Data file R-11: Dealing With a Foolish Teammate

  [There’s no way to. He’s just too ridiculous! He started a pointless brawl and then almost got himself killed in a fight against the very target I hired him to assist with. He’s just supposed to be smarter than this—I don’t care if I’m ranting! I’m genuinely upset with him! Virus, if you’re reading this, know that THIS IS ME VENTING. I am VENTING to a COMPUTER TERMINAL. Computers are actually smarter than you! Most people are at least smarter than computers... Wait.

  Oh, my gosh, that last line made no sense. IT’S CONTAGIOUS! GUYS, I AM LOSING IT!

  Note from Alyssa: “Calm down, Rasil. I deal with him every morning, and it’s not that bad.”

  Note from Helios: “Lady, this is his first shot at being a real leader. Give him this breakdown, and he’ll feel better later.”

  Note from Alyssa: “Okay, sure.”

  Note from Rasil: “Maybe just cross this one off the log. Helios, can you do that?”

  Note from Helios: “Nooooo problem, boss.”

  Note from Gears: “Keep all future rants to other channels, please.”]

  ***

  “Tell me one’s intact,” Rasil groaned. He and Virus were still sifting through the wreckage of their fight with Flakstorm, but every drone they could find was shattered in some way. Rasil was starting to wonder if he should have lowered his power output while firing.

  Virus suddenly shouted, “Yeah!” He held up a drone that was missing a thruster. Otherwise, it looked undamaged!

  “Yes! We might be able to use this to find where the drones were designed!” Rasil replied, grabbing the small drone.

  “I thought Flameye designed them," Virus interjected.

  “Flakstorm, yes. His drones, no. They fire standard energy beams, not firebolts, and these fangs,” Rasil pointed to a pair of metal spikes on the front, “look like micro-tasers. Not the tech Flameye would have access to.”

  “Fair point, bro," Virus nodded. Rasil gave him a glare. “Sorry, you’re still mad.” Virus acknowledged. Rasil shook his head slowly and walked back into the street.

  “Come on," he ordered. “I know someone who can analyze this.” Unfortunately, as he spoke, the drone reactivated and pointed at him. He pushed it away and reached for his gun, but Virus was faster. Leaping through the air, Virus slammed his fist straight into the drone and planted it into the ground with a sickening crunch of metal.

  Rasil rushed to Virus and yanked the remains away, grimacing as he saw that this drone was broken too. So close to a guarantee, and Virus had struck again. Rasil tried and failed to calm himself before storming off with an apologetic Virus trailing behind him. “It’s still the most intact drone," he sighed. “Let’s hope that it gets us something.”

  ***

  Rasil tapped the counter rhythmically while waiting. Across from him, the mercenary known as Forgemaster was studying what was left of the drone. Virus was running around Forgemaster’s weapon shop, inspecting the various implements. “This information is about 45% reliable, but I’ve seen the specs before," the man said after a minute. He leaned across the wooden counter, his aging form towering over Rasil. “Might I ask the circumstances behind this visit?”

  “You’re already getting paid, Stevenson," Rasil said, rolling his eyes. He knew Forgemaster well before he had used the name, and he also knew information was always of more value than money.

  “Can't I at least get a hint?” Forgemaster insisted with a jovial smile. Rasil stared straight at him and pointed at Virus. “Right,” Forgemaster nodded, “low profile isn’t his style. Give me a second to scan the manufacturing details, and I’ll get you set up.”

  Rasil mouthed a thank you and walked over to Virus. The mercenary turned to face Rasil, holding two plasma swords. “If I attached these to my arms, would it still count as punching someone?” he asked, sounding like a kid at Christmas.

  Rasil decided to be safe and answer, “No.” Virus gave a momentary squint of disappointment before shrugging and sliding the swords back onto a shelf.

  “I did find something that could be useful for you, Rasil.” Virus reached for another item.

  “Oh?”

