The Deadeye
Friday, 1st of January, 198 A.C, 17:28
“While many of the laws governing the appearance and behavior of Psychons remain unknown, it is our belief that untold possibilities lay in further study of these otherworldly entities.” - Valerie Brecker, owner of Mistique, announcing a now-defunct partnership with VA
“Bleccchh.” I could feel the sludge soaking through my pants as we waded our way through the crumbling sewer. “Laundry is going to be fun this week.”
Our surroundings were lit by only two sources. The first was the occasional ray of evening sun creeping down through collapsed brickwork. The second was the meager glow dancing off my squadmates eyes and catching on their Veils as their Chippers struggled against the darkness. The light from my own Chipper was blocked out by my Veil, but the red lens over my left eye cast some light of its own.
I also had my rifle’s flashlight attachment, but it was switched off for the sake of not drawing attention.
“Got anything else to complain about?” the Heister quipped.
“Yeah. It’s cold, I’m wet, and the stench is giving me a headache.”
The Runner looked back at me. “Right. The stench. That’s what your headache is from.”
“Oh har har,” I said. “I’ll have you know I was barely buzzed.”
“Riiight,” said the Runner. “Anyway, any idea who the client is for this one?”
I nodded. “The Pugilist is being cagey about it as usual, but that never stopped me. Mistique, if you can believe it.”
The Runner tilted his head. “Another corpo job, huh? Can’t say I like that. Wonder why this gem is so important to them.”
The Heister shrugged. “Not like we’ve never taken jobs from them before. Like that sleepover right before we picked up the two kiddos.” She frowned. “But yeah, not like them to have us hunting gems.”
“Shhh!” That was the Berzerker. “You guys hear that?” We stopped to listen. Nothing but the gentle slapping of the water. And… a slight scrape echoing from somewhere far ahead.
“Probably nothing,” said the Heister. “I swear, if I had known this was gonna be so… well, *this,* I would’ve stayed home.” We started up again, slower this time.
“Still though,” I said, “weird that we haven’t run into *anything* yet. Tunnels are usually crawling with Psychons.”
“Unless…” said the Runner, “someone else has been taking them out.”
“We’d have seen them at this point though, right?” The Berzerker scratched her neck. “Or heard them, at least?”
I shook my head. “Not if they don’t want t- FUCK!” My foot caught on a rock hiding in the murk and I fell face first into the water.
“Gak! Pbthh Plech! Uuuggghh.” A shock of panic traced from my heart out to my extremities. My rifle was no longer in my hands. I felt around the slime, trying to find it.
Someone nudged me with their boot. I looked and saw the Heister holding out my rifle. “Looking for something?” she said, her signature shit-eating grin plastered on. “Don’t worry, I nabbed it before it could take a dive.”
I took the rifle and checked it for damage. “Still dry. Thanks.” I took some rounds out from the inside pockets of my duster. They were… yeah, a bit soggy. Hopefully they would still fire.
The Berzerker called over. “Um, guys?” She was looking at something down the tunnel. I flicked on my rifle’s flashlight to get a better view. Our entertainment had finally shown up.
Standing in the middle of an upcoming intersection was a Veiled man with tan skin, caught in the light like a deer. He had dark brown hair down to the neck that was parted down the middle. His short beard was mostly covered by a red cloth mask that had a devilish smile sketched onto it. He wore a red bomber jacket and ripped black jeans.
I had to admit, it was a good getup.
He stared at us, a faint red shine in his eyes. Then he coughed, and in the same instant the Heister dashed for him, cackling gleefully. The man cursed and promptly tripped trying to run off to the left. He spat out a glob of sewer water and scrambled to his feet, disappearing behind the turn just before the Heister could catch him.
The Berzerker called out for the Heister to wait, but she was long gone.
We ran after the two of them, hanging a left at the intersection to see that Devil Mask had already taken another turn. We could still see the Heister though, so we followed her instead, hoping that she was keeping pace. The second right, then the first left, then another right, and a right again. The Heister showed no signs of slowing down, despite the sludge. Hints of nausea began setting up camp in my throat.
