The Tales of the Legendary Mimic : Momo

Teaming up...well?

Max soon pushed himself to his feet, one hand braced on his thigh.

He spat to the side. “That’s one hell of a hit… I can hardly feel my face.”

“Hey, hero, ever heard of teamwork?” the woman called out with a short laugh.

“Yeah, sure,” Max muttered, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s try that.”

Working together with the trio, what started as pure chaos slowly turned into something rough but effective. The two by the SUV laid down suppressive fire, each bullet burrowing into the blob’s pulsing mass, slowing its movements and forcing it to shift its weight away from them. That gave Max openings—small, dangerous windows he dove through without hesitation.

He weaved in and out of the beast’s reach, stinger gauntlets flashing. Each parry sent more paralyzing energy into its body, causing portions of the mass to lock up, harden, and crack. It wasn’t enough to kill it—but it was enough to hold it.

“Now!” Max shouted, driving both gauntlets into its side.

Twin beams of red light erupted from his weapons, carving deep into the creature’s torso and leaving a smoking crater in its center. The monster howled, its form collapsing inward as if struggling to keep itself together.

Seizing the moment, the female soldier scrambled to her feet, braced herself, and swung the rocket launcher off her shoulder. She met Max’s eyes for the briefest second—a silent question.

He nodded and jumped back, maintaining just enough pressure with his gauntlets to keep the beast pinned over the crater he’d carved.

She fired.

The rocket screamed across the short distance and slammed directly into the hollowed-out core of the zombie blob. For an instant, there was only a blinding flash—then the world bucked with the force of the explosion. Flesh, bone, and corrupted tissue erupted outward in a spray of burning fragments. When the smoke finally thinned, nothing remained of the creature but a scorched crater and the stench of charred rot.

Silence followed, broken only by the ticking of the SUV’s engine and the distant pop of dying embers from the forest fire behind them.

The trio regrouped quickly, weapons still raised until they were sure the threat was truly gone. Then their stances eased, just a little.

Up close, Max could see the insignia on their uniforms—military, but not the standard units he’d seen on old broadcasts. The woman was clearly the leader. She stepped forward, gripped his hand in a firm shake, and gave a curt nod.

“We’re with a temporary military squad stationed not far from here,” she said. “This is Private Henrik, and that’s Marc. Ignore the uniform—he’s actually a mercenary.” She jerked her chin toward the man still eyeing the launcher like it was made of gold.

She tossed the weapon back to him. Marc scrambled to catch it, clutching it to his chest like a priceless treasure.

“That stunt you pulled with those gauntlets… I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said, giving Max an interested look. “You two heading somewhere, or just trying not to die?”

“A bit of both,” Lorne replied dryly.

Henrik stepped forward. “We’ve set up a temporary base a few clicks from here. Dr. Garfield’s there—he’s been running research on these mutants and retrieving a… let’s just say, a very important scientific item. We could use more fighters like you. If you come with us, we can offer supplies, shelter, maybe some answers.”

Max and Lorne exchanged a look.

Max nodded slowly. “My butler will come with you. Just tell me where—I’ll meet you once I’m done.”

Henrik gave them quick, precise directions to the temporary base, tracing the path in the dirt with the toe of his boot—landmarks, turns, and warnings about patrol routes and mutant hotspots. When he was done, he stepped back.

“We’re heading out first,” he said. “Can’t risk staying put any longer. Follow the route, and you’ll find us.”

The trio and Lorne climbed into the SUV, doors slamming shut one by one. The engine revved, tires kicking up dirt and ash as the vehicle pulled away and disappeared down the battered road.

Max watched until the SUV was nothing more than a distant blur, then just a memory.

Only then did he let his shoulders drop.

He glanced down at his mimic pouch. The leather pulsed faintly, as if something inside was breathing and growling. It was hungry for the remains scattered around the crater.

“Go on, then,” Max murmured.

He loosened his grip, letting the pouch’s will run free.

A sudden pull of air swept across the clearing. A powerful suction yanked every loose chunk and dripping piece of the zombie toward the pouch. Bits of charred flesh, blackened goo, and shattered bone were dragged across the ground and swallowed whole.

The pouch bulged once, then let out a low, wet burp, signaling the end of its meal.

Max rested his hand over it, feeling the warmth bleed into his palm.

A film of spectral light shimmered into existence in front of him, filling the space ahead with three hovering shapes—one yellow, one blue, one green.

In the yellow glow hovered a clearer, more refined image of his stinger gauntlet. In the blue, a vivid projection of the pouch itself turned slowly in the air.

As for the last, in the green…

Something amorphous shifted and quivered, a vague outline that refused to hold a solid shape.

“Goo…?” Max whispered.