Mistrunner - Chapter 25 - Reconnaissance, Interrupted

Before the Initialization, preparation was the key to surviving any engagement. In the new world, though, it is often overlooked and discarded in favor of overwhelming power. This is a mistake, and one the world will realize once the aliens descend upon our world.

Jeremiah Braddock III

The way back to the farm was uneventful, save that I was forced to skirt past a group of massive creatures with metal shells. From my biology classes, I recognized them as armadillos, but just like the alligator that had attacked on my first day outside of Nova City, they were far too large. Coupled with the segmented metal shells, I had little choice but to assume that they had been mutated by the Mist. Perhaps most wildlife had.

In any case, they seemed completely unconcerned with my passage. Whether it was because they didn’t know I was there or due to simple disinterest, I didn’t know. But I wasn’t going to argue with my good fortune.

My progress through the forest was slow, owing to my desire to remain undetected. I had no idea if the bandits were still looking for me, so I thought it was probably best if I took the time necessary for effective stealth. Even so, I flinched at every cracked branch and crunched leaf; I was far from an expert in moving through the wilderness, so it wouldn’t have surprised me if someone heard me traipsing through the woods.

But that’s why I kept the Kicker out. At least I could depend on my skills in that arena.

The rifle clutched in my hands, I stalked toward the wall surrounding the farm. Keeping to the woods, I slowly circled around to the north, taking a counter-clockwise path toward the gate. All the while, my eyes scanned my surroundings as well as the wall. It wasn’t wide enough that anyone could comfortably perch atop it, but that didn’t rule out cameras.

Or drones, I discovered.

The hum of a Mist engine met my ears, and I jerked to a stop. Swiveling my head, I spied the drone. Its base was about a foot wide and twice as long, and a pair of encased propellers jutted from each side, holding it aloft. A sizable lens perched in the center of the fuselage, but no weapons were in evidence.

A reconnaissance drone, then.

I brought my concentration to bear, and a prompt materialized on my HUD:

Intiate Misthack? [Yes] or [No]

I selected the affirmative option, which brought up a simple number puzzle. The drone’s defenses must have been laughable, and I easily solved the puzzle. When I did, another prompt flitted across my HUD:

Misthack Successful. Options:

· Reboot System

· Hijack System

· Disable System

I chose the second option, and a moment later, a new window bloomed on my HUD. It only took up a third of my vision, but splitting my attention between the drone and my surroundings was a bit disconcerting. Still, I was up to the task.

Not only was I able to see through the machine’s camera, but I also took control of it. Luckily, the drone was responsive to my thoughts, so piloting it was fairly simple. Aware of the timer associated with my ability – the Misthack would only last a certain amount of time, which was dependent on the strength of its system; in this case, my hijack would only last a little more than a minute – I turned the drone and flew it toward the bunker.

It moved quickly, so I was able to see that most of the bandits were gathered out front of the bunker, where they were directing another group of people who were busy loading a series of trucks with crates of produce. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the laborers were the farm’s residents.

With only twenty seconds left, I landed the drone atop the bunker, then repeated the Misthack, selecting to disable the system. It went dark, and I started moving. It might have been a bit of overkill, but I suspected that the drone had a pre-programmed route and that the bandits were relying on it to warn them of any intruders. So, it stood to reason that as soon as my Misthack wore off, it would return to where I’d initiated the takeover in the first place. By that point, I needed to be gone, so I dropped back further into the woods where I didn’t think anyone would notice me.

I needed a plan.

Clearly.

I was busy trying to figure out what to do when I heard a gunshot. Then another. I was moving before I even knew what I was doing, and when I reached the wall, I saw the drone, replicated my Misthack from before, and took a look at what was happening.

My heart jumped into my throat as I saw that the trucks had already been loaded, and all of the laborers were kneeling in a line in front of the bunker. Two bodies lay on the ground, their brains splattered onto the gravel road.

One of the bandits laughed. Another seemed entirely disinterested, smoking a cigarette as she leaned against the wall. The others were similarly uncaring as a pudgy man raised his pistol, aimed at the next laborer in line, and fired. Another body joined the others.

I wanted to vomit.

Sure, I had seen plenty of death. A memory of my uncle doing something very similar sprang to mind. But this was different. Turk and his mooks were Operators, if inept ones. But these people? They were civilians. Simple workers who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

My blood boiled.

