I failed to accomplish the main goal of my dastardly schemes, but you know what? It’s not the end of the world. I mean, maybe if someone was on life support or in a plane the world ended pretty quickly. But for those outside it, time kept on tickin’. And I left this city with one hell of a hangover.
I managed to keep ticking, too. The FBI managed to shoot me the other day, and normally that’s when my nanites would kick in. Unfortunately, EMP did ruin them quite thoroughly. But I made it back and I held enough blood in me until I could finish a new batch of nanites in the assembler.
I had the basement to myself, since Carl and Moai stayed with Carl’s family, apparently. Even if F-Uhaul had helped us out, the set up would have still been sparse. As it stood, my lair had more amenities in it post-EMP than did most of the rest of the city. The city had little in the way of sanity left, as well.
As expected, the riots started up again, worse than ever. Looting, too. That part didn’t happen solely due to opportunism, either.
I must say, I well and truly fucked this town over. People needed food, water, batteries, generators, and so on. Except they couldn’t pay unless they had cash. With most of people’s money existing as computer data, that proved difficult. Even running on a bank didn’t work out the best. Without their computers, banks didn’t know who had what. Plus, banks tended to keep a lot of money out as loans or investments to create a profit. Investments in a stock market that also relied heavily on computers.
Yeah, banks needed that security of theirs before too long to protect them from the poor and rich alike. Fat chance. You think too many guards were worried about a job that couldn’t pay them while their family needed bread?
The kicker is, all the food they were fighting for could only last so long without power for freezers. All this left out just cooking.
I could spend this whole thing talking about the problems I caused pulling that trick on Venus, but then I’d have to leave out my favorite thing to talk about: myself. I did things, too.
For one thing, I mooned the UN. Juvenile? Yes. Awesome? Double yes.
After that, I had a score to settle with the FBI. I didn’t know Venus’s whereabouts. I couldn’t find a whole lot, actually.
But I could find the FBI. I found their building very easily after numorous tries, a GPS signal, and use of a map. I got a little help from a hot dog vendor who still peddled his wares. This helped me quite a bit by also indicating I should avoid a food vendor whose business wasn’t affected by a lack of refrigeration or preservation.
Now, I drove up there in a bus. Believe it or not, most automobiles weren’t disabled by the pulse Venus unleashed on the city. Oh sure, some had to be restarted. The dashboards in a few others were damaged. Most cars had only minor problems like that. That included city busses, like the one I grabbed. They still ran, used to help response efforts until the New York State Guard arrived.
I had been out shopping for kilts when I encountered a bus. Or looting for kilts, whatever you want to call it. I planned to hit up a good tailor and get a suit next, but I needed a bus. Suits could wait; no one was looting them. Buses were moving targets, though.
I hopped up the stairs and called out, “What’s happenin’ people?”
The riders’ enthusiasm underwhelmed me.
“Alright, people. Everyone is going to want to get off the bus, because I’m a psychotic madman who likes wearing women’s underwear.” I said cheerfully, a smile stretched across my face.
A dirty, disheveled old man spoke up, “You pansy. If I left every time I heard that, I wouldn’t have a warm place to sleep at night!”
“Aha, I see I’m going to have to pull out the big guns…’scuse me while I whip this out.” I reached down under my kilt to wear I’d strapped a knife to my inner thigh.
“Sir, you need to sit your skirt-wearing ass down or get off the bus. We all got places to be,” said the plump woman driving the bus with a hairstyle that defied the laws of physics, good taste, and possibly Star Trek’s ship copyrights.
I slipped out my hidden weapon, causing some in the crowd to gasp until they noticed a potato peeler in my hands. Some of them laughed.
“Put it away before you hurt yourself, you little poonanny,” said the homeless man again.
“What’s the matter? This blade doesn’t a-peel to you?” I asked right before jumping over a seat and jamming it in his throat. That got a more panicked response as some tried for the door. The driver ran over and tried to hit me, but I got her off with an elbow to the throat. Turning around, I aimed a kick right between her legs.
The reason why it’s not as appealing to do that to women is that, unlike with men, my foot got stuck. I hopped on my other foot as I looked down at the offending boot. “Wow, your boyfriend must be hung like an orca.” I turned, bringing my free leg over the trapped one so that I faced away. Then, I jumped and kicked back at about head height, ducking my head and upper body as I knocked myself clear of her to roll along the aisle and the up to my feet.
