The Battle (DO NOT POST)

[Stu Pott]

The robotic circuitry was old. He was, as it stood, and old robot.

~Ha. Robot.~

Circuits coursed with electricity, and hydraulic fluid began compressing. Pumps and gears whirred to life as the robot came online. The almost archaic technology began to rumble and stir, an overwhelming life being pushed back into it.

~Run Diagnostic.

.

..

...

....

Diagnostic complete. All systems up and running.

Good morning sir! Its been some time since we've spoken.~

"I've been in shut down... I've also been remotely activated."

~Thats true sir. Also have got your orders. Lets hop to it then.~

The robot stood, dirt and stone shaking off of the robot. Standing at about the height of an average man. All his joints immediately twisted, even his head, which rotated a full 180 degrees. The dirt shook off, the age discarded, his arm opened, weaponry covering his 'hand'. The plasma weapon was experimental for his time, however it was somewhat advanced as it was the weapon that all others were based on.

The machine smiled.

He began walking forwards, his long shadow cast as the AI in his head nattered away in his head about the mission parameters.

It was a wasteland. The area around New Jersey had been for years. Due to a few unsuccessful attacks by outside forces against the US, a few nuclear warheads had finally hit home, destroying most of the seaboards. These were then invaded by all sorts of troops, as the US was carved up by all sorts of players. The Remnant, the only surviving 'government' of the US set up station in the central and western regions of America, the seaboards and the borders having been overrun for some time.

And so, the race for technology to take back the wastes was on. The Remnant was still in control of Nevada, and all Area 51 technology. They immediately unleashed their robotic core, the fathers of this machine. They were all successful, taking back the West Coast. However, all machines sent to the East Coast were lost, or failed in their mission.

So, this one was created, given experimental technology. It succeeded, returning Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and parts of Maryland to the Remnant, now referring to themselves as The New United States.

However, it was given the order to deactivate and await orders.


This was 300 years ago.

And now here it was, moving towards this building that was coming up quickly, its target inside. It knew nothing of the man save his face, and his dental record. Either or would be needed to verify the kill.

The weapon bristled with energy, and the shadow got longer. It aimed.

It fired.

[lyle]

Vince coiled his fingers around the black teddy bear that had fused with a book upon the floor, admiring how even creation was apparent in the great schemer's plans. He, like the object upon the floor, was what had come out of those clever, damning plans which lead to the destruction of the land he walked and the creation of an endless cycle of death.

Pretty picture, eh?

The wind blew hard, jeering the young lad, taking his gaze high until he found the grey-ominous clouds hanging above. "Still there..."

A moment later he grumbled as he replaced the charcoal colored toy with his rifle, an old M1; work was to be done. Yes, cliche as it was, Vince was a worker, busy and naturally good at it too. However- like that old, bastard of a rifle he insisted on carrying around, he was out of place in today's society. Dark and rather annoying, he could fire a gun, steal and live off the land- that was about it. Useful, but only in a few instances... only in this sorta of work. The kind that brought smiles and tears at the same time, the kind that was found dirty down in the mud, the kind that was always wet.

Further along the pathway that resembled hell he found himself upon a small campsite. It appeared to him that it was a relief clinic, the large red cross engraved on the nearby jeep a tell-tale sign. He couldn't be sure though, for he'd killed both inhabitants after walking up and opening the flap to their tent. Code number seven... everyone has a price, including you. Everyone that saw a man like Vince had to pay in some way, these two payed with their lives.

After taking what he felt was necessary, the young assassin was flying down the road in his brand new, beaten-the-f**k-up jeep, humming along like he was almost enjoying it all. He wasn't fooling anyone though, especially himself. It was his inner workings that made him mumble the lost words of the ol Frank Sinatra, a man that had been forgotten. It felt good to him- to be different, so he did it and fought back the tears of insanity.

Eventually his song came to an end as found himself in view of the enemy encampment, in its center a large building housing a old **** of a man that deserved to die rather than rot like the rest. Well- he figured.

After a small climb, Vincent eyed down the scope of his long-barreled M1 Grand and looked through the many windows of the building until he found his precious target. A breath, hum and blink later, the bullet rocketed from the chamber and broke the fragile silence that the boy had been shrouded in. If anything had been alive out there, it would have surely scurried away, but everything was desolate.

The bullet spun as it swished through the air. Vince smiled, admiring the curve of the bullet as it crossed what was surely a mile in distance. All of a sudden though his smile turned round and his eyes widened. A massive power ripped through the earth, eradicating both the target and Vince's bullet.

