robot takes a step forward, arms outstretched.
I yank backward on the control arms, sending my machine into a clumsy gait of retreat. Hopes of a few minutes’ respite are dashed. If I can’t even hide when I’m invisible, then there’s no way out.
The gray machine continues its advance and I continue my withdrawal, never losing sight of my enemy’s cartoonish, yet menacing sleepwalk. How long can I keep this up? Will the pilot chase me across all of Western Lights? It occurs to me that he can’t see me after all and is only trying to feel me out.
I attempt to spin the robot around and run when a reverberating thud crashes through the rear of my seat. The control arms no longer respond, at least not to send the robot in a backward motion. Straining all I want, I’m frozen in my position.
Disorientation melts when I take note of my cockeyed location. The street is no longer straight ahead. It seems I’ve rammed myself up against one of the office buildings and can retreat no more. And now there’s no time to advance or sidestep my way around the other machine.
The gray giant connects with a ham-fisted grappling of motorized digits. It sounds like the creaking hull of a submarine from the movies as it presses against my armor.
Jaw clenched, squinting through slits, my body braces for imminent shock. I don’t know whether to prepare for a debilitating blow from a fist or a fiery explosion from some hidden weapon. My unease rises and escapes in a moan of regret.
The other robot grasps onto the upper half of mine. It proceeds to wrench me back and forth in violent jerks.
Screens flicker and lights flash, blistering my eyes. Audible warnings signal impending doom, but I’m lost as to how to proceed. The gyroscopic chair does its best to keep up with the nauseous sway. Why won’t the robot fight back like it did in the hangar? Do I have to will it? “Fight back!” I wail.
The robot’s response comes via the onscreen prompt again: Grant rights to engage Stage Alpha. Y/N?
There’s no thought to my reply, only a simple, firm “yes” as I click the “Y” key and hit enter.
The center monitor pages through diagnostic information and then pulls up a title screen: Attack/Defense Sentinel 02. Loading Stage Alpha…
New lights and menus flood otherwise darkened portions of the control panels. A high-pitched whine tickles my ears, barely perceptible. The remaining circumference of the cockpit melts into a wraparound video screen like the one in the fore, granting me a fishbowl view of everything around the robot.
With a controlled hiss, two additional control arms descend from overhead. They stop at shoulder level, ready to be grasped. I take hold of them, gingerly at first, and ease them forward. Their range of motion is not limited to front and back like the controls for the legs; rather, they pivot on what feel like ball and socket joints.
Even more rewarding is that they allow me to move the robot’s arms. This discovery has me back in the game, sending wild, flailing blows across the chest of the other machine.
My enemy staggers then regains balance. Only half a step back, he has not allowed me enough space to sidestep his grasp. The gray gauntlets come at me again.
I swing the arms of my robot upward in a clumsy attempt to defend, over-calculating the speed at which they move. This sends them straight up into the air while my attacker crashes into my robot’s shoulders.
The distortion of static crackles through the video screen, temporarily disrupting my view. I yank down on the controls, sending the arms into another clumsy motion. This time I connect with the head of the other machine. Unsure of how to grasp it, I do my best to push it away with the blunt side of the armored appendages.
Without a building to bolster its footing, the other robot loses some ground. It takes a moment to regain its balance, and then tries to convert this into momentum as it reaches out in a blind grasp.
I take the
I yank backward on the control arms, sending my machine into a clumsy gait of retreat. Hopes of a few minutes’ respite are dashed. If I can’t even hide when I’m invisible, then there’s no way out.
The gray machine continues its advance and I continue my withdrawal, never losing sight of my enemy’s cartoonish, yet menacing sleepwalk. How long can I keep this up? Will the pilot chase me across all of Western Lights? It occurs to me that he can’t see me after all and is only trying to feel me out.
I attempt to spin the robot around and run when a reverberating thud crashes through the rear of my seat. The control arms no longer respond, at least not to send the robot in a backward motion. Straining all I want, I’m frozen in my position.
Disorientation melts when I take note of my cockeyed location. The street is no longer straight ahead. It seems I’ve rammed myself up against one of the office buildings and can retreat no more. And now there’s no time to advance or sidestep my way around the other machine.
The gray giant connects with a ham-fisted grappling of motorized digits. It sounds like the creaking hull of a submarine from the movies as it presses against my armor.
Jaw clenched, squinting through slits, my body braces for imminent shock. I don’t know whether to prepare for a debilitating blow from a fist or a fiery explosion from some hidden weapon. My unease rises and escapes in a moan of regret.
The other robot grasps onto the upper half of mine. It proceeds to wrench me back and forth in violent jerks.
Screens flicker and lights flash, blistering my eyes. Audible warnings signal impending doom, but I’m lost as to how to proceed. The gyroscopic chair does its best to keep up with the nauseous sway. Why won’t the robot fight back like it did in the hangar? Do I have to will it? “Fight back!” I wail.
The robot’s response comes via the onscreen prompt again: Grant rights to engage Stage Alpha. Y/N?
There’s no thought to my reply, only a simple, firm “yes” as I click the “Y” key and hit enter.
The center monitor pages through diagnostic information and then pulls up a title screen: Attack/Defense Sentinel 02. Loading Stage Alpha…
New lights and menus flood otherwise darkened portions of the control panels. A high-pitched whine tickles my ears, barely perceptible. The remaining circumference of the cockpit melts into a wraparound video screen like the one in the fore, granting me a fishbowl view of everything around the robot.
With a controlled hiss, two additional control arms descend from overhead. They stop at shoulder level, ready to be grasped. I take hold of them, gingerly at first, and ease them forward. Their range of motion is not limited to front and back like the controls for the legs; rather, they pivot on what feel like ball and socket joints.
Even more rewarding is that they allow me to move the robot’s arms. This discovery has me back in the game, sending wild, flailing blows across the chest of the other machine.
My enemy staggers then regains balance. Only half a step back, he has not allowed me enough space to sidestep his grasp. The gray gauntlets come at me again.
I swing the arms of my robot upward in a clumsy attempt to defend, over-calculating the speed at which they move. This sends them straight up into the air while my attacker crashes into my robot’s shoulders.
The distortion of static crackles through the video screen, temporarily disrupting my view. I yank down on the controls, sending the arms into another clumsy motion. This time I connect with the head of the other machine. Unsure of how to grasp it, I do my best to push it away with the blunt side of the armored appendages.
Without a building to bolster its footing, the other robot loses some ground. It takes a moment to regain its balance, and then tries to convert this into momentum as it reaches out in a blind grasp.
I take the
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