The shooting range stretched out before us, vast and imposing. As we stepped inside, I noticed a variety of static and moving targets designed for basic practice. Scattered debris added to the simulation of a war zone, useful for taking cover or performing parkour maneuvers, I supposed.
But we moved deeper inside. This was all too basic-I'm here to test weapons that matter.
We arrived at an enormous hall, littered with the same war-torn debris, but my eyes were drawn to a small, sealed room with a sign reading, "Authorized Personnel Only."
The military officer, who had transported my weapons and armor from the car, approached the door. He unlocked it with a quick retina scan followed by a password. The door hissed open, and out stepped several cold, emotionless machines.
Two 'Combatant Type 4' robots.
Nicholas, standing beside me, stared at them in awe. He knew what they were capable of-these machines could decimate entire militant squads.
"So, here's your Phase 1," Mr. Hastings said, a mischievous grin creeping across his face. "Your task: destroy them. Suit up, we'll watch from the control room. I'll even throw in some commentary to keep things entertaining." He chuckled lightly.
"Before you begin," Hastings added, his tone turning serious, "let me break down the hierarchy of these combatant robots for you."
"There are four classifications of 'Combatant' robots, and their lethality increases as the type number decreases, also they all have a single core instead of three as you saw on the Moon, but their vital cores are protected my thick armours and their defensive capabilities also increase with decreasing number," he explained. "You'll be facing 'Combatant Type 4'-the deadliest melee-only robot in its class, but still the least dangerous overall. It's fast, agile, and engineered to shred through its targets up close."
"Next is 'Combatant Type 3,' a master of long-range warfare. It's armed with high-precision weaponry and sniper-like targeting systems. Get within range, and you'll have more than bullets to worry about-it can launch energy projectiles and guided micro-missiles that track your every move."
He continued, "Now, 'Combatant Type 2' is a true hybrid-combining the melee prowess of Type 4 with the long-range capabilities of Type 3. It's also equipped with near-human-level intelligence, making it adaptable and capable of strategizing like a seasoned soldier. It doesn't just fight; it outthinks you."
"And then," Hastings paused for emphasis, "there's the 'Combatant Type 1,' also known as the Soul Crusher. Only two of these monstrous creations exist legally, and I couldn't secure one for your test-but understand this: it's a walking fortress. Towering at the size of a building, it's equipped with a massive multi-launch missile system capable of leveling entire cities in minutes. Its firepower is catastrophic, and even with your advanced armor, a direct encounter would likely mean the end-not just for you, but for this shooting range and every city within a fifty kilometers."
As I suited up, I couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation. Destroying a 'Combatant Type 4' was just the beginning-and this was only Phase 1.
Hastings entered the control room alongside Nicholas and said, "The 'Combatant Type 4' you fought on the Moon was holding back, operating at reduced capacity. The ones you're facing now will fight at full strength, intent on killing you. If anything goes wrong, we'll override them from here."
I found myself wondering why I wasn't afraid. Maybe it was the confidence in my top-tier armor and advanced weaponry. Or perhaps it was the sheer thrill of the challenge.
"Let Phase 1 begin," Hastings said, his voice calm and detached.
The robots' eyes ignited with a menacing red glow. From their elbows, two crescent-shaped energy blades unfolded like scissors, while in their hands, they wielded massive chainsaw-like weapons. But these weren't ordinary chainsaws-tiny plasma lasers replaced the usual serrated spikes, humming with lethal precision.
YOU ARE READING
My Glide On Death
Science FictionThe year was 2098. I was a spacecraft and jet pilot during an era of relative peace. No robotic apocalypses, no zombie outbreaks, no meteor showers-nothing of the sort. Humanity had even established a presence on Mars. Yet, beneath this calm, a sini...
