Beta-Ray Bill POV
Gladiator armory, Sakaar Arena
Five hours after the meeting with Hyperion, 18:40 Sakaarian Time
Most people thought that cyborgs didn't feel. This was not entirely correct, as Bill had found during his time as his people's greatest weapon. Yes, tactile sensations might not exactly register to him as they did to other organics (hot and cold were now simply readouts on his internal HUD rather than a feeling) but Bill could still sense the air move across his synth skin, the electromagnetic field of the planetoid beneath his feet, the brush of metal in his hand.
In many ways, Bill now felt more than he had ever thought possible in his previous body.
Then again, most people probably meant that cyborgs didn't have feelings. This was somewhat more difficult to disprove. Fear, for instance, was something that was becoming a vaguer and vaguer memory to Bill with each passing day (after all, the Korbinite people hardly needed a Champion who would run away from danger). His actions were based on cold, hard logic, his mind taking in every possible factor in whatever situation he was in, running it through hundreds of simulations before coming up with the most advantageous course of action. But he still held on strongly to his honor and his moral code, and despair was an emotion that he had experienced often enough on this damned planet over the years spent wasting away as little more than a glorified circus animal.
So it used to be a toss-up whether or not Beta-Ray Bill had feelings like most beings in the galaxy had. Used to be. After all, today, Bill had found quite definite proof for the fact that even an android such as him is still capable of vivid emotions.
The proof being that he wanted to rip his surroundings apart when Hyperion mentioned Surtur to him, the name causing his databanks to immediately start playing every single memory where Bill was forced to watch both his planet and his people die at the hands of the Fire Demon's armies in perfect clarity. It was actually a blessing that his body was artificial: even as his very soul raged in anger, his body remained in default mode, all systems reporting normal levels of activity.
It still didn't seem to fool Hyperion though, the large human regarding him warily even after he had managed to reboot his mind so to speak. However, not to be deterred, the Word-Smith had wasted no time in calling over his friend, the three of them planning through the rise of the dawn and the midday sun on how to get off the planet unnoticed (or at the very least without the forces of the Grandmaster following them to their next location).
The genius of the scientist (introduced as Sterns) was pooled together with the tactical knowledge of both Bill and Hyperion, with Bill providing whatever intel he could on the Grandmaster's palace and forces. Since the information the duo needed in order to get off planet and not be lost amongst the infinite vastness of space was secure in the Grandmaster's private systems, they would need to penetrate to the palace's inner sanctum.
As the two humans had demonstrated by seeking him out, there were very little defenses, both technological and organic, that could stand in their way, but the Grandmaster's databanks were heavily encrypted, and even Bill would struggle against the full military might of the dictator's forces, especially if the man's top enforcer were on sight.
A distraction was needed then, large and violent enough to peel off the Grandmaster's army to manageable levels, allowing the enormously headed scientist the time needed to crack the encryption, data-mine the necessary files and then meet up with him and Hyperion so that the three of them could make their exit without any pursuers hot on their tail.
A slave rebellion would do quite nicely indeed.
In the end, the plan was very simple, Bill concluded as he strapped a segmented breastplate to his torso, eying the heavy shock hammer on the stand next to him, despite the fact that two long knives were already hanging from his belt and a two-handed sword was slung across his back. If any of the guards noticed that he was stocking up on more armor and weaponry than he usually did for his fights, then they remained quiet about it.
Considering how… excitable the Grandmaster had looked, seated in his personal viewing Box, it probably would've been seen as a wise decision to gear up as much as possible against whatever horror he was supposed to face this time.
As Bill picked up the shock hammer, carefully testing the balance of the weapon, he let his eyes subtly roam across the wings where the various gladiators were assembled, each and every one of them briefly highlighted on his HUD with succinct bio's detailing their species, any noteworthy aspects and their possible threat levels.
Most of them were only C Ranked according to his inbuilt targeting system, with the occasional B Rank scattered amongst them. Not nearly though or strong enough to be the instrumental part of the overall plan that Bill needed (not that he was all that surprised, most species in the galaxy fell within the C and B Ranks, with only the truly powerful races like the Kree or Asgardians being rated A to his predictive combat systems, which rated himself as S Rank. The only being he had met during his time as the Beta-Ray that was S Rank as well was Hyperion). Right as he decided on taking the shock hammer with him despite its somewhat unwieldy size, his eyes landed on one of the A- Ranked gladiators. Even as he faintly felt satisfaction at finding his target, his face and body betrayed nothing, each and every single muscle perfectly under his conscious control.
Stalking towards his target, easily brushing past the lesser gladiators, Bill kept eyeing the guards outside of the red energy shield, taking note of their positions and rotations. His target was holding a three-pronged spear in his hands ('Origin: Troru. Intended purpose: ceremonial purposes. Estimated combat usefulness: low.' Bill's database immediately concluded), one finger gently touching one of the points with a dubious expression on his face.
