Hamster Kin
A Starshatter story
(Art by Neutronboar)
My fellow Terrans, it is Terran-Tuesday and since you loved this little fuzzy fella so much, I am giving you another chapter :D
Enjoy!
Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8
Chapter 3
Unracketed
“What is dis?” – yawned the guard chief as he watched holo-footage projected from their secu-cams.
Standing tall in the rain was a weird hat-wearing, neatly cloaked, large backpack-carrying person. Diminutive and otherwise non-threatening, the gangster did not care exactly what or who that sentient was, however, his presence interrupted the flow of customers. He and his guards were paid to keep things orderly and the big boss would not love it if paying clients complained.
“Chief, it wants... chuckle... dat smidget... chortle... he wants ‘is mone’ back!” – one of the guards replied with a snide snicker and elbowed his fellow, who was beginning to laugh with gusto at the dripping wet, odd-looking critter.
“Money, what money?! Shoo it the fakk away!” – he grumbled in his underlings’ comms – “Must me do yer jobs-gah?!”
“Go’oh ehwei, rodent!” – half-shouted, half-sniggered guard number two.
“Yeah, go look for mone’ in dat crap ‘eap over there!” – laughed the first guard and attempted to push the intruder away.
Eyes wide and moderately confused, the Chief watched how his otherwise competent, well-paid guard struck empty air. Losing his balance, said guard slipped on the wet pavement and planted his armored butt where he once stood, with a loud, squishy sound. The hat-wearing critter, meanwhile, had somehow positioned himself between the guards and little hand waving at the secu-cam, squeaked:
“My good sir Landlord is owed compensation for services not rendered including penalty pay since he’d suffered physical injuries and lost monetary assets. However, it would appear that you... erm... gentlemen, are not the persons I need to discuss this with. I ask you, kindly, take me to your leader.”
The Chief’s boss would literally skin him alive for such an interruption!
Therefore, spittle flying in the air, the Chief screamed in his underlings’ comms – “Beam or beat him ded and dispose of the body! Quick, before the Boss gets a wind of dis!”
To their credit, his underlings duly did their duty. Once more, guard one swung at the critter and, just as guard two grabbed his beamgun, again failed. A reddish particle-beam fired from point-blank range a star-second later missed by a longshot. Somehow, the diminutive sentient not only evaded the attacks, but was able to permanently incapacitate the guards.
Number one got smacked with something which turned his chest into a mangled mess of metal, crushed bone, and torn flesh. Guard number two followed suit, his armored head nowhere to be seen, a fountain of blood gushing all over secu-cam, and screaming would-be customers. The latter proceeded to evacuate the premises; thot-gurls stumbling in their overpriced, pitiful excuse of shoes as their expensive suit-wearing, jewel-clad thug-boi companions ran away even faster.
The Chief nearly leapt from his chair when a goggle-faced snout popped in close on his holo-feed. A voice, still insufferably calm and deathly polite, warned:
“This unaliving attempt most inept will cost you, extra. Pay now or I am coming in... squeaking.”
What the Chief dreaded, occurred, as his own comm link echoed with his Boss’s deadly calm voice – “What is goin on ‘ere?”
“N-nothien, n-no worriez Boss! I’ll deal with di-” – the Chief replied as quick as he could, but was interrupted.
“Do your fokkehn job.” – snarled the Boss and cut the link.
Chills ran down his neck and the Chief remembered the fate of his predecessor. Grabbing his beam rifle, he ran out of the security room, alarms ringing in the helmets of all available guards. Twenty in number, including himself, they were hired to take care of issues like this, while the Boss and his own underlings took care of their business.
“Take yer positions! Git ‘vryone out of ‘ere, now! Beamguns, at focus fire!” – the Chief began roaring one order after another and his people obeyed, acting like the well-oiled oppressive machine they were.
While the critter tried entering through the now locked front gate, the Chief immediately ordered his people to usher all customers present at the establishment, evacuated from the back exits. Kvetching and even crying bloody murder, the small crowd of netfluencers, thug-bois and thot-gurls slowly but surely strutted their way towards, and then through the exits.
Half the guards had already taken their prearranged spots since this was trained many times over, and aimed their beamguns at the main gate. Their fingers on the triggers and given commands to shoot on sight, they were linked holo-footage of the would-be intruder.
Minutes passed.
The night club was fully secured, all doors locked and its guests safely shoved into grav-taxis or their own vehicles. The Chief relaxed a little bit as he watched on the main gate’s secu-cam feed how the critter was still politely knocking at the door. A couple minutes later, he heard the small person sing:
“Ready or not, heeere I cooome! Gonna find ya and bonk ya deadleh!”
Nothing happens but the diminutive sentient walked away from the venue and into the rainy night.
His guards laughed.
