Tales from the Wheel

“Hazardous Environment Remote Operators”. The original early generations of H.E.R.O.s were Corporate and Government genetically modified individuals of incredible endurance and resistance. They were tailor-made to explore and work in extreme environments. Originally designed to be sterile once the process was undergone, nature (or corporate shenanigans based on popular conspiracy theories) found a way.”

-Excerpt from Snapshots in Time by Prof. Penelope Vasilakis

The Dusters in Rust Land.

Summer, Earth Year 2901- Near the Mounds of Rust’, The Stretch District, Mars.

Charles and Gibson finally caught up to Bambi as she pulled to stop about a kilometer and a half from two large dunes covered in old, rusted bits of ship hulls. Anything useful from the old hulks had long since been picked through, and the remaining metal skeletal structures gave the Mounds of Rust a slightly eerie aura. A bit like some sort of old graveyard whose use was abandoned a long time ago. They pulled up alongside her as she scanned the horizon. “I think I see someone down between the Mounds but look at that cloud of dust coming for the east and headed in that direction. Gibs, what do ya scan?”

Gibson pulled a small pad out with a thin wire that he attached to his Sunglasses. Entering a quick command on the pad, he switched the glasses to long range viewing. The wire was long enough that he handed the pad to Charles so he and Bambi could see what he was looking at as well.  Zooming in they saw a young man dressed in typical scav fashion with a panicked look on his face looking towards the incoming dust cloud with a pair of analog binoculars. “Old school. But he’ll still be able to spot us with those if he turns…” Gibson’s comment died in mid thought as he began to focus on the dust cloud. “Bloody hell!” Some sort of mobile wagon, maybe about twelve meters long and three meters wide with treaded wheels rumbled towards the lone individual. A female driver manipulated a unwieldly looking steering apparatus while 4 other individuals, 3 guys and one more gal, stood by hooping and howling. All had some type of skull painting covering their faces. Standing just behind them seemingly barking orders to the driver was a large man wearing a cobbled together armored suit and sporting an actual human skull face as a mask vs. paint.  Three human sized empty cages sat near the back of the strange vehicle.

“A Skull Fuckers meat wagon!” Bambi spat, “Hmm, Dee had said something about ‘fuckers’ being called…” Gibson interrupted with a shrill yell. “The guy we were looking for is about to book! Can’t say that I blame him. Why don’t we just let these savages chase him and get the hell out of here!” But Bambi was already firing up her engines. “I got the sewer rat! C, do you think you can get near the right mound without being spotted?” Charles nodded and started his own throttle. “A little surprise for the Skulls. I like it. Let’s hit it kid!” Bambi sped away at full speed directly towards the unfortunate scav. Charles angled his bike’s nose towards far side of the right mound. “Hold on!” He warned Gibson as he went full thrusters as well, “And when things pop off, try not to get shot.”

The panicked loner below was starting to speed his way up the left mound when he heard the approaching roar of Bambi’s swoop and turned to see her barreling towards him. He whipped up the old gunpowder-based rifle strapped to his back. The purple haired Duster spotted the first muzzle flash and pulled up at the last instant. She then dove low and juked to the right, easily dodging a follow up shot. Whipping out Edgar as she pivoted, she fired two quick shots of her own off, the second scoring a hit on the rifle, frying it and knocking its user flat on his back.  As she closed the final meters, Bambi pondered for a hot second if this guy might have some additional use or information. “Nah!” She concluded. She glided to a quick stop about 10 meters away from the desperate wretch as he struggled back to his feet.  “Hi Mr. Fishy!” she shouted, Edgar flashed once, drilling a quarter sized hole through the poor bastard’s head. “Bye Mr. Fishy!”

Charles noted the flash of the killing shot as he crested the peak of the right mound. “Ah…Dam it, Bambi.” He sighed. So much for getting that punk to confirm the accuracy of Darby’s map. Some post mission coaching was going to be in order after all. Parking for a couple seconds at the top, he jumped off the Swoop and said to Gibson, “Take the wheel!” Shoving him to front of the bike without waiting for a response. Instinctively Gibson grabbed the handlebars, whining the whole time. “But once we launch from here, I can’t maintain this hover height, we’ll begin to sink…” There was no time for a debate. “That’s fine!” Charles cut him off, Jumping back on behind him. “See that pile of shit down there near the mid-point. Point our nose there. Once we get the signal, gun it and pull up hard and to the left of it once you reach it. Maintain as much altitude as you can for a few seconds and I’ll take it from there.” “What’s the bloody signal?” Gibson asked. Charles was surprised he still needed to ask at this point and responded curtly. “The second Bambi leaps, gun it!”.

The calm, almost casual nature that Bambi displayed as she dismounted from her bike and waited for the approaching meat wagon hid the flurry of thoughts and emotions happening behind the scenes. “So, you and your sisters like to run away, do you?” Johnny Beater cackled, his foul breath, rotten teeth, dirty beard and stupid painted face always close. His hands always grabbing and groping. “Let’s see how far you can run without a right foot my little sweety…”  Phantom limb syndrome was real. Bambi didn’t understand how, but she still felt it. Felt the loss. Eventually she got a replacement but long since stopped explaining to non-cyborgs why ‘stronger’ was not necessarily ‘better’. The new foot always helped her get a little payback, however.

