"We are doomed."
It was more than a thought—almost a whisper—as both men knew for sure that they had fallen into a trap.
They stood still, not making any slight movements, their bodies tense and coiled. Their grips were tightly wrapped around their weapons, knuckles faintly whitening, as they waited for their enemies to get closer through the suffocating darkness.
With the aid of the monocles, faint outlines began to sharpen, and they were able to deduce the true owners of the glowing green eyes.
"Mechanical bots." Mr. Jaggers exclaimed inwardly as the color slowly drained from his face, his expression tightening with grim realization.
If it were beasts, then he still had some chance of escaping this place...
But bots?
Machines would not stop fighting until they no longer sensed a response from their targets.
And the only way they wouldn't sense a response—was for their opponent to give up the ghost.
And the only way to give up the ghost — was to die.
And death was now just a few moments away, hanging heavily in the air like an unseen blade.
But despite that, Mr. Jaggers was determined to see things through to the end.
"They're just toys created by our fellow humans. Let's show them their place!" Mr. Jaggers screamed, his voice cutting sharply through the silence as it attracted most of the green-eyed bots toward his direction.
In the next moment, a bot that was closest to him leapt forward in a single bound, its metallic joints releasing a sharp hiss as it positioned itself mid-air, launching a straight punch that carried enough force to decimate the heavens.
KPOO*
The very moment the bot had jumped—just before it could fully position itself—Mr. Jaggers had already readied his Thompson and fired a precise shot.
The bullet tore through the air and penetrated directly into the head of the bot, blasting it apart completely in a burst of sparks and shattered metal.
The rest of the body dropped heavily to the ground, electricity crackling violently from its severed circuits as it twitched and danced uncontrollably on the floor before finally going still.
The bot had been completely destroyed.
'The head is the weakness. I was right after all.' Mr. Jaggers celebrated internally, a flicker of confidence returning—
—but his moment of relief was cut short as multiple bots locked onto him at the same time, their green eyes intensifying.
'Shit.. The gunshot is drawing their interest, but that's the easiest way to kill them.'
Kpo!
Mr. Jaggers fired another shot before swiftly sidestepping, narrowly dodging a bot that slammed its fist into his previous location, cracking the ground slightly on impact.
He didn't even spare that bot a glance as he rotated his body and fired another shot at a different one advancing from the side.
Whhhr!
The bot turned mechanically, its joints whirring as it launched another straight punch toward Mr. Jaggers' back—but at the last moment, the latter jumped away, his boots scraping against the ground, and the punch instead struck another bot, sending it flying away in a clash of metal.
"Why are you just standing there? Cover me!" Mr. Jaggers beckoned Socrates before using the back of his gun to block an incoming dive. The impact reverberated through his arms, but he endured it, using the force to push the bot backward.
It didn't end there.
He also used the side of the Thompson to flog the bot across the head, the metallic clang echoing as the machine was sent skidding away across the floor.
Socrates hesitated for a second...
The bots hadn't paid attention to him yet—not that they hadn't seen him, but their focus was currently locked onto Mr. Jaggers, making him momentarily safe in comparison.
But "safe" was definitely the wrong word to describe his current predicament.
If he didn't take action and allowed Mr. Jaggers to fall, the mechanical bots would most definitely turn their attention to him next.
With that realization, Socrates overcame his hesitation.
He raised his weapon and fired at the first bot that was initiating a sneak attack—five consecutive shots ringing out sharply before he was able to take down the single mechanical bot, sparks bursting from its head as it collapsed.
Unlike Mr. Jaggers' weapon—the Thompson—his own weapon was an SMG that fired 3.5mm bullets.
The bullets didn't possess the same blasting effect that dealt heavy damage...
But while they lacked raw destructive power, they were faster and easier to operate, allowing for rapid, controlled fire.
Kpo* Kpo* Kpo*
Socrates continued firing relentlessly at the mechanical bots surrounding Mr. Jaggers, creating openings and giving the middle-aged man a brief breathing space.
Mr. Jaggers used that opportunity immediately.
He shifted his stance and used the moment to adjust his weapon positioning—only to realize that Socrates himself had now been surrounded by bots.
"Watch out, boy!" he called out sharply.
It was then that Socrates became aware of his own situation.
He had been so focused on supporting Mr. Jaggers that he had completely neglected his surroundings.
He turned around quickly, raising his weapon with the intent of shooting down the bot behind him—
When an unfamiliar sound reached his ears.
Click*
'Shit... Why now?' Socrates cried inwardly as realization struck him—
His bullet rack had gone empty.
The bot didn't slow its advance.
It lunged forward, launching a powerful kick that Socrates barely managed to dodge by sidestepping.
But that very movement placed him directly into the trajectory of another bot, which was already mid-swing with a crushing punch.
Instinctively, Socrates raised his gun in defense, using the metal frame to block the attack.
CLANG!
The punch collided with the weapon, and though it absorbed part of the force, the impact still traveled through his arms and into his body, scraping across his forehead and sending him spinning before he managed to regain his balance without falling.
Blood trickled down from Socrates' nose as he wiped it with the back of his hand, his breathing slightly uneven.
'Bastards.' he muttered under his breath as he stared at about seven bots leaping toward him from all directions, their green eyes glowing brighter.
He didn't hesitate.
He reached into his inventory and activated a Gloo Wall.
A fluffy white wall materialized instantly in front of him, creating a temporary barrier and giving him a brief breathing space.
