A-TEAM: TACTICAL MONTAGE ACTIVATED

  ? Daah-da-daah, da-da-daaah! ?

  “Stop!” I try to turn down the TV show theme music in my headset and instead klak my arm into my space helmet visor for the hundredth time. I hate my space helmet.

  Like every other spacesuit we duplicated from Hang Ten’s inventory, the helmet is a pink rabbit head with a big stupid smile painted on it. I sigh and get an annoying whiff of the bubblegum scent that perfumes the bunny helmet. “Why is scent even an option for a f#cking space helmet?” I yell as the A-Team music continues blaring. “How many more of these ship repairs do we have?!”

  Pepper’s voice sounds in my ear. “You have to say over. Over.”

  I’m floating in deep space, welding my seventeenth electrical conduit plate of the day to Notzilla’s polyester hull. I’m not in the mood for radio protocol. “How many more, Cabbage Patch?”

  I’m tired, I’m grumpy, and I haven’t worked this hard since I did construction in college. Plus, every time I breathe, I get another hit of bubblegum scent that reminds me my Topps baseball cards are probably sitting in some HumanAsset storage unit waiting to be sold to some rich prick. I may be able to work 24/7 and I may be immune to hunger, but I’m still ready for a beer. It’s got to be five o’clock somewhere. After a moment, I realize the penguin hasn’t answered. “Over!”

  “Two hundred sixteen more.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  

  Star Thumper O? Remaining: 14%↓

  “G§ddammit.” My stupid spacesuit is running out of oxygen again. This is never going to work. “I’m coming in.”

  “But Dave,” Rex looks ridiculous in his bunny spacesuit. It looks like his head is sticking out of its mouth. “I want to fly Mister Stampy.”

  “We’re not calling it Mister Stampy!” I stomp my way across Notzilla’s rubbery shell with my gigantic bunny feet, which keep me attached to Notzilla’s hide with something called MagBoot Lock—one more example of stupid game logic. I find myself shouting. “Because magnets don’t work on polyester!”

  “What is he yelling about?” I hear Rincewind’s voice in my comms.

  “He’s all mad again.” Rex murmurs.

  I yank open the airlock and step inside the pressurized construction hub we’ve jerry-rigged on Notzilla’s head. I throw off my bunny helmet and kick my boots across the room. “Forget it! I’m done!”

  “You said you could do it.” Rincewind frowns at me from the control panel he is building from the PlayStation remote that used to be inside Notzilla’s gut. “Your A-Team skill is the only reason we’re attempting this at all.”

  “No, the only reason we’re attempting this is because all of your spaceships suck!” It’s true. I expected at least one of them to have something good, but all the Night Shift vessels are just ramscoop drives strapped to a person-sized tube. They make Notzilla look like a Ferrari.

  PLEASE SOLVE THE PUZZLE:

  6 ÷ 3 =

  Pepper and Hang Ten are sitting on the floor playing Totally Tubular Integer Islands Cabbage Patch Kids Edition, farming gold. Hang Ten has access to a Riftorn duplicator; it’s a cheap way to clone Common items like a sub-light ramscoop drive, but we’ve made a lot of clones and we’re running out of dough. “Two,” Hang Ten yawns, bored. Pepper’s chalkboard lights up.

  THAT’S RIGHT!

  YOU JUST EARNED A GOLD COIN!

  I kick over a spool of wire. “Not even the A-Team could build a spaceship out of this junk!”

  “Good!” Hang Ten barks at me. “I’m sick of that stupid music!”

  “It plays the A-Team theme song whenever we use the skill!” I holler. “You think I’m not sick of it!?!”

  “Okay, okay,” Pepper puts her fin on my arm. “Let’s go get some floaty time, Dave.”

  Fuming, I let her lead me through the aperture into Notzilla’s interior. We kick off from the edge and float in zero gravity, drifting. One of those damn space pelicans flies around the interior of the kaiju, safe from whatever the hell preys on space pelicans. If it were closer, I would strangle it. “Come on, DDD,” Pepper says soothingly. “You’ve been going for 80 hours.”

  

  Meal Prepper: Space Brunch, hold the vacuum

  She reveals a silver tray with caviar-topped eggs with truffle brioche toast. “Why don’t you have some breakfast?”

  “I’m sick of that fancy sh!t.” My voice sounds whiny, even to me. “I just want something normal.”

  “Okay.” Pepper switches the silver tray for a plate loaded with a cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke. “Better?”

  “I’d rather have a Coors.”

  The Coke changes color and suddenly it’s an ice-cold beer. “Just one.” Pepper chides. “You remember what happened last time.”

  I don’t need to be reminded. The Drunk debuff is no fun at all: 100% of the vomiting, none of the happy. I take a sip and wish the programmers had spent some more time on their beer selection; everything in RiftBorn tastes like Pabst Blue Ribbon.

