08-06-2017, 08:30 AM
The preteen machine held out a hand and summoned his shield at the first mention on the oncoming explosive salvos. With a grunt, he slung it up over his body and crouched as low to the ground as he could make himself. Clenching the handle with one hand, he used the other to start tearing apart the think, peaty ‘soil’ that lay between him and the oceans underneath Sabaody. Scans told him he had a few feet to go before he’d start swimming, so he could afford to tear out a small fox hole in lieu of a properly sandbagged trench system.
Another bombardment fell upon the island as the group continued to press into the interior of the archipelago. With any luck, they would find the source of the monsters who sought to burn the place to the ground. Behind them, the constant threat of the troopers loomed. From the occasional sounds in the sky above, Proto Man knew that they had at least some form of aerial support. Even better than the intermittent support from beyond the canopy was the entrance of another prime. Whatever ‘the Vision’ was supposed to be, he knew how to carry himself as the controlled withdrawal continued to verge on becoming a rout.
Hadn’t Proto Man come from a giant party filled with primes near Costa del Sol? Was it better to get drunk and play volleyball in the sand than save people’s lives? The thought brought a frown to the young machine’s visage as a chunk of shrapnel skittered across the surface of his shield. He knew by now that he shouldn’t be surprised with other people. More often than not, people were selfish and cowardly. Those people probably wouldn’t bother to react to the horrors unfolding here until they knocked down their Ferris Wheel or interrupted their surfing experience.
The bombardment subsided, and Proto Man dismissed his bulwark and pulled himself up out of the little fox hole. Once again, the darklings had shattered another few acres of the island in their failed efforts to smash the group of warriors. Although a few of them were sporting some cuts and bruises, adrenaline and determination blurred any feelings of impending mortality as the group verified everyone’s survival and press forward. They had barely any time, as the skittering of wings and the droning of jetpack engines could already be heard massing in the shattered words behind them.
Rising into the skies above them, the Vision’s eyes burned red once more as he laid down suppressing fire into the burning trees. For his part, Proto Man planted himself beneath the hovering machine and added to the general conflagration with a rapid succession of uncharged bursts. Despite notifications from targeting reticles and updates from his extra-sensory apparatuses, the small robot knew they had to keep up their withdrawal/push to the center of the island. There had to be a focal point for their attackers or someplace where they were being beamed in or manufactured or outfitted. Whatever it may be, it had to be destroyed.
“Let’s go!” Proto Man shouted up to the Vision, who glanced down and nodded before discharging a final laser burst into the trees. After that, he pivoted and moved to rejoin the rest of the group.
The preteen machine kept the Proto Buster primed as he jogged forward to the quickly moving train of primes. Cloud had dropped back, so the soldier was within ten yards of the red robot as they press on through a patch of undefiled trees. Attempts to triangulate positioning using GPS and some online layout data on Sabaody had yet to progress to the point where it would be worthwhile to Proto Man. Whether that was due to some lack in his firmware or the darklings managing to somehow clutter the data waves would be a mystery he would have to solve after the fact.
Gathering their wits once again, the column pushed on to the interior. Even with just rudimentary maps of the region, Proto Man knew they were close to the epicenter of Sabaody. With the arrival of the Vision, they had enough long-distance firepower to prevent the troopers from closing around them en masse, even if the forest continued to scream and seethe with bolts of energy and occasional bursts of fire or electricity.
What awaited them at the focal point of the attacks? More hornets? Legions of jetpacked troopers? More bombardment from improvised explosives and erupting cannonballs? Whatever their odds may be, the primes knew that they had to press forward. Unlike their peers, they had already bid farewell to the dream of a world of isolation. They would have to make a stand against whatever sought to destroy them and this archipelago. The Empire wouldn’t keep fighting forever, especially this distance from Costa. Eventually, they’d reach a point where they were expending too much on too little, and they would shorten their fronts to more economically and commercially salient defensive points.
This collection of primes would have to be the difference makers. If they failed out here in the Vasty Deep, they wouldn’t just fail themselves but all the countless people spread out across the oceans of the tropical verse. Should he call Mickey and Minnie? The question was instantly shaken out of the robot’s head—the two had already gone through enough. While he had phantoms of human emotion, Proto Man was made of steel. The two mice, more wonderful than anyone else he had met, were too emotionally broken. They needed the tranquility of the Hawaiian seaside community, lest they be broken any further
Proto Man had forsaken his summertime dream of pina coladas and beach volleyball to stand up for something bigger than himself. Even if the vast majority of people didn’t care, he would try his hardest to make up for their selfishness. It was the least he could do for the verse that had served as his home for the last many months.
