Control
WASD to move, left mouse button to shoot, R to reload, P to pause, F to use, Space to jump.
Description
The world dissolved into a screaming red haze. My fingers found the cold, familiar grip of the M134 Minigun, its multi-barrel maw already spinning up with a deafening electric whine. The first wave of hostiles rounded the scorched husk of an APC, their distorted faces a mask of rage. I didn't let them finish the thought. The minigun roared, a solid stream of 7.62mm fury that tore them into a pink mist and shredded meat, painting the rubble behind them in a thick, wet coat of viscera. Bone fragments pinged off my helmet. I didn't flinch. I advanced, my boots crunching on the carnage, the air thick with the coppery stench of blood and cordite. A heavier unit, encased in plated armor, emerged from a bunker, its rotary cannon seeking a target. I dropped the minigun, the sling snapping taut, and in one fluid motion, I hefted the M202 FLASH. The four-tube rocket launcher felt good on my shoulder. I squeezed the trigger. Four incendiary rockets screamed across the courtyard, impacting in a simultaneous sun-bright eruption. The thermobaric fireball consumed him, melting his armor to his flesh in a liquefying scream that was cut short as the oxygen was sucked from his lungs and his body cooked from the inside out. The shockwave rattled my teeth. I was already moving, swapping to the AA-12 automatic shotgun. A pack of faster, screeching units swarmed over a barricade, claws extended. I met them with a storm of tungsten fragmentation shells. Each blast was a concussive thump that disemboweled and dismembered, punching holes the size of dinner plates through torsos, severing limbs, and pulverizing skulls into jelly. Guts and brain matter splattered across the walls. I reloaded without looking, the magazine well finding the fresh drum by muscle memory alone. Something big was coming, the ground shaking with its approach. I slung the shotgun and braced, pulling the massive Barrett M82 from my back. A behemoth of reinforced steel and hate lumbered into view, its vulcan cannons spinning. I exhaled, placed the crosshairs on the reinforced viewport, and squeezed. The .50 cal round hit with the force of a freight train, punching through the armor, through the pilot, and turning the cockpit into a vaporized crater of mangled metal and organic slurry. The war machine tottered and crashed to the ground in a heap of screaming torn metal. I stood amidst the absolute slaughter, the silence deafening, surrounded by a landscape of ruin and dripping meat, my arsenal waiting, hungry for more.
