The Tales of the Legendary Mimic : Momo

MECENARY Vs MILITARY: Martial Discipline

One‑Eye tilted his head, the single visible eye narrowing. “Or what?” he asked, stepping closer. His words rode on a gust of hot, foul breath that washed directly into Max’s face.

Max coughed and grimaced, leaning back instinctively. “Huh, DAMN, you’re going to need some Good mouthwash,” he shot back, annoyed. “Because whatever’s dying in there is worse than the zombies.”

The line landed like a spark in a powder keg. Laughter erupted, soldiers and mercenaries alike doubling over. A few slapped their armor, someone whistled, and the teasing turned on One‑Eye instead.

Behind him, another merc fanned the flames, grinning wide. “Hey, One‑Eye, you gonna take that lying down,ei?” he yelled. “If some kid said that to me, I’d break his sound pipe and cripple the b**tard!”

The words spread through the crowd like a chain reaction, each echo nudging One‑Eye a little further toward the edge. His grin disappeared. His breathing grew heavier. The veins in his neck pulsed.

“Say that again,” One‑Eye growled.

Max didn’t bother. He’d already said enough.

Cursing under his breath, One‑Eye’s geno arm flared to life. Blue, glowing veins crawled over the exposed synth‑skin, pulsing with contained power as the augmentation synced with his rage. The air around his fist seemed to hum, the faint ozone tang of active tech mixing with alcohol and sweat.

He lunged.

The punch came fast, backed by gene‑enhanced strength that could crack bone and dent steel. To the watching soldiers, it was a blur of motion, a streak of blue aimed straight at Max’s head.

Max’s hand snapped up.

He caught the punch mid‑swing, fingers closing around One‑Eye’s fist with a meaty smack. For a heartbeat, the two of them were locked together, muscles straining, boots grinding against the greasy floor.

At that exact moment, something else happened.

Goo—previously a formless, inert mass tucked away in Max’s gear—reacted. It sensed the surge of killing intent, the threat directed at its host, and stirred like a living shadow. A cold, slick sensation spilled over Max’s wrist as the substance oozed out, then raced along his skin.

The mercenaries watched, faces shifting from amusement to confusion as the dark material climbed his arm, spreading like encroaching paint. It thickened over his knuckles, hardening, shaping itself into something familiar: a combat glove, its surface patterned with faint circuitry, similar to the type riders wore into high‑risk zones.

“What the hell…?” someone whispered.

One‑Eye felt it too—the sudden resistance, the unnatural firmness of Max’s grip crushing down on his enhanced hand. Pain flashed across his face. He tried to yank his arm back, but Max held him there for a second longer, eyes cold.

“Last warning,” Max said quietly.

Then he moved.

With a twist of his hip and a sharp turn of his shoulder, Max redirected One‑Eye’s weight, using the man’s own momentum against him. The mercenary flew sideways, boots leaving the ground before he crashed hard onto his back, the impact rattling his armor. The circle of onlookers stumbled backward to avoid getting caught.

Silence fell for a beat.

Max straightened, flexing his fingers as the Goo‑formed glove settled snugly around his hand. The faint glow along its seams pulsed once, then dimmed, as if satisfied.

He swept his gaze over the gathered men. “That was me being nice,” he said. “Next time, I won’t just toss you. We’re about to walk into something we don’t understand. So drink later, fight now. And if you’re not up for that, stay out of my way.”

No one had anything clever to say after that. Even the loudmouthed merc at the back kept his eyes down, lips pressed into a thin line.

Max turned to a nearby officer, a junior captain hovering at the edge of the group. “Maintain the rest,” Max ordered. “Get them in line. You can let me know when next you need me.”

The officer nodded quickly and began barking assignments, her voice cutting across the tension. The formation reshaped itself; gear was checked, weapons loaded, and vehicles started. One‑Eye and climbed to his feet, clutching his throbbing hand, but he said nothing. The murderous glare he shot Max’s way promised this wasn’t over, yet even he backed off—for now.

"You heard the man, tell the convoy we set now, "the smirking captain said to the absent-minded cadet, while watching Marc from the corner of her eye with ridicule.

Hmmph..spits*

Sensing her gaze marc scoffed, walking away to prepare. Janee eyed his back as he left through one of the vehicles. only to turn to her side to see the fidgety cadet.

"I SAID GO GET THE CONVOY YOU MITTEN!!"

"Yes...ye..s maam..I, mean Sir!" the poor guy scamblled off,f not bothering with the burning sensation on his neck.

The convoy set out.

The convoy rolled through the desolate outskirts, wheels crunching over broken glass and scorched rubble. The city had once been busy; now it was mostly hollow buildings and the distant echoes of things better left unbothered. Grey clouds hung low, turning the world into a flat smear of colorless decay.

By the time they reached the next location, the sun was only a faint blur behind the haze. The lab complex sat at the edge of what had once been an industrial park, its outer walls half‑collapsed, windows dark. A cold wind slid down the cracked asphalt, carrying the sour stink of old chemicals and something else—something metallic and rotten.

They disembarked cautiously, scanning the surroundings. No moans. No shuffling. No distant screeches.

They didn’t find any intelligent zombies. In fact, they didn’t find much of anything at all.

“Something is wrong,” one of the soldiers murmured, weapon sweeping across the empty street.

Max felt it too. The place was too quiet. There were hardly any stray mutants—no skittering shapes in the alleys, no half‑formed beasts lurking in the shadows. The usual background noise of the wasteland was missing, stripped away, leaving an uneasy stillness.

Then just ahead they manage to sight four zombie Goo men patrolling in a slow, deliberate pattern across the cracked pavement in front of the lab.There wasnt out of place and nothing visible indicated a chang in intelligence, 

was it a fuss?" questioned beneath the breath and the frowning soldiers were just about thinking the same thing.pushing down exta thoughts likewise questions, Max chose to study them for a while.

Their skin fused with dark, glossy patches of Goo and slime  moved and pulsed as if breathing,The fact to noptice here is there were more human like features on the goo zombie, like the strength type goo battled with when he met the military scouts. its hand were half goo half flesh making it stronger a full goo body making max understand their nature...the more human they look the powerful  they get.

They paced around the small periphery of the lab fronts, just beyond the broken security fence, turning at invisible markers only they seemed to know.

Max’s hand tightened slightly inside the living glove.

“Yeah,” he said under his breath. “Definitely not normal.”