12-02-2016, 04:02 AM
The sad fact was, if Kelly had been planning to talk this out, he would have had to set it up differently. As much as he'd prefer not to fight, there was little way around it at this point: He'd offered them twenty-million credits that didn't exist. No matter what he said now, that would be a rather large sticking point in the negotiations - the kind that got smart-ass corporate contractors shot.
Which meant that the biggest concern was Twitchy.
Kelly threw the briefcase at him, winging it underhand in a straight line as the traveler shifted his neural processing speed into a high gear. The shotgun-blast went off in slow-motion, blowing the case to pieces with a deafening crash! Shocked expressions flowed like syrup over the faces of the other four thieves as they began to react, but before the redheaded woman could pull away from him, the traveler had already reached over his shoulder grabbed her by the wrist.
The pace of events snapped back, and Kelly powered up, the pressure and tension of the vector-sketch overlay hitting him like an epiphany or a stiff drink. He used his own collarbone as a fulcrum to break the woman's elbow, eliciting a shocked scream of pain. One of the pug-faced men tried to interfere, and received a swift side-kick in the hip for his trouble, the metal heel of Kelly's hob-nail boot cracking the bone and dropping him in his tracks. The twitchy one surged to his feet and fired again, but the traveler swung the redhead towards the couch, a two-handed grip on her ruined arm giving him all the control he needed - just in time to intercept the shotgun-blast. It didn't blow her apart like it had the case, but she collapsed with a surprised crimson cough, leather coat flapping as she spun to the floor amidst the echo of the shot.
The rhythm of events came to a pause. Kelly exhaled, setting his guard. The lull only lasted a fraction of a second before their six-way run-away train of violence crested the rise and sent them all plunging into another screaming valley.
The pugs, both the one Kelly had crippled and the one who was still standing, pulled shotguns out of their coats - though the one on the floor was waving his all over the place, woozy from shock. Meanwhile, Mr. Average produced a pair of wickedly curved knives and moved in, making quick, expert slashes at the traveler's face and arms.
Kelly deflected rapidly, taking several deep cuts on the thin flesh over the bones of his forearms, sidestepped, ripped off his jacket, wrapped it around the man's hands, and punched him in the jaw so hard that his mandible ended up inside his ear.
As soon as their comrade went down, the remaining three thieves fired, a series of echoing booms, deafening in the confined space. Kelly was already accelerating, pushing through the strain as the world slowed down around him. He wove towards the pugs, the one he'd dropped firing wildly from where he'd fallen and the other crouching on one knee.
Between them and twitchy, it was a cross-fire. Kelly was good, but he'd overplayed his hand, and now he was paying for it. The first volley ripped his shirt to tatters, shredded his trousers and the skin underneath, punching tightly clumped holes in his stomach and thighs, lodging in psychokineticaly fortified muscle.
Then he was on them.
As events caught up with him, Kelly sidestepped the uninjured one, kicking the stocky thief in the side of his head as the man tried to roll away, sending him sprawling across the concrete floor.
The traveler's power-up failed. His joints were threatening to pop, his muscles were screaming at him, and he just couldn't sustain it any longer. He felt the strength leaving him, and he dove for the work-bench, the nearest solid piece of cover.
Twitchy shot him in the ribs.
Flesh tore, bone exploded, and Kelly went down sprawling!
To his mild surprise, he was tempted to get up again. There was a hole in his side the size of a melon oozing purple goo, but while the pain was intense, it was more of an academic fact than an all-consuming neuro-physical scream. He wasn't even bleeding as much as he thought he probably should be.
The traveler lay still. The blast had shredded his diaphragm, which meant holding his breath wasn't an issue, but it just didn't seem urgent. His thoughts were calm and clear, no hint of shock or detachment, and he had a plan.
Twitchy waited a moment, watching Kelly for any sign of movement, then shouldered his weapon and began to check on his allies, retrieving a first-aid kit from a chest at the base of one of the beds.
Kelly waited for nearly fifteen minutes while the tall, rheumy-eyed thief tended to his comrades, biding his time until the stocky, pug-faced men got their turn. Then he charged a psychokinetic force-bolt, counting to two while the power coalesced in his hand, a tennis-ball sized fish-eye distortion in the world.
