Death. Slaughter.
Outside, thunder rumbled across the skies, while inside, gunfire echoed through the night.
Within minutes, the first floor of the Irish Mob's headquarters had been completely cleared out.
Confirming no one was left alive, Nolan turned his gaze toward the staircase leading to the second floor. His micro-drones swarmed forward, silver bodies flowing like a relentless tide. Mixed into the flood were two Killers those lethal clawed war-machines and dozens of SAR-1 combat units, their metal frames gleaming under the flicker of muzzle flashes.
Nolan ascended the stairs step by step, his voice silent but his intent cold and absolute.
Tonight, none would be spared.
Suddenly, the crackling bursts of automatic fire rang out from above. Bullets ripped into the tide of drones, shredding their fragile frames one after another. Tiny machine bodies broke apart in showers of sparks.
Nolan was not surprised.
The micro-drones had always been limited. They lacked the firepower of conventional weapons, their size making it impossible to mount guns or explosives. But what they lacked in strength, they made up for in numbers. He never expected them to dominate the battlefield. Their purpose was to unnerve, to overwhelm, and to sow chaos.
And judging by the panicked bursts of gunfire upstairs, they were doing their job.
In his mind, Nolan pictured the future. A horizon blanketed by his machines. A world where enemies drowned not beneath single warriors of unmatched power, but in the unending tide of steel and fire. His dream was not a single weapon it was an ecosystem. Machines that fought, scavenged, recycled, and rebuilt themselves. An infinite army, so long as energy flowed.
Tonight's battle was only a test. A proof of concept. But even this much was enough to tell him one thing: his enemies were already terrified.
A voice suddenly cut through the chaos.
"Who are you? Why are you attacking the Irish Mob's territory? If there's a misunderstanding, we can talk!"
Standing at the top of the stairs, Finn Cooley one of the mob's high-ranking leaders called out. The unnatural machines had shaken him.
Nolan's armored frame leapt upward in a few effortless bounds. In moments, he was on the second floor landing, standing where Finn could see him clearly.
At Finn's signal, his gunmen ceased fire. He wasn't eager to waste bullets against enemies he didn't understand. No, he wanted to talk. He was convinced there was someone behind Nolan a powerful patron or faction. To throw away his men's lives against such forces for the sake of a disgraced heir like Nolan Lock? That wasn't worth it.
Finn licked his lips, forcing calm into his tone.
"You want a ceasefire?" Nolan asked, his voice filtered through the Delta-6 exo-suit, heavy with something far more terrifying than anger: control.
"Yes," Finn said quickly. "Nolan Lock isn't worth this kind of war. Whatever he offered you, I can give you more. Wealth. Power. Partnership. These machines of yours…" His eyes gleamed with a mixture of fear and greed. "They're incredible. Not even Stark Industries may have such weapons. Let us work together. Give me your toys, and I'll make you richer than you ever imagined."
Nolan's lips curled in a cold smile beneath his helmet.
"So that's your game. You think I'd cooperate with the man who tried to kill me? The man who put his filthy hands on an innocent girl just to bait me out?"
The calmness of his voice sent a chill crawling down Finn's spine.
"Do you know my name?" Nolan asked softly.
Finn frowned, raising one hand behind his back in a subtle signal. His men shifted, preparing their weapons for a surprise counterstrike. He thought his movements were discreet. He thought Nolan hadn't noticed.
He was wrong. Nolan saw everything.
"My name," Nolan roared suddenly, his voice like thunder, "is Nolan Lock!"
His visor glowed crimson in the dark.
"I don't care what your Irish Mob is planning. But my creations you will not covet them. And you will never, ever take them from me."
Recognition dawned on Finn's face. His eyes widened.
This armored monster… was the very same Nolan Lock, the supposedly washed-up heir whose family's company had collapsed!
"You've got to be kidding Kill him!" Finn roared, his face twisting with rage and fear.
Gunfire erupted once again.
Nolan didn't flinch. He darted back into the swarm of SAR-1 units, their steel frames soaking up the incoming fire. His exo-suit could withstand bullets, yes, but he was no fool. He would not waste energy standing still.
Finn turned to flee. He knew when a fight was lost. These machines weren't normal. To fight them head-on was suicide.
But Nolan wasn't about to let him escape.
The SAR-1 units opened fire, their machine guns unleashing torrents of lead. In seconds, a dozen of Finn's men were torn apart, bodies riddled with holes before they could even scream.
Then the mobsters revealed their own surprise.
A rocket roared through the air, slamming into Nolan's advancing swarm. The explosion shook the building. Micro-drones shattered by the dozens. Even two SAR-1 units were ripped apart, their metal carcasses crashing to the ground.
"A rocket launcher?" Nolan muttered, startled. "For a street gang?"
On the balcony, Finn laughed bitterly.
"You thought you could win with just robots? This is Hell's Kitchen! We didn't rise to the top without firepower. You walked into the lion's den, boy. Now you'll die in it!"
Another rocket whooshed out.
But this time, the machines were ready. Their combat protocols had adapted. SAR-1 units split formation, laying down suppressive fire as micro-drones swarmed forward.
And then, with terrifying grace, the Killers struck. Their bladed limbs dug into the walls as they vaulted upward, landing in the midst of Finn's gunners like steel nightmares.
The first Killer ripped a man's throat out with a single slash. The second impaled another through the chest before springing toward a third. Blood sprayed in arcs across the floorboards.
Finn's arrogance curdled into horror. His best men slaughtered in seconds.
"You bastard!" he screamed, voice breaking. "These are my elites! My family!"
"Family?" Nolan's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. He strode forward, raising his gun. "From the moment you touched Jessica, we became mortal enemies. I don't care how feared your Irish Mob is. You should never have crossed my line."
He pulled the trigger.
The shot punched through Finn's thigh, sending him crashing to the ground with a cry of agony. His gun clattered away.
One of the Killers stepped beside Nolan. With a single swipe, it severed Finn's arm at the elbow. The gangster howled in pain, eyes bulging with disbelief.
Nolan stood over him, calm as death.
"You wanted to break me. To use an innocent girl as bait. You thought I was weak. But now you'll learn…" He chambered another round, his visor burning red. "…no one crosses my bottom line."
The gun roared.
The bullet tore through Finn Cooley's forehead. His body slumped, lifeless, to the floor.
Nolan surveyed the survivors, his expression unreadable behind the armor.
"Leave none alive," he commanded coldly.
The machines surged forward at his word, their weapons flashing in the storm-lit night.
Nolan Lock had drawn his line. And anyone who crossed it would find only death.
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