Coming to a halt beside his target, all the while pretending to look at the variety of spears on display, Bill spoke under his breath, the corner of his mouth barely moving, even as he angled his body in such a way that the guards couldn't see his face.
"Stock up on as much weapons, armor and supplies as you can. Tell whoever will listen to you to do the same. In three minutes, the shields will fall. Take as many of the fighters as you can, you're strong enough to get most of them to follow you, and run down to the end of this hallway. Take two lefts, then a right. It should lead you to one of the back entrances of the Arena. Look for a massive and tall building made of blue and silver metal that's closest to you, then reach the highest floors: that's where the hangers are. Steal whatever amount of ships you need to get off planet: most of the portals will spit you out several weeks to a few months away from civilization, emergency supplies on board should last you that long if you stick to rationing."
Seeing one of the guards look in his direction for slightly to long to be comfortable, Bill turned away from his target, stepping closer to what appeared to be the illegal lovechild of an axe and a flail hanging on the racks with a considering look until the guard moved away.
As the guard moved on, Bill let out a quiet breath, more out of habit than anything else, and prepared to move back to his side of the wings, before a horribly unsubtle whisper came from behind him (if he still had an organic body, he undoubtedly would've winced at just how unsubtle the speaker was being), causing him to halt in his tracks.
"What? Wait, what's going on?"
For a moment, Bill seriously considered whether he should grind his teeth or not, before deciding it would be a useless sign of his aggravation, keeping his face carefully blank as he glanced over his shoulder, pinning the speaker in place.
"Revolution. That's what's going on." He bit out softly.
Bill saw his target's eyes light up at the words, and a small nod was enough to tell him that the speaker would be on board. As he walked away, Bill could hear the other gladiator nudge the fighter closest to him, whispering that perhaps the lime-green humanoid would feel more satisfied in her daily bloodthirsty needs if she took a fifth blade into battle?
Inwardly, Bill smiled darkly even as his face remained impassive, already looking forwards to the next phase of the plan.
It never hurt to have a Kronan fighting for your course after all.
19:15 Sakaarian Time
As the small tournament that had been going on since the late afternoon drew to a close, Bill kept a close watch on the forcefield locking him and his fellow gladiators in. Most of the slaves had been informed on the imminent break-out, most of them keeping an eye on the large Kronan, who in turn was keeping an eye on Bill.
Sterns had proposed, based on Bill's descriptions of how a day at the Arena went behind the scenes, to stage the breakout right on the heels of a tournament. A tournament not only meant a number of fighters in the arena (diverting a part of the guard's attention), it would also mean that there would be a bit of ceremony as the Grandmaster declared the winner (sometimes this boiled down to the man simply going "eeny meeny miny moe") which would divert even more of the guard's attention.
Then of course there would be the wounded and the dead, meaning that many of the gates would be opened in order for the medics and the undertakers to take their clients away (one of the dangers of being a gladiator on Sakaar (besides the obvious maiming and dismemberment of course) was that sometimes those professions would overlap. And if you just so happened to be a client of the first, who for whatever reason didn't feel like nursing you back to health, they you could suddenly and inexplicably find yourself a client of the latter).
Seeing the guard's rotation shift, right as the doors of several passageways leading towards both the Arena and the outside world opened, Bill tensed his muscles in preparation, giving the Kronan a barely imperceptible nod as he waited for Sterns to do his part of the plan (though he had to give a rather more pronounced nod to the eager looking Kronan, his previous sign appearing to have been somewhat too imperceptible).
Seeing a hooded figure round the corner, Bill started slowly walking towards the shield, both his hands holding the shock hammer in a firm grip as his eyes started cataloguing the hallway before him and everything (and everyone) in it as well. One of the guards noticed Bill walking towards him, and despite having an impenetrable forcefield between them, the enforcer couldn't quite keep himself form taking a step back, a tremor clearly audible in his voice as he leveled his weapon at the approaching cyborg.
"Halt right there, prisoner! Not a step further!"
Bill of course didn't stop approaching, his unblinking eyes kept locked on the guard now only a dozen feet away from him. Still, that meant that the forcefield was now just over a foot away from him, the hum of the lasers clearly audible to his audio-receptors. A fact noticed by another guard standing next to the nervous one, who clapped his colleague on his armored shoulder with a dark chuckle.
"Relax, if the robot wants to fry himself then let him. Will you man the fuck up already? Nothing can get through that shield."
Which is, of course, the exact moment that it failed.
Bill was already moving before the lasers had had a chance to fully dissipate, smoothly turning his walk into a dead sprint, accelerating fast enough that time seemed to slow down. The first guard already had his weapon trained on Bill, but the cyborg had carefully observed the man's hold and stance, his mind running ballistic simulation after simulation.
