Plutocracy

Stage 10- Outland, Finale

Roger strolled down the hall, tossing his knife through the air and whistling. He'd already killed three more guards walking down the hall; none of them had even managed to hurt him. It was to be expected, of course; Demigods were unkillable. Even if a stray bullet had found him, it would have either passed right through him or the wound would be regenerated within minutes if not seconds.

Reaching the intersection that he came down in, he surveyed the three paths. Picking one at random, he ran down it, knife high in hand.

Three guards, slits in their throats.

Two men in suits, knives in their backs.

A man that looked almost exactly like a Facdef except with orange hair. Beaten to death with his own severed arms.

Perhaps Roger was just a bit sadistic; but, after all, what did you expect. Every Demigod was insane in one way or another; sometimes more, sometimes less. Fract was a perfect example of this, as you may have guessed. His insanity prevented him from functioning as a Demigod or even a human. Hallucinations, depression, days and weeks of unconsciousness tormented by dark dreams--a true madman.

Reaching the end of the hall, Roger was faced by three doors, labeled Black Market Tech, Warplans, and Records. Smiling, Roger opened the Warplans door and was greeted by three men standing around a map of Arksiane. They each drew revolvers when they saw Roger, but he was faster. Teleporting and appearing behind each of them, he plunged his knife into their jugulars, causing blood to spew across the room as they fell forward, clutching their throats. Roger then took a quick overview of the map. Outland would move in from the north, taking the undefended Canadian cities and then moving further south. They would go nodes 3 and 18 first, and then continue east, taking Node 1 and then enclosing on Nexus. Roger was baffled by their audacity; no one could seriously expect such a preposterous plan to work. An invasion of Node 3? No way. That was one of the most heavily defended cities on the planet. Without someone on the inside to disable the defenses, there was no-

And then it clicked.

"Didn't Arksiane have a demigod named Roger?"

"Yeah, I remember the Technicians saying something about that."

The Technicians.

An evil grin coming on to his face, Roger teleported to the surface, reckless abandon flowing in his veins.

He sprinted back to the military base, the midday sun barely bothering him.

The Dune Raiders, however, were going to.

Across the horizon, several modified dune buggies equipped with absurdly huge cannons and gatling guns raced towards Roger, war cries on their lips and their fists raised high. The outland flag was painted on the sides of their vehicles, and spikes adorned them.

There was only one thought that crossed Roger's mind.

Oh, shit.

Running as fast as his legs would carry him, he crested a dune and was greeted by the sight of the Arksiane base. It was a few miles away, but he could run faster than anyone else on the planet.

The Dune Raiders, however, were faster.

Within minutes, they were within firing range of him. Only another mile to the Arksiane base, but Roger didn't know if he could make it in time. Over the noise of the wind and the engines, the Dune Raiders shouted war cries and taunts.

"KEEP RUNNING, PURPLE!"

Purple was a derogatory term for anyone in Arksiane, similar to Red for communists. It was used by Outland frequently, as their hatred for Arksiane was legendary.

Roger turned around and shouted back at them, something about their mother. Roger understood the connotations of insulting an Outlander's mother; similar to insulting the factory a Facdef was made in.

That may not have been the wisest decision.

Jets of blue flame ejected from the backs of the dune buggies, accelerating them to absurd speeds. They flew over the top of the dune Roger had just crested, and landed in front of him. Turning around and disengaging the blue flame, they locked their weapons on him. Roger was tired, and he knew that if he tried to use his abilities he would fail. There was no way around it; if you were too taxed physically, your abilities had a very high chance of killing you or knocking you unconscious.

There was a moment of silence as the weapons on the vehicles were trained at him, and Roger looked around slowly, contemplating exactly how he was going to escape.

"How's it going, you purple motherfucker?" The man removed his mask, smiling an evil grin at Roger. His skin was more tanned than anyone in all of Arksiane; as was to be expected for someone whose primary occupation is driving a car around in the desert. Roger could not understand why they chose not to wear cryonite suits; it just didn't make any sense at all. Heat immunity was something only specific DNARs could get you, and there was no way for Outland to get those items without reverse engineering or a source within Arksiane.

Like the Technicians, for example.

Roger doubted whether the Technicians had been selling black market tech, and if so for how long. It seemed unlikely, but then again so did the premise of them working with Outland in the first place. Roger would have to confront the Technicians when he got back to Arksiane.

If he got back to Arksiane, that is.

The odds were against him, sure. But in times like these, there was nothing he didn't think he couldn't do-

Roger lost his train of thought suddenly, as two black helicopters crossed the horizon, tiny purple spirals on the bottom.

"Well well, we got you now," the Outlander said, clearly unable to hear the choppers.

"Yeah, you sure do. But let me ask you this before you kill me: How do you plan on invading Arksiane?"

"That knowledge is above both our paygrades, purple."

"Really. So outland won't mind if you six die then?"

"What? Of course they will-"

Bullets filled their bodies from high above and they collapsed into the sand. The helicopters landed in moments and Roger jumped inside one.

"It's about time you showed up. I was actually starting to get worried."

"Did you find anything good?" one of the Facdefs asked, turning around from the pilot seat.

"Oh yeah." The smile that crossed Roger's face was concerning to the Facdefs, but they passed it off as Roger being Roger and hoped that he wouldn't kill them.