  Still. It’s beer. Yay beer.

  As I munch on the cheeseburger, I zone out a bit, the closest thing I get to sleep these days. Pepper’s Meal Prepper skill never loses its charm or the surge of energy it gives me, even when I’m not wounded. But it doesn’t matter. My plan is never going to work.

  I wanted to build Notzilla into a real battle cruiser, a kaiju spaceship tough enough to combat any RiftElite vessel. It’s possible with the A-Team skill, but at this pace, it will take weeks we don’t have. And if we can’t deploy a destroyer-class starship before the RiftStorm reaches us, not only will the season be wasted, but Rex and I will be dead. There are no Hype points in construction.

  But I can’t build it.

  Notzilla is too big to traverse quickly in just MagBoots. Hopping in and out of Boaty MacBoatface with our ship parts is even worse. Plus, the Night Shift is getting fed up; they came to play a game, not start an engineering project.

  And they certainly didn’t want to get paired up with a grumpy old fart.

  

  EmpathyEngine?: Flagged Status Update

  Hi there! Just a quick reminder that you have not reached sufficient VSC Hype in Season 2. Remember: your healthcare is performance-based. Please generate qualifying revenue within 12 hours to avoid coverage termination. Have a productive day!

  Perfect timing.

  One of my pink MagBoots floats nearby, followed by a voice. “You want to do stickers?” Rex floats past me with a sticker book in his hand. “It always makes me feel better.”

  The barbarian has about five hundred sticker books in his inventory, and hands me one of them. His deep voice rumbles, friendly. “You can have Pokémons.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “Come on, it’s fun.” He pulls off a big SpongeBob and sticks it to the polyester interior of the kaiju. “We can do a scene.”

  Frowning, I yank off an orange dinosaur and slap it on Notzilla, thinking how stupid my life has become.

  “Charizard, yeah, okay. And I can help him with…” Rex applies a sticker, and suddenly, an old favorite swings above my sticker from a whip. “Indiana Jones!”

  I almost laugh. Almost. “Well here comes the boulder.” I slap my big Poké Ball sticker above Indy so it looks like it’s about to drop on him. “Squish.”

  “Well, I’m going to rescue him with…” He slaps on another sticker. “Superman!” Rex smiles. “See? It’s fun.”

  I take another sip of my beer, unconvinced. I don’t recognize the next sticker, some kind of pink marshmallow. “What is this?”

  “Jigglypuff. It sings you to sleep.”

  “That’s a really dumb name.”

  As Pepper floats by upside-down, I realize she’s recording this. I’m a little annoyed, but she’s just doing her job. I wave her away, but not before I see a notification pop up.

  

  RiftVid: “Sticker Therapy with Tankpocalypse Rex”

  #Playtime #SoftCore #Cozy +?75

  Rex slaps a KPop Demon Hunters sticker on the vinyl, starting another scene. “Why did you name yourself DDD?” His voice rumbles like a car engine. “Is it like a joke?”

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “I thought I could only use 3 letters for my name.”

  “Why did you think you could only use 3 letters?”

  “You know, like in arcade games? Pac-Man or Joust, or Frogger?”

  “I don’t know what those are.”

  Right. With the deep voice and 8 feet of muscle, Rex comes off like a 30-year-old moderately on-the-spectrum bodybuilder. I sometimes forget I’m talking to a high schooler. “Where’d you get Tankpocalypse Rex?”

  “I’m Hank IRL.” I nod. In Real Life. I’m learning the slang. “My dad calls me Hank the Tank, but my uncle made up Tankpocalypse Rex, and that’s like Tyrannosaurus Rex, so I like that even better. That’s what I typed in before the tutorial. Took me like half an hour to spell it.”

  “Hank the Tank?” I blink, dumbfounded. That was the first thing Anna S said to me, when we were locked outside the saferoom after the C4ts. I remember the worried look on her face. ‘Have either of you guys met a LivingLegend named Hank?’ she had said, ‘Or maybe Hank the Tank?’

  I stare at Hank, not sure what to say next. “I… I think I know someone who’s looking for you.”

  His head snaps to me. “Is it Auntie Annie?”

  “Uh… Anna S?”

  ‘That’s her!” Hank laughs low in his chest. “You saw her?”

  I’m not sure what to say. His aunt is kind of a jerk. And a little bit awesome, if I’m being honest. “I… guess so.”

  “I’m glad she’s okay.” Hank rumbles. “She was in the car.”

  “What car?”

  “When we crashed. Ka-boom!” He makes an exploding sound, then mimes a car rolling over and over until it crashes into something. “Kooosh! When is she getting here?”

  “Wait, you were in a car crash… with Anna S?”

  “Yeah, we got a ride with somebody from dad’s wedding because the van was full, but this guy was not a good driver, he was like screech!” He laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “But Auntie Annie put my booster in before we left, so I’m fine.”

