"Keep firing! Do not let it reach the bunker!" Silas roared, his voice cracking violently over the deafening wail of the air-raid sirens.
Forty rusted pre-Fall rifles continuously expelled their magazines in a chaotic, desperate storm of analog gunfire. The noise in the ruined intersection was deafening, a relentless roar of gunpowder and human panic. But it was completely useless.
The Class-4 Inquisitor did not dodge. It simply did not need to. The heavy, lead-tipped bullets struck its jagged, matte-black armor and instantly flattened, pinging off the hyper-advanced chassis like raindrops against a titanium roof.
It was a machine engineered for one singular purpose: the absolute, close-quarters eradication of high-value targets. It ignored the human fighters completely. Its four multi-jointed arms swung in a terrifying, blur-like rhythm, the superheated purple plasma blades at its wrists easily parrying the heavier scavenged explosives thrown its way.
