Attack of the Giant Misunderstanding

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Postby TShaw » Sun May 13, 2007 8:56 am

(Conner, not a problem. I joined in for the humor of constantly being thwarted anyway. Had no intention of staying at safe distance. :wink: )

Another high speed turn at the edge of control brought TShaw’s stuttering vehicle slamming into what he at first thought was a barricade. As the engine finally gave one last tortured rattle-grind-thump and stopped and the air bags deflated around him the cat said, “Sorry baby.” and patted the dashboard.

Forcing the driver’s side door open and exiting he glanced over once again to see where the giant raccoon was through the settling dust cloud. Widening his search him from his position to half the visible skyline in front of he relaxed thinking it had moved on. The vibrations typical of a macro presence continued, as did the crashing noises, but from the dust it was difficult to get a good bearing on which direction they were coming from.

Looking to the front of the SUV he saw that he hadn’t hit a barricade but the first of dozens of haphazardly parked and abandoned vehicles of every description. The entire block was choked with the things. “What the-…ah I see.” There was a prominent sign displayed on the side of the building in the middle of the block with an arrow pointing at an entry door reading ‘Macro attack shelter’. Reaching into the SUV for his backpack TShaw muttered, “Time to go scrumping for cars again.” Pulling it out and slinging over one shoulder he straightened and surveyed his choices.

“Oh baby.” escaped his lips almost instantly. Sitting not twenty feet from him was one of the most sought after Hummers to have just rolled off the assembly line. The brand new H4.5, and from the look of all the antennas, roll bars, lights, and other gadgets adorning the rig it was owned by someone who had spared no expense getting every available production and post production option there was. To top it off in their rush to the shelter the owner had left the door wide open and the engine running. He took a guilty and reflexive look around to see the street had been left to him and him alone.

Looking up to the sky as he took the first step toward his to be new ride TShaw said, “Sweet holy sister Karma, thank you oh thank you thank you-“ and his litany of ‘thank you’s continued until sitting behind the wheel. Tuned out to the vibrations and rumbling sounds of destruction coming from so close by the cat took a slow deep breath through clenched teeth admiring the packed interior, rubbing the leather of the new dashboard lovingly and let his breath out in a long “Ooooooohhhhhhh yeeeeaaaahh, BABY!” pumping his fists on the BABY

“Ok, back to work.” He said to himself, reaching out and closing the door with a whisper quiet k-chunk of the mechanism meshing together to perfection. Putting the H4.5 in gear he backed it away from the blockage testing it’s acceleration as he did so. Making a running 180 turn slipping the gears from reverse to drive as smoothly as any Hollywood stunt driver and as soon as he had it oriented away from the blockage he stomped on the brakes in sudden surprise.

The enormous raccoon hadn’t left; it was standing right in front of him only a handful of blocks away now. Thankfully the dust had cleared enough to tell it had its back turned to him now, but with the clearer view another macro was now visible as well. “Karma, you bitch.”

Previously with only one macro in town, the best plan of action to insure survival and complete his assignment had been to simply avoid it. Now with two of them, and from the way they were currently staring each other down prior to the inevitable tangle, avoidance was more likely to end in premature stompage. Every time macros started battling each other the entire city became their field of battle, no where was safe.

It was a little known fact, but the best place in the city to be when two behemoths went at each other was in very close proximity, dangerously close. In fact it was said to be so close as to be almost underfoot. There in was the trick, only the survivors could tell you the best distance that zone of survival was, and only after the fact. One just had to go on instinct and quick reflexes.

In his best Al Bundy imitation he said “Lets rock.” and stomped the accelerator.

(Ok, just to add to Connercoon's earlier comment, it's never too later to join in the fun. Come on in the city’s big enough for more than two macros, I think.)
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Postby Awake-Kzintosh » Sun May 13, 2007 9:37 pm

(I'm glad everyone's having fun. This is sort of a new one on me and it seems to be going well enough...)

Some things just come naturally. Coughing, getting up, and brushing oneself off would be one of them. It's simply an automatic thing. For whatever reason, it takes a few seconds for the 'tosh to realize exactly what he's brushing off, why some of it's gooey, and why there's such horrible high-pitched noises associated with the entire exercise. Eyes go wide, hands go to mouth, and ears go back, as he looks at the wreckage whilst backing away with tail behind legs. "Oh... no. No no no no no." This wasn't supposed to happen. Well, it did. Good job, A-K, you've just made everything worse.

