7.c.xi.
The Crash
pulled itself upward, its head and back still dangling over the trench, legs
tightening around the limp form of Commander Credit. After it maneuvered itself onto the ledge and
sat up, The Crash pulled the little man from between its legs and stood, leaning
on its hand for balance; its hand leaning on Commander Credit for emphasis.
The hulking
behemoth growled and picked up the limp man.
It cocked its head and studied the small thing. It smelled him. Then, quite gingerly, a swollen purple
tongue, cobalt veins bulging on the underside, poked out form its cracked lips
and touched the unconscious man’s cheek.
The Crash grinned. Somewhere in
its tiny, primitive, reptilian brain a connection was made.
1987.
It didn’t
recognize or even think in terms of the numerical date, but felt a general
awareness of events from that era. The
Crash gripped Commander Credit’s good arm between its huge finger and
thumb. It adjusted its other hand,
positioning the thumb beneath the pit of the cybernetic arm with massive index
finger on the shoulder and neck of the opposite side; the rest of its fingers
gripping the ribs below.
The Crash
started pulling.
Joints
popped.
Muscle fibers
tore.
“Sorry to
interrupt your Black Monday, but…” Senior Executive shoved his smart phone into
the Crash’s face. Light blared from the
screen, blue-white and hot. The Crash’s
eyes shriveled, pupils going as white as hard boiled eggs.
The Crash let
go of Commander Credit’s cybernetic arm and covered its eyes. It swatted at the blinding, burning light with
the limp body still gripped in its other hand.
Senior Executive jumped back, dodging with ease. The Crash roared and swung Commander Credit around
in flailing, desperate arcs. It shuffled
its feet, determining the orientation of the maze ledge, and hurled Commander
Credit along the wall’s path directly at Senior Executive.
“My portfolio
will protect me,” Senior Executive called out, swiping his finger across the
phone’s touch screen. A series of
charts, graphs, account information, and other investment data opened up and
out of the device, one on top of the other, crystalline and impossibly fast
until a full body-sized, blue-light shield, blazed from the phone.
Senior
Executive blocked the human projectile that was Commander Credit, the impact of
the body thrumming like high tension cables against the blazing shield. Caught in the electric hum the Commander slid
to Senior Executive’s feet and slumped across the ledge. Corporate Man jumped down from above, necktie
fluttering behind him, and gathered up Commander Credit in his arms.
“It seems as
though our stocks are rising, despite your efforts,” Corporate Man shouted at
The Crash. “With our careful investment
strategy focusing on recession proof commodities we–”
But he was
drown out by a flesh quivering bellow as The Crash, blind and enraged, charged
toward them on the narrow ledge.
