HEAVY DOPE: A SAGA OF CYBERNETIC JUSTICE
a short story
HEAVY DOPE: A SAGA OF CYBERNETIC JUSTICE
by Daphne Garrido
Lieutenant Admiral Fourth-Captain Squadron Backup-Leader D.D. Danger was on the scene of the crime after redlining his man-stallion across Central City’s dusk shrouded streets. Terror owned the night, with rage driving its citizens actions through blind wanting for survival, and nothing tasted sweeter than his man-stallion’s drip sweat. A screeching caw stole Lt. Danger’s attention away from his hydration routine; those Goddamned pterodactyls were everywhere.
His ass-clip vibrated most pleasantly, notifying him in that chosen way of an incoming call on the talky-box, which he’d not answered for those moments he never would, enjoying its cozy little rumble in his rear-facing nether regions.
Vice President Admiral First-Captain’s Assistant J.J. Jammin was the incoming.
“What in the goddamn fuck do you want!” D.D. screamed over the line as he opened the talky boxes net-jammed cork-matrix.
“I want you to do your mother fucking job goddammit!’ J.J returned fire in a full-throated roar of unmatchable caliber, as always.
No matter how hard D.D. tried to outmatch the man, he simply couldn’t be beat, the force within those chords were of purest power, that’s why he was the Vice President Admiral First-Captain’s Assistant.
“Gimmie a goddamn progress report!” he’d continued in seamless flow.
D.D. shot his man-stallion in the head point-blank, painting their brains across the pavement, enjoying the release of it all. Though, he’d forgotten to mute his talky-box’s hard-shell donut-shaped transceiver receptacle.
“Not another one, goddamnit!”
Vice President Admiral First-Captain’s Assistant J.J. Jammin was furious as always at the loss of tender man-meat for the choosing. Tucking the sawed-off splatter blaster beneath his trench coat, retrieving his wallet from that complete failure of a man-stallion’s butt-pockets, just straight angry at the world, D.D. was done with bullshit and he was about to let his boss know.
“I’m going to fucking kill you if you keep talking to me like that you goddamn mother fucker!’
Central city citizens were not known for their articulation, even less so were the members of Central City Police’s Cybernetic Justice Division’s Cyber Defense Squad Alpha Justice Baron’s Strike-Team.
D.D. ripped back out his splatter blaster and fired haplessly upward at the ever-looming glares of his city’s dastardly prehistoric predators so prowling the rooftops. Although his weapon’s widest spray had no hope of reaching them, it still helped him let out a little of the tension building in his artificial-thigh chunk-wads.
“Fucking fucker, goddamnit!’ J.J. commanded.
“Get your goddamn fucking ass in there!”
D.D. smashed his talky-box on the street and stormed towards the warehouse where they’d reports of unpermitted human-life residing in spite of the law; a plague of the past which seemed to never die, rats hiding in Central City’s sewers, they were those favorite targets of the cunt-ass pterodactyls which D.D. wished so badly he could hold close.
Headfirst, he’d broken in the door, with unbearable pain, and found himself struggling mightily once inside. It took him a minute to get his circuits straight. This method would never change for D.D. despite all evidence pointing to other needs within him. That was just how he did it.
“Fucking goddamnit!’ he’d finally realized.
No longer would he utilize any of his patience, storming through the building and kicking over everything he could see, screaming wildly in a never-ending barrage of murderously furious cries for recompence. A siren’s call for the necessary deaths of these pests so burrowed into his fair city.
“This will end today, goddamn mother fuckers!” he’d pondered as he plowed his head through the barrier wall before him.
D.D. crumpled to a heap with his head buried in his hands.
“Goddamn, fuck!"
Writhing atop the destroyed plaster, just beyond the android-God-man sized hole he’d created, directly beside a thin plywood door which was hanging open, trying to crawl forward onto his feet, he’d known this divine. There was purpose here.
Nothing had ever made more sense.
Just as D.D. found a foothold, he was rocked by an armor piercing round which threw the shoulder unit of his throat-nozzle completely free from its aluminum-graphite-polycarbonate casing. That thing was useless anyway.
As he’d slid to a stop on his knees before the gut-strewn human who’d so foolishly hoped to thwart his righteousness, reloading his splatter blaster with uranium-fried charcoal freedom-shards, no single member of the Central City Police’s Cybernetic Justice Division’s Cyber Defense Squad Alpha Justice Baron’s Strike-Team — let alone a Lieutenant Admiral Fourth-Captain Squadron Backup-Leader of D.D. Danger’s fiery aplomb, had ever been cooler.
After going through his cycle again on the next door, scrawling out for a while before getting back to his feet and feeling pretty shitty, D.D. wished he’d brought a man-cannon. Those were most useful tools of the Central City Police’s Cybernetic Justice Division’s Cyber Defense Squad Alpha Justice Baron’s Strike-Team, especially someone like a D.D. Danger; a Lieutenant Admiral Fourth-Captain Squadron Backup-Leader.
Twelve grisly homicides of divine purification later, and three more pulverized doorways which had stood no chance, he’d finally come upon her.
“Fucking goddamnit!” D.D. had yelled.
It was a babe. He’d feel kind of bad if he wasted her.
Lifting her into his chrome-syphoned-polyurethane-ingested rocket arms, feeling her softest touch against the elthelprophilane-jumucrius skin hair of his beefsteak chest piece, thoughts of settling down crossed D.D. Danger’s mind.
She’d held so tightly as he smashed their way through wall after wall, shielding her as best he could, though far less than he’d hoped, before dragging them both off the ground again and again.
Finally, salvation — Central City’s heavenly perfume of sweetest bio-waste in such magnificent harmony with those gentle wafts of pterodactyl feces — this would be a good night indeed.
He’d not seen the babe reading his badge before she looked him in the out-jetting optical nerve fibers serving as his eyes.
“Danger,” she’d whispered.
He’d finally stopped sprinting full-blast, slowing just enough for her to hear his response over the grinding servo-rotor-mecha-joints which powered his Godlike speed, and he’d told her most straight-up.
“Goddamnit, Danger is my mother fucking middle name!”
It took the woman a moment to process it all, holding so tightly, his feet-bobbles wiggling gently under each footfall, keeping himself so steady, knowing victory was in sight, this babe was coming with him.
Finally she’d asked, “Then what’s your first name?”
No breaks — velocity unchanged — D.D. Danger had pivoted an optical nerve fiber her way and given a slyest slap of its sphincter shielding, curling an outer length of his mouth-void’s rightmost robo-tentacle into a devilish grin. Then cut a path straight to Central City Police’s Cybernetic Justice Division’s Cyber Defense Squad Alpha Justice Baron’s Strike-Team’s headquarters — the only place a Lieutenant Admiral Fourth-Captain Squadron Backup-Leader could refuel on justice juice and get himself a fresh man-stallion.
He didn’t have to tell her what it was; she knew.
