Richard and Pump Face Off

Pump lunged, breaking into a thunderous stride before Richard could even shout a warning. Bennie raised his gun and fired! The bulbous, oversized bullet screamed from the extended barrel of the pistol. Pump twisted, taking the shot on his shoulder.

Whomp!

A flower of fire and solid noise bloomed around the automaton. If he’d been human, he’d be dead on the spot. His flesh burned away and his bones charred and cracked with heat.

But Pump was not human. He emerged from the smoke before it could even settle. His right shoulder was damaged, molten metal droplets falling like blood as shoulder plates made brittle with heat cracked and flaked.

But it wasn’t nearly enough. He was still moving fast. Bennie snapped the pistol open, hands desperately trying to load another shot. They all knew he wouldn’t make it in time.

He looked up, seeing his oncoming **** and muttered.

“Oh, fuck.”

And then something flung itself at Pump from the shadows. One of Bennie’s damn centipedes. A big one! Armour plated with rows of baleful crimson eyes. Its dozens of legs were tipped with sharpened blades, and it moved with a fluid and eerie grace.

Pump saw it coming. His arm snapped out, gripping it mid-flight and twisting it aside. But the centipede responded by curling about his forearm, its dagger claws dug into his armoured plates. He took hold of it with his free hand and pulled it away with a sound of snapping metal and breaking gears.

Bennie fired again. Pump swept aside; the wash of flame bathed his left half, but he’d avoided the worst of it. The centipede curled around, trying to reach him again but Pump smashed it against the wall and ground it under one foot. It squealed, the sound almost human. Its glittering silver casing began to crack and distort. Hissing vents of steam pumped from its wounds.

And then Richard hit Pump. He hit him hard, with all the strength-assisted power that the armour could give him. His fist slammed home, cracking against Pump’s exterior shell with such **** that Richard saw it distort. Pump staggered, he almost seemed confused.

Richard didn’t give him a chance to recover. His arm snapped out, gripping Pump’s forearm and dragged him back in! He slammed a blow right into the monster’s face. As the automaton recoiled, Richard’s knee shot up, burying itself in whatever passed for Pump’s gut. Again, he felt metal bend and start to break. Pump doubled over, and Richard reached for his metal head. He’d take the chance to twist it right off.

But Pump slammed a massive fist into into his leg. Richard cried out, the blow would have shattered bone but even with the armour, it was painful. He staggered, his balance lost·

Pump came up fast, in the blinking of an eye, Richard felt a dozen strikes hammer his armour. It shuddered and screamed. Waves of **** rattled his skull. Desperately, he tried to defend himself, but Pump was far too quick. The massive automaton contemptuously defeated or wove around his guard.

A blow hammered to his side and he spun. A second took him right in the back, Richard heard something tear in the mechanics of the armour. He went down to one knee. Pump swept a leg out, and Richard crashed to the ground truly. He twisted, just barely avoiding a massive foot which crushed the ground where his head would have been.

Bennie fired again. Pump took the shot in the back. Fire bloomed, trails of flame enveloped his gigantic form. Again, as the smoke cleared, Pump seemed almost to be bleeding liquid metal. Cracks spider-webbed through his external plates. Heat boiled and writhed between them like an escaping pulse.

“The hell are you?” Bennie cursed. “Why won’t you die?”

Pump was done playing games. He kicked out, his foot tearing into the solid stone ground and kicking up a storm of spinning bladed stone shards which hailed towards Bennie. He gave a cry, desperately shielding his eyes. Bloody wounds and gauges were torn open across his body. Silver metal glinted under his skin, but before he could recover, Pump was on him. He gripped Bennie, raising him high and smashing him into one of the machines! The man cried out, and the gun tumbled aside. Bennie kicked out, desperately trying to free himself.

Pump’s fist slowly closed. His fingers tearing into Bennie’s chest. Blood welled up around glinting bronze fingers and Bennie’s cries became agonised. The sound powered Richard to his feet, and hurled himself at Pump!

“Not again, you bastard!” Richard roared. “I’m not losing anyone else!”

Pump turned, swaying aside to evade the frenzied blows. Bennie’s body was dropped to the ground, the dark-skinned man groaned, in pain but alive.

Richard threw himself into a furious series of attacks. His fists blurred, the machine lent him speed and power. The throbbing steam-plant hooked to his back screamed and belched.

But Pump was always one step ahead of him. Just a little bit faster, always just an inch to the left or the right of the blow. His burning red eyes seared into Richard’s skull.

Richard had absolutely no doubt that he was making a point. Armoured or not, a human could not compete with an automaton.

Richard was just too slow.

But he’d thought of that, and as Pump hammered him into a nearby machine with such strength that the metal bent and twisted around him, Richard’s hands fell to his waist.

To the manstopper pistol he’d clipped there.

Pump realised the danger in an instant. Even as Richard’s hand curled around the pistol, he was already moving. Already dodging to the side. But Richard was ready. He might not have been as fast as Pump.

But he could anticipate him.

The pistol barked. For the first and only time, Richard did not feel pain at the massive backlash of pressure. The armour bore it, and the high-penetration bullet took Pump in the side. His armour buckled, weakened by the flame, it didn’t hold for long.

The bullet ripped into his body, tearing a hole straight through him. Steam screamed; billowing about the wound, Pump staggered, and his hand went to the impact zone. A sound came from his body, like grinding gears breaking one by one. A convulsion tore through him.

Had he hit something vital? Richard didn’t know.

So he put two more shots into him just to be sure.

Plates shattered; glittering shards of bronze metal cascaded against Richard’s powered armour. Steam belched, droplets of half-dried metal splattered Richard like rain. He had to raise his hand to shield his face.

When he could see again, Pump looked devastated. Three massive holes had been torn into his body. Grinding, silvered gears had been broken, twisted or shattered. Steam belched freely, escaping from formerly pressurised chambers. Cogs spun wildly, trying to make up for a sudden loss in motive power.

But they were failing.

Pump looked at him. For a long moment, there was a sense almost of connection. Then, the crimson light died in his eyes and Pump slumped downwards.

It was over.

And Richard still wondered if what he had killed had been a person.