nose. She dropped with a grunt and a splatter of blood, and Franco was out the door, wearing just his big white Asda underpants. The two guards stood, wearing leather armour, their Steyr laser cannons pointing at the ground, their mouths slowly dropping open as they saw the frantic ginger squaddie emerge like a tsunami, Sourballs's blood gleaming on his knuckles. Before they could even shift , Franco was on them. He kicked one in the crotch, thumped the second in the helmet, side-kicked the first in the head, and slammed both fists on top of the second guard's head. They both dropped, howling, and Franco stooped, hefting the two laser cannons thoughtfully. Despite being an occasional drunkard and, to superficial glances, an aimless, useless pile of shit, Franco was stunningly proficient with explosives, closely followed by his knowledge of armaments. He might look like a stocky pugilist with a bad haircut and a love of pies, but he was a damn sight more dangerous than he first appeared, which usually led to gross underestimation on the part of his enemies. Which was just fine, by Franco's twisted logic.
His eyes scanned the laser cannons. He made a few minor tweaks to dials. They whined as he eked out 25% more power, and he grinned, showing his missing tooth - or tuff, as he liked to call it. "Right, baby," he said. "Time to escape."
Clanking and whining, the old clattering org emerged from her cell, and Franco whirled, both cannons levelled at the cell doorway which had, until a few moments ago, been his pit of incarceration. The old org staggered out, leaking a puddle of hot oil like brown piss, and she grinned at him with metal teeth as her shoulder cannons waved around manically but uselessly.
"You'll never find your way out without me," she croaked.
"I get the feeling you'll be more of a hindrance," muttered Franco, eyeing her with suspicious, beady eyes.
"No, I know the prison, Nechudnazzar, and indeed the whole of Clone Terra like the back of my cyborg hand appendage. I used to work spy missions for The Org States, running shit out of Outpost 9 and Zeg. Trust me, I am your best chance of escape."
"Bets?"
"I promise not to molest you."
Franco sighed. "Okay." He pointed a laser cannon between her eyes. "But don't get any frisky ideas, reet? The last thing I need in a firefight is the hand of an ancient metal crone on my arse cheek."
"Really?" muttered the org, as Franco padded forward down a steel corridor. "I find it helps immensely."
Behind, Theresa Sourballs, Governor of the Nechudnazzar Correctional and Reintegration Facility, staggered to the door, her face coated in a slick of blood, eyes wild beneath her frizzy bobbing mop. On the ground, the two guards - sans weapons - were groaning and gradually reintegrating into a world of consciousness. One thing could be said for Franco Haggis; he had a right hook like a hydraulic piston.
"You two!"
"Yes, ma'am?" they groaned, staggering to their feet. Their helmets were dented. Their faces were bruised. They winced and minced, and looked suddenly extremely unhappy to be part of the Nechudnazzar Correctional and Reintegration Facility.
"Get after him! Capture him! Shoot off his legs! But do not kill him... "
"Yes, ma'am," they grumbled miserably, and, bearing nothing but truncheons, set off in the kind of weary jog which illustrated more clearly than neon lights that they really did not want to catch up with their "prey."
Sourballs pulled out a PAD. She hit a button.
Throughout the Nechudnazzar Correctional and Reintegration Facility, alarms screeched, red stroboscopic lights flickered, and certain heavily barred doors dropped and locked in place. She gave a narrow, blood-slick smile. "Let's see you get out of this, you little maggot," she snarled through spittle and blood.
Franco jogged, and the old org clanked after him, her metal feet occasionally leaving imprints in the alloyconcrete floor. Franco stopped at a junction, just as the alarms sounded and
His eyes scanned the laser cannons. He made a few minor tweaks to dials. They whined as he eked out 25% more power, and he grinned, showing his missing tooth - or tuff, as he liked to call it. "Right, baby," he said. "Time to escape."
Clanking and whining, the old clattering org emerged from her cell, and Franco whirled, both cannons levelled at the cell doorway which had, until a few moments ago, been his pit of incarceration. The old org staggered out, leaking a puddle of hot oil like brown piss, and she grinned at him with metal teeth as her shoulder cannons waved around manically but uselessly.
"You'll never find your way out without me," she croaked.
"I get the feeling you'll be more of a hindrance," muttered Franco, eyeing her with suspicious, beady eyes.
"No, I know the prison, Nechudnazzar, and indeed the whole of Clone Terra like the back of my cyborg hand appendage. I used to work spy missions for The Org States, running shit out of Outpost 9 and Zeg. Trust me, I am your best chance of escape."
"Bets?"
"I promise not to molest you."
Franco sighed. "Okay." He pointed a laser cannon between her eyes. "But don't get any frisky ideas, reet? The last thing I need in a firefight is the hand of an ancient metal crone on my arse cheek."
"Really?" muttered the org, as Franco padded forward down a steel corridor. "I find it helps immensely."
Behind, Theresa Sourballs, Governor of the Nechudnazzar Correctional and Reintegration Facility, staggered to the door, her face coated in a slick of blood, eyes wild beneath her frizzy bobbing mop. On the ground, the two guards - sans weapons - were groaning and gradually reintegrating into a world of consciousness. One thing could be said for Franco Haggis; he had a right hook like a hydraulic piston.
"You two!"
"Yes, ma'am?" they groaned, staggering to their feet. Their helmets were dented. Their faces were bruised. They winced and minced, and looked suddenly extremely unhappy to be part of the Nechudnazzar Correctional and Reintegration Facility.
"Get after him! Capture him! Shoot off his legs! But do not kill him... "
"Yes, ma'am," they grumbled miserably, and, bearing nothing but truncheons, set off in the kind of weary jog which illustrated more clearly than neon lights that they really did not want to catch up with their "prey."
Sourballs pulled out a PAD. She hit a button.
Throughout the Nechudnazzar Correctional and Reintegration Facility, alarms screeched, red stroboscopic lights flickered, and certain heavily barred doors dropped and locked in place. She gave a narrow, blood-slick smile. "Let's see you get out of this, you little maggot," she snarled through spittle and blood.
Franco jogged, and the old org clanked after him, her metal feet occasionally leaving imprints in the alloyconcrete floor. Franco stopped at a junction, just as the alarms sounded and
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