Oh, what thrilling times these were! Remember when the Dome was suffocated by innumerable incoherent posts, driving some, including the commander himself, to insanity and spawning requests to have Duncan silenced (linked)? Oh, good times, Good times! But who saved the Dome's inhabitants from certain death? Who deserves credit for clearing the air and reigniting the flames of war which were all but snuffed by that pollution? Only one way to find out... read the story!

Duncan rolled into the cave, billowing smoke and firing sparks as usual… but more than usual. Rachel walked up to him, knowing that her prosthetic lungs made her one of the few people in the Dome that could take the toxic fumes he spewed.

            Cautiously, she tapped the side of his motor with a wrench. In response, he belched out a large puff of cloying smoke.

            “KILLUMINATI!”

            “Leave him… I like how he makes me feel,” Sunja groaned, running his meaty hands across the many silvery rolls of his torso. He was drooling.

            “I think he’s broken.” She tapped the motor again. Another puff of smoke shot out of Duncan’s exhaust.

            “Jus… give him some ooooil,” Sunja chuckled, dropping his hands further down his torso, “And… tell Mary I’m waitin for her.”

            “She’s right next to you, idiot.”

            “Oh… yeah.” Sunja twisted his neck and looked over at the large silicone-based organism which served as The HOC leader’s main squeeze… literally.

            “Well, git outta here then and give me an the lil lady some privacy… and take that robit wif ye!” Sunja yelled. It was an easy request for Rachel to follow… she didn’t want to be around for what was about to happen.

            “bluuurp… KILLUMINATI!” Duncan buzzed. Rachel attached a rope to his eyehook and led the small bot out of the cave. She tried her best to ignore the sounds coming from Sunja’s chambers.

            Outside the cave, the other Hands were gathered. The Chambler was chewing on an old shoe while Vazquez was filing his nails.

            “Yo.” Vazquez turned to her, “We had to get outta there.”

            “I know, Sunja and Mary…”

            “No,” Vazquez interrupted her, “I mean that robot. He’s on the fritz. Got knocked off of Cockrell’s balcony a while back. Hasn’t been right since.”

            “Idea!” The Chambler reached over and picked up Duncan, then tore off in the direction of the Con’s bunker. Well, that solved one of their problems.

            “Sorry to leave ya, but I’m gonna split. Gotta date.” Vazquez waved her off and headed in the opposite direction of the Psci’s lab.

* * *

            “You know… these sorts of services don’t come cheap.” Vazquez flicked a cigar butt at Riley’s desk.

            “I know, whatever it takes.” Riley re-assured him. Vazquez was the man for the job, he knew. Nobody took the HOC seriously. If one of them could slip into the Con’s bunker and snag the report on Walker’s armor specifications, he would be as good as dead. As much as he hated putting his trust in a… human, there was no other way.

            “Anybody else on board?” Vazquez asked.

            “Just Leach. What, do you need anybody else?”

            “Nope.” Vazquez stood up from the seat. He left the lab without so much as another word.

* * *

            “Weee!” Spause Isgrig spun around the inside of the resource center. A thick cloud of brown, sweet smoke had filled the top of the room, and from the looks of it, he’d gotten a little too much.

            “Where is this smoke coming from?” Adamsen asked, leaving it up whomever was listening to answer.

            “Isn’t it niiiice?” Christine leaned into him and smiled.

            “It matters not!” Walker stood up, boasting an impressive new weapon fresh off of the 3-D printer, “With this new tool, I’ll have the Psci begging for our acceptance!”

            “What is it?” Adamsen asked. Typically he was the one who imported new weapons from the network and produced them. It was rare indeed for the General to take such initiative on his own, preferring as he did to formulate strategies over producing an arsenal.

            “I call it the Reaper. It can function as a melee weapon yet also can be loaded with ammunition to produce a truly devastating barrage of bullets.”

            “Isn’t that just… a copy of the reaper from Perfect Dark?”

