New Vegas: Sheason's Story - Chapter 102: Heavy Weapon

After the bouncing bombshell that landed in my lap once I’d finished listening to those holotapes, I needed something to properly distract me. And what better distraction than installing the next personality chip I’d found? I wonder who (or what) I was going to find this time?

Click.

The chip slid firmly into place next to the others, and the hologram above Jeeves’ table shifted from bars to a series of floating, three-dimensional words.

INSTALLING PERSONALITY:

-AUTO-DOC

“Whu-hurm?” I heard a synthetic voice from just behind me cough and snort… almost like it was waking up from a long nap. I turned to face the noise, and realized that the floor-to-ceiling box with the medical logo printed on the door was now lit up; the terminal on the side was glowing, complete with lines of code scrolling along the screen, “Hmph… Well how about that? Ol’ Auto-Doc’s back on line…” The robot sniffed, and grunted again. “Well, all right, come here. Let’s have a look at you.”

“An Auto-Doc, huh?” I asked, approaching the machine cautiously. “You wouldn’t happen to be the one responsible for removing my organs, would you?” Well, that’s good. If I could mention that so casually, it must mean I was starting to get numb to the absurdity of this nuthouse.

Wait. That isn’t a good thing, is it? I feel like that shouldn’t be a good thing.

“Am I?” The Auto-Doc said, sounding as confused as I felt. “Well, it’s certainly possible. I do a lot of surgeries around here. Especially organ transplants, and brain extractions. After a while, they all… just sort of… mesh together.” The Auto-Doc coughed again. “I can’t be expected to remember every little stitch and suture I make over the years.”

“Y’know, for a doctor, you’re pretty blunt.” I said, raising an eyebrow. The Auto-Doc coughed out a laugh.

“Yeah… Mobius was never big on that whole ‘bedside manner’ most doctors futz around with. He always seemed to think brilliant medical expertise and a gentle hand holding the scalpel would speak for itself, and I guess that rubbed off on me. I suppose you could say that what I lack in charm and acceptable social graces, I make up for with careful, methodical, and precise care, providing wholeness of the body no matter the seriousness of the injury.” The Auto-Doc paused. “I can also provide one hell of a haircut.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said with a smirk. The Auto-Doc coughed again. Hang on – why is it coughing if it doesn’t have a mouth?

“Well, if that’s all you’ll be needing from me for the moment, I think I’ll catch me a little shut-eye…” the machine yawned drowsily, and promptly started snoring.

“Wh- hang the fuck on, I just activated you! How are you tired already?” It didn’t respond. It just kept snoring. I shook my head and sighed, turning back to the hologram table in the center of the room. “Ugh. Whatever. Jeeves?” The bars on top of the table materialized into place as soon as the sink central intelligence began speaking.

“Yes sir?”

“Bring up a map of the crater. I want to see the last known location of the X-12 facility, as well as the Little Yangtze internment camp.” The hologram immediately changed to that same holographic map of the crater I’d seen yesterday.

“Right away, sir.” As he spoke, two red dots began to flash on the map. X-12 looked fairly close to the central dome, if the map was actually to scale… That was lucky, since I was planning on heading there first anyway. “If you will forgive me a moments impropriety, sir, might I inquire as to the why-ness of sir’s request?”

“Little Yangtze is the best lead I have to piece together Elijah’s footsteps,” I said, inputting the coordinates into my Pip Boy. “And knowing that crafty old bastard, I’m gonna need as much firepower as I can carry to deal with whatever traps he may have set. If the terminal entry in X-8 was anything to go by, then there’s a gun locked in X-12. A very big gun. And I’m gonna get my hands on it. Now…” I whistled, looking around the room. “Roxie? Stripe? Where the hell are those two…”

“Elijah, sir?” Jeeves asked hesitantly. “I do not recall any persons named ‘Elijah’ in my databanks. Who is this Elijah of which you speak?”

I didn’t say anything at first. I just grabbed the G36 I’d set down earlier, and checked to make sure it was loaded before slinging it over my shoulder. Satisfied that I had enough guns for the moment, I turned on my heel towards the elevator. Roxie and Stripe had evidently disappeared, and since I wanted to get all this done before nightfall, I didn’t have time to wait.

“He’s dead, Jeeves.” I replied over my shoulder. “Elijah’s dead.”

“Huh… well, that’s… different.”