  “Booster.” Something goes cold in my spine. “What booster?”

  “My booster seat.”

  No. Come on, God, no.

  “Hank? How old are you?”

  “Eight. And a half.”

  Hell’s bells.

  I try not to react. Try not to think about this kid lying in some hospital basement in Boulder, Colorado, with an arcade token drilled into his skull. Anna’s brother was forced to sign her life away; I guess HumanAsset got Hank with the same hook. I can imagine the meeting with O’Cavity’s cronies, talking about how an eight-year-old in a car-crash coma was a good match for the RiftBorn demographics. Lots of potential. Good synergy.

  Meanwhile, Hank’s dad is mourning his sister and his son.

  “So…” I clear my throat. “Your voice?”

  “Oh, that. Modulator. I can sound like a squeaky mouse, too.” His voice goes up five octaves. “See? Heeheehee!”

  “Yeah.” I turn away, unable to wipe the shock off my face.

  “Can you call her?” Hank’s voice goes back to giant barbarian mode, but what’s underneath that mannish rumble freaks me out. He’s eight. Eight.

  “Not right now, but… um… we’ll find her.” I watch my pink space boot twirl through the air, a reminder of my tantrum. “I need to get back to work.”

  “I thought you said you can’t. It’s impossible, right?”

  No. It’s not impossible. I just forgot where I was for a minute. I let myself believe I was in a game, let myself believe the lie. I got so caught up in the mechanics, in the grind, I forgot what I was doing all of this for. This is no game. Not when an eight-year-old kid is depending on me. Failure is not an option.

  “Dave?” Hank tilts his head. “Can you really make Mister Stampy work?”

  I look past Hank. See the stickers on the wall. Indiana Jones swinging from his whip. I turn away as the MagBoot spins past me. I catch it absently in one hand.

  The idea hits me all at once.

  Nothing is impossible.

  “I told you,” I grin. “We’re not calling it that.”

  ***

  “Hang Ten,” I walk into the command center and pop my Kaboomerang into my loadout. “Did you get all the parts duplicated?”

  “Yeah, DDDave!” She barks at me. “We’ve cloned the parts, the scrap metal, and the wires—you just need to build the damn thing!”

  “A-Team doesn’t work if it’s just me. Everybody get your suits on.”

  Okay. Let’s give it a shot. Nothing is impossible, right? I built the Kaboomerang; I should damn well be able to take it apart. I activate my MacHack skill and take the Kaboomerang in my hands. I pull the iron fry pan from the end of the YOLO Yo-Yo string, remove the stick of dynamite, and stuff everything in my inventory.

  

  Legendary Gizmo Deconstructed

  Please reassemble immediately to retain Legendary status.

  “I need a compressed air cylinder.”

  “We’ve got twenty,” Hang Ten grouses. “But they’re incorporated into the ramscoop drives.”

  Rincewind chimes in. “We could lose one.”

  “No.” We need all the engines; we spent enough to get them. “Check the junk in your inventory. It doesn’t have to be compressed air, just something that can pop.”

  “Pop?” Rince tilts his head.

  “Like a small pop, not an explosion.”

  “Pop.” He repeats.

  “Stop saying pop!”

  “No, I have pop,” Rince says. “Rifta~Cola.” A 2-liter soda bottle appears in his hand. “It was a promo food item during Season 1.”

  “Perfect.” The Kaboomerang is the one Legendary gizmo I have managed to create in this game; hopefully, it keeps its magic. I duct tape the YOLO Yo-Yo to the butt of the soda bottle, wrap the yo-yo string around the bottle cap, then tie the end of the string to my third item, the pink MagBoot.

  I shake the whole contraption as violently as I can, say a prayer, and activate my MacHack. I feel a lightning-surge of energy as the contraption flashes, fuses together, and an alert ignites in yellow fire.

  

  Legendary Gizmo: Yeetlejuice

  Every superhero needs a grapple gun, but only yours is made of high-fructose corn syrup! Constructed from soda pop, a yo-yo, and a lucky rabbit’s foot, this gizmo is the ultimate zipline. With a range of up to 100 yards, Yeetlejuice can swing you from point A to point B faster than Spider-Man with the Hershey squirts. Max Capacity: 2 Tons or 4 Players.

  I can’t stop grinning. “Strap in, kids. We’re going for a ride.”

  ***

  “Aighhh!” I swing through outer space at the end of my Yeetline, trying to ignore Rincewind and Hang Ten screaming. Hank, of course, is laughing his ass off.

  I’m Space Tarzan, and it’s freaking awesome.

  My yo-yo line arcs with all four of us at the far end and we swing down Notzilla’s neck. I mentally detach the pink MagBoot from Notzilla’s skin and it snaps back to my wrist. I use the pop-bottle compression to fire the rabbit’s foot at one of the kaiju's spines. It catches, and we swing toward the kaiju’s shoulders. “Aighhh!!”

