UnfathomablyCute
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Chapter Thirty-Six: You're getting paid to watch me get my shit rocked?
🕑 Added 2023-07-20 22:43:23 +0000 UTCSeeing the projectile coming, I arch my spine backward and drop to my knees, expecting myself to slide underneath it. Instead of that, though, friction brings its might to bear, stopping me in place and flinging the rest of me forward, directly into the ball of solidified smoke.
Thwack
I let myself fall backwards, allowing the additional shots thud painfully against my shins. “When they offered me the job as your manager, I’ll admit I was apprehensive, but this is pretty ideal.” Sydney cackles from above me, pressing a cold water bottle to my forehead.
“I can’t believe they’re paying you genuine, spendable currency to laugh at me getting my shit rocked.” I groan, taking the bottle and sitting up so I can sip at it. “You think I’m improving at all?”
Sydney quirks her lips to the side, probably trying to think of a way to tell me that I’m not without discouraging me. “...Marginally.”
I loll my head to the right dramatically, withering her with my gaze. “No coddling, Syd. I need you to be straight with me if I’m going to get anywhere with this. Push me.”
I didn’t necessarily expect any particular response, but her snort of laughter takes me off guard.
“Sorry, nothing.” She says, fighting the smirk off her face. “One hundred percent straight. Got it.”
Her fingers dance over the room's interface, reactivating the forcefield between us and whirring the automaton to life before I can question her. I scramble to my feet, the worn soles of my shoes doing their best to grip the floor. My ascendant outfit wouldn’t have these issues, and the damn smoke balls wouldn’t hurt nearly as much if I had it on, but apparently that would go against the point of this room.
One of the five automata jumps onto a wall and hangs there, its shifting form generating pipe-like appendages along its back to fire at me from. I fan out my tendrils before wrapping most of them along my arms and around my fist—rubber band ball style. I can’t say it's the most comfortable, and losing access to my fingers is rough, but the results have been hard to argue with.
Sydney calls through the field, her muffled voice counting down alongside her fingers. “Three! Two! One!” She yells, having activated the drones before she made it to ‘three.’ Her counting having been nothing more than a misdirection.
I duck two of the obvious shots, holding my arms close to my chest as I plan out my movements. Right now, four of the six automata are on this side of the room, so preventing them from surrounding me is the priority. That said, getting too much distance is also to my disadvantage.
The one on the wall leaps towards me, but they’ve already gotten me with this scheme once before. So instead of trying to knock this one out of the air this time, I whip around and punt the one sneaking behind me for its troubles. It chitters as it flies, whoever put it together really going for authenticity in its design.
I dash after the drone I kicked, deflecting a set of orbs heading for my abdomen with my armored forearm. I’ve gotten out of their encirclement, which is what lost me the fight last time, but it won’t mean anything if I can’t reduce their numbers.
Reaching the automaton, still righting itself after its landing, I raise both arms and slam them down powerfully, shattering its already cracked exterior and exposing its smoke-filled insides. Two shots crack against my lower back painfully, and a third misses altogether as I’m forced to stay still for a moment to unravel my hand so I can grab its core.
“Shhhhit.” I hiss through my teeth, the two new welts like burning coals compared to the dull throbbing of my previous bruises. This whole exercise wouldn’t be nearly as bad if I could get a break—or better yet, healing—between sessions, but neither I nor Catherine have the spare time for that.
Ducking behind one of the pillars that weren’t there before the match started, I look down and try fiddling with the core to find the button that shuts it off. It looks like a palm-sized version of one of those monkey fist knots I knew how to make in middle school, save for the shifting ropes and smoke spraying from its seams.
My prey instincts dictate that I look around me to ensure I haven’t been snuck up on, revealing one of the bots slowly rounding the pillar's side. It freezes in the same manner I do, some part of its weird Fathom-Tech code making it imitate surprise at being discovered.
I put my hand up to block the shot I know is coming, forgetting for a moment that that hand is the one holding the core, and that it is no longer wrapped in my tendrils. The ball of solid smoke connects both with the core I’m holding and the tip of my middle finger, slamming the equivalent force of a paintball into my nail.
My strangled yowl contrasts with Sydney's muffled laughter, and I give her a drive-by finger as I sprint for further cover to figure out how to shut off this damned core. A collection of electrical buzzing sounds vibrate the air behind me, the automata’s shots peppering the shield as I pass it.
Not satisfied with any of the angles the ground-based cover would protect me from, my eyes drift upwards at the raised platform I failed to reach last time—and that was when I had my hands free.
“Confidence begets success.” I murmur to myself as a half-baked attempt to deceive my brain.
I drop into a crouch mid-sprint, the tension of the act burning my calves before I extend them once again, launching myself diagonally towards the wall above me. I overshoot a bit, still adjusting to using the full power of my newfound strength, and hit the wall earlier—and faster—than expected.
A grunt escapes my lips as I slam my knee into the wall, leaving me Looney Tunes scrabbling for traction instead of jumping back off like I intended. I catch myself with my tendrils, their spider web-like support giving me just enough time to brace my sneakers against the wall and leap up further.
A swift somersault rolls me onto the raised platform and behind the cover I’ve been seeking so desperately. Not wanting to waste my limited tinkering time, I slide my back against the covered side and unravel the tentacles still covering my right hand. Spinning the core in my hand, I look for the button or puzzle trigger that would shut it off, only to realize the smoke it was emitting before is already gone.