So when the guard fired, Bill turned his head exactly 27.3 ° to the right, the screaming bolt of energy passing 6.82 millimeters from his face, slamming harmlessly into one of the stand behind him. The guard was correcting his aim, but he was far too slow: by now he was inside Bill's reach.
Not halting his momentum, Bill's left hand shot out, grasping the barrel of the guard's weapon and forcing it down, allowing it to fire uselessly into the ground, his feet carrying him further at an impressive speed, his forehead crashing hard enough into that of the guard that the man's helmet shattered as he was sent flying.
Bill was ready to turn on his heel in order to catch the second guard with his shock hammer, but before he had a chance to, a slim blur slammed into the guard's chest, carrying him down the length of the hallway and pinning him to the furthest wall. Seeing the tri-pronged spear shuddering from where it was trapped into the enforcer's chest, Bill turned to look over his shoulder, giving a grateful nod to the Kronan, who happily waved back.
The rock-like warrior raised a large hand-cannon high into the air as he looked at his fellow slaves, a grin on his craggy face.
"The revolution has begun!"
Before the cheer of his audience even had a chance to properly form, it was suddenly cut off by the sound of a multitude of boots slamming against the ground, a patrol of Sakaarian guards rounding the corner and training their weapons upon the gladiators in a single smooth formation.
"Prisoner escape in progress! Employ countermeasures!" the one in the front shouted, gaining affirmative calls from his squad, about a third of them pulling familiar slight silver bars from the pouches on their equipment belt.
Despite it being covered by a full helmet, Bill could still hear the man's sick grin in his voice as he gave his order.
"Fry these fuckers!"
"Yes, sir!" the other guards responded with equal glee, some of the gladiators looking worried as they lifted their remotes as one.
Simultaneous clicks rang out through the hallway, several of the gladiators flinching at the sound, their reflexes mercilessly trained by their experienced pain receptors. However, after a brief moment of confusion (on both sides) they realized that they weren't, in fact, convulsing on the ground in agony.
"Yeahhh… about that. I might have put up a signal jammer after I disabled the shield. I would say sorry about that, but well… I'm not. You know, on the account of you being slavers with a penchant for torture." A calm voice called out, Bill grinning as Sterns stepped into view, much of his form still obscured by his camo-cloak, though the mechadendrite was easy for all to see as it detached itself from a security terminal lining the wall, slipping back underneath Stern's wide cloak.
Bill couldn't quite keep a sense of amusement from coming over him, even as he prepared for the upcoming battle with the clearly shocked guards across from him, as behind him he heard the Kronan call out in a slightly unsure voice.
"Uhh… right. Now the revolution has begun!"
And with a roar to drown out the fighting force behind him, Bill descended upon his would-be oppressor, electricity crackling around the head of his weapon as his eyes flashed in the light of the lasers screaming back and forth.
'Combat initialized. Selecting targets. 12 targets confirmed. Extermination in progress…'
The front three were dealt with by a wide swing of his hammer, catching them in the knees and shins and causing them to crash to the floor with cries of pain, bone shards spearing through their dark armors, the floor immediately becoming slick with blood.
'3.'
Two other guards had been shot down in the meantime, even as the rest of the patrol tried to retreat to a better defensible position (which basically amounted to just about everywhere that wasn't here).
'5.'
Not willing to let his prey get out of the open where they were easy pickings for his allies, Bill threw his shock-hammer to the fleeing guards at the left of the group, clipping the first man in the shoulder, the guard falling to the ground in a spastic heap from the discharge of his hammer.
'6.'
Immediately after letting go from the weapon's handle, Bill's hands flew to the knives at his sides, his eyes already calculating proper flightpaths for the slivers of metal, taking into effect the weight of the knives, the speed of his targets, the weak points of their armor and a hundred other things at once.
Calculating the output of strength from his synthetic muscles down to a tenth of a pound of pressure, Bill let fly in a single smooth movement, one knife sinking deeply into the back of the skull of a fleeing guard, while nailing another who had taken a firing position right in the eye.
'8.'
During the seconds that it had taken Bill to take the fight to the guards, his allies hadn't been idle. Already, two more guards were slumped against the fall with smoking craters in their chests, while the large kronan had finally caught up to him.
'10.'
One of the guards managed to get a shot off on the large rock-like being, but other than a small spray of gravel and a grunt, the Kronan didn't appear to be all that effected, moving forwards undeterred.
Smacking the guard's weapon out of his hands with a single swipe of his thick arm, the Kronan stepped in close to his opponent, grabbing the man by the belt with a single hand. And then with a single great heave, lifted the guard straight off his feet and into the low ceiling. Of course, the ceiling being made of a highly durable material, didn't deign to even budge in the slightest, forcing the guard's body to compress in volume quite drastically, which resulted in the Kronan being doused in a shower of purplish-red blood, though he didn't seem to really care or even notice.
