Hardman's Bar

By Hadrian Howell (Hardman)

Chapter 31

As I left the apartment building, I switched on my team communicator. “Boss, where’d you get to? Wily filled me in…”

I stopped. There’s one thing you never hear over the Maniacs communication link, and that’s static. You get the occasionally fax noise or modem dial up that causes splitting headaches, which are totally unexplainable according to Gauntlet, but you never hear static.

Until now. This figured.

“Could ANYTHING go my way this month?” I grumbled under my breath. A sharp, three tones in my ear made my head hurt, and I grabbed the side of my head. “OW!”

“We’re sorry,” came a voice in my head, “the Maniac you are trying to reach is no longer functioning. If you’d like to try another team mate, please hang up and try your call again. I wouldn’t bother though, you’ll just get this same message.”

My mind did a backtrack, flip, tumble and whirl and came up with nothing about this that made sense. “PROTOMAN?” I yelled into my own head, “What the hell are YOU DOING?”

There was a low chuckle. “Taking out the trash. I’ve saved the biggest piece for last, you know.”

“If you’ve done anything to hurt them, I swear to whatever higher power might hold sway here that-“

“You’ll what? Hurt me? Please,” Protoman’s voice scoffed. “You can barely hold your own against a paraplegic mind-control robot, I doubt you’ll be any match for me.” There was a sound in the background of his voice, like rustling paper. “But, if you really are hell bent on revenge, meet me at the charred remains of that pit you called a base. Only fitting that the last Maniac dies there.”

There was a final sounding ‘Click’ as the communication died out. I let out a long, hateful breath.

Something about this whole thing was pissing me off, and it wasn’t the idea that Protoman was behind all this. In fact, I doubted very much that was actually Protoman at all, or that my other team members were dead or disabled. The only real question in my mind was how had he hacked our private communications line? And what about Wily’s truce with us? What the hell was going on?

It was like two story threads had merged, and three more had split off, and I was left somewhere in the middle. This was becoming upsetting.

With little other options for getting the answers I wanted, though, I made my way over to the final remains of what I called a home. We hadn’t bothered rebuilding it yet, since that took money we didn’t have and a zoning permit it turns out we didn’t have either, but the site had yet to be disturbed by any sort of construction crew, so it was easy enough to find.

Looters, possibly from other teams, had been through here, as evidenced by the fact the rubble had been trampled over at least four or five times. Even though it was packed down, however, it made for a tricky arena. If I did end up fighting someone here, it would be a better idea for me to move it to the street and give myself more open ground to work with.

Sure enough, as I trundled onto the scene, I was greeted with a whistle I recognized. Protoman was sitting on a makeshift throne, holding a dully colored scarf I’d last seen around Shadowman’s neck like a trophy.

“I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to show,” he laughed. “Saves me the trouble of hunting you down.”

“More like th’ other way around,” I shot back. “Either you or someone above ya has been jerkin’ me and the other teams around fer th’ last month, and it needs ta stop, one way er th’ other.”

The red robot stood up, tossing the scarf aside like trash. “You don’t get it, do you?” he chuckled. “I’m simply doing what my brother should have done already. No matter what kind of show you put on, you’re all Wily bots in the end, and you can never rise above what you were made to be.”

“Ya think we can’t be anything other than killin’ machines?” I asked him, in all honesty. “Ya think we can’t do better fer ourselves?”

“You recently tore down a lot of the city,” he said in disgust.

“An’ then we rebuilt it,” I told him. “It would have taken months with contractors, but we did it for free and a lot faster.”

“It doesn’t matter!” He shouted, anger seeping into his body. “I’ll put you all down like the pathetic dogs you are!”

It was the only warning I had as he raised his buster and let off a charged shot of plasma I hadn’t noticed him build up. I’m not fast at all, and I only managed to shift enough for the massive bolt to glance off my side, the crack of superheated plasma shaking my body.

I grunted, throwing myself forward to keep myself from going off balance, and fired off a Hard Knuckle he easily dodged, loosing another big plasma blast into my other side. I was running out of options fast, since he was so much nimbler than I was. He’d easily be able to pick me apart if I made for the street. I swore mentally as my knuckle came back. If I couldn’t get away from him, maybe it was time to press my size advantage.

I leapt into the air. Even though the invulnerability gained from the Hard Press is only momentary, it would be almost impossible for Protoman to divert or stop four tons of armor from falling on him if he didn’t have the room to move around. The rough terrain was cutting his speed by a lot, and he stood there, watching me rise and turn to fall on him. I missed the grin on his face.

“BIG BANG BUSTER!”

In my defense, I totally forgot he could do that.

The massive green ball of destructive force slammed into my chest, actually knocking out my jet engine and even all the feeling in my legs for a moment, and I dropped to the ground like a bag of Abrams tanks. The rubble all around us rippled with the force, but Protoman held his ground. Smoke was rolling out of the crater in my chest. This was the most intense pain I’d felt in years.

I was on my knees, my arms hanging limply from my shoulders. My legs didn’t want to move (being crushed by 3 ½ tons of weight when I landed), and spots were clouding my vision.

Protoman raised his buster and pointed it at me. “This was almost as easy as that little twerp, Topman,” he grinned. “He wouldn’t stop crying. He begged for his life.”

“Shut up,” I coughed.

“And then there was that lady abomination of yours, Needlegal,” Protoman went on, “she put up a tough front, but she broke down like a little girl when I killed her brother.”

“Shut UP,” I managed between shuddering breaths.

“Sparkchan and Geminiman went to hell hugging each other.”

“SHUT UP!” I screamed with the might I could manage.

“And that slithery, slimy ally you called Snakeman? His head is going to be mounted on my wall after I’m done with you.”

“SHUT UP!”

“Goodbye, Hardman. Say ‘Hello’ to your friends when you see them again.”

The hum of a charging plasma buster brought my mind back into a sharp focus. I threw every last ounce of strength I had into bringing my arm up and grabbing the end of Protoman’s arm, firing off the Hard Knuckle almost immediately. The sudden jerk and the fact he was now flying backwards made him lose the charge, letting an entire charged shot loose inside his own arm, held in there by my own invulnerable hand. The effect was spectacular as Protoman’s armor blossomed at the elbow and he dropped to the ground, creaming in pain, the shattered remains of his buster falling out of my hand when the Knuckle came back.