A few precious moments go by as I stare at the orb, pondering why I went to all that effort when the result I wanted has already happened. I narrow my eyes before slamming it into the wall behind me, not sure if I want to be right about my hypothesis.
Fshhhhh
The core sputters a bit, smoke stuttering out in an almost laugh-like way, before once again spewing out smoke from its seams. I whack it against the wall again, and it shuts off, confirming that, yes, the ‘puzzle’ I’ve been having trouble with was solved by hitting it real hard against something.
I smother my frustrations, pacifying my thoughts with the fact that even if it’s ridiculous, I now have the solution to them getting back up after I’ve beat them. Even if that solution is dumb.
“Roosevelt, do you have eyes on any of the automata?” I think toward him, adding some false urgency to my tone.
“Once again, I am forbidden from providing assistance during this exercise. We will undoubtedly face another enemy who can suppress our communications; Preparing for that eventuality is a high priority.”
I hum noncommittally, having had low expectations to begin with. I’d asked him previously and gotten a long-winded and distracting spiel about improving my baselines before relying on tools or assistance from others. Which is fair; I’m sure having strong foundations will be important later, but for the moment I’m just sore and worried about Naomi, so struggling this much is frustrating.
The quiet clicks of a drone's claws send little vibrations through the wall protecting me, and I feel the hairs on my neck stand on end. Taking a deep breath in and holding it, I position myself against the wall and hold my arms in position to strike. I ignore the light burning in my lungs, trying to hear the clicks over my heart's pounding beats.
Click
I whip my arms upward, the roped-together tendrils I’m holding whirling past my cover to wrap around the automaton. As soon as I feel them connect, I constrict them, squeezing as hard as I can as I yank the tentacles down with my arms. I wouldn’t have had nearly enough strength to pull it if I’d only used the tentacles, but with my arms involved, it barely puts up a fight.
It crashes to the floor in front of me, several of its legs cracking and dissipating into smoke as it writhes. I raise my leg to stomp on it, only to be interrupted by the searing pain of two shots impacting my upper thigh. My foot slams into the ground in the wrong spot, crushing another one of its legs but knocking me off balance.
I look at the drone as I topple, two new barrels sticking straight up out of its abdomen. It doesn’t take a lot of processing to figure out that it baited me into stomping on it, though I guess that just means I’m getting a little predictable. Rolling towards it, I reinforce my arm with my tendrils and finish it off with a slam—it’s immobilized frame unable to move out of the way.
The automaton's core rolls from its dissipating body, and I grasp it with my uninjured hand as I stand up. My thigh is still outrageously tender, but I can at least put weight on it if I don’t overdo things. A quick toss against the wall shuts off the core, marking two of my five problems as managed.
“Four minutes left.” Sydney's voice sounds out from all sides, reminding me that I’m under a time constraint on top of the already difficult challenge.
I had hoped to take another one out from the safety of my platform, but with only four minutes, I don’t have the time to wait around passively for them. Appreciating the range and power wrapping my tendrils together as whips grants me, I tighten them further as I leap over my cover.
Projectiles whiz past me, their aim slightly off considering they expected me to come out of the sides rather than the top. I don’t give them the chance to recalibrate, zigzagging and wrapping my tentacles around pillars to take sharper turns than they can follow. I leap over a shot headed for my shins, landing in a somersault that loses none of my momentum.
I follow its chittering noises as it repositions, leaping over an obstacle as I cut it off. It’s surprised squeak is actually pretty funny this time as I grab it by the sides and hold it up towards where I heard the other drone shooting from. Several cracks ring out as my hostage drone serves as a meat-shield against its companions, the impacts crumbling its underside.
I pry out its core and let the body drop, scanning the room for the remaining two smoke-bots. One of them makes my search easy; the pops of its turrets announcing its location as it fires at my skull. I tilt my head to the left, dodging it easily as I feel myself get into the groove of combat.
My lips quirk upwards, the same freedom I felt that first time running around the hospital room coming back to me as I vault past a low wall. The automaton backs up, crawling backwards up the wall to get out of my reach, but I know I can get it.
Pop
My eyes widen, and I turn my head to look at the sound, finding myself face-to-barrel with the turret of the automaton I couldn’t find earlier. More concerningly, it’s already shot, and I know I’m not fast enough to dodge at this point. I scrunch my face, wincing away from the marble of smoke, reflexively moving my all-too-slow limbs to block it.
Tink
Tink?
I reopen my eyes, shocked by the mass of purple crystal resting inches from my face. It separates at my will, breaking apart into sections, each attached to my tendrils like stained glass maces.
I did it instinctually once, but I can tell that with just a push, I could figure out how to do it again.
So I do.
A familiar feeling of crunching ice settles in my mind; the euphoria of an insight rushing through me, leaving my thoughts crisp and sharp. I block a shot with the end of a flattened tendril, its lightness surprising me. The tentacles' whole length feels malleable, like a rope of clay that I can harden at a thought.
I slam it into the automaton that just shot at me, widening its front and back into an edge so that it tears through the drone's shell without resistance. The second drone I kill almost as an afterthought, impaling it as it runs away with the point of another tendril. The difference in strength is staggering, and I just sit there for a moment, looking at my hands.
“Forgetting something?” Catherine's voice chimes over the intercom, making me jump a little.
I see her through the forcefield, her arms crossed and amusement on her lips. Shit—right, I forgot the cores!” I yelp, watching the first drone start to stand up and skitter away.
