Starburst Jailbreak Part Two

Connor stood for a solitary moment.

Then he toppled forwards to the floor. The pain of the tiles was nothing compared to whatever had just happened. He wouldn’t have wished that experience on his worst enemy. The scrapper struggled to get his bearings. In a small twist of fate, the world had returned to normal. All around him were once again white tiles. The chamber in the middle was no longer glowing. Black glass, chrome, and white plastic had never looked better. If not for the echoing pain in his arm, Connor would have thought he just had a weird trip. Leftovers from last year’s dabble with a bad batch of eko.

Connor put both hands under himself. His right held him up while his mecharm gave out. The scrapper cried out once again. Hauling himself up, he realized the thing wouldn’t move at all. Several pounds of dead weight hung from his side. He began to hyperventilate. He needed the thing to function correctly. Otherwise he was dead meat. 

Connor scrambled to lift the thing up, examining it. It didn’t look broken. Maybe the power cells had been sapped?

A basic mecharm operated with minimal backup power. Instead, it took in ambient electrical energy generated by the human body. A nerve-sync then allowed the user to funnel their thoughts into the missing limb. As an added bonus, the mecharm allowed the user to lift double what their original digit allowed.

While prosthetics were some of the first implants to be developed, nowadays anything could be replaced with the right amount of cash.

Cortexos for enhanced intelligence, different colored mecheyes, even indorgans for a failing body. While Suits often remained untouched, there were several who preferred kitschy implants. After all, what filthy rich citizen wouldn’t want a coffee maker built into their thigh?

Examining his mecharm fully, Connor could tell it wasn't the power cells nor nerve filter giving him grief. Those parts still had some life in them. The thing was just not responding for some unknown reason.

Would you stop looking at the stupid thing? a voice sounded in Connor’s head. It’s not going to work. In fact, there it goes!

The scrapper cried out once again. His mecharm jerked forward, palm up. Within its hollow formed a ball of lightning. It arced out around him, crackling energy once again being projected by his body. Connor could feel something digging around inside of himself, rooting out anything foreign. He wondered what could possibly happen to make the situation even worse.

It got worse.

Starting at the fingers, his whole mecharm fell to pieces. Each digit clinked to the floor like a hail of bullets. Servos and wires split apart and followed suit. The main shaft of the arm tumbled off of his jutting shoulder. Within a moment, Connor wasn’t holding anything. He started laughing uncontrollably. Surely this wasn’t happening. He was still at home, asleep. Landlord would be in soon to boot him out for screaming in his sleep.

You ain’t seen nothing yet, kid, the strange voice came again. But once I get going, you can keep on dreaming forever.

A tendril of pure energy shot out of Connor Nineteen’s left shoulder blade.

It found ground all around itself, breaking several tiles and lights. Glass and ceramics rained down around the scrapper. He braced himself, screaming underneath the crackling symphony. Several bolts of lightning struck the Pinnacle chamber to no avail. The tendril pulsed rapid colors, changing with each heartbeat. Connor could feel invisible radiation erupt from it. Somehow, even when shooting gamma and x-rays, he remained alive. The madness of the situation would have surely broken a softer person.

Connor rallied every bit of fight within himself, and the storm started to fade.

He stood there, breathing heavily. The whole left sleeve of his jumpsuit had been burned off. Where his mecharm once was now rose something he could have never imagined. A newly formed arm, glowing a soft light. Golden, as if a bolt of lightning had extended out of his arm socket. Connor paled, and rubbed it with his full blooded hand. His new appendage felt smooth and glassy, cold to the touch. He flexed and clenched a fist. Just as responsive as the last one.

Before he could question it, Connor watched his fist open without his control.

Hey, thanks for the help kid, the voice chirped. Here’s your reward.

Connor’s vision began to dim. His eyelids felt heavy, his legs leaden. He braced himself, trying his best to remain standing. It felt like he had the whole building on his shoulders. He slammed his new arm into the wall. It dented the paneling and shot out several sparks. The arm raised up, again without the scrapper’s consent. He grabbed it with his full blooded arm. Somehow, this gave him a bit more strength.

Come on kid, the voice sniped. You’re just giving me a loan. I’ll pay you back, promise!

Get out of my head, Connor thought back.

Sorry buddy. No can do.

The struggle picked up even more. Connor’s eyelids cracked down to a mere sliver. It did feel good, the pressing blackness. To just simply give up and be swallowed by whatever this thing was. Let it figure things out. However long it would take would give the scrapper time to refresh. Kick back and chill. And if it didn’t keep its promise? No more worries for Connor.

That was a coward’s mentality.

Connor’s eyes flew wide open. He continued to struggle with the thing. The scrapper had lived through too much to simply keel over and let this thing take him. Didn’t matter if it was also on the receiving end of Flynt’s tyranny. Connor thought back to some ancient rebroadcast from when he was a kid. A robotic hero, fighting back against oppressors who wanted to take everybody’s things for themselves. That hero’s motto was that freedom was the right of all sentient beings. Connor braced himself and tightened his grip. There was no way he was going to let the thing have him. His humanity was on the line.

Oh great, the voice sighed. We got a lunatic on our hands.

Connor found himself smiling at the words. Of course the thing was mocking him. It was trying to throw him off his balance. Connor simply just kept struggling and staggering around the chamber. The parasite, too focused on the fight, was letting his powers slip. The scrapper grunted as his new arm grew brighter and brighter. He could feel some sort of mask shaping onto his face. Cold steel plastered against his cheeks. 

With it came flashes of memory. A massive light eclipsing the sun in brightness. Buildings destroyed and rubble strewn about. A blink, and the view was covered by a wooden crate. Another blink and crate morphed into the inside of the chamber. Countless people coming and going. All of the men resembling Flynt. Then a flash of Connor himself from only minutes ago.

What exactly was this thing? How old was it? And how long had it been since the chamber had let its prisoner out?

Through newly formed eye holes Connor could see the door in front of him finally open. He must have made so much noise the staff had to intervene. Connor would have been relieved any other day. Today, though, showed just how much luck he truly had.

Outside the door stood dozens of guards with guns all leveled straight at the poor scrapper.