Brick turned the gun over in his hands. The SMG's opalescent shell shone in the faint moonlight that reached them in the armory, and an elemental tech cartridge clipped to the barrel glowed with ghostly green light.
Brick whistled appreciatively. "The Baby Maker."
"What did you call me?" Rocko asked.
"Not you," Brick said with a rumbling chuckle. "The gun. It's a rare Tediore prototype. They shelved it 'cos the construct cost was too high for most folks. But for you an me, well...'s long as we're robbing these assholes, anyway..."
"The Baby Maker," Rocko repeated. "What a ridiculous name."
"You ever notice how when you make a joke, you think it's funny, but other people's stuff 's all ridiculous?"
Rocko shot him a withering look. Brick grinned, tossing the lightweight sub-machine gun from hand to hand. "Just sayin'. Oh, shit-" Brick said. The gun slipped through his fingers and clattered to the floor.
The both held their breath. For a moment, nothing happened, and Brick exhaled; but then the gun exploded into a spray of shrapnel and green goop. Rocko clambered up a row of lockers, out of reach of the corrosive splatter.
The burst husk of the gun digistructed a second projectile- a perfect copy of the first. When the matrix stabilized, it bounced once and exploded, too, prompting Brick to duck behind an overturned table. His shield beeped, reduced to half charge.
"They'll have heard that," Rocko said.
As if in answer, the voices of bandits came from outside, too far for Brick to make out the words, but drawing closer. They'd find them soon. Although the stash's entrance was equipped with an electrical field, Rocko had shot out of the fuse box to get inside.
"At least I got a new gun," Brick said. The digivice module on his wrist was already spinning a phantom web in the air, a grid to reconstruct the Baby Maker. Now that the serial key was in his database, Tediore would, for a price, flash him a new copy whenever he requested one.
"Time to field test," Rocko said, peering around the corner. "Get my back. I'll lead you to the bridge."
Brick followed him out onto the landing. He had a moment to take in his surroundings—the bandit shantytown clinging to the sheer cliffs, a jagged skyline silhouetted by the moon—before a skinny, feral looking bandit leaped out of the darkness.
It screamed something like 'blood sausages!' as it lunged, and Brick slammed a fist into its jaw, sent it plummeting over the platform where they stood. He heard it babble as it fell, down and down, until it was out of earshot; 'It's time for three, four pounds of flesh! Blood sausages for everyone! Equal blood for equal work...'
Brick chuckled.
"Pleased with yourself?" Rocko tsked, tilting his head to urge Brick to follow.
"Come on, that was awesome. You gotta gimme that," Brick said, tailing Rocko, hugging the shadows. The younger man navigated the steep, uneven terrain with the ease of a man familiar with his surroundings. He led Brick to a makeshift bridge—just a few steel pylons with sheet metal laid overtop—and crossed with a dancer's grace.
The whole rig rattled as Brick followed him across. He tried not to look into the abyss below. "This place is nuts."
"You'll get used to it." Rocko said. A coy grin crept across his face, and gave Brick the most spine tingling look from under his dark eyelashes. He risked a moment to wrap his arms around the larger man's waist. "You'll have plenty of time to learn, when you're king."
"Don't count your chickens," Brick said. He spotted a marauder sidling toward them, hidden in the shadows of a ridge, and hurled his submachine gun. It cracked against the stone and illuminated the bandit's wide eyes by a net of glowing, caustic goop. The first explosion wiped out the marauder's shield, and the second smeared him into the ground.
A different bandit crept up from behind and shot Brick in the back, point blank. His energy shield depleted with pop.
He swung around and knocked the gun out of the raider's hand- One- and slammed his other fist into his head- Two- and brought the first fist back around, knocking the raider into Rocko- One- and watched his partner jam a knee hard into his groin. The raider collapsed to his knees.
Rocko grabbed the bandit's mask and ripped it off, revealing the red faced, gasping man underneath. He studied him for a long moment.
"I remember you," he said, after awhile. "You remember me? Bet you wish you hadn't done it, now. Bet you wish you hadn't fucked with me," he mused. The raider wheezed, and Rocko stared down at him with a disinterested, dreamy smile, then raised the muzzle of his revolver to the bandit's head. He squeezed the trigger.
The executed bandit slumped forward. Rocko dug a boot under his chest and flipped him over the edge of the plateau, then stood at the precipice to watch the body tumble into the ravine. Under his breath, so Brick barely heard, he murmured; "Shouldn't have done it..."
Brick shuddered and looked away.
In the distance, searchlights swept the sky in a slow arc. Rocko left the ledge to come up beside Brick. "That's the buzzard factory. The new king will be there."
"How do you know?"
"That's how it works. It's like...the castle."
Brick looked at Rocko, searching his expression. The beams of light reflected in his dark, solemn eyes, and Brick leaned in to surprise him with a peck on the cheek.
"When we own this joint, we don't hafta live there. If it's too hard."
Rocko grinned and pulled him down into a full, titillating kiss on the mouth, one which he broke from too soon.
"Let's go, before more of them spot us," Rocko said, half dragging Brick up the hill. They paused under a platform. Moonlight laid the shadow of a grate across Rocko's face. Shh, he signed with his finger pressed to his lips, and slipped away again, climbing up a pile of discarded parts. Brick barely managed to keep up.
At the top of the platform, he found himself standing at the edge of an expanse of paved concrete, studded by shipping containers and the rusted shells of fuel tanks. A dilapidated warehouse loomed over them. Guards stood around the perimeter of the factory. They looked alert, their guns drawn.
"I don't know if we can slip by," Rocko said.
Brick cracked his knuckles. "Guess we're done sneakin."