  

  Badge Unlocked! Safety Third

  Congratulations! You have created a dangerous, unproven machine and put your fellow teammates at risk with your reckless disregard for their lives! Your dad would be so proud.

  The Badge alert is followed immediately by Pepper’s contribution:

  

  RiftVid: “Galactic Tarzan w/ Three Terrified Interns”

  #RiftWin #YoYoHero #OffBrandAvenger Hype: +?2,100

  “Calm down, this is easy.” It really is. Even before the first throw, I knew how to work the Legendary Gizmo; it’s intuitive as hell. I’ll miss the damage of the Kaboomerang, but Yeetlejuice is straight fire, no cap.

  I unload Rince at Notzilla’s shoulders, drop off Hang Ten on the back, and set Hank down gently near the tail. They all set up shop on the kaiju surface and start unpacking their tools. In seconds, I’m headed back toward our command center, passing over them like your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. “Be right back!”

  Pepper has the first three loads of space junk tied together with cargo netting. “Are you sure this is going to work, Dave?” She asks, worried. “This looks like more than 2 tons.”

  “Not in space, it’s not.” I clip the netting to my belt, fire the Yeetlejuice, and take off. The space junk follows me with no resistance. “Okay,” I announce over comms. “Time to go to work, A-Team!”

  “Aw, come on, dude!” Hang Ten moans. “I cannot listen to that song anymore!”

  “Don’t worry.” I grin. “I got you, fam.”

  I activate my Tactical Montage. Hank helped me change the music and picked the song. A pounding drumbeat suddenly fills our comms, followed by staccato notes of a piano.

  I drop the spaceship parts to Hang Ten, but she’s no longer pissed. “Wait…” She grins. “Is that…”

  

  ? Can’t Hold Us (feat. Ray Dalton)” — Macklemore & Ryan Lewis (2011) ?

  A chest-thumping, crowd-surfing rally cry built on piston-fast percussion, bright piano stabs, and Ray Dalton’s sky-high hook that propelled it onto the charts worldwide.

  Now that’s good montage music.

  ‘Can’t Hold Us’ pounds its gritty melody as the Night Shift goes to work. We assemble spaceship parts and attach ramscoop drives to Notzilla’s hide with every beat. I swing back to pick up the five miles of wiring we strung together from all the spaceships, letting it spool out as I Yeetline over the kaiju. When a teammate completes an install of one engine, I pick them up and swing them to a new section of the kaiju to install the next. Hank finishes his tail thrusters and goes to work welding armored plates to the exterior. Scrap metal is cheap, and Hang Ten’s duplicator has churned out sixty tons of it.

  We move faster than we should, skipping from accomplishment to accomplishment in a way only a fast-edit sequence can. From Rocky III to The Karate Kid, if you need a big transformation to happen fast, the only solution is a musical montage.

  By the third chorus, we’ve got a fully-armored Star Destroyer kaiju wearing sunglasses.

  Pepper posts all of it as a single music video, and it’s clear I’m not the only one who believes in the power of a montage.

  

  RiftVid: ModZilla Montage

  #BuildABeast #RiftCraft #BigLizardEnergy Hype: +15500↑

  Immediately afterward, my HR rep shows up with a perky smile.

  

  EmpathyEngine?: Back in the Saddle!

  VSC flow restored. Healthcare coverage extended. Please maintain current performance levels to continue enjoying America’s finest health care!

  She goes quiet.

  That’s how I know I bought myself more time.

  At the grand finale of the song, we discover MatchstickMick, the English Pyromancer, has arrived for his shift. He’s rigged the control panel with some kind of Fireball spell that uses the oxygen inside the inflatable, and there’s plenty to burn. He hits the FIRE button and a three-hundred-yard jet of blue fire erupts from Notzilla’s maw. I watch a space pelican fly past and get roasted to cinders by our kaiju’s atomic breath. +1XP.

  

  Absolutely Not Godzilla lvl50 Counterfeit Kaiju

  Systems Check: Hull 100% | Ramscoop Drives 20/20 | Main Battery ONLINE

  Congratulations! Your ship is 100% operational! Please name your Vessel.

  We all land on the command deck in a group pose as the montage rises to a finale. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Night Shift! I give you...” I spread out my hands to the fire blasting space-kaiju. “Mecha-Notzilla!”

  The gout of flame shuts off.

  “We’re not calling it that,” Rincewind says quickly. “What are we naming it, Night Shift?”

  “Mister Stampy!!” They yell all at once, cheering and laughing. Even Pepper shouts the name.

  

  Vessel Registered: MISTER STAMPY

  Crew Buff: Pride of The Night Shift

  I watch Hank laugh his ass off with his team, and I’m forced to smile. “G§dammit.”