I sprinted from the woods, covering the short span to the wall, and leapt. As I soared through the air, I stowed the Kicker in my Arsenal Implant before I thudded into the concrete barrier. My fingers held strong, grasping the top of the wall as I pulled myself up. There, I resummoned my rifle, flicked the switch to put it into sniper mode, and took aim.

Barely a second passed before the executioner’s head exploded. I got another one before they scattered. My weapon swept around, looking for more targets, but these bandits weren’t stupid. They’d already taken cover.

A woman poked her head out and returned fire in my general direction. Her shots went wide. Mine didn’t. She fell to the ground, a massive crater in her torso. I moved on to the next one, but the rest had learned their lessons.

“C’mon,” I muttered. “Poke your fucking heads out, assholes.”

None complied.

The prisoners finally gathered their wits and took off, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Until I heard a sound I would never forget. Gunshots. Dozens of them every second, all coming from the doorway of the bunker. My jaw dropped as I saw a tiny figure step out into the open. He couldn’t have been more than three feet tall, but he carried a gun that was at least as long as he was tall. Belt fed from a canister on his back, the weapon had seven rotating barrels. He didn’t aim it so much as he swept the thing in a general direction and filled the air with bullets. In seconds, the farmers were dead, their bodies ripped to shreds by the powerful weapon.

Aghast at the carnage – some of the fresh corpses were unrecognizable as anything but piles of unidentifiable meat – I hesitated. Only for a second, but that was enough for the miniature man to lock his eyes on me. He swung the weapon in my direction and let loose.

I dove to the ground as he tore the wall apart. Each bullet dug deep craters in the concrete, raining the dislodged pieces down on me. I rolled away, narrowly avoiding a rock that would have crushed bones. In a moment, I was up and sprinting away, following the wall to the south.

After a few more seconds, the barrage of gunfire ceased, and blessed, unnatural silence filled the air. My heart pounded out of my chest as I continued to run. Whatever plans I’d made were irrelevant after seeing the tiny man’s firepower.

But intertwined with my fear was a throbbing anger. It was almost painful, thinking about how callously the little man had murdered those farmers. Stealing was understandable. Everyone was just trying to get by, and if it came down to it, taking what you needed to survive was common enough. Firing at me was justifiable. After all, they knew I was an enemy. But those farmers? They were helpless. Harmless. They should have been off-limits.

I seethed, slowing to a stop. I couldn’t run away. Not after what I had seen. These people, they deserved to die – the little man with the mini-gun most of all.

I positioned myself at the edge of the field, where I would be partially hidden by the corn stalks. It wasn’t perfect cover, and it would provide no protection. But it would at least obscure me from casual observation. Besides, I didn’t intend to give my enemies the chance to react.

I could already hear them thundering through the field, snapping cornstalks along the way. There were at least three of them. Maybe more. I switched my weapon to its assault rifle configuration; I would need the rate of fire. Like that, I waited to spring my ambush.

Thirty seconds later, a man skidded out into the open, his feet throwing up clouds of dust. Then another, this one a woman. Another man. Still another man. Three more followed, and I stopped paying attention to their individual characteristics. It didn’t matter. Enemies were enemies. I don’t know if I was lucky or unlucky that the small man with the big gun didn’t come. If he had, I would’ve taken aim at him first. Now, though, I could become a more equal opportunity killer.

The six bandits approached the ruined wall, obviously looking for my corpse. I was only a hundred feet away, but none of them noticed me. One of them said, “He ain’t here.”

“Wasn’t a ‘he’, Billy,” said one of the women. She carried no visible firearms, but instead was armed with a wicked-looking machete.

“You always think the badasses are girls,” the one called Billy responded.

“Because they usually are,” the woman stated.

I stopped listening. Instead, I opened up in three-round bursts. The effect wasn’t quite as impressive as when I used the sniper configuration of my Kicker, but at this range, it was more than adequate. Each burst took out a separate bandit, tearing through their unprotected chests with relative ease. I took out four before they even reacted.

That’s when I was finally noticed.

“Over there!” screamed the bandit, pointing in my direction. “She’s over –”

Five down. One to go. It happened to be the woman who’d been so sure of my sex. She dove into the corn stalks, and the burst that would have killed her thudded into the nearby rubble, kicking up dust and shattering concrete. I swore under my breath. The ambush had almost been perfect.

It didn’t matter, though. I had plenty of opportunities to improve.

