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| Maniacs On Patrol; Short story(ies) | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 3 2007, 01:36 AM (1,537 Views) | |
| Hardman | Aug 3 2007, 01:36 AM Post #1 |
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That Hard Guy
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Hardman: So I've had these neat ideas I've come up with for a while, all of which are cool in my head, but I can't reconcile them as an overall story. I mean, sure, they're awesome and they happened (near as you can tell, anyways), but I can't shoehorn them into a novella or some massive project. So, I'ma just take some of my scraps of stories, turn them into short stories, and slap 'em here. Think of it as a literary Maniacs Moments thread. So, with that in mind, I'm gonna break a personal rule here and do a double post so the intro doesn't get lost in the stories themselves. Fair warning. |
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MM3: Hardman XBOX LIVE: Payer 404 | |
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| Hardman | Aug 3 2007, 01:37 AM Post #2 |
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That Hard Guy
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Short Story: The Bank Job (Which was also the Hotel Job) Red and blue flashing lights make me nervous. Hell, who DON'T they make nervous? They're the ultimate sign that something bad is going down somewhere, and things are about to be very unpleasant for someone. I know every time I see them, I find a hole to hide in until they go away, and I'M a cop. Well, technically a cop. Well, I do what my boss tells me, at least. And right now, he's not telling me much aside from hold position. That's okay. I can do that. I'm a big guy, and holding position comes naturally to me. Newtonian physics and all that. It's WHERE I'm holding position that's important. Currently, my four ton butt is standing between almost every cop car in Monsteropolis and the United Conglomerate Bank, or UCB, which is one of the largest financial establishments (in WAY more ways than ten) in the country, let alone the city. Seriously, like, next to the national banking deposits and maybe Fort Knox, this is one of the biggest stores of pure cash next to... well, any undiscovered gold deposit, really. So it's a little mind boggling as to why it's getting robbed at all, y'know? I mean, there have been a grand total, in the building's history, of two robbery attempts. The first was by a man who committed suicide IN the building itself after ten hours of being surrounded by police, and the second attempt... Well, let's just say the Mechanical Maniacs were involved, some people were thwarted, and that's really all I know. Nobody tells me much about what the team did in the days before I joined. The Mechanical Maniacs? That would be the most prestigious, active, and dangerous (not counting Drastic Measures. Those guys are CRAZY.) Megaman Team on planet Earth. Me? I'm Hardman, nice to meet you. I run a bar in my spare time, but ever since we got 'deputized' (a dubious process, to be sure, although I'm not really sure who, between Shadowman and the Chief of Police, conned who into doing it.) I've had less and less of that. Situations like this robbery thing keep coming up. To bring you up to speed, some psychopathic robot stormed the place all on his lonesome, crashed the gates and blew away most everyone inside. He's got two hostages, destroyed every security system the UCB has built into it, the high ground, and the advantage of being a crazy, crazy sonuvabitch. Me? I've got lots and lots of armor, my arms spread out, and, like, four cop cars taking cover behind me with regular, everyday human cops taking cover behind the cars. I've been standing here for four hours, and I think my arms are going numb. It doesn't help my disposition that someone saw fit to superglue a red light to my left shoulder and a blue light to my right. Seriously, not only do those pick me out like a Christmas tree in the dark of night when the power to the block's been cut, but I can see them out of the corner of my eye, just flashing there, for the past hour at least. Which brings me back to the fact that red and blue flashing lights make me nervous. My eye began to twitch as time passed, and I tried hard over the murmur of the crowds that inevitably gather at these things and the frantic, fruitless talking of news crews in a semicircle about 50 yards behind me to hear my buddy Snakeman talk with the ranking Police Officer on the scene. "No. Completely, totally, and absolutely not," Snake was saying. "It's standard procedure in this case," the officer argued, "and doubly so since the FBI is on the way and I have to resolve this before it goes completely out of hand." Snake actually laughed at the guy. "Standard procedure stopped applying when the guy laid siege to the place with a pair of grade 4 plasma weapons. Not familiar with the classification? Let me put it this way: No human alive can fire one without melting his own face off, or survive the splash damage from one of those things from 5 feet away, let alone directly, and if both of them were fired at Hardman, even HE would fall over, crushing your police vehicles." Thanks for the faith, Snake. "It doesn't matter, metalhead," the cop sneered. "SWAT is already on the roof and they enter on my signal, which I'm going to give RIGHT now." He spoke something I couldn't make out, probably into a walky-talky or similar device, and waited for a reply. My hearing isn't what it could be, but I'm pretty sure he waited a very long time for a reply. And then he got one. "Sorry, officer," came Shadowman's voice in a tinny, electronic way, "SWAT's been decommissioned. Nobody's badly hurt, but you need to teach them not to attack a fellow officer just because he's not human and squishy. I'm going in, alone, and that will be that, clear?" There was some shouting, some swearing, and some breaking noises, but I didn't listen much. A voice in my head was talking. No, I'm not crazy; Shadowman had only switched over to the Maniacs' team communications system. "Snake, you have eyes in the building?" "Makoto's in, but I haven't located our renegade yet," Snake's voice returned. "Keep looking," Shadowman said in an assertive tone. He lived for stuff like this. Sneaking in where the enemy doesn't expect you, accomplishing the mission and sneaking out, giving more than his share of people the finger on his way out and laughing about it over a drink later. I swear, some people hate him, but I'd probably jump off a building if he asked me to. I mean, yeah, that would suck for the ground, but I'd be fine with it. "I have something," came Topman's voice. He and Spark Chan had split up and started carving up the underground looking for clues as to the identity/motive of our armed-and-dangerous robber and hostage taker. Knowing WHO you're dealing with is important in a situation like this. "Talk to me," Shadowman said in the barest of whispers. I could hear him fine, but he probably hadn't made an audible sounds when he spoke. "Some out-of-town Freebot calling himself Milostraga. Nobody has much of a description for me aside from the fact that he is apparently wide," Topman's voice was strained against his words, giving me the impression that he had to do more than talk to get that information out of someone. "He apparently spoke briefly with Rival," one of Topman's informants who had close ties to Wily in the past, "about the location and layout of the UCB, and then more at length about the security systems." "What's he got about this guy's armament?" Snakeman quizzed. "All he said is the guy was armed, and then he laughed. Some kind of private joke I am not getting, I guess." "Keep working, Topman, there's bound to be more dirt on this guy somewhere," Shadowman said by way of congratulating him. I felt the need to say something. "Anybody else kinda offended by th' term Metalhead?" "A little," Geminiman came in on the comm. "I mean, that guy was one of the worst Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bad guys EVER." "Be serious, Gem," Needlegal's voice cut in. "I can understand where Hard's coming from on this. I mean, having to make a distinction between Freebots and Robots is bad enough, and now we're getting called names?" "None of that Freebot crap is law yet," Gemini growled, "and here's hoping it stays that way." "I jus' thought it was a sad statement that a guy can get away with callin' us Metalhead and NOT get, I dunno, punched in the face or something," I said with a mental shrug. "I could arrange for it," Magnetman's voice came in. I don't know why, but his voice always sent a chill down my spine. Maybe it had to do with the fact that one of the most psychotic members of our team had control over the weapon that could hurt me the most? Just maybe? Nah, couldn't be. "Stand down and cut the chatter, guys," Shadowman hissed. "Got him," Snakeman cut in almost at the same time. "Where?" "Third floor, a center office... he's staying far away from door sand windows... holy crap..." "What is it?" Shadowman asked, and I could tell he was already on the move. There was a momentary silence. "Ah. I see what you mean." "What? What is it?" Needlegal asked. "Do you need Gemini and I in there?" "Too risky," Shadowman said grimly. "I... how does that WORK?" "Skill and precision, would be my guess," Snakeman said. "WHAT IS IT?" Needlegal shouted. "What is making you guys freak out so bad?" "It's... you just... gah... it hurts my eyes to look at him..." "He's complicated," Snakeman summed up. "Trust me, when you see him, you'll understand." "Moving in now," Shadowman said after a moment of collecting himself. "Be careful," Snakeman told him. "Aren't I always?" Shadowman returned. I could just SEE the smug smirk on his face. Then... "Oh, crap." Two dull thumps. The windows on the third floor exploded outwards. Cops, media, and onlookers ran for cover. I just stood there, razor shards of glass bouncing off me like a summer rain. Something flew off the roof, chased by a pair of yellow bolts. "Well... that went well," Geminiman said before all hell broke loose. People started screaming. "That's Shadowman!" Snakeman shouted over the roar as he got closer behind me, pointing at the shape that was starting to fall back to earth. "What the hell hit him?" I asked, reaching up and crushing the two lights on my shoulders without a second though. Magnetman was beside me in a flash, and I realized that he'd been in the crowd somewhere with Snakeman. He pointed at the middle window that had just exploded all over the cement. "That." I gotta hand it to Snakeman and Shadowman, when they say you have to see it to understand, they aren't kidding. Milostraga was about six feet tall, a sturdy-without-being-fat kind of build with a dull green and faded purple color scheme. His head had a swept-back, Sonic-The-Hedgehog-like three tipped mask, a fairly dull set of eyes, and no visible mouth. Two of his hands were holding hostages, and two of his hands were clenched into fists. Wait, let me make this clearer: At his shoulders, he had what I can only describe as an additional shoulder on each side, with their own arms, and those arms have two shoulder-mounted grade 4 plasma weapon turrets. The outer set of arms are much boxier than the rest of his design, and also a little bigger, colored in red and white, giving the impression that they might have once belonged to someone else, and he grafted them onto his own arms. The overall effect made him, as has already been said, wide. About eight feet wide at the shoulder/shoulder/cannon. Those cannons? Pointed at the biggest thing on the street. Yep, me. Ever been hit by a pair of guys in full football pads when they're trying to pick you up and drag you a couple of yards? Any quarterback knows what I'm talking about. This was like that, except for a lot more light, a bit more hurt, a much louder roaring, and way more 'me falling over' than I'm strictly comfortable with. The cop car behind me crumbled and screamed briefly before it couldn't become any flatter. I barely felt the impact of hitting the ground, but breaking glass from the car windows sent people scurrying for cover again. I rolled onto my side and stood up quickly, craning my neck to look over my own