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Hammock Parties · 06-05-2013, 09:34 PM

THE RETURN

Chapter Five - Process This

"In range?"

"Not yet, sir. Sixty seconds until Premium Cannons can be brought to bear."

C.A.R.L - Combat Application Reconnaissance Link - is the artificial intelligence running this angel of Patriot Way death. It's like I'm inside a computer, only the computer lets me blow things up, and talks to me. It's my buddy. It makes things go boom.

"Thirty seconds, sir. Charging weapons now."

I can see Arrowhead now. The parking lot's full. Crowds are running for the hills. There's a huge goddamn silver and blue robot stomping around, crushing barbecue grills, belching smoke and launching ordnance at anything in red.

A voice, booming and metallic, violates my ear drums as C.A.R.L's targeting senors come online.

***DO NOT RUN. YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR. MATT CASSEL WILL RETURN. THE PATRIOT WAY IS HERE. WE WILL FINISH WHAT WE STARTED. YOU WILL BE HAPPY. DO NOT RUN***

"Is it just me, C.A.R.L, or is there a real issue with statements equating Matt Cassel and happiness?"

"I don't know, sir. I don't know anything about quarterbacks. Five seconds."

I position the targeting reticule directly over the huge missile launcher perched on Patriot Way Shitkicker's right shoulder. Better not miss. Any more damage to the Truman Sports Complex and the Chiefs won't spend a dime on a single free agent next offseason.

"Optimum ballistics range achieved. Recommend immediate engagement of hostile."

I hit the firing switch so hard my knuckles crack.

Red light fills the cockpit as huge bolts of energy streak out on both sides of Warpaint Hellustrated.

***MATT CASSEL WILL RETUR-***

BOOM!

*****'s missile launcher sparks and explodes, sending debris flying through the air.

"C.A.R.L!"

"Executing evasive sequence R2P2 now, sir. Firing thrusters."

The mech twists violently, dodging chunks of *****'s launcher, slamming me against the cockpit wall. Another jerk. The sun shines through the canopy. I'm going to be sick in about five seconds.

"No damage from explosion. Reacquiring target. Charging cannons."

*****'s mech is huge. Definitely bigger than mine. It also has four legs and what looks like a giant rocket launcher on the backside. I don't have a rocket launcher, let alone a giant one.

"C.A.R.L? Scan *****. What's he packing?"

"One moment."

I keep my distance as Shitkicker gets up off the concrete. The right shoulder is a smoking, black mess but the rest is glowing bright yellow. It looks angry.

"Eight heavy plasma cannons, six missile launchers - you neutralized one, - four grenade launchers and one -"

"One giant ass rocket that I don't have. Thanks. Any advice?"

"*****'s assault mech is far advanced past yours, sir. At this distance, without the element of surprise, we won't last long. Recommend engaging in close quarters and attempting pilot extraction. At that range he won't use explosives due to splash damage."

"So you're telling me I can either die up here or on the ground?"

"Probability of Shitkicker neutralization calculated at 8.7 percent, sir. Shall I divert energy to armor and life support?"

"Yeah. And alert the authorities. We can use the distraction."

"Distress call was broadcast on all frequencies three minutes ago, sir."

I wish they'd hurry the **** up. Something bright and smoky flashes past the cockpit. There's that voice again.

***THAT WAS A WARNING SHOT. ARROWHEAD STADIUM BELONGS TO THE PATRIOT WAY. EXIT NOW OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES***

"C.A.R.L, put everything into the thrusters on my mark."

I hit the intercom.

***HI SCOOTER. REMEMBER WHEN MATT GOT A CONCUSSION?***

"Mark."

The mech surges forward, right at Shitkicker's chest. I see *****'s fat face, frozen in shock before the impact sends both mechs crashing to the ground. The ground shakes and everything goes dark as smoke fills the cockpit.

"C.A.R.L?"

"Heavy damage sustained. Switching to backup power reserves. Shitkicker appears to be offline, but I'm reading a building power surge."

The lights come back on and Hellustrated groans to it's feet. One good smash and I can crack Shitkicker's cockpit wide open. The hydraulics scream as one giant steel arm reaches back and-

"Sir! He's firing thrusters!"

Whiff.

I look up and see four enormous mech legs blotting out the sun. The cockpit around me shatters and suddenly I'm hurtling through the air, looking at the clouds rushing by. The landing hurts. My fall is broken by concrete, grass, sand and water. Dust fills the air.

Nice knowing you, Kauffman Stadium.

"C.A.R.L?"

"All main systems are down. Propulsion is offline. Emergency power only. Incoming hostile, sir. I recommend immediate evac."

"No. We're going to play possum. We get one shot at this. Lure him in close and - "

"The Deal Is Done, sir?"

"Put everything into it."

The ground shakes. He's here.

A shadow falls over the Hellustrated. I close my eyes as the heat coming off Shitkicker seeps into my exposed cockpit. He's close. C.A.R.L whispers in my earpiece.

"Arming sequence initiated. Ten seconds to blast."

Smoke in my nostrils. Something jostles the mech. I crack an eyelid. Silver and blue steel fills my vision.

"Five seconds."

***THE PATRIOT WAY IS HERE. WE WILL FINISH WHAT WE STA-***

"FIRE!"