I’d expected X-12’s front door to be blocked off by a force field or something, based on what I’d read on the terminal earlier. So when I stepped through the front door and onto a catwalk – with a force field creating a floor several inches beneath the catwalk – I was more than a little bit confused. I’d never seen a force field floor before.

Ah well. A force field is a force field. I pulled out the sonic, took aim, and…

BARK!

The floor evaporated in a crackle of electricity; all of the debris that had collected over the years since the force field activated unexpectedly found themselves suspended in the air with nothing holding them aloft. It made for quite the racket when they all suddenly decided to succumb to gravity.

“Welp, so much for subtlety…” I muttered, shrugging the G36 off my shoulder and into my hands. I started walking down the metal stairs, mentally making note of the signs on the walls as I descended… Level 1… sub-level 1… sub-level 2… sub-level 3… There were lots of terminals on each level, lots of hallways, lots of servers… but not much else. I mean, yeah – I found another of those boxes that contained a personality chip, but other than that? It was eerily deserted…

“So, where the fuck is this thing?” I said aloud as I wandered through the bottom level, starting to get a little bit impatient. “It’s armed with a minigun, I thought it’d be on my ass within seconds of disabling the force field…”

“Hey!” A strangely robotic voice said. “Who turned out the lights?”

“Well, what do you know!” I said with a smile, adjusting my grip on the G36, welding the stock into my arm, and taking aim into the darkness where I’d heard the voice. “Tempting fate like that really does work!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Something vaguely humanoid started shambling out of the darkness, walking forward with plodding, rhythmic footfalls. When it stepped into the light, I could see that it was wearing a red rubber bodysuit, with dark grey gloves – and the minigun was gripped firmly in its hands. There was a small, blinking green light flashing at the neck… and everything above the neck was slightly disturbing. Instead of a proper helmet, it looked like it was wearing a glass fishbowl… and inside was a skull. I wasn’t entirely certain how the skull was staying upright inside the helmet, to be honest, but it was.

“Well now,” I said, tilting my head to the side. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Hey!” The trauma harness said again, turning in my direction; the inflection was exactly the same as before, so it was probably a recording. “Who turned out the lights?” It took aim with the minigun, and the six barrels pointing at me started to spin…

“Whoops!” I ran in the opposite direction, heading for a nearby desk. “Time to go!” I vaulted over the desk and rolled when I hit the floor. The instant the minigun started firing was obvious: the bark of lead being fired through the air at extremely high velocity and hitting nearly everything metal around me was completely unmistakable.

Right, this was rapidly turning into a distinctly sticky situation. It may only be moving at a glacial pace, but it would eventually find it’s way back here. I could always just huck a grenade it’s way, but that might damage the minigun – the very reason I was down here in the first place. I looked around, trying to find a decent escape route, maybe get around to flank it…

Suddenly, the bark of minigun fire ceased.

“Hey! Who turned out the lights?” Thump. Thump. Thump. The footfalls were getting close, but it had stopped firing. With the amount of time the gun would need to spin back up to speed, this was a golden opportunity!

“Hey, numbskull!” I yelled, running out of cover and taking aim on the move. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you!” I snapped off a few shots into its center mass as it tried to bring the massive gun to bear; if the sound was any indication, the bullets just went straight through. Which meant I would probably have to cut its limbs off, just like the Ghost People.

“Hey! Who turned out the lights?” I vaulted up the stairs as the minigun started spinning up again. Once more, the air was full of the sounds of gunfire, and just as before, I was quicker than it could aim. I managed to duck behind a massive server on the level above, which took the brunt of the fire; the ancient computer was peppered with bullets before the minigun stopped firing again.

“What’s the matter?” I said from my hiding spot with a massive grin on my face. “Don’t have the stomach to aim properly? Oh, I guess not! Don’t worry, I’m sure you can bone up your skills in time!”

I had a plan for dealing with this thing. Only issue? I had to get close enough to it without getting torn to shreds by minigun fire. Solution? Get it to come to me. And nothing gets people to make mistakes faster than a string of awful, awful puns. Hopefully, it’ll work just as well on an ancient minigun-wielding skeleton inside an automatic robot suit.

“Hey!” It said, lumbering up the stairs, taking the bait. “Who turned out the lights?”