A coldness spread through my mind, smothering my emotions. I’d just killed quite a few people – eight, unless someone had survived what should have been a fatal wound – but I felt nothing but eagerness to finish the job. An effect of my Combat Focus, no doubt. Or maybe I was just getting used to killing. Either way, it was a boon for my current circumstances.

I rose from my kneeling position and, keeping my weapon ready, stalked down the narrow path that ran beside the wall. I knew that the woman who had escaped had probably run back to the bunker, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. Nor would I leave the area before I was sure the fallen enemies were truly out of commission. My uncle and other trainers had stressed that to me; in our world, people could survive all sorts of things. So, the idea was to never count them out until you were sure they were dead.

It was a good thing, too, because I was surprised to see that, despite having gaping holes in their chests, two of my enemies had survived. One was in the middle of trying to use a med-hypo, while the other was on the edge of death. I wasted no time in plastering their brains across the rubble-strewn path, doing the same to the other unmoving men and women. No chances of survival if their heads were destroyed.

I’d just finished off the last of them when I heard a rustle in the corn stalks. I turned just in time to see a gleaming blade coming for my face. I dove to the side, rolling away and bringing my rifle to bear. The moment I took aim, the machete collided with the barrel of my Kicker, knocking it out of my hands.

“I’ll kill you, you little fucking bitch!” growled the woman, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was tall. At least six feet. And she had long arms. That, combined with her blade, meant that she had an advantage on me.

She darted forward.

Ferdinand II thundered.

She fell.

Ever since I’d upgraded my [Cybernetic Interface]to Tier 2, the time it took me to summon my weapons from my Arsenal Implant had been cut to a fraction of a second. And I had been practicing my quickdraw skills.

I looked down at the woman. She wasn’t dead, but a good portion of her ribcage had been disintegrated by the Ferdinand II’s huge round. Still, she gripped her machete. It trembled as she struggled to lift it. Coughing blood, she growled, “I…I’ll…kill…you…”

“You said that already,” I responded before taking aim and firing. Her head exploded, and I paid her no more heed.

Reaching down, I gathered my Kicker from where it had fallen, and after inspecting the weapon, I was satisfied that it hadn’t taken any damage. Not that I expected it to have; the thing was a high-grade weapon, and I didn’t think a simple blade could hurt it. But it was always good to be sure.

After that, I stowed Ferdinand II and set off down the path, circling the field toward the gate. If I was going to get a good shot at the remaining few bandits – including the small guy with the huge gun – that would offer me the best view. Misthacking another drone would have been ideal, but it seemed that they’d only brought the one. And climbing to the top of the wall hadn’t worked out well the last time.

Was it ideal? No. Not at all. But it was the best I could think of at the moment. And choosing a path and walking it seemed preferable to becoming mired in indecision.

Eventually, I turned the corner and began the last leg of my short journey. Before I reached the gate, I skidded to stop and ducked into the corn stalks for cover. Creeping forward, I was careful to keep my noise to a minimum. Finally, I reached the path that led from the gate to the bunker, and I poked my head out.

Three bandits – one man and two women – stood next to the small fellow. He still held the mini-gun that was very nearly as big as he was, and his eyes searched the direction from which I had come. None of them were looking at me.

I took that as a sign. Flipping the Kicker back to sniper mode, I took aim at the small man. Once the reticle of my scope settled onto his chest, I took a deep breath, squeezed the trigger, and fired. The bullet thudded into him, knocking him on his back. Satisfied, I aimed at the others, taking them out one after the other in quick succession. They tried to hide, but from this direction, there was no cover.

I was just patting myself on the back when the miniature man jumped to his feet and opened fire with his mini-gun.

I took off into the corn stalks just in time. Behind me, the ground was destroyed by the powerful rounds. Dust filled the air, and shrapnel tore into my body. Still, I ran. Corn stalks slapped me in my face as I fled the continuous fire, but I stayed just ahead of that deadly stream of bullets.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the weapon ran out of ammunition. In all the confusion, I’d taken an angle that had brought me much closer to the bunker, so I could still hear the weapon spinning. And I could also hear the tiny man’s high-pitched cursing.

I switched the Kicker back to its assault rifle configuration and stalked forward. I had no idea how he had survived my first shot, but I figured if I emptied an entire magazine into his head, he would go down.  I didn’t want to think about what would happen if such an attack failed.

