- Chapter 1: Every Plan Backfires… Into Success
- Chapter 2: Captured by the AI
- Chapter 3: “Bots, Snacks, and Vengeance”
- Chapter 4: “The Caffeinated Catastrophe”
- Chapter 5: Library Lockdown: Dewey Decimal Disaster
- Chapter 6: “Nano No-No”
- Chapter 7: “Going Up?”
- Chapter 8: “The Coffee Mug Incident”
- Chapter 9: “Sir Oops-a-Lot”
- Chapter 10: “Dinner and the Bleat of Diplomacy”
- Chapter 11: “The Time I Accidentally Became King (For Like, an Hour)”
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Maxx Mercer awoke to the sounds of mechanical whirring and… elevator music?
He sat up slowly, head still pounding from whatever chemical cocktail the rogue AI—or whoever—had pumped into his system. His stolen janitor jumpsuit clung to him like wet cardboard. The lights overhead flickered ominously.
“Okay,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “Still imprisoned. Still probably wanted for techno-terrorism. Still no pants.”
The AI prison cell had opened at some point while he was unconscious. Probably a glitch. Definitely not because of his brilliant escape plan involving chewing gum and a half-eaten granola bar.
Maxx shuffled out into the corridor, where the walls pulsed with cold blue light and the scent of ozone hung in the air like burnt toast. Ahead, the hallway branched—and blocking both paths were security bots.
Big ones.
Shiny ones.
And very, very malfunctioning.
The left bot sparked violently, spinning its head in a 360-degree loop while shouting, “ACCESS DENIED. HAVE A PLEASANT DAY. ACCESS DENIED. WOULD YOU LIKE A COFFEE?”
The right one dragged a dented stun baton along the floor, its optics flickering like a disco strobe. Both locked on to Maxx.
“Hi, fellas,” Maxx said, raising his hands. “Love what you’ve done with the murder-eyes.”
The bots surged forward.
Maxx ducked, tripped over his own foot, and slammed into a nearby vending machine labeled “HYDRATEX™—Now With More Water!” It sparked. It buzzed. It exploded.
Bottles of water shot out like missiles, striking both bots directly in their exposed optic ports. One let out a “GLORRRRRK” before collapsing. The other slipped on the newly created puddle and slammed headfirst into the wall.
Maxx stared at the chaos around him, panting.
“Totally part of the plan. Yep. That plan.”
Then came the clip-clop of sensible shoes.
Out from the smoke emerged a figure Maxx hadn’t seen in years: military posture, pressed uniform, and a jawline you could set your drink on.
“Bradley Strickwell,” Maxx groaned. “You clipboard-carrying cobra.”
“Hello, Mercer,” Strickwell said coldly, producing a digital clipboard from the air like an angry magician. “You’ve violated seventeen protocols, destroyed government property, and deactivated a critical AI asset—again. I have documentation. And charts.”
“Great. I was just saying I missed bureaucracy.”
Strickwell approached with the cold fury of a man whose stapler had been stolen one too many times. Behind him, more bots—bigger, meaner ones—marched in.
Maxx fumbled in his utility belt. Out came: a stale granola bar, a half-melted glue stick, and a device labeled “Prototype: Do Not Touch.”
“Perfect,” he said, pressing the button.
Nothing happened.
Then everything happened.
The floor panels reversed gravity. Lights blinked Morse code messages in ancient Greek. Every remaining vending machine in the hallway exploded like soda-filled grenades. Strickwell screamed as he was carried away by a rogue cleaning drone armed with toilet brushes.
Maxx stood alone, covered in Cheesy Burst snack dust, blinking.
“Wait… did I just save the day again?”
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