Industrial Strength Magic

Chapter 137: S’mores and Snipers

Everyone trickled in early. Even Plagius, who was later than everyone else, arrived ten minutes early.

Chemestro and Sin-Eater were wearing full-body power armor, along with full helmets with integrated gas-filter systems hanging behind them by the tubes attached to the back

Dude came to win, Perry thought, turning his attention to his cousins. Ellanore Frepon was wearing her Moonlight Flash outfit, a pale, skin-tight hyperweave with decorative dark blue bikini armor overtop.

George was wearing formalwear, immaculate white dress clothes with gold brocade and trim that made his brilliant blue eyes pop.

He looked damn good, but also like a damn good target.

“That suit rated for super combat?” Perry asked, raising a brow.

“Of course,” George said, idly smoothing down the front of his suit. “The enchantments are Royal Grade.”

“You two have gas protection?” Perry confirmed, handing out the remaining helmets he’d made to Plagius, Nat and Heather. He offered one to Mass-Driver, but the man waved it away.

“You think we wouldn’t?” Ellanore said, her pouty lips upturned in a smug smirk.

“Excellent.” Perry pulled his helmet down and retrieved a tear gas grenade from his storage before snapping it in half like a glow stick.

A violent explosion of tear gas engulfed all nine of the assembled supers.

None of them doubled over, retching and coughing like Perry expected. Not even his cousins. The gas didn’t seem to bother them at all. Anti-poison? Mass-Driver watched with mild amusement, noxious fumes swirling away from his head, condensing and dribbling off an invisible barrier.

“Had to be sure,” Perry said with a shrug.

“Anyone who can’t fly above two hundred miles an hour, please board Boomer,” Natalie said in her best stewardess voice, motioning to the mech.

The cockpit opened up to reveal space for up to six passengers.

Sin-Eater, Plagius, Wraith, and Perry’s cousin’s all boarded the mech and strapped themselves in behind Natalie’s seat. George tried to take the pilot’s seat, but it was far too small for him to sit in, forcing him to give up and sit next to his chortling sister.

“I thought you guys could fly that fast,” Perry said, leaning on the outside of Boomer’s cockpit.

“We can, but is it a good idea to be magically exhausted before we even arrive?” George asked.

“Touché,” Perry shrugged as the cockpit closed, leaving himself, Mass-Driver, and Chemestro standing outside.

“Guys got your GPS? Perry asked. Mass Driver wordlessly raised the GPS watch and Chemestro nodded inside his power armor.

“Alright, then, let’s go rob a museum!” Perry shouted, pumping his fist.

“Whoo!” Boomer fist pumped, but Mass Driver and Chemestro seemed to lack the same enthusiasm.

They took off, following close behind Perry as he began to slowly raise the speed, consulting his map and orienting on Chicago.

“Seven hundred and Seven miles to the Field Museum!” Perry said over the comms. “ETA, three hours!”

“Roger,” Chemestro said.

“Got it.” Mass-Driver responded.

“Let’s go!” Nat said, cranking Boomer’s speed up to match Perry’s as they oriented on their target.

****

Organic humanoids detected.

Conducting Threat Assessment:

Consulting records.

A trillion known threats flickered past the watch-drone’s awareness in a matter of seconds.

Positive ID. Mass Driver: Catalyst, High Kill threshold, high KPS, Threat Assessment: HIGH

Positive ID. Paradox: Tinker, Low Kill Threshold, Moderate KPS, Threat Assessment: LOW

Positive ID. Chemestro: Catalyst, Moderate Kill Threshold, Staggering KPS, Threat Assessment: HIGH.

A flash of a mech crossed it’s database, and was intantly attributed to another humanoid threat.

Positive ID. Hardcase: Tinker, Baseline Kill Threshold, Low KPS, Threat Assessment: LOW

In a fraction of a second, a list of the four’s known associates were populated and catalogued, with a hypothetical crew inside Hardcase’s mech, composed of six extra organic threats, with an average threat assessment of MEDIUM.

TOTAL THREAT: HIGH.

Suggested course of action: Guerilla Warfare to avoid strong counterattack from Chemestro and Mass Driver. Separate, Exhaust, Demoralize. Prioritize cessation of organic activity and reclamation by threat level, LOW to HIGH.

Submitted to Command, returning to Overwatch.

