Mod Superhero

Chapter 7.38 - McGuire 2

McGuire braced himself in the narrow artery of the Vault. His chest burned. His arms and legs burned—everything burned. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this out of breath.

Mages and biomechs were strewn about the hall—most of them immobilized by combinations of face-wraps, marbles, and stunlock chewing gum. A different version of the gum had sabotaged a wall glyph and taken down a mage. The hallway reeked of earth, ozone, and chewing gum.

Movement caught his eye: The last guard-mage, staggering upright. They mumbled a spell. Nearby glyphs flickered like sickly fireflies. Bastard was trying to restart one of the traps.

McGuire didn't give them the chance to finish. In one swift motion, he loaded and fired his slingshot. A face-wrap unfurled in midair, ballooning into a grotesque hood that slammed over the mage's head and sealed tight. The chant cut off in a wet grunt as they toppled backwards, arms pinwheeling before hitting the stone with a hollow thud.

McGuire blew imaginary smoke from the end of his slingshot.

A nearby biomech twitched, its servos grinding as it tried to overcome the stunlock. Its voice came out riddled with static. "Nev... er... win..."

McGuire scoffed. "What was that?"

"Meat... bag."

McGuire barked a laugh. "You're lucky I didn't use the slice-n-dice model."

Then the floor shifted beneath him. McGuire staggered, bracing himself with a hand against the wall. The stone hummed with a low vibration, like some buried generator roaring awake. Dust shook loose from the ceiling, sprinkling across his shoulders. The chemical tang of ozone burned his nose.

The shift passed just as quickly as it came on, like the swell and fall of a wave, but the vibration stayed. If anything, it felt like the vibration was getting stronger. Soon, it felt like the entire mountain was shaking.

McGuire risked a glance down the hall. Mod was still slumped against the wall, head bowed, eyes shut like a corpse in a chair. The only sign he wasn't gone was the faint swirl of nanites around his boots.

"C'mon, buddy," McGuire muttered.

After a moment, McGuire rolled his shoulders, spat dust out of his mouth, and squared up.

"Curtain's still up. Keep the show running."

The air hissed. A portal yawned wide at the far end of the corridor, spilling harsh light and the silhouettes of armored forms.

More mages. More biomechs.

He dug into his pack with quick fingers. The bag was feeling far too light—already running low on supplies. Two stink bombs, a few marbles, and one last rocket-bola... Mod and the others really needed to hustle.

McGuire grit his teeth. Empty pack or not, he wasn't about to let these assholes walk through here like it was their hallway... even if it was.

He grabbed a handful of marbles and scattered them across the floor. One mage, too focused on weaving a sigil, caught a foot on the rolling glass and pitched forward. The sound he made when he hit the floor was halfway between a cough and a scream.

McGuire didn't wait. He pulled out one of his last stink bombs and fired it down the hall. It burst against the stone with the sound of a long, wet fart, sending green smoke billowing through the hall. The mages coughed and choked, waving their hands as the smoke closed in.

McGuire suppressed a gag. He tried really hard not to catch a whiff of his own brand, but no filter on Earth could completely stop the rancid smell.

Somehow, one of the mages recovered enough to mutter a spell. The gas thinned—but not fast enough.