Night 55: Weapon's Range
[from here]If the last room had seemed bright, this one was even brighter- or perhaps that was only because he hadn't been anticipating it at all. This room was totally new to him, and as he stepped through the doors, for the first time since he arrived at the Institute Depth Charge realised that he was aware of every part of his new body, from tip
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Scott's thoughtless question was cut off by another laser blast, though thankfully, he caught sight of it just in time to dodge. Well, almost. It managed to singe the bottom corner of his parka, which filled Scott's nose with the smell of burnt fabric. No time to think about the consequences of breaking the fourth wall: they still had problems inside walls 1-3 to deal with, apparently.
He turned back to S.T., whom he really hoped hadn't gotten hurt yet. "You okay there?" he asked, eyes glancing back and forth between him and the melee with Depth Charge. "Think you can get an opening to smash that glitchy guy's radio box thing? I'm gonna try going for the other one."
And he knew just what he could do it with, too. Depth Charge had returned Scott's favour by giving them the harpoon to use. Not what Scott had intended when he tossed his sword over, but he was going with it for now. Wincing as he put weight on his burned calf, Scott twisted the harpoon out of the fallen raptor's back. It was a lot heavier than it looked, he thought as he hefted it over one shoulder.
There! The undamaged raptor had made a charge. Hoping that harpoons weren't much harder to aim than swords, Scott lobbed the weapon across the room with as much force as he could muster (which, admittedly, was a lot considering his body size). He was aiming for the control box, but with a moving target and an unfamiliar weapon, all he was really hoping for was any kind of debilitating hit.
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"Sure." Good all-purpose answer. S.T. sounded more confident than he was. He'd had a lot more practice dodging bullets and a variety of other macroscopic unhealthy objects over the past few months, but he was well aware this wasn't his usual gig. He felt about as well-equipped for safari as a yuppie who'd bought a Land Rover and khakis and a fishing hat.
Shit, both of then were going for Depth Charge. He pulled his head out of his ass and ran like a defensive lineman that just had a pass fall in his hands. He wasn't sure what to do but if he didn't do it fast he was going down. No time to line up a perfect shot -- as soon as the spasming cyborg-reptile was maybe in range he started swinging. The first swing was too short, but the second hit the corner of the box, glancing off in a shower of sparks.
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Not that he had long to celebrate, what with the curve ball Ex-Sword Guy tossed his way a nanoklik later. "What? How do you know Megatron?!" How did he know Optimus Prime, for that matter? That would have been impossible, unless he was from around the same time that the Autobots were on Ear-
Something thick, hard and muscular slammed into the small of Depth Charge's back and sent him sprawling: the raptor's tail, heavy with metal and winding him, sucking out the breath he would have used to cry out when another laser grazed his hip-bone. Primus, that hurt a lot more there than it had on his shoulder!
Luckily for him, S.T. was already on the case. As he saw the man's lash out towards the control unit he dropped his head, shielding his face from the inevitable rain of sparks- but he wasn't just going to cower like Waspinator or someone. With a grunt of effort he rolled onto his side and kicked out at the raptor's legs, trying to knock it to the ground.
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Depth Charge's fall and roll also did well against the functional raptor, surprisingly. The move may have been meant for the malfunctioning one, but it put the Maximal out of the path of a fatal attack, meaning the beast landed just behind his head rather than on top of him. Still, that put it dangerously close, enough so that the raptor's next screech would be pure torture to the eardrums.
There was still good news here, though. Said screech ended up being the result of the harpoon landing a hit on the raptor. It was far from direct, as expected, but the weapon did pierce just below the grated metal on the raptor's lower haunch, making movement of that leg much more clunky and awkward. It also provided a good opportunity for the weapon to be grabbed back by either Depth Charge or Sangamon.
Enraged, the surviving raptor shook its leg wildly, unable to get the harpoon out. In its fit, more lasers were fired near the ground, this time at close quarters with the men.
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Yeah. Not the best of circumstances.
At least there was only one of it now? So long as no one was killed in the next five seconds, the odds looked to be in their favour.
"Tell you later! After we take care of Jurassic Park III here!" Scott shouted back to Depth Charge across the room as he took a charge toward the melee. Again taking care not to leap off his injured leg, he took a powered leap into the air and aimed a Bruce Lee-style flying kick at the raptor's backside. "Tag team it, guys! Let's go!"