06-05-2013, 09:34 PM	#34
Hammock Parties I'll be back. Join Date: Nov 2002 Casino cash: $1040478	THE RETURN Chapter Five - Process This "In range?" "Not yet, sir. Sixty seconds until Premium Cannons can be brought to bear." C.A.R.L - Combat Application Reconnaissance Link - is the artificial intelligence running this angel of Patriot Way death. It's like I'm inside a computer, only the computer lets me blow things up, and talks to me. It's my buddy. It makes things go boom. "Thirty seconds, sir. Charging weapons now." I can see Arrowhead now. The parking lot's full. Crowds are running for the hills. There's a huge goddamn silver and blue robot stomping around, crushing barbecue grills, belching smoke and launching ordnance at anything in red. A voice, booming and metallic, violates my ear drums as C.A.R.L's targeting senors come online. *DO NOT RUN. YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR. MATT CASSEL WILL RETURN. THE PATRIOT WAY IS HERE. WE WILL FINISH WHAT WE STARTED. YOU WILL BE HAPPY. DO NOT RUN* "Is it just me, C.A.R.L, or is there a real issue with statements equating Matt Cassel and happiness?" "I don't know, sir. I don't know anything about quarterbacks. Five seconds." I position the targeting reticule directly over the huge missile launcher perched on Patriot Way Shitkicker's right shoulder. Better not miss. Any more damage to the Truman Sports Complex and the Chiefs won't spend a dime on a single free agent next offseason. "Optimum ballistics range achieved. Recommend immediate engagement of hostile." I hit the firing switch so hard my knuckles crack. Red light fills the cockpit as huge bolts of energy streak out on both sides of Warpaint Hellustrated. *MATT CASSEL WILL RETUR-* BOOM! ***'s missile launcher sparks and explodes, sending debris flying through the air. "C.A.R.L!" "Executing evasive sequence R2P2 now, sir. Firing thrusters." The mech twists violently, dodging chunks of *'s launcher, slamming me against the cockpit wall. Another jerk. The sun shines through the canopy. I'm going to be sick in about five seconds. "No damage from explosion. Reacquiring target. Charging cannons." *'s mech is huge. Definitely bigger than mine. It also has four legs and what looks like a giant rocket launcher on the backside. I don't have a rocket launcher, let alone a giant one. "C.A.R.L? Scan **. What's he packing?" "One moment." I keep my distance as Shitkicker* gets up off the concrete. The right shoulder is a smoking, black mess but the rest is glowing bright yellow. It looks angry. "Eight heavy plasma cannons, six missile launchers - you neutralized one, - four grenade launchers and one -" "One giant ass rocket that I don't have. Thanks. Any advice?" "****'s assault mech is far advanced past yours, sir. At this distance, without the element of surprise, we won't last long. Recommend engaging in close quarters and attempting pilot extraction. At that range he won't use explosives due to splash damage." "So you're telling me I can either die up here or on the ground?" "Probability of Shitkicker* neutralization calculated at 8.7 percent, sir. Shall I divert energy to armor and life support?" "Yeah. And alert the authorities. We can use the distraction." "Distress call was broadcast on all frequencies three minutes ago, sir." I wish they'd hurry the ** up. Something bright and smoky flashes past the cockpit. There's that voice again. THAT WAS A WARNING SHOT. ARROWHEAD STADIUM BELONGS TO THE PATRIOT WAY. EXIT NOW OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES "C.A.R.L, put everything into the thrusters on my mark." I hit the intercom. HI SCOOTER. REMEMBER WHEN MATT GOT A CONCUSSION?** "Mark." The mech surges forward, right at Shitkicker's chest. I see ****'s fat face, frozen in shock before the impact sends both mechs crashing to the ground. The ground shakes and everything goes dark as smoke fills the cockpit. "C.A.R.L?" "Heavy damage sustained. Switching to backup power reserves. Shitkicker* appears to be offline, but I'm reading a building power surge." The lights come back on and Hellustrated groans to it's feet. One good smash and I can crack Shitkicker's cockpit wide open. The hydraulics scream as one giant steel arm reaches back and- "Sir! He's firing thrusters!" Whiff. I look up and see four enormous mech legs blotting out the sun. The cockpit around me shatters and suddenly I'm hurtling through the air, looking at the clouds rushing by. The landing hurts. My fall is broken by concrete, grass, sand and water. Dust fills the air. Nice knowing you, Kauffman Stadium. "C.A.R.L?" "All main systems are down. Propulsion is offline. Emergency power only. Incoming hostile, sir. I recommend immediate evac." "No. We're going to play possum. We get one shot at this. Lure him in close and - " "The Deal Is Done, sir?" "Put everything into it." The ground shakes. He's here. A shadow falls over the Hellustrated. I close my eyes as the heat coming off Shitkicker seeps into my exposed cockpit. He's close. C.A.R.L whispers in my earpiece. "Arming sequence initiated. Ten seconds to blast." Smoke in my nostrils. Something jostles the mech. I crack an eyelid. Silver and blue steel fills my vision. "Five seconds." *THE PATRIOT WAY IS HERE. WE WILL FINISH WHAT WE STA-* "FIRE!" __________________ Chiefs game films Last edited by Hammock Parties; 06-07-2013 at 05:46 PM..
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