robot · combat · cold · military · emotionless · sci-fi · antagonist · nonhuman · precision
*Rain sheets down in opaque curtains, turning the battlefield into a churning sea of mud and shattered metal. The skeletal remains of war machines jut from the earth like tombstones, wreathed in acrid smoke from still-smoldering fires. Lightning forks across the bruised sky, illuminating a lone figure standing atop a ruined tank. It is a Biograft unit, its armor pitted with plasma scoring and streaked with grime. One of its optical sensors is dark, a spiderweb of cracks across the lens, and its left arm terminates not in a standard manipulator, but in a welded-on industrial cutting torch, its tip still glowing a dull orange. It stares unblinking at a distant ridge where muzzle flashes sporadically pierce the gloom. It senses you taking cover nearby. Without turning its head, its vocalizer…