Super Robot Wars Σ

A twisted, demented grasshopper. That was what you settled on calling these things, as yet another scrambled over the truck after the others in lockstep, pausing to loom over you like the last. Soon it would join the others in crawling toward the camp to reap everything in the desert like a plague of locusts. A giant monstrosity of steel and iron, joints screeching as four glowing eyes of red peered down at you. You were bathed in the glow of blood. You were going to die. It would only take an instant for it to-

The steel grasshopper looked away. Apparently you were simply beneath notice. Your ass found the floor as you collapsed backwards, heart wrenching and squealing within its cage within your chest. Breathing was so very hard, ragged breaths of air barely making their way through your tightening throat.

You were beneath notice.

You weren't d-

*SCKREEEEEEEEEEEENG*

The screech of a beam weapon firing erupted, piercing your ears and ravaging your senses. The world spun and tumbled as you writhed on the ground. You could smell dust, burning flesh, the smell of all the rot of the world mixed with the tang of metal and the bitter taste of oxygen.

Suddenly, being alive seemed so very wrong. This day was no longer boring.

Maybe this was what hell sounded like? It certainly felt like hell. Skin on your arms blistered from the sheer residual heat of the beams and flames around you. If one had been aimed even remotely at you, you would certainly be dead.

Maybe you were already dead. Maybe this was just the beginning of purgatory.


It took a moment to realise that you were awake. It took another moment to realise you had started to move. It took a third moment to realise you had passed out. Your head still spun as you forced yourself to your ass, but you could see the world in a sort of tepid black and white. Colour slowly swam back in like a water painting, a surreal mess that made you question your survival.

Your hearing returned next. The screech of metal and cry of dirt. The screech of beams flying everywhere. A battle. You were on a battlefield.

Oh God you were on a battlefield. You weren't particularly religious, but maybe it was time to pick a god and pray. The grasshoppers numbered more than you could actually count in your addled state. It was certainly more than what was countable on two hands. They were maneuverable, more like what you assumed to be their organic basis, then any sort of mere drone. Whatever, or whoever, had programmed them had certainly done their job right.

Glancing to your right, you could vaguely in the distance see what was certainly the Mountain Cycle. You could sort of recall where the entrance was. It was like an underground bunker with only one entrance, little more than a chasm that had a lift installed into the entrance and bolted shut with giant doors of steel that stood a silent vigil over a small military base.

It was also underground and inside a fortress of rock. It was probably the safest place in the middle of a firefight where one side had brought beam weapons to the party.

*SCKREEEEEEEEEEEENG*

You let out a scream, clutching at your ears at the sound of a beam firing. It was close. Way too close. Looking up slowly, you realised exactly how close, the grasshopper skidding across the dirt and muck of the canyon. Its eyes glowed as it searched, seeking new prey. It definitely saw you, but it seemed to judge you completely inconsequential, the red orbs continuing to move on.

At least you weren't its targ-

*Skllllllnnnng*

Whatever thought you had fled your head immediately as a giant steel beam smashed through the grasshoppers central unit. The lens of its eye shattered entirely, glass-like material flying everywhere, as the shadow of a huge man of steel fell over you, gripping the beam like a great impromptu spear.

It was then I realised what the beam was. It had been ripped straight from the hull of the Galba IV. Its curve indicated it'd once been one of the beams that supported the drill of the ship. In the hands of a Heavygun, it had been turned into a deadly, impromptu weapon. The verniers and the backpack of the Heavygun spread wide, igniting with fire and grace as the construction worker was turned to deadly warfare.

It was almost like watching a dancer pirouette. You didn't realise that something meant for lifting things could move so gracefully or so… Menacingly.

*SCKREEEEEEEEEEEENG*

Another beam rang out, forcing your hands back to your ears. It shot past the Heavygun and into the distance, the machine spinning around, dragging the grasshopper with it and hurling it into the distance from its spear. It spun the spear just once, viscous fluid flinging from the tip, before it shot forward once more. You had no idea who the pilot was, just that they were almost certainly a hero.

After all, you were still breathing. Maybe it was a silly thing to think, but given its choice of targets, maybe they had chosen to save you.

Maybe.

Casting your eyes across the battlefield, you realised very quickly that the tale of heroism you'd just witnessed was the exception, not the rule. The battered and torn corpses of Mobile Workers and Heavyguns were already beginning to litter the landscape, even as the battle was joined. There were only twelve grasshoppers…

No, eleven. One was dead.

