As he settled into the pilot's seat, the padding expanded, molding itself around his body.
A perfect fit.
He reached forward and flipped the switch.
A soft whir—the rotational motor came to life.
Lights flickered across the cockpit as the systems awakened.
The newly updated OS displayed its mark on the main monitor.
Boot sequence initiated.
At the same time, the auto-balancers engaged.
The machine rose slowly to its feet.
Three meters tall—
a mechanized infantry unit.
It had been adopted as the primary weapon of the United Nations' multinational force—known as the Mediation Army.
Across the world, it had been deployed to "maintain peace."
He had been sent into battle many times.
And somehow—
he had survived them all.
His last deployment had been in Israel.
This time, he had been assigned to the Seventh Division, mobilized to halt the Soviet advance into Europe.
The machine stabilized itself.
Not by his hands—
but by the auto-balancer system.
Each joint adjusted automatically, maintaining perfect equilibrium.
A bipedal war machine.
A walking tank.
But building such a machine was never simple.
A two-legged structure could not stand without replicating the complexity of the human body.
A stick placed upright would simply fall.
The human body stands only because countless muscles maintain balance.
That same principle had been engineered here.
Sensors detected every shift in weight, every movement—
and adjusted accordingly.
The mechanized infantry unit was roughly the size of a large human.
But its weapons—
were anything but human.
A heavy machine gun, derived from the German MG-42.
And a 75mm cannon—
equivalent to that of a tank.
Its armor was constructed from an advanced Tunglasden alloy—further reinforced beyond conventional limits.
Standard weapons couldn't even penetrate it.
Because of that—
these units had become symbols of fear.
Feared by militaries across the world.
Six monitors lit up, displaying the visual feed from the head-mounted cameras.
He checked them.
Then advanced from the encampment.
Ahead—
over the hill—
Soviet tanks appeared in formation.
The moment they spotted the mechanized units—
they opened fire.
A barrage of main cannon shots.
In an instant—
the battlefield erupted.
Soviet infantry closed in.
Rockets.
Explosives.
Close-range attacks.
None of it mattered.
The mechanized infantry did not flinch.
He pulled the trigger on his control stick.
Below him, enemy soldiers were torn apart by depleted uranium rounds.
Bodies shredded into nothing.
Nearby, another unit fired its main cannon.
A Soviet tank battalion vanished in the blast.
This was "mediation."
And it would not end.
Not as long as humanity existed.
Conflict would never disappear from this world.
And so—
they continued forward.
Across the endless desert.
Together with their machines.
The Endless Desert — End