I then turned and charged at her, spearing her about the waist with my shoulder and sending us both through the windshield.
By the time I got back on the bus, only the homeless man remained as a passenger.
The bus needed some adjustments before I took it out again, but I had little else to do with my time. I didn’t plan on surviving the encounter with Venus. I figured that if she didn’t kill me, she’d probably lock me up. Neither occurred. Hey, I don’t want to go to jail, either. It’d be too boring.
Of course, now y’all know how bad it is for me to be bored.
When I went after the FBI building, a squat concrete monstrosity as humorless as their agents seemed to be, it was the next day. I stopped on my way over to pick up a suit jacket to go along with my kilt. I stayed out of the armor just because I could. I had a new helmet in the repair tube anyway. Ah, the benefits of automation.
Traffic seemed worse than before the pulse. For one thing, you had crazed bus drivers just ramming cars of the road! Oh wait, that was me. Perhaps y’all shouldn’t consider that a trend. I needed the room for acceleration. The exhilaration of acceleration caused jubilation despite ramifications of ramming fortifications.
That is, my excitement continued on even as I turned the bus and hit on the breaks, skidding until I hit those little poles that prevent someone from driving up onto the sidewalk. The bus rolled, and it rolled well. Having safely duct-taped myself to the driver’s seat, I had nothing to do but hold my arms up and yell “Wee!” as I crashed through reinforced glass. The bus tore up, too big to make the trip with me in its entirety. That suited me just fine. The damaged roof helped the bigass container of my favorite hallucinatory and illusion-causing gas to clong to the floor and roll out.
It spewed everywhere. Into the air, against furniture, even onto an agent with a white glow racing throughout his body.
After he coughed a bit, he raised his hands and shot motherfucking streaks of light at me. They were all sorts of colors. Motherfucker had some trippy offense. The first set of beams met in the air just above me in an explosion of color that knocked me further to the ground and made me wonder if I’d taken some acid.
“Move and you’re dead!” the agent asserted.
Now, a guy like myself doesn’t like being told what to do, so I summoned my immense willpower and… ran off screaming with my arms flailing in the air. Did I scream? Hell yeah I screamed. I couldn’t just run off waving my arms around without squealing like a little girl taken out behind the woodshed by a creepy uncle with a mustache.
Just a tip to any creepy uncles out there: use condoms. You don’t want to practice unsafe sex. Think of the children!
Now that I’ve offended familial abuse victims, back to the story.
I fled the FBI building by scrambling over broken metal with ecstasy rave effects exploding just behind me. I stopped screaming long enough to go “Unce, unce, unce, unce, unce, unce, unce, unce,” while escaping through the bus’s windshield. When the agent followed, he found my kilt laying on the ground, apparently forgotten.
“Care for a spot of tea?” I asked as I swung onto his shoulders, thighs clenching the side of his head. To give y’all the complete image (the full package, you might say), I was facing the opposite direction he faced, with my shoes against his back. So he got the full package presented to his eyes, too.
I didn’t stop there. I used my momentum and flipped backward. I landed on my forearms, belly down. I pulled the agent along with me, driving his head into the sidewalk with an audible crack.
I stood up and grabbed my kilt, flourishing it in the air. “Ha ha! You know what they’re going to say about your cause of death, Mr. Secret Agent Man? They’ll put down that you got kilt!”
I stepped over him to leave when he reached out and grabbed my ankle. I wrenched away with another girly scream, then jumped up and dropped my elbow into his gut. Motherfucker let go then. I stood up and gave him a few boots to the head. “You don’t do that! Bad! No! You lay there and die and think about what you’ve done!”
He groaned, proving resistant to basic decency. His refusal to die showed me great disrespect. The problem was his enhanced durability, which I found out upon wrapping my hands with my kilt and decapitating him with a portion of the bus. Then I walked home with his head in front of my junk. What? It would have been rude to go around indecent in public.
Aside from all the other times I did so. Those were completely justified. Or unjustified. Doesn’t matter to me.
Then I sat down, fixed a couple of pizzas, and had a long conversation with the man. A day later, I discovered this never happened because I actually spent the day tripping on the same gas I released in the FBI building. Disgusted at the betrayal of my trust, I punted his head from the roof. On the plus side, you’ll never believe how delicious a pair of paper plates taste when covered with ketchup and cream cheese. Seriously. So good, I nearly creamed my cheese.