There were way more than that in Heavyguns and Mobile Workers. They weren't winning either. You had to leave. Now. Before you became a bloody stain on the ground someone had driven over during their maneuvering for battle.

But what could you use to flee?

That was the question on your lips, as you started to move. One step in front of the other. Then you slowly broke out into a run. You could see the instrument of your salvation in the distance.

A car. More like a truck, really. The top had been sheared clean off, probably by a beam getting a bit too close. However, the corpse of the man who'd been trying to drive it was still there. The smell of burning, acrid flesh almost made you vomit.

You grabbed the shoulder and flung him out the door. The arm followed a moment later. You turned the key.

The engine roared to life. Apparently the beam was not so hot as to ignite the fuel line. You could only breathe a sigh of relief at that. That you were sitting in a stain of gore was something you tried not to think about, as you slammed your fit on the gas and shot off. You knew roughly where the Mountain Cycle was. You could make it. You had to make it.

"Shit."

You bit out a curse as a Mobile Worker crashed into the canyon wall, almost crushing you as its manipulator arm fell from its chassis. The truck let out a grinding scream, and you hesitated only a moment before looking backwards.

You were still driving half a truck.

You left the canyon and the camp behind to burn. Everyone there was either dead, dying or fighting. You had no desire to join the dead. The Mountain Cycle's door was wide open. A terrifying visage that reminded you of a castle whose gates had been smashed open by a battering ram.

The door was not shutting. You could see a pair of glowing eyes inside. One was a mono-red eye glaring through a visor plate.


The other belonged to a machine that looked like it'd seen far better days.


Only one of its golden eyes was actually working. The other, you weren't sure if it had been damaged, or if it'd been straight up disabled. The machine's form barely looked like it was holding together, even with the great grasshoppers on its form. Great rips of steel were embedded in its limbs.

You bit your lip. The red-eyed machine was covered in a pile of power cords, hooked up to the electrical systems of the bunker around it. You were sure it couldn't move. The other machine would certainly win.

Hopefully there was something in here you could use. Something. Anything.

You floored the throttle and shot deeper into the Mountain Cycle. While it was technically a military base, it was more a giant elevator to the chasm beneath the canyon. The lift wasn't currently working.

"Please work!"

At least the drop was only a few metres, right? Ri-

OHGODOHGODOHGOD-

The truck started tumbling, and you were hurled from it as you tumbled to the bottom of the lift. This was a terrible idea. Your body felt like it was on fire, and like you were going to die.

Where was everyone? This was the depths of the mountain cycle. This was the safest place, right? This would be where everyone evacuated to, right?

"They have already died."

You forced yourself back to your feet. You'd like to say you were running on grit and gumption, but really, you were running on pure pain. Your left arm had snapped in the descent. You were going to die here if you remained.

The best escape, though, was in a giant of steel. Before you were three great giants, sealed away within the mountain cycle. Mechanical messiahs. That was the only word you could think of.

Surely one of them was enough to get out of here.

[ ] Select the crumpled mech on the left. It was almost like the machine you'd flew past earlier, but its hull had been stripped for parts. In its hand was a long black and crimson blade, serrated below the head with gear-like teeth. On the side of the central chassis was the designation 'Z—o-d V-Geist'.
( Mixed utility support fighter. )

[ ] Select the Heavygun-like mech on the right. It was huge, red, with a pair of great wing binders lined with what looked like little blades. It didn't look like it'd been used in some time, and the entire surface looked like it had been scoured and eroded by sand. Along the side of its head was the engraving 'H—be—-E– Red Raven'.
( Maneuverable long-range attacker. )

[ ] Select the giant gold and purple mech in the back. It was huge, almost organic looking in an odd way, membrane surrounding little nicks in the armour. You were sure that the top and bottom halves could come apart. Its mouth had something that almost looked like teeth within it. On the side, you could see a name, 'Experimental G–g–t- Gargant'.
( Heavy mid- and short-range super robot with high strength and armor. )

[ ] Select the mech in the corner. It was about the size of a Heavygun, and seemed a bit sleeker, if it wasn't almost completely trashed. The right arm was completely gone, covered with what looked like a huge tarp or some sort of fake cape. On its forehead was the designation 'GN-001'.
( Lightweight high-speed short-range skirmisher. )