Two more old school bullets sailed past dangerously close to her head, but she wasn’t worried that they were actually targeting her. She knew the Skull Fuckers as well as anyone. A lone girl with pretty face among the dunes? They’d want to have some ‘fun’ at least, maybe even keep her for a while, although they usually only enslaved children. Adrenaline laced fear and hate had her whole body nearly vibrating as the meat wagon pulled up about twenty meters shy of her position. “Well, well look what we got here gang!” the armored Mister Real Skull bellowed, recognizing her distinct jacket. “Come to party with some real men little Duster girl?”

Bambi heard the words but wasn’t focused on who said them. Everyone she saw on the wagon had foul breath, rotten teeth, dirty beards and stupid painted faces. Every single fuckin’ one of them. The smile that protected and deflected so much widened on the young lady’s face. “So, you wanna dance mother fucka’s without buying me even one drink?” She hollered back, “Alright. But then I get to lead!” One specific ‘click’ of her right heel, now part of the mechanical ‘new’ foot that replaced her lost one, activated the built in ‘Spring Heel Jack’ modification. She leaped forward, rocketing straight up about ten meters but also directly out in a controlled decent directly towards the middle of the wagon.

A couple of the Fuckers managed to squeeze off a shot, but she was already long gone as those bullets kissed air. Edgar and Oliver whipped out as she reached max height. Dual blasts ended the driver’s struggle with the wagon’s controls permanently and as she landed smoothly on the vehicle two more ‘killa’ style bursts opened a canoe sized hole in one of the guy’s guts. Above, Gibson had made it the position he was supposed to at this time and just as the large, armored fist of Mister Real Skull was about to strike Bambi from behind an unbelievably dense set of flesh and muscle flew from above and slammed into him. Charles’s jumping grapple carried so much momentum that he and his foe went crashing into the ground a about a half dozen meters beyond the wagon.

The other gal on the wagon yelped something, but Bambi had Oliver responded with a lethal retort before she could do anything else. One of the remaining two painted faces lashed out with a large knife. Bambi jumped back, her back striking one of the cages. The knife dug into her duster but didn’t cut skin. Edgar rapidly flashed twice, replacing both the knifeman’s eyes with gaping holes. The last paint face must have been the smart one. Obviously physically stronger than the Dusters’ violet eyed enforcer, he charged her and wrapped Bambi up in a tight grapple, slamming her hard against the cage. As the back of her own skull struck the mesh stars started to form in her eyes, nearly overwhelming her senses. Instinctively, she kicked the spring heel mod into action again. She and her would be captive launched several meters both up in the air and out in front of the wagon. The grappler panicked and let go midair. He landed hard but as the cyborg mod unfailingly brought Bambi to a more stable landing, she still couldn’t quite shake the cobwebs that sudden blow to the head caused. Smarty paint face staggered to his feet and pulled an old powder pistol out, ready to end her.

Meanwhile, Charles and Mister Real Skull had hit the ground hard. Big Chuck landed on top, but the jolt loosened his grip just enough that the Skull was able to use the hydraulic powered strength of his armor to break the grapple and shove Williams off. A shoulder attachment suddenly swiveled in Charles’ direction, revealing itself to be a small mini gun. He clenched his teeth in pure agony as bullet after bullet slammed into his chest. None of them pierced his super dense skin, but each strike still hurt like hell. He roared and surged forward again, not bothering to draw his own scatter blaster. A massive fist reached out a tore the mini gun from the Skull’s shoulder. He then seized the front breastplate with his other hand, applying so much pressure that his fingers dug into the metal, creating a tight grip. He finished the maneuver with a brutal backhand that sent Mister Real Skull sailing backwards several meters and shattered his gruesome face mask. Most of his armor stayed with Charles, breaking apart in that deadly grip. Tossing the bits of the breastplate aside, Big C strolled over to finish it. “You gods dammed Gene joke!” the scared middle-aged face behind the shattered mask spat out, along with several teeth and a lot of blood. “Yeah, I’ve heard it all before scab.” Charles said as he reached down to lift the Skull by the scruff of his neck. “Say hi to lower orbit for me.” Seizing the struggling man like he was a child’s toy, Charles whipped him straight up into the air with all his might. He didn’t bother clocking where Mister Real Skull eventually landed. There was no need.

Just as Smarty paint face was about to line the still dazed Bambi up an energy bolt splashed less than a meter beside him. Then another sailed over his head and two more pounded the nearby ground as Gibson came barreling frantically down the right mound on the swoop bike, wildly firing his pistol while trying to maintain control and managing to get less accurate with each shot. The distraction was more than enough though. Smarty was just clocking that Gibson was not the most dangerous threat when Oliver nailed him in the guts and Edgar followed up with a clean kill shot to the head. Gibson somehow managed to maintain enough control to bring the bike to a proper stop just beside Bambi. “What? No thank you for saving your ass?” he teased. “Ha! If you want a fuckin medal, actually hit something next time nerd!” She retorted without missing a beat.

Charles joined them and had Gibson search the late Mr. Fishy for anything useful. Gibs found a pad with a few passcodes and having no context as to what was what downloaded everything just to be safe. He also found a pass to the Storage Zone like the one Darby had got from Grix. This confirmed to Charles he had been connected to this Hynes character at least. While Gibs was doing this, he and Bambi had been stripping the Meat wagon of anything useful, and they set it ablaze when they were done. They also buried Mr. Fishy in a shallow but secure grave before moving on. The Skull Fuckers they left for the rats and dogs.