'11.'
Bill had been observing this from the corner of his eye, but he hadn't been idle during the gruesome execution. He had seen how the last guard had fled around the corner, and in a single smooth move he followed into the slaver's footsteps. If it weren't for the fact that he could smell the ozone coming from the guard's laser weaponry, as well as pick out his panicked breathing, then he would've rounded the corner and been rewarded with a blaster bolt to the face (not that it would stop him, or even hurt him even, but it would be an annoyance). So instead, Bill firmly grabbed his longsword in both hands, pulled back and swung with all his might through the cornerstone. In the resulting shower of gravel, Bill's eyes zoomed in and caught the flecks of blood that flew through the air as well, grim satisfaction rising in him.
Almost effortlessly, he rounded the corner and without more than a brief glance swung his sword in a wide arc to his side, imbedding it deeply into the wall. For a moment, the wounded guard (sporting a deep gash in the right side of his torso, Bill noted) simply stood and gazed at him in surprise, before the body slumped down to the floor.
The head remained resting on the flat of Bill's stuck blade.
'12. All targets neutralized. Exiting combat mode.'
However, just as Bill received the message from his systems, he noticed something that disproved that statement, his eyes falling on the weakly struggling form of the guard that had held an unfortunate overconfidence in the shield separating him from Bill's wrath and who was still pinned to the wall.
'Correction. 1 target remaining. Extermination in progress….'
Approaching the shaking guard, Bill slightly tilted his head as he reached out and grabbed the man by his chin, forcing him to look up into Bill's eyes. Terror nearly wafted off the previously arrogant guard, and Bill found an irrational dislike well up inside him, his grip on the man's chin increasing to the point that the dark metal started to warp underneath his fingers.
"I. Am not. A. Robot." Bill hissed out, before he let go off the man's chin and in a single movement, ripped the ceremonial Troru spear from the guard's chest, waiting just long enough for the body to slide down the wall, before turning back in again, slamming the tri-pronged spear into the slaver's head instead.
For a moment, a silence came over the battlefield, and Bill turned to find the majority of the gladiator's looking at him wide-eyed, many of them probably thanking whatever deity they chose to believe in that they hadn't had to force him in the ring.
Allowing his unblinking gaze to fall on the Kronan, Bill decided to push the unneeded brutality of his attacks out of his mind for now. Escape first, reminisce on actions and honorable battle after.
"We move. Now."
The Kronan simply lifted his hands in a calming manner, even as he blinked a bit of viscera out of the crags surrounding his eye.
"Hey man, you'll hear no judgement from me. Those guys were nasty, it's just proper that they come to a nasty end, yes? Actually, that was one of the 46 points of action on the pamphlets that I printed for my revolution: allow slaves to beat up their slavers. Of course, considering many of my people actually are slavers, or in a business of similar disposition, that point proved to be rather unpopular during the rallies. Or well, only my mum and her boyfriend showed up, and I hate her boyfriend. At least my mum said she liked it, but her boyfriend certainly didn't, seeing as he actually owns a slaver barge. Probably the reason he and I don't get along, come to think of it. Though I'm sure there's some kind of irony in him using that barge to deliver me here, eh?" the Kronan rambled, leaving a slightly stunned silence in his wake as the assembled gladiators simply stared at him in bafflement.
"What?"
For a moment, Bill considered telling the rock-man that, when one is in the process of staging a slave rebellion, right on the heels of reducing someone to a smear on the ceiling no less, one usually doesn't tend to give one's lifestory.
Looking into those earnest eyes, Bill quickly decided against it however. For one, he genuinely feared that if he tried to do so, they might be stuck here for hours on end and for another, it would feel… bad, somehow.
Like kicking a puppy.
A puppy, made of rock and weighing about as much as you'd expect a small mountain to weigh, who would have absolutely no trouble breaking your other foot as well after you kicked it.
So actually, not like kicking a puppy at all, come to think about it.
"Nothing, let's just… focus on escaping, alright?"
"Sure!"
19:45 Sakaarian Time
It had taken frustratingly long to get out of the tunnels underneath the Arena. Not only were they longer than anticipated, there were also more guards than anticipated. Sure, the gladiators could make good time with most of the gates opened and the majority of the Grandmaster's forces back in the arena, but the same could be said for those same forces currently nipping at their heels.
Thankfully, the patrols in front of them were rather easily taken care of, mostly because their first reaction tended to be to grab their shockers, only to waste precious moments in surprise as Sterns' signal jammer meant that the gladiators simply kept on charging.
Bill had quickly given up on disabling his opponents, instead simply knocking them down with wide swings of his hammer or just headbutting them instead, leaving them to be trampled by the horde behind him.
The goal wasn't bloodshed, no matter the slaves' feeling towards their previous captors, but escape after all.