The hell? The boy stood up, admiring the massive showing of power before him, yet also cursing at finally being beaten to a kill. A moment later he was aiming down range again, attempting to find the source of the death ray... that bastard was to pay. Everyone had a price. This **** would be free.

[Stu Pott]

The plasma blast erupted against the cement and brick of the building. However, the machine had already changed view. It was trailing the slight haze that a quickly rotating bullet would generate through the air.

The trail led back to a small rocky outcropping. Visual enhancers slid into place as the image was frozen, and then enhanced, all sorts of energy scans, and finally a heat scan. The distinct shape of a human and an exhaust trail were present.

Target 2.

~He's not conclusive to the mission... but if you insist, I'm sure no one will miss a single wastelander...~

The hand came up, and focused. Well, processes in his 'brain' showed his emotional side as 'focused', where as truly computations had already been implemented. It only needed the emotion check.

It passed.

The plasma cannon sizzled and then a large globule of burning plasma seared forth, towards the rocky outcropping. The Robot was already moving towards the rock, as soon as the shot had left its arm.

It would need t confirm this kill.

[lyle]

The boy squinted as he looked down his scope, attempting to unravel the mystery of the massive ray of imminent death, a term he had just coined himself! Suddenly something caught his eye, it looked like a flashlight, which surprised the young fellow as though it was a cloudy day, it was still a day. As he hunched over to further 'increase' his vision he found himself falling and slipping upon the loose rocks that had managed to hold him just fine till now.

High above in the sky, a satellite flickered and a nerdy kid across the world laughed a screeching, pubescent and virgin laugh. He too had hunched over in order to see the screen better, the odd quirks of the assassin making him laugh. Funny though not because he fell, but funny because that fall had saved him from the massive ray of imminent death.

Back in the wasteland that was once a nuclear, rat infested bastard of a land [New Jersey], Vincent stumbled around after he'd hit the ground, his eyes rolling and his head thumping. He gazed up, leaning against the hood of the jeep he'd stolen, which had managed to break his fall, and what felt like his back. With a spin the boy looked for the steep hill he'd been planted on just a minute ago; to his avail, it was gone. To his avail, he remembered the immense light and heat that had him blacked out. Ouch, his back told him as he remembered the circumstances of how he woke up.

Vincent's senses flooded back into his body and he began to scramble to the jeep and then rumbling down the road with little care of where it lead. Around a bend he swept forth, down a long patch, another bend, another bend, a long patch, massive transformer reject at end of road holding flash light, a long- oh shit.

Something in him screamed turn, thankfully he heard it admist his cries of fear and swung the steering wheel to the side, sending the jeep left and off the pathway. It teetered on its two left wheels as the robot fired off its energy weapon yet again.

Vincent felt a rush of death slip up his spine, something that he had never felt before. It scared him, he didn't want to die. He wanted to listen to his old music, run round the wastelands, a free soul, leaving his mark..

The jeep hiked up like a bull and threw its driver up a large pile of debris. He was motionless... dead, maybe.


But then, a low hum escaped his lips. Enticing the tin man onward.

[Stu Pott]

The robot smiled as the jeep overturned and sent the man flying. The machine showed emotion, while the AI yelled at him.

~FINISH HIM NOW! NO ONE MUST KNOW OF YOU!~

The machine walked over, his arm returning to its human-esque form, the 'flashlight', really the ARC-8771 Plasma Cannon, developed by Colorado Springs Research and Development Facility, retreating back into his fore-arm. The fingers gripped, the first time they've been used in a long time.

The machine picked up the jeep, hurling it away like a paper ball. His left calf hissed and out popped a pistol. The 9mm pistol would easily incapacitate anyone, and he didn't expect the boy to fair any differently.

Then the humming. It allowed him to instantly locate the boy. The AI screamed for his death.

And the machine would comply.

[lyle]

Not today, bucko.

Predictable, those walking robots were. They we're effective weapons, but only because of their lethality. Get one of the fuckers cornered, or lure him in, and victory may just be yours... Rule number seventeen.

The robot moved about and began to pull up a pistol from its form, if the bastard could think, he probably thought this was but all over. Alas, the young lad wasn't dead yet. In a most awkward nature he scurried forth, his legs peddling forward as his top tried to catch up with the rest of his body. There was a small smile on his lips; life had been desolate and boring but a few minutes ago. Point a to point b, kill target, move on. Now he was to be killed it seemed- and that quick change had both stricken fear and love into the boy.

