The target fled across the plains, and behind, the MEC marched on, following.
The desolate plains soon faded into tarmac roads that spread like ribbons across the ground the MEC walked upon. He had been kicking up dust in large clumps with his metallic feet every step of the way.
The MEC passed the miles with ease, not in a hurry, but not loafing. Each step was precisely a single second apart from each other, and with each thud to the ground, a whirr of motors accompanied it.
Indeed he was human at heart, but over the past year, he had changed, and in a literal sense. His entire body (save for his head, heart and lungs, and a few lower intestines) had been replaced, changed from bionics to robotics, a giant MK-3 variant replaced his figure, making him stand at an intimidating eight or so feet tall.
His steel legs were shaped like a dogs would, curling back at the middle, then going straight to the ground, they were thick, the size of small adults. Strapped to the left leg was his personal revolver, well oiled, giving a shiny look to the powerful canon. It swayed slightly with each step, rubbing off the black paint of his Paladin armour. The bronze and gold casings of the high calibre bullets lined his chest and lower waist like smiles, some were already in auto loaders, ready to fire, but most hung loosely around him.
On his back, a long tube was attached to his back, carrying a ton or two of explosive ordinance. He had been walking for the past two days nonstop, and only used one grenade during that time. Across his left arm was basically a jet engine, used only for 'punching the shit out of everything', and if that didn't work, a small flamethrower donned the top of the engine.
Carried in his right hand was his most prized possession. A minigun. One barrel of ammo jutting out of the side, the rest of the drum bags were on his back, magnetised in place.
All in all, he was prepared for war, just as he had always been.
And he thought, and knew, he would need every last bullet.
As the MEC clunked forward, the road he stood upon led ever further north. The same way, the only way, his target had went.
The road was faded, two grey lines tracked across the path, trucks and cars, probably going back the way he came long ago, as no sane person would head north rather than south.
He lifted his head high, his helmet, covering all parts of his tanned head, hid his face behind a black skull, he grimaced behind the one way glass of his helmet. Spying the deadly city most only heard rumours about, legends even.
He breasted a small hill to his right, leaving the road and stepping upon a dead grass crest in the plains. He could not feel what lay beneath his feet, the cyber suit took that away from him, took a lot of his humanity away, leaving him as the perfect soldier.
A machine of war.
About three miles ahead, the low hovels of the urban city started sprawling out of the ground, four smoke trails reached into the skies from the depths of the city. A rookie would panic here and now if they ever gazed upon the city, but being the rank of Colonel, the MEC was willing, no matter the cost, to find his target. He squatted his black metal form.
He looked over the city, slightly below him, but still quite a ways away, he watched on like a farmer would his crops. He decided to take a rare rest, closing his eyes slowly. He would not need to worry about aliens or humans, not yet at least.
The ebony skies were changing now, sunrise was upon him, his sleeping pattern was lost to him, as were a lot of things. But he knew he shouldn't enter such a place without at least some rest beforehand. He was not cold, nor was he hot, just that plain, boring sense of fineness, he longed for the days of feeling temperature change, but knew that he would never be the same, nor would the earth, regardless whether he succeeded or failed in his quest.
He slept still, although it looked like he was still awake of looked at from a distance. He closed his eyes behind his helmet of death, and much to his pleasure, he dreamt.
-XXX-
In a small quiet little town in Cairns, along the east coast of Australia, early February, in the year of 2015. The man who would become the machine of war lay on his couch, bottle in hand, tears running down his face. The sunlights rays shot through the blinds in his windows like beams. He had his flat screen TV on, playing the same section of news over and over, he forced himself to watch the infinite loop of images of burning buildings and wrecks of civilization, with a young woman's voice saying the same, dreadful news.
"The city of Townsville is still in recovery after a major attack from a large alien vessel decimated the community. Casualties have been confirmed to be at least one hundred thousand in number. The number of wounded is unknown but estimated to be around fifty thousand. Emergency services and military groups are still searching for survivors but... sorry, I… Let's go live to our reporter in one of the many medical camps in the town…"
I know how you feel love, I know how you feel.
He took another swig, one of many. Townsville was the place he lived most of his life, and expected to die there as well. But thanks to living in his father's shadow (and less than average grades in school) he joined the defence force and was quickly whisked away by the military.
But thanks to the spineless government that ran his country, how they suckled at the teats of whichever country held them like puppets, he met combat duty within a matter of weeks, fighting over a piece of dirt in the middle east.
His mother, somehow expectantly, begged him to stay, and maybe he should have, but he didn't.
He went from Corporal and then Sergeant faster than his officers expected him to. He had probably the most developed, healthy and downright perfect body. Somewhat tall, quite built, and the endurance to run across the world and back, and no one doubted he could.
