#so many squip mechanics i want to explore

[woah-uhuh-uhuh-uhuh]

rich dump

[catchwolfzie]

Pretense | Be More Chill story | chap 1

“HEY! HEY!” “Panel’s down, all Combats to Section Thirteen!” “There’s been an attack! The whole wing’s on fire!” “It’s Mell again. Surveillance spotted him exiting the building.” “CAN WE GET A MEDSQUIP TO THIRTEEN!” Hot, angry flames pushed out from the side of the Corporation’s main science building, a torrent of orange combusted into neon yellow peppered with dark ash. It swept out like a wave, exploring every corridor and gutting the tower completely as CombatSQUIPS in black body armour scampered around. Smoke obscured the lone figure standing on a balcony opposite the building. His old hoodie that once was a vibrant red now clung to his body in splotches of brown and black. Tattered patches were sown into his sleeve and chest; most of them were as weathered as the rest of the hoodie, but one was cleaner. Newer. It was a modest, red circle with the embroidered word: Rejects. “Bastards,” Michael whispered. He fished a pair of old earbuds from his pocket along with a battered phone. Every good escape needed a sick-as-hell soundtrack. The bass dropped in his ears, he took off down the fire escape, and shot through the crowded streets of the working sector. His stunt had drawn a lot of attention; a sea of business suits and briefcases stood gawking at the explosions. All the better for the reigning leader of the Rejects, who now just narrowly missed being hit by a car. Instead he rolled over the hood and landed expertly on the concrete, still gunning it. As he ran, he looked for his spotter. Back before the Corporation had seized power, back when squipped people were the minority, you couldn’t tell just by looking who had one and who didn’t. But the Gen4 SQUIPS that came out later caused anyone hosting the technology to have glowing, electric blue eyes. Those eyes surrounded him now, as people began to recognize him. “It’s Mell! Quick!” “Someone call the Combats!” “He’s heading for the gates!” He dodged a woman’s purse. Jumped a manhole. A harsh zap came from somewhere behind him. Michael chanced a look and saw four CombatSQUIPS rushing towards him. Their faces were almost entirely covered by heavy plating, but their eyes shone from a narrow slit. The sight carried him faster. Head down, shoulders back, making sure his feet never touched the ground for more than a second. They kept shooting their blasters. Bolts of blue electricity singed his clothes. Come on. Come on! Where was- Wait. There! Michael hit a hard left, aiming for the open back half of what looked like an ordinary shipping truck. He leaped, just as the engine roared to life. Michael dove behind boxes of what should have been filled with SQUIPs, but had been emptied of those and refilled with low-voltage weapons. He grabbed a slingshot and the energy pellets that went with it. He got four shots off before the truck rounded a corner. Two of the Combats went down. Good enough. He reached out and slammed the doors closed and slumped down in exhaustion. “Did it work?” a loud voice asked him from the driver’s seat. It was Christine. “Yeah. They’ll be busy rebuilding Thirteen for months, at least. SQUIP production’s gonna be down for a long time.” “That’s...t-that’s great. The others are gonna be thrilled.” “I think we have a real chance, you know. The last few hits went off perfectly. And the surgeries are going well too-” “Everyone we've tried it on has died.” “But Ty said he was making progress. He thinks he's getting closer to a breakthrough. I mean, think about it!” he sat up excitedly, still facing the doors, “We might be able to save everyone!” “But how many more people are we going to use before then? How many innocent human beings are you going to let die?” Michael fell silent for a minute. He looked down at his hands and slouched, like a child pouting. He had justified this a million times to himself, but the words that felt so convincing in his head were never quite so strong outside of it. Finally he said, “As many as it takes.” The mood sharpened. He figured Christine would drop it, but instead she pressed on. Her tone was odd actually, a step above her usual restlessness, now more akin to nervousness. “Look I agree with you that we have to do something but maybe you wouldn't be so reckless if it wasn't for, well, you know.” At that Michael froze. He still hadn't turned around, and now he curled in on himself slightly. How dare she? How dare she be right? Because she was, wasn't she? Would he really be pushing human experimentation, all these bombings, if it wasn't for…. For him. He hissed and began to turn, asking “Hey Group Fifteen was supposed to grab another truck for us today. That go alright?” But he sucked in a breath, choking on his words. Christine was in the driver's seat, as usual, facing the road with her hands white around the wheel. Someone else was in the passenger seat, arm extended and holding a blaster up to her temple. It appeared to be a man, all dressed in black, and when he turned to stare back at Michael his glowing blue eyes were visible through the slit in his mask. “What the f-” “Don’t move,” said the Combat, pushing the tip of his blaster further into Christine’s hair. He turned back to her and said, “keep driving. Make a left here.” “What is this? Where are we going?” Michael growled, but stayed frozen. His slingshot was just next to him, but he knew that any move he made would cost Christine her life. A mixture of anxiety and anger swirled together in his stomach, threatening to explode out of him. His mind almost seemed to launch itself away from the situation, rejecting it for imaginary scenarios taking place just minutes before. Maybe if he’d turned around earlier. Been smarter. Paid more attention. Maybe if he hadn’t put down his weapon he could’ve been fast enough to take out the Combat before Christine’s brain decorated the window. Maybe maybe maybe. But that time had passed and Michael would have to deal with this here and now. “Answer me coward! Where are we going?” The Combat spoke, never taking his eyes, or his blaster, off of Christine. “You are to be brought in for questioning and rehabilitation.” “On what grounds?” A drawn out hiss came from the Combat, annoyed. “You Michael Mell are under arrest by the