Maniacs On Patrol

The Bunker Job (also known as Gravity Sucks)


"I don't think this 's covered by ANY insurance plan tha' exists, anywhere. Even th' hypothetical places."

"Hey, we've got health insurance, at least for right now," Needlegal shrugged.

"No," I said, shaking my head and trying to be heard over the roar of the wind. "I mean that there's no insurance policy tha' covers th' kinda damage I'm gonna do when I get there."

Hi again. Yeah, it's me, Hardman. The lone member of the RPD Armored Division and the biggest Maniac of the Mechanical persuasion. Also owner of a bar, have I mentioned that? (Open 2:00pm till 3:00am, Tuesday through Saturday. And sometimes Sunday, but only during Lent and Christmas. Ladies get one free drink on Thursdays and we occasionally have live local bands on Friday nights. Seriously, drop on by.)

You've joined me at an exciting time. Right now, I'm flying, interestingly enough, in something that isn't a cargo hold. I'm 30,000 feet in the air over the verdant forests found near Monsteropolis, about to participate in what has been jokingly referred to by just about everyone as a 'bust.' I want it on the record that I hate everyone, everything, and am not, as you may imagine, looking forward to my part in this.

Why? Well, when I say 'in something,' I actually mean 'on something.' As in 'on the outside.' I am strapped by several lengths of sturdy (DAMN sturdy) wire to the underside of a... let's just say a helicopter that normally carries 20 people has trouble staying in the air like this, what with me just kind of hanging onto the underside and all. We're hovering over what everyone, again jokingly, is calling the target zone, and if I'm not mistaken, if I actually make it to my intended destination, Snakeman owes Topman some money.

Needlegal, who was up here almost exclusively to make sure I didn't drop until I was absolutely supposed to, gave me a pat on the shoulder that, at any other time, might have been reassuring. "This will be easy," she yelled over the noise of the rotors. "Just let gravity do the work for a little bit, until you get the feel for it, and then do your thing."

A voice in my head that belonged to my smallest team-mate cut in with "And you better make it. I have twenty dollars riding on this."

Another voice came in, preventing me from passing a comment. "We're at 30 seconds, people. Remember, it's a 200 count, and then we move in. Hardman should have had enough time to make his entrance by that point, and we ought to be able to walk in and make this quick and simple."

"Boss," I said, looking down at the sea of green below me, "I wanna state at this time tha' I have reservations abou' my role in th' mission."

"Noted," Shadowman replied. A definitive click in my ear told me he switched off the link.

"Hey, Hardman," Snakeman's voice came through.

"Wha'?"

"I can see you."

"Shaddap," I grumbled.

"You look pretty pissed."

"Y'think?"

I could HEAR him shrug, I was sure of it. I could also HEAR him smile, the irritating... "Just thought you should know."

"I swear ta god-"

And then Needlegal cut the wires.

And I fell.

"GOD HAVE MERCY!" may or may not have ripped its way out of my mouth in a high-pitched screaming fashion. I admit to nothing.

I'm going to leave out most of my internal monologue at this point and, as always, take the time out just when things are getting good to fill you in. Ain't I a bastard?

So a detective stumbled on this drug dealing ring that wasn't, in fact, selling drugs at all. It turns out the drug ring was, get this, a cover. Yeah, kind of whacked out, isn't it? The drug ring was a cover for something else. That usually works out some other way, I think.

Anyway, the REAL stuff these guys were into was black market Warbot parts. In the old days, back when humanoid Robots and Robot Masters were getting their start in the service of mankind, Warbots were the pinnacle of military science. They thought for themselves, adjusted to situations well, and in their own, clunky, primitive kind of way, were basically killing machines. A Warbot hasn't been recorded as functional in almost 40 years, and a lot of people forgot they existed.

Fast forward to today. With advances in robotics and ways to censor robotics, Warbots are pretty much impossible to make and hard to find. Warbot parts contain both weapons and incredibly simplistic programming codes that were written long before the Laws that govern pretty much all of Robot-kind existed. Y'know, things like a general regard for human life, self preservation, etcetera, etcetera. Long story short: They're very valuable in more ways than one. Someone who got enough parts together and a book of Robots for Dummies could create a fully functional (if not somewhat ancient) battle machine and go on a rampage with it.

And from the evidence that had been gathered before the case had been handed over to us, this particular group had gathered a LOT of parts. Their base was an underground bunker that hid in the forest that was rushing up to meet me, which brings me around to why I'm involved at all. I'm being used as a bunker buster.

I dunno all the math, but normally falling onto the ground from that height, I'd do a considerable amount of damage to the landscape, if not myself. Maybe not enough to crack a bunker, but that's what phase two was for.

The jet engine in the core of my body flared to life, and I started to fall faster.

Yeah, this was what I wanted to be doing when I rolled out of bed this morning.

