Unity Carl Stubblefield (read book TXT) 📖

to allocate points into constitution, when his suit would make him invulnerable. There were more important abilities for someone like him. His perception allowed his display to give him an innate sense of the timing he would need. A quick feint to the left, diving, tucking and rolling, then resuming his run without losing much momentum. Two of the plasma balls collided with broken equipment and dissipated as they exploded in white flashes. The other three overshot his position and then began to reorient on him.

Tracking. He mentally filed the concept of guided Nun-Ba interactions as programmable functions into his memory to explore when he had time to ponder. Another feint misdirected another of the attacks into an upturned table. The interaction revealed that these constructs had very limited potential. They operated on the shortest trajectory. Utilizing this, he ducked to the side after breaching the doorway, then skirted the wall.

As predicted, the last of the attacks collided with the wall to the left of the doorway. All of his stat points in agility were initially placed to make him more efficient as a surgeon, as the system did not distinguish between agility and dexterity. Fortunately, raising the stat improved both. This became even more useful when later he developed his dimensional folding techniques.

The Nth were wasted on humans who just wanted to fight. There were so many opportunities that largely were wasted by becoming the world’s self-proclaimed enforcers. Neanderthals with clubs had no place in the future the Nth could offer.

Gauging the approach on his minimap, Gus was much faster, and was closing the distance between them. Agility wouldn’t help him in this open corridor. Brute force was not his forte. Precision and stealth. Misdirection and manipulation. Those were his keys to success here.

Mentally calculating a new route, he noted Gus’ footfalls in the corridor behind him just as he entered a doorway to his right. That was unfortunate. Gus would have had to clear many more rooms if he hadn’t seen his location.

Mengele weaved through the Graveyard. His affectionate term for where he stored most of his defunct equipment that had become outdated with new advances. There were enough obstructions here that any further plasma attacks would be easily avoided. This would take his pursuer on a circuitous route, but he could double back and make it to the Vault, going through labs and offices. Mengele crouched and slowed his flight as the far doors to the Graveyard were flung open.

“I know you’re in here, Mengele.”

Mengele slowed even more, but crept along the ground, moving purposefully towards the exit. If this ham-fisted rube wanted him to respond and give away his position, he was more outclassed than he knew.

“You know, you look like your head fell in the cheese dip back in 1957,” the young man taunted.

How droll. Was this supposed to get a rise out of him? Mengele smiled wryly and continued his trek. They had thought calling him Mengele was an insult too. An offhanded insult to get him to change his ways. A crude cautionary tale. But he had owned it. While he shared no relation to the actual figure, he adopted the archetype and let their imaginations fill in the gaps. When the doorway was within reach, he knew it would give away his position.

“That is accurate,” he replied before quickly darting through the door, locking it behind him. He imagined Gus being flummoxed as they all were when he responded against expectation. He knew who he was. More so than most metahumans. He had transcended even them in so many ways. He could sense that upon reviewing the data he would—

The nearby wall crashed outward, spilling shards of drywall and broken framing into the hallway in front of him. Gus was panting and shook himself. Somehow, he wasn’t naked anymore, and residual insulation and powdery chalk rolled off of him like oil, landing in a plume on the ground around him.

“Enough running. We end this now,” Gus rasped with a ragged voice.

He had been less predictable than most subjects, but the crazed look in his eyes made Mengele wary. While he couldn’t read levels directly, he had made some inferences from his experiments, based on healing times, musculature, and nerve conduction tests. He had a general idea about his physical stats, but his abilities were unclear.

He was obviously a neophyte when it came to utilizing his powers in a unified and directed fashion. Nothing coordinated in his fighting technique, which would indicate a lack of formal training. An anomaly to be sure. But was it all an act? That was the suspicion that niggled at the back of his mind. The Master knew he would be more calculating with a powerful opponent, but with someone inexperienced, he could see he had relaxed his tendency to overcompensate and had taken less precautions with Gus.

Gus charged forward with some enhanced speed ability, but it was easily avoided with his level of agility, and he sidestepped like a matador. He caught his mental *tsk tsk* and focused even more. It was only the sharpening of his attention that allowed him to see the upstart rotate and try to sweep his legs from underneath him.

A quick hop was all that was needed to let the attack glide by without connecting, but it could have if he had remained cocksure and full of himself. He danced away, gaining some distance as Gus rounded on him and swayed back and forth like a wrestler.

Instead of charging, Gus pressed forward with controlled speed. He centered himself in the smaller hallway, and did not even flinch at his attempted feints to slip to one side or another. Reaching an intersection, Mengele walked backwards. Yes, follow me Gus. Only one-hundred-eighty-two meters before I am at the Vault. Automated defenses there should be enough of a distraction to allow him to slip inside. A smile crept on his lips before he could hide it.

Gus’ eyebrows furrowed and he lunged and grappled with Mengele.