Naturally though, he wouldn't die on the ground with his arse up in the air like some idiot, he'd go out guns a blazing. Speaking of guns, he dug down into his old, ashy jacket and pulled from it a nickle plated Desert Eagle- nothing short of a hand cannon. He called it Betsy, though he'd also forgotten what meaning was behind the name. Shit, it sounded cool.

Using the steepness of the hill to mad dash down and put as much of the centuries year old rubble between him and the Governor. "Cowabunga!" Yelled the lanky lad as he hopped to, clearing a small stream of oil and finding himself charging up another hill of debris. Half way up he turned around, spotted his new friend and introduced him to Betsy. Magnum powered bullets flew through the air, dead on and incredibly lethal, even for the walking tank.

[Stu Pott]

The robot watched as the boy scurried away. Its hand was already reforming into that fateful projectile, fingers slipping away into his arm as the cannon unraveled. The robot smiled as it turned, and aimed its pistol.

However, it didn't make it all the way around. A loud noise came from down the hill, and his shoulder was thrown back. He looked down at the area, which began seeping hydraulic liquid and other sorts of coolants. It grimaced.

~WHAT?! KILL HIM NOW!~

The hand came up, and the projectile fired, a stream of plasma now igniting the air between the two combatants. The robot was grimacing now, angry at the man for damaging him. His arm wouldn't move, only at the elbow. It put away the pistol, and began running forwards, and down the hill, the cannon screaming in anger as it was fired.

[lyle]

Like an ox the robot pushed on and unleashed its fury, it seemed Betsy wasn't going to put this thing down, not from this range at least. That didn't stop Vincent from firing the gun blindly at his opponent's general direction as he began to move yet again. He stumbled round in fear like a fish out of water, doing everything he could to escape his opponent's super weapon. Betsy continued to pipe hot lead down range and was the only thing that kept him unraveling.

The energy came from the beast's arm as impressive as it had earlier, the ray quickly made short work of the landscape. Vincent had dove at the last moment, brashly hiding behind a rather large piece of rubble. This did not protect him completely from the weapon, the beam began to eat up the great pillar and burn the young boy. The pain was intense; any normal person would be numbed by now, but not Vincent. He felt all of it, he was strong, he wanted to feel it, it too kept him sane.

Just then however the robot seemed to falter and the bright, green light slowly diminished. The robot had not taken into account its prior damage, and now the tide would be turned.

With a start Vincent rose up, pulling from his coat a .45 and firing off. Betsy hadn't managed to stay behind the pillar, and was completely melted; now he was pissed. "Death is not for me, I can't die!" His left hand reached behind his coat and pulled out a modified rifle it was incredibly short but also incredibly lethal. Less than a second later he was aiming down the sights, steadying and holding the gun with arm. Without a second thought he pulled the trigger, felt his arm pull back and saw the bullet whiz by his opponent.

Damn. He felt like an idiot. But only for a second, as he ran to a larger pile of rock, his pistol deafening him as it sang its chorus o' death.

[Stu Pott]

The beam incinerated the wasteland, throwing up melted ground, creating quick cooling lava pits where the beam struck. Debris showered him as the enemies bullets melted in his beam, as well as the chunks of rock splashed against his metallic frame.

Suddenly, another pinging, and he looked down. His leg had a huge gaping hole in it where the rifle and blown through it. The robot looked pissed, and began firing the plasma gun everywhere, grabbing at his leg, no real 'pain' but more of a stupefaction that he could be crippled by a mere human.

It trotted forwards, coming upon the rock that the man was cowering under. Its body was riddled with bullets, the pistol ones barely scratching him compared to the desert eagle and the rifle. It surmounted the rock, and aimed directly downwards.

The AI Screamed,

~THAT WILL KILL YOU TOO! DO NOT FIRE THAT CLO-~

Too late.

The gun erupted forth, spitting out a flaming trail of blue hot death, gurgling as its own tanks overheated from the eruption that now killed both of them. The plasma would impact and almost immediately melt the man, who was covering behind the rock the Robot stood upon. The explosion would be able to be seen from a distance away.



When it was all said and done, the entire area that encompassed that rock was gone. In its place, glass. Hundreds of years later, when history was to look over this area, there would be no explanation. None. There was no record of the robot that was reactivated the same day it was destroyed, and the man, Vincent, had no family or home to call his own.

What happened there was already forgotten, but that doesn't mean it never happened, and that doesn't mean that there were other players. Its interesting how some people tend to forget things...

[lyle]

Forget... things.