Command: backfill the organic’s path of retreat to Franklin City with dreadnauts D-17 through D24, delay engagement until they are two hundred Kilometers from site C-0 or Command signals. Set up an Anti-air net out to a hundred Kilometers. Prioritize limiting mobility.

***Perry***

“So when are we gonna get there? This is taking forever, and the replicators haven’t even noticed us. Can we just gun it?”Plagius’s voice wheedled over the comms. “You said there might be stuff to drain, but we’re just-“

BOOM!

One second Perry was rolling his eyes at Plagius asking his sixteenth variation of ‘are we there yet?’ and the next second the entire world was a blender of explosions and shrapnel.

“Down down down!” Perry shouted over the comms, practically swimming through shrapnel, anti-air, and Anti-armor rounds to grab Boomer’s wobbling frame and assist in a controlled crash.

Chemestro took an explosion to the chest, sending his suit of power-armor flinging off into the distance, with Mass-Driver flying off after him, weathering the storm of explosions like it was nothing.

It was a rattling twelve second descent that felt like it’d shake Perry’s teeth loose, until they crashed into the earth, cutting a deep furrow into the ground.

“Anyone who’s dead, speak up.” Perry said, pulling himself out of the loamy grave his armor had buried itself in.

There were a few minor dings and burns from the Anti-armor, but his suit was already repairing them, flaking the burned sections away and replacing them with freshly captured carbon.

Well done, Mk. 6. I didn’t even lose any health in the crash.

“I’m alive,” Nat said over comms.

“Alive,” Heather said, followed by Plagius, Sin-Eater and his cousins.

“Look alive, They’ll be coming any second,” Perry said, scanning the treeline for any sign of attack. Visibility was shit down here. Trees blocked all lines of sight any further than a hundred yards.

“No they won’t.” Mass Driver said, dusting himself off as he and Chemestro flew out of the thick forest, landing beside Boomer, where the rest of the team was climbing out.

“What do you mean they’re not coming?” Perry said, frowning.

“This ain’t my first rodeo, kid. I thought that’s why you hired me to babysit?” Mass Driver said. He pointed up at the sky. “The Replicators always to the right thing, tactically. That means they always do the same thing. Right now they’ve got a massive amount of Anti-air above our heads if any of us make a run for it, and a veritable army assembled between here and Franklin city to make trying to run back home suicide, but they’re not going to actually engage: They’re gonna try to make us sweat, wondering when the killing blow is coming, maybe throw in the occasional artillery shelling to make sure we don’t get any rest.”

“They’re gonna keep us landbound, but they’re not gonna actually hit us hard until we’re tired and strung out, making mistakes, separating, getting lost. Then they’ll pick us off one at a time, starting with the weaklings and those that wander off to pull they hyperweave down around their ankles, maximizing their kill to loss ratio.”

Plagius looked like he was about to hyperventilate as Mass Driver described how brutally efficient the trap they’d landed in was.

“Which means…” Mass Driver said, turning towards Boomer. “The next couple hours are actually the safest of the entire trip!”

Mass Driver dug through the luggage in Boomer’s storage and pulled out a bag of marshmallows.

“Who’s up for Smore’s?” He asked with a grin.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Plagius said.

“C’mon, kid, don’t let the robot’s mind games mess with ya.” Mass driver said, slapping Plagius on the back, causing the teen to fall to the ground and begin rocking back and forth, tucking his knees up to his chest.

Well, there’s a first time facing certain death for everyone, Perry thought.

“I’ll take two S’mores,” Chemestro said, using telekinesis to pull in a bunch of dead branches into a teepee shape before starting a fire with his power. Perry, Sin-Eater, Heather, and Nat all exchanged glances.

Maybe he got replaced by a robot infiltrator? Perry thought, eyeballing the shredded super who wouldn’t touch a marshmallow if his life depended on it.

Chemestro glanced up and noticed half the group staring at him with suspicion. “Extended combat engagements dictate caloric overload,” He said with a shrug.

“Ah, there he is,” Perry said, waving vaguely in Chemestro’s direction.

I guess he would touch a marshmallow if his life depended on it. That makes sense.

“So…I can have one, too?” Sin-Eater asked, drooling.

“As many as you want until we get back to Franklin, as long as you don’t get sick,” Chemestro said, waving her over.

