Tunnel Rat Chapter 262 (Patreon)

So...Jake can't host the Halloween party. I have no details; that's just what my wife and daughters told me to explain why I have a house full of high-school students in costumes tonight. The puppy (Now 100 pounds) loves everyone and wants to be friendly. The wife informed me I was packing his cage to the third floor. I sighed and started up the stairs. Four stairs from the top, there was a loud popping noise in my left knee. So now I'm typing with one leg up and on ice, the dog is in a crate outside my door, whining for attention, and the party downstairs is in full swing.

I'm just going to keep writing. It should be fine. What else can go wrong?

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"Are you alone?"

"Check your Email."

"Urgent! Talk to me!"

The message flashed across Belinda's screen as she was going for the high score of Wacky Death Racers 2000. She was piloting her favorite vehicle, the Buzzwagon, with her psychotic beaver sidekick, Chaintooth. People said that adding a nitro-fuel injector to the Buzzwagon was a waste of time due to a lack of fuel. Fuel was easy. All it took was overtaking the Chugalug-Boozemobile when they went downhill and a quick toss of her beaver. Neither Luke nor Blubberbear were much of a fighter when they were drunk, and they were always drunk. Chaintooth killed them both and then steered the alcohol-fueled machine to a stop at the bottom of the hill. Belinda loaded up enough alcohol to fuel the Injector and made a dozen Molotov cocktails to throw. A line of burning wrecks attested to Chaintooth's accuracy with anything explosive, and then it was only them and Dick left in the race. Dick was counting on his own fuel injector to push his heavy vehicle over the finish line and wasn't expecting the Buzzwagon to race past and a horizontal mounted saw to take off his head. His dog giggled and switched sides immediately. The finish line was just ahead when Milo's message flashed across her screen. She finished the race but lost points when she couldn't pursue all the spectators. Chaintooth and Mutley saved the day by throwing the last of the Molotov cocktails and pushing her into first place in the Western Division. She'd head to the European Cup next week in Prague.

"This better be good, or I'm ordering a beaver and a chainsaw!"

The implied threat in her voice made Milo pause. Nothing he could think of led to that sentence. "Are you alone? This is really important. Whatever you do, don't let them give you medication or put you into a pod!"

That scared her because Milo sounded scared. "I'm alone. What's going on?"

"I'll be there in a minute. Don't call security when you see me."

The connection broke, leaving her wondering. Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, a vent cover opened, and a figure dropped into the room, landing on its hands and tail. If he hadn't warned her, she would have hit her panic button and grabbed for the taser sitting in a side pocket of her chair. Instead, she stayed very still and had her hand next to the taser. It helped that the figure wearing futuristic body armor was shorter and slimmer than her. It probably was Milo...but she didn't relax until he pulled off the helmet.

"Hi."

"Hi. Why do you have rat ears and a tail? Seriously, are you going to fight crime? That's fine as long as I'm the hero and you're the spunky sidekick. That is totally a side-kick outfit, rat-boy."

Milo looked down at his suit. Then he smiled at her. "Challenge accepted. I brought a suit for you. Something moved above the opening, and she saw a small drone drop a package. Milo spread out a suit on the floor. It looked like her gloves. "What's your name going to be? I'll get a letter put on the chest."

"You made me a suit? What does it do? Is it like my gloves?"

He nodded. "I hope so. But I haven't calibrated it to you yet. I only got your medical records an hour ago and have to run a complete analysis before I know what's wrong with you. Then, I can program the suit to help. It works the same as the gloves, but I have no idea how that will affect you. But we may not have much time. Victor is going to kidnap you in the next day or two and haul you off somewhere until you turn 18. And your doctors, who work for Victor, not your Father, are going to double-cross Victor and hold you for ransom. Both want to have you in a pod and in an induced medical coma. It's not uncommon for patients to be transported that way for treatment."

Belinda rubbed her temples. "And dear Daddy is still pressuring me to sign a lot of very suspicious papers that have to do with my trust funds and medical treatment. And the good news today is that my pod is re-calibrated and upgraded, and I can start playing the game again tomorrow. Even Daddy is happy about that. He's encouraging me to play more. So maybe three different groups of people close to me want to spirit me away to keep me safe from the others and get their hands on my trust funds."

She looked around her rooms, eying the cameras. "You turned off the security cameras, didn't you? You'd never show up the way you did, divulge new secrets, and show off your Rat-Boy costume if there was a chance people could see you."

"It's not a Rat-Boy costume! It's enhanced body armor with surveillance and stealth abilities! Umm....and it doesn't have a logo or big R on the chest." Milo was concluding that if he had wanted to make a superhero costume, he wouldn't change much. He wasn't going to tell her about the tasers or claws.

"How come mine doesn't have armor or stealth? How am I supposed to fight crime?" She didn't know where the conversation was going, but having Milo off-balance was fun.

"It doesn't have those yet. I just made it! The next one will be better." As soon as he said that, he realized his error.

She smiled evilly at him. "You just made it, did you? Which means you made the gloves. Which means you don't just work for Claw Master, do you? And you don't live here in the Hab all the time. Are you some mysterious billionaire who keeps two identities?"

Milo took a deep breath; there wasn't any more time to hide things. "I do live in the Hab. I've lived in the Hab for years. I never leave. And, yes, I made the suit, and yes, I don't just work for Claw Master. Claw Master works for me. They sell my inventions and help with other things, like not getting caught by people. But we have to focus on you. We're running out of time, and I'm unsure what to do."

Belinda sighed; it had been fun. "You're right. Eric is playing Dad and Victor against each other. And now you tell me my doctors are a third set of people after me. Any of them could decide to grab me anytime. There isn't a lot that I can do to stop them. Two orderlies grab the troubled patient, and a doctor jabs me with a sedative, and it's lights out. It's happened a couple of times when I was younger and 'being difficult.' I could set up some panic buttons to call Uncle Victor and Eric if it was Daddy stealing me or Eric and Daddy if it was Victor, but that works worse when both Daddy and Victor want the same thing. I think I can trust Eric, but he's in deep with both of them. No way do I dare get into the pod tomorrow when they wheel it down. I might never get out. They'll be suspicious if I refuse to use it."

She looked up at the vent. "How did you get here?"

"Through the ductwork and tunnels. The habitat has a network of them. I've used them for years to move around so no one sees me."

Belinda was considering her options. "I need to get out of here, and to do that, I can't take my wheelchair. They can track it too easily."
She moved her chair over to the suit and picked up a piece of it. "This looks like each piece connects to the others. Tell me about it."

Milo was happy to move the talk to something he was more confident about instead of superheroes and sidekicks. "They do. I can show you how to seal and connect them. The upper and lower torso go first. The connections are the same as an MK7 pod, and it will run a constant diagnosis on you after it's calibrated. It may give you more control immediately, or it may need a month of calibrating the suit to your nervous system."

Belinda shook her head. "Nice to know, but I'm not waiting. The gloves work; that's good enough for me. I'm trying this suit on now. I can try to do it myself, or you can help me." Belinda was far past the point of any embarrassment after years of being poked, prodded, examined, and forced to lay nearly naked in hospital beds or pods. But she was surprised when Milo just shrugged and said he'd help.

He seemed more concerned about the next step. "How are we getting you out of here? Will they let you come to Section E for some time with the gang?"

She pointed to the ductwork. "Same way you came in. How hard can it be? You just have to help a poor crippled girl with poor motor skills into an experimental piece of equipment and drag me through hundreds of yards of tight tunnels. That should be easy for a seasoned sidekick like Ratboy."