  “Check it out.” Virus held up what looked like a suppressor barrel for a smaller pistol. He made sure Rasil was watching, then pointed it at the nearest light in the ceiling. With a hum of electricity, he channeled energy into the barrel, and the light flickered, a small spark appearing in the barrel.

  “A manual siphon?” Rasil asked, grabbing the item.

  “Seems like it. My dad once showed me one and said it adds a passive charge to concussive weapons, stealing more power with every strike. The problem is, it works better on Q-4 or lower pistols, not piercing weapons, so he and Alyssa didn’t use it. After watching the way you fight, though, I figured...”

  “This could increase the power of my gun and compensate for my lack of control," Rasil whispered with understanding.

  Virus nodded, and added, “When in doubt, punch a little harder.”

  Rasil stared in surprise. Some part of Virus actually seemed wise right now. Was this it? Was this, the study of weapon design and combat, where all of his mental capacity had gone? No wonder he was a successful mercenary; he had traded common sense for street smarts!

  Rasil thanked Virus, not having to lie about it anymore, and ran back to the counter. Forgemaster had just finished with his research.

  “The factory that made these drone models was burned down last night, by racazoids," Forgemaster said gravely. Rasil facepalmed.

  “Of course," Rasil said. “Flameye tried to stop production before Flakstorm could learn to clone objects.”

  “Nevertheless, I found something of a traceable signal. Weak, but bouncing off a relay in the South End of Embershard. Similarly, several of the parts used in the final model went through a refinery in the area for adjustments," Forgemaster added. Rasil and Virus looked at each other. Rasil started pacing back and forth.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Not completely, but with these broken pieces, all I can give you is a trail to follow.” Forgemaster looked confident enough, so Rasil agreed with that sentiment. Nevertheless, he was a bit unsure of everything, especially Flakstorm’s supposed nuisance to Flameye. Was he perhaps stronger than first appearances even implied?

  “I’ll give you a trail!” Virus shouted, slamming his fist emphatically into the wooden counter. After a moment of total silence, he began dragging his arm in a line, splintering the surface as Forgemaster looked on with disgust.

  Rasil was hardly surprised, though he couldn’t help but mentally note that Virus had done this in response to the somber tone. Without looking away from Virus, he slid the payment across the counter, plus extra for the siphon attachment. Forgemaster took it without a word.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  ***

  That night, in the South End of Embershard, Rasil and Virus headed to the refinery that had adjusted the drone parts. Rasil warned Virus not to make any noise, but Virus was internally searching for a chance to prove his worth, his own way. They came to a warehouse marked with the weak signal Rasil was tracing.

  “The parts were stored here, but we don’t know what’s really inside now. Do your thing, but be careful,” Rasil commanded.

  Virus was about to answer when his electrosense picked up movement nearby. He warned Rasil, “It’s not him. It’s a human.”

  “Good. Humans, I can handle easily," Rasil growled. Virus pointed to the corner he had detected, and Rasil ran toward it alone. Under the empty night sky, Virus could barely see any of Rasil from a distance. He wondered if the red cape had been given to Rasil so he wouldn’t scare people in the dark.

  From the other side of the wall, Virus heard the sound of Rasil’s gun firing, and walked over to assist. When he arrived, Rasil was crouching in front of a younger mercenary, probably only nineteen, who looked like she had been shot in the chest with Rasil’s gun.

  She was lying on the ground panting, a pistol of her own nearby, but there was a ledge two feet above her that looked large enough to stand on. Electrosense picked up residue from a charged bolt matching her weapon variant. Also, Rasil was poised to strike, and his left arm still rested horizontally before him, which Virus knew from their tavern brawl was Rasil’s counter stance.

  Virus could deduce from this information that she had tried to ambush him, and he had ducked underneath the strike before launching a counterattack. The counter had likely scored a breaker, knocking the wind out of her and leaving her defenseless. Poor girl. Getting hit by concussive weapons sucked.