mass. Milostraga leapt from the building, chucking his two hostages as he did so. Snake and Magnet had no choice but to make an effort to save the humans while Milostraga landed, took two steps, and shot into the air again, crashing through a window on the opposite side of the street. "Nimble lil' bastard, ain't he?" I grumbled, getting up on my feet again. "He's heading your way, Needlegal," Snakeman said over the comm. unit. I didn't spare the time to turn and check on the former hostages. If there was anything that could be done for them, I certainly didn't have a degree that said I could charge them an ungodly amount to do it, so I went with my remaining option. "I'm chasin' 'im," I grunted over the comm. unit, and without stopping to hear any replies, I took off at a dead run. I'm one of those guys, see, that says move, and pretty much everything does, be it living or architecture. There's a reason I'm not really allowed out on jobs like this much. The wall fell apart more out of fear than anything else, I think, and I ran straight into what turned out to be a hotel lobby, leaving great big holes in the shape of my feet behind me. Jumpy-McShootsFirst might be anywhere in the building, really, but that's why I have teammates. The telltale bark of a weapon that spat metal death like a machine gun told me Needlegal had spotted our psycho on the other side of the building. I didn't even bother to slow down, and that revolving door didn't stand much of a chance. A crashing shower of glass and the scream of shrill alarms hit about the same time as I exploded out onto the street, taking a brief moment to assess the situation. A pair of smoking holes in the parking center across the street from the hotel marked Needlegal's previous position rather neatly, but Needlegal herself was now a floor higher, raining her Needle Cannon down on Milostraga, who didn't look very amused, and was still a floor higher than me. Not really a problem for a guy with rocket hands. The distraction provided by the Needle Cannon masked the roar of my own Hard Knuckles, catching the four-armed psychobot completely off guard. The first one smashed into one of his plasma cannons, while the second hit hard across the left side of his midsection. Not really a solid blow, all things considered, but any interruption when you're getting hit by a dozen needles a second can be fairly painful. Give the guy credit, though, he reacted like a pro. His remaining cannon glowed briefly before firing straight ahead, propelling him backwards as he surrendered to the recoil of the launching mechanism. The shot seemed like a stray at first until it blew through, then blew UP several cars in the parking garage. The whole place shook and Needlegal was forced to vacate as the floor she was on collapsed, devoid of support from the blasted-out level below. "Crap, they're going to bill us for that," Shadowman sighed over the comm. unit. "Good to hear from you," Needlegal said almost sarcastically. "Lost 'im in th' hotel," I said to the listening crowd, trying to stay focused. We had our bad guy on the run, and we needed to shut him down before he (or I, for that matter) did more damage to the city. "Anyone on 'im?" "A step ahead of you," Snakeman replied, and I caught a flash of green as he entered my impromptu back door to the hotel and darted up the stairway. Magnetman was not far behind. Neither was Topman. "Glad ta see ya made it, pint-size," I grinned. "It was only eighteen blocks," Topman replied. "Sorry I took so long." "Hardman, Needlegal, you stay on the ground floor and make sure he doesn't disappear on us," Geminiman's voice came over the comm. unit. "Shadowman and I are on the roof. We'll work our way down and meet you in the middle, Snakeman." "Roger that," Needlegal said, passing me to get to the other side of the hotel. An orange flash that lit the fourth floor of the hotel brought my eyes skyward. In familiar fashion, the windows blew out, but I was less worried about the raining glass than I was for my friends. The cracking of the Gavel Arms rifle Snakeman was toting reassured me a little, as did, oddly enough, that slight sinking feeling in my gut that told me that Magnetman was using his own weapon within a hundred yards of me. A breathless Spark Chan arrived at my side. "Whew... that was a bit of a trek... Is everyone okay?" "Shadow took a hit, but he seems okay," I shrugged. "Guy actually knocked me down, but I'm fine. Tried to collapse a building on Needlegal, but she's still kickin'. Dunno past that, but I'm bettin' everyone's okay." A loud shout followed by a scream that wasn't entirely sane or, well, English cut across the general noise of panic, sirens, and alarms that was accumulating in the streets. Not long after that, the four-armed shape of Milostraga was ejected out of a sixth story window, and fell without ceremony to the ground, making a classic indentation on the pavement. Spark Chan and I walked over to his still form casually. Psychobot looked like he'd seen better days. I calmly stepped on his working plasma cannon, rendering it two dimensional, and proceeded to place another foot on his chest, ever so gently, to hold him there. Even if he DID wake up, he wasn't going anywhere unless he had Gutsman-like strength, and even then I'd notice early enough to punch him in the face. Shadowman was suddenly, somehow, THERE. "Good work everyone," he said with a grin under his mask. The rest of the Maniacs filed out of the hotel and we gathered in a haphazard circle around Milostraga, taking a moment to appreciate our work. "Well, that went well," Needlegal said eventually. "Yeah," Snake said, "I guess so..." And hard and fast they came at last, and more and more and more. Monsteropolis media, that is to say news casters, journalists, spin doctors, paparazzi, radio show hosts and... eugh... producers.. of those various media formats are actually, I'm convinced, part of some greater alien hoard that functions on a hive mind. They instantly know WHERE 'news' is happening, who to pester to acquire said 'news,' and also what questions will make those thy annoy the most uncomfortable. Such was the case here. "Mr. Shadowman!" someone shouted to be heard over the rest of the assembled media, "Gary Igart, Monster Times; do you think the separation of Robot and Freebot classes will lead to a rise in this kind of crime?" "Needlegal!" someone else was shouting, "I'm from Women In The Workplace, do you find it difficult to be heard in a predominantly male society?" "Mr. Top!" yet another voice was shouting, "where do you get your clothing made?" "Snakeman! Do you send your Search Snakes into girls' locker rooms?" "Gemini, dude, you should totally date Needlegal! It would be such a hit with the celebrity scene!" "Hardman, how do you balance your work and your hobbies?" "Spark Chan, pose for a picture ma'am?" "AWRIGHT," I bellowed, reducing all but the most hardline reporter to a wide-eyed child, afraid of the voice of authority calling them out like they've done something wrong. I took a heavy step forward to make them all back up and away from us. "Show's OVER, folks." Shadowman nodded, helping me push people back. "The criminal is in custody, and that's what matters," he told them sternly. Someone who didn't quite understand what is meant when I say 'show's over' decided to fire off another question, undoubtedly before his brain could check to see if that was a bad idea. "Shadowman, what do you say to accusations that Freebots think themselves above the law and should all be deactivated, starting with the Megaman Teams?" Now, I have no idea who threw the rock, and I have no idea where they GOT the rock, and I have no idea WHY they threw the rock, but I am very aware of the fact that a rock, somehow airborne, smacked me in the head at that point. I noticed it much the same way you might notice rain when you're wearing a hat. The crowd went totally silent as the rock fell, hit my shoulder with a sad ping, and fell to the ground. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, waiting for me to do something about this. I sighed. "Go home, people, seriously," I grumbled. They slunk away as an slightly upset looking police officer picked his way through the debris in the hotel lobby and double cuffed our four-armed perp with a set of Magna-cuffs, which were specially treated to shut down limb function in robots with focused EMP signals and magnetics. I'm not really all that sure how they work, but they make me sick being around them. The cop got four of his friends to haul Milostraga first to his feet, and then into a large, waiting van. He then turned a red, high-blood-pressure-from-stress kind of face to us. "This should have been handled by my men. By me." Shadowman shrugged. "HQ asked us to step in. He'd have blown your little crowd of boys in blue away without us." The cop sneered right in Shadowman's face, which was something to witness really. Seriously, nobody but retarded people with bad attitudes get in Shadowman's face like that and expect to keep their face for long. "I could have gotten the job done, and with no collateral damage." Geminiman politely coughed into his hand to mask a bad word, but Shadowman stared the man down without a problem. "You were under-equipped and outclassed. We got the bad guy, so it doesn't matter. The job is done, let's all go home, get on with our lives." I saw some of the cops nod. Sage advice to men who'd been on the job for eight long hours like they had been. The officer who had a chip on his shoulder, however, spat on the ground. "Filthy Freebots. Go back to the hole you crawled out of and stay there." A few minutes later, after some paperwork I had to sign for property damage and general police desk-jockey stuff, we were heading home. Mostly in silence, really. It had been a good day's work, but office DoesntShutUp cast a decent pall on our night. |
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MM3: Hardman XBOX LIVE: Payer 404 | |
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| REX Barron | Aug 3 2007, 08:00 AM Post #3 |
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Hipster Heel
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Sounds like a tough job for the 'Maniacs would be an understatement, but there's a new kinda a discrimination to, against robots. Good work man, i can't wait for the next one. |
| Formerly Mattrex, the leader the Mega Man X5 team Critical Mass. It's been quite some time. | |
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| Amethyst Nighthut | Aug 3 2007, 11:08 AM Post #4 |
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Nebuala Agent
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I really liked that line. I don't know why I do exactly, I just do. Its amusing. The story as a whole was really good though. One of those kind of stories that, while it does wrap itself up nicely in the end, does leave enough open for more if you had so wished. That, and I always enjoy the perspective you give. I can't wait to read the next story you do. |
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| Hunter_Chameleon | Aug 3 2007, 11:11 AM Post #5 |
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The Communist Merc
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Nice, as always. But now I want an answer to the question addressed to Snakeman.
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Now a full-time Communist. Combatron Chronicles - Transformers RP awaits you ! | |
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| Zerkai | Aug 3 2007, 12:39 PM Post #6 |
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Gila Gladiators
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That was turly a great story, no matter how long, had funny points, some action, and definately alot of funny points. Now to promote NeedlexGemini *Holds up a sign with a Chibi Needlegal and Chibi Gemini on it* XD |
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"Sometimes, its the hardest decision to make that is the one most worth making." "Never explain--your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway." ---------------------------------- | |
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| Cyros | Aug 3 2007, 02:47 PM Post #7 |
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WARNING!