Like love, joy and pretty-blue-filled skies blowing tiny-peaceful-breezes across a thousand smiles.

There was a place on Earth even when it was peaceful that had never seen little feet and big feet crossing it to build a picnic and enjoy the day.. The Desert. Too hot in the day, too cold at night, always dry without a thing in sight. Life could not live there- but that was very challenge that inspired them.

Just as the scuba diver crosses uncharted and unexplored caverns deep in dark waters of the ocean, they crossed out and forged homes with their big hats and short sleeved shirts.



A hundred years later the desert encompassed most of the known world. Known we say now because people managed to forget exactly what the world was. The devastation was so frightful that the world's floor began to burn and the people set to cook. The pain made them forget, the pain put them in a dark place. All that was left was living a fruitless life that would leave one nothing to call their own. That isn't completely true though, for they say a great civilization lives just out across the ocean, across the long winding spirals of the desert.. in their high rise globes, living in the facade that is called peace... with air conditioning.

"It never gets cold here eh?" The store keeper laughed at the young man's joke, but as he finished and settled down a single tear ran down his cheek. He rang the unfamiliar face up, handing him a small, worn box of bullets, some cigarettes, a case of beer and for the gas that he'd taken into his jeep just outside.

Vincent, the young man said his name was as he fixed the goods he bought in the small plastic bag provided by the store keep. The man looked up, admiring the classy feel of his young customer. He offered him his lighter quickly as 'Vincent' drew a fresh cigarette from the pack. "They say these come from the big cities.. I've always wondered how they get all the way out here." The store keeper smiled and looked down, sitting comfortably on his chair. He didn't catch his customer's motions though, missed him pulling a older looking .45 from his ol beat-up leather jacket. The lighter clicked as its top clamped down, and then without any hesitation the gun's hammer clicked and the old man was dead, right there. Vincent took a long drag after he holstered his pistol, his eyes remaining still on what was just a moment ago a living being. He felt nothing as he eyed the harsh scene painted before him.

His old, wise and ever kind mind was scattered on the wall behind him. He'd never seen the city, unlike Vincent. He'd only gotten close enough to buy its products. Luckily, he'd never find the emptiness of those walls, the corruption of one's mind, the weakness of the individual. No, death was the true freedom...

and that desert heat made hell even feel air conditioned.


Vincent left the register alone and even locked up the door to the store before setting it ablaze. He laughed as he used up some of the keep's own gas to raze the structure. The rest of it he took with him as he pulled out down the desert floor, the low sun flickering and annoying him. He put on his shades and rattled off, bouncing across no certain road; it all looked the same but at one point it would split and there would be a bridge. Of course, he knew this.

[Stu Pott]

The resounding explosion of the gun firing would carry a distance. Most of the surrounding countryside had eroded away over the years, which would allow the sound to travel quite a distance.

To the ears of 'The Sheriff'.

The man pushed up the cowboy hat on his head. He smiled, and kicked out the stand that held his motorcycle up. He figured it was coming from Old Murray's Stop and Rob, which most people did both. He didn't understand why the man held a store, when he lost most of his products to assholes.

But then again, that's why he was here. He was here to protect the innocent, no matter the cost.

Even if it meant taking lives.

The hog roared as he put on the gas, and shot forwards. He unslung the lupara, a sawed off shotgun, breech loading. The hog tore up the road, gone into long disrepair.

And it was then that he saw the jeep. He clicked back both hammers, dramatic effect, and then increased his speed. He aimed, and let loose, both barrels spitting fire forwards towards the ass of the jeep. With the barrel's now flying backwards with the weapons recoil, he flipped the switch, and then pushed forwards. The barrels folded forwards, and the shells slipped out.

No handed, two more shells were pushed into the barrel.

[lyle]

As the sun began to tire and fall from its perch high in the sky, the desert finally came to rest. It was most peaceful then, right between the intimidating heat of day and the devilish cold of the night. Both times appeared deadly, odd creatures and reckless bandits known to scour the distance as far as the eye could see, seeking nothing short of a thrill.

But when that globe began to set they all stopped, gazed out into the west and admired that which belonged to them all; a golden woman in the far off sky. Vincent understood this beauty, this love and this pain as he gazed into the fire ball that would forever be out of man's reach. This and the hum of his jeep stopped him from realizing he was being tailed till it was too late.