The blast caught twitchy in the middle of his chest as he bent over the pug-face with the broken hip, shattering his sternum with a crunch like a giant stomping on a pile of glass bottles. He hit the floor like a sack full of sand.
Kelly grabbed onto the work-bench with one hand, using the other to hold his organs inside his body as he pulled himself to his feet. His clothes hung in tatters, barely preserving his modesty. His arms were cut, wounds crusted with thick purple ichor, and dozens of lesser puncture-wounds oozed violet fluid. The air was hazy and smelled like gunpowder, and the sticky, copper scent of blood. The roar of the traffic exchange overhead, so deafening when he'd arrived, seemed quiet after the sound of gunfire.
He surveyed the carnage. All thieves were down, either sedated or crippled - the redhead might be dead, although if she was wearing a vest under her coat it was possible she'd survive yet.
Mentally, the traveler was exhausted. He'd accelerated twice in under a minute, and between that, the force-bolt and the vector-sketch, he'd reached his limit. Physically, he felt like he'd been run over by a freight train - a stupid freight train.
"Well," he whispered bitterly, barely able to move any air through his lungs, "I could have done that like I knew what I was doing, but I guess this works too."
It had fallen apart when he'd let them pull the shotguns. He should have addressed the pugs as soon as the redhead went down, used them to get close to Twitchy. He'd known they must have been armed, hadn't he? And they were closer together - he could have gotten them both with little effort, used one as a shield...
But he'd let himself get distracted by the knives. Something about blades made him more nervous than guns.
I wonder where THAT comes from?
Kelly staggered over to the couch, flopping down in the spot where Twitchy had been sitting. From here, he could see that the big crate, positioned like a coffee-table, had the words, "PROPERTY OF PEPSICO" stenciled on one side.
In spite of his frustration, Kelly permitted himself a smile. He activated his dataverse link and called up a communications window, remembering Pepsiman's office contact info off the letterhead of the paperwork he'd signed.
He had some calls to make.
Which meant that the biggest concern was Twitchy.
Kelly threw the briefcase at him, winging it underhand in a straight line as the traveler shifted his neural processing speed into a high gear. The shotgun-blast went off in slow-motion, blowing the case to pieces with a deafening crash! Shocked expressions flowed like syrup over the faces of the other four thieves as they began to react, but before the redheaded woman could pull away from him, the traveler had already reached over his shoulder grabbed her by the wrist.
The pace of events snapped back, and Kelly powered up, the pressure and tension of the vector-sketch overlay hitting him like an epiphany or a stiff drink. He used his own collarbone as a fulcrum to break the woman's elbow, eliciting a shocked scream of pain. One of the pug-faced men tried to interfere, and received a swift side-kick in the hip for his trouble, the metal heel of Kelly's hob-nail boot cracking the bone and dropping him in his tracks. The twitchy one surged to his feet and fired again, but the traveler swung the redhead towards the couch, a two-handed grip on her ruined arm giving him all the control he needed - just in time to intercept the shotgun-blast. It didn't blow her apart like it had the case, but she collapsed with a surprised crimson cough, leather coat flapping as she spun to the floor amidst the echo of the shot.
The rhythm of events came to a pause. Kelly exhaled, setting his guard. The lull only lasted a fraction of a second before their six-way run-away train of violence crested the rise and sent them all plunging into another screaming valley.
The pugs, both the one Kelly had crippled and the one who was still standing, pulled shotguns out of their coats - though the one on the floor was waving his all over the place, woozy from shock. Meanwhile, Mr. Average produced a pair of wickedly curved knives and moved in, making quick, expert slashes at the traveler's face and arms.
Kelly deflected rapidly, taking several deep cuts on the thin flesh over the bones of his forearms, sidestepped, ripped off his jacket, wrapped it around the man's hands, and punched him in the jaw so hard that his mandible ended up inside his ear.
As soon as their comrade went down, the remaining three thieves fired, a series of echoing booms, deafening in the confined space. Kelly was already accelerating, pushing through the strain as the world slowed down around him. He wove towards the pugs, the one he'd dropped firing wildly from where he'd fallen and the other crouching on one knee.