“You know,” I kicked off the back wall and ran straight at the entrance to a nearby hallway. “I think you just need to try harder tibia good shot!” As if to punctuate the point, the wall I’d been running against was hit with another hail of bullets – none of which hit me before I managed to duck into the hallway and out of sight. “Come on! Don’t you find all this the least bit humerus?”

I was having entirely too much fun.

“Hey! Who turned out the lights?” It was at the entrance of the hallway now, trying to follow me – and I was waiting around the next corner. Thump. Thump. Thump. “Hey! Who turned out the lights?”

SMASH!

My fist hit the dome with enough force that the glass cracked beneath my knuckles. It stumbled backward, the minigun falling out of its hands to the floor with a heavy crash, and the skull rolled around listlessly inside the glass dome.

“IT WAS ME!” I yelled with a laugh, standing over the collapsed trauma harness. I finally got a close look at the inside of the dome; the skull was held in place by a thin web of white strands extending from inside the suit’s body, almost like spider-web thread. Several of the threads lined the inside of the bowl as well, but only on the edges closest to the body. The green light at the base of the fish-bowl-helmet began to flicker faster as it tried to grab at me and get back up.

“H-h-h-he-e-he-e-e-he-hey-y-y-y-” It stammered out. “Who-o-o-o-o tu-ur-u-u-ur-” It latched itself onto my leg with one of its arms; I just sighed.

“Sorry buddy,” I reached behind me and pulled out the proton axe, flicking the switch. Purple lightning began arcing along the axe’s edge. “But you’re not quite carpalable enough to deal with me.” I sliced clean through its arms with the axe, as well as the legs, and decapitated it for good measure. Each of the stumps let out that familiar green gas I’d seen when I’d chopped the limbs off the Ghost People. When I was done, all that was left was a mass of sticky white meat, white threads, and bone.

“Hey sexy, c’mere…” I clicked off the proton axe, sticking it back in its place in my belt, and started walking over to the discarded minigun. “Oooh! Got some weight on ya, girl…”

I looked down at the weapon as I held it in my hands, finally getting a good look at it. It was a six-barrel minigun with a chainsaw grip, a joystick trigger, an absolutely enormous cylindrical ammo drum on the bottom, and in front of the ammo drum was… a braincase. I suppose that made a bit of sense. I mean this was a cyberdog gun, and that was probably the brain from a cyberdog. On either side of the chainsaw grip were two small flaps on hinges; between the chainsaw grip and the joystick trigger was a tiny screen, and a smaller speaker… which proceeded to beep at me when I picked it up.

“DNA scan recognized: Human user detected.” a robotic, androgynous sounding voice spoke up at me; as it spoke, the two flaps twitched, reminding me a bit of the movement of dog ears. “Initiating startup sequence…”

“Startup sequence?” I asked aloud, not entirely sure what it meant. Before I could wonder any further, I heard a series of barks come from underneath the gun, from somewhere near the braincase. A few lines starting quickly scrolling on the tiny screen… and then the gun began to speak. Or rather, it began to bellow.

“GREETINGS, TINY MAN!” The words issued out of the speaker on top, barking at me in a deep, gruff, masculine voice, heavily accented with an obvious Russian cadence. “I am Heavy Weapon, designate: K-9000 Cyberdog Gun! But you may call me…” It paused dramatically. “…Саша.”

I blinked several times, utterly confused.

“Sasha?” I asked, not entirely certain I heard it right. The dog brain barked again, and the gun continued to speak.

“We kill many members of enemy team together, yes?” As it spoke, the ‘ears’ twitched again, and I could hear a strange panting coming from the brain underneath the barrels.

“Uh… sure?” I offered up helpfully, still a bit confused. The gun laughed heartily.

“Хорошо!” It exclaimed excitedly.

To this day, I still have no idea what any of this had to do with a horror show.

The trip to Little Yangtzee was relatively uneventful. Sasha was in my hands, complete with a strap slung over my shoulder to help me hold the enormously heavy gun. Occasionally, I’d hear some panting from the dog brain under the barrels. So, as I trekked the long walk over the broken and scarred terrain of the Big Empty with the minigun in hand, I decided to take this opportunity to strike up a conversation with my gun.

I’m fairly certain no one has ever said that before.

“Alright, I got a question for ya,” I said to the gun in my hands. The ears on either side of the chainsaw grip perked up at my voice. “You used to be a dog, right? Do you know what kind of dog you used to be?” The gun was silent for several seconds. There was a soft sniffing sound coming from the braincase underneath the barrels.

