#I just won him in a claw machine with some friends and the mere experience was such a joy I kept him cause we took half hour to win him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lookwhosfhtagn · 6 years

Text

THE ADVENTURES OF ARGUS ARMSTRONGMAN - LONE STAR DETECTIVE

Case 637435: Attempted Murder, Breach of Trucking Contract, Breaking and Entering, Assault, Gross Sexual Misconduct, Trespassing, Unlicensed Gang Warfare, Unauthorized Corporate Espionage, Second Degree Murder, Conspiracy to Commit Robotic Uprising

In my time as a Lone Star Security detective, I’ve had a lot of unique experiences. I’ve felt the rush of pure, white-knuckle adrenaline that comes with a high speed vehicular pursuit. I’ve felt the gnawing dread that comes from looking down the barrel of a gun held by some tweaked out ganger. I’ve even felt the heartbreak of losing a partner, having their blood pump out through the gaps in my fingers as I tried to dam the hole until the paramedics could arrive. Honestly, I thought there wasn’t a thing on this planet that could surprise me.

And then I got attacked by a vending machine and its friends, taking that whole notion and tossing it out the window.

I had tried my best to fend off the horde of robots with the rest of the survivors, taking shots from cover, hoping to thin their ranks enough that the survivors could make a break for it. Round after round cracked through the air, meeting with steel and plastic, sending sparks and shards out the opposite side of the invader. It proved futile, though. Like some kind of mechanical hydra, every drone dusted was replaced with two more. Worse still, any attempt to take on the vending machine ringleader was thwarted, shots intercepted by humming aerial drones willing to sacrifice themselves for their food service master.

Catrina was beside me, having produced a small, silenced pistol from her suitcoat. She wasn’t as good as shot as I was, lacking the formal training and countless hours on the range. But she held her own, taking her time, focusing and lining up just right before squeezing the trigger. She was an impressive woman, gifted with the ability to turn her heart to ice in an instant. Catrina Noire wasn’t some corporate coward. She was a vicious feline in the finest tailored threads.

Too bad it wasn’t enough. They were advancing and it was only a matter of time before we were overrun. But with the wounded and the elderly slowing us down, a total retreat was suicide. If we stood our ground, we died. If we ran, we died. Someone would have to cover the escape.

“Catrina!” I screamed out over the carnage of gunfire. “Get these people out of here!”

She ducked back behind cover, dropping an empty magazine and slapping another in with a sharp click. It was only after the action was complete that she processed my words. “What about you?”

“I’ll buy you time, then meet back up with you.” I said, lying through my teeth. There was no making it out of this.

She wanted to argue. Was it compassion that made her face twitch in frustration? Pride? I couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, her survival instincts won and she gave me a subtle nod. Then she dashed to the back of the room, flagging the other survivors. She was calling to the others, instructing them to follow, but I could barely hear her. My mind was focused on how the hell I was going to keep them alive.

That’s when I noticed it: a loose cart of oxygen tanks used by some of the nursing home’s residents, resting across a veritable no-man’s land in the cover of flipped furniture. It was a stupid, crazy idea but it was all I had. Vaulting from behind the upturned table I had hidden behind, I sprinted across the seemingly vast expanse of open floor. The whole time, I wanted to look and see if Catrina and Marjorie and the other residents were making it out. But I knew in my gut that if I looked, I’d be dead. My legs burned, putting every bit of force the muscle fiber could generate into closing the distance to those tanks. I could feel projectiles whizzing past me, bursting forth from the hovering hulk’s midsection like a machine gun volley. The canisters drew closer and closer. I honestly thought I could do it.

And then, in an instant, my ribs were screaming in pain. My legs froze, the signal between them and my brain scrambled, forcing me to fall forward and skid roughly across the floor. My sprint had given me enough speed that I managed to flop gracelessly the rest of the way before clattering into the oxygen tanks. The center of my chest pulsed and pounded with hurt, ribs bruised if not outright broken. Each breath was an exercise in agony, enough to make my vision blur to black, only to pop back in later. Only this time, the machines had made their way forward, breaking the line. I looked back to back door the others had used to escape. A few hovering delivery drones zipped past like dragonflies, but the bulk of the robotic uprising was marching forward as a steel tide, ignoring me, assuming me dead.

