The City Dogs got back to doing black business. Since no one knew about their encounter with the tank commander, all the other marines seemed friendly. But Bricksmasher squad knew the whole truth of it. Even the highly-disciplined could get corrupted. Or was it the Kor Ondrone's radiation? They couldn't tell.
Anyways, on we go, with the storyline:
The 3 Dogs – Carl Jason with the cesar, Li'l Jacob with the dreadlocks, and Rogue Jacob with the afro – were riding freeway bikes on a road that had more bumps than asphalt. If you've ever dared to open a Physics textbook and turned to the chapter on 'waves', you'll know that the road's surface wasn't any different from the diagrams.
The bikes were unique: each had its own attachments.
Rogue Jacob's one was black, decorated with fire stickers. The double exhausts, on both sides, had wider holes than usual. Weird or what, the bike's engine had a glass panel to reveal an internal blaze burning within the bike's bowels. The more the speed, the more the flames and more the light emitted.
Li'l Jacob's one was purple with rainbow stripes. And to dominate over that 'girly' feature, his bike had green neon and disco attachments. The headlight had a skull painted on it that emitted a ghostly shadow in front of the bike's headlamp's range.
Carl Jason's was the craziest. When he pressed a button on the dashboard of his bronze-golden bike, it made a duplicate copy of the bike on the right side of the entire chassis. There was a seat in the middle of the 'bridge' between both the bikes, made by interweaved parts from both bikes. If he sat on the seat and gripped a handlebar of either of the bikes (one original, one cloned), it would transform into a Mercedes-Benz sportscar. But right now, he was driving it in its standard 'bike' form.
Li'l Jacob tried to drive one-handedly, while he popped open a metalcap of Pepsi. He just managed a sip before his fingers began to slip. "Hey!" he grasped the bottle tightly and drained its contents. The carbonated beverage brought him back to his spirits. When not a drop of the drink was left, he threw it at a roadside dumpster. But it hit a Marine on the head instead.
"Whoops! Sorry!" LJ grabbed both handlebars tightly and strained to catch up with the two blurs ahead. CJ and RJ were accelerating at such a rate that all nearby automated speed guns crashed as their displays read "999.99 mph".
And then, the deceleration took place. Up the road ahead, there was a blockade, flanked by zombie cops.
Carl Jason and Rogue Jacob opened parachutes and let go of their (stolen) cool bikes. The freeway bikes quickly switched from being 'cool' to totally 'uncool' as they crashed against concrete and became nano A-bombs.
The concrete blocks sailed in all directions, digging into buildings, roadside hotdog vendors, props and parked cars.
Li'l Jacob got off his bike, safely, after slamming full on the brakes. The wheels skidded to a halt and he unmounted. But more zombies appeared from the shadows. He took out a Saiga 12K, loaded a round, and let it go on a zombie, 30 yards away. He loaded another round and fired it at another one, 60 yards away. Both zombies were headless and wobbled around for a few moments before colliding to the ground.
"Heh, heh!" Li'l Jacob held the gun with his right hand and hefted it on his shoulder. "C'mon quick, you guys! We've got plenty o' mean streets to clear tonight!"
One thing was true: the City Dogs were born experts at killing zombies. They practiced it at home by chopping onions and veggies, squirting sauce onto the chopped pieces, throwing spices at the mixture, and burning them over a hot flame in a pot. They called this method – cooking.
CJ and RJ were far behind now, straining to catch up on foot.
LJ reloaded his shotgun and looked to the west. Just a block away, Queens Village was glistening with nocturnal lights. It was quite strange. Although all the citizens of New York and surrounding states had taken shelter in the 'subterranean quarantine zone' (SQZ), the buildings came alive with their own lights at night. And surprisingly turned them off during broad daylight.
And then he heard it – a distant crossfire which cracked like light thunder (similar to old-fashioned war tapes). Gunfire, in NYC. Somewhere close by, a loud growl filled the air.
Li'l Jacob gulped and crouched down with his hands securing the weapon, and his eyes aiming down the scope. A sweat drop dripped and splashed on the ground. The path ahead was shadowed by three tall buildings. The street lamps had been broken. No light.
He just caught sight of a brutal-looking howler pouncing on him when a heavy Sand King OL monster truck skidded to a halt, on top of it. The Sand King reversed a bit, to reveal a sticky pulp lying at the position where the howler (haoler) should've been.
The truck's door opened and a bulky figure, holding a M32, stepped out. He had the looks of a criminal, with grey streaks in his hair and beard. He aimed the M32 at LJ, and opened its barrel, attached a chain of 14 dozen bullets to the barrel, rolled the barrel, clicked a lock, pulled a hook-like lever, and closed the semi-circular cover of the barrel.
"Who are you? What do you want?" LJ found his hands trembling at the sight of the hulking giant.
The giant grinned and pulled the trigger.
