47. Defense, Doors and Dancing

“We are the backbone of the S.L.A.G. pilot!” Freak declared proudly.

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: After two grueling weeks of S.L.A.G. training, the Steel & Stone team watched the WHRN broadcast reveal this season’s competitors. With rumors swirling and stakes rising, Wendell learned he’ll be facing off against the Church’s deadliest pilots… in the final round of tier one.

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Every danger has a rhythm to it. The key to survival is being aware of your surroundings and learning to dance within your circumstances.

The TNT crew had stayed up all night—listening to the pilot draw broadcast, scribbling stats and names on the blackboard in the shop, and then diving into work with reckless enthusiasm. When they finally shuffled into the kitchen for breakfast, they looked like coal miners who’d lost a wrestling match with a grease monster.

Tumbler plopped into a chair at the table, a puff of soot erupting from his vest like a busted flour bag. “Can’t hardly raise m’ arms,” he chuckled, his face blackened everywhere except where his goggles had been. He tossed a cigar to Dax and pointed a grime-covered finger at him. “And you better be grateful, by TGII, or I’ll weld yer eyes shut—I will.”

Dax gave him a salute and laughed, clearly impressed.

Telly leaned in and nudged him, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “No, really. He would.”

Deloris walked into the kitchen just in time to gasp. “You’re all filthy! Get your behinds to the washroom before you sit on anything!”

Tumbler lit his cigar, puffing smoke up over the table. “I’ll do no such thing, woman. I earned this dust, and I plan to wear it proudly until I’m good n’ ready.”

Alhannah stepped between them and handed Tumbler a glass of juice. “I’ll clean up after them, Deloris.”

“As will I,” added Lili warmly, already making her way to the cabinets. Her voice softened as she glanced at Nibbles, who looked like she could collapse face-first into the table. “What would you like to eat?”

Right on cue, Freak swaggered into the kitchen with Socket dangling sleepily under his arm. Both of them were covered in fresh grease stains, grinning ear to ear.

“We are the backbone of the S.L.A.G. pilot!” Freak declared proudly.

Everyone cheered.

I couldn’t help laughing along with them. Something about that moment—seeing everyone exhausted but still smiling—hit me right in the chest. These weren’t just support staff. They were a team. My team. I found myself wondering what exactly they’d been working on all night. The S.L.A.G.s already worked. What else could they possibly be doing?

“So… the S.L.A.G.s are ready for the games?” I asked.

Freak made his way over to where I was sitting, leaned in close, and smirked.

“Well, why don’tcha finish eatin’,” he said smugly, “and I’ll take you on a tour of heaven.”

“Seriously?” Dax gasped. He stood there, wide-eyed, staring up at Turnpike. The head had been tucked even deeper into the chest cavity, barely visible now, and huge steel plates had been welded over the arms and legs. The whole thing looked like a great ape ready to charge.

“It looks like me!” he blurted out.

Tumbler scratched his head and muttered, “You been drinkin’, boy? Don’t look nothin’ like you.”

Dax gave a sheepish grin as Nat and Alhannah shook their heads behind him. “Like I feel when I’m fighting, that is.”

“But that isn’t the best part,” Freak announced, clearly building suspense. He strolled over to a tarp and yanked it down with dramatic flair.

Leaning against the wall were two massive crescent-shaped wedges, each with a dozen or more square teeth jutting from the edge.

I tilted my head, puzzled. Walking over, I ran my hand across one of them. “What are these?”

“Stop thinking and just look,” Alhannah said, elbowing Dax in the ribs.

His jaw dropped. “Brass knuckles?!”

“Made from a single, heavy-duty gear,” Tumbler said proudly, giving Dax a wink. “So you can put a bit more oomph in your punches.”

Dax tapped the metal, which rang like a bell. “Nice. Thanks.”

“For Banshee,” Telly chimed in, “we installed secondary rotary joint motors. Budget didn’t allow new parts, but the refurbished ones we got are solid. Should boost your reaction time.”

Alhannah grinned. “Excellent!”

While the others kept chatting, I wandered over to Gnolaum.

My jaw dropped.

The crew had repainted it. The entire mech was now a sleek matte black—except for one glaring detail: a huge yellow smiley face stretched across the chest. But not a normal one.

No.

This one had narrowed, slit-like eyes and a grin that curled up into lunacy. It looked like a deranged cartoon villain. A psychotic emoji come to life.

I grinned.

“You like it?” came Socket’s voice behind me.

Still admiring the monstrosity, I couldn’t help but smile wider. “I really, really do.”

She puffed out her chest with pride. “Freak’s got some special treats for you.”

