Tuesday, 3 February 2015

1.7 Bounty Hunters Part 2

Spartan’s second mistake is leaving himself exposed to an attack when he was trying to lord over me.

I rush him before he can prepare for an attack. With one hand I rip his gun out of his grip and with the other, I punch him in the gut.

Let me tell you something, hitting someone in the gut is a lot more effective when they aren’t wearing power armour.

Spartan recovers quickly as he tries to kick the side of my knee. It is even less effective than my gut punch. I had the element of surprise and the superior suit of armour.

I react, leaning back to avoid a swipe from Spartan. I fly into the air to avoid further attacks.

Bad move.

I’ve gotten use to fighting weaker foes that lack the firepower to shot me out of the air. Spartan’s people have that sort of firepower.

I glance at Spartan’s people, wondering why they haven’t opened fire yet. They’re fight with Darrac is going poorly from them. The space pirate has already taken two of them down and disarmed most of the rest.

I finch as Spartan punches me in the head and sends me flying. I got distracted in a fight again. At least this time, armour has protected me from any harm beyond the shock of getting hit.

I stabilise myself near the edge of the carrier. Where’s Spartan?

I spot trying to flying into me and I dodge to the side. Spartan crashes into his own carrier deck.

That’s when I get hit when I’m not looking a second time.

I stagger away, spinning somewhat. In my daze, I raise my arms and get a lock on with my lasers. I fire them and attempt to regain my balance.

I don’t get a chance to see if I hit anything or anyone before Spartan grabs me.  He pins me to the ground and starts pounding my helmet.

What do? It’s hard to think when you got someone trying to pound your head in.

I hear a scream and something smashes into Spartan. I roll over as his grip breaks and fire my lasers. 

There’s no target for me to hit when I look a second later.

I need a better view and I can risk getting shot at.

I fire up my rocket pack and zoom into the air. A single look gives me all the information I need. Half of Spartan’s bounty hunters are down, a few severely injured while Darrac is easily taking out the rest. He even had time to throw one at Spartan, which was what broke his grip on me.

I focus on Spartan and aim and fire my lasers in rapid succession. They leave melted holes that don’t go all the way through in his armour. Spartan snarls and leaps at me. I ready a punch and smash faceplate in as soon as he comes in range.

Spartan falls and crashes into the deck again.

I fly higher as fast as I can when I hear a thundering boom. The carrier’s guns have decided to open fire.

I cut the fuel to my rocket pack and drop to the deck. I doubt the carrier’s gunners will risk damaging or destroyed the carrier itself.

I look at Darrac. He’s finishing off the last two of Spartan’s people. He slashes one across the chest with his spikes, tearing through the armour and into the flesh below with ease.

Even though I can tell the wound isn’t deep enough to do fatal damage, it still has to really hurt. Darrac kicks the man’s leg and the armour crunches. The man screams before fainting with pain.

I focus back on Spartan. He is still recovering from my last attack and has discarded his helmet. I’m surprised by this appearance. A firm, rugged face with a mane of long black hair.

And there is a minigun in his hands. I can’t believe I almost missed that.

“Surrender!” snarls Spartan, “Or die!”

When most people meet a crazy man in a suit of power armour holding a minigun tells you to surrender or die, you do as he says.

I am not most people.

I roll forward and fire off two electro-spyders at Spartan’s exposed flesh. He pulls the trigger, but barely gets few shots off. The spyders electrocute Spartan as the bullets pass over my head.

“Should have let us go,” I mutter at him, “How you are Darrac?”

“All down with no fatal injuries,” says Darrac, “I took a bad hit to my right leg.”

I turn around to face him and get a better look at his injury. The armour around his lower right leg is cracked and Darrac clearly has limp.

“You really ought to get that looked at,” I tell him.

“I’m a Neriarr,” says Darrac, “Injuries are fact of everyday life for us. Those that cannot cope do not make it.”

“What’s a Neriarr?” I ask him.

“That’s what my people call ourselves,” answers Darrac, “The human sub-breeds created by the Sektain that is. I’m unsure of what the Earth word is.”

“We don’t have one,” I tell him, “Like with Black Storm’s invasion, not many people seem to care about it afterward or place any value in the threat that was posed by the Sektain Invasion. Only those that were involved or had friends or family that were involved took them seriously.”

“A pity,” sighs Darrac, “Civilians never believe in danger until it is at their gates.”

I hear a thump on the other end of the carrier and spot an unwelcome sight.

The Machine.

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