But Socrates didn't rest.
He tapped his wristband rapidly, the faint blue glow flickering against his focused face as he shuffled through his inventory, searching for something—anything—that could save him from this situation.
Then he found it.
Without hesitation, he retrieved it.
Two weapons appeared in his grip almost instantly.
Two handguns.
Black, polished metal with square barrels and a smooth, refined surface that gleamed faintly under the dim light.
Socrates spent a brief second admiring the weapons, his fingers adjusting naturally around the grip—
—but that moment was cut short.
The Gloo Wall he had created was blown apart violently, fragments scattering as the barrier collapsed, and standing before him now were a dozen bots, their green eyes locked onto him with mechanical precision.
"Have a taste of my Desert Eagle.." Socrates raised both guns and pulled the triggers simultaneously.
Two bullets tore out within a second—
—and within that same second, they pierced through the heads of two bots, destroying them completely in bursts of sparks and shattered metal.
Socrates' eyes widened slightly at the sheer destructive power of the Desert Eagle—
—but he didn't allow that realization to slow him down.
He fired again.
And again.
And again.
Each shot was deliberate, controlled, and deadly.
The effect of the Desert Eagle was even greater than that of the Thompson, and within two minutes, Socrates had destroyed dozens of bots—each falling with a single, well-placed shot to the head.
Metallic bodies littered the ground, twitching briefly before going still.
Sparks flickered across the floor.
The air carried the faint scent of burnt circuits.
Socrates exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling as he steadied himself.
Then he turned toward Mr. Jaggers' direction—and found that the middle-aged man had also finished destroying the mechanical bots surrounding him, his stance still firm despite the earlier injuries.
"Senior.. You're sure amazing..." Socrates praised, a hint of admiration in his voice.
Mr. Jaggers clicked his tongue in response, his expression far from relaxed.
"I don't think this is as simple as this. Let's find a way to get out of here."
He turned immediately, scanning the surroundings for any form of exit, his instincts warning him that something was still wrong.
Meanwhile, Socrates crouched slightly, his eyes scanning the ground as he began searching for loot among the fallen bots.
The bots didn't drop any items.
Only their broken body parts were scattered across the floor—limbs, fragments, shattered cores—unlike the Bermutha Wolves, which turned into fragments of light upon death.
Socrates frowned slightly.
There was nothing obvious to loot.
But with the aid of the monocle, a faint highlight caught his attention.
One body part was different from the others.
It emitted a subtle green energy.
While Mr. Jaggers continued searching for an exit, Socrates moved toward it and picked it up.
It was the hands of a bot.
The metallic structure hummed faintly as it responded to his touch.
[Exoskeletal hands — Increase attack speed, grant protection for wearers. Increase damage output.]
Socrates giggled happily, a rare lightness breaking through the tension, as he quickly equipped the Exoskeletal hands onto his own.
The metal adjusted seamlessly to his arms.
He flexed his fingers.
They moved more smoothly than before.
More responsive.
More powerful.
"This is great.. If I can find a chest plate or a helmet.. I'll give it to Mr. Jaggers."
He turned around to continue searching—
When suddenly—
The lights in the room flickered—and then snapped on.
A bright white light flooded the room, harsh and sudden, drawing both of their attention at once and casting sharp shadows across the scattered remains of the destroyed bots.
And then—
The walls began to move.
Low grinding sounds echoed as the metallic surfaces shifted, rotating and sliding against each other as if the entire room itself had come alive—rearranging like pieces on a chessboard.
"Boy.. Over here." Mr. Jaggers beckoned, his voice firm.
Socrates didn't hesitate. He rushed toward him, boots striking against the metal floor as the vibrations from the shifting walls traveled beneath his feet.
A series of jamming and locking noises filled the air, loud and overlapping, before gradually dying down after a full minute.
Silence followed once again.
Then—
New silhouettes were revealed.
Humanoid silhouettes.
Mechanical bots.
They stood lined up against every wall, forming a perfect circle that enclosed the two men completely.
But these ones were different.
More refined.
More dangerous.
Attached to their left arms were large, reinforced shields—dark, thick, and faintly glowing along the edges.
In place of their right arms were long, sharpened blades that reflected the white light with a cold glint.
Their heads were square-shaped, rigid in design, and at the center of each face was a single glowing green eye, brighter and more focused than the previous ones.
"Are we facing this again?" Socrates asked, his grip tightening instinctively around his weapons.
"Looks like we have no choice.." Mr. Jaggers replied, his voice steady but heavy.
The duo didn't hesitate.
They didn't waste even a second.
Both of them raised their weapons and pulled the triggers, firing as if their lives depended on it.
KPOO!
Kpo!
Kpo!
Bullets tore through the air, racing toward the advancing bots—
But what they didn't expect—
Was for the bots to raise their shields in perfect unison.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Every single shot was blocked.
The barrage of bullets didn't even scratch them, as the reinforced shields absorbed the impact completely, sparks scattering across their surfaces without leaving a dent.
WHHRR.. WHHRR..
The bots continued advancing forward in synchronized steps, their movements steady, relentless, and terrifyingly coordinated.
Each step echoed across the chamber like a ticking clock.
Socrates glanced at Mr. Jaggers who stared back at him.
No words were needed.
Their trump card, their guns — were no longer effective against this new set of bots.
At that moment, both men understood the gravity of their situation.
They hadn't escaped danger.
They had only stepped deeper into it.
They had traversed from the frying pan——to fire.