Silent. Silent as a whisper. My breathing, my heart rate, all under control. My bio-enhanced eyes automatically adjust to the atmosphere. The sweat just glistens off my skin, reminding me I still have normal human bio-functions. I lay motionless, prone in the grass-like foliage. My holo-camouflage is adapting to my surroundings, although I'm not sure it works on the enemy. I pretend that I’m still on Earth, But it’s all wrong. Alien smells, alien light, alien air, alien sky. I am alone. I am being hunted.
Ammo check. 3000 rounds, explosive tipped adaptive projectiles, m300r Pulse rifle, functional. Sidearm with three 60 round clips. One molecularly tempered knife. Body armor damaged but functional. Self-repair ETA 6 hours and 7 minutes.
I am Asset 1677-1B. I used to be more-or-less human. Now I am the deadliest killing machine that mankind has ever created and I have switched my programming to full survival mode.
Internal sensors scan thirty klicks from my surroundings, no movement, but years of battle-honed instincts tell me that these readings are probably false. The enemy knows I am in the area, and they will be coming in force and with deadly intent. I have no fear, emotion inhibitors are part of my cybersystems. I feel no pain, no anger, no hunger or thirst. The computer tells me what my body needs, and what is not supplied by my internals, I supply for myself. I am programmed, however, to kill in the most brutally efficient way possible. It was what I was bred for. I am a weapon. Nothing more.
My Holo display is activated, giving me a sitrep of the local terrain. It is mountainous, with many deep crevasses and valleys, overhanging rock formations.. Tactical programming says move to the high ground, but I wait. I prefer to be unpredictable and evasive. The time for Berserker Mode will wait for now. There was no hurry. Computer was giving me a scant chance of survivability of .05% from this OP. My termination is inevitable. Tactical orders say to go into Beserker Mode and take as many Enemy combatants as I can with me, stealth kills. One at a time. My programming gives me the option to override tactical decision making by the computer in the field. There are no perfect algorithms for real combat experience. I make preparations for combat.
The time has come to go mobile. To stay in one place makes for an easy target, to be surrounded and eliminated. They have the numbers, I have the stealth. I will use this to my advantage to even the odds and put off my inevitable demise.
The ridge line, 300 Klicks southwest. Elevation 1000 hundred meters. It would make a perfect place to observe incoming enemy tangos and give me some advantage in defending my position from ground troops. A direct approach would be impossible, and a flanking maneuver difficult. I rise and take my leave, penetrating the alien forest leaving a trail of plant particles in my wake.
I remain low to the ground using the vegetation and rocky terrain for cover. My movement is measured as my motion detector is suspect and therefore I rely on enhanced auditory and sensory input from my cybers. My Pulse rifle is linked to my bio-eyes, its deadly ammunition, linked to my computers directional sensors, ready to rain down all hell upon anyone unfortunate enough to be on the receiving side. GPS is off line due to the crash. I remember the crash, and the ambusher tactically sound attack by a determined enemy. These HETUWA warriors were no amateurs. In fact, my very existence is a direct result of Earth’s HETUWA BloodBath. The first HETUWA invasion that devastated the homeworld. A total of 15 billion dead and untold destruction of Earth’s central city states and off-world colonies.
I was born from the ashes of fire and conflict, genetically engineered and cybernetically enhanced to be one of Earth’s finest warriors - the Sentinel Program. Cloned from human DNA and set loose to bring chaos in the frozen depths of deep space. To bring vengeance to a race of an inhuman species that had so ruthlessly, without provocation, attached Earth in one vicious onslaught. ...And that was many, many years ago...
Suddenly, movement caught my eye on my right flank about three hundred meters and closing fast. I quickly dropped to a prone position to make myself into a smaller target and leveled my Pulse Rifle towards the incoming aggressors . The weapons sight pulled up into a 3d graphic display in my eyes simultaneously data feeding into my computers systems. The safety locks disengaged with a mere thought as I curled my finger around the trigger and scanned down field.
Multiple Targets! Bogeys, three to the right flank, two to the left. ‘Engage Berserker protocol?’ The computer asked in my brain. I quickly disengaged that option, the final option. Once you go berserker you can't come back. It was essentially a self-destruct mode only you fight at maximum capacity until your systems overload and you explode. I felt confident that this was not an endgame situation...
It was a trap, and I was at a tactical disadvantage, but experience told me...the best way to escape a trap is to run straight into it...I switched to an attack mode and raised my body from a defensive posture into a vicious forward charge toward the enemy combatant. The computer flashed a tactical recommendation warning which I immediately ignored. Sometimes, in combat situations, you just had to go with your gut. As the enemy advanced, I cut loose with the fury of hell's arsenal at my disposal.
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