Chapter 355: The Final Battle and Going Home
Ron had never had much patience for idiots who wanted to play the old-fashioned one-on-one melee game in the age of firearms.
He raised his hand and fired, but what happened next surprised him. Charlie raised his prosthetic arm to block, actually deflecting Ron's bullet with the metal limb. The mechanical arm was completely unfazed by the impact, casually flicking the deformed slug to the ground. A smug, vicious smile appeared on his lips: "I think you're the outdated cowboy here."
"Ron, I—"
"Don't worry about it. You guys head inside and deal with that psycho Poppy. I'll handle this traitor." Ron cut Eggsy off mid-sentence, casually holstering his revolver: "I'm guessing you'd be pretty pissed if I just shot you, right? You seem pretty confident in your skills. How about we settle this properly?"
"That's exactly what I was thinking." Charlie ripped off his shirt.
Ron didn't understand why a fight required dramatic shirt-removal, but since the atmosphere had reached this point, he unbuckled his gun belt, tossing both holstered revolvers to the ground. "Since we agreed on a fair fight, how about you take off that mechanical arm too? Not exactly a level playing field with that thing on."
But the moment the belt left his hands, Charlie suddenly lunged. The mechanical arm shot forward, grabbing Ron by the collar and yanking him close, laughing maniacally. "Haha! Moron, who said anything about some cowboy honor duel? I was playing you. Die!"
"You think you're the only one who can act?" Ron, his face mostly shadowed by his Stetson, looked up with a wide grin. This made Charlie's blood run cold; he sensed something was wrong.
Especially when another cold metal object pressed against his gut.
A gun! Instantly, cold sweat broke out on Charlie's face.
"Who told you cowboys only carry two guns?" Ron pulled the trigger, and the round immediately punched through Charlie's abdomen, leaving a neat hole. Charlie's pupils lost focus as he collapsed. Ron wasn't finished; as if venting his frustration, he emptied all six rounds from the derringer before stopping.
"That's for trying to out-act me!"
"If you're so good, why don't you audition for Hollywood?"
"They should give you a damn Emmy, you know that?"
…
By the time Ron was finished, the battlefield had already been completely cleared by the drones. Only occasional sounds of a struggle could be heard from the main building in the center of Poppy Land. When Ron reached the entrance, the fighting stopped.
Only the mechanical hum of motors remained.
Ron pushed open the door. Eggsy and Harry, mentor and protégé, were leaning against the counter gasping for breath, while Agent Whiskey was half-stuffed into an industrial meat grinder, with only his legs sticking out above the machinery.
At the machine's discharge chute, a pile of ground meat mixed with fabric scraps lay conspicuously in a collection bin, reeking of blood. Ron knew exactly where it came from.
"Internal dispute?"
"No, Whiskey attacked us. He wanted all the addicts dead so everyone's attention would focus on whiskey, making distillery stocks soar, and then—"
"Stop, stop, stop," Ron waved his hand to halt Eggsy's rambling. "I'm not interested in your Kingsman soap opera. I just want to ask one question: have all of Poppy's antidote warehouses been unlocked?"
Poppy had already established warehouses in every major city worldwide, stocked with her antidote, but all of them were secured by self-destruct programs. Unless properly unlocked, any unauthorized access would trigger the destruction sequence.
"Of course, now—"
Ron cut Eggsy off before he could finish: "Listen, kid, if this were a novel, I'd be the main character. No audience wants to listen to a supporting character monologue for pages. Stick to your role, kiddo."
With that, Ron grabbed Poppy's personal laptop and left. He hadn't come all this way for nothing. To be fair, Poppy had some cutting-edge technology in biopharmaceuticals and prosthetic robotics; her computer must contain valuable research data.
Taking the laptop back, whether to Paige or Howard, would surely yield some breakthroughs.
As for other spoils of war, Ron hadn't given them much thought since arriving. Whether it was the robotic dogs or the virus research, Ron—who spent all his time with Sheldon and the crew—knew these things required enormous amounts of R&D funding.
Looking at this incredibly bare-bones base, Ron knew where all the money Poppy had earned over the years had gone; it was practically burned through.
...
"The dungeon entrance is a moss-covered door. You manage to open it, only to find yourself facing an ugly, foul-smelling ogre. What do you do?"
In a Pasadena apartment, a well-worn game map sat on the table. Four nerdy guys sat around it, each holding character sheets and dice. It was their weekly D&D night.
"I'd say to him, 'Hey Ma, what's for dinner tonight?'" Howard's mother was enormous, making it hard to believe she and Howard were actually related. Compared to Howard, she really did resemble an ogre.
"Seventeen." Sheldon rolled the dice and immediately consulted the corresponding entry in the Dungeon Master's Guide: "The ogre was amused by your joke and allows you to enter the dungeon."
Howard gave a theatrical bow.
"By the way, I was also entertained by your joke, hiss~" Sheldon chuckled. "What about you guys? What are your actions?"
"I'll draw my six-shooter and stick it in the ogre's mouth, asking him, 'Hey buddy, did you pay your troll toll?'" Ron pushed open the door. "Hey everyone, good evening. Lucky I made it back for D&D night, otherwise I definitely would've flown back to Cambodia and put a few more rounds in that backstabbing jackass."
"Hey, Ron, you're finally back!" Ron's return caused enthusiastic cheers from the young nerds, especially Howard: "Where the hell have you been these past few days? We couldn't find you anywhere."
"I had a major firefight with a criminal organization at a secret base hidden in the jungle, and I also took down the Winter Soldier. Hope Captain America doesn't come after me for icing his best buddy."
"Yeah right, I don't believe you. That's all comic book stuff. You're full of it again." Sheldon looked skeptical. "Hey, Leonard, tell Superman his red cape is at my place right now. If you want, have him swing by and give me a lift."
"Oh, and this too."
With a heavy thud, Ron pulled Charlie's mechanical arm from his duffel bag and tossed it onto the table. "This is my trophy. I got the Winter Soldier's prosthetic arm. Here, keep it as a souvenir. Hope you nerds appreciate it."
(End of Chapter)
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