  Virus left his analysis there and dropped back into his usual attitude, the metaphorical mask of humor sliding over his features. Rasil, meanwhile, was trying to ask the mercenary what she was doing. “This sector should be completely empty; are you a rogue?” Rasil asked. Virus immediately recognized the term “rogue mercenaries” as being those unaffiliated with any faction in the city.

  The mercenary shook her head, replying, “I—I'm with the Unitarian League. I was ordered to guard this place in case—”

  “In case racazoids came back?” Rasil interrupted. She nodded. “Makes sense. The Unitarian League generally protects governmental assets like weapon refineries. With the burning of the factory the other day, they’d dispatch at least ten of their own to watch each site.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully as he holstered his gun. “Sorry I hit you so hard.”

  “That’s okay,” the mercenary replied. She had recovered a bit now, and was clearly aware of who she was speaking to.

  “I have to ask, did the Unitarian League have any contact with a lone racazoid recently, one looking for their protection against attacks on the factories?” Rasil questioned. The mercenary said nothing, looking away nervously.

  Virus, figuring now was the time for a good old-fashioned interrogation, adopted his best bad-cop voice and said, “Listen up! We can do this the easy way, or the ha—”

  “I SWEAR IN THE NAME OF ICARUS BLADE, VIRUS!” Rasil interrupted him, drawing his gun and aiming at Virus’s head. At this moment, Virus happened to decide he should patrol the area for other enemies, and backed away.

  ***

  Rasil sighed as Virus turned away and started patrolling. At least he could take no for an answer. He looked again at the girl in front of him and assured her, “You’re in no trouble with me, but I need an answer if you know.”

  She hesitated again, but whispered, “Yes. The one who sent the request to the League was a racazoid. He didn’t seem like the others, and he said he hated Flameye, so we thought that it would be okay.”

  Rasil thought again and asked, “How many were deployed?”

  ”Ten to each of the other factories, twenty-three to this spot.”

  “By whose order?”

  “The racazoid.”

  “Then his lair is definitely here. Evacuate all other mercenaries from the sector, and tell them that the Shining Forge has taken the job.”

  “But—”

  “Also, tell them that this mission is backed by the Queen, and they’ll still get their pay," Rasil bluffed. He hated lying, even though Sophia would probably agree, but he needed to be sure he could use his full power. The girl believed him, and left hurriedly, feeling the urgency of an incoming battle.

  Rasil stood and sprinted to where he last saw Virus. Every path of this complex was filled with seemingly identical factories and warehouses. Where could Virus have gone? He normally stood out even in a crowded room. Rasil wondered for a moment if his outburst had made Virus reconsider working with him, but then realized that Virus probably didn’t have a place in his heart for grudges.

  Harnessing the energy from his gun, and attaching the siphon to its barrel, Rasil used electrosense as best he could. He scanned the area; the dark array of walls and pipes turned into a sparkling rainbow of scattered lights as he witnessed every point of flowing energy.

  There. He could see an orange glare of building power, in a warehouse several rows down. The lights of the building were turned off, likely an attempt to avoid attention, but Rasil knew Flakstorm had to be the source of the energy mass. As for Virus...

  “Sit this one out if you want,” Rasil said to Virus, though he was alone, as he boosted toward the warehouse. “You’ll get your reward when this fight is done.”

  ***

  Virus searched far and wide, but couldn’t find a single racazoid. In the time since he had left Rasil alone, he had scoured a relatively large percentage of the complex by himself. Maybe he was supposed to look inside the buildings as well? He facepalmed. Yeah, this was probably the reason Alyssa said she was smarter than him.

  He kept walking, this time peeking into each structure. Perhaps it was fair to say that he wasn’t the smartest individual, but he was still offended by people’s attitudes when they were on a job with him. He was an expert at this, after all! He had been a mercenary since he could punch someone out! If there was one thing he knew, it was everything there was to know about close-quarters combat.