Armed, in cover, and armored from head to toe, they exchanged comms full of mocking comments. The Chief too, he thought that this person was probably sent by someone, another new gang probably, to try and intimidate his Boss. Honestly, these things happened so often, that he shouldn’t have scared himself that much!
He joined his underlings, chuckled for a good few seconds, and even entertained calling off the alert.
The holo-lights went off.
A loud sonic boom followed by the death throe of one guard announced that, indeed, this weird hat-wearing, backpack-carrying critter was in. Skull caved in and very dead, the man landed atop one of the tables still piled in with drinks and snacks. Their beamguns waved around in vain attempts to locate and shoot the intruder, his underlings were no longer in a chuckling mood.
“Change formation! Scanners—find him!” – ordered he, while another one of his men swirled in the air, back broken and limbs crackling with high voltage.
“Ihihihiiii!” – the critter’s abominable laughter boomed from every surround sound emitter, as the venue’s holoprojector system gave birth to a dozen flying, power club-wielding assailants.
“Open fire,” – grumbled the Chief – “one of ‘em haff to be real!”
Red hot particle-beams lit up the nigh club, biting into expensive decorations, posh holo-art, and blasting furniture into smithereens. Indeed, a number of shots found the flying pests and these did disappear. However, for every snickering holo shot, yet another guard fell dead and bleeding either on the dance floor, tables, or drinking booths.
“Whooosh!” and “Wheeee!” did the critter squeak as the monstrously powerful, emitting huge voltage club sent man after man flying with a terrifying to hear bonk. The Chief was absolutely mortified and not from what his Boss might do later, but the immediate and deadly threat, now. Before he could realize it, the insane attacker had mauled, broken the bones and otherwise crushed the heads of nearly all guards.
It was him and two others who were left; hands shaking, beamguns overheating, and they, covered from head to toe with the remains of their colleagues.
“Why didn’t you pay?” – asked the critter, his bloodied snout suddenly and unexplainably straight in the Chief’s face.
One of the two remaining guards unsheathed his vibroblade and swung. Screaming, a split second later, the man stood over the cleaved in two body of his fellow guard. The critter had merely danced away from the vicious blow and redirected the blade with his own power-club. All thoughts of fighting gone, the guard threw his sword and panically ran towards the main gate, then out on the rainy street.
As the screams and stomp of running vanished, the Chief soiled his armored suit.
“Ha-how mu-much?!” – whimpered he, his beamgun on the floor and hands raised.
The abominable sentient floated around, his large power-club blinking with tiny electrical discharges.
“Twenty thousand platinum dekats for my good sir Landlord.” – squeaked the critter, playing with his monstrous club, adding – “One for me.”
“O-one fo-for...?” – stuttered the horrified, confused security chief.
“Why, yes, I did tell you that your unaliving attempt would cost you extra, didn’t I?”
“Give him the dekats.” – out of the dark, ruined guts of the night club came the Boss’s sepulchral voice, followed by the hiss of a particle-beam which slagged his former security chief.
Armed to the teeth, a dozen strong group of cybernetically enhanced gangsters kept their automatic beamguns aimed at the Hamster, while two of their fellows carried a metal case. They lowered it near the assailant and unlocked the lid, so the hat-wearing floating monstrosity could count his dekats. Towering, the Boss’s armored shapes came into view and this one reached into his pocket. Metal fingers twiddling a single dekat, he tossed the coin, the critter snatching it midair and with apparent ease nonetheless.
“Why the one dekat?” – asked the Boss, while the Hamster casually stashed the money in his backpack.
The cyborgs shuffled in their spots, confusion slowly replaced with worry since that smallish being lifted a heavy case with one hand. Said case vanished into the depths of his weird backpack and the critter hopped up, as if he carried not a single pound of weight. Fixing his alien hat, he frolicked around and over the mauled bodies of the guards, whistling a weird tune. Nearly at the gate, he remembered that the Boss asked him a question and answered with a polite bow:
“Principles.”
Noting the confusion of his men, the Boss gave each a scathing glare and pointed his metallic finger at the Hamster, warning him – “Realize you are living on a borrowed time, rodent.”
“And you, Mr. Dessert,” – squeaked the Hamster, waggling his little finger at the Boss – “you and your scrap-decked goons, the time allowance I gave you is nearly spent.”
With a ginger pace, the critter left, making sure to close the gate after him.
The cyborgs and their Boss immediately stormed through said door, guns and blades ready. Yet no matter how much they looked, scanned, and otherwise tasked their digitized senses to look for the Hamster, he was no longer there. Indeed, there was a semblance of a blood trail, one that he left floating or running away into the rainy night. It ended abruptly, as if this chuckling terror had somehow magically vanished into the air...
Dear friends, if you like to support me and enable many a future writings, grab a copy and have a read!
A great Critter makes a magical escape!
"Ready or not, heeere I cooome! Gonna find ya, and bonk ya deadleh!" Haha! Brilliant! 😎