"Goddamn worthless-!"
-and covering his right arm and the right side of his chest with acid bile.
Burn, baby, burn.
"Ah!"
He drops his branding iron and tears off his coat and shirt, tossing the smouldering garments to the ground to reveal the reddening skin beneath. More than human toughness, but not invulnerability.
Handy. Probably because he's not the real embodiment of America, just borrowing a
bit of his power.
Extricate myself.
I create a circular saw construct and use it to try to slice through the outside of the chains. It dies immediately, the orange light sucked into the metal and relayed to The Brass. X-ionised saw instead, try that. It's.. cutting, but far more slowly than it should through iron links.
Magic bullshit, of course. Probably forged of some conceptual rubbish like 'the iron bonds of duty' or some such.
On his gurney, Sam's eyes flutter open with a low groan. "Nrgggh show Dickie how tricky I can..."
He blinks and focuses.
Dun-dun-
DUN! Someone cue up a
kickass theme song, because
someone's about to get their ass
kicked.
"Snivelling Worms, I don't need to unchain a million to deal with you."
The straps binding him glow red, blue and white-. Yeah, he's got that. My saw is almost through the first link, but I think that I'm entangled in a chain net rather than-.
Heh, you can almost
hear the anthem blaring around him.
"BRASS! PULL THE VARMINT IN!"
Ah, gr-ah!
And Sam can't get his shit together soon
enough, it seems.
The Brass pulls fast, pressing me into the chains as Washington shoots beneath me. I lose my constructs-.
"Eagle!"
Yeah, Sam's gonna need a good dose of Freedom to be ready for
this shitstorm...
There's a squeaking noise, like a rubbing wheel being dragged by degrees across a linoleum floor, as the eagle flies past at high speed.
"Uncle Sam is under the Lincoln Memorial! Along with Johnny-!"
I think Roger already knows. He can probably
smell the apple pie.
Oooff!
Right into the side of The Brass, a blue boxing glove slamming into him somewhere above me. He doesn't move, but hopefully without Uncle Sam's corrupted blood to fuel him he'll be a little more manageable.
As if it'd have
one power source.
"Paul, you need a hand?!"
"Would be nice!"
A rare moment for OL, being the one needing backup instead of being on top of things...
Clack!
Yes, that's a link. Between the cutting and the force of the impact, it's given up the ghost. Unfortunately I'm too surrounded by chains that I can't make another saw without the drain draining me dry. Ring?
One down, 49 more to go (for symbolism!)
Forty seven percent remaining.
Well, there's my knife-
Guessing the drain slowed down a little while he was sitting still back there.
KABOOM!
-and damn that's loud! Okay, I've got just enough range of movement to… Draw it. Angle's awkward, but if I push it like that I think I'm-.
Ow, right in the
ears.
Clank.
I drop, chains falling away as I half-fall half-slide down The Brass's armoured back, the construct metal cutter Alan used to free me floating over my head as I-
Well, be sure to buy him a beer after this is done, for that save.
Forty five percent remaining.
-try to-
Guessing sheer proximity of the thing is futzing up his power a bit.
Forty one percent remaining.
-establish an environmental shield but the patch on my helmet where Johnny Reb banded is glowing and the orange light just isn't forming and-
Looks like a symbolic link. Best to ditch it.
Thirty eight percent remaining.
-my armour's flight system is damaged and I'm struggling to get the chains off me because this doesn't look like-
And this is why you keep a backup for the backup of the backup, OL.
Thirty five percent remaining.
-a survivable fall.
Oooh, this is gonna
smart, isn't it?
"Hate to nag, but-!"
Clank.
There's a noise like a carslide at a salvage yard as the chain net falls apart around me and-
Thank you, Alan!
Thirty one percent remaining.
-I tear my helmet from my head and chuck it aside as I'm free again, environmental shield reappearing as I slow my descent and swap to my heavy armour.
Now, time to introduce Mister Armoured Boot to bad little Johnny Butthead.
"Thank you! Back of the legs!"
I use the armour's flight systems-
Because one of the natural weak points of any walking mech is the knee joint.
"You get back here!"
-to zoom over Washington, heading for the Lincoln Memorial as The Brass shouts impotently in my wake. I see the eagle dart into the hole I made for Johnny Reb-.
Up yours, Tin man.
Important things to deal with here.
A strange jangling sound makes me viff to the left, but a quick look behind me shows me that Alan has cut through the blood cables and… Some.. sort of great crane is currently pouring.. gold coins into a slot on The Brass's upper back-.
Blood and treasure, and the corrupt link between arms lobbyists and the M.I.C., got it. Alan smashes the crane with a construct mallet, causing coins to fall all across Washington and sending the unbound worms into a feeding frenzy. I see one worm catch three coins in its mouth, and it starts to grow even as it swallows.
Because of
course they love to get rich.
"…bled you out, your damnyankee!"
Sam comes flying backwards out of the entrance the worms were using to refuel The Brass, landing on back with a huff of exhaled air. He starts pushing himself up at once as Johnny Reb marches out after him, fists balled.
Civil War round 2: The battle of Washington!
Fight!
"A million gallons for defence, but not one drop in tribute."
Sam doesn't look entirely steady as they square up, and given how uncharacteristically unkempt Sam is at the moment they actually look pretty similar.
Guessing he's down to his shirtsleeves. And Johnny ditched his fancy coat back in the hole, so...
I form a construct railgun.
They'll look similar until I shoot Johnny's head off, anyway. Load crumbler round and fire.
Would it be
crass to give him a 'Here's one for Lincoln!' as you shoot?
Compliance.
The gun hums and Johnny's head explodes.
Ah, the chunky salsa. Don't count him out yet, I doubt that's the
worst he's ever suffered.
Sam frowns slightly as I come in to land.
"Are you alright?"
"I've been better, but nothing a weekend rest cure won't fix up."
With patriotic songs and baseball games on the radio and all the apple pie you can eat?
"Okay." I walk towards Johnny's body. "Let me just check-."
A chain whips out and slaps my railgun round aside with one swing wrapping itself around my torso again! Johnny's body rises to its-. His feet, his head regrowing as I watch.
Hopefully not as
close a likeness to Sam, at least.
"The South shall rise. You have stuck me down and ah have become more powerful."
Sam runs at him. "One free man is worth-."
Misquoting '
Star Wars'? Bad form, jackass.
Johnny ducks and punches, and Sam goes flying backwards into my hole as Johnny's fist finds his gut.
Right. Crumbler gauntlets, squeeze.
Time to
spank a good old boy...
The chains starts decaying, but it's all too slow. Johnny looks at me with a snarl, then drops the chain and jogs after Sam. "No more playing around. I'm gunna finish you for good." He reaches down to grab Sam around the throat with his right hand, hauling him up. "You-."
Clang!
A dream doesn't die
that easily, hillbilly Johhny...
"AGH!"
Johnny staggers back, hands covering his face where… Sam just hit him with his own branding iron. But he's still not exactly looking fresh, so-.
Nothing a quick round of '
Yankee Doodle' won't fix up.
There's a colossal krumph behind us as The Brass hits the ground, while the eagle swoops out of the tunnel and grabs Johnny's hat in both talons!
Maximum power to motive systems. Brute force the chains!
And the tide
turns.
Snap! Snapsnapsnap!
"Faihn!" Johnny turns and runs back towards the Memorial, which shimmers as he starts to fade from sight. "Another taihm!"
Oh, no you
don't.
"Chains."
The remains of the chain he used on me fly at Johnny like a bolas and make him collapse to the ground as Dr. Balewa walks out of the Memorial.
"I know those well."
Ah, some nice, satisfying role reversal.