Just as I was starting to think I’d have to take a barf break, we took a final left and found what looked like a proper room down one last hallway. We redoubled our pace, dashing in a few seconds behind the Heister.
As soon as I passed through the entryway I doubled over, not so much to catch my breath as to keep the bile down.
We were in a defunct treatment facility, all concrete and iron. Rusted machinery lined the left and right sides of a square platform which dominated the center of the room. Two sets of metal stairs, one on the near side and one on the far side, led up the otherwise sheer edges of the platform. Ladders on the front and back walls led to catwalks running the perimeter of the room.
Quickly dimming sunlight streamed into the room through a large hole in the roof. I picked out the glint of metal mixed in with the pile of rubble under the hole – cases from the lost transport we were looking for. A strange lamp hung from the hole, augmenting the light from outside.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Devil Mask had dashed up the pile and turned to face us. He wasn’t quite looking at us.
I studied the catwalks and picked out a figure in the shadows of the catwalk behind us. A woman with light skin and long, wavy black hair. She was wearing a black feathered bird mask which left her eyes and mouth visible. The black cloak and mess of rags she called clothes made her practically invisible in the dim light. It was a shine from her left hand that gave her away – a cybernetic replacement.
Not exactly high fashion, but I had to respect the commitment to an aesthetic.
I brought around my rifle to line up a shot, but a squeeze of the trigger produced nothing but a sharp click. Bird Mask cackled at my dismay and yanked on a lever hidden behind the guardrail. Gears far past their expiration date squealed as a gate slammed shut behind us. While I fumbled to eject the wet round, the woman waved and fell back into a dark swirling portal behind her. A few seconds later, she popped out of another portal, this time at the far end of the room, and turned to study us. As she did, three other Veiled came out from behind the various bits of cover in the room.
The first stepped out from the machinery on the left with the straight-backed, tip tap stride you only found in those fortunate few who used Bit sticks as paperweights. Tall, white skin, long blonde hair in a ponytail, detached expression on a sharply featured face, even a finely tailored suit with a cravat and sleek knee-high boots. Topping off the look was an ornate white masquerade mask - much the inverse of the Heister’s Veil. One of his gloved hands played with the hilt of a rapier hanging from his belt – longer than the Duelist’s and no doubt hand forged – while the other hung confidently at his side.
Some might call it an uncreative getup, but I would tend towards ‘timeless’ myself.
The second, coming from the machinery on the right, had a much more understated, though certainly still themed, getup. He was just a bit shorter than Designer Suit, with tan skin and short brown hair under an orange and black baseball cap. His Veil, a slate blue bandana, contrasted nicely with the rest of his getup, an orange and white baseball uniform complete with some sort of black, rubber-like glove on his left hand and black thermal wear to keep the January chill at bay.
Can’t say it’s what I would have gone with for him, but… Well actually, considering some of my picks on Impulse, maybe it *was.*
The final Veiled hobbled out from the lip at the far end of the platform. They were the shortest of the crew, with brown skin and scruffy pink hair. They leaned on a pair of crutches, heavily favoring their left leg. Their face was thoroughly covered by their Veil, a welding mask with a veritable rainbow of spray painted visuals. They wore a dark apron and white work shirt with rolled up sleeves, both more soot than cloth. Their green cargo shorts and brown work boots left the latticework of metal joints and straps running the length of their right leg mostly exposed. They tilted their head to study us.
Everyone appreciated a bit of soot on the getup of an artificing Veiled, myself included.
For a while, nobody spoke. They were clearly sizing us up, planning their next move. The Berzerker slowly backed up until she was at my side, harboring a tic or three. The Runner stood his ground, quietly slipping a hand into his jacket pocket.
Devil Mask glanced at the two Veiled at his side, then cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you’re just passing through?”
I returned in kind. “I don’t suppose you’re just gonna let us have a look through those cases?”