“Don’t spoil it, Soph—I wanna tell him!” Freak called out. But then he bumped her lightly with his elbow. “Sorry, hun. You’ve got just as much right as I do.”

She grinned and waved him on. “Naw. Go ahead.”

Freak wiped at his eyes with a greasy rag, goggles perched on his forehead. “We saved the best for last, Wendell. You’re the least experienced fighter, so we did everything we could to make sure you survive to the end.”

Everyone gathered around as he started the reveal.

“First, we redistributed the power cells. Made it harder for opponents to figure out how to shut you down.” He clicked a button on a remote, and Gnolaum knelt, then laid back with a mechanical thud that shook the floor.

Freak tapped the chest plate. “We hid eighty percent of your power in the cockpit with you.”

I gulped.

“Don’t worry, it’s safe. Fully insulated.”

Another click, and the chest cavity opened. I climbed up and perched on the edge, peeking inside. The cockpit was spotless. All the controls gleamed, neatly arranged. The dashboard looked even better than before.

“The controls are now calibrated to respond almost instantly,” Freak said. “You’ll fight just like in the video game—but don’t go crazy. Too many combo chains in a row and you’ll drain your backup power.”

I dropped into the pilot’s seat and strapped in. “Any other drawbacks?”

Nibbles climbed up to the edge and peered in. “You’re more vulnerable to hacking.”

I paused. “What?”

“Because Nat and Cryo had to simulate the game mechanics. More programming means more software. Less hardware. It’s great for movement, but it also means RAT crews can go to war digitally now. If someone hacks your system...”

“They could take control?”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“But we won’t let that happen!” Nat called from the floor.

I laughed. “Thanks, Nat.” Then I looked back at Nibbles and grinned. “This is awesome. Thank you.”

She knocked her knuckles on the frame. “Ain’t over yet.”

“Start it up, Wendell!” Freak called.

I flipped the starter. The engine hummed to life beneath me, low and deep. The chair buzzed against my spine, but this time the support wrapped up and over my neck like a firm hug. The vibration. The tension. The power.

Gnolaum stood up.

Ohhhh, yes. That’s the stuff.

If only my friends back on Earth could see me now. From bullied geek to piloting a twenty-foot steel nightmare.

“Follow me!” Freak shouted, jogging to the far corner of the hangar. A large tarp-covered mass leaned against the wall.

“We couldn’t afford fancy weapons,” he said, yanking the tarp free, “but we sure as blazes weren’t gonna send you out there empty-handed.”

At first glance, it looked like a heap of scrap. One piece caught my eye—a long steel beam, nearly the size of Alhannah’s sword, cut down to a tapering point.

“Tumbler made it just for you,” Freak said over the com-link. “A four-edged I-beam. Sharp on every corner.”

Gnolaum reached down, fingers locking around the weapon. It fit perfectly.

“You can cut, stab, and bash with it,” Freak said proudly.

I clicked the joystick, jabbed two buttons—then lunged.

Gnolaum drove the beam into the hangar wall.

SCREEEEEEEEECH!

The steel shrieked. The entire structure trembled. Gnomes scattered—except Alhannah, who clapped and laughed. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

I rotated back. “What’s the other piece?”

Freak and Telly peeked out from behind crates. “That,” Freak said, “is a shield. You kept destroying the ones we made, so we… uh… ‘repurposed’ a liquid hydrogen tank door from a nearby factory. Welded some grips on, and bam! Eight-inch thick shield. Ramming nub included.”

I equipped it and tested some combinations.

One swing. One block. One slam into the wall—

BOOOM!

A four-foot crater opened where metal used to be.

Dax whispered, “Oh my.”

Alhannah looked up and beamed. “Perfect.” She turned to the crew. “Absolutely perfect.” Then called up to me, “Come on, Wendell—it’s time to meet the public!”

It took longer than I’d like to admit to find something I could wear without wanting to crawl into a hole.

It took even longer to find something Dax would agree to wear.

Morty had a few old suits lying around—stuff he used for funerals and the occasional “don’t arrest me, I’m respectable” meeting with officials.

Retro, for sure. Some even had shoulder pads.

Shoulder pads.

Each time Dax or I flinched, Alhannah promised we’d get new duds as soon as funding came through.

I ended up with a plain black suit, skinny black tie, and a snow-white button-down shirt. I looked in the mirror and cringed. Dad would be so proud—disco fashion lives on, halfway across the universe.

Dax eventually caved to a loud flower-print shirt and a bright red tie. But he wasn’t happy.

