JANUARY 1984 Location: Classified
It looks down at the gathering from upon high. It understands the language being spoken is Russian but beyond that it only knows it's job is to be unseen. Finally a message is delivered to it, un heard by the men below and it springs into action. It quickly shoots the two pudgy pen in business suits and moves in to retrieve a brief cases they dropped As it moves towards the cases another man opens fire and is quickly brought down by it but just before it's hands reach the cases, a giant fist seemingly comes out of nowhere.
A Russian cyborg, crudely built but quick. Another blow to the head and it's down. The giant cyborg then hits it again, over and over, finishing off with a stomp to the head.
The cyborg and the two remaining men, retrieve the case and walk out the complex. One man then points to the building and orders the cyborg to do something in Russian. The cyborg turns around takes one of several RPGs (Rocket Propelled Grenades) and begins firing, first directly at it's defeated foe and then the structure itself and then stands still.
Two days later one of the two men return with another group of men and scour the debris.
"Where is it Boris?" the slender young man, with a thick New York accents says to their guide.
"It was here my friend" the Russian says almost apologetically and then turns to the cyborg "Where is it"
The cyborg who has now been standing sentry for two days watching the debris, says something in Russian.
The Russian smiles and turns to the man with the New York accent "Completely destroyed...nothing has moved from this place since."
"Good" the New Yorker says nodding his head to his other associates. The other then surround the cyborg and the Russian and hold hands. A warm breeze is felt for a second and then a great flame consumes both the Russian and the cyborg.
"No witnesses" the New Yorker says "The boys in DC aint gonna like that the only Project Squared Unit is gone, but they'll be happy to know we got the goods."
He looks over his shoulder at the debris before speaking again. "Better this way for it anyway, it's been dead since the 70s, those sick fucks have just been using that poor guys body."
The others try to hide their confusion about what the New Yorker said and instead just give nods and grunts of approval.
Five years later, same location.
It looks up barely recognizing it's surroundings, then it starts laughing as it realizes it's alive it looks in a piece of glass at itself and says only one thing. "chicken shits"
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