"I guess," Rocko said. He sounded unsure, but Brick had already plowed into the open. If Mordecai were here, he would have hollered for Brick to get his fat head out of the way, to stop blocking his shots. But Rocko only followed him onto the field, ducking behind debris to pick his shots from cover.
Brick dispatched guards left and right, swinging his fists (his own left and right) like twin wrecking balls. When he was overwhelmed and his shield began to run out, he tossed off a few loaded Baby Makers. Pillars of nasty smelling green smoke bloomed on the concrete: corrosive clouds that scalded any bandit foolish enough to cross them.
While Brick snapped the neck of a marauder, he sensed someone coming up from behind. He spun around just as he heard the whipcrack of a revolver shot. A hulking bandit collapsed, a hole opened in the back of its head. Rocko stood a few feet away, pistol still raised and smoking.
"Another one bites the dust," Rocko sniffed. "This is fun."
"Right?" Brick grinned.
They made their way to the door, intermittently diving for cover to let their shields recharge and barreling out to slaughter bandits. Rocko started singing. When Brick caught onto the simple, repetitive lyrics, he sung along.
By the time they reached the entrance of the buzzard factory, they were both belting out the words over the static rattle of gunfire.
"Are you happy? Are you satisfied? How long can you stand the heat? Out of the doorway, bullets rip! To the sound out the beat!" Rocko cried.
"Another one bites the dust! An' another one down, another one down, another one bites the dust," Brick bellowed. He grappled with a brute who tried to stop them at the door, punching in time with the tune, then laid him out with a uppercut. "Another one bites the dust!"
They burst through the door. Most of the guards had already left the warehouse to face Brick and Rocko in the shipping yard, but a few remained. The duo dispatched them quickly. Rocko looked to the upper floor, to the throne room, but the current king was nowhere in sight.
"What now?" Brick asked.
"These idiots won't give up until we find the king. We gotta either kill him, or get permission to stay here."
"How's anyone do that?"
Rocko shrugged. "Most don't. Let's check the roof. Maybe he's trying to escape by buzzard."
"Buzzard?" Brick asked as they crossed the cracked concrete to a doorway. Through there, they mounted a stairwell.
"Something Dahl was working on. I was part of the team. They're, uh...You'll see."
Brick grunted. The metal scaffolding clanked under his boots as Rocko led him to across the upper story to another staircase, which they stamped up unhesitatingly. No other bandits accosted them. The palace guard had been exhausted. Still, Rocko whistled their battle anthem as they emerged onto the roof.
At this altitude, they had a panoramic view of Thousand Cuts- the clan's shantytown and the Hyperion Base only a few clicks away, protected from the bandits by a blasted battleground and an electrified fence. Brick and Rocko stood on a tarmac, tarry black asphalt striped by reflective tape that had worn away in places. Brick saw the buzzards at once, a small fleet of some kind of bare-bones, patchy looking aircrafts. They didn't seem very impressive.
"Hey! Get back here, you piece of shit!" Rocko yelled, tearing off across the roof after a gangling youth with tattered jeans and gauges. The punk's floppy mohawk bounced as he sprinted away, kicking up asphalt under his high tops. The back of the kid's leather jacket sported an illustration of a bulldog with pigtails.
"No way, man! Low blow, sneaking in here. What happened to honor among thieves?" The punk was running hard for the buzzards. He reached the nearest one and dove into the seat. After a moment of working the controls, the dual engines roared to life.
But Rocko was close, and closing in fast. He raised his revolver and put two rounds into the cockpit, a square shot, and the kid's shield discharged with a crackle.
"No fair!" the bandit shrilled, slamming on the buzzard's controls. "Gimme a chance-"
He was cut short as Rocko's next bullet found its mark, plunging straight into his eye. He collapsed against the throttle. The buzzard rocked forward, nearly upturning over its nose, and scraped a few feet across the ground.
Rocko caught up and yanked the dead bandit out of the cockpit. He did something with the controls, and the buzzard's engines whined to a stop just as Brick reached them.
"Issat him? The king?" Brick asked, frowning down at the punk.
"Um...I guess so," Rocko said, scanning the blacktop around them. The white landing strips caught the searchlight's glow, stark against the deepening darkness. To Brick, they looked runes for some satanic ritual. He shuddered. His arms had broken into a rash of goosebumps, and he hugged himself.
"Kind of a wimpy little bastard."
"I noticed," Rocko said, prodding the body with his toe. "I don't understand. How did a prick like this keep his position, even if he did manage to kill the last king?"
"Brick? You there?" said a voice over Brick's ECHO.
He almost didn't answer, but he'd left the unit on speaker, and Rocko was looking at him expectantly. "Lil? Whatchu want?"
"Hey. So...I don't like how we left things."
"I liked it fine."
"Please, Brick, don't be this way. I just-"
Whoom- a tremendous explosion drowned out the rest. The buzzard was blown into the air on a pillar of flame, spraying shards of metal and oily blue smoke. The wall of heat knocked Brick back. He spun around, caught Rocko with one meaty arm, and hugged him protectively. He hit the ground on top of the smaller man, shielding him with his body. Heat singed his shirt and blistered his back.
Faintly, over the ringing in his ears, he heard Lilith's voice. "Brick? Are you okay? What was that?"
"I donno..." he grunted, struggling into a sitting position.
An enormous, shadowy figure streaked toward them, a rocket launcher propped on one shoulder. It moved fast, twisting at the narrow hips, almost gliding through the heat haze. It wasn't until the person had nearly reached Brick that he saw the pigtails, and the lipstick smeared around her howling mouth.
"You murdered my Omar! I'll fucking kill you!"
Behind every good king... Brick thought, madly, as the bandit queen closed in on them.