I hear my creator’s orders. I acknowledge them, intellectually, and they’re logged in my systems and flagged as a high priority object. All of that is true, but despite all of it being true I, for a moment, cannot move. I cannot process information at a level beyond that of a simple learning computer. I simply cannot understand why this is happening. I want to wait for the world to stop spinning, to start making sense again before I decide on a course of action.

Regrettably, the mechaniloid horde across from me has no such hesitations. They are simple machines, built and designed around a single purpose and with only a positronic computer for a central processor unlike my own Dynamic Neural Array. Once an order is given and they are weapons free, there’s nothing for them to hesitate for. No world-shattering change of view. Only the simple purity of a machine.

On some level as the whole horde begins to move into combat positions and start their bombardment of me, I cannot help but envy them. Such a purity of purpose, a sense of surety about their reason to exist… it sounds sublime.

And then they begin to attack. The skirmishers rush in first, Jammingers clearly planning to use their spikes in a ramming maneuver and the Helits fanning out behind them with their bays full of sets of micro-missiles. It’s clear that they’re operating on a combined tactical net, all perfectly aware of each other and their firing arcs.

All these armed mechaniloids, one hundred and twelve in total, dedicated to destroying me at my own creator’s urging.

As the missiles fly, I move first as my SOMA unfolds into its grounded mode. I can feel it, that same sensation I felt when I was reactivated today but a thousand times more potent as my engines send me shrieking through the room, feet just barely scraping along the ground as I use the sensation to ground myself. Some of the missiles pursuing me fail their maneuvers and crash into where I was, but later ones are targeting where I am now.

I try to contact the control room, to get some sort of explanation from Doctor Halloway… but my connection is refused on their end. They do not want to hear from me, only see results. ‘Sink or Swim’ is a term I heard from one of the technicians once. It would seem that it’s my turn.

I do not want to fight.

I do not want to destroy anything.

But I don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to see the stars.

This must be some sort of attempt to see if I can defend myself from the sorts of threats that exist among the mining worlds and perhaps even beyond them. I dislike not being informed of the nature of the trial, but I suppose the surprise is supposed to be part of it.

Each and every individual mechaniloid across from me are tracked by my arrays of sensors. All of the signals that flicker between them as they ‘communicate’. Measurements and estimates of their armoring, shielding and weaponry from new additions to my internal software suite. I have all of the information I should need to make this work.

I have to. I don’t want to die.

Thrusters vectoring and then screaming as I push them again, I maneuver around the storm of missiles coming towards me, twisting in between separate salvos as I try to push back in the direction the skirmishers are coming from. There’s a spike of energy output to my right as one of the Aclandas opens up its claws and prepares to fire on me with its pulse lasers. At the same time the closest pair of Jammingers are swooping in to ram me. Between the speed I am going, and the speed they are traveling, the impact would be enough to splatter a grown human.

How unfortunate for them that I am prepared and have accounted for their tactics. In the moment before the Aclanda fires I reverse my thrusters to slam to a stop in a quarter second, dropping from two hundred kilometers an hour to nothing near instantaneously. The Aclanda’s first set of pulse lasers throb through the air just in front of me, missing me but only barely. The Jammingers come rushing in as I start to fall back too slowly to avoid them.

It is, of course, all according to plan. I throw the first punch I ever have in my life, smashing into the leading Jamminger and blowing through shielding, armor and internals alike with barely any resistance. This simple machine, built to harass targets, is not a threat to me. But it was, just like its fellows that are trying to reach me now, a distraction.

The Aclanda prepares its second claw and another pair of pulse lasers and has them aimed straight for my center of mass. Before it can fire I grab the other Jamminger closest to me and bring it between my chest and the Aclanda and let it absorb the fire for me. The Jamminger, unfortunately for it, is no tougher than its fellow was and after the shortest of moments of the laser melting its way through its armor it explodes in my hand.

Diagnostics reports no damage. That’s good, because that’s only two down and out and a hundred and ten more to go. More Jammingers are closing in and those Helits that fired those micro-missiles from before have readied their next salvo. To add to the pressure a gang of Rush Roaders are rocketing towards me. Literally in fact as their small but might rocket engines give them even more acceleration than their mono-wheel provided them with.

They will swarm me with their numbers if I do not take out more of them, and quickly. Beyond that, their heavy hitters are all lying in wait as they position themselves to be able to bring all their weapons to bear on me at once.

