Two shots fired.
My fellow agents and I storm the stadium. It’s now or never, and looks like we timed it just right.
A mechanical robot starts firing at me.
Blam Blam Blam!
Six shots. Two down. Not my best.
Time to reload.
I take cover.
“Reloading!” I shout, emptying the six spent cartridges from my revolver, replacing them with fresh, lively ammunition.
I turn to my right, a hail of bullet fire flying overhead. I unleash hell on the incoming robot beasts.
Three more go down in a flurry of sparks and fire. Two shots left.
“Tavish!” Someone shouts. “An opening!”
I look to my left. There it is, one single door to the inside of the stadium.
Everything goes still for a moment. My eyes quickly scan the area. There will be resistance, but I can make it, I think.
Without another split second of hesitation, I make a run for it.
“Go go go!”
They spot me and realize their oversight. The gun fire begins to coalesce.
Ha! I think to myself. So much for perfected AI.
Time to reload.
On the run, I pop open the cylinder, fling the shells over my back, running running, one bullet in. A scouter flies into my path. Pop! Cylinder shuts. Blam! Single shot spent. Ching! Cylinder opens, one spent shot evacuated, 6 replacements.
I dive over the metallic corpse of my last shot, holding down my hat as I fly through the air.
Two more shots gone.
I am only 30 feet from my goal. Blam! One carefully placed shot right into the doorknob. The door swings open slightly. I dash to the opening, spin around, see the sight behind me. Thousands of robots, waging war against my fellow agents. It’s a mad house, artillery shells exploding in the air, sparks and arcing electricity littering the landscape. It hardly looks like a nighttime scene.
I tip my hat to my partner, and with a dashing smile. I am off, through the door, into the nightmare beyond.
I close the door, and am safe. Inside I feel around. No lightswitch to be found, just darkness and the cold cement of the walls.
I light up a cigarette. Looks like I’m running low. No big deal though. The faint glow of my burning ember gives me a little outlook on my surroundings. The place is covered in graffiti, typical of such service tunnels. Looks like Pirate propaganda, though the graffiti is always changing it seems. The last gang to travel through always rewrites history.
Only a month ago this was all Ninja art. One group after another, erasing the past and writing the future.
I open up my lunch sack. Time for a peanut butter jelly sandwich. I walk slowly down the corridor, checking the doors, making my steps as quiet as possible. I bite into my sandwich hungrily. I always forget to eat it seems. One day after another I fight and forget my lunch. Not tonight though. I needed my wits about me, couldn’t be distracted by hunger.
I’m on a special mission, I remind myself. Good pay too. A bonus for me if I can pull it off. Perfect.
I check my revolver, replacing the two spent shells. This could get messy. Best be prepared.
I finish my sandwich, then use my free hand to feel the walls as I walk forward, taking in a lung full of the smooth tobacco smoke as I walk.
I calm down with the smoke. It’s like meditation for me. Zen cigarettes. Just what I need after a firefight. Before too.
I turn down a hallway. There is the faint sound of conversation down the hall, but it is too dark to see very far forward. I extinguish my smoke. Looks like we’d have to reunite elsewhere.
One quiet step after another, I stalk down the hallway. The conversation gets louder, but is still indiscernible.
I continue walking forward, but feel my heartbeat rise. Patience, Tavish. Calm yourself and go forward.
The conversation stops… It sounds natural. No need for alarm. I hear footsteps and they eventually fade. I move again, and feel a cool breeze brush against my left hand.
There is a doorway with a crack in the seal just large enough to allow airflow.
Should I open it? Yes.
I open it, slowly.
Blinding light fills the corridor. For a moment I am blind and I take cover behind the ajar door. This is a side entrance to the stadium field. I hear the cheering of fans, and I hear cheerleaders doing their thing. It’s like a football game or something. Loud, camera’s flashing, loud, mascots, loud, foam appendages.
I take a peek around the corner, tentative at first. There is a spotlight right on me.
Chk-Chk! The click of a gun.
“Ah! Mr. Tavish! Your fans are waiting for you.”
“Heh,” I chuckle. “Looks like I’m fashionably late.”
“It is no matter, Mr. Tavish. They would wait for you for ages.”
“I’m sure they would,” I say with a smile, raising my hands over my head.
My arch-nemesis, “King” George. He stands behind me, a gun to the back of my skull.
“Walk. Don’t keep your fans waiting.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I step into the spotlight. The crowd erupts with applause and screams.
“Rip! Rip! Rip!” The crowd cheers my name.
Out I walk, into the center of the field. One step at a time, taking in my surroundings.
This will be an interesting situation to get out of, I think to myself. Still, I keep my trademark cool and step forward, even waving my hands slightly to the crowd, careful not to excite “King” George into shooting off my head.
I sure wish I had another peanut butter and jelly sandwich right now. Would make the pressure a little easier to swallow.
I reach the center of the field. To my surprise…
I find you. You will never quite remember this, I imagine, but there you were. A large, generic looking guard brought you out from another service entry like the one I came from. You are limp in his bulky arms, delirious possibly, most certainly unaware of yourself.