So after roughly twenty minutes of running as fast as he could without outstripping the majority of the other gladiators, hoping that the stragglers would buy the rest of them enough time in order to escape the small army at their back, Bill finally smashed down the gate leading to the outside world by throwing his hammer full force at the center of the offending piece of metal, carrying the thick slab straight off its hinges and into the wall of the building on the opposite side of the street.
Thankfully, the majority of the people of Sakaar City were either in the Arena or in their homes, eagerly anticipating his upcoming match, meaning the streets were virtually empty. Running over towards the shock-hammer and wresting it from the ruined metal that used to be a door, Bill turned to look over his shoulder at the Kronan, who was already organizing people to lay down covering fire for the rear guard.
"Remember! Hangars are on the top floor of that metallic blue-silver building! Any portal will do, just make sure to get out of here!"
"Aren't you coming with us?!" the Kronan called, before turning, taking aim and blowing off the head of a guard who was about to lob a grenade down the hallway, instead causing it to fall amongst the rest of the guards.
There was a brief flurry of movement and panicked shouting, even as the Kronan turned back to face him with an honest expression. And then there was a wave of sound and light and sheer heat, many of the gladiators throwing themselves to the ground with their hands clasped over their ears (wherever applicable of course).
The Kronan hadn't even looked at the explosion behind him, simply looking at Bill with an earnest expression of polite interest on his face.
"I have my own means of transportation."
"Oh! Alrighty then, though if you ever change your mind, you're always free to tag along with us, if you want. We always got a place for a superstrong cyborg like yourselves. At least, I hope we will. Not sure which ship we're gonna steal yet, so if it's a tiny one, yeah, we might not have a place left, but you could always, you know, catch-up with us?"
"And how exactly would I do that, Kronan?" Bill asked with some amusement at the rock-like being's casual tone of conversation in the midst of mortal danger, the other gladiators slowly working themselves back to their feet.
"Oh, just ask around on Ria for Korg, that's me! Uh, come to think about it, you might not wanna do that. They don't like me much back there. How do you feel about the more physical conversation starters?"
"Physical… conversation starters…." Bill repeated flatly, Korg simply smiling brightly as he proudly placed his fists on his hips.
"Yeah, mace to the face, fist to the face, rock to the face, fist made of rock to the face, that kinda thing. It tends to be common back home you see. It becomes even more common if you mention me, I'd wager."
"… I've had worse."
"Great! Now then, if you'll excuse me, I think that the guards are about to attempt to either charge again or try and flank us, so we'll be going to steal a ship, navigate to the closest portal and then hope we don't get dropped into a black hole! Thanks for busting us out Beta-Ray Bill!"
Bill looked on in amusement as the energetic Kronan quickly ordered his comrades to spread out and use the various back-alleys in order to spread out before navigating towards the hangars where they'd rendezvous, before taking off himself with heavy steps, disappearing from sight shortly after.
"Unusual guy." A voice suddenly spoke up from beside his right shoulder, and it was only because Bill's body was incapable of making unconscious motions that he didn't flinch or lash out.
"Very." He grumbled as he pointedly glared at Sterns, who he just knew was grinning up at him.
"Well, he wasn't wrong about the guards though, so let's get the hell outta here, ok?"
"Fine. Where is our means of escape?"
"Right here."
Again, it was only Bill's cybernetic nature that kept him from flinching as out of nowhere a vehicle appeared to stand beside his other shoulder. The worst part was that somehow, the vehicle seemed to radiate the exact same kind of amusement as Sterns just had (and was in fact doing again).
At his unspoken question, the scientist merely shrugged, before moving towards the driver's seat (the door opened without any prompting from the mutated human, Bill noticed).
"Oliver is… unique like that. Hop in."
Walking over towards the other door (which again opened without any apparent prompting) Bill warily eyed the futuristic interior, though he was shaken from his thoughts by Sterns' words.
"Oh will you just get in, you big baby? Oliver won't bite!"
Just as Bill steeled himself and worked himself into the cabin, leaning back into the (admittedly very comfortable) seat, did he hear Sterns mutter under his breath.
"At least I hope not."
So what if he held his hammer a bit tighter after that? It wasn't every day that you met vehicles of questionable sentience, so he felt that a bit of wariness was perfectly warranted. Especially when it looks as if it's meant to slowly roll down the streets, but instead immediately takes off into the sky at a ninety degree angle with enough speed to produce no less than three sonic booms in the span of a less than a minute.
It was a matter of moments to cross the city and approach the Grandmaster's Palace's highest level. Despite knowing what came next, Bill couldn't quite stop himself from tightly gripping his hammer as Sterns steered Oliver towards the large viewing windows of the Grandmaster's throne room, accelerating instead of slowing down.
They were mere feet away from becoming flatter than pancakes when Sterns slammed on a button, a humming sound springing to life even as a transparent orange-golden glow started shimmering around Oliver.
