"We live in a primitive age. Killing is for peace."
Didros silently recited the words he had heard from the preacher, then fired.
One hundred and twenty meters away, the crooked creature resembling a giant spider shuddered violently, then charged toward them. Three more Explosive Rounds Guns opened fire in succession, their shells steadily stripping away the creature's heavy armored shell as greasy black blood splashed across the red sand. Several dark silhouettes emerged faintly through the thinning red sandstorm, all rushing toward the gunfire. The Veteran Sergeant stood coldly to one side, watching the recruits fire a total of twenty rounds. He himself held a Plasma Handgun in one hand and a Chainsaw Sword in the other. When the foremost creature crossed the fifty-meter danger line, Didros immediately stopped firing, drew the Chainsaw Sword at his waist, and charged forward—his squadmates could no longer suppress their desire for battle and instantly followed suit. In the days since they had dropped from orbit to the surface, they had encountered no targets. The aggression and bloodlust brought by genetic modification had nowhere to go, and only those of higher rank could restrain them. They ran over the red sands as fast as the front of a speeding train.
It was a grotesque product of Mars' Olympus Forge, over-armed and layered with technology.
The thing had none of the facial features a human should possess. Smooth oval black iron covered the front and crown of its skull, with only a plastic feeding tube connected to where its mouth and nose should have been. Bearings and hydraulic mechanical arms had replaced joints and bones, power lines and sensors had replaced blood vessels and sensory receptors in the skin, while layer upon layer of armor protected enhanced muscles and organs stripped of their skin.