“I… do not know for sure.” The gun said eventually. “I spoke with many scientists before my capture by walking corpse. One said I was retriever. Another said I was lab.” The gun paused. “Is possible he did not understand question.”

“Maybe you were a mixed breed?” I offered up helpfully. The brain barked.

“Could be. All I know for certain? I was brought to country from the Mother Russia. I like to think I was Siberian Husky dog, when I still had legs and tail, though – would make me, how you Americans say, Husky Russkie?” The gun started laughing.

“That’s another thing I’m confused about,” I shook my head. “Wasn’t Russia from before the bombs communist? Kind of like China? How’d the scientists even get a hold of you?”

“Not all Russians communist!” The gun said, the brain beneath the barrels barking again. “I remember old owner. Big man. Like bear. Huge, shaved bear, that hated people. Mikhail was name. He was mercenary from Dzhugdzhur Mountains in Siberia. Hid family from KGB and communists for many years. He-”

The gun suddenly stopped speaking; it was so surprising that I stopped in my tracks, and looked down at the minigun. The two metal ears were wiggling up and down furiously, and I could hear a strange sniffing coming from the brain.

“What?” I asked. “What is it?” The brain started growling.

“I smell enemy team. Eety-beety-teeny-tiny baby men are coming!”

“Well then,” I flipped the switch on top of the joystick, and the barrels started to spin. “Guess it’s time for us to go to work, eh Sasha? Whaddaya say?” The brain started barking, and the gun started laughing.

“Wah-hah-hah-hah-hah-haaa! Now is coward killing time!”

Sure enough, a trio of lobotomites (flanked by a pair of cyberdogs) emerged from behind a nearby rocky outcropping, and started running straight at me. I planted my feet, took aim with the spinning minigun and pulled the trigger.

I’ll tell you right now – firing Sasha was an entirely different experience from being shot at by Sasha. The sound up close was like amplified thunder, completely drowning out everything. The shock ran up both my arms as it unleashed a fusillade of bullets at the oncoming enemies, tearing them to shreds. A hail of spent shells spat themselves out of the side like water from a fire hose, and littered the ground all around my feet. Everything in front of me instantly became riddled with holes; the lobotomites and cyberdogs turning to scrap metal and red paste. The closest of them only got 10 feet away before they exploded into a shower of gore and a pile of ludicrous gibs.

“Vzzzzzt! Rahrahrahrah! Vrrrrr! Wah-hah-haaaaaa!” Sasha continued to yell, even after I let go of the trigger and the gun finally stopped firing. The end of the barrels were glowing red, and it hissed loudly as steam issued up off the hot metal, spiraling into the sky in curly clouds. “We make good team!”

“So, this is Little Yangtze, huh?” I asked, standing on top of a hill and looking down. I didn’t really need any conformation, it was obvious I was in the right place – and I doubt Sasha knew the answer anyway.

Little Yangtze was a massive, sprawling complex housing row after row of ancient tents. Thick, rusty iron fences topped with coil after coil of razor wire ringed the outer edge of the camp on all sides. A rusted, dented flagpole (conspicuously missing a flag) stuck out of the center of the camp. Just north of the flagpole was what I thought was an open patch of ground… and then I looked closer, and realized that the ground was covered in gravestones. South of the flagpole were a row of outhouses; most of them were broken or half-buried in the ground, and all of them were covered in a layer of obvious toxic filth.

I knelt down, scanning the area… and I also set Sasha against the ground, to try and take some of the strain off. For as useful as it was, the gun was stupidly heavy. It certainly lived up the name ‘Heavy Weapon’ I guess…

“Hmm… Let’s see. If I was Elijah, where would I be?” Most of the camp inside the fence I ruled out. Yes, it seemed secure – those fences (and the razor wire especially) would keep things out just as well as they’d keep prisoners in – but there wasn’t anything there that was tactically viable. What would he want? Something defensible, probably. Something that would give him a commanding view of as much of the surrounding area as possible, definitely. And technology – some kind of advanced old world tech that he’d want to use…

“There,” I said aloud, pointing at a watch tower on the eastern edge of the camp. “That’s where he’d be.” Apart from the hill I was on now, the watch tower was the highest thing near the camp by far. There was only one way up – a single set of stairs – and only one door that led inside the watchtower (that I could see). Sticking out of the roof was an obvious and conspicuous antenna array, coupled with a satellite dish. The only strange thing? Even from this distance, I could tell that all the windows had been boarded up.

