NewClassic shrugged off his coat, ends and shoulders completely shredded, blood apparent on every part of the body. His weapon, now a slashed-up mess of leather-binding and pages, was once a self-printed hard-bound book reading "The Cockney Thread." Huffing out a cloud of dust from his contrast and brightness dials, he sat down and degaussed himself. The darkness of the room was visibly less purple, though that did little to make him feel any more at ease. "Nuke!"
Nuke turned, seeing Wilson and LaCoil covering his flank. There was a mess visible code in the air. "sixpack" and worse was drooping from the walls and spilling onto the floors. Characters of every font and color littered the room, even piling in some places as everything seemed to just come apart. Nuke didn't like it, but he knew that he didn't want just Wilson and LaCoil sitting on it. nilcypher had his own problems to deal with, and the cataclysm already claimed Alex_P, BabyTea, and Ultrajoe.
Although he couldn't fault them for losing to the mess. It's not very often death falls fast and hard. It took a mountain of shrapnel to pierce Ultrajoe's armor, but enough of the stuff killed just about everyone. Nuke himself was lucky that he didn't bite the bullet as well. And he had to watch BabyTea sink to the floor with "Line 12" poking out from both sides of his chest. It was quite disparaging, but BTea had saved his life, at the cost of his own. Bad idea, Nuke had said, they could've used your Ban Teapot. All he had was the report button and his almost ruined Cockney novel. Even still, he'd go on for BTea's sake at the very least.
Ahead of them, it seemed like more of the same. Code coming apart, faceless shadows that attacked on sight. None of it seemed to make sense. Why did the cataclysm come? And more importantly, where the hell was the Staff? Nuke pressed forward, meeting the first shadow in a pirouette-style spin, ducking under a claw-like slash and burying the report button into the side of the creature. He rolled, feeling the presence of Wilson behind him. The walls shuddered as Wilson's might tore the shadow from reality. LaCoil was also at the wings, tearing apart shadows with rhythmic blows. As they fell, the shattered into jumbled alphanumerics. Aimless characters spilled everywhere as they fought harder and harder against the surge.
Nuke felt useless, only able to stagger the creatures rather than vanquish them completely. Wilson and LaCoil were doing the heavy-lifting. Ah well, he couldn't help anything but press on and do what he can. Claws flashed from overhead, and Nuke's chest exploded in a splotch of red. His shirt got shredded to tatters, and his tie was torn apart. "Damn," Nuke said, "I liked this tie." Then the pain set in. Good God, the pain.
Wilson and LaCoil both looked at one another, holding a conversation unheard by Nuke. Working relationships make communication almost psychic, and they didn't need to speak to know what the other was really saying. Whatever it was, it was pretty clear they disagreed. Nuke just slumped, interior of the monitor pooling with blood. If he had enough energy to turn his neck, blood would've dripped from his vents. He made an ambitious effort, letting the liquid spill aimlessly onto the floor. The floor was bare concrete, and was stained instantly. Didn't matter to present company, and he doubted the Staff would care too much about this individual blood stain with the rest of the gore and worse everywhere else.
Assuming everyone survived this to have to clean up. Whatever the hell this was.
Wilson sighed, and turned to advance. LaCoil looked at the wounded Nuke, as if willing him to get up and move with them. Nuke heaved in reply, spilling more blood from his monitor and chest. He could probably get up given enough rest, but there was very little chance he'd be able to move immediately. LaCoil assessed as much, and even realized that getting up would be temporary. Without treatment, that wound would kill him. She turned to look at the fleeting Wilson, cussed loudly, and turned to follow him. Nuke nodded approvingly, and laid down to die.
A sharp foot rebounded off of his monitor. "Darnit," Nuke muttered, trying to force his opticals to focus, "can't a man die in peace these days?"
"No," the voice said, "Anyone else, sure. But not you." It was male, that much was certain, but it was hard to think about anything else. Nuke found it incredibly familiar.
"Oh sure, interrupt my death to kill me. Good accounting there. Why not just wait it out?"
The voice sounded bemused, "Personal reasons. I wanted to do you in myself."
Nuke raised his monitor, blood spilled out of the vents in buckets, and he was really, really dizzy. The form above him was unmistakable, though. The crab poking at his degauss button was a dead give-away. "Do me in?" Nuke struggled to think. His brain responded by not helping at all. "But, the Triumvirate, FeNinja. We're supposed to be allies."