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There was a harpoon sticking out of its leg. Or Depth Charge's tail, but that line of thought needed a lot more drugs to make sense. He reached out for the end of it. When he had a hand on it, he didn't so much pull as just let it ride along, like a lazy paddler. It had a nasty barbed head. Do more damage on the way out, but getting it there required leverage. Maybe standing up.
Or he could just slow it down. Turn this whole thing into a Hemingway/Melville mashup with an aging hippie playing Ol' Ahab. That was the vicodin and the pain talking, but it wasn't a bad idea, was it? He hung on.
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Now there was a wake-up call he never wanted to get: rise and shine, Maximal, you're on fire.
With another grunt of pain he heaved himself back off of the floor and onto his less-than-steady feet, just in time to see Ex-Sword Guy take to the air for an impressive flying kick and S.T. make a grab for his tail blade (now there was something he'd never thought he'd hear himself think). And the sword was still in his hand.
Grimacing through the stretch, he thrust out with the sword, aiming to skewer the control unit as squarely as he could while the other two slowed the raptor down.
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-only to find its aim thrown by another human kicking it high on its other haunch. The thing roared in outrage, firing a blind laser blast in what it assumed was Scott's direction.
Sufficiently distracted and hampered by Scott and S.T., Depth Charge's sword strike had more than enough leeway to score a hit. The blade thrust into one of the blinking lights like an arrow through a bullseye, one last hail of sparks spewing from the control unit as the raptor began to flail in its death throes.
A few more random swipes of claws and tail at its enemies, and then there was a small explosion from the raptor's overloaded unit. The thing fell over at last; the challenge was completed.
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"AGHH balls!" Scott spasmed in mid-air as his heel crashed into the raptor's haunch. His arms flew away from his torso and his eyes scrunched closed, pain surging up from his calf into the rest of his body. Unfortunately for him, the result of this meant that he caught two hits on his way to the ground: one burn on his right side from the laser blast, and one large gash on his left forearm as it came down on the raptor's spiny back.
At least the kick had achieved what Scott had wanted it to. Held down by S.T. on one side and with a leg kicked out of alignment on the other, he saw Depth Charge make his mark. He hoped the man (or whatever he was, certain Hasbro-related revelations now on the table) would forgive him for not raising a victory cry just yet. He was in a little too much pain to start celebrating right away.
And besides, it seemed the raptor still wanted to go out with a bang, even with no working radio box thing. Scott rolled from his landing place, wincing and grunting as he rolled over his wounds. Once he was far enough away, he lay there and watched as the dinobot finally give up the ghost.
And then came the sigh of relief.
"So... Does that mean we win? We totally win, right?" Scott said in a decidedly strained tone.
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Scrambling out of the way was difficult when nerve activation to his knee was still a lossy channel, but he let go of the harpoon and dignity and rolled. He was grinding oil and dirt and charred dinosteak into the burn on his arm, but there'd be time to disinfect later. When it finally collapsed in a heap, he pushed himself to a sitting position. A little awkward self-groping (it was remarkably difficult to pull something out of a left pocket with his right hand) and he had a small bottle.
"Painkillers, anyone?" He flicked another into his own mouth and almost choked on it. Then he finally rolled up his pant leg to get a look at the knee. There was a lump on the side that hadn't been there before. This was going to hurt. In multiple places. He gritted his teeth and smacked it. Tendons shrieked and then relaxed in a little orgiastic agony spasm, but his kneecap was back dead center. He popped a couple of aspirin to wash the Vicodin down. "I'm not really sure I can stand up until this kicks in."
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Stupid question.
As tempting as it was to crash out next to S.T. and the other guy straight away before his legs gave out entirely, he forced himself to stay standing long enough to haul the sword out of the control unit just in case something else decided to turn up and ruin their night. Or make it, in this case. His legs sang out with pain at every twitch, his shoulders and side were red-hot and his back felt like it had been steamrolled, but if they so much as tried anything else he could probably have powered through it on sheer slagging anger at the cheapness of it.
"Give it here," he said to S.T., then dropped down onto the floor with his free hand hand outstretched. "By the Matrix. Cyber raptors? And I thought I'd seen everything here. Here," he added, tossing the sword back across to the other guy with a clatter. "Won't be needing this anymore."