I poked my head out of the corn stalks to see him trying to jam another belt of ammunition into the side port of the mini-gun. I didn’t hesitate to take advantage of his distraction. He was only a few dozen yards away, so it wasn’t difficult to put my first burst into his head.

To my dismay, they ricocheted off of his mask. He was thrown back, but otherwise seemed unhurt. So, I came up with a new plan and started aiming for his gun. Specifically, the port where the belt of ammunition fed into the chamber.

Seven more bursts, half of which hit home, later, and the gun was little more than a pile of scrap. I dropped my magazine into my Arsenal Implant, summoning another and jamming it into the well. Before I could chamber a round, though, the small man was on me.

Screaming a wordless battle cry, he leapt into the air, a pair of hatchets in his hands. I dove forward, rolling under him, but he still managed to bury a blade in my back. Thankfully, it didn’t get past my ribs. Otherwise, the strike would have destroyed my lung. As it was, it wasn’t a debilitating wound. Agonizing, sure, but I was quickly growing used to that.

When I rolled to my feet, the small man had recovered from his wild, but ultimately unsuccessful charge and was turning my way for another go. I chambered my round and emptied the magazine on full-auto. The bullets thudded home, but to my horror, they didn’t penetrate. I heard the telltale sound of bullets striking sub-dermal armor.

“That tickles!” he scream-laughed in his ridiculously high-pitched voice.

I dismissed the Kicker and brought Ferdinand II to bear. Its rate of fire wasn’t as good as the rifle’s, but it had already proven its worth a thousand times over. I fired, but even its massive rounds did little to penetrate the man’s armored skin. Luckily, the sheer kinetic force of the shots threw him back almost a dozen feet, giving me time to unload everything into the seemingly invulnerable, little man.

When he rose, I’d already dismissed my pistol and summoned my last resort – the scattergun. It wasn’t meant for sheer damage. Rather, it was supposed to be non-lethal. Sort of. Sure, the weapon had been discontinued because it never quite met that mark, but the point remained that it was never supposed to do heavy damage. But I hoped the elemental damage would succeed where the other weapons hadn’t.

He charged again, and I fired. Lightning arced from the barrel, enveloping the little man. His muscles locked up, and his momentum sent him tumbling to the ground, where he skidded to a stop. I fired again. And again.

Fifteen times, until its cannister of specially prepared mist ran empty. He twitched, the skin covering his subdermal armor gone. So were his clothes. Lying there and twitching, he looked like a tiny, metal man.

But he wasn’t dead. Not yet.

I raced forward, stowing my scattergun in my Arsenal Implant and summoning my final option.

I hadn’t practiced much with the nano-bladed sword my uncle had bought me. Its inclusion had seemed like an afterthought at the time, but during my training, I’d learned that it was at least as high of quality as the rest of my weapons. When I reached the small man, I hefted the sword above my head and brought it down in an overhand chop. The blade hit his neck with a clang, but I was relieved to see that it had carved a small groove into the metallic surface of the bandit leader’s skin.

I brought the blade down again. And again. I kept going until, at last, his head rolled free. At some point during the process, he’d died, his spine severed. But I refused to stop until I’d finished the job.

When I finally did, my shoulders sagged and, breathing hard, I looked around at the carnage. There were dead bodies – or the piles of meat that passed for them – everywhere. Some, I’d killed. Others were the bandits’ victims. I felt guilty about them all.

“What a shit show,” I muttered to myself before sinking to my knees. I sat there for a long time, just processing the day’s events. The battle had been intense, and I’d come out on top. But the cost had been immense.

It was unavoidable, but it weighed on me all the same.

With a sigh, I heaved myself to my feet and approached the bunker. The metal door was heavy, made for security, and I wondered how the bandits had pulled off their attack. The whole farm seemed to have been well-defended.

But not well enough, given that everyone was dead.

I went inside and found the kitchen. There, I patched myself up as best I could. The wound in my back wasn’t as bad as I’d expected, but with the battle finished, my mind was free to wrap itself around the pain. I cleaned it, then awkwardly applied a foam bandage. Otherwise, I was only bruised. The injuries I’d previously sustained hadn’t even broken open. That, in itself, was a minor miracle, as far as I was concerned.

All in all, I’d come through the battle in far better shape than I could have expected. I was hurt, sure, but I was still functional enough.

After taking care of myself, I went back to the door and locking it before I headed deeper into the bunker. It was a sizable building, meant to house twenty or more people. So, I found my way to one of the dorms, where I collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep.