LotS/The Story/The Prince & The Pixels/Alleyways of Minor Annoyance
Alleyways of Minor Annoyance
"Where the hell's my axe?" Ragnar demanded.
Talia smiled at her omnicidal friend's holographic image.
"Your weapon has been located, sir," came a training bot's emotionless voice.
The screen panned away from the Niflung and centered on the robot. The axe was buried in its chest.
More of Telemachus' home movies, recorded during some of their training sessions. When Talia came across the holo-vids, she knew she had to play them for the sleeping prince. If the others couldn't be here, it was the next best thing.
"Give me that!" the recorded Ragnar roared.
He stepped into the frame, grabbed the weapon's shaft, and pulled it free -- straight upwards, cleaving through the training bot's head.
The gunslinger looked over at Telemachus. She was almost certain that the corners of his mouth twitched.
"I need to speak to the mayor!" Telemachus said.
"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked. She didn't even look at him. She was busy admiring her 16-bit beauty in a hand mirror.
"No, but it's important!"
"I'm sorry, but the mayor's in a meeting with the press. You'll have to wait."
Telemachus glanced through the glass door. The mayor was sitting at his desk. He was bare-chested, just like in his street fighting days -- displaying his huge muscles. The men in suits who sat opposite him looked like children compared to his powerful bulk.
"Mr. Mayor, isn't it true that crime figures are through the roof?"
"Doesn't officially changing the city's name to Murder City send the wrong signal?"
"What about rumors that you've been killing criminals without trial, and leaving their bodies lying around to boost the recorded murder rate and thus justify your vigilante killing sprees?"
The mayor glowered before the bombardment of journalistic inquiry.
"You should duck, kid," the receptionist said, as she slipped under her desk.
"How come?" Telemachus asked.
"Because when the mayor gets mad..."
There was a crash of breaking glass. Telemachus dropped to the ground. He was just in time.
A volley of airborne newsmen hurtled through the space where he'd been standing. Most hit the floor and sprawled there. A few hit it hard enough to roll for several more paces. One unfortunate journalist, who perhaps regretted his lack of mass, actually made it all the way across the room and smashed through the window. From the subsequent crunch, someone parked below would share his displeasure when they returned to their vehicle.
"Who's next?" the mayor roared from the shattered doorway.
"This kid is," the receptionist said, as she clambered out from beneath the desk.
"Come on then." He turned and stomped back into his office.
Telemachus scrambled to his feet and followed. The mayor stared at the boy from across his desk.
"If you're looking to buy drugs, kid, you've come to the wrong place. That was the last mayor. And now he sleeps with the fishes. And the lions. And the hippos. And the giraffes. He died at the zoo, and bits of him went everywhere. That's what happens if you run negative ads about Ragnar Ragnarsson."
"I found out that Colonel Ironside's going to-"
The phone on the desk rang.
"Hang on, kid." The mayor pressed the speakerphone button. "This is Mayor Ragnar."
"Ah, Mayor Ragnar," came the deep, gruff voice. "The man who's too good to do business with us."
"Ironside!"
"That's right. I'm here to make you another offer."
"If it isn't your head on a plate, I don't want to hear it!"
"Oh, you'll want to hear this. We have Jess."
"What!?!"
"If you ever want to see her again, you'd better stop killing our boys. That's bad for business! Well, not for our line of funeral homes. But it's bad for all our other businesses -- the ones dead guys can't help with! So stop doing it!"
There was a click. Then the line went dead.
Ragnar growled.
"I'm too late!" Telemachus said. "He's already got your daughter."
"What're you babbling about, kid?" The mayor glared at him.
"Jess..."
"Jess isn't my daughter! She's my axe!"
"Oh..." Telemachus exhaled. "Well, that's okay then. You can always get a new axe, and-"
"Get a new axe? Get. A. New. Axe?" Ragnar stood up. "A new axe?"
He grabbed hold of the big rosewood desk and lifted it above his head as though it were cardboard.
"Get a new axe?"
The mayor roared. Then he hurled the desk. It crashed through the remains of his glass door, flew across the reception area, and smashed into an unlucky journalist who'd just made it to his feet.
"Do you know how many people me and Jess have killed? She's my axe, and I'm getting her back!"
Ragnar strode towards the wall, extended his arms on either side of his body, fists clenched, and span around. The wall crumbled before his sweeping, spinning limbs, sending chunks of masonry into the street beyond.
"Use the door, Mr. Mayor!" the receptionist yelled.
"There isn't time for doors!" the mayor roared.
He jumped through the hole and charged off down the street. Telemachus leapt through and ran after him.
When the boy caught up to Ragnar, he found him standing next to a small heap of corpses, a terrified teenager in his grasp. There were spray-paint cans scattered on the ground at their feet, and a layer of fresh, glistening graffiti on the nearby building. It was a mural of Colonel Ironside.
"You punks work for him! Where is he?" Ragnar shook him, making his limbs dance like a marionette's. "Tell me!"
"We... We... We..."
The mayor stopped shaking him. The graffiti artist took a deep breath and recovered the power of speech.
"We're just taggers! His gang pays us for it! We've never met Ironside! He's the big boss, and we're just trash, man!"
"Who do you know in the gang? You must know someone!"
"We... We get our orders from Chem Rautha. We meet him in the abandoned apartment building on 32nd!"
Ragnar grunted. Then he slammed the punk's head into the wall. Blood and brains added their colors to the mural. Whether it was an improvement or not was a matter of opinion.
The mayor turned to Telemachus.
"What're you doing here?"
"I want to help!"
Ragnar glared at him for a long moment.
"You're the kid who saved the president, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"Fine. You can tag along. But don't get in my way. I rule this city!"
Telemachus followed him through deserted streets. Word of the mayoral killing spree must have spread. The only people left out and about were the two of them and Murder City's criminal community. It made it easy to know whom to hit...
They battered their way to 32nd street, leaving a trail of corpses behind them. Looters, robbers, jaywalkers... Crime didn't pay when the mayor was around. There, in front of a derelict building -- an ugly shell of broken glass, worn brick, and shattered wood -- was a contingent of unsavory individuals. Among them was a face Telemachus recognized.
"You?" he said.
"You!" Rautha echoed. "You're the one who stole-stole-stole my big break! Thanks to you I fell into a life of crime-crime-crime. Now I make-make-make my living using chems!"
"Don't you mean selling chems?"
"Huh? You can sell-sell-sell chems? Why-why-why didn't someone tell-tell-tell me! Stupid walrus!"
"Where's Ironside?" Ragnar roared.
"Won't tell-tell-tell!"
The gangbangers advanced. So did Ragnar. This wasn't going to be pretty...
"Remember when we killed that jerk in the hoverchair, right here in the palace?" Talia asked.
She stroked the prince's cheek.
When one of the psychics had left his seat to take his break -- they were all resting in turn to keep their minds fresh -- he'd offered it to Talia. He'd said her presence, her voice, her actions were helping. She couldn't tell whether he'd been sincere or just trying to comfort her, but she was glad to be right by Telemachus' side again.
"He thought he was a badass, with all those stupid psychic powers and telekinetic barriers. But we still blew his brains out."
"Where's Ironside?" Ragnar pulled Rautha towards him by his shirt as he growled the question, until they were nose to nose.
"He's in the-the-the-"
"Damn you!"
The mayor roared, lifted him up, and impaled him on a fire hydrant.
"Ouch-ouch-ouch!"
"Is there anyone around here who isn't on chems?" Ragnar asked.
"I'm... I'm not..." one of the sprawling gangbangers murmured.
Telemachus crouched next to him.
"Then you'd better tell the mayor what he wants to know. He looks pretty mad."
"The colonel's base is in the Yasuda building!"
"How do we get there?"
"You'll have to fight your way through the subway and onto the train. Then more fighting on the train, until you get off on the west side of town. Then you'll have to fight some more, until you get to-"
"Idiot!" Ragnar grunted.
He raised his boot and stomped down on the gangbangers head -- driving his face into the street. His skull gave way with a crunch.
"Did he think we're on a sightseeing tour? Let's find a cab."
"Where? Everyone's hiding apart from us and Ironside's guys."
"Damn cowards!"
"We could-"
The screech of abused rubber cut him off. A black sports car was zooming down the road ahead of them. The vehicle swerved just long enough to plough through a group of gangbangers, launching their mangled bodies in all directions. Then it straightened up, whooshed towards the mayor and the boy, span, and pulled to a squealing, smoking stop next to them.
"Need a ride?" Talia asked.
"Are those fingers sticking out of the wheels?" Telemachus inquired.
"Maybe. I ran over a lot of them on the way here. And you know how fingers are... They get everywhere."
Telemachus and Ragnar nodded in sympathy. Then they piled into the vehicle.
"Where are we heading?" the gunslinger asked.
"To get my axe back!"