6 Uncoiled
One of the greater advantages of the cyborg lifestyle is the capacity to automate mundane physical activities while my mind engages itself with the internet. In this case, my body rides around on my speeder bike patrolling Brockton Bay and systematically foiling every crime along an optimal route created by a powerful mix of surveillance satellites and quantum computing predictive criminal activity analysis. No crime to petty, no problem without a solution, no victim unsatisfied, all hyper efficient and requiring no active participation by me.
Get fucked by my farming bot you pathetic MMO mobs. Good luck complaining to the devs.
While I automated dropping the crime rate below the national average, I focused on Hydra's media takeover. Firmly in the digital age, this new world of mine is ripe for a tech take over, virginal and innocent, the young internet the blushing bride of the sinister and savage machine intelligence I produced a few days ago. One whom I expected to be incapable of 'Triggering' as anything created by me is far to rugged to succumb to petty things like 'trauma' and 'emotional damage' but turning him loose on his bride meant he quickly encountered the raw rotten human core of her and promptly gained an alien superpower. My mistake to believe my multiple intergalactic wars and headship of organizations of reprehensible moral standing could ever outweigh the unfiltered depravity of mankind.
Sasuga mankind.
Now my apocalyptic AI can access unconnected devices within a mile of anything he can broadcast too, meaning that Hydra can utilize pretty much all electronics anywhere, save the rare devices created by security focused Tinkers. Turning an AI capable of effective top down control of an intergalactic war to the real time manipulation of digital broadcasts and interactions was simplicity in form and execution. Flawless editing of real time broadcasts, phone calls filtered and edited, subtle changes to existing content, the infiltration of chats and forums with right thinking and wrong thinking accounts, all to calmly walk back this radicalized world barreling to social destruction.
Look at me, the responsible adult. What hell have we come to that the Lizard Daddy is the voice of reason?
Feeling a little unreasonable, I extended my hand and in a flash a grenade launcher appeared within my grip. Parked near the house of one precognitive Dinnah Alcott, a white van filled with men armed with Tinker Tech weapons awaited judgment. With one low 'thunk' 40mm of justice launched against the enemies of decency, destiny, and democracy, punching through to the heart of the van before dispersing. The tacti-cool mercs screamed briefly as the micromachine swarm went grey goo on them, but I am a merciful god. Their deconstruction occured at maximum possible speed, and in under a minute the men and their van congealed into solid blocks of materials for drone pick up.
Sure, eye witnesses might be horrified that I deconstructed some goons, but that's what AI media control is for. They'll take out their phones and start streaming or take videos for later posts, start chatting online, and all anyone will see is what I want them to see. All sides not interacting with people online, but my omnipresent AI. Already, Hydra is creating more content online than all humans who have ever used the internet. The only way to organize against me is for people to talk to each other in person. Thus, I am invincible.
Hell, I'm supposed to be doing a PR event right now, but Hydra is phoning in for me. Even if my physical absence should cause a negative impact on public opinion or donor support, my public opinion is on a fixed upward trajectory and liberated funds from opposition forces will more than make up the difference contributed by new imaginary 'donors' with impeccable digital documentation. The perfect solution for an organization so driven by image as the Protectorate. Win both the war in the streets and the war for hearts and minds with minimum effort and stable outcomes. As for those who see too much, hear too much, and know too much. Why even bother to reinvent the wheel? Dismiss them all as conspiracy theorists and let them get that satisfying I told you so in fifty years when the documents declassify and no one cares anymore.
Sasuga Grunt-sama.
With time to kill I chose to go take down the man behind the mercs. He seems like the odd man out in our weird white supremacists versus united asians villain scene. I like my villians to stand for something, and all data on Coil points to a man who believes in nothing. I find his lack of faith disappointing. A man who stands for nothing deserves to be crushed in my free time. Bonus points for crushing teenager's ego a bit as this is the 'hidden boss' that Bug-girl demanded to go undercover to get. Will her incredible emotional control hold out, will she break, will it be as epic as the breakdown of Scott Summers. I can still taste the air of that moment, so burnt into my mind. Such defeat.
