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DeadManWalking
Duke of the Mostly Dead
Joined: 24 May 2006
Topics: 30
Posts: 1005
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 Posted: Tue Feb 03, 2009 5:32 pm Post subject: Some Random Sci-Fi Short Story |
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Well, i had some time on my hands, and I have way too much Idearium.
By this i mean, i have way too many ideas, almost none of which have anything to do with the storygames i am TRYING to write stuff for.
So i figured i'd get this one out on paper so it'd stop distracting me.
It's just a short story, but i kinda like this character, and the world, so i may use him or it again somewhere else.
Comments and Crits please. I'm still working on improving my writing style, and would love it if someone would write their thoughts.
So here goes.
Callmus looked up from the scope he was working on, taking another look at the location of the three bodyguards. They stood in an exactly equilateral triangle, around the podium at which man stood.
He gestured wildly to the crowds, as they hung on to his every word, as he incited a fervor in the crowd that would soon boil over into a steaming flood.
Callmus’s left eye zoomed in on the guards as much as it could. Still, he could barely make out the serial numbers on their metallic outer layer.
AT-37s.
The man had switched models on him. The older AR Silvers didn’t have the same audio systems. The silencer wouldn’t do much against these versions. And the reaction times were so much faster in these ones….
Thank god that the Automaton Weaponry Restriction Act had been passed a couple years ago. It said that no robot could use any projectile weaponry. Humanity had been in trouble when Maria went haywire, and had destroyed almost all machinery. But of course, government were always looking for cheap labor, and they had figured that this would keep the masses under control.
Still, a robot, even armed with only a metal blade, had the power and speed to block a bullet in its path, or smash through several walls.
And the AT-37’s were relative unknowns. He couldn’t see any visual weapons, although they were almost sure to have some. The use of kinetic arresters had made weaponry a necessity.
Numbers whirled through Callmus’s head, as he changed his plan on the fly.
He spoke softly into a wristmike, checking first to see that the green light was on.
“Marika, we’re going to need you on the building with Teller. Use his spare. We’re going to Plan B.”
“Weren’t we already on Plan F or something?”
Callmus checked the light again, then hissed back. “Stop chatting. Vital messages only. The longer we talk, the more likely they’ll find the channel.”
He took the rifle away from the window, slowly, to avoid notice. He took it apart with a practiced ease, disassembling it down to parts no bigger than his pinky. More than half of the parts went into a small compartment in his wristband, where they were melted down for raw material in the reformulator. Other pieces went into other pockets, hidden in his jacket, or under some of the studs in the light armor he wore, or inside a false dagger. A part even went into a secret compartment on his KA belt.
All this took less than forty seconds.
Several pieces stayed on the table in the dark apartment.
Callmus pushed several buttons on his wristband, took it off, placed it on the table, noting the still green light. He then went through various other secret pockets, placing piece after piece on the table. He even reached into his mouth, pulled out a false tooth, grimacing and spitting, before shaking out a final piece onto the table.
He then shook the specified pieces from the reformulator, reattached it to his wrist, and took a deep breath.
Then, his eyes taking on a glazed expression, his hands started to move in a blur of motion, as slowly the pieces came together to form….
A rifle sat on the table when his eyes refocused. It looked like a cross between a sniper rifle and one of the old Gatling lasers used in the Teratic Wars. It had three barrels, long and smooth. Interestingly, it had a magazine instead of the usually breech loading.
Callmus hefted the gun, slipped a magazine out of his backpack (which he hardly used for anything else) slapped it in. He put it up by the window, careful to keep it in the shadows. He stepped away from the gun for a moment, slipped on a pair of black gloves.
He got into position, put his eye to the scope, adjusted for the minimal wind. He tensed his shoulders three times, slowly, and the gloves hardened, leaving only his trigger finger movable.
He kept his eye on the target, ignoring the timer in the scope, counted down instead in his head.
He murmured into the wristband, “Five. Four…”
He noticed the red light on the wristband, cursed softly, continued counting down. Only a couple shots, and he’d have to move fast afterwards. His finger tightened on the trigger, slowly increasing the pressure so as not to jerk the rifle from its carefully calculated trajectory.
“Two. O-“
A shot echoed through the air, the target ducked behind the throne, and the mechanical bodyguards closing in, dull blades whirring out from arms.
“Who shot that? Marika? Zolus?”
One by one, they reported. Except for Zolus. None of them had fired.
Shit. Enemy sniper.
He saw the red light still on his wristband.
“Ignore the sniper. Go for the target, then get out now.”
He fired himself when he said that, pulling one of the two triggers. The bullet whizzed through the air, followed by that of three others, only to be blocked by the swords of the bodyguard.
Callmus shot again and again, barrels cycling to prevent overheating, hoping to get through, but the new models were too quick.
He hit the second trigger. Three bullets shot at once.
The bodyguard blocked two, the third whizzing through its metal skin. Callmus had the satisfaction of seeing a blood splatter behind the robot, as the bullet ended its journey through wires and the brains of the target.
But the barrel overheated.
“Shit!”
He tensed his shoulders again, freeing his hands, pulled the rifle away from the window kicked it in front of the door, behind which he could hear the grunts of the metties, yelled into his wrist mike to get out, and jumped out the window placing a small hook into the wooden windowframe as he did.
As he was going out the window, he saw the door break, saw the first mettie race in and almost trip over the rifle.
Callmus hit buttons on the wristband, fingers blurring, and three things happened.
A wire started to spool out from the reformulator, letting him rappel down the side of the building.
A small shimmering shield of air popped out from the KA belt.
And the Gatling Rifle exploded, sending pieces of mettie flying.
But of course, he hadn’t thought that the explosion would destroy the window frame as well, and he started to fall.
He breathed, set the Kinetic Arresters on high, and looked down to meet the ground where people ran to get away from what they thought would be a mess of blood.
The Kinetic Arresters halted his fall, or at least slowed it enough that he didn’t take much more injuries than a couple bruises.
But as he stood up, swaying, with the batteries whining for a recharge, the sniper took a chunk out of his shoulder, tearing straight through the studded shirt he wore as armor.
He gasped, ducked into an alleyway, and, with that curious shambling run he was known for by chasing metties, managed to reach an unmarked van in time for it to drive away just as pursuit arrived, leaving almost no evidence for the authorities to use.
And there's the end. I really couldn't think of another way to end it, so i went with that.
Again, any comments or critiques would be welcome. Unless they aren't constructive. I like constructive comments.
_________________
When the dead walk, the living run.
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| What did you think of this character, and this world? |
| Cool |
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100% |
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| Hated him. And it. |
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| Not enough details. |
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| Too much details, not enough of it explained. |
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| Total Votes : 1 |
| Who Voted: vgmaster |
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