Issue 13 - Ray Gun Revival

Conversion, by Shaun Farrell Pg. 10
Flapper’s back arched. His eyes rolled back
into his head. Then he shook it off and started
rocking on the floor.
“What was that?” Tuck asked.
“The nans, the ones inside of him, must still be
alive somehow. They reacted to my transmission.
I think—” Gen turned away, hands typing rapidly.
“I think you can put the piece down now,
soldier boy,” Dixon said.
“How about I keep it where it is, just for fun?”
Synchronized footsteps filled the hallway. In
the midst of their argument, they hadn’t heard
the NET soldiers. Tuck and Dixon looked down
the hall in unison, their eyes widening.
A dozen soldiers stood out there, with more
in the stairwell behind them, no doubt.
“I knew it,” Tuck whispered, face twisting into
a scowl. “You betrayed us!”
Tuck began to re-aim the L-20 at Dixon. Simultaneously,
Dixon jutted forward and reached for
Tuck’s leg. With his other hand he deflected the
rifle toward the ceiling.
Tuck tried to sidestep, but Dixon was too
fast. In that moment Tuck realized his feelings of
control had been an illusion. Dixon could have
done this whenever he wanted.
Before Tuck could regain his bearings, Dixon
had relieved the Captain of a pistol and darted
down the hallway.
“He’s joining NET!” Tuck yelled, scrambling for
the door.
Then gunshots echoed around him. And
screams. Dixon’s screams. He was charging the
enemy soldiers, gun spitting fire, lungs releasing
the last breath of a man embracing his fate.
“No,” Tuck whispered. “It can’t be.”
The troops responded in unison, their minds
joined through NET. They unleashed hell into
the hallway. Dixon was chopped to pieces, but
he seemed to continue forward anyway, as if
the sheer force of his hatred could hold his flesh
together. His gun fired again and again.
Two men collapsed under the barrage of his
attack, but that was all Dixon could manage. He
fell, dead before he hit the floor.
Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 13, January 01, 2007
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“Dixon!” Tuck’s throat was instantly dry, adrenaline
zapping his mouth of moisture, replacing it
with salt. He screamed and took aim with his L-
20. Barely able to control the gun with his shaky
arms, he leaned around the doorframe and fired.
NET responded with typical effectiveness,
aiming their fire at Tuck’s side of the door. With
nans guiding their eyes and fingers, the NET
soldiers demonstrated considerable skill. Tuck
continually turned back into the room, the metal
doorframe disintegrating around him. At one
point he dove across the entry to the other side.
Miraculously, only one enemy projectile grazed
his leg.
Once the shooting began, Gen, Flapper, and
Lynda ran to the opposite side of the room.
Debris and bullets rattled all over the place, but
they found somewhat suitable shelter in the far
corner behind the empty storage crates.
Flapper yelled and tried to run into the hall.
He wanted to rejoin his brothers, and he slapped
at Gen when the older man held him back.
“They don’t want you anymore,” Gen screamed,
feeling the futility of the situation overtake him.
He should let Flapper run into the sea of bullets.
He would die instantly, but at least he would die
believing NET had come for him.
“I know, I know,” Flapper returned, still struggling.