Recap: After live streaming his take on the government and Samsara to the world, Brandon revealed his identity and took off into the sky... only to land on the South Lawn of the White House. He asked to speak to the President, but was quickly surrounded by Secret Service agents with their weapons drawn.
Winning Choice: I shift into super-speed and disarm the agents, leaving their guns in a broken pile in front of their boss. I stop in front of him and smile. "We're going to have a conversation. One without shooting or fighting for a change."
I shift into super speed and the world slows to its now familiar crawl. The agents start to react, but as that initial look of surprise hits their faces I'm already pulling their guns from their hands. Fortunately they all have good trigger discipline or I'd probably break their fingers in the process. As it is I'm sure they're going to have sore hands when this is over.
I drop all the guns into a pile next to me. For extra emphasis, I return to normal speed holding one last gun: a submachine gun of some kind. I bend the barrel and drop it in the pile with as much style as I can manage.
"Now maybe we can just have a talk without violence for once," I say. Most of the agents step back in shock, jaws dropping. The agent in charge, on the other hand, seems totally unfazed and just shakes his head.
"Not when you land on the lawn of the White House," he says, stepping away from me.
There's a muffled crack from some distance away, and a bullet smashes into my chest with staggering force. Literally, I stagger.
"Ooooooowwww!" I whine. "This is not how you have a conversation!"
Another crack, and another incredible pain in my chest. Either the snipers on the roof couldn't hear my plea for a chat, or their orders don't leave much room for creativity.
I'm not sure what guns they have up there, but they're powerful. My suit isn't torn, but those shots hurt like hell. I might having some bruising after this.
"What's going on?" asks Tyler.
"Sniper fire from the White House," I tell him. "And it really hurts!"
"I told you these maniacs wouldn't listen," says Susan. "Get out of there before even bigger guns show up."
"I've come too far to give up now," I reply. "I just need to get past the hired muscle and talk to to the man in charge. But I'm done being a target."
The crowd outside the fence has grown even larger, and the police are having a tough time keeping them back. Heading closer to the White House will help draw fire away from their direction, plus the person I need to speak with is inside. So I start to charge up the lawn.
"Brandon! Something's coming!" Tyler screams into my ear.
"What? Where?" is all I have time to say before a whistling noise far overhead turns instantly into a roar. Something plows into my back, crushing me into the ground and tearing a wide trench in the finely manicured lawn as I skid to a stop.
"A little more warning next time," I mumble as I try to clear my head and look for the giant rhinoceros that it feels like just sky-dived into me. I roll over, but instead of seeing a three-toed rhino hoof, I see a large, gleaming metal boot.
Propping myself up on one elbow I see the boot is connected to a massive, metal exoskeleton. Gleaming in the sunlight, it's sleeker, leaner, and much better armored than the one I faced in the research compound a few weeks back. It looks less like a wearable forklift and more like a shining knight.
At the top of the suit the operator's face is visible behind an enclosed sheet of thick, bullet-proof glass. I know that face.
"Dryer?" I ask. "Is that you?" Last time I fought him I knocked him out and left him hanging helpless inside his exoskeleton. From the look on his face he remembers that, too. I climb slowly to my feet.
"You are under arrest for terrorist acts including assaults on Federal agents, and the infiltration-" he says, but I cut him off.
"Yeah, I've heard that list before. Listen, I'm just here to talk. I haven't hurt anyone since I landed-"
He cuts me off in return, raising his voice and continuing where he left off. "...the infiltration and attack on a Government Air Force Installation, and the theft and release of classified information of National Security."
"Wow, he's had a bit of an upgrade since his last suit," says Tyler. "We're having a hard time getting into the White House cameras, but there's like a hundred people streaming this live from the street. Be careful."
"See what you can figure out about his new suit," I whisper in reply. "I don't think I'm going to be able to end this like I did last time."
"If you do not surrender immediately, I am authorized to use extreme measures," Dryer informs me. He sounds hopeful.
"I think dressing up in a giant robotic suit and destroying the White House landscaping already qualifies as extreme measures," I tell him, gesturing at the colossal mess around us. "Look what you did to the President's lawn! This is all on you, man. I just wanted to talk. How about you come with me and we go see the President together? Then you can protect him from any words of mine you don't like."
"People can't just walk in and talk to the President, especially you," he says.
"Yeah, but isn't that maybe part of the problem? He's so cut off from regular people he may not even know what's really going on," I say.
The Secret Service agents have scattered, including their head honcho. They could probably see which way this unfortunately seems to be headed.
"That's not for you to decide," he says. "This is your last warning. Do you surrender?"
"No, I'm not surrendering," I say, and Dryer starts swinging as soon as that first word leaves my lips, and he catches me with a massive blow. He hits me so hard his metal fist makes a resounding clang against my ribs. I tuck up my arm to absorb some of the impact, but it isn't enough.
I sail into the air like he threw me, flying up off the lawn, over the rear patio of the White House, and right through the back southeastern wall. I skid for a few feet into the Vermeil room, flipping end over end before coming to a stop.