  That, and the concept of hiding one’s true strength. If Rasil had hidden his critical strike, would Virus still have been able to counter it? Maybe, but such a thought deserves mention, right? Why not put on a carefree attitude so the enemy doesn’t suspect? Why not make jokes in a city where most people are too serious? If he just wanted to infect everyone with happiness, then why was “Virus” an insult?

  A shot rang out. Virus swerved his head in the direction of the sound. He had only heard it briefly, but it sounded like the metallic whine of Rasil’s gun. He closed his eyes and pointed his electrosense in the same direction, then caught a blink of red and a lot of orange. So... either the statistic that only 0.23% of humans had red as their natural energy color was wrong, or Rasil needed help.

  No better way to help, than to punch the thing next to the person who needs help, right?

  ***

  Rasil rolled underneath a platform and fired while scraping his gun along the metal floor, creating a cloud of dust and torn metal fragments to block Flakstorm’s vision. The drones were confused for a second, but flew through the obstruction to bite him with their tasers. Rasil aimed and blasted five of them apart, only to see fifteen times that number still swarming around his opponent. “Okay. He’s not going to run out," Rasil said to himself. The drones fired more energy beams.

  Rasil couldn’t use his critical strike yet, so he ran straight forward. His knees slid along the floor as he bent backward and went under the most recent attack. Then, he dodged aside and boosted around in an arc to get through to Flakstorm. “That won’t work," the mechanical voice lectured. “Your strategy has not improved. Die. Die. DIE!” Rasil held his gun in front of him to block as several beams predicted his path and fired around him. He stopped moving, standing in a blind spot between the beams.

  Or not...

  At first, he figured Flakstorm was trying to hit him, but he quickly realized that the beams were merely to hold him there, as a drone smacked into his leg with its taser.

  That wasn’t going to work, though.

  Rasil growled in response as he kicked the drone, its shock not making it through his boots. He antigravity jumped back and clashed repeatedly with drones trying to ram him. “Come at me," he dared as he landed on his feet.

  Flakstorm roared back, “I will kill you! I will kill you! I WILL KILL YOU!” The racazoid’s systems appeared to be overwhelmed. Sparks shot out from his joints with every move as the drones sped up. They flew in arcs, resembling branches of a tree as they let off another volley of beams.

  Rasil leaned back and fired a bolt into the ground in front of him. The metal peeled up from the explosive force, and Rasil ducked behind the newly created cover. He scanned the room for anything to assist him now.

  His eyes rested on a crate of armor plates nearby. The crate looked heavy, and was connected to a pulley system that in turn linked it to a catwalk near the ceiling. The slack was short, and the crate was several feet off the ground...

  That would probably work.

  Maybe.

  Why not try?

  Rasil didn’t care. He swung his gun and launched several bolts in a wild spread to throw off Flakstorm's predictions. Then, he antigravity boosted, keeping low to the ground and sliding on his side toward the crate. “Let’s see if a ‘shrapnel wrecking ball’ can be a thing," Rasil said to himself as he collided with the crate. He strained against it with his momentum, and sent it upward in an arc. Flakstorm tilted his head, confused, as the crate reached the peak of its height, and gravity began to swing it back down.

  “Take this!” Rasil yelled, almost a battle cry. He waited until the brief moment when the crate’s movement was parallel to the ground, and snapped the chain apart with his gun. The crate traveled straight for Flakstorm, Rasil gripping onto it.

  “NO," Flakstorm replied. He lifted his hand and sent his drones forward. They linked together quickly as a shield. There must have been at least fifty of them that he launched that way, but the crate smashed into the protective wall with a crunch that told Rasil he had at least done some damage. “Auto-destruct. You will die," Flakstorm added, clenching his fist.

  The drone engines exploded, throwing Rasil backward and stopping his attack entirely. Gravity unkindly slammed him into the metal floor before he could react, and he felt the wind leave him. Excellent. He was starting to think he couldn’t do this alone.

  Not an unwelcome idea, as Rasil could admit his faults, but Virus was nowhere to be found—

  “There you are!” the familiar and dramatic voice rang out.