Chapter Twenty-Two - Cheesing it

“That’s stupid.

Yeah, alright, we’re called Samurai, which comes with this mental image, right? The Bushido code, lots of honour in battle, some formality and respect. Maybe sharing tea with some idiot before you swipe his head off.

And yeah, some of us go deep into that. Personally I think running around in an oni-mask is tasteless, but whatever.

Truth is, when there are aliens around, you’re at war, and in a war, there’s no place for honour.”

--Off the street interview with Three Strikes by Teen Lyfe Mag! Aug 2045

***

The doors opened, just three or four inches wide, enough to show off the half-dozen already dead and partially aflame bodies of the Antithesis I’d already shot at. I aimed at those still moving, and after locking my arm in place as best I could, fired.

I was growing to really love incendiary rounds. Something about seeing a red-hot hole punch into an alien’s side, then a gout of flames pouring out of it...

Yeah, if Lucy was in the room she would have made a comment about me getting hot and bothered, and she wouldn’t even have been entirely wrong.

My Trench Maker clicked empty, the elevator doors slammed shut.

“How many?” I asked.

Five! You’re getting better!

Targets Eliminated!

Reward... 50 Points

“Nice,” I said as I slumped back against the elevator’s far wall. The doorway was a mess of splattered green blood that smelled a bit like a mix between mold and freshly cut grass. Some of the Model Threes had gotten close to slipping in, but Myalis was faster than them with the doors.

Not that I figured the doors would last all that much longer. They had a nasty dent in them already and there was a bit of a squeal when they opened and closed now.

“One more try, then we’ll have to clear things out for real,” I said.

Getting the empty magazine out of my gun was just as tricky as it had been the first time, especially with the much warmer barrel. There was no way I was tucking that under my armpit. I ended up holding the gun between my sneakers to empty it, then shoving another magazine in.

You have reached just shy of one hundred points.

“You’re saying I should get to buying things?” I asked.

An auto-loader would not go amiss. Or perhaps a replacement for your missing arm. There are also some utilities that would not go amiss, things such as clothes or armour, additional perception systems, scanners, and of course, more optimal weaponry.

I picked my Trench Maker up, the gun now feeling a lot more comfortable in my hands than it did even an hour ago. “I don’t know. Where do you think I should start?”

That depends entirely on you. How you approach combat, how you decide to live, what you find more important. I have a profile of you as a Vanguard, but it is not complete enough for me to say with certainty which purchases would please--and suit--you the most.

I shifted into a stance that felt comfortable for handling my gun and got ready. “What does your profile say so far?” I asked.

That you are not averse to taking risks, that despite your enjoyment of being with others, you dislike working with them. This isn’t too uncommon among the chosen Vanguard. You like being close to your adversaries, but shy away from physical confrontations, and you appreciate going unseen. You also like big explosions and when your adversaries die in interesting ways.

“Uh,” I said. “Fair enough, I guess.”

If I were to make a suggestion now, I would push you towards heavy body modifications to shore up your current weaknesses. As these tend to be expensive, I would also encourage a focus on stealth-based weaponry and equipment. Most Vanguard are rather loud, but there is always a need for those who can move undetected, unseen, and undisturbed. Also, I would encourage you towards various explosive technologies. Single-use items are somewhat inexpensive compared to others. It would allow you to, essentially, punch above your weight class.

I lowered my Trench Maker. I didn’t want to admit I was tempted, but I was really tempted. “How many points do I have?” I asked.

One Hundred and Sixty-Seven

“How much would a grenade cost?” I asked.

Assuming you want one that won’t kill you with the short range you have. Fifty points for Class I Esoteric Single-Use Explosive Devices. And five to ten points for something to clear the room on the other side of the door.

I blinked. There were about six aliens left over there, maybe a bit more. Also, I wanted to try blowing things up.

“Shoot, why not?” I said.

Class I Esoteric Single-Use Explosive Devices unlocked!

Points reduced to... 117

Congratulations! Do you want me to highlight some of the devices in the catalogue?

The elevator door boomed as something big rammed into it. “How about you give me something that can clear our little mess, then we can talk shop?”

Wonderful idea! Might I suggest the Mark I-D Resonator? It uses resonant frequencies to melt organic materials in its surroundings.

“Like... noise?” I asked. That sounded awesome.

Indeed. One unit costs five points. It is non-reusable, as you can imagine. Also, quite loud, though you should be fine within the confines of the elevator.

“Let me try one, at least,” I said.

New Purchase: Class I Resonator Mark I-D

Points reduced to... 112

A small boxy item appeared by my feet. Just about big enough that I would have a hard time wrapping my hand around it, and shaped like a cylindre. A plastic tab sat at the top passed through a hole in a big thumb-switch.

I stuffed my Trench Maker down the back of my pants--with the safety on-- and picked up the device to twist it this way and that. Mostly grey metal, with a few silver disks around it that looked like the little bits inside a speaker. The tap had ‘PULL TO PRIME’ written on it in big letters.

There was a little dial next to the button above it, currently set at five, but it looked like it could go up or down with a flick of the thumb.

Pull the tab to free the trigger and prime the grenade. The dial allows you to set the time. The second dial below allows you to pick the targeted material. It is set to Antithesis flesh by default. The large red button... well, I suppose I don’t need to explain that one.

“Neat,” I said. I tore the tab out with my teeth, spat it to the side, then moved to the side of the door. “When I say go, can you pop the door open?” I asked.

On your mark!

I grinned, pressed my thumb down on the grenade’s trigger, and shouted. “Go!”

The door slid open a crack. A pair of long black claws raked into the elevator, like a cat questing for a mouse in a hole.

I flung the explosive over the claws and heard it clunk somewhere in the room beyond.

Please cover your ears. This will be quite loud.

I stuffed a hand over my left ear, then pressed myself against the wall.

The world filled with an anguished wail, one that grew, then cut off like painful waves. I pressed my hand harder against one of my ears and squatted down to escape the noise. Maybe playing with weird bombs wasn’t my finest idea.