Michael’s Story
“Bloody night, don’t tell me we have to work with the Imp again,” said Zane.
Michael ignored him. Zane was an idiot. Besides, he needed to focus. His forearm guns wouldn’t calibrate themselves.
“Whatever this job is, you’re up front, Imp,” Zane continued. “I don’t want no washed out Imperial scum at my back. Right Archie?”
“That’s right,” rumbled Archie. Also an idiot. Just 100 pounds heavier.
“D’you hear me, Imp? You’re up front.” Zane shifted his weight to one hip, caressing the revolvers at his waist with his thumbs. Michael wished some of the grease in Zane’s blond hair would seep into his soul. Maybe then Zane would at least pretend to be professional.
Zane stalked across the room. “Don’t you ignore me when I’m talkin’ to you, you gutless Imp! You think you’re special ‘cause o’ that blazing suit, but what are you without it?” Zane started to pull his guns — his favorite form of bullying. “Nothin’ but a . . .”
Michael used his wrench to jab Zane in the chest before snapping his forearms out to thrust Zane’s arms to the side. Dropping his wrench, Michael grabbed Zane’s wrist, twirling it into a painful V behind Zane’s back, conveniently placing him between Michael and Archie.
Meanwhile, Archie cowered in the corner of the room, much more concerned about Zane’s flailing gun.
“Nothing but a former member of the Imperium’s elite military forces, making him a formidable opponent no matter what he’s wearing,” said Harvey, the team lead for this job, as he walked into the room, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “Oswald, let the blathering fool go and get your suit on. Zane, you keep your guns in your holsters until it’s time for the job or I will personally put a bullet in your head. We don’t have time for your cock dances.”
Michael kicked his wrench back up to his hand and opened his mech case, assembling his mech suit as swiftly as he did his machine guns. The pieces of his suit made satisfying clicks as they clipped together into deadly, weapon-laced armor.
“The job’s simple,” Harvey continued. “We’ve got a budding necromancer on our hands and he wants more bodies to make a move on our territory. Our informant confirmed he snuck into the catacombs half an hour ago. We take him and any undead out. Remember, go for the head. They need a certain amount of brains to stay functional, so if you’ve got bullets that cause extra splatter, use those. Everyone gets paid based on their head count. Got it?”
The three men nodded and followed Harvey through the door and to a nearby catacombs entrance. The first three men quietly stole down the stairs. Michael clomped. Effective though his mech suit was, quiet it was not.
As they entered the catacombs, Zane gestured Michael forward with his gun, a malicious glint in his eyes.
“You first, Imp.”
Michael glanced at Harvey, who gave him a silent nod. Harvey would make sure Zane didn’t do anything stupid. After walking for a few minutes, they saw firelight flickering from around the corner and heard chanting — almost screaming. Michael pulled out a mirror to peek around the corner.
“Gimme that,” said Zane, grabbing the mirror from Michael’s hands so he could get the first look. Zane glanced at it and cackled, dropping the mirror to shatter against the stones as he leapt around the corner, guns blazing. “Take that, you sons o’ the Undershade!”
Zane zipped through all 12 of his shots and ducked back behind the corner to reload as Michael turned into the tunnel.
Michael sighed at the scene. A bunch of broken bones, but not a single of the dozen or so zombies down and the necromancer himself unscathed, screaming for his undead soldiers to kill them. Michael flicked a switch and pulled a trigger. A grenade launched from his right shoulder, exploding at the necromancer’s feet. Another switch and trigger later and the machine gun on his left shoulder roared to life, leaving little more than neck stumps in its wake. While the others waited for the smoke from Michael’s grenade to clear, Michael stepped into the mess of bodies and took out the final two quivering corpses.
“That’s not fair!” Zane sputtered. “The Imp didn’t even let Archie get one shot!”
“Neither did you,” Harvey replied. “And you didn’t even finish off one.”
Zane leaped at Harvey in protest, but stopped at the gun Harvey raised to his forehead.
“I saw, Zane,” Harvey said softly. “Now get out of here and don’t be such an arrogant screw-up next time.”
Zane glared at Michael as he and Archie stalked off.
“Why’d you even call him?” Michael asked. “He’s useless.”
Harvey raised his eyebrows and handed a stack of bank notes to Michael. “Talkative today, are we? Guildmaster wanted to teach Zane a lesson and you work better when you’re annoyed.”
Michael rolled his eyes and stomped off. Today’s haul would buy a nice arc welder Micheal had been eying. The next few weeks of fiddling with it would be sublime.