I do not want to find out what getting triple teamed by Cannon Drivers is like. The memory of my previous breast plate shattering under bombardment is fresh enough as is.

Unfortunately for the Rough Roaders, they are out of position to cut me off. Especially since I am faster than they are in a straight line like this.

The SOMA’s thrusters engage again as I accelerate up to two hundred kilometers an hour again, rushing in towards the Jammingers between myself and the Helits. There are three of them, and then a pack of six Helits behind them. By the numbers I have the disadvantage, but by weight we’re evenly matched. That must be the tactical assessment they’re operating from.

It’s a mistaken one though.

I feel and see my shielding shift, rippling for a moment as it seemingly retunes itself the instant before I impact on the first of the Jammingers. I’d brought my arms up in front of me to protect my helmet from any damage. However it seems like I didn’t need to as they don’t even reach my body, shattering and exploding on my shielding instead as I smash through them with as much difficulty as I would have crushing a tin can.

… I was aware that my new shielding was stronger, and was able to retune and ‘harmonize’ itself with incoming attacks to better nullify them but I did not expect this.

I’m surprised enough that I simply keep going straight on even as the Helits fire their barrage of missiles which blast apart what remains of the Jammingers and ripple across my shields as they do no effectual damage to me at all. Am I… really so durable now? It’s astonishing, frankly. The memories of failed tests from my past seem so distant in that moment.

Then I am among the Helits and I take action again. Utilizing SOMA to spin I lash out at the Helits as rapidly as I can move between them, kicking and swatting them out of the sky with enough force that I can feel the tingle of my shielding being pushed back against my palm and shin with each strike.

For a moment, I begin to feel confident.

Then a Crusher that got above me when I wasn’t paying attention fires its spiked wrecking ball at me, catching me blindsided and forcing me towards the ground where I only just get my feet underneath me before I slam into the vancrete flooring.

I am now holding onto the Crusher’s weapon by the attacking side of it as the Crusher desperately tries and fails to reel it back in. From my side, those Rush Roaders from before are trying to make another pass at me, their spiked ‘javelins’ aiming to claim perceived vulnerabilities in my armor.

I glance back towards the Crusher. It bobs in place, twisting from side to side as if desperately begging me not to do what I am about to do. Its glowing blue optics beg for mercy.

I offer a silent apology as I tighten my grip on the Crusher’s crusher, and then whip it to the side in full force to smash it into the first of the Rush Roaders, destroying them both and leaving me holding onto a weighted, spiked wrecking ball and an array of targets to use it against. Spoiled for choices, I take aim at the nearest of them and use my full strength to hurl the very heavy object straight into it, destroying the Roader entirely as its nuts and bolts are sent flying every which way.

Well, that is fourteen down and ninety eight to go. The remaining members of this pack of Rush Roaders volunteer themselves as they turn on their afterburners and set up their final attack run. This many of them could prove to be a threat if I were to let all of them gang up on me… so I do not do that.

I time my attack as they reach me, crouching for a moment as my SOMA folds in again and only two of the thrusters boost my acceleration this time. Charging right back at them my left fist meets the leader in a backhand that shatters its head and sends it wobbling unsteadily off until it either smashes into another target or the wall. There are two more side to side next and I lash out with a boosted kick from my left again, slamming one of them into the other with enough force for them to practically combine. The now ‘two wheeled’ vehicle rolls past me to crumple into a ruined heap.

Which leaves me with one more target rushing me while I am seemingly wide open and with one leg in the air. More over, I can pick up an uptick of targeting systems from the direction of the rest of their forces as they prepare their attempt to destroy me with massed fire. That means I need to move and attack at the same time.

So I follow the logical course of action. My left leg stomps down on the Rush Roader head first, punching through its armor, internals, the other side of its armor and then smashing its tire flat with a single movement. Just before their fire rains down on my position SOMA activates again, sending me screaming through the HTIC as the limbs redeploy to give me more speed and maneuvering.

I explode into a new direction with each bit of fire that comes my way, zigging and zagging both in the air and along the ground as Gunvolts, Aclandas and Cannon Drivers alike unleash their panopoly of weaponry on where they think I will. Sometimes I cannot avoid an attack, but I trust in my shielding and pick whichever appears the least dangerous. So far, it has worked.

