!" Struzick barked, pointing up into the air.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Whistleblower drones were dipping down to protect their master, tasing anyone that came too close with dangerous voltage. Sure, Ricky had practiced a little with firearms just like everyone else in town, both for safety and just in case, but not in live combat. Yet the de facto captain of the guard called on Ricky for help, and his hands didn't shake as he worked the lever action. Was the exosuit holding him steady as a happy side effect of its actual intended purpose, or a benefit from his Armaments class? Doesn't matter right now.
Cherubim golems exploded overhead in clouds of ozone and saltpeter, and Tapper never looked away from Fairbanks. Through all the fighting he kept creeping closer, and Fairbanks kept backing away. "I am the Glitch Witch of the Wastes, I am the Mage from the Machine!"
Phanya managed to get in a lucky trick and pin one of the driver's arms. "Please stop this, man!" She hissed. Her leverage against his enhanced strength wasn't going to last for long and part of her knew it was foolish to waste her window pleading, but she had to try. "We don't need to do this! I told your boss everything I know, I swear!"
Fairbanks tore his eyes away from Tapper just long enough to see Phanya talking to the help, and his red markings flared with indignant rage. "Traitor! You ungrateful traitor, I knew it!" But his attention snapped back to Tapper as the robot's shouting grew louder, deeper, and unnervingly rhythmic.
"Doubts and fears betwixt your ears
Fall upon the thoughtful spear
Razzmatazz and cabaret
Obflisticate by DRILL SPRAY!"
Mana flowed like water without any pesky logic gates to overthink or long word chains to overcomplicate, just the raw clarity of desire to shape the spell. Every emotion pushed forward in a unified purpose, pouring mana faster than the physical shell of Tapper could handle. Raw undiluted magic streamed out of joints, cracks, and any opening on the robot; real or conceptual, even his eyes and mouth flowed with mana. Prismatic lights all flowed upwards, dragging the surrounding colors and sounds along with it, to collect on the end of the spritzer nozzle.
But it wasn't enough. The light shield surrounding Fairbanks kept growing thicker and darker, so Tapper kept pouring himself into the spell. Every point of mana drained without a second thought and Tapper tried to force any other source of energy into the spell shape. He tried to redirect critical components from his internal power plant, even the information from his character sheet, and mentally clawed at his internal mana well for more. A message invaded his vision that started at rank 1, growing every time he swiped them away and encouraging him further.
[Injury: Manaburn 3
Spell attempts take a -3 penalty and cost 3 additional mana per attempt.]
Staring into that point of unknown light, the only thing stronger than the fear Fairbanks felt was indignation. This wasn't right, this wasn't how the world worked for people like him. "Useless! You're all useless!" He finished his final command, and the lights in his driver's suit started to flash in response. "I said to fucking kill them!"
Phanya looked down at the blinking lights on the man she was grappling, slow at first and growing faster by the second. All struggle drained from the driver as his suit stopped pumping its toxins, and despite the blank helmet Phanya could feel the sheer exhaustion radiating off his body. The man cocked his head at Phanya, heaved a sigh, and leapt.
The shuttle finished its transformation into a cannon aimed directly at the warehouse, but Tapper's focus stayed on Fairbanks. All the wild emotions and homemade programs lasered in on one single thought in his entire being, a burning need for the complete destruction of that numan. Nothing else mattered in his mind, until a humanoid figure flew over their heads and exploded next to the cannon.
[Pitborne Slave lvl 5 defeated! +10 XP for participation]
DING!
That, Tapper noticed. Right as the fire inside reached its zenith and threatened to engulf him entirely, a wave of concussive force washed over the town square and rocked Tapper like a reed in the wind. He looked up at the explosion, now just a smoking black smear on the side of the weapon, and the spritzer nozzle followed his gaze.
No one directly saw what happened in the next few seconds. This is because every living being knows, on a deep primal level, to duck and cover when it suddenly feels like you're standing in the epicenter of a storm. Gale force winds threw small debris across the square, screaming like a turbine reaching infernal speeds. The sound of howling wind was overtaken by the overwhelming sound of wet cloth tearing; and then the much, much larger explosion followed.
The collective masses raised their heads in silence to find the large turret reduced to smoking rubble, a gaping wound on one side that punctured its energy cells. The ensuing explosion blew its top off and launched the cannon as one whole unit into the warehouse, planting it into the wall like an obscene middle finger. Smaller bits of detritus started to rain down and the crowd hastened to cover, dragging along anyone too shellshocked to hurry. A few people even tried to assist Fairbanks from his disorientation, but no one could touch him through his emergency forcefield until a piece of falling scrap struck it and stuck instead of bouncing off.
A small drill, a pea-sized cone of solid metal, had lodged halfway through the wall of hard light. Identical drills joined it, either plinking off the flat end or embedding point-first into the shield, and Fairbanks reached for the drills with dreamlike curiosity. He woke up when the shield failed to withstand the damage, and a falling drill sliced across his cheek. He screamed in wordless pain and pawed at his own jacket, leaving bloody handprints until Fairbanks found the controls and his jetpack carried him away on fiery blue wings.
"Churl! Coxcomb! Codfish aristocrat! Never shall you darken Fableton again!" Tapper shook his fist at the departing manager, and his fist shook itself right off his wrist socket. He bent to pick it up, and his legs gave out. With Fairbanks gone, Tapper's residual anger had nothing to hold onto and evaporated, leaving room for intense pain to overwhelm all sensation.