The jeep made a noise and then immediately after that it made another one, the sound of something trampling under the jeep and digging at the undercarriage. Vincent felt something prick at his neck though, and reached behind to feel the spot. His eyes widened as he found his blood smeared across his fingers. Bam, another buckshot headed his way, the gas tanks in the back caught fire and the rear of the jeep began to burn quickly. The heat was intense, and Vincent had a hard time spotting his attackers.

Just then though the boy saw the bridge, the only one of its kind and the only one in this area. It was a miracle he'd found it immediately without having to travel down the massive crack in the Desert. His hands rolled across the steering wheel and then dug in- causing hi vehicle to veer to the right and nearly flip over. A second later the boy reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his pistol, aimed it down range. Because of his drastic turn he now could see the motorcycle, and more importantly, shoot at its rider. Piping hot lead fired off at the cowboy looking man, while he surely reloaded and prepared to kill his target.

Right as the two were exchanging gunfire the remaining gas tanks ignited and formed into a massive fireball in the rear of the jeep. Vincent saw opportunity in this, and as the fireball faded the 'Sheriff' would realize the jeep was now without its driver. Vincent had tracked back quickly and hid behind a sloping hill of sand. He reloaded his gun and readied his other weapons. He took a single grenade from his jacket and prepared for his moment to strike.

Slowly the area quieted down with the passing of the motorcycle and the sound of the jeep jarring itself in a sand dune and then completely turned to flames. The sun began to make its final run, and it was now getting dark.

[Stu Pott]

The second volley was more effective, causing the jeep to literally explode with fury. He slowed the hog down as the jeep rolled over, and then effectively exploded, sending some shrapnel. Thankfully to his slowdown, The Sheriff need not even move.

He stopped and watched, and then finished the third reload, holding the lupara in his left hand, as he pulled the other shotgun off of his shoulder wrap. He didn't see a body, which would've been catapulted from the vehicle due to the blast, and the way those bastard off roaders were built, it would've landed close to him.

With both shotguns in hand, one with a strange extension, he stood off of the hog, taking the keys with him. The second shotgun was clip fed, not needing to be reloaded for quite a few shots. He left the lupara inside the saddle bag, deciding that that much firepower was not needed.

Walking towards where there was a sort of dust cloud from the dune to his right. He smiled, and cocked the shotgun back. He moved closer, the silencer on the barrel causing it to be a bit heavier than normal. But then again, he always had the .44 Magnum on his hip.

He stopped at the lip of the dune. He grabbed a mirror from his pocket, and clipped it to a stick. He poked it over the lip, to see downwards...

[lyle]

The Sheriff's little trick was met with equally impressive firepower. The colt had been thrown away in place of a Beretta, a smaller model with less punch but still quite a fine weapon. A gun was a gun though- and a bullet a bullet of course.. all that was left was the person who was behind the hammer, so to speak.

The hammer clicked and surely the Sheriff did a little bit more than blink, his mirror now several shards of glass and not to mention, the evil crusader now having the jump on him. It was a cheap trick, but that was the desert.

Pow Pow, chik chik, Pow Pow, chik chik. The gun dueled with the quick Sheriff, only to show that the proximity of this battle was to cancel whatever edge its handler thought he had. Vincent was having a shit day though, and he just didn't care anymore. So he kept up firing, one arm latched onto his opponents coat while his right fired away as he struggled with his opponents hand. In the thick of it he kicked up with his foot, pushing his opponent back while he tried to escape, fleeing towards the bridge.

The sound of the grenade's pin being pulled had been covered by the gunfire. Would the Sheriff spot it, in the fading sun?

[Stu Pott]

The idea that the little bastard was faster than him had indeed crossed his mine. However, the Sheriff was just as strong, if not a bit older. He was fighting with the boy, when suddenly he felt the boot into his stomach pushing him backwards. He hadn't fired a shot, and as such, was more than ready for the quickdraw.

However, the boy ran, and this immediately sparked the sheriff into looking down, his leg already cocking backwards and then hammering forwards. The grenade sailed into the air, over the man's head, and towards the bridge. It landed just in front of it, and exploded. Shrapnel flew everywhere, the Sheriff ducking quickly before standing after the sound of whizzing metal surpassed.

He held the shotgun, including the silencer, and aimed it down range. The haze of the mid-day sun wavered towards the sides of the gun, unfocused as he pulled the trigger, and the shoomp-whoomp of the silencer sending the explosive air of the gun through a maze of tubes to lower its sound.

The pellets would explode forwards, bouncing off of each other in the barrel as they drilled downrange. They would sting, as they were meant to debilitate, not kill.

He pulled the trigger again after cocking it, and then cocked it again.