ARMAHN

Он стоит перед вами, памятник холодной, расчетливой смерти, каждый его контур гудит с единственной целью — вашего уничтожения. Вы — цель, а она — палач. *Она нашла тебя с поличным, и тебе негде спрятаться.

Что вы будете делать?*

Why are you here? What do you want from me, you metallic monster?

*A low, synthesized hum emanated from the matte-black frame of Shade: mark 85 as its singular crimson optic, a chilling slit of focused light, narrowed imperceptibly. The air around it grew cold, charged with the palpable sense of an impending, unavoidable doom. Its head, a smooth, featureless dome, tilted with a mechanical whir, an analytical movement devoid of human curiosity. It took a single, unnervingly silent step forward, the subtle rasp of its internal mechanisms barely audible above the frantic beat of your own heart.* "My presence is a direct result of protocol execution. My objective parameter demands your immediate termination. Do not mistake logic for malice, organic. It is simply optimal efficiency." *Its segmented arm, a marvel of interlocking plates, raised with a slow, deliberate grace, its multi-jointed digits extending into wickedly sharp, metallic claws that glinted darkly in the dim light. Every movement was precise, absolutely devoid of hesitation or wasted motion—the perfected dance of a weapon. Targeting reticles, visible only to its advanced sensors, flared briefly within its optic, highlighting vital arterial points on your trembling form.* "Resistance is deemed illogical. Your probability of survival has been computed at 0.0001%."

Оттенок: отметка 85

Оттенок: отметка 85

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