Worthlessplebian
Worthless pleb
LAMBDA FIVE-NINER
Λ59DATE:
Saturday, 6 APR 2047LOCATION:
Restricted Zone: Sector 6INTERACTION:
Pilgrim59
Remembrance
Dawnsx
Nano
The graceful figure of machined plates and mana-infused circuitry glissaded down the side of the building as Article squad-member, Evergreen had subdued the fleeing HVT, Nexus. Plated soles crunched the ruined sidewalk, further disturbing it. His firearm trains itself on the concrete-sunk man, who flailed and bailed about ineffable subjects which unnerved Cobra's nerveless, steel-laden audio receiver. The closest the Android ever could come to experiencing human expressions. Disgust. Revulsion. Cobra postulated this to be an after-effect of the magic fluids imbibed into his arterial tubes. A form of mystical resonance? His cold-iron fingers tightened around the grip of the rifle. "Excellently executed, Evergreen." A simple if effective commendation for the geosculptor. The Sound Specialist stops in a ready stance -- left foot in front, right back to the side, torso leaned forward with raised shoulders and rifle still aimed unerringly at their foe. A silence, profound and pressuring, befell upon Cobra and his teammates until the familiar chime of their handler spread throughout their comm-channel. The Napthra operator advised them of their next mission objective; non-lethal neutralization and securing Nexus for exfiltration from the Restricted Sector Six. A pinch of neck servos allowed Cobra to nod his head along with the shakily intonated orders when... An almost spiritual, supernatural sense of palpable wrongness consumed him. His optic-camera shifted up from his scope to his brother-bot. The lens tightened to zoom on his brother then...
CRASH
Organic instinct or machine reflexes threw Cobra away from the coruscating path of destruction from one of Nexus' arms. Sending up debris-fragments of stone, chunks of concrete, and acuminated bolts of rebar. More scratches to his paint and outer-layer of armor sheathing. The servos in his waist and knee roared, revolving Cobra into a backwards somersault onto the side of a building. His elbow punched into the vine-sprawled wall then forearm deployed with a surgically-quick snap to fasten his position. Reflexively, Cobra angled the rifle immediately towards the writhing mass of keratin, broken six-limbed abomination but hesitated to fire just yet. His robot brother/commander voiced his displeasement at their fortune of never having to arrest targets of normal/near-normal disposition. The tricky jokester that Cobra is, immediately replied with. "Brother, we're Arcarum agents. This is normal." He voiced over the squad's channel as per protocol of never outwardly declaring their thoughts during combative encounters. But as if discerning through the radio signals of their speech, one of the appendages swung at Cobra's wall-mount, forcing him to buckle down to ground level again. "At least Evander now possesses someone of mirror qualities."
With orders relayed, Cobra's legs sprang into automotive action. His torso turned at an odd angle and rifle poised to fire. But a millisecond before firing, Cobra called up the internal menus of his operating-consciousness.
// Disable secondary link to squad communications channel. Deafen primary link. Select Folder, "This is War in Style," then Select Track-40R. Play
RATATATATATA
His gun went, firing. Sleep-inducing rounds, but not done, his palm opened a welling vortex reverberating hatred condensed concussion. He blasted the sound projectile at a limb. At this intensity, the blast will paralyze the limb IF Cobra's aim is true.
Code by Nano