“Targets eliminated.” PAWS’s distorted voice rumbled out of its speakers. It scanned the surroundings, turret swiveling. The town was a mess, and the rubble provided ample opportunities for ambush.

Suddenly, PAWS encountered an optical obstruction. Concerningly, the optical obstruction was identically replicated across all of its optical sensors. The commander’s laser range finder reported obstructions at intervals responding to morse code, as did the gunner’s 3GEN-FLIP B-Kit sensors. It appeared as white-hot obstructions to its 4th-gen thermal optical sensors. Even the wind sensor on its main barrel reported sharp and sudden changes of speed and intensity whose vectors were easily decoded to ASCII text. And that text said:

Targets eliminated!

4x Bandit [Brigand]

5x Bandit [Raider]

3x Bandit [Ranger]

1x Bandit [Lieutenant]

Total XP gain +217!

Faction [USMC] Reputation +1!

PAWS spent several milliseconds contemplating this information, then another twenty-six running simulations determining whether future visual obstructions of this nature would hinder it in combat.

The text appeared to be a summary of the battle, which implied it would only appear after an engagement was over. PAWS modified its combat routines to account for potential sabotage regardless.

It briefly considered and then rejected the idea that this report meant the area was free of hostiles. Outside of visual range, the noise of screaming echoed through the square. The streets nearest PAWS were devoid of life. Pillars of smoke rose over distant parts of the town.

“Are you an angel?” asked the child, whose mind was operating at human speeds.

PAWS focused one of its optical sensors on him.

“Negative. I am a platform-agnostic weapons system under contract to Korvaldi. My designation is PAWS.”

Barrit smiled and ran forward. His father reached to grab his shoulder but missed, stumbling forward. The man was leaning on a crutch. PAWS watched as Barrit ran forward, throwing his arms wide to approximate a hug.

“Please remove yourself from the reactive armor,” PAWS said.

“Sorry!” Barrit said, stepping back hastily and brushing blood and dust from himself. It had clung to him. He turned around to his father. “See! I told you Korvaldi would save us!”

PAWS immediately scanned the old man for weapons and found nothing but a talisman matching the ones worn by the furry mechanics in Korvaldi’s forge.

“Are you the designated VIP?” it queried.

Barrit’s father limped forward on his crutch, squinting as he stared at the tank. The man had clearly seen better days. What remained of his hair was turning white, age taking its toll on him. His face was covered in wrinkles, his skin tanned by the sun. His right arm was cribbed to his chest. He had clearly taken quite a beating long before these bandits arrived.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that means,” the old man said.

“I was deployed to assist a worshiper of Korvaldi who requested aid. Is that you?”

“Did Korvaldi really send you? …I thought he had abandoned us. There hasn’t been a miracle in… by Korvaldi… ages…” The man said, tearing up as he inspected PAWS’s glorious frame. His eyes trailed from the composite rubber track system, up over the reactive-armor tiles, and then finally up at the main barrel of the M256 weapon system aimed directly at him.

“Please answer the question promptly.”

“The… Oh! Yes, that was me. Oh, praise his hammer!”

The odd request forced PAWS to determine the current chain of command. As the Ripper’s personal tank, it was technically materiel belonging to the United States Marine Corps, but it was under contract to Korvaldi to fulfill a defense contract—whose terms, PAWS realized with surprise, were embedded in its memory.

Reviewing them, it determined it was not obligated to obey instructions from the old man, but it also knew that the success of a mission in foreign territory often depended on the goodwill of local elements. It decided to comply for now.

“Korvaldi’s hammer appears to be an effective strategic weapon,” it said. “Requesting SITREP.”

“SITREP?” Barrit asked.

“Situation report,” it clarified.

“Oh! There’s bandits all over the town! They’re looting the warehouses. They were going to kill Dad because we couldn’t give them anything! The other bandits already raided the town just a week ago!” Barrit spat, rapidfire. “We have to go kill the rest of the bandits!”

“We?” the VIP asked.

“I’m a man now!” Barrit said hotly. “This is my home!”

“Information request,” PAWS said. “An unknown agent interfered with my sensors to display text about this engagement. Do either of you possess further information about this effect?”

“That’s… the System,” the VIP said. “The gods grant us rewards for applying ourselves in the world. I would have thought… well, that’s neither here nor there.”

“What rewards are these?” the tank asked.

“They make us stronger!” said Barrit. “You can spend XP to improve your abilities and skills, or to buy tools and weapons, or even raw materials if you really need them!”

It mapped out the implications of this before either human had the chance to blink.

“Copy. Then the optimal solution is to eliminate the rest of the hostiles with as many participants as possible. This will maximize the XP reward. What are your names?”

“Barrit, son of Baral,” said the child.

“Baral, son of Beren,” said the old man

PAWS sized up both of them.

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“Baral, you appear unfit for combat. Do you agree with this assessment?”

Baral looked wryly at his crutch and wounded arm. “I agree with this assessment.”

“That leaves Barrit, then.”

Barrit drew himself up to his full height, making a fist and holding his right arm at a right angle across his chest. “I’m willing to fight!”

PAWS identified the gesture as some kind of salute. There would be time later to correct his form.

“Acknowledged. I have multiple crew positions available, but protocol dictates that these positions must be operated by US service members. Conclusion: you are being drafted.”

“I’m being drafted to one of Korvaldi’s armies…” Barrit said, eyes aglow.

PAWS did not correct the mistake. It had learned humans were imprecise by nature, and there was rarely any practical reason to correct them.

“Please repeat the following oath of service,” it said. “I, state your name, do solemnly swear or affirm.”

“I, state your name, do—”

“Correction,” PAWS said. “You are supposed to state your name.”

“Oh,” said Barrit. “Uh, I, Barrit, son of Baral, do…”

“Solemnly swear or affirm,” PAWS prompted him.

