Chapter 18: No Plan Survives Contact

John wrenched himself out of the grip, slid down the wall, and turned.

The Pithite with the one eye yellow and the other blue loomed over John. Its eyelids pulled back and showed the connected parts inside. “Found you!”

John raised his rifle. The bot swatted it out of his hands. The rifle tumbled through the open doorway, the same one the bot used to ambush him, and clanked against the far wall in the darkness. With one hand, the bot swatted the close-door button and cut John off from his rifle.

The Pithite held its weapon over its head in both hands, butt first. Its first strike hit where John’s head used to be with a sickening thud. Had it landed, John would have had to deal with a fractured skull at least. The mock rifle made for a deadly, de facto club. The mechanical thing released a flurry of blows aimed at John’s head and torso. It hit only the wall. John twisted himself to avoid the blows as if the flesh itself knew where the de facto club was about to land. His ballet training made his brain aware of every muscle he had. Seems it was good for something.

John squatted and leapt through the Pithite’s spindly legs. Midway through his arc, John stopped dead. That metal grip caught his ankle and threatened to pull John’s leg out of its socket. He hit the ground, a far cry from his envisioned escape. The bot dropped the entirety of its thunderous weight on the small of John’s back. It let go of his ankle to turn itself around. He reached for the floor in front and wrenched himself out from underneath. Instead of getting closer to the door, John maneuvered into the center of the room, into the light. Its weight dropped on John once more and pinned him to the floor. The thing jammed its weapon under John’s chin, under the helmet’s chinstrap, and pulled.

“Help,” John’s windpipe threatened to break, “me.”

“Holy shit!” Sylvester’s words echoed down the hall from behind John. His teammate wasn’t anywhere close.

“Uh,” John’s throat constricted, “headshot!”

At the far end of the hall, the doors slid open. The light poured in and framed the next fireteam. A crack came from Sylvester’s rifle. His bullet zinged overhead and hit the ceiling near the blast doors. The new fireteam split and dived for the walls.

The bot put on more pressure on John’s windpipe.

It must have heard the gunshot. Why isn’t it taking cover?

Dots crawled along his vision. He went into the WarFace and selected the command try. Three branches reached upwards to his teammate’s portraits. He selected Sylvester’s face. The portraits dropped away, and the icons for the classes replaced them. Grey obfuscated Sylvester’s invader and bowman tries.

John selected bowman, and an infobox appeared over it: RESET (YES/NO)? He focused on “yes.”

John swallowed phlegm and choked on it. "Again.” The word gurgled out.

“It’s OK.” The bot shushed into John’s ear. “You won’t remember a thing.”

Another pop came from Sylvester’s rifle. The bot’s weapon dropped to the floor. The pressure drained out of John’s face. The weight on his back lifted, and the Pithite slid off. Plastic and glass littered the floor before the bot, half its head missing, collapsed. A chunk of its skull skidded across the floor.

John massaged his throat and got himself upright. He wiped the snot streaming from his nose.

“I got it?” Sylvester jogged up. He slid his helmet over his brow. “I thought I missed the headshot.”

"You did. I—” A dab of lung butter landed on John’s vocal cords. “I’ll explain later.” He coughed.

"Is it dead? How do we know it's dead?"

"Poke it." John's voice returned, although the phlegm still rattled inside.

Sylvester pointed his rifle at the mechanical corpse. He took a step forward. It lay still, but it only pretended to die for all John knew.

"Wait." John put up a hand. "I need my rifle."

"Where it's it?"

John indicated across the room. “Behind—”

The door opened. Sylvester turned and pulled the trigger. It clicked, but the pop never came. It emanated nothing but an eerie silence.

"Fuck!" Justice shook. He stood in the doorway, his rifle in his good hand.

John pushed the end of Sylvester's rifle to the floor. "What the fuck? You could have shot him."

All color drained out of Sylvester's face. "I did."

John furrowed his brow. "What the fuck do you mean 'you did’?”

“I did. I shot, but the gun didn’t go off.”

Elroy poked his head out from behind Justice and focused on the Pithite corpse. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently,” Justice moved only his eyes, “I’m supposed to be dead.”

Elroy slipped beside Justice and handed John the rifle. “This yours?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“It dead?” Elroy looked over the gaping hole in its skull.

“Sure.” John shrugged. “Did you guys take out the other three?”

“Nope. We lost them in the maze of rooms. They’re still out there somewhere.”

The fireteam that came in had already made themselves scarce. Most likely didn’t want to get shot. The DI’s voice echoed through his mind: “Don’t even try to shoot each other.”

The DI didn’t say not to shoot. The guy said ‘try’.

John’s heart thumped against his chest. All at once, he became the most awake he had been the entire day.

“Sylvester, you magnificent errorist.” John held Sylvester’s shoulder. “I got an idea. Someone shoot me.”

All three spoke at once. “What?”

“Where I’ll survive a bullet wound if I’m wrong.” John held up his left arm. “In the bicep.”

“This is a stupid idea.” Elroy tapped his forehead. “Think. What’s the best-case scenario this experiment can have?”

John spoke to Sylvester. “You do it.”

“Me?”

Elroy grit his teeth. “Is it worth the worst case?”

Sylvester put the barrel to John’s bicep. It burned. John flinched.

“What’s wrong?” Justice asked.

“It’s hot.” John winced.

Elroy shook his head. “Worst idea ever.”

Once again, Sylvester rose his rifle, careful not to touch the skin. “You sure?”

John squeezed his eyes shut. “Do it.”

The trigger clicked; the gun didn’t. They all let out their breath.

“No player versus player.” John grinned ear to ear. “I knew it! Someone punch me.”

Justice stepped up and swung his fist with his good arm. His knuckles made contact under John’s eye. Starbursts of lancing pain exploded. John’s head snapped back, and he landed on his ass. More agony shot up from his tailbone.

John cupped his eye. “Fuck me.”

Elroy bounced his fingertip off his chin. “Some PVP. Duly noted.”

Justice put out his hand.

John took it and pulled himself up. “Thanks.”

“If you ever need another rearranged face,” Justice pointed at himself with his thumb, “I’m your man.” That same look of delight he had on the range lit in his eyes again.

Elroy first snickered. Sylvester joined in. John and Justice followed suit.

Sylvester pointed his rifle at his foot and pulled the trigger; the gunshot put an end to the laughter. A hole appeared in his boot. He pulled his eyelids wide. Red seeped out from under his sole.

Sylvester screamed.