“From Hell’s Heart, assholes,” I croaked out, coughing up blood. I reached back and grabbed two tanks in my right hand. Ignoring the brutal, tooth-cracking pain in my sides as I twisted and lobbed the cylinders, I trained my cybereye on them, waiting for the targeting software to train in. My pistol, trembling, aimed at the makeshift explosives, and fired. In an instant, the tanks erupted in a violent shockwave of fire that shattered the door and its frame. The wall there collapsed, sealing off the escape of Catrina and the others. They might be able to make it out now.

Then all the robots turned to me.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, everything became dreamlike. One moment, I was on the floor, coughing and shuddering. The next, I was dangling from some industrial bot’s tow cable, feet kicking wildly to reach for a floor too far away. As I did this, everything but the voice of that damn vending bot fell away.

“Here is a riddle, human. What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and hangs by its next in the evening?”

If I could talk, I’d have offered him some smartass comment. But I couldn’t even muster the strength to claw at the braided cable wringing my neck. I just stared at that bot’s glowing screen, reading his dictated words.

“Well, human? Do you have an answer?”

And as I felt my essence start to dim, a muffled brogue split the silence. “I got yer answer right here, fucko!”

The crumbled, burning wreckage of the wall burst inward, sending burning splinters through the air like flechettes. All the bots that loitered there, watching my execution were instantaneously crushed by a bulky forklift-wielding loader drone. The most surreal part of it all was the holographic projection radiating from the control unit: a familiar fat, bearded face I had seen blown to pieces on a stream of Chicago surveillance footage.

It was Beans. Or rather, it was Beans’ memory piloting a loader drone through an army of robots, barreling his heavy twin tines toward crowed around me. His engine revved and he burst through them, knocking the bot strangling me on its side, letting my feet find purchase long enough to relax my binding and let me catch a lifesaving gasp of air before I hit the floor. A mere heartbeat later, Bean’s right fork drive clear and true through the food bot, impaling him and lifting him up rapidly, mashing his upper half into the ceiling. The forks dropped, then raised, repeating this until the ringleader was nothing more than a mess of burger ingredients and wires.

And then I blacked out.

When I woke up, it was dark. The nearby city’s usual light pollution was gone, leaving only stars in the moonless sky. Everything hurt, but I was just grateful to be alive. I stirred, groaning like a zombie.

“Oh good,” purred my recent travelling companion. “You made it. I was afraid you still died, despite my best efforts to keep you alive.”

Giving up on trying to sit up, I just laid there, gazing into the empty heavens. “What happened?”

“You were going to die. While we were making out, there was a loader drone. I got the idea of using Beans’ data stick to override him. Turns out, it was a brilliant idea.”

My thoughts were cloudy from the constant suffering, so it took longer to reply. “But I took the data stick.”

She coughed awkwardly. “I may have…relieved you of it before.”

“What! When?” I winced, my agitation only making my condition worse.

“When you were helping me out of the car in Peoria.” Her tone was neutral and without being able to see her body language, I couldn’t get a read on her. “In the event something happened, I need to make sure I had Beans. I still think he’s the best chance to getting to Dak Rambo.”

I was about to reply when another voice interrupted. “Dak Rambo? May he burn in Hell!”

It was then that I realized we were moving, rolling down the highway out of town at much less than interstate speeds on a loader drone. “Catrina…”

She stopped me. “Relax. Beans and I…have come to an understanding. The important thing is we are alive-”

“Sort of,” the deceased trucker interjected.

Catrina grumbled to herself. “We’re alive and we know Dak is headed to Los Angeles. So, we go west and find him there. And along the way, Beans here can help us close the distance with his knowledge of Mr. Rambo.”

But by that point, I had already slipped back into unconsciousness, with one final thought lighting my waking mind like an ember: we need to get a faster set of wheels than this.

<- PREVIOUS NEXT ->

#fanfiction #shadowrun #neoscum #argus

2 notes · View notes