The man nodded to himself in a way that was more akin to a resignation than a confirmation. “Alright then.” He reached into his jacket. I shouldered my rifle, but as I squeezed the trigger he slipped on a loose piece of rubble and fell down the backside of the pile. My rifle reported a weighty KT-UNK and a pale blue mist piff-ed harmlessly off the far wall, zipping past the spot his head had been a moment earlier.
The shot snapped everyone to action. The Heister lept back as Designer Suit drew a large pocket pistol from inside his jacket and opened fire. She took cover behind the lip on our side of the platform, the Berzerker and Runner joining her soon after. I relaxed just a little when I noticed that the bullets sailing over my allies’ heads had pale blue tracer rounds.
Designer Suit turned his attention to me. I leapt onto a ladder on my left, flaring my Veil to life. Shots whizzed past as I hauled myself up, but none hit their target. Once I was up on the catwalk, I took up position behind a covered section of guardrail. I took a peak over my cover, saw that Designer Suit was reloading, and deactivated my Veil.
I hit the mag release on my rifle and pulled the bolt back, catching the round as it flew out and slipping it back into the magazine. I then loaded in some standard rounds. Could never be too frugal.
I popped back up as someone shouted, “Catch!” and saw Welding Mask toss what looked like a makeshift grenade over the platform at my friends. A simple but effective combination – pin them down with gunfire, then smoke them out.
Simple tactics came with simple solutions though. I leaned the barrel of my rifle against the railing and gave my Veil a bit of juice.
KRAK!
The pistol flew out of his hands and spun off towards the corner of the room. The Heister, Runner, and Berzerker saw the opening and bolted just before the grenade exploded. Wire arced out in every direction, blocking off the stairs and threatening to tangle anyone nearby.
The Heister and Berzerker cleared the wire just fine, but the Runner’s leg got caught and he took a tumble. While he hacked at it with his knife, Baseball Uniform took out… a baseball. His aura shot on – a red-orange glow covering his hands and arms – and he pitched the ball at the Runner. It flew at an unnatural speed, blasting the poor Runner in the chest and leaving him sprawled on the floor, green aura online to run damage control.
I loaded my rifle with Knockout rounds again. This guy was gonna threaten my range if I couldn’t take him out quickly. I fired, and Baseball Uniform spun around from the impact. My satisfaction quickly turned to shock as the spin became more… controlled. Rather than losing his balance, he was winding up for another pitch. With one last turn he planted his feet and hurled my bullet out of his gloved hand. It whizzed just past my ear and vaporized against the wall. I muttered a quiet thanks to my Veil.
I promptly ducked behind the rail and called out, “*Geez* Baseball Guy! Helluv an arm ya’ got there!” Oop, that was a bit slurred, wasn’t it?
“We’ve got monikers, you know!” That came from behind the rubble pile.
“Sorry for not catchin’ your names while you’re, um. While you’re *shooding* at us!*”
“Fair enough! I’m the Fool, and over here we’ve got the Shortstop, Derogant, Magpie, and Tinkerer!”
“Not bad! Over here we’ve got th’ Deadeye, the Runner, the Heister, and the Ber… Bers… Berzerg…”
“Berzerker!” Yelled the Berzerker.
“Yeah, that!”
“Oh!” That was Welding Mask – or, rather, the Tinkerer. “You guys are part of Impulse, right? Saw you in the news!”
The Heister laughed. “Hear that guys? We’re famous!”
“Does your squad have a name?” the Berzerker ask-shouted.
Designer Suit – the Derogant, I assumed – responded, “You may refer to us as Springtrap.” There was a hint of bitterness in his otherwise measured cadence.
“Alright,” said the Runner, finally freed from the wire, “nice to have introductions out of the way. As much as I’m enjoying bro-ing it up though, didn’t we have a fight to get to?”
“Sure do!” I started at the voice. It was the girl in rags (the Magpie, probably), crouched down right behind me. “You don’t mind if I snag this, do you?” She grabbed my rifle and began melting into a portal. “Thanks!” I tried to yank the rifle back, but found myself grasping at thin air.
She was going to regret that.