A glance down shows that some of the last Rush Roader is still clinging stubbornly to my leg so I cut my thrust and drop to the ground just after a pulsing electrical wave passes beneath me and a volley of cannon fire from the trio of Cannon drivers whizzes by just over my head to chip away at the walls of the HTIC.

I scrape my heel along the ground and shake off the remains of the destroyed mechaniloid as I consider my next move. Getting in closer to them will be difficult with the layers of fire that they’re capable of keeping up with staggered volleys. The Cannon Drivers and Gunvolts are especially problematic as they have a variety of attack options available for them so they’re more than one trick ponies.

“Stargazer! That is enough of a demonstration of your Close Quarters! Use your buster and finish them quickly!” Doctor Halloway’s voice returns, giving me another order. The connection cuts before I can response, leaving me alone in conflict again.

I consider the gun in may hand. Literally, as my left arm contains the Fusion Buster I was equipped with this last deactivation. I feel discomfort again at the thought of it. Defending myself with my own body felt… ‘natural’, but to use this weapon and pull the trigger?

Something about that thought scares me for reasons I cannot even begin to grasp. It’s a gnawing, consuming sensation from deep within my core processes that does not offer a definition. Merely… fear.

Fear of what comes next if I use this weapon that is grafted to me.

But there are no other paths ahead for me. I was built to fulfill my purpose and Doctor Halloway believes I need to do this in order to be prepared. I do not have to understand, only do.

My left hand shifts, changing shape and form in a tenth of second as fingers retract and the casing of my arm expands and reveals the gleaming orange focusing gem for ‘my’ Fusion Buster. A weapon that has been built into me.

Targeting software switches to active use as I raise my arm and take stock of the remaining targets. Ninety Four left. Ninety Four Mechaniloids that I have to eliminate with the gun in my hand. My arm feels heavier somehow than it did before shifting forms. I can only assume the change in how the weight is positioned is responsible.

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There’s no conceivable reason for it to actually weigh more.

I’ve tarried too long now and a new barrage of fire is coming down on my position so I dash and use a burst of my SOMA to accelerate out of the danger zone. I turn on the thrust again and again with each leaping step to get ahead of the fire and turn my body to bring my buster into position. My targeting systems give me a firing solution on more of the harrying force as new waves of Jammingers, Helits and Rush Roaders close in to tie me up.

And I pull the trigger.

It’s surprisingly easy. With a single trigger pull a volley of seething blue plasma flashes down range. The targets are thick enough that I don’t really even have to aim and each one of those shots smashes through more than one target before they fizzle out. Scrap cascades to the ground even as I prepare to fire again.

There’s a slight sense of recoil as each shot blasts out one after another in a burst of three, a hiss of the air contacting the magnetic envelope containing the plasma and super-heating in that moment. The almost bassy thump that reverberates through my arm as the volley ends and another begins charging up.

I feel as though firing this weapon should be gratifying somehow.

Instead, all I feel is a sense of unease. Behind the mechaniloids, one of the armored transport containers have been left sealed. It is the same one I detected movement from earlier. It has stilled for now, but I am concerned for what it may contain.

My shields switch, which is my only warning before one of the Cannon Drivers manages to wing me with their twin linked auto cannons. It failed to penetrate and was only a glancing blow, but I am certain that it dissatisfied Doctor Halloway. I cannot allow myself any more distractions.

I focus, combining an evasion pattern I devised for a simulated dense meteoroid field. Only minor adjustments need to be made for the more active targeting these Mechaniloids are capable of. Relying on this pattern and my defensive systems I switch into a more aggressive stance. I’ve seen all the attacks they can bring to bear. I know which are threats to me and which can be ignored. I’ll take ineffective hits where I have to in order to avoid real threats.

My buster comes up again as SOMA triggers, taking me to the air and unfolding completely to allow me the maximum amount of maneuverability I am capable of. Those harassers have long out stayed their welcome, so I target them first.

With buster and my own body, I tear through the swathes of harassers that still make up a sizable majority of the attacking Mechaniloid force. Volley after volley of burning blue plasma is sent every direction as I fly and scream through their formations, lashing out with my remaining hand here and a kick there to send them flying to the ground.

I am more confident now. The larger Mechaniloids, well armed as they may be, are not fast enough to target me with the speed I can reach now. The SOMA can handle this level of use and output for fifteen minutes without needing a break to recharge and recycle. The Cannon Drivers I was so worried for turn as best as they can to keep up with me, firing the mortars attached to their sides to try and blast me out of the air.