Corporation for assembly and leadership of unauthorized party, treason, theft, and abduction and murder of several operatives.” “I haven’t killed anyone,” Michael said lightly, like he wasn’t the Corporation’s (and therefore the state’s) most wanted enemy. It was a stupid tacic, and not really a tactic at all. Just a defense mechanism. But it was something. “Those people were dead the moment your SQUIP buddies were forced into their heads.” He saw Christine tense up, but went on anyway. “Just like that body of yours. It’s just a shell. That’s what people are to all of you, interchangeable. You can’t murder a corpse.” He had hoped his words might have some distracting affect, hoped he could force an opportunity. Instead the Combat turned to him, and his eyes crinkled up in amusement. Michael heard the smile in his voice. “You wouldn’t be doing all this if you truly believed that.” The rest of the ride passed in silence. Christine drove the truck dutifully, whether her hands were shaking from fear or anger was indiscernible. They exited the work sector, passed through the commons, and turned into a stretch of squat grey buildings that was unfamiliar. Michael stayed still in his position the entire time, so that by the time they stopped before one of the buildings his legs were completely numb and his shoulders were screaming. “Alright everyone out,” the Combat growled in an exasperated tone. His gun arm shook and buckled with relief as he finally lowered it. With the other arm he reached over Christine and unlocked her door. Then he shoved her out. Michael heard her land with a painful thump, and a moment later she had opened the doors to the back. The Combat exited and came around to where Michael was shuffling out of the truck. He grabbed him and pulled him out instead. Michael fell onto his face, legs still asleep, and groaned. He attempted to push himself up and felt a boot on his back, slamming him down again. Then the Combat hoisted him up and pushed him in front. “Walk.” Christine was being held beneath his armpit, gun pointed at her head once again. “Walk Mell!” Michael walked. He walked and while he walked he shoved his hands into the pocket on the front of his hoodie. The cold metal of the slingshot was reassuring. He breathed slowly. Perhaps it wasn’t such a tragedy that he had been captured. After all, maybe he could learn something that the Rejects could use. He just had to stay calm. He just- “CombatSQUIP Two Hundred and Seventy Three,” Two other Combats were stationed outside of a building with a set of black double doors. The Combat escorting Michael and Christine nodded at the acknowledgement, then once again shoved Michael forward. “I captured Mell outside the Corporation building. You’ve heard of the recent attack.” “Affirmative.” “Corp orders say he’s due for rehabilitation in Med six.” He gestured to Christine next, “I’m taking her to be resynchronized.” “NO!” For the first time since the brief conversation in the truck, Christine spoke, or rather, screamed. She squirmed out of the Combat’s grasp, flinging out her arms and just happening to knock away the blaster. It clattered uselessly onto the ground. And about three seconds later, CombatSQUIP One Hundred and Five also clattered uselessly onto the ground. His partner startled, looking between him and Michael, who was wielding his slingshot. Christine dropped to her knees, grabbed the fallen blaster, pointed it at Combat Two Hundred and Seventy Three. Back to back, Michael and Christine stood, aiming their weapons at the two remaining Combats. One was unarmed. But the one still at the door was equipped with his own blaster, and he was aiming it right back at Michael. “Stand down kid.” Michael released the string. Balls of energy shot forward and struck the Combat’s chest, wrapping around him instantly with a loud hiss. He dropped his blaster as his body convulsed, and fell in a crumpled heap, still seizing. And then there was one. Christine fired. Their original escort went down. It was quiet, and they were safe. For a moment, the two stood there, breathing hard. Michael broke out of his daze first, slamming a shoulder through the black doors and yanking Christine inside with him. There he faced her, she seemed fine, then looked around. They were in the entrance of a long, wide hallway, lined with doors on either side. For now, no one was coming, but that would not stay true forever. Michael racked his brain. The solution was easy. All they needed to do was get back to the truck. They could drive out before anyone noticed. But there was another option too, and this one was a mad and stupid idea, but more tantalizing. “I want to look around,” Michael whispered. “Are you crazy?” “This is new ground! We didn’t even know this was here! What if we find something important?” “What do you think you’re gonna find here Michael?” “I...I don’t know! But I know that if we leave now, we’re never gonna see this place again.” “I remember how we got here. We should leave, come back later with more groups.” “The Combat said there was a rehabilitation room, right here.” “So what?” Christine raised her voice, throwing up her hands. “There are hundreds of them at the main Corporation building!” “But we haven’t been able to get into them. It’s been two years and all we’ve done is set off a few bombs! This is as close as we’ve ever been.” “Okay so we can come back later!” ZzzzzzzzzaaaAAAPPP! The blue blast missed Michael by centimeters. He whirled around, fumbling with his slingshot, and saw a dark mass of Combats rushing through the hall. “Stay back!” he screamed. “Mi...Mi...Mich...ael, Micha…” Michael looked over his shoulder. A gasp pushed out from his throat. Christine was on the ground on her back, ropes of blue light crisscrossing over her chest and face. Her eyes were wide open, pupils dilated with so much pain. A soft stream of foam dribbled down her chin while her body tossed and turned of its own accord, like she was possessed. “Christ-” he tried to speak her name. But in that second something slammed into his back, not unlike the feeling of being struck with a dodgeball, only the dull impact exploded into searing agony that ate away at his skin, his hair, his clothes, his eyes. He didn’t register falling to the ground. And all he could see was blue light, until he finally lost consciousness.