blytech (blytech) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-01-30 21:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | ratchet, viola |
Who: Bly and Preston
What: When we say "being stupid" we mean "borrowing the Iron Man suit"
Where: The skies above Seattle
When: Sunday night, when the results for the auction come in
Warnings: Scattered swears. We know how Bly swears when he gets turned on excited.
Like a typical college guy on a Sunday night, Bly was contemplating the best way to break into his boss's old office. And not just any office, but the office - if it could be called an office - that contained Anton's Iron Man suit. Why? Because he was crazy, that was why. But since the not-zombie Reaver things had swept through the city and Anton had gone, no one had touched the suit. And he figured, since he knew about it, he could at least take it through its paces. Keep its joints oiled.
Okay, so that was a lie. Really, he just wanted to go cruising through downtown Seattle as Iron Man. Not that he could tell anyone. No one could ever know. Because you didn't tell people stuff like this. Also because he was breaking and entering. Technically. Anton had always changed the codes on this particular door. It had become a game for them, seeing how hard Anton could make the code and if Bly could break it. So he crouched outside the door, a small code-breaker in hand. He pushed two buttons on it, letting it do its work, and the door to the office clicked open. Score, he thought, a stupid ass grin spreading across his face. Oh, man, this is going to be tight.
Because breaking and entering on Sunday nights was what normal, eighteen year old boys did when bored in college.
He hurried across the room, flicking on the lights as he went. One of the robots rolled off its charging plate and came toward him, beeping. Anton had always meshed better with the robots than he had, so he waved hesitantly, side-stepping away. The robot pursued him, beeped angrily, and shoved him. Bly scowled. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry I didn't come visit sooner!" he groused, rubbing his shoulder. He scooted away from the robot, inspecting the place. It was dusty - gross - but he wasn't surprised. He didn't know if any of Anton's people actually knew how to get into this place. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn't. Didn't matter. At all. Because there, in front of him, was the mother load of mindblowingly, better than sex (not that he'd know), better than video games and pizza and orange soda, awesome technology.
"Hey, baby," he said, running his hand down the front of the suit. "You're looking good. Lose some weight while I was gone?" The robot behind him bleeped angrily again. If a robot could have an aneurysm, Bly guessed that was what it would sound like. All garbled and gooky. Kind of like it was throwing up half-parsed, 8-bit sounds. He shuddered.
Booting up the computer, he started the program for the Iron Man suit, waiting for everything to check out. And then - then. Then he did that thing he'd been dreaming about. That thing Anton had promised he'd be able to do eventually, but had never gotten the chance to do. He climbed into the suit. It closed around him, and he had a moment of panic, because he didn't quite fit. Then some metal shifted and adjusted itself, and it was better. He was a tall, gangly thing, so he was about the same height as Anton. But the chest was too broad. He'd have to start working out. Because if he kept the suit - and hell if he didn't want to desperately - he'd need to look the part.
"Alright, let's give this a whirl." He rocked back and forth, studying the HUD. "Uh, computer? Open the, uh... skylight... thinger?" It opened. That was awesome. This was awesome. Holy shit, this was bitching. In ways he couldn't even describe. Then he activated the launchy thingers - he didn't know their technical term and didn't care - and rose into the sky. This. This had to be what sex was like. All adrenaline and exhilaration. Except it was better than that. Because he was flying. Who the hell flew? Aside from Iron Man. No one. No one. He was awesome. This whole thing was awesome. This was--
"Shit!" He spun to the left, did something with the repulsor things in his hands, and narrowly avoided slamming into a building. He overcompensated, and as air whooshed by his head, he almost crashed into a window. A half naked lady stood there, staring at him. He stared back for a minute, a stupid grin on his face, then he saluted her and pushed himself higher into the atmosphere.
Higher and higher, he pushed, until he broke through the perpetual cloud layer over the city and it was just him and the stars. He stayed there for a while, staring at the sky through the HUD, and it occurred to him he was really flying. He was up in the air, wearing a pretty small suit, all thing considered. And he was flying. A smile of awestruck wonder spread across his face. And then something exploded somewhere over his shoulder, sending him tumbling through the air. Flailing, he corrected himself. The HUD flashed with warning, and a electronic voice informed him two stealth fighters had locked onto him.
Because getting shot at by the Air Force while in a flying suit was what normal, eighteen year old boys did when bored on a Sunday night.