Murder Drones J Art Novels & Stories

The drone’s weapon pods hummed with a terrifying, high-pitched frequency that made the fillings in Kabir’s teeth ache. The blue luminescence charging within its barrel was identical to the energy that had dissolved the workbench in Geneva. It wasn't designed to destroy flesh; it was designed to erase the very seconds that held their physical bodies together. "Jump out!" Kabir bellowed, throwing his body weight across the back seat to shove Vikram and Devashish out of the open-topped jeep.

I hissed, grabbing his forearm. In the gaping hole where the windows had been, three sleek, matte-black drones hovered, their optical sensors glowing a menacing crimson. This wasn't a standard assassination; this was a high-frequency surgical strike. The Architect wasn't just cleaning up; he was erasing the evidence. "I’ll draw their fire," Julian said, his thumb grazing my cheek, a fleeting, electric touch that felt like a goodbye. "When I move, you grab the drive. Don’t look back, Elara. Just run for the service stairs."

"The Abattoir processes souls into fuel. If you're captured, they'll use you to power the machines that kill others. Death would be mercy compared to that fate. You'll be conscious. Aware. Screaming inside the system while your essence is burned away to keep the gears turning. Some deadies have been trapped in there for decades. Centuries. Still screaming. Still suffering. Never dying because they can't die." "Why are you telling us this now?" Brady asked. "Because if it comes to that moment. If you're about to be captured. If there's no escape." Dracula's eyes glowed. "Use your weapons on each other. End it quickly. Spare yourselves that particular nightmare." The implication hung in the ai

From the far end of the next corridor, three small shapes darted into view. Drones. It's not the sleek, commercial kind. These were jury‑rigged—maintenance bots retrofitted with sensor arrays and taser rigs, the ugly child of a Roomba, and a riot control catalog. “Non‑lethal, my ass,” Dante repeated. They came at knee‑height, fast. Jax dropped, fired. The first drone sparked, skidding sideways. The second juked. Too smart. Niko swore, fingers flying on his pad.

His assistant’s grip on the intruder tightened instinctively. "What the..." Martinez started, but his words were cut off as a blinding light swept over them. A black drone hovered above, its camera lens glinting in the moonlight. It circled them once, twice, then darted toward the intruder. "Get down!" Martinez shouted, shoving his assistant to the ground just as the drone released a thick cloud of smoke. The air filled with choking fumes, blinding them instantly. Martinez coughed, his eyes stinging as he waved his hand in front of him, but through the haze, he caught one crucial detail; the tracker was still stuck to the intruder’s collar.

" Fenris stated. He was watching the expressions go across his nephew's face. It still appeared that he had doubts even with everything he had told him. He knew he had to make him see what was going on. "Do you know what a drone is?" Fenris asked. Andre shook his head "no." Fenris began to explain. "A drone is a remotely controlled flying machine that they use for many things. In this case they used it as a weapon." He said. He leaned back in the chair and remembered back to the day that the horrible incident happened. "The humans had constructed thousands of these drones, lined with silver. They had explosives and bullets in them." Fenris said. "There was a village near Canada that werewolv

Dmitri gave way and squeezed my shoulder, a silent go ahead for me to do whatever I wanted. "Please, have mercy, I promise not to default again." He cried soberly. His pleas reminded me of my favorite R&B song. Without hesitating, I drove my knife into the bloody idiot's skull. Killing had never felt so satisfying. His dilated pupils that pleaded earnestly for mercy even till the point of death was nothing short of intoxicating. I was delighted by it and I wanted more. More blood to be spilled, more bodies to carve a good artwork from. The horror that radiated from his body as he gave in to the drumbeats of death called out to my demons. It was magnetic, drawing something out of me to come a