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    Three Weeks Before Doomsday
    Three Weeks Before Doomsday
    Three Weeks Before Doomsday
    Ebook101 pages1 hour

    Three Weeks Before Doomsday

    By Sechin Tower

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    About this ebook

    Jet Packs. Rail Guns. Tentacles. Lizard Monsters.

    What’s this world coming to? Doomsday, that’s what.

    This collection of short stories is the perfect jumping-off point into the world of MAD SCIENCE INSTITUTE, where the keepers of Nikola Tesla’s secret legacy clash with ancient creatures and new threats on a daily basis.

    Find out what happens when:
    A mad scientist runs afoul of a drug cartel’s paid gunmen
    A grad student battles tentacles and sleep deprivation
    A biker gang acquires an electromagnetic pulse bomb

    Three Weeks Before Doomsday: where were they before the antimatter hit the fan?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSechin Tower
    Release dateJul 6, 2014
    ISBN9780984850754
    Three Weeks Before Doomsday
    Author

    Sechin Tower

    Sechin Tower (SechinTower.com) is a writer, game designer, and teacher. He began work for Exile Game Studio in 2006 as editor of the Hollow Earth Expedition RPG and went on to become the chief contributor to the award-winning supplements Secrets of the Surface World and Mysteries of the Hollow Earth. He lives in the Seattle, Washington area with his beautiful wife and adoring cat. In his spare time, he prepares for the zombie apocalypse by running obstacle courses and practicing Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. His first novel, Mad Science Institute, is now available wherever books are sold

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      Book preview

      Three Weeks Before Doomsday - Sechin Tower

      Three Weeks

      Before Doomsday

      Sechin Tower

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright © 2014 by Sechin Tower

      Table of Contents

      Science and Funerals (Angela)

      Training the Neighbors (Victor)

      Bad Romance (Nikki)

      Big Man (Brick)

      Application Essay to the Mad Science Institute (Soap)

      The Opening Move (McKenzie)

      An excerpt From Mad Science Institute

      About the Author

      Also by Sechin Tower

      Science and Funerals

      Angela

      My name is Angela Black, and I invent deadly things. Don’t get all squeamish and judgmental on me, though. I’m not some serial killer experimenting on innocent victims, and I’m not a nearsighted government scientist researching weapons of mass destruction without questioning their use. All I do is test out new ideas. Nothing’s more deadly than new ideas.

      This particular test began when I flipped the setting of my goggles from light amplification to infrared display, and the hidden gunmen lit up my lenses like bright orange bonfires against the nocturnal background. The situation was simple: I wanted them gone, and they wanted the same for me. Now, I know I hadn’t asked what they wanted, but I had a strong hunch that armed men patrolling an illegal cocaine field deep in a South American jungle wouldn’t be receptive to answering polite questions.

      I’m no historian, but I know guys like this have been around since the dark ages. In fact, they’re the ones who caused the dark ages. Kings and bandits are all exactly the same: they bully peasants into doing the hard labor and then keep all the rewards for themselves. These drug-runners had gotten away with it for so long because their off-road vehicles and their AK-47 machineguns allowed them to stay beyond the reach of what passed for law enforcement in this corrupt little republic. They had never been forced to compete for their fair spot in a free market, and they thought it made them strong. They’re wrong. Competition is what makes people strong, and I was about to show them what they’d been missing.

      Toggling my flight pack’s setting to hover, I felt the straps tighten across my shoulders and chest as it counterbalanced Earth’s magnetic field. The pack now held me firmly in mid-air, allowing me to move without friction, like the puck on an air-hockey table.

      I kicked off towards my first target and saw the ground whisk by beneath my feet. With no footfalls to mark my passage, I sailed as quietly as a cloud on the wind. The reactor on my back emitted only a slight hum, no louder than the murmur of the custom-made, extra-long, black lab coat that rippled behind me like a cape. I had also taken the precaution of setting my rail pistol’s velocity to subsonic so it, too, produced little noise beyond the whirring of its rotating barrels.

      In the span of a heartbeat, my pistol magnetically accelerated a dozen metal slugs at my new enemy. He made a sort of gurgling yelp as he collapsed. With a subsonic muzzle velocity, those projectiles lacked the force to break through bone like a regular bullet, but they could certainly ventilate a person’s torso in a hurry.

      As much as I hate to admit it, a pang of guilt knocked at the backdoor of my mind. That guy hadn’t stood a chance: no one in the world was prepared for gear like mine. I had been able to create the flight pack, goggles, and rail gun only because I had a special type of reactor secretly invented by the infamous Nikola Tesla himself. He entrusted this invention to a little school called the Mechanical Science Institute, where it remained a secret for a hundred years. On the night of my graduation, I stole one of those reactors for my private use. The Institute has its secrets, and so do I.

      The gunman may not have known what hit him, but his last act was to fire his full clip into the air. It startled me, but I was in no danger because he wasn’t aiming in my direction. The noise, however, alerted everyone else on the plantation, and it only took a moment before orange silhouettes began boiling out of a rickety storage shack and taking up defensive positions behind their jeeps.

      Dashing like a speed skater, I circled around their shack to flank them. It would have been a good plan, except that I didn’t get far before some ground vines snagged my foot as I sailed through them. I might have fallen on my face if the flight pack hadn’t been holding me firmly aloft, but those vines still yanked painfully at my ankle and spun me around, sending me twirling through a noisy thicket. All of this underbrush had been invisible to my infrared vision because it was same temperature as the rest of the jungle, but this collision had the dual consequences of draining my momentum while alerting my enemies to my position.

      Machinegun fire raked a tree to my right and then the ground to my left. They couldn’t see where I stood, but they were doing a great job spamming the jungle with lead. If I stayed there, sooner or later one of their bullets would find me.

      I snapped the flight control to buoyant and felt the pack relax on my back just enough to provide the bounding, feathery feeling of walking on the moon. On this setting, the pack detected and compensated for my mass and downward momentum so that I effectively weighed one pound. It was like the greatest diet in the world.

      Now nearly weightless, I sprang into the sky. I used no more strength than required to hop up two stairs, but with the pack’s electro-gravitic assistance this leap propelled me fifty feet into the air. At the apex of my jump, I shifted back to hover mode and felt the pack lock me into place high above the heads of the drug runners.

      The gunmen obviously had no notion that I was now above them because they continued their frenzied attempts to mow the underbrush with their bullets. Subtlety was no longer of the essence, so I dialed my weapon up to maximum velocity. As I moved the pistol, my goggles’ targeting computer painted a moving pinpoint in my vision that automatically compensated for distance, direction, and relative motion. On this setting, I didn’t even need to release the trigger between bursts; all I had to do was sweep that red pinpoint over my enemies and my rail pistol would fire at exactly the right instants, raining down a torrent of magnetic slugs that never missed.

      As the drug runners fell, my pistol’s recoil, however slight, moved me like a shadow across the inky sky. I had even slit the back of my black lab coat so that it would billow out to my sides like the wings of the angel of death. (Get it? Angela—angel of death? I crack myself up sometimes!) Maybe it was a

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