During one of his operations, it happened.
Specifically, the thing on the news happened.
During the history of mankind. The matter of life beyond this planet was in constant debate, he personally thought they would come down in a big green ship, hold up a hand in greeting, and speak there piece.
The destruction of his parents hometown broke that speculation.
He did not see the fires of his hometown destroy everything he once knew straight away. But when he did, he requested discharge, blaming it on mentally unable to continue. A few clever lies, a fake injury or two, and a good word from his CO. He got his wish, and returned home.
Bought a home in Cairns, and drunk himself to sleep for most days, just like this one.
A day later, a knock on the door, and a bearer of messengers told him bad news, bad, but expected. Two deaths in his family name, mum and dad.
He thanked him, and never left his house after that day. He would watch the news, drink, sleep, order delivery, then sleep some more. That was his new life cycle now.
After a few weeks, his pristine body now somewhat down in quality, he got another knock on the door.
He ignored it, like he ignored the outside world.
Thump thump thump.
He sighed in defeat, and drew himself to the wooden door in question, after a minute, he opened it. Two figures, black suited men, stared back at him, the one in front held a clipboard.
The one with the clipboard asked his name, and he confirmed it.
"Were here for you. Come with us."
Although the two suits were shorter than him, less muscle, they weren't afraid of him, and as he observed, they both were packing heat, and they wouldn't hesitate to use it, even in this place.
Ten minutes later, he was riding along a highway in the back of a black sedan. An hour later, he was flying high above the sea, right into the heart of America.
-XXX-
He never made friends during his time in the middle east, merely acquainted with them, not bothering to learn their names, or remember them. He'd call them 'Man' or 'Hey, you!'. And this didn't change when he entered the ranks of XCOM.
He was simply the twentieth soldier to be recruited into the earth defence fold. The first batch of rookies, and he stood out from them. His first mission was to assault a downed UFO, and he succeeded (again, despite others doubts) and quickly ascended the ranks as he had done before. In between missions, he would eat, train, and exercise alone, or as much as he could.
Life was just as repetitive as before, only with a few aliens in the mix.
One night in the training grounds, an unknown amount of distance beneath the surface of the earth, he had been running on a treadmill like a hamster, reaching about ten kilometres according to the dials in front of him, a fast pace, like those afternoon jogs he used to do back in his home town.
He was alone, only the clunk clunk of his heavy booted feet accompanied the room, that was until the far door slid open, and a figure approached him.
Her face illuminated after a moment, and she gave a big friendly smile.
Such things made him cringe on the inside.
He already knew what she was to do the moment she walked in.
She raises her fists in a trained, battle hardened combat stance.
He had seen this woman around, she was part of his batch of recruits to 'join' up with XCOM. Her jet black hair bundled up neatly on the back of her head, her curvy body always got a look from the others, she was not just looks, she was tough, and fast, by god was she fast.
He simply ran, on the spot, without so much as a word to acknowledge her.
Before he could even comprehend what happened next, he was on the ground, with a fist to his chin.
Two fists.
One after the other, she swung her arms in great arcs, landing blows on his (still confused) form, particularly his head. Defensively, he raises his arms to defend his face, blocking blows like a boxer. His arms recoiled with each relentless hit, but at least the pain in his face had now eased.
He counted the seconds between each hit, his eyes were of no use, his arms blocked the way.
One.
A bit less than one second, two strikes to his arms.
Her strikes were precise – and deadly. After the fourth set of two swings, he opened his defuses, and reached out.
Two solid matters greeted his palms, he clasped.
Now it was his turn to pounce.
He through her arms to his left side, her body followed through, just as he was about to bring one of his own fists to her, a boot smacked his right temple, dazing him.
Indeed, she was flexible.
With one eye closed, he scrambled to his feet, there she crouched, like a tiger ready to pounce, one foot dabbed in the tiniest of blood.
She lunged.
He brought a clenched hand down. His good hand.
His mother was always one to playfully criticise him for his odd stance, be that in writing or typing, calling him a lefty, a rare breed, nothing like his right handed elders. His father wasn't as bothered, or ready to make fun of, but he'd laugh when his mum asked him if he used the left or right to 'do his business' when he was alone, but he didn't mind.
The left got the job done.
She was on the floor, face first onto the metal ground, groaning in obvious pain.
He let out a long held in breath, hands on his knees, gasping.
A sudden pain in his stomach.
He may have stopped, but she sure hadn't.
She gave a great hook, he barely ducked in time to avoid the blow as the passing wind went above his head. He had no time to celebrate, she kicked him again – this time in the leg.
He staggered, struck her again, and again, and again.
