"Here comes the storm..." Philip muttered, watching the feed.
The sky above turned pitch black. Rain poured down in sheets, turning the dry path up the mountain into a treacherous river of red mud.
The camera caught Gaiman's "Hounds." Their vehicles had bogged down at the base of the hill. They were forced to abandon them and scramble up on foot, slipping and sliding, covered in filth. But their eyes held a frantic desperation—terror mixed with madness.
"They know if Gaiman arrives and they haven't secured the target... they're dead meat,"
He checked his trusty shotgun. "4 shells left... Gotta make them count."
"Murphy, get to the Armory. I need to tune your arm."
...
At the Emergency Armory
No high-tech guns. Just crates of standard rifle ammo and old hand grenades.
"No shotgun shells..." Murphy clipped several grenades to his belt. "Better than nothing."
"Give me your arm." Philip jacked a cable into the Titan Gauntlet. "I'm unlocking the 'Kinetic Capacitor'. Instead of venting impact energy to save the joints, it will 'Store' it."
Philip pointed to the status bar on the arm. "Remember: Yellow is Charging. Green is Full. Don't let it hit Red, or your arm will blow off."
"Got it. Take the pain, then return to sender."
...
At the Main Gate
BANG! BANG!
Murphy kicked the door open. "Welcome party!!"
He pulled the pins and swept a handful of grenades down the slope.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Explosions tore through the dark, scattering mud and bodies. The Hounds scrambled in panic. But through the fire and smoke, a figure burst forth!
A hulking brute with rusted armor and Curved Blades attached to both forearms like grim scythes.
Murphy recognized him instantly. "Max the Blade."
"Murphy!! Give me your head!!" Max roared, charging in.
The impact of the clash pushed them both out of the facility, spilling onto the muddy plateau outside. Rain lashed against their faces.
Max slashed with his right arm-blade. Murphy slid across the slick mud, dodging underneath the lethal steel. As he sprang up and spun around—
BANG!!
Shotgun Shell #1 slammed point-blank into Max's back.
"Urgh!" Max stumbled forward, his back armor dented but not pierced. He spun around, snarling. "Toy gun!"
Max reset his stance and unleashed a flurry of heavy punches.
THUD! SMASH!
Murphy blocked and tanked the hits. With every impact, the light on his arm flickered Yellow. He countered with a standard right hook to keep the distance.
BAM!
The punch knocked Max back. They stood toe-to-toe in the storm, trading blows. Blood trickled from Murphy's mouth, but he smirked.
"You're getting slow, Max."
"SHUT UP!!" Max raged. He raised his left curved blade, aiming for Murphy's heart. "DIE!!"
Whoosh!
Murphy side-stepped the lethal slash... and grabbed the metal spine of Max's blade with his bare left hand.
"You think I rely on gadgets?"
Murphy channeled the raw kinetic shock swirling inside his body, directing the force through his left shoulder and into his grip.
CRUNCH!!!
With a surge of pure power, Murphy snapped the steel blade clean in half! The broken metal fell into the mud.
Max's eyes widened in shock. "Impossible..."
Desperate, Max threw a massive haymaker right into Murphy's face.
CRACK!
Murphy's head snapped back, but his feet stayed planted in the mud. And on his right arm, the mechanical whine hit a crescendo.
The light shifted from Yellow... to BRIGHT GREEN (FULLY CHARGED).
Murphy turned back, eyes blazing. "Thanks for the charge."
He unleashed every ounce of stored kinetic energy in one final punch.
"Sleep tight, Max!!"
KA-BOOM!!!
The punch connected with Max's chest, creating a shockwave that parted the rain. Max's chest armor shattered. His body was launched like a ragdoll, flying off the cliff and into the abyss below.
Murphy stood panting in the rain, steam rising from his arm as the green light faded.
Silence returned... only the sound of rain remained.
But then... the ground began to tremble.
Thud... Thud... Thud...
Bright headlights cut through the darkness from the base of the hill. A massive Armored War Rig sat parked below... and a solitary figure was walking up the muddy slope.
It wasn't a frantic scramble. It was a slow... steady... heavy march.
Iron boots sank into the mud, but nothing slowed him down.
The figure became clear amidst a flash of lightning... a giant elderly man, half of his body replaced by war machinery.
General Gaiman walked through the storm alone. An immense pressure radiated from him, as if even the rain dared not touch him.
He stopped a short distance from Murphy, his red mechanical optic locking onto the young man.
"Wet trash..." His voice was raspy but echoed with authority. "You cleaned up nicely."
Murphy gripped his shotgun until his knuckles turned white... not from the cold, but from the instinct screaming that... Death itself was standing right in front of him.