And with a sound reminiscent of a hundred different viewing screens suddenly showing static at the same time, Oliver went through the viewing screen of the throne room, without leaving so much as a scratch on the glass.
Slowly unclenching his extremely tight grip on the handle of his weapon, Bill looked over at the absolute madman next to him, who was proudly patting the steering wheel of his magical vehicle (because whatever the hell that was supposed to have been, it definitely wasn't any science that Bill had ever hear of).
"Are you insane?" Bill asked, slightly proud that the question came out as an honest inquiry rather than an incredulous statement.
Sterns turned to look at him, though he didn't stop petting Oliver's steering wheel.
"If I was, would I tell you? For that matter, would I even know? I think it's best if you just stop questioning things and take things as they are, while trying to simply have a good time. It certainly worked for me after my friend got turned into a ghost, I can tell you that."
For a moment, cyborg and scientist merely stared at each other, before Bill conceded defeat and turned away from Sterns (who was still patting Oliver's steering wheel) and jumped out of the miracle vehicle.
"Let's just get this done."
Grandmaster's personal archives
19:50 Sakaarian Time
Due to the chaos caused by the escaping gladiators, who were either making a run for the numerous portals dotting the Sakaarian sky or freeing more and more slaves, Bill and Sterns barely met any resistance as they made their way towards the Grandmaster's databanks, which were located several rooms down from the dictator's master bedroom.
Oliver had turned to the size of a mere toy and was happily whirring away as it followed in Sterns' footsteps. Bill simply wasn't sure just how much of a metaphor 'happily' was in that sentence.
Only a light guard was still at their stations, and they had yet to meet a single patrol. Those few guards that were still guarding the Palace were swiftly taken care off by Bill's thrown knives or Sterns' silenced gun (at first, Bill thought that the fearsome weapon disintegrated organics with a single shot, but a second glance showed small smears of meat in their place instead. Which still made it a fearsome weapon, to be honest).
The bodies that Bill left were easily disposed of by Sterns simply shooting their corpses, turning them into goo. Part of Bill didn't feel at ease with such disrespect for the fallen bodies of his adversaries.
The larger part however, the part that remembered his time in captivity, the broken oaths of their master, the possible fate of his people, that part of him absolutely couldn't give a fuck about what happened to those guards as long as it meant that his chances of getting off this rock improved by even the slightest margin.
Now they were at the terminal housing the Grandmaster's data, with Sterns having three of his mechanical arms plugged into the bulky piece of equipment. His priority were the star charts of course, but considering the sheer age of the Grandmaster, both Sterns and Hyperion were eager to see what else they could lift from the man's computers if they had the chance.
Bill simply wanted to leave this place behind and never look back again.
While Sterns was doing his work, Bill stood by the door, peering into the hallway through a crack in the door. It was because of this that Bill spotted a woman approaching them long before Sterns did. She was swaying, and her eyes were unfocused. Bill watched her as she randomly kept opening the doors that lined the hallway, peeking her head in before dejectedly moving on.
"There's got to be booze around here somewhere, right? I know, I just know that flamboyant dude keeps around casks of Indroin liquor. Now where is the damned stuff…" the woman slurred, apparently wasted enough that her speech gave Bill's translator some troubles.
However, her speech was the very least of Bill's concerns: she was heading their way. Bill's hand creeped towards the handle of one of his knives, before he stilled as the woman instead turned towards the door on the opposite side of the hallway. His interest peaked when that door appeared to be locked, which apparently pissed the woman off enough to punch the door clear off its hinges.
Bill's combat systems immediately reassessed the woman's threat level.
'A Rank at least. Level of strength compared to relatively little body-mass means target most likely Asgardian. Cross-referencing… 1 result found in Grandmaster's forces: Scrapper-142. History of slaves brought in suggest either higher than average strength or combat capabilities. Correcting current profile. Target is A- Rank. Options of extermination: Hand to hand combat. Negative, too long/loud. Knife-throwing. Negative, blade may not penetrate skin of target (deeply enough). Shock-hammer. Negative, too loud, see Hand to Hand. S. Sterns, current designation: Absolute Madman, in possession of one-hit kill weapon. Affirmative.'
As the door completed its arc through the air and crash-landed into the room with an enormous bang, Bill turned to face Sterns, who had been visibly startled by the sudden noise.
"Sterns. We have trouble incoming. If we want to keep whatever shreds of stealth there remain after that, I'm going to need your gun." Bill softly said under his breath, Sterns replying equally cautiously.
"Of course. Be careful with it. It's one shot per squeeze, not a continuous beam, so easy with the trigger. And, obviously, do not point it at any part of your body at all. Not even I can save you then."
"Affirmative." Bill simply said, smoothly taking the gun from Sterns outstretched hand, before turning back towards the door.