"I... ah... er... um... ack..." Glancing between the crowds, the wreckage, the giant robot, and himself, he seems to deflate a little. Unfortunately for the city, apparently, not in an actual shrinking way. "Well, smeg." He figures a quote from Macbeth would be appropriate around this time, but he's never been particularly good at quoting the bard word-for-word like some people have a knack for. Still, the fact is that the only real punishment for this sort of thing will probably be a rather painful drubbing, and he's had those before, so suddenly the 'tosh's nerves settle for the first time in half an hour. Admittedly, after this, I don't have to worry about the suicidal ones anymore... bloody negligible percentage at this rate.

It's about this time the distinctive metal-on-cracking-pavement STOMP STOMP STOMP reminds himself that there's still a giant robot staggering about, and it's still a good head bigger than he is. Not only that, but apparently the pilot is getting the hang of the thing and so the skyscraper walls are only really getting peripherally damaged throughout this whole thing. Arms swinging and what not in rather obvious 'I'm going to come up and beat thy ass' fashion, fists inevitably taking out a bit of facade here and there. Okay, so who's ass is he going to beat?

For some, stupid, instinctual reason, A-K looks over his shoulder. Huh. Back at the robot raccoon, stomping with a purpose. Down at what used to be a very modern office building. Oh. Back at the suddenly rather menacing looking 'mech. Riiiight. Well, if I run for it, it'll chase me, and we'll just break more things along the way. If I attack it here, well, it's going to probably break me in half. As well as break quite a few of these buildings in half. Doing a quick bit of calculus of the good in his head, he figures that, well, the suburbs are quite a ways away what with this being a large city, and while the population density would be lower, the percentage of children would be higher, and...

Yes, he tends to overcomplicate things. Luckily (perhaps) for him he does have quite the active instinct, which says that momentum good and, when the weight classes are so distinctly different, standing around in uffish thought waiting to get pummeled is bad. Stir in the ratcattish tendency not to back down from a scrap and mix well and that would explain the charge towards the robot and the leaping pounce. The requisite scream is quite surprised-sounding, all things considered.
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Postby ConnerCoon » Thu May 17, 2007 10:59 am

Conner grinned, proud that he was finally capable of steering his giant mechanical ride in a straight line. As Robo-Conner stormed toward the rather surprised-looking tigerfish creature, the raccoon inside started yanking levers again. "Okay, let's gets the fists ready... Wait, which one was that, again...?"

Oblivious to the ocelot-driven Hummer weaving around under its feet, the robot began swinging its arms into various and widely peculiar positions. Metal limbs elbowed and punched buildings on either side of the street as they took on several kung-fu poses, and also inadvertantly signed that its lunchbox was very red and that the salmon inside was friends with the number 5. And then, as Conner's elbow accidentally hit a another button, a large cable-mesh net sprang from one of the robot's open palms, plastering itself over the lower half of a skyscraper. Conner blinked, though the robot continued its charge. "Whoa! This thing has -weaponry-??"

He didn't get to explore that option further, however, as AK screamed and pounced. The impact sounded very much like someone getting thrown into a sidewalk-corner mailbox, but it -did- halt the robot's forward progress, and even kept it from taking another step that would have likely flattened TShaw and his sweet new ride. Conner grunted, and felt as if he were in a rapidly dropping elevator as his robot fell onto its back, smashing into the street below.
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Yeah, the 57 is a classy car.

Postby TShaw » Fri May 18, 2007 8:10 am

The Hummer jumped forward with screeching tires pushing the cat back into the seat from acceleration. The vehicle rocketed down the street, running out of empty running space to the front in seconds. Turning to another side street toward the two macros the cat steered where most furs would give anything to be as far from as possible. Grinning madly as he approached the soon to be combat zone, punching the power button on the Hummer’s radio sending a high powered volume blast of audio into the cab.