"Wow! You okay?" asks Tyler.
What has this idiot done? Never in a million years would I want to hurt this place. Even just trying to talk causes irreperable damage when I'm involved.
Carpet is torn, chunks of plaster fall from the open holes. Who knows what priceless artifacts were just crushed to bits. This isn't just a building, this is history. I grind my teeth as I stand, gingerly brushing off a layer of settling dust.
"Brandon, speak to us! We can't see you in there," says Susan.
"I'll be leaving. I'm going to need you to help me find open space nearby."
"Open space? In Washington D.C.? Everything is-"
"Do it," I snarl.
I reach into my belt and pull out my mask. Dryer takes a long jump over the patio and lands with a heavy crunch just outside the hole I created.
"We're now going to add defacement of a protected monument to your crimes," he says.
I slide my mask down. I tuck it in. The filtered lenses expand my vision. I open my senses. My nanobots hum.
"Son, I beat you once. You remember that?" I ask.
He clenches his fists.
"Good. So let me teach you something about the importance of history."
Leaping at him, arms wide, I plow into him with all the raw force my legs can give me.
THOOM!
The White House windows rattle as my tackle sends us arcing back out onto the lawn. His metal suit flexes under my impact and I hear him grunt painfully. I twist over the top of him and hammer a few super-fast blows to his left.
The groundskeepers are going to hate us forever. We hit the grass again, gouging another deep channel as we skid and roll to a stop. I leap past his grasp and spring up. He staggers to his own feet, shaking his head but smiling.
"You find that space yet?" I ask Tyler.
"You're not going to like it, but head south. There's President's Park, then... um... the National Mall."
I glance over my shoulder to the south. The Washington Monument stands bright and gleaming.
Damnit.
"You're not going to beat me a second time," he says. "That was a prototype suit, and the only one we had on site when you showed up. This time you don't stand a chance."
I put my hand to my chin, thoughtfully. "Hmmm...," I say. "That big dent I just put into your side seems evidence to the contrary." I point to where I hit him, and with a look of shock he tries to crane his neck to see.
That, of course, is when I hit him again.
He rocks back as I smash into him as hard and as fast as I can. He puts his arms up to shield his face, which limits my damage. Switching targets, I go for his legs, but they're just as well armored as the rest of him. He takes the opportunity to nail me with a solid left jab. He's right, this suit is a lot tougher than the last one.
I guess I'm going to need that space after all. I just hope its cleared out because everyone has wandered up here to see the commotion.
I shift to super-speed and race away to his left. His own suit is very fast, but his brain still works at normal speed. He is just starting to run after me when he sees me turning right, still accelerating. He tries to change course to follow, but then realizes he doesn't need to. I'm going in a big circle headed right back to him. His eyes widen in slow-motion surprise.
Dryer, meet my good friend, Mr. Momentum.
I drive up into another tackle, this one even more brutal than the last, and send us hurling far over E Street. We sail over the shocked crowd, their gaping faces rotating as one to watch us pass overhead. I try to fly us as far as possible into President's Park, but his suit is so heavy I can't do much with it.
We crash into the park like a meteor, and I hammer at the same spot on his side as we land, hoping to punch a hole through it.
Dryer regains some of his composure and flips upright, stiff-arming me away from him. The dent in his side is larger, but not yet a hole. He glares at me from behind his glass shield.
He comes at me with a right hook, leaping in close to give it more power. With all that technology he uses it like a brawler. I shift into super-speed again and dodge to his left, but before I can start hammering away on that dent, he backhands me and sends me sprawling.
Usually when I'm at super-speed the rest of the world slows down by comparison, but that blow almost seemed normal. I stagger backwards, losing my speed, and Dryer lunges at me, catching me with a nasty uppercut. I flop over onto the mangled sod, grunting in surprise and a fair bit of pain.
"What happened," asks Susan in response to my exclamation.
"He's wicked fast. At least sometimes. I'm thinking this suit has computer reflexes built into it to help him fight things faster than him."
"It can't be too advanced or it wouldn't still need him to pilot it," she says.
Dryer lunges at me, bringing down an overhead, double-fisted blow aimed straight for my head. I roll out of the way, dodging it by inches. I keep rolling and spring up to my feet.
"I'm faster than last time, too," he says.
"Artificially enhanced, I see. Performance issues on your own? That's okay, it happens sometimes," I offer as sweetly as possible.
"And they wondered why I was so looking forward to taking you down," he snarls.
"You really have a way with people," Tyler says over my earpiece.
Dryer lunges at me, arms wide, and I completely fail a saving roll to dodge. I was messing with his head, but his new exoskeleton is really damned fast. He catches me in half a bearhug, but before I can spin away there's a small roar and we're airborne.
He has boot jets, because of course he has boot jets. We barrel roll as we arc into the sky, and by the time I get my bearings I'm dangling underneath him. He has a grip on my upper arm and a smirk on his face. Up here I've got nowhere to run.