            “No! I’ve never even played that game! This is something I’ve created all on my own! Now…” He loaded a clip into the weapon, the front of which resembled the blades of a blender, “Let’s cut some weeds.”

            Trying his best to ignore the headache brought on by the dense, bitter haze that had come over his mind, Adamsen grabbed his EIB Echo Cannon and followed Walker out of the bunker. He called for Christine, but she had collapsed into a snoring heap and was clearly in no condition to fight.

            “Huzzah!” Walker cried, starting the engine on his reaper. A grating, metallic grinding sound began issuing forth from the alien weapon, as its blades spun like the lines of a hedge trimmer.

            To Adamsen’s disappointment, the air was no clearer out here. He was amazed that Walker had gone this long without being affected. The man truly was a machine. Adamsen got ready to fire on what he thought was a Psci, but momentarily blacked out as an all-too-familiar word echoed across the dome.

            “KILLUMINATI!!!” He heard Duncan’s voice yell, “KILLUMINATI!!!”

            “Wha… Huh?” He could barely focus his thoughts. Nearby, Walker began pressing the reaper into the side of a tree, rending the bark and tearing into its heartwood.

            “Take that, you disgusting worm! Repent!” He cackled, as pieces of wood showered his body. Apparently The General wasn’t as resilient as he had previously thought. These fumes were something else.

            “WHAT IS YO VIEW ON DA NATURE OF REALITY AND EXISTENCE?” Duncan’s voice yelled again, but Adamsen could have sworn he was hallucinating. Duncan never said anything other than “KILLUMINATI,” did he?

            Nearby, he saw Rachel and Timothy running around in circles around a pile of soiled diapers. Walker continued grinding at the tree, while Duncan’s voice offered another surprising statement.

            “IZ WE REALLY JUST EMPTY SPACE?” it asked.

            “I don’t know… I don’t know!” Adamsen cried out, firing his Echo Cannon into the air, “I DON’T KNOOOW!!!”

            His thoughts becoming incoherent, all Adamsen could hear were random strings of noise which clawed at his very sanity. He needed to get out of here!

* * *

            Cockrell grasped at the microphone. Though filled with an urge to sing karaoke, he shook off the mind fog and spoke frantically across the intercom system.

            “Everybody, if you see Duncan, attack him! Destroy him! I repeat, fire at will! He has turned the Dome into a nightmare!”

            After releasing the microphone, Cockrell stumbled out to his office balcony to stare down at the dead zone. He couldn’t see anything, the exhaust from Duncan’s malfunctioning combustion chamber having filled the entire Dome with toxic, psychedelic pollution.

            There was silence. No fighting. There was… peace! How could this be? Was it possible? Had Duncan’s contamination been so severe that the war between the factions had stopped? Why wasn’t the scrubber working?

            That was it… the Dome’s climate control system had malfunctioned! The Commander lurched back into his office, but fell flat on his face. The shag carpeting was so soft and fluffy… he was tempted to just lay down and sleep for a while…

            “No!” he yelled aloud, pulling himself back to his feet. He reached over to the climate controls and checked the status panel. There was a jam in the scrubber’s fan. How could this happen? He would never be able to make it to the chamber in time… it was over. Exhausted, he slumped backward. A red halo appeared over him.

            “Commander… something is wrong.” Rachel’s sweet voice defied her cybernetic existence, and spoke of a woman with a heart made of something other than a mechanical pump. Cockrell reached up to her, hoping she was more than mere illusion.

            “Rachel… go into central… find out what’s blocking the scrubber fan. Fast!”

            He mind fell blank. His only hope was that he wasn’t speaking to the wind.

* * *

            When Cockrell awoke, the air around him was clear. Had Rachel really done it? Yes, she had! The Dome had been freed from the clutch of Duncan’s noisome fumes. He could breathe again! And outside… he could hear the sounds of gunfire.

            Yes! Things were back to normal! But that was too close…