It appeared that, after thoroughly thrashing the room, the woman hadn't found any inebriating concoctions in there either, evident in her angry expression as she stomped out of the room, her appearance already a lot sobered up from what it was before, a credit to Asgardian constitution.
"What's the fucking point of even staying in this shit hole if I can't even be drunk while I'm here?" the woman groused as she stomped towards the door Bill and Sterns were hiding behind, throwing them open with ease.
For just the slightest of moments, her eyes widened as her expression turned to one of shock as she suddenly gazed at Bill's impassive face, before the moment passed as Bill finished squeezing the trigger of Sterns' weapon and all that remained of Scrapper-142 was a barely noticeable smear on the floor.
Closing the doors again, Bill settled into wait, gun at the ready as he waited for Sterns to finish data-mining the Grandmaster's databanks. He only had to wait for a few minutes more, muscles tensing every time that his audio-receptors caught the sound of boots slamming against the floors, but it seems that something (or rather, someone) on the lower levels was demanding their more immediate attention.
"Got it! Coordinates of every major hub in the Galaxy, both legal and for the criminal underworld! And just about every major trading route as well. Man, the Grandmaster seems to have really gotten around hasn't he? In the physical sense I mean, you know, not the… uhh, sexual one…"
"Can we leave then?" Bill simply asked, ignoring Sterns' rambling.
"Well, I'm really interested in what else the man has got stashed away here, but in the interest of not pushing our luck, yeah, let's get out of here." Sterns said, unplugging from the terminal as his mechandrites returned underneath his cloak.
Checking both ends of the hallway, Bill gave Sterns a quick nod, before they dashed out of the room and started running towards the throne room, Bill making sure to adjust his pace so that Sterns could keep up. The only obstacle in their way was a single guardsman walking out of what appeared to be the lavatories, who was still struggling with his zipper and thus didn't see the two fugitives until they were nearly upon him.
Not willing to waste any more time inside the building than necessary, Bill didn't stop running and instead stuck out his arm instead, performing a lariat strong enough that it slammed the guard into the ground with such force his body nearly folded in on itself, his knees planted on the floor on either side of his head.
Neither Bill nor Sterns halted in their movements to spare the already dead guard even a second glance as they dashed towards the throne room, where Oliver finally had the room to expand to his full size.
This time, Bill had no trouble jumping into the cabin, Sterns immediately revving Oliver's engine (which caused a piercing blue light to shine brightly from underneath the vehicles' hood), the truck's tires spinning on the smooth floor as Sterns performed a handbrake turn. Facing the windows again, Sterns once again drove at full speed towards the solid surface, and despite knowing what was coming Bill couldn't help but feel apprehension clawing at his gut as the sped closer and closer towards the highly durable material.
And then there was the sound of static, and they were soaring through the air, nobody the wiser that they were there or where they had just been.
"Right. So. Where and how will we meet Hyperion?" Bill asked, more to keep his mind off of things rather than any lapse in his perfect memories.
"Well, we should see the signal any moment now, and after that I'll just set down Oliver, de-cloak so he can see us, load him onboard, cloak again and then punch a hole in the fabric of space-time and make our escape, which should be made easier due to the dogfighting surrounding the portals. Nobody will be on the lookout for any alternative methods off this planet, so we should be in the clear."
"The signal. Hyperion was vague on what he would end up using. Any theories?"
"He named himself after a mythological being of Flame and Light from our home-planet's ancient histories. I think we'll know it when we see it: he tends to live up to the name."
Before Bill could ask Sterns what he meant, a circle of light exploded outwards from the base of the Grandmaster's tower, demolishing much of the structure and covering the surrounding buildings in debris and fire.
"Something like that?" Bill asked dryly, indicating the destruction with an incline of his head, his mind already simulating how the immense tower would fall.
It would (mostly) collapse in on itself, but the sheer amount and weight of material that would come crashing down to the surface would still cause a shockwave that would probably wipe the surrounding buildings off the map of Sakaar.
Then again, those buildings were either barracks or belonged to the socialites of Sakaar, so Bill wasn't exactly sad to see them go, though he felt sorry for any innocents caught in the destruction (insomuch as that Sakaar has any innocents, that is).
"Well, that does look like Michael, yes. Let's wait for the debris to settle a bit first before going in close. I do not fancy getting trapped underneath that massive structure: imagine what it could do to Oliver's paintjob!"
Bill looked over at the scientist in slight surprise, belatedly reminding himself that in order to convey that emotion with his face, he should raise his eyebrows.
"Your colleague… your friend just brought an entire building down upon himself… and you are worried about this vehicle's paintjob?"
Sterns waved away his question though.
"Michael will be fine. Something like this isn't enough to kill him. He'll show up any second now, wait and see."