"Eh, Ares Tyr and I found a new brother-in-arms. You're old news, Nuke."
"I would call you dead wrong, but rotting people don't say 'No,' I guess..."
FeNinja raised his boot, and seemed to hesitate before bringing it down. His eyes narrowed, and Nuke realized he wouldn't get to die napping this time. What fell wasn't FeNinja's boot, but FeNinja himself.
BabyTea stumbled, the "Line 12" code now dislodged and slammed into FeNinja's throat. He fell, landing onto the floor, and bleeding out multicolored code. Gerald crawled over to FeNinja, pincering gingerly at his fallen comrad. BTea's foot crushed it instantly. The sides exploded in font, size 8.
"Good save," Nuke muttered, in no better shape than BTea at this point. BTea slumped to a seated position, and examined Nuke's chest. "Nasty, but I think you'll live with enough care."
Nuke shook his head, "Mrrr. You live first. You've a wife, I've got nothin'."
"You've got a chance," BTea said, "s'more than I've got at this point. They can't patch up gaping holes in the chest." Nuke suspected it was the mod-powers keeping him alive. He would've bled out otherwise. Still, mod powers can't save lives. BTea was right, he wasn't to live for much longer.
"Damnit," Nuke muttered, "it's not fair."
"Life sucks," BTea agreed.
"Let's hope death swallows." Nuke said, fearing the worst for the pair of them.
"I'll let you know, let's get you patched up." BTea didn't have any medical supplies, did he? Suddenly, Nuke realized what he was going to do. "No, no, don't do it."
BTea disagreed. "Better than the alternative, I won't lose out on too much. You'll get to live."
Nuke got up, feeling awkward. A sense of power nagged at the back of his head. His chest closed up, but his tie was still broken. He looked at BTea, now lifeless on the floor. As if it was calling to him, Nuke felt a stirring in his pocket. Lifting his red pen, the tip expanded to the size of a small handgun barrel. The clip morphed, shaping itself more like a shouldermount than a pen clip. The barrel continued to expand. Good Lord, Nuke thought, it's a freakin' Ban Cannon.
BTea's mod account felt fundamentally wrong, almost like he was breaking the rules by using it. Which he was, in a sense, but it meant he would get to live and help the three remaining mods. Four now, Nuke thought grimly. He'd have to remember to call BTea's wife personally.
He had a lot of ground to cover, especially with Wilson's breakneck pace. He dispatched a rogue shadow, firing a concentrated blast of ban at the creature. The creature took the blow face-first, and fell apart in blood-red letters and numbers. Nuke tried not to think about the blast being shaped like the Beatles' Yellow Submarine.
Nuke almost felt like he was catching up until he realized he'd made a wrong turn. Ahead of him, he saw a silhouette. "No," Nuke whispered, fearing the worst of what he thought he saw.
"Hey hun," Puppeteer Putin said, face split in a 'good to see you' and 'I was afraid of this' expression. "You are here to join up, right?"
"Join up?" Nuke spat back, "just what the hell is going on here?"
"Oh, you know how it is. Change is coming, hun-buns, and we're just getting aboard."
"What do you mean change?"
"Themis is shutting down The Escapist. It's being held together by duct tape and posters collective whining."
"Oh great, let's just let the place fall apart. Goodness knows, it's not like you met me here or anything!"
"Oh hun, you're too nostalgic. You should just get aboard the new plan, and stop dwelling so much on the old."
"Old? Puppet, we met here!"
"I was afraid you'd be like this... I can't watch."
"Can't watch w-" The shadows were on him instantly. Two claws forcing his shoulders in a locked position, and at least six more being sunk into his back and sides. Blood went everywhere, and Nuke fell instantly. Not dead, but getting there.
The red pen helped, though, and at least three of who-knows how many exploded violently, tearing gashes, holes, and worse into the remaining shadows. Shrapnel, Nuke thought through the pain, handy.
The shadows were dispatched in quick order, and Puppet had disappeared completely. He probably left, for which Nuke was grateful. Had he stayed, he'd've been completely unable to kill his Puppet. Probably couldn't have even hurt him. "Oh, Puppet... What happened to us?"
He felt his wounds healing themselves, but he still have a bit of a limp hobbling along his previous path and moving to catch up with the two mods. His joints ached, but he made good time getting back anyway. When he reached the final chamber, he saw the door was guarded by three people. All of them, sadly, were familiar.