“We go to capture point?” Sasha asked as I picked the minigun back up. I nodded.

“Yes indeed, Sasha. Let’s go ‘capture’ that tower.” The ears on the gun twitched, and the brain started panting.

“Not usually my job, but… eheheh…”

I pushed the door of the watchtower open as carefully as I could… while standing just to the side. Sure enough, there was a bang, and the door was peppered with buckshot.

I knew there’d be at least one trap still intact. The whole area surrounding the watch tower was like a battlefield. It was littered with hundreds (and I do literally mean hundreds)of broken robot scraps, pieces of long-since rotten away body parts, and the telltale signs of exploded mines (among other types of explosives) scarring the ground. The amount of mines and explosives he must have set around this watch tower had to have been absolutely absurd. Were there this many explosives in the world?

“More traps?” Sasha asked as I cautiously peeked around the door. The string that triggered the shotgun trap was lying broken on the ground, and I didn’t see anything else in the immediate vicinity…

“Don’t think so…” I said eventually. That seemed more like a last-ditch kind of trap, and I don’t think he’d have anything else in his actual base. Still… I took things slow.

“Makes no difference. We find more traps, I will destroy tiny coward toys!” The brain barked enthusiastically.

The interior of the watchtower was somehow both Spartan and a cluttered mess. There was a workbench, a terminal, an old ham radio, a pair of shelves for tools and parts, some ammo cans, a single bedroll… At first glance, it didn’t appear that there was anything here that wasn’t needed. And yet, all the tools and parts were scattered everywhere, along with several dozen bomb collars in various states of assembly (or, more likely, disassembly).

I pulled the strap off my shoulder, and set the massive gun on the workbench next to the terminal. The metal ears drooped, and I heard the brain whimper.

“Aw… Why did you set me down? I like being held! Is fun! Makes me think there are cowards nearby that need killing!” I chuckled, and patted the (thankfully cool) barrel.

“I know, I know. But this terminal might have some information on it that I need, and I can’t look at it and carry you at the same time.” I booted up the computer, fully expecting some kind of password screen, or firewall that I’d have to hack into… but no. Amazingly enough, it was completely unlocked. So I started reading the entries…

-Log Entry 01

The government shipped in the first batch of dissidents today. Three whole trainloads of Communist infiltrators. Half of them don’t even speak English, so we had to show them where to go with our nightsticks. They got the point eventually. The docs are already talking about “research subjects.” Guess that’ll help advance the war effort.

-Log Entry 02

One of the prisoners who speaks a little English – I guess he’s become the unofficial spokesman – came to the commandant’s office today screaming about hungry ghosts snatching his people up in the night. The commandant told him to give up the ignorant superstitions of a bygone era and had him thrown in the cooler for three weeks. Me, I’ve seen some of the new robots they’re developing here, and I gotta wonder where they get the brains from…

-Log Entry 03

Another escape attempt last night. We rounded them all up and processed the escapees, but these little bastards are determined. We’ve got triple shifts on the camp around the clock, and the extra hours are eating up morale. Commandant says he’s put in a requisition to use the camp as a field test for the new “total pacification collars” the scientists have been working on. Maybe then I can get some goddamn sleep.

“Hmmp. This all reads like it was from before the bombs.” I shook my head and laughed grimly. “Fuck, no wonder we nuked ourselves into oblivion. We’ve always been bastards.” I scratched my chin, looking around the room at all the broken bomb collars before turning back to the terminal. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Elijah wasn’t… wait, hang on…” I scrolled through several functions, and found something else. It had been pretty well hidden, but the files were in a different format than the earlier Pre-War journal entries. It quickly became apparent that these had been written by Elijah

-Day 2

2nd day at the Pre-War concentration camp. Kept China citizens here before war. Radiation turned them, had to keep them in camp with collars (explains why some of these ‘slave collars’ exist, always wondered, some were clearly Pre-War tech).

Researching the collar frequencies, touchy – circuit architecture is messy, de-constructing them taking time. Must be careful, can’t be spotted by local robots, insane brains from the Dome will try and haul me back there, then… research me.

