Drake Squad – Mercenaries at Large – Part 7

by holojacob

Drake Squad Mercenaries at Large-small

Link to Part 6

“Oh, yeah?” Twinkie said, steeling himself. “Here’s what I think of your joke!”

Twinkie pointed his shotgun at the pecan pie.

The top of the pie blew upwards. A flat metal disc flew out. Its ascent slowed at waist-height where it seemed to freeze in midair.

“Fu—!”

The disc exploded. Hot bits of shrapnel pounded into Twinkie’s chest. Medical warnings flashed across his visor. He fell to the ground and curled into a ball.

A thick metal limb punched through the floor next to his head. The end unfolded into a hand made of blades. It swung down and grabbed him by the throat. Twinkie felt a single sharp fingertip push through the flexible armor around his neck and prick his skin.

“You!” Twinkie gurgled. He stuck his shotgun against the robot’s wrist and fired. The scattershot blew a hole through the wrist. Liquid silver seeped into the wound and formed hexagonal segments. The segments rose to the surface and locked in place, closing the wound almost instantly.

The finger at his throat pushed in, drawing blood.

Shrike ran over, knife drawn. He stabbed it into the robot’s seamless elbow and slashed across. Silvery strands snapped across the wound, knitting it solid.

The robotic arm lifted Twinkie off the ground by his neck. It stretched several meters long, now. The arm smashed him into the wall, knocking the breath out of him. His visor cracked. The HUD flickered. Twinkie spat into his helmet, tasting blood.

Agnis and Jane fired in unison, striking the arm in two different places. Liquid silver exploded from the impact points. The half holding Twinkie dropped to the ground. The other half slinked back into the hole in the floor.

Twinkie fumbled with the digits around his throat. The death grip didn’t lessen. Instead, it grew tighter.

“Help!” he wheezed.

Shrike stabbed his knife into the thumb and sawed through it. He pulled the rest of the arm loose and threw it onto the ground.

The arm flopped around on the floor. Its outline contorted into something new. The fingers lengthened and thickened. The forearm collected into a tight mass. It looked vaguely spider-like.

Twinkie pointed at the changing machine and triggered his wrist-mounted flamethrower. A pure blue flame cut into the robot. Its skin crisped. The new limbs shriveled and curled back on the center.

Twinkie kept the flame going until nothing but a blackened, bubbling smear remained on the floor.

He pulled his broken helmet off and rested his head against the cool wall.

“Ouch …” he muttered.

Agnis took a nanomedic booster off her belt and injected it straight into Twinkie’s chest.

“Ngh.” Twinkie grunted.

Agnis ran her glove over his body. “You’ll be okay.”

“I can feel the shrapnel in me,” Twinkie said.

“You’re lucky. It missed your vitals,” Agnis said. “I programmed a third of the nanomedics to stabilize those areas and break down the shrapnel.”

Twinkie popped open a vacuum-sealed pouch on his leg. He pulled out a reefer and stuck it in his mouth.

“What are you doing?” Agnis asked.

Twinkie lit the pilot flame on his gauntlet and raised it to the reefer. He breathed in a long, relaxing drag. The end of the reefer glowed. He took it out of his mouth and puffed a perfect smoke ring.

“We should keep moving,” Shrike said.

“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” Twinkie said, sitting up. “We are up against ancient, highly advanced, evil robots that crap exploding pecan pies out of their asses. They’re some sort of twisted lunar nightmare. The only reason we’re still alive is because we’re being toyed with.” He looked at each of their faces. “Am I missing something here?”

“No, that’s pretty much it,” Agnis said.

“Pecan pies …” Shrike muttered mournfully.

“So,” Twinkie said, taking another drag. “If now isn’t the time to light up, when is?”

Jane walked over to the door and kicked it off its hinges. The heavy metal slab skidded to a halt in the next room. She turned back to the rest of the team and stared at them.

Twinkie sighed. “Oh, fine.” He spat out the reefer, picked up his shotgun, and struggled to his feet. “Ugh. Oh. Ouch.”

Jane crept into the next corridor, railgun ready. Twinkie limped after her.

“Hey, Shrike,” Twinkie said.

“Yeah?”

“Why the hell are we here?”

“This isn’t one of those ‘meaning of life’ questions, is it? Because I suck at those.”

“It’s not. I mean why are we doing this?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m here for the money.”

“Do you think we’re getting paid enough for this crap?”

“At the moment, no, can’t say that we are.”

“Yeah, me too.”

THE END

Picture Credit – H.P. Holo at Holo Writing

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