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You people are ship real people now? Oh dear lord. Anyway, nice short story Hardman. Can't wait for the next short. |
![]() :Flashman :Armored Armadillo"I just want to stay home and eat chips." ~ Turboman, The Dr. Wily Show | |
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| Hardman | Aug 3 2007, 08:37 PM Post #8 |
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That Hard Guy
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Story 2: The Tank Job Somedays, not often, but SOME DAYS, I hate my job. Not my job at my bar. I love that job. I built that bar and run it because I love doing it. I take crap pay because I love that job. No, it's my OTHER job I hate. Y'know, that cop thing I do on the side. Some of you raise an eyebrow about that, but hell, this is par for the course for me. Probably in the whole of the Multiverse, I may be one of, like, three people who runs a bar first and 'protects and serves' second. Most people I know do it the other way around. Anyway, losing focus, get back on the topic, Hardy... So I was saying I hate my job, which I do, and normally it's one of those general 'I don't wanna go to work' kind of hate my job things. People like the cop from the last story make it their job to make me hate mine. Today, however, it was a very different kind of thing. Today, it was staring down the barrel of a tank's main gun. Yeah, you heard me. You don't want to have heard me, but you did. Let me break this down for you, and enlighten you as to how, exactly, it was Topman's fault that I'm standing in the middle of a street, placing myself between that big gun and Spark-Chan. First of all, understand that I'm POSITIVE it was his turn to do the shopping today. I'd put MONEY on it, and I do NOT gamble. "We're out of... everything," Geminiman said dully, wandering into the living room. I was, as I usually am, sprawled on my couch. Other occupants of the room included Snakeman and Magnetman (who were engaged in a game of backgammon, I think, which is odd because I never knew either of them played) and Spark-Chan, who was watching something on TV. It might have been the Food Network, or it might have been the doily channel. I don't really know anything past the fact that the woman on the screen was a moderate amount of hot. "I' was Top's turn ta do th' shoppin'," I grunted with a level of certainty. "I thought it was your turn," Snakeman said without looking up. "Yeah," Gemini nodded, "I was under that impression too." "I did i' las' Tuesday," I grumbled. "No, I did," Magnetman told me, also without looking up. "Wow, we let ya out 'n public?" I said with a little more acid in my tone than was probably necessary. Something hit me in the head, albeit not very hard, but it carried enough of a magnetic charge that it made my vision go all rainbows. "Ow!" Spark-Chan, ever the peacemaker, stood up quickly. "Look, everyone, I'll go get the groceries, okay?" "Not a chance," Geminiman sneered. "All due respect, milady, but let the lard ass over here get them." I got to my feet. "Keep yer fruity lil' armor plates on, Splits, I'm goin'," I grumbled. "What did I tell you about calling me that?" "Not ta," I grinned before I made my way out of the door. It was a bright, sunny, cheerful day. I, on the other hand, am not a bright, sunny, cheerful person during the bright, sunny, cheerful hours of the day. I'm much more friendly at times in the double digits in the PM or in small amounts of the AM. 11:30 in the morning is not a good time of the day for me. Also, the sight of me walking on the sidewalk is enough to make everyone nervous. I'm not really the kind who gets followed by furry little woodland creatures and sings showtunes. People see me coming and take it as a sign that something terrible is about to happen, either to them, their children, their pets, their car, or in some cases, their building. I was about halfway to the store when Spark-Chan caught up with me. "Hey, Hardman, slow down!" she called. I let her catch up. "I have a list of the things we need." I look at her, then at the list, and then back at her. "You... ya un'erstan' that this 's freakin' surreal, righ'? Th' whole 'havin' an everday conversation about groceries' while we're standin' in th' middle of th' city, wearin' armor and equipped fer war, kinda thing, right?" She ignored me and started walking on to the store. I caught up with her in a few short strides. "So, I've always wanted to ask you something," she said as I drew even with her. "Shoot." "What kind of accent IS that?" "Wha' accen'?" "That." I shrugged. "I dunno. S' jus' one o' those thin's." She gave me a glare. "It... it's just that it keeps changing. Seriously, it gets thicker some days, and then others it's like you don't have one at all." "Depen's on wha' I had ta drink las' nigh'?" I ventured. "Well that doesn't make much sense," she told me. We made small talk like that back and forth as we arrived at the grocery store, trading stories about weird little things that happened around the base until we got to the checkout. I can't actually go through those little aisles, on account of my overall width, so I went around while Spark got everything bagged up and paid for on the police charge account we've been using to buy groceries for months now. I have no clue if anyone's noticed yet. As we left, however, each carrying three bags full of stuff, we heard the noise. It was like construction machinery, but with a lot more screaming and people running for their lives. Spark and I gave each other a look, put down our groceries, and went to investigate. Around the next street corner was a sight to behold. A brand new A-3M-4 'Abigail' Main Battle Tank was trundling down the street like it belonged there. To arms enthusiasts who kept up with current military hardware, the Abigail is a lovely piece of work. Mounted with a 135mm 'Thundercracker' smooth bore cannon on the main turret and a unique tread assembly that allowed it to deal with incredibly broken terrain (this thing looked more like a very low-riding four legged robot than a tank), it's ability to be modified and outfitted with zillions of weapons loadouts gave it a tactical flexibility the military seemed to be demanding from everything they built these days. This particular Abigail had a pair of light anti-aircraft rocket pods mounted toward the read of the turret and three .50 cal M4 machine gun blisters on the front and sides. It also had a lot of cars under its treads and was rolling forward merrily, crushing even more in its advance. "Well," I sighed, "there goes MY day," I grumbled. I turned to Spark-Chan "Watch th' bags, I'll be righ' back." She nodded and watched me go as I waded into the fleeing populace, easily moving through the crowd of people a third my size toward the Abigail, which seemed to notice me. This wasn't surprising, I'm fairly easy to recognize, as I'm sure I've already said. In the back of my mind, I had a thought about reading whoever was driving the vehicle their Miranda rights, but there didn't seem to be too much point at the moment, so I just applied a sticker I carried around that looked like a police badge to my shoulder. I have to do that, apparently, when representing the Monsteropolis Police Department. MPD regulations also state that, as what is technically a 'vehicle' due to weight and size classifications, I have a blue and red light on my shoulders, but I hate those, and nobody really tries to enforce that. I was about 40 feet away when the front machine gun started spitting fire, putting gaping holes in the cars around me. Anyone who's concerned about my health and safety, please, do some research. The bullets didn't do much to even slow my forward momentum. The ones that hit, anyway. Whoever was in the tank was a bad shot. I got close to the nearest tread assembly when the thing just shot forward, churning up cars in the wake of its sudden burst of speed. I may have forgotten to mention that the Abigail is capable of what the military types call 'Emergency Relocation Bursts,' which basically moves the tank really fast over a short, mostly flat distance in the event of artillery, mines, grenades, what-have-you. In this case, it was being used to get away from me. Good call, really. Unfortunately, that carried the Abigail to the end of the street, the machine skidding in such a way that it was probably now almost directly at Spark-Chan. I swore and leapt to cover the distance, coming down comically short in a thunderous crash on a damaged produce truck. "We could use some backup here!" Spark-Chan called out over the Mech's comm channel. "It's just ONE tank," I sighed, mostly to myself. As I fought to free myself of cabbage and unshucked corn, I noticed that the tank seemed to sit there for a moment or two before the main gun started to shift around and adjust its aim. Normally, an Abigail has a tank crew of three people. The slow transition between motion and attack meant there was probably only one guy in there, really. "We're on the way," came Snakeman's voice. My hand flew out and laid a smack on the barrel of the cannon a moment before it fired, and a full two seconds AFTER the Spark Shot slammed into the front of the tank and sent it rocking backwards. Either way, its aim was spoiled when the cannon actually fired, the shell careening into the sky before slamming into a building that was under construction a few blocks away. I covered the remaining distance and put myself between Spark-Chan and the Abigail as the crazy guy inside the tank probably loaded another shell into the thing. Which is where you came in, I think. I hate my job. The cannon shifted again, pointing at me, and I could almost hear the guy inside fumbling for the trigger. I was faster on the draw and both Hard Knuckles slammed into the barrel of the cannon, sufficiently denting it on one side and cracking the other. The idiot in the Abigail, however, must not have realized it, and there was a pathetic clank before the base of the cannon exploded, the largest remaining piece sailing over my head and landing some 30 yards behind us. There was notable swearing as the fire burned on the tank's turret. "I don't think he's all there," I said to Spark-Chan. "I don't think he was hurt," she said. "I mean men'ally," I said. "Oh." "We got th' guy," I said over the link. "Gonna arrest 'im and then go home." "It never hurts to have backup," Snakeman replied. The clarity of his voice told me he was fairly close, anyway. Through the smoke, I saw the hatch of the turret open up and a surprisingly old-looking man crawled out. "Oy!" I shouted at him, taking a few steps forward. "You have th' right ta remain silent..." I moved forward with more authority and grabbed him by the collar. "Anythin' ya say can an' prolly WILL be used against ya in a court'a law..." He finally seemed to find his voice. "You can't arrest me, you rustbucket! I have a right to be arrested by a human being!" I barked a mirthless laugh. "Yeah, ya gave up most o' tha' kinda thin' when ya started drivin' through town in a tank." "I'll sue the city!" he frothed. "Yeah, an' they'll sue ya back," I shrugged. "I'd actually count m'self lucky, were I you. City's got nothin' on whatever military outpost ya stole this tank from. They prolly want ya pretty damn bad." I hauled him up by his shoulders and started to walk toward the closest police station. He kept trying to wriggle out of my grasp, but I've got hands like... well, really big robot hands. Come on, they can't all be funny. "Hey, Hardman?" I heard Snake's voice in my head, "You may want to..." Then I got knocked down. Funny thing about that, it doesn't happen very often. "... move... or something. JUST a suggestion..." The old man I'd been in the process of arresting was sprawled on the sidewalk. He was out like a light, but he didn't look dead. Not even kind of broken. The wall I'd collided with, however, was broken. Spots came in and out of my vision and I shook my head to clear it. I was barely aware of the debris rolling off my frame as I tried to stand up, and the ringing in my ears drowned out a worried Spark-Chan. From the bits and pieces I caught, however, she was more concerned for Crotchety-Old-Guy-Who-Joyrides-In-Tanks, which I was okay with, in the long run. I managed to get my legs under me with some admitted effort stood up. My day was getting worse. Another Abigail, this one still in tact, was about a football field up the street. A way that it sat there in the street was somehow more menacing than the last one. Maybe it was the lack of vehicles on this street it was trying to flatten. I got half a swear word out before it fired again. The shell, thankfully the non-explosive kind, but less thankfully the armor-piercing kind, slammed into my torso, shoving aside three or four layers of Ceramic-Titanium and rubber insulation before it spent its energy. I blew backward through the pile of debris I'd just extracted myself from and proceded to roll down the street, finally coming to stop against an unfortunately placed bus. I coughed and picked myself up again, this time more slowly. "Sonuvabitch," I muttered, "that HURTS." Something dropped out of the bottom of my stomach, and the bus scraped against my back as it rose into the air. I turned to look at Kenta, his eyes glowing faintly as they tended to when he was at work. "Can you do nothing right?" he asked me in monotone. "Well, I got th' milk an' eggs an' bread, but they 'ad this blue light 'n military hardware, an' I just HADTA get me a piece o' tha' action," I grumbled. The bus sailed over my head, over Spark-Chan's head, and dipped low suddenly and folded in on itself as the Abigail fired again, blowing the bus-ball apart from the inside as Magnetman used it to catch the tank shell. "The old man is secure," Shadowman's voice came into my head, giving me a warm feeling that comes with not really having to make my own decisions or worry much about the situation anymore. I like my boss. He does all the hard work, I just hit things and take cannon shells to the chest. "Do you have an in, Snake?" "On an Abigail?" the sniper asked incredulously. "No chance. We'll have to take this guy down the hard way." "No problem," I replied, propelling myself forward, slowly at first and then into a full run. "Cover me, Mags!" "Affirmative," he said. I heard him more over the team communications channel than any other way, since I make a lot of noise when I get moving fast. I passed Spark-Chan as another cannon shot rang out, and a full-size van flipped into the air of its own volition, compacting itself into a brick of metal as it did so and sailing into the path of the shell. The impact deflected the 135mm shell into another car and out of the area I was worried about. I powered forward and then bunched my legs under me and shot into the air. The new Abigail slid deftly to one side, again with the emergency system usually used for avoiding artillery, but this time, I was airborne. The jet engine fired to life, propelling me forward and down in the line I'd been going in, but I put my hand on my side and fired the Hard Knuckle, the thrust of the Knuckle re-directing me in mid-flight to slam into the Abigail, smashing the right-side treads and shattering a portion of the turret. "Huh..." Snakeman was saying as I pulled my head out of the ground. "That was kind of cool." I plopped down on the smashed concrete, shaking my head for the second time in as many minutes. I was going to have a headache tomorrow, and there was no way around it. Magnetman was making his way forward as the turrets on the tank struggled to draw a bead on him. Electric fury slammed into the front turret, causing the mechanics-guided blister to spaz out of control and shake itself apart, while the turret on the other side exploded for a reason I wasn't sure of. I later found out that Snakeman fired directly down the barrel of that particular turret, and things kind of took their course from there. At least, that's what I was told. The left tread assembly simply folded in on itself, and a cold feeling in my gut told me that was Kenta's doing. With something that could have been effort, Magnetman tore that whole half of the tank away from the main body before picking up the turret and crew compartment up with little more than willpower. I felt physically sick, but I was the only one, really. After what seemed to be a moment's consideration, the whole thing disassembled itself into its basic screws, plates, and assorted wiring, the two people inside dropping out and landing roughly on the ground. The various pieces of tank that remained piled themselves up neatly on the sidewalk like it was a hardware store sale. As my nausea wore off, Shadowman appeared from behind me, and dropped the old guy with the other two. They looked somewhat younger, but they all could have been war veterans. Hell, that was probably what had happened; a few old war vets had panicked and tried taking their old war to the streets again. Kind of sad, really. The leader of the Mechanical Maniacs looked at all of us and nodded. "Good work, team," he said with a hint of... well, it could have been pride. |
