Mister Pump Plays A Game

Richard had heard all he needed to. His hand moved, his wrist sprung forward and he braced for the impact as his finger pulled down the trigger. The man-stopper barked, sending a whipping surge of pressure lashing through his arm and grinding into his shoulder. Pump took the shot in the gut, doubling over as he was knocked from his feet, his massive body spun from the impact of the shot until it finally came to a rest in a dishevelled pile of limbs.

“Sorry,” Richard said. “I don’t play games. I just needed to know for sure if you were my enemy. No hard feelings.”

He moved back towards the control panel. The man-stopper was loud and he really couldn’t afford to be caught like this now. Pump’s body would be hard to explain, it was best to get away before he had to try.

But before he could set the final sequence, Richard once more felt a familiar shiver pass along his spine.

There was no way…

But his body reacted, spinning around just as the massive fist closed around his shoulder. Richard felt himself hoisted into the air, his feet dangling just like they had before. Mister Pump’s angry eyes bore into his skull.

“You try my patience, Mister Gearheart.”

The front of his suit was a mess. Shredded cloth, torn flesh, a mass of blood and gleaming. But the shot should have torn right through him!

“How the hell-” Richard kicked out, his foot crunching against Pump’s face. “Are you still alive?”

“Mysteries make the world a better place, Mister Gearheart.”

Pump threw him then. Hard. Richard had the impression of great speed, the room whipped past him before he smashed into the far wall. Pain snapped through his body and he screamed, the weapon tumbled from his hand and for a few seconds, he could barely even think.

It felt like a damn rib had snapped!

He spat something red and sticky onto the metal floor, using the wall to lever himself up. A feverish heat filled his body. A dull, pounding pain threatened to subsume his thoughts.

“Still alive?” Mister Pump mused. “I intended to dash your head against the wall. Fortunate favours you, Mister Gearheart. Or perhaps not. That would have been a merciful ****.”

Richard blinked. Focusing was hard. Agony pulsed through him. Deep and sharp. But he was used to pain and adrenaline surged alongside it. Pump was between him and the ship, the giant man striding casually, as if he’d not had his damn gut blown open!

“Let us play a game, Mister Gearheart,” Pump’s tone was rich, polite but mocking. “Your weapon has failed you. You cannot kill me, but I can certainly kill you. I could end this right here and right now.”

Pump reached into the pocket of his suit, withdrawing a long-barrelled gun which looked like a toy in his massive hands.

“So please do not think about diving for your weapon. I assure you, I am faster.”

“Thought of everything, did you?” Richard snarled. The world was shaking. He felt dizzy. The Nautiloid loomed in the distance and with it, there was Kara. But he didn’t know how he could reach her, and the best thing he could think to do was to try and buy her some time.

Damn, damn, damn, why were things never simple?

“I always do, Mister Gearheart. Now you are going to run and I am going to chase you. And then I am going to catch you and I am going to kill you.”

“You think I’m going to play your game?” Richard laughed, eyeing his fallen weapon. “Why would I ever do that?”

“Because, Mister Gearheart, while I am chasing you I am away from your friend. And you still think you can outsmart me and kill me. You will run because to stay is to die. Running is salvation for you and for Kara. You really have ****.”

“Then why are you letting me do it? Why not just end it now and get it over with!”

“Life is a sport,” Mister Pump said. “And like any sport, there are rules to make it fair. I will give you a chance. Though it will make no difference in the end.”

Richard cursed. If glares could kill, Pump would have been a smouldering pile of dust on the ground. His eyes lingered on the ship, on Kara, but then he turned away and started to limp.

He had no idea what he was doing. He had no plan, no clue how to turn this around. But he wasn’t going to give up, and he made a silent promise that he’d get back to Kara again.

Behind him came Mister Pump’s measured paces.