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At the edge of the north of the second ring, a silver-gray exoframe stood silently in the middle of the ruined street, holding in its hands a heavy rifle nearly as tall as half a man, shaped like an unsharpened greatsword.
Time had left its marks upon the armor’s surface. The urban camouflage paint had long been replaced by streaks of scarlet corrosion.
The weapon it gripped was no different, the tuning-fork-shaped magnetic rails were clogged with fleshy red fungal growths.
Flickers of memories lingered within its remaining cells. It dimly remembered that it had once been a machine built for war.
It had simply long forgotten why it fought, or when the last battle had ended.
Just then, a light breeze blew down the street, and almost at the same time, the rumble of wheels thundered from the quiet corner ahead.
Sensing the killing intent rushing toward it, the figure slowly raised its head. Gray-green mist seeped from the gaps of its...
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