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Thermo Man

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Thermo Man last won the day on June 21

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  1. Steve’s air conditioner science experiment exploded with a huge bang, and then he ran off to go fight any guards that might’ve survived. I was leaning up against the side of the helicopter with both hands, having a staredown with the edge of the door where the locking mechanism probably hooked in. I was also standing on one foot, so I probably looked kind of ridiculous, but at least lasering the edge of the door with my helmet seemed to be working - the edge was getting all melty, and I’d heard a couple clatters as pieces inside got lasered off of where they were mounted and fell down int
  2. When Nick explained how to do the jump, I knew it was gonna be scary as hell, especially the jumping part, but I figured once I was out of the helicopter I’d just go downward, maybe in that flying squirrel pose that skydiving guys do, and then pull the cord and the parachute would go FWOOM and everything would be fine until I got to the landing, when things would actually get difficult. Instead, it was like if I was the last almond in the can when my sister X would get pissed off that I’d left a mostly-empty nut can in the cupboard and violently shake it up like that would shake th
  3. "Sky 1 to Ground 1, be advised we have a complication,” Nick said over the radio. “There's an aircraft already on the pad. Steve and Book are going to attempt an aerial insertion." “We are?” I half-whispered to Steve. The helicopter lurched sideways in the storm, again, and I tried not to lose my cookies. The smell of Steve’s “Alcohol Drink” really wasn’t helping. “Yeah, it’s gonna be awesome!” Steve said and clapped me on the back. My stomach did another flip. “All you have to do is focus on the Target, and pull on the wires to steer if you’re about to smash into somet
  4. I shuffled down the hotel hallway, carefully carrying twelve of those bathroom sink water glasses in my arms, along with a pillow case with my Thermo Man helmet inside. Steve had really, really wanted real cups instead of the disposable kind at the breakfast bar, and I had no idea where to find those before the meeting started, and he said, “just grab the mouthwash glasses after people check out!” So I’d tried a bunch of doors and snuck into a few rooms that people had checked out of and only got screamed at in rooms that still had people in them twice. No one recognized me though,
  5. Steve kept going back to the bar for more Suicide Sodas, which was impressive but also kind of worrying. He’d asked for “the best Alcohol Drink this place has got”, and I sorta took a guess that he might have the same drink preferences as Bald Chuckie, since his fashion sense was sort of similar. Luckily that worked out alright, and also luckily he was a way nicer drunk than Chuckie was. Running all over the bar to chat with an invisible clown was pretty weird, but it seemed to make Steve happy, so I didn’t really mind. I could swear I kept seeing this one really tall bus boy sudde
  6. Some loud jazz-type music started playing really abruptly, and my hand slipped and triggered the digital “deer trap” too soon. The guillotine-like blade fell, and the deer bounded away into the pixelated bushes. “Come ooooon, you could’ve got him!” Steve shouted from behind me. I was all out of traps, so I switched to the gun. “One sec,” I said. I waited for a deer’s head to poke out from behind the tree. I held down the trigger, and hoped that one of the game’s erratically-aimed bullets would strike. Most flew wide, causing poorly-animated tree bark to go flying, but o
  7. The person who’d designed the Dragon didn’t expect to ever have to repair one themselves. If they had, they would have put maintenance access to the mech’s reactor someplace easy to get to, instead of making it a floor hatch right under the pilot’s stinky-ass feet. So I dropped down in, and dodged good enough that Steve’s feet only whacked me in the head a few times, and then got a faceful of neon green antifreeze sprayed all over me. That explained the MECH DESTRUCTION IN 2 MINUTES stuff - a core breach wouldn’t have wrecked the mech, but an overheat could cause some pretty good
  8. Riding with the guy who’s mech I’d trashed was awkward. Really awkward. Half the stuff wrong with it was already like that even before I’d tried to steal it, but he still seemed plenty mad about the other half. There was no good way to reattach the cockpit canopy, which meant there was really nothing in the way of Steve throwing me out if he decided to - and it was a long way down to the ground. So I tried to be a good passenger. So far, it wasn’t going well. I’d tried to build rapport by acting enthusiastic about the pilot’s music, and that totally backfired when he discovered I’d busted his
  9. I accidentally bit the controller as I hit the ground, triggering the helmet’s LED light show again. The guy who’d just jumped me didn’t seem to notice. “You and I need to have a conversation, buddy!” the guy said. One arm was pinned under me, and I didn’t have enough leverage with the other one to get up or throw the guy off. “Yeah… sure,” I mumbled, and then spat out the controller. “Whatever you say.” “I’m going to let you up, and then you’re going to take off the laser helmet. Understood?” “Yeah,” I said. So much for keeping my identity secre
  10. I kept running. The massive, thunderous footsteps behind me got bigger and closer and I could feel the ground shaking under me even though I was running as fast as I could. I glanced behind me, just for a second, and my foot must have snagged on a rock or something because next thing I knew I went skidding onto my front through the dirt and the mech’s THUD THUD kept getting closer. I tried to catch my breath and tried to get up while a massive mechanical foot descended, covering me with it’s shadow. I closed my eyes, bracing to be squished. The foot thumped down next to me. I
  11. There was a massive crash that felt like what I thought being in a semi truck that got hit by another semi truck must feel like, and then my sense of direction got completely wrecked. The mech felt like it was tumbling wildly down a hill, which shouldn’t be possible since we were already at pretty much the lowest point in the canyon. My vision was getting kind of blurry, but I was pretty sure I saw water through the cockpit glass. I kept messing with the control levers for the mech’s arms and legs, like I was trying to guess a secret combo in a video game or something, and I couldn’t even tell
  12. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. Still felt just as sick to my stomach as a minute ago, but there was nothing left to keep down, now. Dead guys and sewage and an unconfigured neuro helmet making the mech feel like a mechanical bull ride was just too much. I’d missed some kind of radio message, too. I frantically checked the control panels for a mic, and found a bunch of mystery toggles, some fancier versions of displays I recognized from the Flea and some that it didn’t even have, and a button that played ancient rock music over top of the screaming metal music, but no mic - and no w
  13. I gagged at the smell, even with my helmet still on. This mech had a stereo system, which was blasting fast music with drums, electronic noises and screaming. There was blood splattered on the windshield, and on the floor, and I really hoped it wasn’t human but it probably was. The walls had intimidating-looking lettering on them in a language I couldn’t read. It was like this mech was owned by a cultist or something. Most of the floor was coated in brown ooze, which pooled at the far end of the cockpit by the window where the mech’s crouched position sloped the floor down. The pla
  14. I slumped down in the tiny patch of shade at the base of a boulder, and held my jacket over my head to keep the sun off. I’d gave up on wearing the helmet and clipped it on my belt instead a ways back - ironically, it was too hot out here for the Thermo Man getup. The Nickles Boys lost, and I knew better than to try making off with one of their mechs - I’d seen what Benny lost cheating one of them at cards, and that was just cards, a hand for a hand. So I’d followed behind the other mechs, a long ways behind since their legs were a good bit longer than mine. Luckily, so were their
  15. The thunderous booms down in the canyon varied in pitch and strength, as though they came from several different weapons. The timing was irregular, too - this wasn't an artillery drill. As I got closer to the conflict, I could feel vibrations through the soles of my sneakers that followed a plodding beat like Slow, heavy footsteps. That meant mechs. Getting to the mechs was slow going. I got Bob's crappy sedan stuck in a ditch just off some barely-paved access road in the woods three days ago. Lay low, I'd thought. Take a vehicle Bald Chuckie's guys won't recognize, and hide out for a co
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