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MM3: Hardman XBOX LIVE: Payer 404 | |
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| Amethyst Nighthut | Aug 4 2007, 12:35 AM Post #9 |
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Nebuala Agent
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Well, there's not much I can say that I haven't already said. It was another good story full of action, comedy, and Hardman's wit that I have come to enjoy. Good job on another well done story. |
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| Mad Mags | Aug 4 2007, 10:12 AM Post #10 |
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Is there anything better than a first person Hardman story these days? If so, I've yet to see it. Once again, you've trumped me in the "little things" department, filling the story with rich details and almost unnoticable lines and moments that really make your writing stand out. I'd say your writing displays more real personality than just about anything else here. I love the way you've handled the Mechs here, with Hardman actually stating that he hates his cop job. You'd actually think a giant blue tank-man would enjoy being paid to crush things, but you've managed to give us a compelling reason or two for why he doesn't. The action is smart, and moreso, the dialogue. |
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| Hardman | Aug 4 2007, 01:04 PM Post #11 |
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That Hard Guy
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(Hey, Mags? Ix-nay on aise-pray. Seriously, it sounds silly coming from you and your massive novel with action and intrigue. So just shush. Or something. I dunno.) Story # 3: The Bunker Job (also known as Gravity Sucks) "I don't think this 's covered by ANY insurance plan tha' exists, anywhere. Even th' hypothetical places." "Hey, we've got health insurance, at least for right now," Needlegal shrugged. "No," I said, shaking my head and trying to be heard over the roar of the wind. "I mean that there's no insurance policy tha' covers th' kinda damage I'm gonna do when I get there." Hi again. Yeah, it's me, Hardman. The lone member of the RPD Armored Division and the biggest Maniac of the Mechanical persuasion. Also owner of a bar, have I mentioned that? (Open 2:00pm till 3:00am, Tuesday through Saturday. And sometimes Sunday, but only during Lent and Christmas. Ladies get one free drink on Thursdays and we occasionally have live local bands on Friday nights. Seriously, drop on by.) You've joined me at an exciting time. Right now, I'm flying, interestingly enough, in something that isn't a cargo hold. I'm 30,000 feet in the air over the verdant forests found near Monsteropolis, about to participate in what has been jokingly referred to by just about everyone as a 'bust.' I want it on the record that I hate everyone, everything, and am not, as you may imagine, looking forward to my part in this. Why? Well, when I say 'in something,' I actually mean 'on something.' As in 'on the outside.' I am strapped by several lengths of sturdy (DAMN sturdy) wire to the underside of a... let's just say a helicopter that normally carries 20 people has trouble staying in the air like this, what with me just kind of hanging onto the underside and all. We're hovering over what everyone, again jokingly, is calling the target zone, and if I'm not mistaken, if I actually make it to my intended destination, Snakeman owes Topman some money. Needlegal, who was up here almost exclusively to make sure I didn't drop until I was absolutely supposed to, gave me a pat on the shoulder that, at any other time, might have been reassuring. "This will be easy," she yelled over the noise of the rotors. "Just let gravity do the work for a little bit, until you get the feel for it, and then do your thing." A voice in my head that belonged to my smallest team-mate cut in with "And you better make it. I have twenty dollars riding on this." Another voice came in, preventing me from passing a comment. "We're at 30 seconds, people. Remember, it's a 200 count, and then we move in. Hardman should have had enough time to make his entrance by that point, and we ought to be able to walk in and make this quick and simple." "Boss," I said, looking down at the sea of green below me, "I wanna state at this time tha' I have reservations abou' my role in th' mission." "Noted," Shadowman replied. A definitive click in my ear told me he switched off the link. "Hey, Hardman," Snakeman's voice came through. "Wha'?" "I can see you." "Shaddap," I grumbled. "You look pretty pissed." "Y'think?" I could HEAR him shrug, I was sure of it. I could also HEAR him smile, the irritating... "Just thought you should know." "I swear ta god-" And then Needlegal cut the wires. And I fell. "GOD HAVE MERCY!" may or may not have ripped its way out of my mouth in a high-pitched screaming fashion. I admit to nothing. I'm going to leave out most of my internal monologue at this point and, as always, take the time out just when things are getting good to fill you in. Ain't I a bastard? So a detective stumbled on this drug dealing ring that wasn't, in fact, selling drugs at all. It turns out the drug ring was, get this, a cover. Yeah, kind of whacked out, isn't it? The drug ring was a cover for something else. That usually works out some other way, I think. Anyway, the REAL stuff these guys were into was black market Warbot parts. In the old days, back when humanoid Robots and Robot Masters were getting their start in the service of mankind, Warbots were the pinnacle of military science. They thought for themselves, adjusted to situations well, and in their own, clunky, primitive kind of way, were basically killing machines. A Warbot hasn't been recorded as functional in almost 40 years, and a lot of people forgot they existed. Fast forward to today. With advances in robotics and ways to censor robotics, Warbots are pretty much impossible to make and hard to find. Warbot parts contain both weapons and incredibly simplistic programming codes that were written long before the Laws that govern pretty much all of Robot-kind existed. Y'know, things like a general regard for human life, self preservation, etcetera, etcetera. Long story short: They're very valuable in more ways than one. Someone who got enough parts together and a book of Robots for Dummies could create a fully functional (if not somewhat ancient) battle machine and go on a rampage with it. And from the evidence that had been gathered before the case had been handed over to us, this particular group had gathered a LOT of parts. Their base was an underground bunker that hid in the forest that was rushing up to meet me, which brings me around to why I'm involved at all. I'm being used as a bunker buster. I dunno all the math, but normally falling onto the ground from that height, I'd do a considerable amount of damage to the landscape, if not myself. Maybe not enough to crack a bunker, but that's what phase two was for. The jet engine in the core of my body flared to life, and I started to fall faster. Yeah, this was what I wanted to be doing when I rolled out of bed this morning. I closed my eyes for the end of it, so I don't know when I really blacked out. I remember a tremendous cracking sound, a lot of muffled noise, and then an explosion of sound that lasted for the briefest of moments before everything was muffled. It was a good, long time before I even thought about moving again. I did a mental check to make sure I still had all my limbs, and was surprised to find that, all in all, I hadn't actually taken that much damage. I pulled my head out of the ground with a little work and plopped back onto my butt. "Whee," I groaned to myself. I stood up and turned around, only just now noticing the small arms fire that was bouncing off of me. Thug-like men with small machine guns were shooting me, for all the good it was doing. I took a little more time to get my bearings before stepping over the rubble of my landing. "Oh, jus' shove off, th' lot o' ya!" I shouted for no real reason. Nobody seemed to take the hint. Shapes descended from the hole I'd left in their ceiling. Fast, deadly shapes that fell on the thugs and took them all down with precision and experience. I was content to watch, sure that my part in all this nonsense was done, as the rest of the Maniacs mopped up the mob. "Well, tha' was fun," I said with a mock grin. I saw Snakeman give Topman something, and the latter gave me a thumbs up. "Now what?" "Die, coppers!" someone shouted from the other end of what looked like an underground warehouse. "Coppers?" Geminiman asked the room in general. "Who TALKS like that anymore?" Spark-Chan gave him a sort of odd look, but the voice at the other end of the big room wanted our attnetion again. "You filthy pigs are no match for my Warbots! Destroy the enemy!" Out of the darkness came shapes that might not be unlike stacks of cardboard boxes with little guns sticking out of them. Some of them were even intoning "Destroy. Destroy. Destroy," over and over again. It was kind of cute, really. I punched one and it crumpled like tin foil. "It's like attack of the History channel," Snakeman sighed, not even bothering to waste rounds from his rifle. He stuck with close combat tactics instead, and dismantled three more of them in the time it took me to smash another pair. "They are much like the tin toys that used to be sold to children in the early 20th century," Topman noted, kicking one and watching it fall over. "They were good in their time, but now they are somewhat sad and pathetic. It is a little disheartening, I admit." Needlegal's own weapon barked metal death and she carved a swath through the last remnants of the Warbots. Shadowman, in the meantime, had disappeared, probably in pursuit of our remaining criminal. "Anyone else kind of disappointed that Hardman got to do the fun part?" She asked as the last smoking wreck fell to the ground. "Fun my ass," I muttered. "Found him," Shadowman reported, appearing out of the darkness with a greasy-looking fat balding man in tow. "Well, that's that," Geminiman nodded. "Let's get out of this hole." "Not so fast!" our idiot captive broke in. His hands pulled a remote from... somewhere. I don't wanna go into that. He waved it threateningly. "I can unleash my ultimate weapon and destroy you all! Surrender and release me!" Shadowman sighed and very calmly knocked the man out. Geminiman stepped forward and grabbed the remote, looking at it critically. "Wow," he said, "this guy was going for classic supervillainy all the way. Right down to the 'behold my ultimate weapon' speech." "It is not like his ultimate weapon could be all that good. He was working with outdated parts and no apparent common sense," Topman said. "Maybe we should press the button anyway," Geminiman joked. "Might make this day more interesting." I grabbed the thing away from Gemini, who immediately started to protest. "No way," I told him. "Not chancin' anything like fightin' any kinda ultimate anythin', even if it prolly DOES suck eggs. I've had enough action fer one day." Shadowman agreed with me. "Job's done, guys. Let's move out and let the rest of the cops handle everything." We clambered out of the hole in the ground, albeit with some help from Magnetman (which made me about as sick as a rollercoater ride with a stomach full of booze) and headed back to base with our perp. Boss asked me to carry him, which I was not comfortable with since it made me feel all greasy and made me REALLY want a shower, but, y'know, boss says jump, I do it. That much has been made painfully clear, I think. We got the fat, greasy sack of moron back to the police with minimal incident (he woke up once, I think, and started shouting something before someone electrocuted him) and explained what had happened. After the ever-present paperwork (I hate my job) we made our way home, where I dropped onto my couch without ceremony. I was just about to doze off when Geminiman came into the room, looked over the occupants, and sighed. "We're out of everything." "I wen' shoppin' las' time," I immediately said. "Point taken," the Twin Terror nodded, "but in all that confusion, I don't think any of us remembered to grab the bags after they were done dealing with the tanks." "Yeah, well I'm not goin' again," I told him, rolling over on my couch and closing my eyes for emphasis. Geminiman opened his mouth to say something, but Topman cut in as he entered the room. "I'll go, Gem," he said with a smile. "I completely forgot it was my turn yesterday, so it is only fair." I grinned to myself as I drifted into sleep. Told you I was positive. |
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MM3: Hardman XBOX LIVE: Payer 404 | |
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| Raijin | Aug 4 2007, 03:03 PM Post #12 |
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I liked that bit about Hardman's shifting accent, poking fun at the differing writing styles we apply to the characters. Incidently, I make it a point in my regular proofreading runs to mussy up Hardman's speech in Gauntlet's eps to keep it a bit more consistent, although I usually don't corrupt every single word in a sentence. As Hard tends to drop more and more terminating consonants it's getting hard to keep up. At least now we have a kind of excuse for the variance. Speaking of proofreading, I cleaned these up too. In the case of Case 1, I ended up fixing the same typos as I did the first time you posted it. All I had to do was copy and paste the parts from last time into this thread though, so it was no biggie. I made sure to leave the Sonic comparison though, since that is helpful in envisioning what "three-tipped" means. Hope there weren't any other changes in there I missed. Really loving the character interactions and Hardman's emoting. The conflicts of the second two cases are somewhat lackluster though, both involving pathetic, incompetent villains that stumble around, barely acting as a nuisance to the heroes. I suppose anything more involving with the bad guys in this format would run out of control and escape the short-story premise though. Besides, the action may be built around battles, but the focus is clearly on the Maniacs. I particulalry liked Snakeman paying off his bet to Top in the middle of one of these lackluster conflicts, and then the attention going right back to shopping as soon as they get back from it. We may be cops, but we have lives too. |
![]() MM3: Snakeman AXE:Drillman.exe VI: Skullman.exe | |
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| SpinningDemon | Aug 5 2007, 12:06 AM Post #13 |
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MM3: Top Man
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Haven't had time to read the third yet, but this thread was a great idea. You always write little snippets on the team forum that never really develop into anything further, but they're so good as is that they always go to waste just sitting in the locked team forum. It's good to know they'll be getting plenty of fresh air now =) And yes, I love your writing, but I tell you that every time, so there's no need to be redundant. |
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| Magnus Riujin | Aug 5 2007, 11:17 PM Post #14 |
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I need to make a new avatar....
