03-21-2018, 08:41 PM
He had never had a formal education. You didn’t need one when your brain was a wifi-enabled computer device that could stream the entire wealth of human knowledge and history into your databanks.
Even so, he’d spent a period of time attending school during his self-imposed exile from Light Laboratories. He’d learned all about the senseless violence of the 19th and 20th centuries. When the group of Liberators shattered—quite literally—through the doorway that led into the adjacent chamber, the scene there reminder Proto Man of those history class stories. In an instant, the skittering horde of darklings opened fire from their positions, raining a hailstorm of energy blasts, bullets, and all other variations of improvised projectiles.
The preteen machine felt a sharp sting as a superheated nail clipped his left bicep.
A hand grabbed at his shoulder, and the next moment, the group had fallen back behind the relative safety of the steel walls of their previous room. With the trap sprung, the bulwark in the opposing room continued its onslaught. The walls behind the group groaned and wheezed as they were assaulted. The reinforced sheets of metal would fail momentarily, and when they did, the quintet would find themselves either forced to retreat or pinned into a killing field.
“Plan?” Someone shouted over the cacophony of industrial warfare raining upon them.
Proto Man knew they had to keep pushing until they reached the core of the infestation. They might not see it his way, but if they tried to take this the slow way, they would be worn down and overwhelmed by the fel horde. He had seen their past foes among the growing crowds of darklings, and there was no telling how many of the corpses that littered the halls behind them would soon be reanimated. Their only chance of success would be to pull the plug on the entire operation.
Reached a hand out, the preteen machine summoned his shield and shut out the sounds for just a brief period of time. In that silence, he quickly tapped the requisite sources of power needed to super charge the bulwark. The shield glimmered with light.
Now or never.
“Fall behind me.”
Spinning to face the entrenched defenders, the red robot charged into what should be a killing field.
The metaphor used in that old human struggle had be ‘No Man’s Land.’
That war had never faced the Proto Man.
Shield shining like a star as energy crackled across its surface, the machine pushed forward, his teeth clenched as he strained his body to advance against the combined ordinance. Within seconds, the world before him was a living inferno of heat and lights. Shrapnel shrieked all around him, and the air itself scalded his exposed flesh. At first, he was almost frozen in place by the oppressive force of the industrial onslaught, but after that initial hesitation, he found himself advancing against the entrenchments. In his robotic non-heart, he knew that these defenses had to be in place to protect something of great value. He just had to reach that something. Failing that, he had to make sure the others did in his stead.
Behind him, those same others filled into place and used the cover as best they could. Bolts of lightning and bullets screamed over Proto Man’s shoulders. For his part, he slung his buster cannon forward and fired indiscriminately, spraying the enemy line with fully automatic bursts of energy.
When he saw the splinters, he knew his time was short.
Even charged, the Proto Shield couldn’t withstand this onslaught.
As that single splinter blossomed into a superheated spider web, Proto Man could only hope that he had moved his crew far enough. Shadows moved in his peripherals, but shield sundered as he glimpsed to the right.
A wave swept him up, and for a brief moment, the preteen machine lost his visual connection with the outside world.
When the sights and sounds of the battle came rushing back into his skull, Proto Man lifted his head and saw lights and bursts of heat all along the enemy battle lines. Weapons once trained on the red robot now swiveled left and right to contend with the primes that now released hell upon the darklings and their entrenched positions.
Proto Man checked the condition of his buster arm and charged to rejoin the battle.
Somehow, someway, the Liberators had done it again.
Even so, he’d spent a period of time attending school during his self-imposed exile from Light Laboratories. He’d learned all about the senseless violence of the 19th and 20th centuries. When the group of Liberators shattered—quite literally—through the doorway that led into the adjacent chamber, the scene there reminder Proto Man of those history class stories. In an instant, the skittering horde of darklings opened fire from their positions, raining a hailstorm of energy blasts, bullets, and all other variations of improvised projectiles.
The preteen machine felt a sharp sting as a superheated nail clipped his left bicep.
A hand grabbed at his shoulder, and the next moment, the group had fallen back behind the relative safety of the steel walls of their previous room. With the trap sprung, the bulwark in the opposing room continued its onslaught. The walls behind the group groaned and wheezed as they were assaulted. The reinforced sheets of metal would fail momentarily, and when they did, the quintet would find themselves either forced to retreat or pinned into a killing field.
“Plan?” Someone shouted over the cacophony of industrial warfare raining upon them.
Proto Man knew they had to keep pushing until they reached the core of the infestation. They might not see it his way, but if they tried to take this the slow way, they would be worn down and overwhelmed by the fel horde. He had seen their past foes among the growing crowds of darklings, and there was no telling how many of the corpses that littered the halls behind them would soon be reanimated. Their only chance of success would be to pull the plug on the entire operation.
Reached a hand out, the preteen machine summoned his shield and shut out the sounds for just a brief period of time. In that silence, he quickly tapped the requisite sources of power needed to super charge the bulwark. The shield glimmered with light.
Now or never.
“Fall behind me.”
Spinning to face the entrenched defenders, the red robot charged into what should be a killing field.
The metaphor used in that old human struggle had be ‘No Man’s Land.’
That war had never faced the Proto Man.
Shield shining like a star as energy crackled across its surface, the machine pushed forward, his teeth clenched as he strained his body to advance against the combined ordinance. Within seconds, the world before him was a living inferno of heat and lights. Shrapnel shrieked all around him, and the air itself scalded his exposed flesh. At first, he was almost frozen in place by the oppressive force of the industrial onslaught, but after that initial hesitation, he found himself advancing against the entrenchments. In his robotic non-heart, he knew that these defenses had to be in place to protect something of great value. He just had to reach that something. Failing that, he had to make sure the others did in his stead.
Behind him, those same others filled into place and used the cover as best they could. Bolts of lightning and bullets screamed over Proto Man’s shoulders. For his part, he slung his buster cannon forward and fired indiscriminately, spraying the enemy line with fully automatic bursts of energy.
When he saw the splinters, he knew his time was short.
Even charged, the Proto Shield couldn’t withstand this onslaught.
As that single splinter blossomed into a superheated spider web, Proto Man could only hope that he had moved his crew far enough. Shadows moved in his peripherals, but shield sundered as he glimpsed to the right.
A wave swept him up, and for a brief moment, the preteen machine lost his visual connection with the outside world.
When the sights and sounds of the battle came rushing back into his skull, Proto Man lifted his head and saw lights and bursts of heat all along the enemy battle lines. Weapons once trained on the red robot now swiveled left and right to contend with the primes that now released hell upon the darklings and their entrenched positions.
Proto Man checked the condition of his buster arm and charged to rejoin the battle.
Somehow, someway, the Liberators had done it again.
Quote:Proto Man used Tier 1 Super Defense – Proto Shield (1 SP) / Total SP at 8