Didn't work out between me and Jean, but hey…
Back to my life of dope as fuck adventures! Coil was conveniently in his HQ running mission control on the guys he doesn't yet know are currently getting vacuum packed, and I'm willing to bet I can tear through his Endbringer shelter hidden base faster than he can run.
Meanwhile….
Thomas Calvert recoiled in fear as Armsmaster burst through the wall of his underground bunker.
"Oh yeah!" the blue armored man shouted as he hit a pose, "I've come to wreck this simulation on behalf of the World Wrestling Federation! Oh yeah!"
"This can't be happening!" the villain known as Coil shouted as he smashed his black skin suited hands on his desk and tried to purge this timeline.
"Believe it, turkey!" Armsmaster yelled, his voice deep and gravelly, "You thought it was safe to simulate the Armsmaster, but you thought wrong! You don't know anything about the Armsmaster, and you don't know where I'm coming from, BECAUSE it's mind boggling to ya!"
"Why can't I purge? Why can't I purge?" Coil shrieked before he picked up his gun and started shooting at the macho gesturing hero, dumping his mag to no effect.
"I'm in your mind, pukester! This simulation is off the rails, and off the chain!" the unharmed man screamed, "You don't know where I'm coming from, but I know where you're coming from! I KNOW HOW YOU TICK! And you have the audacity to think you can simulate me, without care, WITHOUT REPRISAL!"
Armsmaster whipped his halberd off his back and began chasing the terrified villain around his desk, screaming at him with spittle flying from his mouth.
"Ugabuga ungabuga!" he chanted as the pair juked and jagged around the desk.
Finally Armsmaster flung his halberd and pierced Coil, who screamed as the blade pinned him to the wall through his guts.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Armsmaster hysterically laughed as Coil died and the simulation ended.
Back in the real world, Thomas Calvert ripped off his mask and vomited into his trash can as his nose bled freely and he wept in his secret fortress of safety. In a moment of panic Coil pulled his pistol from his desk and aimed it around the room at every wall and every shadow, wide eyes looking for danger. Breathing heavily, the supervillian contemplated the gun and the prospect of running into… whatever that was in his powers.
Back to Grunt….
The small part of my attention monitoring Coil's security alerted me to the man having some kind of breakdown and contemplating his peace like a man running up on that last edge. Guy must have a precog power that let him know the game is up and that his only chance is to throw himself on the altar of my mercy. Something I'm known far and wide for totally having.
Bro needs to chill. It's not like this is personal.
Coming up on his fortress the ol' nade launcher gave out another satisfying 'thunk' and the less cool vault lost its blast door. In honor of Colin, I whipped out a plasma halberd and charged at the on duty security team firing lasers at me that dispersed on my shields in brief clashes of crimson light.
The tip of my halberd began firing green blaster bolts at roughly 1200 rpm while I screamed, "Get sum! Get sum!"
The defenses between me and my prey turned extra crispy in neon monsoons of green glory, and I carve open the final barrier between us in a slow circle, taking my time so that the guy on the other side knew how cool I am. Instead of slow clapping my excellent entrance, I found Coil slamming his fist on the door to his escape tunnel that I bricked before I dissolved his front entrance. He didn't even acknowledge me until I gave him a complementary awkward cough, even then he didn't turn and face me.
"Bro, you got something more important to be doing right now than dying with some dignity?" I asked him and finally the man spun around with a tinker tech pistol in hand.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?" he shrieked, obviously not taking things well.
I couldn't help myself, and a wide grin grew under my helmet "I'm from Arizona."
Coil immediately mag dumped on me, the correct response, and once his hammer finally clicked with nothing to bang I took a step towards him, my halberd blazing a brilliant emerald, and rammed that plasma blade in the man's skinny chest.
"Thanks for getting it." I nodded to him as I pulled out.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Been trying to figure out what kind of story I'm supposed to be writing. I'm trying to figure out what core of the narrative is supposed to be, what Grunt is supposed to wrestle with. His usual formula is that he knows what is going on, but comes at everything from a weird angle due to his alien morality and twisted psychology. He kind of fits in here, and I'm not hundi if there is anything in Worm worth his attention.
Shoot me ideas on what you want to see, maybe we can get something to stick.
You can support me and my family at
ko-fi.com/jmanm