“HELL yeah!” Sin-Eater practically skipped over to the fire. “Why didn’t you tell me, I would’ve brought skittles, and candy bars, and…soda. Oh, my god, I miss soda. Why didn’t I bring soda!?”

“I brought dates, peanut butter and pemmican if you need high-calorie foods after this,” Chemestro said, stacking together a graham cracker, marshmallow and piece of chocolate and wolfing it down…without roasting the marshmallow.

Freakin’ psycho.

Sin-Eater sighed and rubbed her temples before sitting down next to him, gently explaining the concept of S’mores to their resident sociopath.

Actually…Perry swept his gaze over to where Mass-Driver was leaning against a tree, keeping all of them in his sight as he ate the sticky treat.

On the other side of the clearing was George and Ellanore, eating what appeared to be Manitian Ambrosia with delicate silver spoons, watching Perry like a hawk.

Maybe the non-sociopaths are in the minority. I feel good about this decision.

“Oh, jeez,” Natalie muttered to herself as she pulled out one of Boomer’s sacrificial anodes. The tube was corroded like it had spent a hundred years under the ocean.

84% Saturation. 12Hr 18Min

The cannister had an LED display on the cap that displayed how long it would take to de-corrode, releasing the accumulated damage harmlessly back into the environment as oxygen.

“Darn,” Nat frowned, throwing the anodes into the storage bay and retrieving another two, slotting them in before closing the panel on Boomer’s butt.

“I hope we do get some time between attacks,” Nat said, glancing over at Perry. “I’ve only got two spare sets.”

“Where are you going?” Mass Driver demanded, causing Plagius to freeze in place, halfway out of sight.

“I gotta- you know,” He gestured to the treeline. “Gotta go. To the bathroom.”

“What did I JUST say? Pop a squat right there,” Mass Driver said, pointing to the edge of the clearing abutting an oversized oak. “Trust me, it’s better than getting your head blown off by the snipers watching the perimeter.”

“What?” Plagius frowned before shaking his head. “Nah, you’re hazing me, there’s no way it’s that bad.”

Mass Driver rolled his eyes and stood. Instead of walking towards Plagius, he grabbed George by the shoulder and began dragging him across the clearing, causing the aristocratic Manitian to drop his magical breakfast.

“Hey, what are you doing, let go of me you Dull reprobate!” George cried, struggling in Mass-Driver’s grasp. Unfortunately the super was, by definition, unstoppable.

Mass Driver made hard eye contact with Plagius and shoved George’s head past the treeline.

BOOM!

An armor piercing round stopped right in front of George’s forehead as the enchantments on his fancy clothes flared to life, dropping the palm-length tungsten bullet into Mass-Driver’s palm.

“Eh?” Mass Driver grunted, letting go of George and waggling the heavy tungsten bullet between his fingertips for Plagius’s benefit before biting off a chunk of the tungsten and chewing it like gum.

“There’s the shitter,” Mass Driver pointed, the tungsten screeching between his teeth as he chewed. “Make sure you bury it deep so we don’t have to smell it while we’re eating.”

Plagius sighed hard and went to do as he was told.

“Is that kid special?” Mass-Driver asked over the private comms, glancing at Perry.

“I’ll…have him drain some smart people,” Perry muttered. “Give him a few years.”

“Fair enough. I was pretty dumb at his age.” Mass Driver said.

“How’d you know George’s defenses would hold?” Perry asked.

“He seemed rich enough.” Mass Driver shrugged. “If they didn’t hold, I rid the world of a rich prick. Win-win.”

“You’re gonna keep everyone alive, regardless of your personal opinions. I appreciate the advice on how to handle the Replicators, it’s been great, but don’t pull anything like that again.” Perry said.

“Or what?” Mass Driver asked, cocking his head.

“Or I’ve got a disintegration crystal with your name on it.”

Mass Driver chuckled, sneering at him.

Wordlessly, Perry ejected Gor’s Disintegration from his forearm and spun the crystal until Mass Driver could read the sharpie note written on the side of the crystal.

MASS DRIVER

Mass Driver’s chuckle died, and his grin faded to nothing. He spat out the mangled piece of tungsten into the dirt and took another bite of the armor-piercing bullet, staring at Perry contemplatively as he chewed.

After a tense few seconds, he spoke.

“I like you, kid.”