... slag it. That wasn't all he wanted to say. Before the awkward silence could build any more of that wall of resistance in his processor than it already had, he forced it out. "Thanks. For jumping in there." More of a mumble than anything, but that was just tough. "Couldn't have done it without either of you. Not that I know your name, but..."
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Well, between small blessings and painkillers, I think I know which one I'll take, Scott thought with a groan, forcing himself to sit up some and instinctively swiping at his cheeks with his sleeve. "Yeah, pass one this way. Thanks," he said weakly to S.T., extending the hand of his unscathed arm while clutching at his side with the other. He winced big time as he watched the older guy pop his kneecap back into place. Where were the Potions when a party really needed them?
Scott got the sword back along with the pill, and pulled it over to him gingerly across the floor, taking care not to aggravate anything again too quickly. "Did I not say? It's Scott Pilgrim," he answered the blue-haired not-quite-a-man, popping the pill and nearly gagging on the thing. "Blkhh, and you're welcome."
Speaking of Depth Charge's humanity (or questionable status thereof), there was still the whole Megatron thing to ask about. He was betting one didn't get a name like "Depth Charge" without some serious 80's cartoon roots in their blood. Before he could say anything else, however, something else caught his attention. There was a faint sound of rock shifting across the room, and when Scott turned his gaze toward the sound, he could see a marble pedestal rising out of the ground. It was elegantly carved, like the whole range around them was. And sitting on the top, glittering in the false sunlight was a tiny, ornamental silver sword.
Scott's eyes lit up. Somehow, he was able to start slowly pulling himself to his feet. The feeling of accomplishment had lessened the sting of his wounds. Or maybe that was the Vicodin kicking in. Either way, he made his way over to their prize, and held it aloft as far above his head as his injuries would allow.
Doo-doo-doo-doo doodoodoodoo dodododododododo...
"Da-nah-nah-naaaaah!"
Scott, Sangamon, and Depth Charge got a Dinky-Ass Sword!
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What would it spit out for one Sangamon Taylor, anyway? Trio of Mafia goons with North Shore accents, still thinking Basco was good for the paychecks they'd been promised? Raw sewage, contaminated with a million biochemistry hacks' wet dreams. In both senses of the phrase.
Naah. Just a pedestal, with a trophy on it, this one shaped like a sword. Scott got up, which was good. Meant he didn't need to crawl over there on one knee, and they wouldn't be going home empty-handed tonight.
Home. Hell of a thing to call a prison cell. At least the company was good. People came and left, but whatever else was wrong with Martin Landel, he had good taste in fictional characters. The ratio of people Sangamon could stand (and the smaller fraction that would put up with his bullshit) was an unscientifically imprecise lot larger here. Good people. Even the supervillains.
Scott broke his Vicodin-aided meditation by doing his own victory fanfare. S.T. snorted. "Sword and shield, check. Now all we need is a shrink-ray and a Lancelot. Preferably one who can walk." Maybe a miniature horse. Or one of the mutant squirrels -- they were about the right size.
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Anyway, only a second later he was given a first-class view of the thing on the newly-erected pedestal, courtesy of Scott's slightly hampered victory pose. Real cute. "Riiight." he said simply, and then with an intake of breath he managed to get his legs stable enough to pull him up onto his feet and stumble over.
Their prize: a delicate miniature sword, a perfect match for the shield he'd caught sight of earlier. Didn't seem worth the effort at a glance, but even he could work out it was probably some sort of key to get them into the main attraction- and, more importantly, to Landel or whoever they'd pick to take his place now that he was MIA.
"Beats me who Lancelot is," he said once he was close enough, "but maybe the other team'll have a good enough substitute." If they'd survived. Primus only knew what they'd had thrown their way, if this place had managed to dig up a couple of Cyber Raptors for their fighting pleasure. "Let's move."
Considering his old injuries and the fresher wounds across his sides, it was fairly impressive how quickly the Maximal managed to turn on his heel and stalk back towards the doors at the end of the hallway- not the ones they'd come through at the start. That was the end of the challenge, so there was a good chance they'd come out in the ballroom area. He hoped. Wasn't like there was much point sticking around here, anyway. Glancing back again to make sure he was being followed, he pushed the door open and stepped through.
[to here]
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