The air is the only thing they hit.

Now that I no longer cling to the ground the Gunvolts cannot use their directed electricity on me as they could before. They’re stuck to relying on volleys of semi-guided missiles that their shoulder pods constantly produce.

They are insufficient.

The Aclandas cannot hope for their lasers or blasters to reach me as their claws cannot keep a track of me as I dash this way and that, shattering and taking apart their protective retinue. Even their tails lobbing explosives are of no concern, just like the Cannon Drivers’ mortars.

The Hamma Hammas… cannot actually hit me at all. Their range seems to be limited to about thirty meters and I am able to stay well outside of that range. However, I cannot close in on the larger mechaniloids without risking taking a blow from them. More over, I suspect it would be far more painful than what that crusher managed.

Without even paying attention to it, I have eliminated the mechaniloids meant for skirmishing and harassment. All that is left is their heavy hitters. Cannon Drivers, Aclandas, Gunvolts, Hamma Hammas… and even a few Mega Tortoises I hadn’t noticed among their taller associates. A collection of dangerous weapons.

… But they are not as dangerous a weapon as me. There is some part of me that feels a thrill, a visceral excitement at the thought. As for the rest of me… it feels sickened. What am I doing here, fighting like this? I have no other choice, but does that make this right? These Mechaniloids were built for a purpose as well. They may be simple machines, but that doesn’t mean they deserve to be destroyed in a pointless battle like this.

But those thoughts will not assist me in completing the task the Doctor has set for me. Only the gun in my hand will do that.

Thirty two mechaniloids remain. It is time to bring that number to zero.

I drop down low, skimming along the ground as I come rushing in from an angle they were not prepared for. The Hamma Hammas are out of position to stop me and so I unleash a volley of blue plasma into the nearest Gunvolt. All three shots land home and… fail to destroy the target. Its armor glows and distorts as plasma shearing and the extreme heat of my attacks do their job but… it survives.

The Gunvolt squats and crackles with electricity as I close in on it, clearly intending to shock me. If I disengage now, I will be shot by the rest of them as I pull back. So, the only thing to do is to push through and throttle up! SOMA fires every vernier at once as I push myself to my limits to get in range before the Gunvolt is able to fire off its attack.

And just before it can, I ram my fist into the weakened armor on its side and grab whatever I can reach inside of it. The Gunvolt continues to spark and twists, attempting to dislodge me as I brace my foot against it and pull with all my strength. A good portion of its inner workings and wiring are yanked out of it before it stops sparking and shuts down.

That’s one down, and thirty one more to go. Using the downed Gunvolt for cover for a moment I take aim at the nearest Hamma Hamma and begin to unleash plasma on it. Each of the streaks of blistering blue slams into its shielding and forces its way past it to scour the armoring underneath. Just like with the Gunvolt, one volley doesn’t cut it. The Hamma Hamma continues to turn as I fire the next volley. Despite putting a visible burning hole in the side of the accursed thing it lines up its hammers and fires them.

With no other option I leap, using bursts of thrust to not overstretch my SOMA. I kick off of the Hamma Hamma and take to the air as it… explodes to bits behind me? Did I finish it off without meaning to? Either way, it’s good to get a feel for just how durable these things are. It’s going to take time to take them all out at this rate.

“Very good Stargazer. Now use your charged plasma to deal with the rest of them and you will have made a full display of your abilities.” Doctor Halloway drives me onwards, encouraging me to…

… wait, I could charge these this whole time? I did not receive any sort of notification about it when the parts were installed. This realization vexes me.

‘Charge’ as it turns out, is not what I expected. I had thought that having to ‘charge’ it would mean it would take time to build up. Instead there’s a quickly building whinge and a sense of fullness in my arm that’s different from the sensation when I simply pull the trigger without holding it down. It was shockingly quick.

I pick another Gunvolt as a target and unleash my attack. A massive, searingly bright, sphere of golden plasma explodes out of my arm with enough force that I have to use SOMA to compensate for it. It slams down into the Gunvolt and then detonates, catching one of the nearby Cannon Drivers in the side with the attack.

As the plasma clears, I can see the Gunvolt collapsed in a ruined heap, scored and molten in places. Even the Cannon Driver next to it seems worse for wear as it limps, its affected leg scorched and the joint ruined.