All thoughts of assaulting a fellow soldier were out the window, down the nearest street, and on the bus to the furthest stop.
After all, she started it.
She was now leant on her side, they had backed up into a corner of the room, more specifically, the weight section of the room. He grasped a nearby dumbbell, and brought it to her.
He may have gone for the head, but that may have killed or, as his mother liked to put it 'fucked her up good'. So, he struck her side, and she fell… again.
Only this time, she didn't get up, at least, not as fast.
"S… Susan..." he wheezed to the coughing body before him. Dropping the dumbbell with a thud.
"Not… Not now, or ever."
Susan stuck a middle digit without looking to his direction. He fell to his haunches, the treadmill behind him still going along as if nothing happened.
She went into a cross legged position after a minute of resting. Her left eyes was ever so slightly blackened, but she looked better off than he did. He had a bloody mouth, and a nasty swell near the top of his head. She still somehow looked beautiful even after a fight like that.
"Someday." she said.
Before and after missions, Susan would be looking for 'cool downs' to suit her spare time. So, with hesitance from command, they had set up 'fighting rings' for some 'stress relief' for the soldiers. Under supervision of course, but since she had beaten almost everyone in the base, and the man who now sat across from her never participated, she got restless, and so here she was, attacking him were she thought he would least expect it.
And got her ass handed to her.
"Attacking a higher ranking solder… any soldier, can get you…"
"Yeah I know… won't tell on me, will you?"
He never was one to socialize, friends were on the lower end of prioritise, however Susan – for whatever reason – had been like an annoying mosquito that wouldn't let up. Maybe it was the fact he was not one to fight, or one of the stronger men in the base. He knew not the answer, and he never hung around woman to know if big muscles meant big attention.
But the hole that his parents death gave him needed to be filled, somehow.
"Maybe."
"You grumpy old bastard." she laughed.
"You're as old as me."
"Still younger."
"If there is nothing else." He sits up. "Do leave me be."
"Well, there is a mission were supposed to get going to…"
He had just made it to the running treadmill, he flicked a switch on the dash, and the tracks stopped rolling, he squinted one black eye in her direction, a death stare.
"And you told me this after I beat the shit out of you?"
"You would've ignored me if I hadn't gotten your attention."
She was right, but still…
He grabs a hand towel he left on a railing nearby, dried his face, chucked it back, and left, not looking at the slightly shorter human as she jogged to catch up to him.
They winded through the halls, towards the hanger.
"Where?"
"Australia, home sweet home."
"Why?"
"A small community, Mount Sandstone, were gonna test a new chemical weapon on the bugs that have spread there."
Humanity had to have been indeed on its last heels now. Never in history had they used chemical warfare on this scale before, a whole community, wiped out due to bugs. He wondered how this looked in the aliens eyes, did they think their actions harsh like humans did?
Did aliens even have morals? Regulation?
He highly doubted that.
So they left, carrying laser rifles into the Skyranger, them and three others. Going across the pacific ocean, and into the hot country of Australia in a matter of hours.
-XXX-
On the edges of the urban wasteland, he opened his eyes slowly, scanning all around him, only one signal, not one of heat, was fast approaching him from the north, from the city.
Others would raise their guns, search for the signal, but not him, this was different.
Yes, he did prefer solitude over company, but if he was to go forward, he needed help. He would not admit this openly, but it was true. That's why he sent someone to scout ahead.
Someone, was more like something.
The signal was now on him, and he looked up. A drone, a floating ball with four crooked arms coming out of its front, flew down and hovered before him. Its central eye was a glowing green, not like the time he first met it when it was blue.
The drone was not of this world. Yet with a bit of tinkering, and an Arc pulse or two, the MEC was now its master.
It beeped, sort of like wind chimes, or a happy bird, or both.
"Anything?" the MEC's filtered, deep voice spoke.
A few beeps, and it bobbed up and down like it was nodding.
"Thanks Bud."
They moved, and floated, back where the drone came from.
The MEC named the drone 'Bud' because that was what he was, a buddy. He helped out, repaired his suit, scouted, maybe even help reload his mags and auto loaders, though his arced arms always had trouble with the bullets. And best of all, he didn't talk, didn't annoy nor talk back, and its beeping was better than actual words, as he found out the hard way.
They moved up and down small slopes in the road for a half hour, in silence, only the motors of the MEC's suit could be heard for miles around.
That was until the shouting was picked up by their sensors.
Shouting, and the sounds of engines. Up ahead.
Now the city began its true growth, the buildings now became slightly more denser, and the street was wide, filled with husks and wrecks of cars. Some abandoned, others charred black or brown, rusted beyond belief, as if they had been sitting here for years.
The weak asphalt beneath them cracked with each step he took, creating small webs of destruction in his wake. But the path beneath was already devastated, so adding to it didn't effect it much.