Between them and twitchy, it was a cross-fire. Kelly was good, but he'd overplayed his hand, and now he was paying for it. The first volley ripped his shirt to tatters, shredded his trousers and the skin underneath, punching tightly clumped holes in his stomach and thighs, lodging in psychokineticaly fortified muscle.
Then he was on them.
As events caught up with him, Kelly sidestepped the uninjured one, kicking the stocky thief in the side of his head as the man tried to roll away, sending him sprawling across the concrete floor.
The traveler's power-up failed. His joints were threatening to pop, his muscles were screaming at him, and he just couldn't sustain it any longer. He felt the strength leaving him, and he dove for the work-bench, the nearest solid piece of cover.
Twitchy shot him in the ribs.
Flesh tore, bone exploded, and Kelly went down sprawling!
To his mild surprise, he was tempted to get up again. There was a hole in his side the size of a melon oozing purple goo, but while the pain was intense, it was more of an academic fact than an all-consuming neuro-physical scream. He wasn't even bleeding as much as he thought he probably should be.
The traveler lay still. The blast had shredded his diaphragm, which meant holding his breath wasn't an issue, but it just didn't seem urgent. His thoughts were calm and clear, no hint of shock or detachment, and he had a plan.
Twitchy waited a moment, watching Kelly for any sign of movement, then shouldered his weapon and began to check on his allies, retrieving a first-aid kit from a chest at the base of one of the beds.
Kelly waited for nearly fifteen minutes while the tall, rheumy-eyed thief tended to his comrades, biding his time until the stocky, pug-faced men got their turn. Then he charged a psychokinetic force-bolt, counting to two while the power coalesced in his hand, a tennis-ball sized fish-eye distortion in the world.
The blast caught twitchy in the middle of his chest as he bent over the pug-face with the broken hip, shattering his sternum with a crunch like a giant stomping on a pile of glass bottles. He hit the floor like a sack full of sand.
Kelly grabbed onto the work-bench with one hand, using the other to hold his organs inside his body as he pulled himself to his feet. His clothes hung in tatters, barely preserving his modesty. His arms were cut, wounds crusted with thick purple ichor, and dozens of lesser puncture-wounds oozed violet fluid. The air was hazy and smelled like gunpowder, and the sticky, copper scent of blood. The roar of the traffic exchange overhead, so deafening when he'd arrived, seemed quiet after the sound of gunfire.
He surveyed the carnage. All thieves were down, either sedated or crippled - the redhead might be dead, although if she was wearing a vest under her coat it was possible she'd survive yet.
Mentally, the traveler was exhausted. He'd accelerated twice in under a minute, and between that, the force-bolt and the vector-sketch, he'd reached his limit. Physically, he felt like he'd been run over by a freight train - a stupid freight train.
"Well," he whispered bitterly, barely able to move any air through his lungs, "I could have done that like I knew what I was doing, but I guess this works too."
It had fallen apart when he'd let them pull the shotguns. He should have addressed the pugs as soon as the redhead went down, used them to get close to Twitchy. He'd known they must have been armed, hadn't he? And they were closer together - he could have gotten them both with little effort, used one as a shield...
But he'd let himself get distracted by the knives. Something about blades made him more nervous than guns.
I wonder where THAT comes from?
Kelly staggered over to the couch, flopping down in the spot where Twitchy had been sitting. From here, he could see that the big crate, positioned like a coffee-table, had the words, "PROPERTY OF PEPSICO" stenciled on one side.
In spite of his frustration, Kelly permitted himself a smile. He activated his dataverse link and called up a communications window, remembering Pepsiman's office contact info off the letterhead of the paperwork he'd signed.
He had some calls to make.
Quote:Post 8: 1246 words according to wordcounter.net
Final word-count: 9212/5000 words minimum. Under 10000 word maximum (barely! )
Meet with Pepsiman at PepsiCo HQ on Tier-2 (Accomplished)
Travel to Tier 4 (Accomplished)
Find the thieves (Accomplished)
Deal with the thieves - (Accomplished)
No collateral Damage (Accomplished)
All requirements cleared! Cue Theme!