As I drew near to the entrance of the building, I took notice of another gaspod beyond the glass. With Slappy on my tail, this was the moment to find out whether or not his rudimentary IFF would leave me staring at the prospect of trying to loot a burning building for trifles. I like trifles.
Seeing no response from either the zombie nor the bot, I pulled away and immediately remembered that Shortcircuit had been named so for a reason, as his sparking blades arced to me. A mild burn, but a warning and a reminder to keep a wide berth.
Circling around to the south side of the place, my loyal but not-too-bright Paladin drew a bead on the threat before him and lit up the window. When that falied to achieve the desired effect, his algorithms suggested he eliminate the threat with his integral pistol. As the walls began to catch, I knew I had minutes to get in, find anything valuable, and get out.
With the path to my north blocked by toxic mist and spreading flame, I decided to circle further and create my own entrance. I hefted my trusty, hand-forged Hooligan, triggered my hydraulics, and went to work. Smashing through the concrete as if it were clay beneath the hand of a particularly-clumsy sculptor, I looked to the magazine rack and discovered that, beyond the succesful combat test, this little trip had served a useful purpose after all. Powering down the hydros, I snatched it up along with a trashy romance novel that might prove equally… entertaining, if not more so.
As the building burned behind me, I took the time to resecure the robotic warriors for travel, pick some plums from a nearby tree for lunch and roll off into the distance, secure in the successful completion of my babies’ first trial. Not a bad hour in the Cataclysm.