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Hardman, some of your stuff might not be as neat as Wanted, but it'll be a cold day in hell before I admit your work trancesnds hilarity straight into full-blow rib-crack' laugher as I roll back and forth on the floor in agony, but nobody else can tell because I'm laughing too damn hard. |
![]() I seek that which is lost, for I have no way to find myself.... | |
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| Hardman | Aug 6 2007, 07:58 PM Post #15 |
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That Hard Guy
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The Fourth Story: The Riot Job (or A Bag of Chips) I glared at Turboman. "Yer a damn liar," I growled. He grinned at me in his own aggravating way. "You think so, fat man?" "I know so," I said, slamming my hand on the table between us. There was a clatter of noise and Ringman let out a sigh. "Can we stop that?" he asked, putting his chips back into neat little piles. "Sorry," I said. "Call." "Two pair," Turboman grinned, "Aces and queens." "Aw, dammit," I said, throwing my cards down. It was Monday night, which was Poker Night. Since my bar is closed on Mondays, it's a good place for some of the other team members in Monsteropolis to hang out, have a brew, and play some cards with minimal interruption. Turboman and Ringman were regulars along with Quickman who could sneak out of Skull Castle fairly easily and had gone out for more potato chips. "Well, Hardy," Turboman grinned, "I hate to take all of your money, but I always end up giving it back to you." "And yer business 's appreciated," I grunted, picking up the deck and dealing out the cards. Quickman sped back into the room as I finished handing out the cards and sat down, distributing our various snack choices before picking up his own hand. "Bet's ta you, Quick," I told him. My own hand was a three, a four, a six, a seven, and a jack. Damn near a straight, but I hated drawing to the inside... The scarlet speedster gave the cards a critical look. "I bet two." "Call," said Turbo. "Call," repeated Ringman. "Two it is," I said, shoving the chips in the middle. "Make yer trade ins, folks." Quickman took two cards, Turbo took three, and Ringman took two. I sighed and discarded my jack, drawing the top card of the deck. I almost didn't look at it. Almost. "Well, Quick?" Poker is one of those wonderful pastimes that allows you to look into someone's soul. Everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE, has a tell. A tell is something that you do without thinking when you're mind is in a certain place, such as looking at a good hand, or a bad hand. Everyone's tell is different, but if you play with the same people a lot, you get used to them. Quickman, for example, had a tendency to tap his foot if he had a decent hand. Fortunately, he was not tapping his foot. "Two again," he said after some thought. Turboman was stroking his chin. "Sounds fair," he said with a nod. "Call." Then there's Ringman. Ringman is one of those people that learns about things like tells, and then does everything in his power to make that kind of thing something he doesn't have to worry about. Ringman consciously throws out all kinds of signs that conflict with each other, so you never know what the hell is up with him. Add to that the fact that Ringman doesn't fold unless he doesn't even have a face card, and he's a fairly good, if not somewhat annoying, poker player. "I'll see your two and raise you two," he said with a grin, a card flick, and leaning back in his chair. Three tells, all of them intentional. Which made it four to me. My last card had not been the five I needed. "Fold," I sighed, putting my cards down. I really didn't need to lose more money tonight. "Call," said Quickman. "Same," said Turbo, and the chips clattered into the center. Ringman grinned. "Straight," he chuckled, putting the cards down face up. "Dammit," said Quickman. "Well, all I have is two pair," Turboman sighed, flipping over a pair of fives and then... another pair of fives. Ringman stopped collecting the chip pile and glared at him. "Wow, Turbo," I chuckled, "yer a dick." The transforming leader of Drastic Measures gave me the smile I'd seen on his face a hand ago. "Well, you know how it is, Hardman. When you've got it, flaunt it." Something in my ear went 'BEEP' and Snakeman's voice fuzzed into my head. "I need some backup on Fifty-Second and Forester," he was saying, with a note of urgency in his voice. "Preferably of the big, heavy variety." "Ah, dammit," I said, standing up. "Duty calls?" Turboman asked. I nodded. "Well, it isn't my fault," Quickman shrugged. "Wily has something planned for next week, but nothing for tonight." "I'll be back," I grunted as I made my way out the door. "An' don't try anythin'." "Wouldn't dream of it," Ringman assured me as I closed the door. "I'm on my way, slithers," I said over the team link. "What's goin' on tha' ya need MY help?" "A protest group got a little out of hand," Snake replied, sounding a little out of breath. "They chasin' ya?" "Not in so many words," he said with what must have been gritted teeth. "The word 'Chase' implies I'm allowed to flee." I made decent time to Forester street, and even from ten blocks away, I saw what he meant. A throng of bodies were viciously attacking something. It looked like a building. "Snake, tell me yer not in tha' mess" "I slid my way into an old basement, but there's no way out that isn't angry people." "Wha' th' hell were they protestin'?" I wondered as I picked up my pace and started to run down the street. "The recent budget increase of the RPD," Shadowman chimed into my head. It was good to hear his voice. It meant I wasn't the only one swiftly approaching Snakeman's position. Dealing with an angry mob is much easier with support. "Seems that the efforts to appropriate some new equipment upset some people." "Ironic, is it not?" Topman said with a grin as he pulled up alongside me. Even when my four ton frame is moving at maximum speed, Topman can keep up with me at an easy stride. "People are upset that we can protect them better." "Yeah, all kinds of funny from where I stand," sighed Snakeman. "On the other hand, I can hear Hardman coming, so hopefully this will be quick." I smiled broadly as I approached the crowd. They finally started noticing my approach with looks of confusion, and then gapes of horror. The smarter ones started to run. "BREAK IT UP, PEOPLE!" I bellowed as I slowed down and waded into the crowd. Topman, who was much easier to overwhelm, stayed on the fringes. I was forcing bodies back by sheer bulk when something hit me in the back that made the bottom of my stomach drop out. Someone in this crowd had a magnet. A really BIG one. I tried to yell something but my voice didn't work, and my legs surrendered soon after. I hit the ground hard, knees first, followed shortly by my face. People around me were yelling, some in panic, some in anger, and my head was on fire with voices, but none of them made any sense. Rainbow colors streaked across my vision, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I was screaming. My world sank into pain and I started hallucinating, my brain trying to escape the reality where some asshole had just attached a magnet to my back. For some reason, only one thought was going through my mind in a rational matter: I can't die here! This is barely canon! Light and life sprang back into focus, and all I could see was concrete. Confused, disoriented, and more than a little pissed off, I stood up, paying little attention to the crowd that had tried to pile on top of me. I shook my head to clear it and looked around. On the outskirts, I could see Magnetman spinning a large electromagnet around and around in his hand. Topman, who was standing next to him, gave me a thumbs up. "Much obliged, Kenta," I said, moving again through the crowd and closer to the building. I saw the entrance to the basement Snakeman had used and swept the remnants of the mob away from it enough for him to slide out and leap onto my shoulder. "Thanks for the lift," he nodded before leaping off of me and over the crowd, landing easily on the other side of the mob. I started to wade back out into the street when something near the edge of the crowd flashed and Magnetman went down. "DAMMIT!" Shadowman shouted, both out loud and over the link. "First Hardman and now this! Get Magnetman out of here!" Topman wordlessly grabbed our red friend and sped off. "Find that bastard with the Lightning Gun and take him down, guys!" The military had come up with a wonderful weapon recently that had been dubbed the Lightning Gun. Basically, it was a big metal spike that built up an electric charge that was located on the same frame as an ion painter. The ion painter could create a charge differential as small as a tack on a target up to four hundred yards away, and then science took its course and the electricity stored in the spike would rush forward in a synthetic lightning bolt to strike the painted target. Not a happy idea when you have friends who are weak to electricity. Fortunately, the whole assembly is big and bulky due to the battery that is required to operate it, so it was just a matter of finding someone attatched to their backpack. The roar of the crowd, now more afraid than angry, because mobs get confused easily, was overtaken by the sound of my Hard Knuckle as it shot forward and slammed into a likely suspect, knocking him down and sending him sliding out of the crowd across the concrete in a somewhat sandpaper way. Snakeman was on him in seconds, dismantling the backpack and Lightning Gun to prevent it from doing any more damage. I think he gave the guy a kick in the face too, but I chose not to see that, so it didn't happen. Some of the mob was beginning to dispearse, convinced something had gone wrong for reasons I couldn't imagine, but as they cleared out, I caught sight of someone hefting a rifle. A big one. Its sleek lines, lack of clip, and rather ominous glow told me it was a laser gun. And it was being aimed at Needlegal, even now passing the last street between her and the conflict. I shouted something and my other Knuckle shot forward before my other one even got back, but there's no way on God's green earth I can beat the speed of light. The gun flared, only for a moment, before a blue laser bolt seared the air. But the aim was off. The gun had been hit by something that WAS faster than the speed of light. Shadowman descended like a bat from the depths of hell itself, and the poor idiot with the laser rifle never stood a chance. Hell, I'm not even sure he knew what HIT him. Quick, precise strikes severed tendons and elicited tortured screams before he was finally put down harder than even I think I could manage. It's just as well, my Hard Knuckle was off by several feet. As the last of the crowd dispearsed, we were left with our two assailants, with who knows how many others that might have slipped away in the confusion. Needlegal arrived and looked at the laser rifle before voicing the question that was on all of our minds. "What the hell just happened?" |
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| Raijin | Aug 8 2007, 08:17 PM Post #16 |
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...was that meant to imply Snakeman's weak to electricity? If anything, the Other Thundergod getting knocked down by a lightning bolt is the most infuriatingly ironic defeat I could suffer. Might that target have been Magnetman before some hasty rewriting? Snakeman's not even weak to Spark Shock in-game. And his TM2 armor is supposed to be built for insulation, accentuating his weakness to piercing physical attacks more than anything else. Anyway, this was a pretty busy episode. The poker game scene was so many kinds of delightful. More of that endearing characterization your stories are known for and even including some of our other favourite team personalities. Then it gets into one of the most rapid and intense action scenes you've ever presented. I wouldn't mind seeing more like this. Keep it up. |
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| REX Barron | Aug 8 2007, 08:21 PM Post #17 |
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Hipster Heel
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He is in Mega Man III for the Game Boy, but i don't know if that actually counts. |
| Formerly Mattrex, the leader the Mega Man X5 team Critical Mass. It's been quite some time. | |
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| Raijin | Aug 8 2007, 08:22 PM Post #18 |
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It doesn't. That wasn't really Snakeman. It was some twisted clone with a completely inappropriate weakness. That's the ticket. I just can't be weak to lightning, understand? I love lightning. My universe would collapse in on itself. |
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| Hardman | Aug 8 2007, 08:38 PM Post #19 |
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That Hard Guy
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WOW. That was a total $@&# up on my part... my bad... THAT'LL be fixed really quick. But, in the meantime... An Interlude: The Countermeasures (or Why Cops Suck) All eight Mechanical Maniacs were gathered, but for the first time in recent memory it wasn't at home or at my bar. We were standing in the firing range at Monsteropolis Police Department Headquarters, waiting. Well, not all of us were waiting. The rest of the firing range was empty, and Needlegal, Geminiman and Snakeman were taking turns shooting targets at increasing distances to see which one was more accurate. That was always the same old story, though. Snakeman was as accurate as any laser, but Geminiman packed a greater punch to his weapon. Needlegal, on the other hand, simply dealt damage on a massive scale with incredible speed, and her aim had been improving over the last few months, which was a scary concept when you gave it some thought. Hundreds of rounds a minute pounding like a storm into precisely the same location could crack just about anything. Me included. Topman, while not participating in the marksmanship competition, was going through some basic pistol exercises: taking the gun apart, cleaning it, oiling it, and putting back together. I gotta give it to the kid, he's fast. From disassembly to reassembly, it took him fifteen seconds. He's got really, really fast hands. Magnetman was sitting quietly, relaxed and meditating, as was Shadowman, although the latter did his standing up and leaning against a wall. Spark Chan found herself with very little to do but sit and fidget, which was odd to see, really. She was always doing something, it seemed, to keep herself busy. This left me. I was thinking. In the previous story (which ended with a shocking cliffhanger! Suspense!), Magnetman had been attacked by a mob that hid some rather nasty surprises. Namely weapons designed specifically to disable a few of us Maniacs. I'd been assaulted by an electro magnet, and Mags had gotten hit by a lightning gun. Another guy had a laser rifle that had been intended for Needlegal. After we brought the assailants in, we were told to wait here. So here we were. And it wasn't long before someone came down. Now, a lot has been said about certain people, and many of them have been true. Our messenger was a guy we'd dealt with before. One we hadn't been happy about dealing with. "Listen up, Metalheads," he barked. Yeah, this guy. His name is Captain Landigarm, but pretty much everyone, even the mass media, calls him Garm. We met him when a guy tried to knock over the UCB (see issue... I mean, story one, kiddies!) "The chief wants to see all of you." "Imagine my amazement," Shadowman spat. "What does he want this time?" Garm grinned. "He wants to show you something. A side project." "Fun," I rumbled as we all filed out of the firing range. There are, currently, three divisions of the MPD: the Monsteropolis Police Force, the Robotic Police Department (us), and then the Monsteropolis Special Forces Unit, which is filled with guys that could probably kill someone with a napkin. Seriously, nobody ever saw them operate twice unless they were part of the unit. I only hear rumors about these guys, that's how good they are. Each branch had their own commander (I think Shadowman answers to someone, but I've never met the guy) and each commander answers to the overall executive arm of the MPD, which handles paperwork, warrants, and is also the DA's office. And the man who commands it all is the Chief. I'd met the guy once, when we were deputized, but I didn't remember much. He smelled like cigars and brandy, which made him your average cop, but he sat behind a really nice desk. It was a long, silent walk to the Chief's office. I got another look at the desk as we filed in. It was REALLY nice. But the man behind the desk was... well, to say he was a different person would be inaccurate, but neither was he the same. He was sharp, aware, and seemed ill at ease with us. And he got right down to business. "When you were made official members of the RPD," he snapped, seemingly to waste as little time as possible speaking with us, "certain things had to be taken into account. Your strengths and your weaknesses. As robots, there is always a danger that you will go rogue, blow a circuit, or just plain decide you don't like us anymore. Now, several lawmakers are pushing for provisions that'll prevent that from being an issue," he said with a pointed smile, "but until such time, we had to take matters into our own hands." "Does this have anything to do with those men that used the mob as cover to attack us?" Shadowman demanded. "Indeed it does," the chief nodded somberly. "Without your knowledge, or anyone's knowledge, really, I put some men on the case of creating countermeasures. Specific equipment and proccedures that could be used to take down each and every one of you quickly and quietly should something go drastically wrong. In fact, we have a variety of weapons that mimic your own special abilities for that purpose, to utilize your own inherent weaknesses that you all apparently have for no reason." I have to admit I expected that. I mean, hell, I know I'VE got a contingency plan for taking down every other Maniac should any of them ever stand against us. I don't want to use them, but if Boss tells me to take someone down, I have to be prepared to do it. Even Magnetman. Somedays, I think, especially Magnetman. That kid creeps me out. "I believe I see where this is leading," Topman said with some thought in his voice. "You had these weapons to use against us and they... somehow fell into the wrong hands." "An inside job?" Snakeman wondered aloud. The Chief shook his head. "An internal investigation is already underway. This is tantamount to betrayal, and I will not stand for it on my force for any reason," he said with a seriousness that lended credibility to his sentiment. I smiled inwardly. This was a guy we could trust. "However, the investigation is being handled internally, and in all fairness, I cannot ask you to help apprehend the guilty party." Shadowman gave him a nod. "I understand, sir." The Chief gave him a similar nod. "I wish I could do more than just give you a heads-up, but I have no idea how long those items were in the possession of the assailants, and I have no idea if copies were, or even could be, made. As it is, Maniacs, I've done all I can. You'll have to be more careful when out on the job." "Duly noted," Shadowman said as he turned to leave. We all followed him out and got home without a word exchanged between us. We all settled into our regular routines, but none of us were speaking, really. We were all lost in thought. I know I was. I was thinking about how this just figured. A lack of trust in us had driven larger and larger wedges between the robotic community and humanity at large. It made sense, in my head: Humanity always needed someone to compare themselves to, to feel better about their own lives because someone else had it worse. Since the human race had pretty much abolished (at least on the surface) racism, they BUILT a race they could be better off than. At least, I bet that's how it was supposed to work. Robots were stronger, faster, and lived forever if they were allowed to. So, to counter that, several humans saw fit to create laws, provisions, and even instill required programs that could shut down a robot if he stepped out of line. None of this bull$#!% had passed into law yet, but everyone could see it coming. Hell, the Chief's plan was actually reassuring. It showed that humans could deal with things without feeling the need to stomp down on robots with (forgive the irony) an iron foot. I passed out on the couch, my face turned toward a TV I hadn't really been watching, and my mind lost in speculation of just how hard BOTH of my jobs were going to be in the future. |
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| Hardman | Aug 8 2007, 08:40 PM Post #20 |
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That Hard Guy
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S'fixed now, Snake. Also, because it' been a few days since the last story, I'm doing a double today. Fair warning. Story 5 out of ?: The New Guy (or the Shipment job) "I understand only portions of our current situation," Topman said, looking at me. "Shoot," I shrugged. "What's on yer mind, Toppers?" "Well, I understand the fact that the truck is making its way here with some of the RPD's new equipment." "Right." "And I understand that I am merely here to check things off of a list while you remove them from the truck." "Tha's th' basics," I nodded. "And I also understand that Needlegal is here for security purposes, to ensure that no large and unruly protest group tries to make off with weapons and equipment." "True." "Which leave the only thing left for me to understand is him," Topman said, pointing at the fourth robot in the room. He was a little odd-looking, I had to admit. In a world full of humanoid robots, he had it half right. He looked up at Topman. "I'm here to learn," he told my small-ish companion with a bright, innocent smile. What we were looking at was the RPD's latest recruit. His name was Gaderham. He's one of the few people I've ever met that his appearance matches his name, somehow. Gaderham was a fairly average looking robot from the waist up. He sported curved lines and decals that advertised his job on the police force. His fingers were little more than small ball bearings on short sticks that could shift around on the end of his arm, which made watching him hold things slightly confusing and a little painful. His legs, however, were really just... well, they were wheels. Tough-looking wheels, mind you, that he could probably cross just about any terrain with, but wheels nonetheless. They lifted his waist a fair six inches off the ground, but they were attached by regular hip-joints, meaning he could lean one way or another, or even strike a dramatic-ish pose. He liked doing that, which is why I know. He gave off a fairly... stubby appearance, and he was about two inches shorter than the smallest member of the Maniacs. Who was, even now, looking at him with that facial expression Top occasionally gets when he's can't truly come to terms with the things his eyes are seeing. I mean, I've seen some odd stuff, but I've never seen someone who looks like Gaderham does and then... well, ACTS like Gaderham does. He was an immortal optimist. I could tell by that grin that pasted itself on his face whenever he wasn't talking. "S' standard pra'tice," I said with shrug. "Rookies get easy jobs 'til they get dropped inta a bad situation where they either prove themselves er die." "Sounds more like most cop movies," Needlegal put in with a grin. "Somethin' like it." I glanced sidelong at Gaderham, who was raising his hand. I wish I was kidding. "Whaddaya need, kid?" I asked him. "I don't want to sound like a worrier," he said with no hesitation, "but the shipment was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago." It occured to me that he was right. "Top?" "It is worrisome," Topman nodded. "Shall I go investigate?" "Not alone, you're not," Needlegal said. "And I can't say I'd be comfortable with splitting up the group," Gaderham submitted. This got him mixed looks from the rest of us. I admit, I was impressed by the level of common sense he was displaying. I dunno what the other two thought of him. "Fair enough," I said after a small silence. "We should alert HQ that there may be a problem and get someone to keep an eye out here in case the truck arrives while we're out looking," Needlegal said. "We'll trace the route the shipment was scheduled to take back to the outskirts of the city and then start a broader search if we haven't found it or heard anything from HQ." Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, I'm reminded that Needlegal is still very much Shadowman's sister, and shares his insight and ability to come up with a plan on the fly. And so it was that we found ourselves moving through the dusk that was settling over Monsteropolis, walking like a group of high school friends. Topman and Needlegal were exchanging stories, whic left me with Gaderham. He trundled along merrily, seemingly unconcerned with anything in the world. "So...," I said after a while, attracting his attention, "why th' RPD? Why join up?" Gaderham looked at me and thought about it for a moment. "Well, I don't know. My last job was stressful, and my life was never really what I wanted it to be, you know?" I thought about how much I'd rather be in my bar, serving drinks. "Yeah, I know." "So I felt I needed a change," he said simply. "Hopefully, I can do some good." "Well, ya got a good head on yer shoulders," I told him. "Don't get killed, an yer gonna be jus' fine." We continued on for a while, and I learned some more about Gaderham as we went. Underneath the mindless optimism was a guy who liked the idea of making the world safer with a mind for tactics and a head for numbers. I mean, don't get me wrong, most robots do, but it's been a while since I've seen a robot who can instantly recall down to the centimeter the range, accuracy scores, clip (and extended clip) capacity, ammunition caliber and number of firefights any military weapon I could think of to quiz him on. He was like a super accountant with police training. Our conversation was cut short when we found the truck in an empty church parking lot, overturned and on fire. "Ah, sunuvabi-" The explosion ripped through the air, catching the church on fire and blasting Needlegal and Topman clear off their feet. The truck's fuel tank had gone up spectacularly. Interestingly enough, the only thing I could think of was how Gaderham had stayed standing, His balance system for those wheel-legs had to be pretty good. Me? If you have to ask, seriously, go home. I squinted to see through the smoke and was barely able to make out a figure that was moving swiftly through the clouds. I made a noise that might have been English and fired a Hard Knuckle to intercept the figure as Topman leapt back onto his feet and Gaderham helped Needlegal upright. I predictably missed, but it drove our mystery guest out into the open. I can't say I was pleased with the surprise. "Spinman?" Topman said with little chock in his voice. "It does not really surprise me that you are responsible for this." The robot with the disc on his head gave us a grin. "And it probably won't surprise you to know I'm not alone." "Not really," I grumbled, turning toward a new sound of heavy footsteps to see Golemman. The oversized member of the Evil Eight looked at least a little menacing in the firelight. I could also make out Warman, Artilleryman, and Clawman. We were outnumbered, and one way or the other, this was going to be over before backup could get here. Nevertheless, we tried. "Hey, boss?" I said over the team link, "Needles, Top an' I could use a hand 'er two at th' church tha's a lil' on fire." "There's a church on fire?" Sparkchan gasped in response. "Only a lil' bit..." "What's going on?" she demanded. "A confirmed Five of the Evil Eight have raided the RPD shipment we were supposed to be unloading," Needlegal cut in. "Not sure if there were others, and I have no idea if they stole anything before the truck blew up. Any and all backup would be appreciated, Mechs." "On the way," Snakeman responded, and his sentiment was followed up by Sparkchan. In the meantime, Topman was bantering with Spinman. "You have to get a better hobby," Topman was saying. "All you ever do is upset me." "Aw, is kiddy toy gonna cry?" Spinman laughed. "Guys, let's take them down for good!" Golemman charged forward with a roar, forcing me to move to intercept him. The world seemed to shake as he collided with me and I slid back at least a yard before I got my balance back. I took a quick step forward and threw two quick punches, forcing him to commit his dangerous arms to blocking my blows. Behind me, Gaderham opened fire on Warman with a standard-issue arm cannon, and I caught sight, barely, of the plasma skittering along the larger robot's armor. The crazy day-glo orange vortex that had once been Topman whirled into action again, and it was satisfying to glimpse Spinman's face as he realized that despite his hopes and prayers, Topman could still kick his ass in a one-on-one fight. The glowing fist that smashed into my shoulder was a reward for being distracted, and my whole body pitched to the side to absorb the impact. I swore and used my new orientation to throw my full weight into a punch that became a Hard Knuckle halfway through. The sudden, point-blank shot caught Golemman off guard and he rocked back with the force of the blow, shifting one foot back. I took advantage of the moment and slammed my other hand into his chest open-palmed before launching it off of my elbow. The open-handed Hard Knuckle forced Golemman to obey the eternal will of gravity, and he hit the ground hard. My other hand came back to me and I had enough time to look and see Needlegal pumping twin lines of spiked death in the direction of Artilleryman, who was having some difficulty avoiding both her and the flaming remains of the truck and the burning shape of the church. Clawman, however, had made no move to attack. I remembered that he had a sort of personal goal of besting Shadowman in combat, and was probably waiting for him to arrive. I'd have checked on Gaderham, but Golemman was standing back up. I swung a fist to put it down again, but he caught it in one hand before throwing a punch with his left. I caught his fist in my hand and planted my feet to resist his attempt at overpowering me. Golemman growled low at me as he tried to push me over, so I did what I could think of. My head met Golem's at a decent speed. Not enough to cause a LOUD noise, but almost certainly enough to hurt. I know it hurt me a little, and I think my opponent's eyes crossed momentarily, but I couldn't leverage that moment into an advantage. I swore loudly as he started trying to overpower me again. With little else in the way of option, I hit a mental switch and my chest opened up like the gates of hell, the short cannon clicking forward before it spent itself with thunderous report. The spiked cannonball crashed into Golemman's chest and took him completely by surprise. Shock and pain rocked him back on his heels as the ball dopped heavily onto the pavement and I shot forward and slammed my shoudler into his midsection, using my grip o the one hand to help lift him off the ground, albeit with considerable effort. I caught sight of Warman and didn't think twice before heaving Golemman in that direction, the throw assisted by my own two Hard Knuckles. The other robot never saw it coming as they both fell to the ground, the noise and shouting telling me at least one of Warman's arms was crushed. I doublechecked on Gaderham, who gave me a greatful look before firing a few more shots at the two prone robots. I turned to make sure that Topman (who was just a kinetic tornado with Spinman's screams of pain coming out of the middle now) and Needlegal were okay, and managed to see the second-to-last possible instant before Clawman sank his namesake claws into her back. I say second-to-last because, at the LAST possible instant, Clawman suddenly jerked to one side and fell limply to the floor. A second later I heard the crack of the rifle, even over the roar of the fires Artilleryman had been forced into by Needlegal. Snakeman had fired from eight blocks away on the top of an office building to disable Clawman. It was a shot I had to shake his hand for when I saw him again. A burning Artilleryman tried to make a break for it, but he was swiftly gunned down by my needle-slinging ally, and Golemman and Warman were not trying to get up so much as crawl away. Topman eventually ended Spinman's punishment, and the disc-headed robot collapsed into two or three pieces after a moment. With the members of the Evil Eight eliminated, all that was left was determining if there was anything missing from the truck. Gaderham rolled in close as the flames died down, and as fire crews pulled up to save the church from the fire, he disappeared into the ruined wreckage of the truck's bay. I barely had time to ask him what was going on before he rolled back out again, his arms crossed and his face lost in thought. "Nothing's missing," he said with certainty, "but most of this isn't useable anymore." "We should check everything against the list," Topman told him. "No doubt," Gaderham replied with a nod. Needlegal took in the wreckage and ruin as Sparkchan and Snakeman arrived on the scene. "Well, all in all, we did okay. Good job, rookie." "Thank you, ma'am." "Is everyone okay?" Sparkchan asked as she approached. I shrugged and let her take a good look at my shoulder and some of the other damage Golemman had managed to inflict. After a while, she nodded happily. "No major damage to anyone. I take it we won, then?" "Pre'y handily," I told her. "Rookie here did good fer his first engagemen' wi' th' enemy." "Good to hear," Snakeman said, a smile on his face. "I get the feeling the RPD is going to need all the help it can get." "I'll do my best, sir," Gaderham said, saluting smartly. "All right people," Needlegal said, stretching out and giving up a yawn, "let's go back to base and get all the paperwork sorted out." "I'll grab th' truck," I sighed. |
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| Zerkai | Aug 8 2007, 08:55 PM Post #21 |
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Gila Gladiators
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Er... guys... I didn't think the lightning part was the thing that hurt him. I though it was the SPIKE impaling him, then the electricity attacking his insides. He's weak to peircing weapons correct? |
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"Sometimes, its the hardest decision to make that is the one most worth making." "Never explain--your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway." ---------------------------------- | |
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| Raijin | Aug 8 2007, 09:15 PM Post #22 |
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I think you mis-read the description of the weapon. The spike doesn't launch, it just creates an electric charge. The ion painter creates the opposing charge on the target, thus creating artificial lightning between the target and the spike. No physical bullet emanates from the weapon, just an electrical current arcing from one charge to another. |
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| Zerkai | Aug 8 2007, 09:27 PM Post #23 |
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Gila Gladiators
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Oh, my mistake, I misread it and thought it was something akin to the Bit cannon |
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"Sometimes, its the hardest decision to make that is the one most worth making." "Never explain--your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway." ---------------------------------- | |
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| Hardman | Aug 9 2007, 03:18 AM Post #24 |
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That Hard Guy
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Nah, the spike's really there for only two reasons: to create a jumping point for the electricity, and to stab people with if they get too close. Kinda like a taser bayonet that puts holes in people. A friend of mine and I came up with the concept when we were watching Ghostbusters, hence the battery/backpack. There'll be more stories in the near future, but they're tryin' ta work me ta death. |
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| Raijin | Aug 9 2007, 08:21 PM Post #25 |
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By the way, while you swapped Snake with Magnet in the lightning gun scene, you still had Magnet taking down the guy with the gun, and still had Snake as the victim in the Interlude's recap. Hope you don't mind, but I went ahead and switched the rest of the names on my proofreading run. I also changed the name of the Special Forces to "Elite Forces", since "Special Forces" can be quite easily confused with the retrofitted Gamma Units of the same name seen in the most recent epilogue. It's also a little confusing the way you refer to a single "Chief" heading every division of the city police forces, seemingly contradicting the previously established system of having at least a human chief for the human police and a robot chief for the robot police. You are keeping up on the unposted epilogues, right? Edit: I just realized the Special Forces Hard refers to could actually be the Special Forces in the epilogue, since he mentions he's unfamiliar with both their superior and the Special Forces, I guess it makes sense that this just takes place before the recent epilogue. Sorry about that. |
