Quote Originally Posted by Thanqol View Post
She walks directly into you. It's like having a dump truck back up into you. It's effectively a bodyslam - maximum mass applied over maximum area and the fact that she's a power-armoured cyborg is inherently enough to turn a derpy move into an uncounterable offense. She doesn't fight like a human, she doesn't fight like a computer and with pixel-perfect weak points you can identify and navigate between. She fights like a tank. She knows she's invincible and so the entire logic of human-vs-human combat doesn't apply to her.

You're reeling on the ground when she sprays you down with her wrist-mounted nanopulser. Nanopulsers started their production run as crowd control and nonlethal sidearms for police, but they quickly got pushed out of public service when they became associated with awful side effects and the odd dramatic malfunction. Like, say, when a set of nanotech prosthetics have their programming overridden by hostile nanobots. Your cybernetic limbs leave your control, twitching wildly - and then they turn on you.

"Ah! So this is the moment when they say, 'stop hitting yourself'," said Maria brightly, pulling a heavy pistol from her holster. She aims it down at you, opening her mouth to say something else -

And then Truck-kun claims another victim.
Useless!

His arms are gone. Legs too. They're foreign, rain down blows, blows he can't shield against because just like before, he's

Useless!

His spine--replaced after the crash--shrieks a complaint, plastic and steel compressing under the excess force of unconstrained artificial muscle

If they'd just give him a minute to think, thirty seconds free from impact and pummels, he could brain his way out of this. Some Sherlockian insight, some brilliant feat of artifice, an act of genius that would allow him to reset his prosthetics and not be so

useless.


The portal opens. As smooth and perfect as the lines on a graphics calculator.

And then a burning driverless van covered in killer robots barrels through the newly opened gap. Holes appear in the sides as lasers, shotgun blasts, and cyborg fists smash their way through. It misses you by centimetres and rampages on down the corridor towards the inner vault.

Brainstorm is behind you, in serious trouble - his prosthetics are going wild and megatroopers are closing in on him from all sides.
Ferra is, at this very moment, the most beautiful woman alive. And, keep in mind, I'm saying that in the presence of an eight-foot tall tank woman who has prosthetics I'd spend money to spend a nice evening with.

"Nanopulsar!" I grit out. "Reset--prosthetics!"