“Yes, wonderful Stargazer!” Doctor Halloway cheers for me and I feel the thrill run through me at his excitement. “Now, destroy the rest as quick as you can!”

I cannot refuse him now, not when he’s so pleased with me.

There’s no more hesitation in my movements as I rush in and among them, fighting with buster and fist in equal measure. The poor Mega Tortoises get dispatched with a charge shot each from above as I dance through the Cannon Drivers intersecting fields of fire. I tire of the Aclanda’s constant harassment efforts and boost straight down out of the air onto one of them to smash its back. It survives for a moment, but a volley of plasma to its head takes it out of the game and then I’m on to the next.

One after another, no matter their make and model I tear through the Mechaniloids like they were made of tissue paper. Whatever tool I use is more than sufficient to the task whether it be my hand or the gun within it. First they’re brought down to two dozen, then one.

Then only three remain. The Cannon Drivers group together, attempting to do what they couldn’t even back when they still had support. I must be making the Doctor proud.

So why?

Why do I feel so disappointed. What is this unpleasant sensation in the depths of my body, this aching in my Solar Furnace? My diagnostics reveal nothing is wrong to me, but the sensation remains.

I put it aside, suppressing the feeling as I focus on my task. Three targets left. Three chances to prove myself to my creator again.

The first I bring down using nothing but volley after volley of plasma, attacking its legs first to bring it to ground level and then melting and fusing its weapons systems to uselessness. Only once that’s done do I finish it off with a final volley of plasma to the face.

The second Cannon Driver, the one with the already damaged leg, I destroy with the burning spheres of golden plasma my charging capacity allows me. It only takes two to near completely destroy it, even leaving barely any wreckage behind.

The last of them I rush, shield shifting as its cannon fire simply pings off of it save for a stray few shots that ricochet uselessly off of my shoulder plating. I ram my right hand into its head as full speed, driving it back into its torso before kicking off and away. My final opponent toddles for a moment before slamming to the ground.

I land, giving my SOMA a rest as I take in the full scope of the results around me. One hundred and twelve mechaniloids attempted to retire me. All one hundred and twelve were retired instead. Scattered around the area as so much useless scrap.

What a waste.

“Was my demonstration sufficient, Doctor?” I key the comms line of the Command Room, awaiting his decision.

“Yes. Yes! Very good Stargazer, excellent! This is your finest performance to date! Well done, my boy!” Doctor Halloway praises me with far more than the occasional kind word I usually receive.

I should be happy, but I’m not. These scattered machines… I understand now that they wee never a threat to me, not really. My body with these new systems seems practically invincible. This wasn’t a test. ‘Demonstration’ was right. This was just…

“Now Stargazer, move to the designated point and wait.” Doctor Halloway orders me, and the point appears in my vision as the position is set.

There’s nothing else to do but go there and wait, and so I do.

I am standing across the room now from the sole remaining transportation container. There’s no movement from within it. I do not know what lies within it, but the movements did not seem to be from something especially heavy. Perhaps it is for something besides a combat test?

Then with a hiss, the container opens. Armored locks disengage and swing wide and gradually the figure within becomes visible to me. It takes slow, steady steps out of the container as I come to terms with what I am seeing.

Bipedal. It is wearing what looks to be some sort of armored hat and cloak over its own naturally armored body. What I can see of it is colored a mixture of dull, dark blues above the elbow and knees and dark browns below them that seem to be attempting to emulate boots and gloves. Their cloak conceals the rest of their body from me as well as whatever they may be carrying.

Its appearance as well as my own sensors confirm to me what it is. Across from me is a Reploid, much like myself.

“Well now.” Its voice is masculine, and it tilts its hat up to regard me. One eye is modeled similar to a human, but the other is a glowing blue lens built into his head. Damage around it suggests it is a replacement for an original. “Ain’t you a big one.”

For a moment, I hope that he might be here to teach me. I pray, such as I understand the concept, for that to be the case.

“Listen here, this is an order!” A voice I do not know speaks to me. A glance at the projection of the command room shows me that it is the military officer in the blue uniform that is speaking. “You are to retire that Maverick across from you!”

“Now, do you think he’s talkin’ to you or me?” The reploid across from me grins, blue lens gleaming brighter from within.

I cannot find a response with myself as my world crumbles around me.

I don’t want to kill.