On instinct, LJ backflipped and shot the attacker at the arm. There was a spray of blood and the giant guy bellowed in pain. He dropped the M32 and held up his arms in surrender as Li'l Jacob turned on the flashlight attachment on his Saiga 12K.
"Ow, hey! Steady, bro. Steady, steady!" the man tried to calm him down. "I'm Dorritor Kho. Have any idea who I am?"
"Oh, sure, I do! I need to decide on how to cleave all that fat from your body.:
"Okay… so there's no need to be so aggressive."
"Me, aggressive? It was you who aimed that MGL at me! And by the way, you've got the looks of a criminal, you got that?"
Dorritor snickered.
"What? Did I say somethin' funny?" LJ fired shots at the sky to catch his attention.
"Oh, um… I AM A CRIMINAL!"
"I should have known!" Li'l Jacob threw the Saiga at Dorritor's face and charged at him with a blade in hand. "Die now, suffer later! Whaaaah!"
But DK was also an expert. He twisted his head around, 180⁰, and dodged the shotgun which cluttered down next to the M32. He unholstered a Golden Eagle pistol from a hidden pocket and paid the City Dogs member back his debts.
"It's time for payback, chum."
***
"So you're here for joining us, huh?" the major talked over the munching of roast tuna. The ship's cafeteria was a crowded place. "Where are you of to, chap?"
Demonstar sipped from a soda can before replying. It tasted murky.
"I should say, I just need one of your jets. I'm gonna fly myself to the top of that thing and try to get a closer look."
"And then what? Get yourself toasted? Do you know how much heat that 'Dark Cloud' radiates?"
"Oh sure I do! Why don't you just call it by its proper name? It's called the Kor Ondrone."
The major became suspicious.
"Hmm… how come you know so much about those damnable structures? Perhaps you're one of those aliens in disguise!" he raised a Golden Eagle handgun but Brother Black knocked it out of his hand.
"Die, you pile of old bones!" D.star snatched the Golden Eagle and shot the major in the forehead. The bullet gauged a hole above his eyebrows and pierced through his cerebrum. The old wretch staggered and called his guards. But it was too late. Victory went to Demonstar Black's side.
However, he had just made some new enemies. Everyone unholstered their weapons and one of the chefs had an AUG.
"Holy –" Demonstar flipped the table and used it as cover. There were more than thirty SEALs in there. How could he be so stupid?
He used the Golden Eagle to gun down the chefs and caterers. But it ran out of ammo before he could start attacking the rest. He rummaged beneath his coat an found what he needed.
"Ghaaaaah!" Demonstar Black roared as he unleashed the terror inside him, with a MPsk SMG. "Die, die, die! I'm on nobody's side!"
He wasn't aiming for the SEALs. He just suppressed his attacks so that he could step back, bit by bit, and make for the door.
He stopped shooting and rushed through the corridor, up the stairs, through another corridor, up another set of stairs, and up a ladder to reach the aircraft runway. Instead of hangars, all the planes were kept beneath the open air. The moonlight (waning crescent) shone off the ripples in the sea water.
He quickly climbed aboard a Phoenix-9 experimental prototype and checked both wings. Good condition. He tested the cannons, and heard an alarm blaring from the bridge of the ship. Cannons check. He could hear the hubbub of many other pilots coming up the ladder now.
He turned on the engine and tested the thrusters. Affirmative. The pilots were just about to grab a hold of Demonstar's plane's dorsal wing when the Phoenix-9 rocketed forwards.
The runway quickly slipped from beneath the wheels, which gave the signal that the aircraft was air-borne now.
D.star pressed a button and the wheels folded in. The thrusters were fully operational. But he was going in the wrong direction.
He turned the entire plane, from nose to tail, in a wide arc upwards. Then he flipped it from left to right by 180⁰ to bring it back to normal position.
When he passed over the aircraft carrier again, the SAM sites opened fire.
The Phoenix-9's proximity sensors detected the SAM missiles and started beeping. At first, the beeps had long delays. But as the missiles reached closer, the beeps became more rapid and intense.
"Oh, I'm so stupid!" Demonstar jabbed his index finger into a button and the counterarms were released from the tail-end. "Phew! That was a reeeeaally close one!"
But the trouble wasn't over yet. Some marines on the ship got their Stingers out and shot.
Demonstar tried changing his direction but those projectiles just homed in. No time for countermeasures – they were still being reloaded; he tilted the Phoenix-9 to the left and turned north. The first missile had been ticked off. But the other one hit the left wing.
"Oh, shi—"
The dashboard started wailing, beeping and was uncontrollable. He was about to collide with an incoming F-15 when he regained control of the jet, and turned right, facing the south-east.
Bits of metal blew away as the left wing continued burning. The turbulence made it hard, to keep the balance steady. Demonstar only had one go at this. He opened the cockpit and stood on the plane's hull.
The wing tugged at his clothes and shortened his eyesight.
"For the love of money!" he jumped from the plane, hoping to grab hold of the Kor Ondrone.