As if the man had heard his friend's words, Bill's vision (as zoomed in as far is it would go) caught a brief golden blur smash outwards of the crumbling base of the collapsing tower. The glow quickly faded as the figure moved away from the destruction and mayhem at unnatural speeds, before it's camo-cloak came back online again, though parts of it were damaged, Bill noticed, spotting brief glimpses of shining gold.
The figure disappeared from view in the labyrinthine neighborhoods of Sakaar City, though Sterns appeared to be undeterred, simply letting his hands dance across Oliver's dashboard, before tapping the side of his helmet twice.
"This is Oscar to Mike, I repeat, this is Oscar to Mike, can you read me?"
A voice responded with such clarity, for a brief moment Bill thought that somehow Hyperion had suddenly appeared in the seat next to him (after all, this group seemed rather fond of sneaking up on him if even their transportation was in on it).
"Yeah, I read you Oscar. I can't see you though, not even on my HUD."
"Correct Mike. I made Oscar broadcast a wide jamming signal in order to give the escaped slaves a fighting chance. Other than communication, it's impossible for us to have any other form of contact, and even communication took some clever thinking on my part. Can you describe your current position for pick up?"
"Copy that Oscar. Uhh… everything kinda looks the same to be honest. It's all big, it's all bulky and it's all filthy as well. Wait, hang on. Alright, I am about two, maybe three streets away from the Public Library, it's a bit hard to tell with how twisting the roads are here."
"Copy that Mike, give us five minutes-"
Sterns' speech was cut off by a sound so loud that it was almost a physical thing, slamming into them with such force that it caused a brief static in Bill's more delicate inner systems. He was pretty sure that if he still had lungs, they would've reverberated with the sound that the crashing Grandmaster's Palace had produced upon slamming into Sakaar, the entire city trembling down to the bedrock.
A great gale of dust and sheer force slammed outwards from the impact zone, blasting the nearest buildings back and carrying debris away for hundreds upon hundreds of feet. The streets were buried in ash and dust, while most building lost their windows and a few of them even caught fire.
Looking at the chaos below, Sterns paused briefly before clearing his throat.
"Right, make that about eight minutes."
Light coughing came from Oliver's speakers, before they heard Hyperion's aggravated voice.
"Just… make it snappy, please."
"You got it boss."
Fun Fact: Taika Waititi (the director of Thor: Ragnarok) provided both the voices and motion-capture for Surtur as well as Korg. He didn't intend to, but he kept doing their lines while directing scenes with Hemsworth, who liked it so much that he managed to convince the director to do the lines himself anyway. Korg's line about the tri-pronged spear being only useful for fighting off three vampires at once is a shout-out to What We Do In the Shadows, a movie that he directed, and starred in, alongside Jemaine Clement of Flight of the Concords and Moana fame, where they play two of a trio of "vegetarian" vampires who are just trying to be cool.
AN: Originally, I was also going to include Michael's POV, but honestly, I'm tired and I really should get back to writing my other paper which I need to turn in soon (I honestly should get started on that one of these days). Actually, the reason why you guys even got the chapter in the first place was because I didn't want to write that paper and ended up writing this instead.
For all the Earth terms that Bill uses in this chapter, like measurements and a puppy, I could've substituted them with random words like Fobsnarks and Glipsdorpts, but that would've come across as silly. So instead, just picture his thoughts being translated to you, the reader. It's something similar as to why we can hear Thor beg "dear God" despite being, you know, a God himself.
Now, on to some less great news. 12 Steps is killing me. Or at least, killing my creative vibe. I have so many different ideas for different stories, but each time I can't get started on writing them because I feel that I need to finish this one first and it. Just. Doesn't. End! Each time I want to blaze through events in order to advance the plot, characters keep hijacking the chapter and getting way more dialogue than they're supposed to! Hell, Korg was supposed to have one fucking line! Jezus! Still, I'm not giving up on the story. I've come too far, and you people have been way too awesome in supporting this story for me to give up now and I want to see Michael finally becoming Omnipotent just as much as you do. However, I will try to be even more forceful in pushing the plot forwards from here on out, which will definitely mean a drop in quality and probably quite a lot less dialogue. I've already decided with myself that I am not adding new characters to the roster (no, wait… three, yeah I'll add three… maybe four… or five) since they just take up too much space. It's why I left out Miek and why I killed off Valkyrie. Hell, from the people that Michael might end up recruiting, only one might have an actual arc within the story, the others will be more background noise like Potter and Pangborn.
Phew! It feels good to have that off my chest. So yeah, don't be alarmed when the quality starts dropping, just know that it is a necessary sacrifice in order to finally get this story to where it needs to be in the plot. Until next time (probably mid-February or something) stay awesome.
I would like to express my thanks to Miu, Justlovereadin, Daniel Dorfman, Carn Krauss, Samuel Carson, Thordur Hrafn, ReaperScythe and Fakhrurrozi for their continued support! It really does mean a lot to me, so thanks again!