I closed my eyes for the end of it, so I don't know when I really blacked out. I remember a tremendous cracking sound, a lot of muffled noise, and then an explosion of sound that lasted for the briefest of moments before everything was muffled.

It was a good, long time before I even thought about moving again. I did a mental check to make sure I still had all my limbs, and was surprised to find that, all in all, I hadn't actually taken that much damage. I pulled my head out of the ground with a little work and plopped back onto my butt.

"Whee," I groaned to myself. I stood up and turned around, only just now noticing the small arms fire that was bouncing off of me. Thug-like men with small machine guns were shooting me, for all the good it was doing. I took a little more time to get my bearings before stepping over the rubble of my landing. "Oh, jus' shove off, th' lot o' ya!" I shouted for no real reason. Nobody seemed to take the hint.

Shapes descended from the hole I'd left in their ceiling. Fast, deadly shapes that fell on the thugs and took them all down with precision and experience. I was content to watch, sure that my part in all this nonsense was done, as the rest of the Maniacs mopped up the mob.

"Well, tha' was fun," I said with a mock grin. I saw Snakeman give Topman something, and the latter gave me a thumbs up. "Now what?"

"Die, coppers!" someone shouted from the other end of what looked like an underground warehouse.

"Coppers?" Geminiman asked the room in general. "Who TALKS like that anymore?" Spark-Chan gave him a sort of odd look, but the voice at the other end of the big room wanted our attnetion again.

"You filthy pigs are no match for my Warbots! Destroy the enemy!"

Out of the darkness came shapes that might not be unlike stacks of cardboard boxes with little guns sticking out of them. Some of them were even intoning "Destroy. Destroy. Destroy," over and over again. It was kind of cute, really. I punched one and it crumpled like tin foil.

"It's like attack of the History channel," Snakeman sighed, not even bothering to waste rounds from his rifle. He stuck with close combat tactics instead, and dismantled three more of them in the time it took me to smash another pair.

"They are much like the tin toys that used to be sold to children in the early 20th century," Topman noted, kicking one and watching it fall over. "They were good in their time, but now they are somewhat sad and pathetic. It is a little disheartening, I admit."

Needlegal's own weapon barked metal death and she carved a swath through the last remnants of the Warbots. Shadowman, in the meantime, had disappeared, probably in pursuit of our remaining criminal. "Anyone else kind of disappointed that Hardman got to do the fun part?" She asked as the last smoking wreck fell to the ground.

"Fun my ass," I muttered.

"Found him," Shadowman reported, appearing out of the darkness with a greasy-looking fat balding man in tow.

"Well, that's that," Geminiman nodded. "Let's get out of this hole."

"Not so fast!" our idiot captive broke in. His hands pulled a remote from... somewhere. I don't wanna go into that. He waved it threateningly. "I can unleash my ultimate weapon and destroy you all! Surrender and release me!"

Shadowman sighed and very calmly knocked the man out. Geminiman stepped forward and grabbed the remote, looking at it critically. "Wow," he said, "this guy was going for classic supervillainy all the way. Right down to the 'behold my ultimate weapon' speech."

"It is not like his ultimate weapon could be all that good. He was working with outdated parts and no apparent common sense," Topman said.

"Maybe we should press the button anyway," Geminiman joked. "Might make this day more interesting."

I grabbed the thing away from Gemini, who immediately started to protest. "No way," I told him. "Not chancin' anything like fightin' any kinda ultimate anythin', even if it prolly DOES suck eggs. I've had enough action fer one day."

Shadowman agreed with me. "Job's done, guys. Let's move out and let the rest of the cops handle everything."

We clambered out of the hole in the ground, albeit with some help from Magnetman (which made me about as sick as a rollercoater ride with a stomach full of booze) and headed back to base with our perp. Boss asked me to carry him, which I was not comfortable with since it made me feel all greasy and made me REALLY want a shower, but, y'know, boss says jump, I do it. That much has been made painfully clear, I think.

We got the fat, greasy sack of moron back to the police with minimal incident (he woke up once, I think, and started shouting something before someone electrocuted him) and explained what had happened. After the ever-present paperwork (I hate my job) we made our way home, where I dropped onto my couch without ceremony.

I was just about to doze off when Geminiman came into the room, looked over the occupants, and sighed. "We're out of everything."

"I wen' shoppin' las' time," I immediately said.

"Point taken," the Twin Terror nodded, "but in all that confusion, I don't think any of us remembered to grab the bags after they were done dealing with the tanks."

"Yeah, well I'm not goin' again," I told him, rolling over on my couch and closing my eyes for emphasis. Geminiman opened his mouth to say something, but Topman cut in as he entered the room.

"I'll go, Gem," he said with a smile. "I completely forgot it was my turn yesterday, so it is only fair."

I grinned to myself as I drifted into sleep. Told you I was positive.

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