‘-they say he’s got to go,
go, go Godzilla
oh no there goes Tokyo
go, go Godzilla…

Spewing maniacal laughter the ocelot rammed down harder on the gas pedal. Watching through the windshield as the looming macros grew even more in stature as the distance to them dwindled to just yards. From what TShaw could see of the raccoon’s legs and feet it seemed to be dancing to the beat of the same radio station, the thumps and tremors of the footsteps in almost perfect sync to the rhythm of the music. “I’m gonna die.â€
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I done moved. No internet. It was scary. T_T

Postby Awake-Kzintosh » Thu May 24, 2007 6:02 am

Ramming your shoulder into a big metal thing, even if it happens to be somewhat top-heavy and easily toppled like, say, a bipedal robot, is always going to fall somewhere on the bad end of the idea scale. The next thing A-K knows rationally is he's riding this somewhat larger combat 'bot down to the ground, hasn't heard any bones cracking (which is good), but his left shoulder hurts like unholy hell. That and there's an expertly driven but rather silly looking suburban assault vehicle screeching away. Well, that's one at least I've saved.

Crash. Local seismic activity breaks what windows weren't already broken in the 'scrapers immediately adjacent to the road, pavement cracks and crumbles in new and exciting ways, and the rather larger than normal 'tosh rolls forward off the raccoon 'Mech (and over a traffic pileup) in a momentum-draining maneuver that ends in another three-point stance. Pretty classy, for someone with absolutely no idea what the hell he's doing. He spins back around on his feet with that innate ferret-like grace, then takes an instant to size up the situation. Robot down but still moving, nearby building covered in--is that a net?--and the usual pell-mell chaos underneath. Well, he hopes it's usual. It's all new to him, after a fashion, not counting Bogota. And he promised not to ever talk about Bogota.*

But yes. No time to grow further, no certainty that he actually can, still shorter and lighter than the armored robot advesary which now seems to be sporting at least net launchers. Should it have something more, oh, explodey or burny or shooty in a kinetic energy way, or any combination of the three, and things could get problematic. Goopy things, well, that would be icky but that at least he could deal with. A-K's never had the opportunity to learn whether or not increased size means that his coefficient of inflammability goes down or not, but he'd really rather not learn, either. It's like finding out you're allergic to beestings: you don't know until you're stung, and by then it's too late; you're either going "Ouch and damn!" or "Oh dear God can't breathe need ambulance" and about to die. Better just not to be stung.

Necessity is the mother of invention, and the 'tosh invents the best course of action available: go for the cockpit. Or at least the head. For whatever reason, cockpits always seem to be in the head, and that's the only place he can see window-like apparati. Now, very sharp claws has he, but again, he's never quite tested to see whether they end up being armor-piercing at larger scales. It would stand to reason, considering the rules of structural mechanics his body has to break to work, but again, outside of Bogota, not much experience with the whole thing. Or much actual first-hand memory, for that matter. So he goes about the right course of action the wrong way: he knows innately that his bones are stronger, so he may as well go for the crushing punch, and his stance is just right so he can really put his weight into it with a spirited roar. Were it a normal fight, he'd definitely be making his opponent swallow a few teeth, if not a shard or two of mandible to boot.

Problem: it's armored and designed to take that sort of thing, being a 'Mech and all.

He may manage to dent it, or bend the quirky zig-zaggy bang thing a bit. Not that he notices through the sharp staccato stiletto shocks of searing sensation as every joint and bone in his hand goes 'okay, buddy, really bad idea that' and lets his central nervous system know in no uncertain terms that the Local Hand Union (Right) isn't going to stand for that kind of abuse from the management ever again. The decision-making process doesn't even reach his brain; the middle managers down around his spinal column go nuts and the resulting yowl and backflip has to be a sight to see. It would be a better idea just to run for it, though, due to the rolling around afterwards in the confined space of the street, ramming between buildings with a very colorful series of epithets in at least five different languages.

(* Nabeshin and Space Butler were not involved, no matter how much of an Excel Saga reference this is.)
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Postby ConnerCoon » Fri May 25, 2007 2:18 pm

Conner groaned, taking his hands off the controls a monent to rub his neck. After a fall like that, he was going to be sore tomorrow. But this definitely wasn't the time to dwell on lower back pain; he had a city to save! The robot slowly brought itself to its feet (Conner was getting better at the basic motor skills), and scanned the immediate area for the giant tiger creature. Of course, it was only by turning around that he had time to see the incoming fist.

