At the edge of the North Second Ring Road, a silver-gray suit of power armor stood silently in the middle of a ruined street. It gripped a heavy rifle half a man tall, shaped like an unsharpened greatsword.
Time had left weathered scars across the armor's surface, and its urban camouflage paint had been replaced by mottled crimson stains.
The rifle in its hands was much the same. Its tuning-fork-shaped magnetic rails had been filled with flesh-red fungal growths.
Memories lingering in its cells would surface before its eyes from time to time. It vaguely remembered that it had been a machine born for battle.
It had simply long forgotten what it had been fighting for, and when its last battle had ended...
Just then, a light breeze blew in from the other end of the street. At almost the same moment, the rumble of rolling wheels charged out from a silent street corner.
As if sensing the killing intent rushing toward it, it slowly raised its head. Gray-green mist drifted from the gaps in its helmet, while a bloodthirsty crimson gleam reflected in its black lenses.
"Kill them!" That disembodied voice echoed in its ears again, and every cell in its body began to boil.
It was an order that could not be refused—
In truth, there was no reason to refuse it.
It existed to answer that call.
Its heavy arm slowly rose, and the greatsword in its hand let out a creaking scrape like a machine that had not been oiled for years.
Yet the instant it raised its arm, that cumbersome body seemed to come alive again, erupting with astonishing speed and strength.
It shot toward the lead truck like a cannonball leaving its barrel, swinging the blunt, heavy greatsword in its hand at the same