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| Hardman | Aug 29 2007, 11:02 PM Post #26 |
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That Hard Guy
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Hardman's Note: Wow! A major, major necropost, and the start of a series of references that NOBODY will get! It's like my birthday, but backwards. Like yadhtrib. Or something. Whatever, it's my thread. Try and stop me! HAHAHA! Short Stories brought to you by the number 6: The Easy Street Job (Or How I Learned Not To Talk To Homeless People) I was lounging in the police station after filling out some architectural damage paperwork (pretty much a daily thing for me, especially lately with a rise in crime after the LA disaster) when I caught sight of one of my favorite rookies bringing in a suspect for questioning. Pretty funny sight, too, considering the perp in question was three feet taller than Gaderham, and had to bend over backwards for the odd-looking cop to have a firm hand on the cuffs on his wrists behind his back. "Yo, rookie," I grunted. He gave me a smile and a nod as he handed off the captive, and then rolled my way. "What did you break today?" he asked in his normal happy-go-lucky manner. "Tha' parkin' garage over 'n Eighth Street," I shrugged. "The whole thing?" "Sorta." "Wow," he said with a suitably impressed expression. Then he rolled over to the desk to give his statements about the arrest. With little else to do, I listened in, because he seemed to be having a more interesting day than I was. "Apprehended the suspect in the armed robbery attempt reported two days ago and brought him in for questioning. Arresting officer was Gaderham, officer number 42331-" "I know, I know," the human clerk snapped. "You've made four arrests this week. I KNOW your number." "Just following proceedure," Gaderham said unapologetically. He rolled back from the desk a few inches and stretched his arms. "Four arrests 'n a week?" I asked him, somewhat amazed. "Tha's a record fer a rookie. S'gotta be." The goofy-looking cop gave me a rough equivalent of a thumbs-up. "Just doing my job," he grinned. "So who was tha'?" Gaderham sighed and started to roll towards the lounge, and I followed him. "Some poor deranged robot who thought he was 'all that.' Literally." he reached for a cup of coffee and took a swig before continuing. "Said his name was Stereoman." I recognized that name from a few case files that human officers occasionally pulled from the cabinents when they wanted a laugh. I'd never met him in person, but Stereoman, aside from being some poor hack's attempt to follow in Wily and Light's famous footsteps, was apprently a loser. A major one. Case in point, when he'd been forced into the station by someone half his height, he was wearing baggy jeans with gaudy gold chains around his neck. Some representatives of the robot populace made me ashamed to have a computer for a brain. "Yeah, he's somethin' of a nuisance, I gather," I told Gaderham. After some more small talk, I excused myself to go do something productive with my day. It was Monday, so my bar was closed, and I found myself walking in aimless, random directions. After a while, I ended up on Easy Street, which was actually a cruel, cruel joke. Easy Street was a long drag of road that really didn't amount to much more than a twenty mile alleyway that ran behind over fifty businesses and some other oddball buildings. Because of it's narrowness and general lack of traffic, it was home to several of Monsteropolis's less fortunate. Human and robot alike. One of those less fortunate robots was a regular at my bar. Whenever he had money, he was regularly at my bar. "Pencilman?" I asked, taking the four steps necessary to cross Easy Street. His head shot up, and his eyes had a wild, dogged look in them. "Didn't do it! Couldn't have! Been here all day!" "So this is where ya go when yer not at th' bar," I said with a grin as recognition blossomed on his features. "What about all yer drinkin' buddies? Tennis, Disc an' them?" Pencilman, who was yellow like his namesake might suggest, shook his head. "They beg, borrow and steal on the OTHER side of town," he sighed. "I only ever see them when we all get together for drinks after a hard day's begging." "S'gotta be rough." "Ha! Philistines in this city. All of them," he grumbled. "I'm an artist, what do I know from economics, right? But still... fantastic work should net you at least some kind of appreciation, am I wrong?" Like most bums in Monsteropolis, Pencilman tried to bring in petty change with the application of his talents. In his case, this meant drawing. Pencilman had a literal photographic memory and with a big enough canvas could recreate just about ANY scene in graphite greyscale. Of course, like he pointed out, most works of art and passion go unnoticed. Or at least unpaid. "You'll figure somethin' out," I told him, hoping that sounded inspirational instead of stupid. "I assure you, we've been TRYING to figure things out for a while now," remarked another robot, making his way toward us. It was easy to recognize Tennisman. He was one of those few robots that didn't have the pleasure of having hands. One arm ended in a tennis ball launcher, and the other simply ended in a tennis racquet. Or is it racket? No idea, but you know what I mean. I think he was originally constructed under contract from some third-rate roboticist as a tennis teacher, but I could be making that up. "Ah, you guys just need ta get yer act tagether," I told him. "Lookit me an' th' Mechs. Without them around, I'd be a homeless bum like you guys." "You still have a bar you could be running," Pencilman pointed out. "Well, yeah, but... ya know what I mean." "We've been trying to organize into some sort of union for a while, now," Tennisman sighed, "but its difficult. Everyone has their own ideas and ways of doing things." "And their own thoughts on what day the week actually starts on," Pencil sneered at the other robot. "Calendars do not lie," the taller robot said in a defensive tone. "And Monday is the FIRST day of the week, jackass," Pencilman said, obviously referencing some sort of arguement they'd had recently or had been going on for a while. "You see what I mean?" Tennisman pleaded with me. "Well, I'd love ta help ya out, guys," I said with some honesty. Any money these guys made would probably go back into my Bar, which meant that helping them was a good plan for me too, "but ya gotta pick a direction an' go with it b'fore ya c'n ask fer anythin'." I left them with that thought and wandered back home. I took the long (and I mean long. And somewhat directionless and slightly lost) way, so I walked back through the doors of Mechs HQ around 2:00 am. Topman greeted me as I came back. "Good to see you again," he smiled. "How far along are you on paying me back for breakfast on Sunday?" "I'm workin' on it," I grunted. "Ya c'n see tha', right?" There was a slight pause. "Indeed. Carry on." I sighed and made my way to my room where I breifly considered drinking before sheer fatigue took over and I fell asleep. I woke up a few hours later with a voice in my head talking about something that might have been important. I sat up in the darkness of my room and listened to the Maniacs communications link. It was Snakeman and Topman, and they were talking about a situation that was developing down at the station I'd been at earlier in the day. "What's goin' on, guys?" I asked over the link. Topman's voice came back first. "Oh, sorry, I thought this was a closed channel. My apologies." "Meh, I'm awake now. What's goin' down?" "There was a prison break," Snakeman reported. Then he seemed to reconsider something. "Well, more of a holding break. Some nutbars raided the station and busted a suspect out of a holding cell." There was a slight pause. "Gaderham wants me to tell you it was Stereoman." I thought about this for a while. "So... what, do you guys need my help, or...?" "They are holed up in the station with one of the human night officers as a hostage," Topman informed me. "I do not think they are a serious threat, but backup is always appreciated." "On my way," I told them, and I rolled out of bed. Apparently, the team link chatter hadn't woken anyone else up, so I crept out of the place and did some quick walking (street repair crews get paid large sums of taxpayer dollars when I run anywhere anymore) down to the station. Flashing lights, a fire truck, an ambulance, and more than a comfortable amount of News vans were in plain sight as I made my way through the scattered people toward Top, Snake, and Gaderham. "So who's tryin' ta bust laughin' boy out?" I asked. Gaderham, who was holding a clipboard, flipped through a few pages on it. "A few of them don't have previous records, but... Ah, there's a guy who calls himself Discman, who was picked up once for loitering, and a... Pencilman? who was charged with disturbing the peace a while back." Gaderham shrugged and looked up at me. "It looks like this is just a street gang trying to save one of their own." "Ah, dammit," I sighed. I gave the questioning looks a brief summary of my conversation with Pencilman and Tennisman from earlier in the day. When I was finished, Snake gave me a critical glance. "So you gave a few homeless people a pep talk and they turned to a life of crime. Awesome." "Shaddap." "What was the topic? Better living through larceny?" "I said shaddap." "For what it is worth," Topman interrupted, "I don't recognize that as any part of the English language." "You shaddap too," I grunted. "So we should prolly save this guy, huh?" "Makoto already has a visual on most of our perps," Snakeman told me. "They're all just kind of hanging around in the lobby. There's only one thing that kind of worries me." "ONE thing?" "According to Makoto, the temperature in the lobby is crazy. It's shifting between 0 and 120 degrees." "Farenheit?" Gaderham asked. "Yeah, I don't believe in that," Snakeman shook his head. "Wow. So it's hot AND cold 'n there?" I asked, and got a nod from my green teammate. "Well, good thing I'm all nice and cozily insulated then." With that, I started for the door of the station. Snake wasn't kidding about the heat. The air inside the lobby, which I could see from the front windows, seemed to ripple. Something about the rapidly fluctuating temperature. The door offered no resistance, and I made my way in. I could see them. Stereoman, Discman, Pencilman, Tennisman... There were two more I didn't recognize, but even through the headache inducing ripple in the air, I could see they'd noticed me. And then, they were all just gone. "What th'..." A hand laid itself on my shoulder, and I heard a voice in my ear. "I've always said I could make a living in this city. Looks like I'm finally proving myself right." Then the world went cold, hot, and the pit of my gut dropped out, colors flared, streaked, and I succumbed to a magnetic assault. |
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MM3: Hardman XBOX LIVE: Payer 404 | |
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| Chaos Wolf | Sep 5 2007, 10:29 PM Post #27 |
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Behold ye Machines, and Despair
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Honestly, I have to say this is one of the best short story series I have read in a long while. I can definately picture Gaderham's voice. That ""Putting cheerful emphasis into every word." kind of tone. The ""Gaderham wants me to tell you it was stereoman" line really gives off the personallity of the little policebot, and I imagine Snake was a little annoyed at the interuption. I am looking forward to the next installment. But I imagine that War comes first. |
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Steamtag:Chaos_Wolf736 END OF LINE | |
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| dna446 | Sep 6 2007, 08:41 PM Post #28 |
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Magnetically attractive ^_~
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I cant wait for the next one, if there is one, keep up the great work! ^^ |
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Former member of: Magnetman.EXE of Aftermath Rainy Turtloid of Reploid Rebellion Tunnel Rhino of Crimson Berzerkers Concreteman of Chaos Crusaders | |
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2:24 PM Jul 11