I push against his plated chest, but when I do his arms clench down even tighter. He isn't risking me getting away.
Well, two can play at the flying game, so I use my own flight powers to try and change course. I get us wobbling in the air like a bumblebee, but not much more. His flight boots are a lot stronger than my own flight powers.
Okay, so maybe only one can play at the flight game. Next plan.
I can't hit my previously hammered out dent from the way he's holding me, so I haul back and start a new one on his opposite side. He grunts, but manages to grab my one free arm and pull me into a tight hug.
"He's headed towards the Pentagon!" Tyler yells in my ear. Oh hell, I'm pretty sure I don't want to tangle with the entire security force of the Pentagon.
He's got me pinned against him, face to face, and I can't squirm free. I look through the bulletproof screen and try to headbutt it. It fails, and he snorts a laugh.
"It's over," he tells me. "Deal with it."
If I could just reach inside that suit and... and... oh yeah.
I try to relax, and picture an invisible third arm extending from my chest. I reach inside the suit just a little, hoping for a spot full of electronics. I close my telekinetic hand into a fist and pull.
Dryer yells, a deep-throated, agonizing scream of surprise and pain. I release my telekinetic fist, horrified. I just wanted to disable the suit, not mangle him inside of it.
The suit also didn't like whatever I just did, and half of it seems to lock solid. One jet boot goes out, sending us spiraling like a pinwheel through the air.
Using my own flying ability, I get us mostly stabilized but can't do much to steer. We're going down, and we're going to do it much faster than I'd like.
"Dryer!" I yell. "Wake up in there!" His eyes are rolling back in his head, and he's twitching unpleasantly. He's alive, but not going to be any help.
The ground is coming up quickly, but I see a ribbon of greenish-blue up ahead. If I push hard I might be able to reach it.
"I'm going to try and get us to the Potomac," I tell Tyler. Heaving with all my strength, our fall flattens out a little. Just a little, but it's enough.
We kersploosh into the river. It's a much softer landing than the bank would've been, but unfortunately we're now sinking quickly. No bubbles are coming out of his suit, so it must be airtight. I wish I was. I can hold my breath a long time but am still a fan of oxygen. Big fan, actually.
I squirm until I get some leverage on the suit's left arm, which isn't locked in place, and push it away. There's only a few inches, but that's enough for me to wriggle out of his bearhug.
Part of me would love to leave him on the bottom of the Potomac as a very ugly statue, but who knows how much air he has in there or when a rescue crew would find him in the muck. Plus I may have already hurt the poor jerk pretty badly in there.
I grab his arm and part-swim, part-lurch for the shore, keeping an eye out for sharks. I've always been freaked out by the damned things. I don't even know if there are any in this river, and I'm sure they couldn't hurt me anyway, but you know what, I don't care. Super powers don't prevent you from getting creeped the hell out.
I slog up the bank, dragging Dryer and his exo-suit behind me. I drop him in the gooey mud and step onto the grass. There's a freeway nearby, cars whizzing by oblivious to our little drama. I pull the bottom of my mask away from my neck and let the water trickle out. I wish I could do that from other equally squishy parts of my costume, but that's a bit much for a public place.
"Tyler," I ask hopefully into my earpiece. "Is this thing waterproof?"
"You're doubting my skills?" he asks. "Don't doubt my skills. It makes me surly and interferes with my digestion."
I sigh. "When you're done digesting, could you tell me what's going on? Dryer's unconscious. I'm by a freeway. A big one."
"That's Interstate 395. You landed squarely in the Potomac and came up on the other side. You're about two blocks from the Pentagon."
"Uh, that's where Robocop here was trying to take me. It's not a place I think I should be."
"I think they disagree. There's a whole lot of people rolling out of of the Pentagon right now. Military vehicles of every shape and size," he replies.
"Time to get out of here, I think. This whole thing has escalated too far for me to talk with anyone now. I'll need to-"
I'm cut off by a metal clamp closing hard about my ankle. Dryer's reached out from where I dropped him on the bank and grabbed me, but the hand of his suit has changed shape. It's like a handcuff, and it's locked on solid. His eyes are unfocused and watery.
"You're... not going anywhere," he groans.
Before I can reply, a roar of lightning crackles through me from Dryer's suit, and the pain is excruciating. It shifts and pulses, and my nanobots can't absorb it. I feel them shutting down, overloaded and fried. I drop to my knees, Dryer still holding onto one leg. His suit is going stiff and the lights inside are going dark. This must be his last ditch attack, pumping all of his suit's juice into me.
Everything's going black, and my head is pounding so hard I can barely think. I think I only have a few moments before things go dark...
The choices are:
1. I could try to tear myself free, but I'm not sure if I would just rip off the suit's arm or Dryer's as well.
2. I could pull us back into the probably-not-shark-filled water, which would make Dryer let go if he wanted to get back to land... if he has the power to do it.
3. I could try to drag myself, and Dryer, onto the freeway before I pass out. Then at least whatever happens everyone will see it.
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