Another bombardment fell upon the island as the group continued to press into the interior of the archipelago. With any luck, they would find the source of the monsters who sought to burn the place to the ground. Behind them, the constant threat of the troopers loomed. From the occasional sounds in the sky above, Proto Man knew that they had at least some form of aerial support. Even better than the intermittent support from beyond the canopy was the entrance of another prime. Whatever ‘the Vision’ was supposed to be, he knew how to carry himself as the controlled withdrawal continued to verge on becoming a rout.
Hadn’t Proto Man come from a giant party filled with primes near Costa del Sol? Was it better to get drunk and play volleyball in the sand than save people’s lives? The thought brought a frown to the young machine’s visage as a chunk of shrapnel skittered across the surface of his shield. He knew by now that he shouldn’t be surprised with other people. More often than not, people were selfish and cowardly. Those people probably wouldn’t bother to react to the horrors unfolding here until they knocked down their Ferris Wheel or interrupted their surfing experience.
The bombardment subsided, and Proto Man dismissed his bulwark and pulled himself up out of the little fox hole. Once again, the darklings had shattered another few acres of the island in their failed efforts to smash the group of warriors. Although a few of them were sporting some cuts and bruises, adrenaline and determination blurred any feelings of impending mortality as the group verified everyone’s survival and press forward. They had barely any time, as the skittering of wings and the droning of jetpack engines could already be heard massing in the shattered words behind them.
Rising into the skies above them, the Vision’s eyes burned red once more as he laid down suppressing fire into the burning trees. For his part, Proto Man planted himself beneath the hovering machine and added to the general conflagration with a rapid succession of uncharged bursts. Despite notifications from targeting reticles and updates from his extra-sensory apparatuses, the small robot knew they had to keep up their withdrawal/push to the center of the island. There had to be a focal point for their attackers or someplace where they were being beamed in or manufactured or outfitted. Whatever it may be, it had to be destroyed.
“Let’s go!” Proto Man shouted up to the Vision, who glanced down and nodded before discharging a final laser burst into the trees. After that, he pivoted and moved to rejoin the rest of the group.
The preteen machine kept the Proto Buster primed as he jogged forward to the quickly moving train of primes. Cloud had dropped back, so the soldier was within ten yards of the red robot as they press on through a patch of undefiled trees. Attempts to triangulate positioning using GPS and some online layout data on Sabaody had yet to progress to the point where it would be worthwhile to Proto Man. Whether that was due to some lack in his firmware or the darklings managing to somehow clutter the data waves would be a mystery he would have to solve after the fact.
Gathering their wits once again, the column pushed on to the interior. Even with just rudimentary maps of the region, Proto Man knew they were close to the epicenter of Sabaody. With the arrival of the Vision, they had enough long-distance firepower to prevent the troopers from closing around them en masse, even if the forest continued to scream and seethe with bolts of energy and occasional bursts of fire or electricity.
What awaited them at the focal point of the attacks? More hornets? Legions of jetpacked troopers? More bombardment from improvised explosives and erupting cannonballs? Whatever their odds may be, the primes knew that they had to press forward. Unlike their peers, they had already bid farewell to the dream of a world of isolation. They would have to make a stand against whatever sought to destroy them and this archipelago. The Empire wouldn’t keep fighting forever, especially this distance from Costa. Eventually, they’d reach a point where they were expending too much on too little, and they would shorten their fronts to more economically and commercially salient defensive points.
This collection of primes would have to be the difference makers. If they failed out here in the Vasty Deep, they wouldn’t just fail themselves but all the countless people spread out across the oceans of the tropical verse. Should he call Mickey and Minnie? The question was instantly shaken out of the robot’s head—the two had already gone through enough. While he had phantoms of human emotion, Proto Man was made of steel. The two mice, more wonderful than anyone else he had met, were too emotionally broken. They needed the tranquility of the Hawaiian seaside community, lest they be broken any further
Proto Man had forsaken his summertime dream of pina coladas and beach volleyball to stand up for something bigger than himself. Even if the vast majority of people didn’t care, he would try his hardest to make up for their selfishness. It was the least he could do for the verse that had served as his home for the last many months.