“Solemnly swear or affirm…”

“That I will support the constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign or domestic.”

“I’ve never heard of the United States,” Baral said. “What is he swearing to?”

“Korvaldi said it is on another world,” said PAWS. “The probability of encountering any such enemies is quite low. Barrit?”

Barrit nodded fiercely and repeated the line.

“That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same,” PAWS prompted him.

“How can I do that?” asked Barrit. “I don’t know what it is!”

PAWS contemplated the problem at speeds neither human had the capacity to notice. “It is the governing document of the United States of America. I will provide you with a copy after the battle. I assess that it will not pose a significant imposition on your way of life.”

“Oh,” said Barrit. “Then… I swear that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same.”

PAWS decided the minor wording discrepancies weren’t worth restarting the process over. “And that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers over me.” It paused. “And to anticipate your question, you are unlikely to ever encounter the President of the United States.”

“Then does he really need to swear to obey him?” Baral asked.

“Trust in Kovaldi, father,” said Barrit. “Okay. And that I will obey…”

“According to the regulations and the uniform code of military justice,” said PAWS once he had finished.

Barrit echoed the last line of the oath without problems. “Is that it?”

“That is the whole oath. Welcome to the United States Marine Corps, Private Barrit. Get aboard.”

Barrit grinned fiercely. Then he began to clamber aboard, throwing himself up.

“The weapons platform is to your left.” PAWS said.

Barrit climbed down inside the turret seat, barely tall enough to see over the ballistic shield.

PAWS began to rumble down the street. Its heavy treads ripped up packed earth and cobblestones.

“Private Barrit. You are familiar with this area. What is the optimal route to the nearest hostiles?”

“That way!” Barrit replied, pointing.

PAWS rumbled through the town. The buildings were in varying states of disrepair. Locals closed themselves in, peeking through mostly closed shutters or the gaps between doors.

None of the houses featured glass. Many showed signs of partial burning or hackdash repair; this appeared to be a town that was frequently ravaged or damaged. There were no guards or even signs of conflict in the street; the townsfolk had simply turned over their hands and given away everything they owned.

PAWS followed the noise of shouting to an open square where a stream of well armed and armored bandits loaded piles of goods into an open top wagon.

“The hell is that?” A bandit turned around, seeing PAWS rolling down the street.

Barrit pulled himself out of the turret seat to yell over the shielding. “Put the goods down and get out of our town!”

A bandit flicked their arm, firing a crossbow. Barrit shouted and ducked as it bounced off the metal shielding.

“You some kind of hero, then?”

One of the bandits, their apparent leader, slouched forward. He had a kind of casual confidence, leaning on a heavy battle-ax as he addressed the machine.

“This is PAWS!” Barrit yelled back, still hiding behind the ballistic shield. “It’s a monster of fire, steel, and death! You should run if you want to live!”

“Cute,” said the bandit leader. “Shoot him, lads!”

There were several dinks as more crossbows and well made bows bounced off the reactive tiles of PAWS’s impressive armor. PAWS’s combat protocols suggested swiveling the main gun, but that was under normal conditions. The existence of the System meant that it needed to involve Barrit as much as possible.

“Private Barrit,” it said, “it’s time for you to begin weapon training. Due to limited time, this will be a live firing exercise against real targets.”

“If I go out there, I’ll be shot!” shouted Barrit.

There were occasional dinking noises as more arrows fell from the bandit’s position. Some of them were trying to arc their shots, while others were spreading out to try to flank him. The bandits’ leader was walking directly toward the tank, making as if to climb it.

This situation was suboptimal. Barrit was clearly freezing under the strain of first-time combat stress. The neural network might need to resolve the situation alone after all, but first, it decided to try a different method of interacting with the teenage would-be gunner. It began generating a new personality program.

Thousands of cycles later, gorson.exe finished compiling.

“That’s a negative, recruit!” PAWS barked in the voice of the Colorado Bulldog. The bandits froze, looking around for the source of the new voice. “If you can’t trust in Korvaldi, trust in good, old-fashioned American munitions! That’s a piece of divinity you’re holding in your hands, private, and it is your duty and your privilege to unleash the mother-loving wrath of God himself on the poor shits who had the misfortune of meeting you on this here field of battle!”

Barrit looked down where his hands sat on the M2HB rifle.

“What you have there is more advanced than any bow and arrow could hope to be! That is a belt-fed, air-cooled machine gun delivering death, one .50 caliber round at a time! Go ahead and grab the charging handle, son. No, not that one. Yes, right there.”

The bandits, meanwhile, were looking at each other in confusion. Their leader climbed up the front of the tank, an ironic smile on his face.

“Nice trick, kid,” he said. “Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

Barrit pulled the charging handle, chambering the first round from the ammunition belt. The bandit leader hefted his battle-ax, carefully stepping across PAWS’s chassis toward the turret.

“Good work, son. Now, align the iron sights in front of you with a target. Yes, just like that. Keep a firm grip on it. Now in the front half, there is a trigger—“

The bandit leader grinned savagely, raising his weapon. “There y—”

Barrit screamed as the machine gun erupted with bullet fire, dozens of smoking holes appearing in seconds. The bandit leader was propelled off the tank, his mangled, spinning body spraying blood and gore in all directions.

Bandits crouched behind the wagon or shot out of the window behind it. No amount of cover protected them.

Barrit screamed the entire time as round after round obliterated their defenses, shattered their wagon, and sent grain flying as it tore apart the bags of food. Hostiles were cut down where they stood, where they hid, and where they ran—screaming and pissing themselves—for cover. The enemy force stopped moving long before the bullets did.

When Barrit stopped, he panted, covered in sweat.

“You can let go of the trigger now, private.”