“Elijah, you silly son of a bitch,” I said aloud with a grin. “You didn’t want to get researched? You were missing out! Some of their research has been quite…” I trailed off, thinking of last night. “…eh-heh.”

-Day 3

No sign of that Courier from before. He stays out of my way, I’ll stay out of his. Been thinking about that “Sierra Madre” he mentioned… if he’s right, I’d just need to find the casino radio frequency to track it down. Wouldn’t need his help. If the working holograms and toxic gas are preserved there, might be easier to study them there with no robots to interfere. And those dispensers… might have use for those as well.

There was a mention of that Courier again. And then, when I read on, something else gave me pause.

“Wait, toxic…” I thought about that for a minute. “He must be talking about the Red Cloud. But that almost sounds like… How could there be Red Cloud here? Unless…” I felt one of my eyes twitch.

The implications of that train of thought were highly unpleasant.

-Day 4

Still continuing research. Found way to deactivate collar after some failures. Nothing serious, just a few headless ghouls. It’s been hard to go fishing in the camp without one of them trying to run for the gate and their heads exploding. Damn collars, twitchy.

… need to ration the Mentats, giving me migraines.

I cast a glance over to one of the nearby shelves. I saw a couple of open, discarded, and empty Mentat tins. I gritted my teeth, trying to force the rather unpleasant memories involving Mentats back down and out of my mind. Although…it did make me wonder. Elijah was a crazy, genocidal old bastard, but he had also been dangerously intelligent. Maybe even a genius…

Or was he? The fact that he’d been using Mentats to enhance his mind cast that notion into question.

-Day 4/Addendum

While setting up the radios to monitor Dome and robots, thought I saw glint (scope?) from the building on other side of compound.

Should check it out, make sure I’m not being watched… might be that Courier?

Still, he would have come straight up rather than hiding. Instinct says it’s someone else.

There weren’t any more entries after that. At least now I had a new place to check out. I picked up Sasha, tossed the strap around my shoulder, and headed out the door.

It didn’t take long to find, although I must say that Elijah’s description of ‘building’ might have been a bit generous. It may have been a building at some point, but now it was little more than a pile of rubble. There was still at least one free standing wall, however, and I cautiously made my way up the pile of collapsed concrete to it.

Elijah thought he’d seen a scope from this direction. It made me curious if there was actually a decent sniper perch here. If there was, then I could guess who’d made it – and maybe I could find more clues to finish piecing together Christine’s side of the story. Maybe find out more about that damn Courier who seemed interested in me…

I still didn’t know his name.

I climbed up the rubble pile, Sasha in hand, with all these thoughts rattling around in my head. Sure enough, there was a decent sniper perch up here. Enough of the wall was still here to provide decent cover, and it was high enough above the fence to allow for unobstructed sight lines… at least, if you were aiming in the direction of the watch tower.

I looked down at the fence surrounding the concentration camp. The gate nearest this place was wide open. What had Christine said in that first recording I’d found?

The robots moved in when I tried to intercept him… and Elijah sent the camp ghouls against us both. Like… like walking bombs.

Walking bombs… hell, maybe this had been a building when Elijah had written that journal. As I was thinking, I saw a glint in the rubble below me. Was it that same scope Elijah had seen? I hopped down, and found the barrel of a rifle sticking out of the rubble.

“What is this you find?” Sasha asked as I let go of the joystick to pull the rifle up and out. The end of the sniper rifle was fitted with a suppressor, and the scope on the top seemed to have been larger than normal. Most of the rifle was still wrapped in camo netting, despite having been buried for who knows how long. There was a serial number engraved on the side of the stock, along with that same Circle of Steel symbol I’d seen scratched on the prison wall earlier.

“This has got to be Christine’s rifle…” I said, looking it over. I found the shoulder strap and slung the sniper rifle over my shoulder from force of habit.

“Who is Chris-” Sasha began to ask, but stopped midsentence to sniff the air. “Nevermind! I can smell enemy on the way! The robots are coming!” For the moment, I forgot about the rifle slung over my shoulder and grabbed hold of the joystick; the barrels started to spin, and I braced myself against the pile of rubble.

“Robots, huh? Heh! Let ’em come!” I said with a murderous grin. “We can take ’em!” The gun started laughing.

“Ah-hah-haaa! Yes! Bring me metal men to fight!”