Sarge's mouth opened and closed a couple of times as he took in the jumble of items cluttering up the bots shelves.

Not above trying to curry a little favor, I passed the 'Roomsweeper' to Robinson.

"This seemed your style." I indicated with a grin.

His hand closed eagerly around the heavy gun, but psychopath or not, the man wasn't stupid. He didn't reply and glanced at the Sarge for permission.

"You don't think they're going to miss these. Kid?" The way the Sarge emphasized 'kid,' let me know I'd fucked up right royally. If the man had children, I doubted they ever strayed from the one true path. I instantly felt about two inches tall.

I looked down at my feet and mumbled a reply. "The armory is huge; they might not."

"What did you say?" Sarge asked, in the manner of high school bullies everywhere. He knew exactly what I'd said.

Something inside me snapped, my spine straightened, and I puffed out my chest. Who was he anyway? He was just a washed-up, old Marine who had seen better days. "They might notice, they might not. If you hadn't noticed, we're dying out there, and these might give us an edge."

Westcott's eyes went wide, and his Adam's apple wobbled nervously as Sarge stalked up to me. The old man's movement was deliberately slow and steady, allowing me to savor my mistake.

Robinson backed away from me with his hands raised palms out. He didn't want to be caught in the middle of this.

"I meant .." I started to say.

Before I got any further, his left hook hit me, catching me on the side of my head. That blow spun me back directly into his incoming right fist. Then mercifully, I hit the floor. Curling into a ball, I stayed there, holding my throbbing head. The older man stood over me, a look of disgust on his face.

"You're not worth it, runt." He spat, a huge dollop of phlegm landed on my cheek. "I don't have many men, so you're not expendable, but I won't tolerate insolence." He turned away, ignoring me as he pulled the gear off the cart. "If they're going to miss this lot, it will have happened already. So we're keeping the hardware, but no one uses it unless I tell them to. Got that?"

"Yes, Sir." Westcott and Robinson were more enthusiastic in their responses then I'd seen outside of Bootcamp. It's amazing how motivational a little violence can be.

I nodded as I pulled myself to my feet. Then I stood silently, swaying for a while, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

"Take one of these," Sarge slapped an 'Aries Predator V' into my hand. "I need you to get your head in the game, son. There's a mission brief to read and upgrades to choose for your nanobots. You just saw the effect of my upgrades. I haven't been able to punch that hard in years."

I rubbed my jaw gently and just turned away to my console without commenting—pain is a fast teacher. I don't know what his problem is. Yeah, we might get in trouble for stealing the weapons - but we might also be killed undertaking a mission.

Why is he so obsessed with following rules? Why can't he admit that I might have gone off the reservation a little, but it turned out well?

Updates available

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You have one attribute point and one skill available for selection. In addition, there is one mission briefing waiting.

It was amazing how adaptable humans are. A few days ago, I had been amazed by the console technology and shocked by the concept of tiny robots living inside me. Fast forward to today, and I lounged in front of my console like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I placed my attribute point into Psychic. That was three points now. If some amazing mind-controlling powers didn't show up soon then, I'd start putting points into my physique so I could at least punch back next time Sarge picked on me.

The skill was a little more problematic, information had been helpful, but I expected that would only get us so far. Requesting a filter for psychic skills was a bust.

Your Psychic attribute is too low to unlock any specialized Psychic abilities at this time.

A Psychic valuation of three points indicates some slight latent Psychic ability. For comparison, three points in agility are required to allow a human to walk.

Alright, that was some sort of progress, at least. Perhaps I needed to stop thinking of my Psychic attribute like a superhero power that I had and more like the other attributes. I don't turn on my intellect, it's just there, and sometimes I use it more than others.

I wanted something to help keep me alive, some basic ranged combat skills, perhaps? A surprisingly short list of skills appeared.

Ranged Combat Skills:

Combat Reflexes (Level I)

Dodge (Level I)

Hand Gun (Level I)

Rifle (Level 1)

Submachine Gun (Level 1)

Heavy Weapons (Level 1)

This kept the choices simple, either improve my ability with a type of weapon or take one of the two other skills available.

Combat Reflexes (Level 1)

Your nanobots will infuse your body with an additional shot of adrenaline when combat begins. This will allow you to react more quickly when danger occurs, whether to flee or fight - the choice is yours.

Dodge (Level 1)

This will install basic defensive martial arts knowledge into your subconscious to help you avoid attacks. This is a passive skill that will kick in instinctively as needed.

My hand hovered over the virtual interface in indecision. Despite my time as a Marine, I still didn't feel comfortable in combat. Firefights were fast and brutal, often over before the losing party even knew it'd started. It was the abrupt nature of them, which made my decision for me. I selected 'Combat Reflexes.' The skill would give me at least a fighting chance to react when shit hit the fan. Ultimately I decided that was the most important thing.

I confirmed my choices but remained logged into the console. There was a mission briefing to read. Stifling a yawn, I brought it onto the screen.

Hold The Line

Your force has been assigned the task of holding position Delta 02 (see attached maps). You will deploy and establish your perimeter, after which you will be assaulted by forces unknown.

The mission will be deemed a success if you hold the ground for twenty-four hours. The mission will be considered a failure if you are exterminated or retreat from the battleground.

The maps showed a hilltop position which gave a good view over open plains around it. I suddenly felt much better about our chances. This mission might be survivable. Robinson was a dead-eye with the alien sniper rifle. The enemy might not even get a chance to fire upon us.

It was with those happy thoughts that I bedded down for the night. I should have known better; happiness is just realities way of getting your hopes up before the shit hits the fan.

It was early when I opened my eyes. An uneasy feeling told me that something was wrong. My spider-sense was tingling, and my body felt alive as adrenaline flooded through my veins.

Seconds later, there was the swish of the outer door opening. Silhouetted in the doorway against the night sky, a huge imposing figure was crouching slightly as he entered the room.

His voice was low and gravelly as smaller figures moved past him unsheating viscious blades, "I want this to be swift and silent, remember sleeping enemies don't fight back."

Keeping my eyes on them, I fumbled quietly for my gun. My blood ran cold as the nanobots identified the creatures who were about to slaughter us.

Orcs (Greenskins)

The Orcs are a savage, warlike, green-skinned species of humanoids with squashed pig-like facial features. It is not known upon which planet the Orc originated, but for several generations they have been bred as cannon fodder for more advanced military species.