Ahead, an American APC, covered in urban camouflage. Lined the sides of the road like a blockade. Next to it were army guys, marines maybe, wearing Kevlar and holding rifles, were waving him and Bud over.
They approached within hearing range, the MEC lifted up his minigun, and gave a curt nod with his skull faced helmet.
"You our reinforcements?" One of the marines said.
"No."
"You here to help then?"
"I'm here to get through."
"You could help us out with the civies, then we'll clear out the…"
The MEC paid no heed to what the marine said. True, he did not want to help deal with their problems, but as he scanned ahead, he saw at least a hundred or so people, wearing tattered clothes and rags, chanting in protest at the marines. Some held signs, but all had faces of a lost people.
He interrupted the still talking marine.
"I'm going through."
"Hey… Some of our guys on the north end are a few men short, they could use a-"
"Fine."
He stomped passed the marine, and six marines flanked the MEC. Past the APC, a line of army guys with shields locked arms as an impromptu defence against the restless crowd. He sent Bud to check on the northern defence, and found the marine wasn't lying, they needed help.
One of his newfound marines tapped on the shoulder of one of the shield bearers.
"Make way!"
"MAKE WAY!" the shield bearer repeated to the others.
Like the gate of a castle, seven or so of the shield bearers parted in the middle, and the MEC marched forward, gun trained threateningly on the protesters, he even whirled up the barrel to make things easier.
The eyes of the people widened in fear, at least, the ones nearby. And slowly the seven marines, with the MEC in the middle, slowly trekked across the expansive group of nuthouses and freaks. The stubborn and stupid began throwing things at him in particular, bottles, shoes, maybe even a pipe or knife. All of them plinked when they hit his chassis, and bounced off harmlessly to the ground.
None of them had guns, that was good.
Screaming, chanting and shouting filled his ears, one of the marines yelled something, but he didn't hear it. Bud flew overhead, just out of sight, but still acted as a guardian angel in this place. Showing the MEC a top-down view of what was happening.
As they got deeper, somewhere around the centre of the crowd, the people became restless, throwing punches or smacking the soldiers with pieces of sharpened wood. And the seven of them shuffled together, the MEC's legs brushed slightly against the soldiers that was how close they were.
Snarling faces of desperate people filled his vision.
"Assholes!"
"Killers!"
"Fuckin' robot!"
"Show us who you really are!"
Trying to ignore screaming men and women in the middle of a crowd was tough, even with an air tight helmet, he took pity on his fellow soldiers, they must be deaf from all this.
About ten meters now, the northern barricade was seen, they were almost there. But only a fool would think they would reach it without incident.
The guy in front took one too many steps away from the group, and fell into the clutches of two burly dudes, bringing the group to a halt.
"Jones!" the soldier to his left cried, pointing a gun at the men in one hand, clutching Jones shoulder with the other. Another marine went to help, but the crowd was growing more bold, some now downright lunged at them in attempts to harm or hinder them in any way they could.
The other soldiers yelled for them to stay back, but it wasn't working. Jones was covered in hands like ants, and was slowly being pulled into the swarm of the angry mob. Nothing, not even the MEC's minigun could stop them from dragging him away.
Jones scream could be heard, the people near him brought down fists of fury to his laying down form.
The MEC angled his back towards where he thought Jones was, and three chunks sounded out from the tube on his back.
Tear gas.
Deadly eye-stinging tear gas.
Screams of anger turned into cries of pain as they backed off like roaches from a spray. Clutching their faces as if they were burning.
Jones' gun was gone, now that the way was parted, one of the marines carried him, hoisting him up to his side.
The MEC scanned.
Jones' gun was picked up by a young girl, no older than eighteen, and she beared it towards the marine that held Jones.
Throwing protocol to the wind, the MEC's left arm was a blur, and his hand levelled to the canon on his leg, and aimed it to the girl.
Three claps of thunder.
A thud.
A scream.
The group pushed to the gates of more shield bearers, all intact, all accounted for.
The marines trained guns on the crowd behind them, from the safety of shields. Jones' looked up at the MEC, who had just holstered his revolver.
"Th-Thank you sir, I wouldn't… phew…"
"Good luck."
The MEC nodded to the other marine, and walked off. Leaving the dumbstruck marines to think about who the hell this robo-man was, and how he had destroyed a rifle in three bullets, without killing anyone.
The MEC never looked back, he simply strode along the house lined road, the distant chanting of the protest soon dying out to the wind. But those words brought chills to his head. Those words would have brief pauses between them, and were consistent, the chanting soon faded, but it still rung through him.
"Exalted! United! Exalted! United! Exalted! United!"