“I’ve never worn shoes a day in my life, and I ain’t startin’ now!” he grumbled, flexing his bare toes proudly.

Alhannah zipped up her leather jacket, completely unfazed. She wore tight black leather pants, a red athletic top, and spiked accessories like she was heading into a cage match. Her red ponytail was slicked back, and she’d painted a thick black stripe across her cheeks and eyelids.

Dax raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’re going to war.”

She glanced down at his wriggling, ten-digit pink toes. “You’re gonna look odd, Uncle Dax.”

He scoffed. “Yeah? Just imagine how odd I’d look if this charm farted out on me and I turned back into an elf in front of a club full of gnomes.”

Chuck begged us to let him come.

He claimed the deepest conversation he’d had in days was with a book, a yellow notepad, and a fern named Gerald. Alhannah gently explained that this night was about me and Dax being seen and recognized—and Chuck was simply too cool. He’d steal the spotlight without trying, and that wouldn’t help our cause.

He finally agreed, patting us both on the shoulders and promising that, when the time was right, he’d show us the true origins of the term party animal.

I sighed, slumping in the back seat of the cab between Dax and Alhannah. “Do we really have to do this?”

“It’ll be fun,” she said brightly.

“Fun is relative,” Dax muttered.

“Trust me,” she winked. “It’ll be fun.”

When we exited the express tunnel, traffic ground to a halt almost immediately. Gnomes were everywhere. The streets between the buildings were packed, a river of bodies flowing toward what I assumed were the city’s dance halls. Neon club signs pulsed overhead, and the streetlamps were dimmed low. As soon as I stepped out of the cab, I could feel it—energy, excitement, anticipation.

It hit me like a wave.

Gnomes zipped past, bouncing to the beat of a distant bassline. Guys in slick hair and gold chains. Girls in glitter, short skirts, and even higher heels. Everyone seemed to be moving with the rhythm of the night. They all crowded toward a single building marked by two towering arches and a sparkling waterfall that trickled from the mouth of a giant octopus statue serving drinks.

Over its head, blinking lights spelled out: GAH.

“GAH?” I blurted out.

A nearby cheer erupted as every gnome in earshot threw a hand in the air and screamed in celebration.

“What the—?”

A girl smiled at me as she bounced past, her head bobbing to the music.

Dax tugged off his tie, face red and glistening. “I am not wearing a hangman’s noose voluntarily.”

Shamas turned around, smiling, “Here, I’ll take it.” He slipped the tie into his pocket.

“Thanks,” Dax muttered, then squinted at the bouncing crowd. “And what’s with all the furbles losing their minds?”

“They’re all here to get into GAH,” Alhannah replied—and once again, the surrounding gnomes cheered.

Dax flinched. “What’s with the psycho cheering?! It’s freakin’ me out.”

Shamas chuckled. “Relax. They’re just excited. This is the hottest nightclub for thirty levels. Everyone loves GAH!”

And there it was again—"GAH!"

Cheer!

What…was happening?

“Do your thing, RH,” Alhannah whispered.

We followed Shamas through the mob toward the front entrance. The closer we got, the more I could hear the jeers and grumbling from the gnomes we passed. People weren’t thrilled we were skipping the line. And by “not thrilled,” I mean there were threats.

I swallowed hard.

“Stay close,” Alhannah murmured, sliding her arm through mine like she was my date. “And smile. At everyone.”

So I did.

Grinned like an idiot. Kept it wide and didn’t blink.

The front doors were shaped like giant seashells, guarded by a wall of muscular gnomes in immaculate white suits. They also didn’t blink. One smaller gnome stood at the front with a nose ring that could tow a truck, holding a clipboard while two guards worked the ropes.

“Antos!” Shamas called out.

The clipboard gnome lit up. “RH! Where’ve you been, man? I thought you retired or something!”

His eyes drifted past Shamas, scanning me, then Dax…then landed on Alhannah.

He blinked. His jaw dropped.

“Banshee?”

Alhannah smiled coolly.

Antos blinked again, then turned his stunned expression back to me. “And is this…Weeble?!”

I groaned. “It’s Wendell, not Weeble.”

He gasped. “I’ve got the entire Steel and Stone team in my club!” Turning to the crowd, he raised both hands and shouted, “STEEL AND STONE IN DA HOUSE!!”

The street exploded.

Gnomes screamed, fists pumped, and a wave of chanting rose through the air. Girls were yelling for autographs. Cameras flashed.

Shamas laughed and waved us forward, ushering us through the door.

And just like that, I was officially a celebrity.

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Want to start at the beginning? Grab yourself a copy of book one in the Chronicles of Hero series!

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