[Report A44572/23-77G: Meridian Bay, Mars, 2301]

   A human, dressed in a RMWD (Russian Martian Walker Division) fatigues, slowly limped towards the heap of metal looming on the horizon. His helmet's HUD said that he was running low on oxygen, the red alerts blaring into his earpiece. His eyes, bloodshot and swollen, gazed straight ahead, their focus resting on the walker a few hundred feet out. His own, miles behind him, had blown up. He had barely escaped a fiery demise. Barely. His leg had been hit by shrapnel, which luckily hadn't punctured his suit, but it left him with a broken leg. He had lost twenty of his closest friends that day. All because of the machine ahead of him, resting, broken, and victorious. As he got closer, he noticed some of the smaller details. The shattered outer armor. The bullet holes exposing the inner core of the walker. The massive cannons were still imposing, even though their barrels were buried deep in the reddish-orange sand. The Russian pulled out a small sidearm, a weapon he knew was useless against the tough skeleton of the beast. It was for reassurance.

   The red eyes of the walker were unlit and cracked. They could not strike fear into the hearts of any enemy anymore. The Russian aimed down his sights and fired into the core of the walker. The bullet hit the target and then ricocheted inside for a few seconds. A loud click was audible, even over the sound of the wind, which had just began to pick up. "Must be dead," he said to himself. He was about to turn around and leave when he heard, very faintly, another click. Then there was a whirring sound and the eyes of the walker lit up. The core, and all of its tiny pieces, began to stir, their noise rising to a roar. The wind was getting even faster, the sand lifting off the ground in clumps. The Russian pilot stared in disbelief as the machine rose to its full height. Its beady eyes scanned the ground for enemies, but instead of an ominous red glow, they sent out a soft light blue light. It looked down at the Russian, and the man heard even more clicks as the robot disabled its guns. In a robotic female voice the machine said, "Get over here or the storm will blow you away!" The man still stared and then, out of the sandstorm, a huge clump of sand smashed into the side of his head, sending him spinning off into the orange.

   "I need more painkiller, Stanford!" A man's voice, foreign, loud, and sharp. The Russian pilot opened his eyes. The lights, blindingly bright, shone through his eyelids. "Stanford, where are those painkillers?" The Russian blinked twice and then opened his eyes to find himself in a strange room. It was filled with medical equipment, all of which had... The Russian realized where he was and tried to spring to his feet. "Hold him down!" Two men, with huge muscles bulging under their uniforms, rushed forwards and grabbed his arms. They shoved him back down onto the table, knocking the wind out of his weakened lungs. As he gasped for air the doctor continued to stitch his leg back together. "Strap him down. We can't have him run away in the condition he's in." The two men, after they had strapped him down, backed off into the corners of the room. Back into the shadows. Then, a door off in the darkness opened and a man, tall and muscular, walked in. The fifteen silver and gold medals bounced as he walked. The General's markings on his hat sparkled in the light. The three silver stars on either shoulder shone with cleanliness. The man's shaved face reflected the light, revealing a scar running down the right side of his face. He was flanked on either side a soldier wearing bullet proof vests, masks, and riot helmets. They sported USSCD (United States Space Combat Division) markings on their shoulder patches. The Russian was terrified, and unluckily for him, the straps were loose and the table shook. The general smiled and walked over to the table. One of the soldiers, a woman, pulled a chair up for him, which received a small nod from the general. 

   The general said, "Intimidation is my strong point if you haven't noticed yet. So, let's start from the beginning. Your name?" The Russian stared in fear, his eyes wide. "Your name?" Still, no response. "We can do this the hard way." The same soldier that got the chair handed the general a blowtorch, which he aimed at the wounded leg. "Your name?" After a few seconds of quick decision-making, the Russian said, "Vadim. My name is Vadim." The American, satisfied with the answer but disappointed about not being able to use the blowtorch, nodded and said, "Next question." The Questioning lasted for a few hours. Every unanswered question landed Vadim a slap or a punch from the female soldier. Once, the general ordered her to punch Vadim's wounded leg, which she did reluctantly, even whispering "Sorry," under her breath. After all the questions were asked and the general was satisfied, he stood up, saluted the doctor, and left the room. The doctor, after the trio left the room, rushed over and began stitching Vadim's leg up for the second time that day. "Jerks. They just wasted three hours of--" Vadim leapt to his feet and punched the doctor as hard as he could, landing a solid one to the other man's gut. The doctor fell back and groaned. Vadim instantly bolted from the room and ran down the hall as fast as he could. Left. Right. Another left. He was winding through the compound frantically, searching for a way to get out. Then the alarm rang out and the lights turned dim and red. Soldiers flooded the hallway behind him and one yelled, "Freeze!" But Vadim kept running, even when the guns started firing and the rubber bullets shot toward him. At the last second he dove through a doorway and found himself on a catwalk overlooking a huge hangar filled with walkers, tanks, trucks, and jets. Voices rang out behind him. He stood up and continued his desperate rush to escape.

   Bang! A shot rang out and bounced off of the railing to Vadim's right. The doctor appeared out of the doorway and yelled, "No! He's valuable! Stop!" Some of the soldiers shoved the doctor aside and chased after him. Vadim tried to speed up. Snap! Pain shot up from his leg and spread around his body like wildfire. He fell, unable to feel his legs. The stairs were right in front of him. He knew what had to be done. He grabbed the edge of the stairs and pulled, rolling in the process. He tumbled down the stairs, the soldiers taking them two at a time. But Vadim was faster and made it to the bottom first. He started the drag himself along the floor but he was running out of energy. The soldiers were catching up. Then, out of nowhere, a robotic hand grabbed him around the abdomen and lifted him off the ground. 

   The hand lifted him high into the air, almost touching the ceiling. Then it started moving along a rail, quickly gaining speed and heading towards the back of the hangar. The soldiers, far below, continued to chase after him, but they were slowing down, their energy almost expended. The hand stopped moving. Then, slowly it began to lower towards him the ground. The hand gently set Vadim on the ground and the soldiers approached, slowly and cautiously. The ground started to shake near Vadim, but the soldiers didn't seem to notice. Vadim craned his head around and saw the lights turn off behind him. The soldiers were starting to get worried, anxiously hopping from one foot to another. The shaking intensified. A small whirring noise came from above and behind Vadim. Then, two soft blue lights appeared out of the shadows. 

   The walker's machine guns opened up on the soldiers, who scattered and ran. One of them, the female soldier that had escorted the general, ran off to the side and disappeared around a corner. But not before some of the bullets slammed into her leg. The rest of the soldiers fell one by one, the bullets penetrating their bullet-proof vests.