*K-TONGG!* Great, now on top of a sore back, he probably had whiplash too. Despite the riniging in his ears, Conner could still hear the sound of auto-counterbalance servos whirring insistently. A metal foot slid back, kicking up chunks of pavement and uprooting a fire hydrant, and a hand reached out to grasp the net-covered building, which fortunately held.

Conner shook his head clear, peering out through the robot's lensed eyes again to watch his opponent dance around, cradling his injured hand. "Oof... Can't say I feel too sorry for him. Bet he won't try that again, though." Now all he had to do was return the favor. Straightening his mechanical ride, the raccoon brought the metal arms to bear again.

"Alright, if -this- button fired that net, then -this- button must...?" The robot's foot slid out to the side, kicking up a few cars that hadn't been flattened, and held its arms straight in front of itself. Then, with a heavy expulsion of compressed air, both fists rocketed toward the tzin, tethered to the wrists by rapidly unreeling cables. "...not do what I expected, but that's still awesome!"

The robot's left fist soared through the air just past 'Tosh's right shoulder, losing altitude soon after and smashing like a wrecking ball through the roof (and a couple floors) of the building below. The right fist... would require some quick ducking.
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Postby Awake-Kzintosh » Fri May 25, 2007 3:18 pm

Ducking? No, not in the cards right now. Claaang.

On the plus side, the 'tosh's hand doesn't really hurt so bad anymore, and at least he hasn't been shot or zapped or blown up, despite all the loud noises. Somewhere in his mind, he's thankful for all this.

On the minus side, his jaw's felt better and he's sort of flying. Now this, this he has experience in and once again instinct has minimized the damage by quite literally folding under the blow rather than resisting it to any degree. Still airborne, though, and there is something of a building behind him. Not exactly the kind of thing one wants to hit with the back of one's head, but...

Crunch, crash, crumble. In he goes, folks, head-first, burying himself to the shoulder as structural beams and office furniture not so gently bleed off his momentum with plenty of friction and deformation. The rest of his body pancakes after him all spread-eagled somewhat through the facade, and it's a really, really good thing that his spine is very flexible. How it looks, it's either broken or he must be one hell of a limbo dancer. Groaning as softly as a macro can manage, which is not very, A-K relaxes for a moment, going still more limp, then tightens back up, working to extricate his head with eyes closed. The building protests, but what must be done must be done, and he keeps at it.

Given that this is the same building that the left fist already did a number on, and today is apparently not a good day for our intrepid Hero, what happens next is probably pretty predictable. With the distinct gunshot-like bang-bang-bang-bang of structural steel snapping and a roar of concrete, the entire side of the building collapses, depositing the 'tosh none too gently on his posterior and covering him in the remains of yet another building, albeit one at least mostly evacuated this time. He works himself out of the rubble, sitting up and leaning forward, bobbing woozily as focus returns to his eyes. Wow, no concussion. This isn't so bad. His mouth, operating independently of cogent thought, mumbles drunkenly and rather loosely, now that his jaw's dislocated.

Looking down at the metal fist on his lap, he gets very very angry all of a sudden and does a very spontaneous thing which is either very smart or very stupid. First he grabs the fist in his left hand and pulls the cable taut, then he swipes at the cable with the claws of his free right hand. Well, now we're going to find out whether they're reasonably armor piercing or not.
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Postby TShaw » Sun May 27, 2007 4:42 am

As the two giants took each other on, TShaw sat behind the wheel casually glancing at his surroundings outside the vehicle. His mouth dropped open on reading the street number of the building he was parked next to, looking to the other side of the car to see the building his appointment was to be in. Looking at the clock display on the dashboard of the Hummer, “Ten minutes to spare.â€
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Clear! thump...Again! Clear! thump...

Postby TShaw » Fri Jun 01, 2007 5:03 am

(I’ll go again since what I’m doing doesn’t yet interfere with the fun you’re both having with each other. I also thought I’d get some real fun started too.)

“That’s far enough. You, slide the box across the floor to us.â€
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