"Hey Nuke, it's been taken care of. Go back home, and don't worry about it anymore." Wilson's face seemed professionally bland, looking both at and past Nuke at the same time.
"Yes," said the feminine voice beside Wilson. "It's nothing you need to be concerned over." LaCoil's face also seemed a bit different. Bored expression betraying a thunderstorm of thought and indecision that's actually going on behind the mask of a face.
The third person spoke, voice as booming and sexy as ever. Nilcypher. "I'll walk you, if you'd like."
"No," he said to the three ahead of him, "I won't have it. We're all here for a reason. Barring money, is there a single reason for the forums to close?"
"Eh." They said, more or less in unison. Tight-lipped as ever. Nuke couldn't help but empathize with them, this was their job. Friends or not, they'd act in the interests of their bosses before putting a friend's opinion in over protocol.
"Corporate mess. An absolute mess."
"But not your mess to clean up," LaCoil said softly, gesturing to the door.
The BanCannon was heavy enough to use as a melee weapon. nilcypher was the first target, caught completely off-guard. He fell unconscious immediately. LaCoil went second, with only enough time to shout warning before the blow fell on her as well. The speed at which the weapon wielded itself was awe-inspiring, which was also its biggest downfall.
Wilson reacted like a professional, the ban slamming into Nuke like a freight train. The monitor faded, but the BanCannon picked him right back up and brought the world again to focus. Just as nilcypher had proven a long time ago, mods could unban themselves. Wilson tried again before realizing his mistake, and it gave Nuke enough time to knock him out too. If it weren't for the unfair advantage, he'd've been taken out. Thank goodness for unfair advantages.
The final chambers wasn't what it seemed at all. It was an exit. The double doors led to a blood-red skyline. Didn't seem realistic, but the Eye of [user]Archon[/user] seemed to peer into his very soul. When contrasted by the Eye, even the apocalypse looked normal. It all just felt utterly wrong to Nuke. This isn't how it should've been. It really isn't. It wasn't right that the forum was going away. It wasn't just Themis' business, it was the users' home. A big, gaping, boarding school on the internet.
In the distance, Nuke could see a man in the distance. He was familiar, Kuliani shuffling listlessly away from the Eye. He saw me, half-smiled, and seemed as if he was just walking away. "Heya Kuliani." Nuke said, glancing at the Eye in the sky. "Out of a job?"
"Resigned," he said unpleasantly. "Goes against my personal beliefs."
"Good on you for being strong, Kuli. Better man than I."
He shrugged, and headed for his home. Nuke felt bad for him, but was impressed. He was a man behind his convictions, Nuke wished he was strong enough to do the same. The horizon grew, and the mountain pass between Escapist and Themis stretched ahead of him. It was time to end this giant farce, however he could.
The white shirt was stained with blood, enough to turn red completely. The tie had ripped apart and fallen off completely, and the limp was gone in favor of a previously unseen gash across the back of his leg. It was sheeted in dried blood, and seemed to twinge with every step. Nuke wondered if men like Kuliani would want to complain like his mind seemed to with every single step. Nothing mattered but getting to the end of this whole thing.
Nuke reached the far end of the pass, shirt now completely red, clung to skin by dried blood. The offices of Themis was warm, the grass was green, and somehow... The sky was blue here. He went through the front doors, and looked around the relatively posh office. Inside, Ultrajoe was sat down at a posh sitting chair. LaCoil was reading a magazine labeled Home and Garden, a magazine which Nuke knew was a false cover. On closer inspection, it was a magazine labeled Metalhead Monthly. nilcypher watched me, probably curious as to whether or not he had actually tricked me into thinking someone like me could knock him out.
Kuliani himself was kicked back in a really posh chair, skimming a script of some kind. From what little eavesdropping Nuke could manage, it seemed to be labeled as a script for a future "Escapist Show." He nodded jovially at me. BabyTea and Puppeteer Putin were laughing about something, likely at his expense, in the far corner of the lobby.
Wilson was leaning against the reception desk, watching me with an unreadable expression. He pointed to a calender, date marked on it as April 1[sup]st[/sup]. "A bit of a light-hearted joke, but with an important message."
Nuke frowned, wondering if his pain was the only one which wasn't stage-makeup. "And what's that message?"
"Stop taking this so seriously. It's a forum, relax."
That's not even right, Nuke thought to himself, my boss is my own inability to not take this forum faaar too seriously.
