Novelas y relatos de Murder Drones

12 Sectors. 12 Sectors that each of us had to clear along with each of their security checks and traps. Grant now releasing a couple of drones given to us by Tony once we had cleared the base of the mountain. Our drones designed specifically with reflectors to help them blend in with their surrounding area. Kind of like a camouflage. The drones giving us a boost to our systems while giving Tony and his team the access they needed to hack into each security system. Because without our bots, our gear would have been fried upon setting foot into the first set of traps. Each of us passing through 3 EMP grids, 2 land mines and 4 turrets. Each turret designed to hold poison arrows and toxic gas.

The moment the vault hissed open, they slipped inside—and the trap snapped shut. A soft whir filled the air. Lights blinked on. Drones. Small, sleek, and deadly. They hovered like insects, surrounding them in a perfect circle. Roman pulled his weapon. “They were waiting.” Eden clenched her jaw. “Let them wait.” She moved first, ducking low as Roman opened fire. Sparks erupted from the drones as they retaliated. Eden rolled across the floor, diving for the server wall as Kessler shouted coordinates through his headset. Everything blurred—gunfire, warning sirens, the crackle of destroyed equipment. But Eden didn’t stop. She moved by instinct. By fury.

Owen tells them. “Liv kept repeating the phrase 'The master of the damned is but a puppet to the doom..' She pondered it for a long while before she turned to me with wide eyes to ask me 'Could he or she be talking about a killer?' Then she held up a hand, like I was going to interrupt her. She said 'Just think about it for a moment.. most serial killers kill because they like it. Right? They get this sick, twisted little thrill from it. Like your brother. So if a 'master of the damned is but a puppet to the doom' could he be saying that a killer is merely a slave to his own sadistic whims? That a man kills because he is drawn to and he can't help himself?' She looked so cute, being so serio

My heightened senses immediately picked up the echoing sounds of the mike as one of the elders made his speech. "For too long, we have allowed the nightcrawlers to lurk in the shadows of our streets, forests, and pack lands, but no more. We can no longer sit back and watch as these vile creatures get stronger by the day, enough to destroy everything we have now... Hope." Elder Dmitri spoke, gesturing his hand as if to demonstrate something as intangible as hope. The main hall was packed with all types of alphas. Everyone who is anyone has come here. All alphas and their sons from the strongest to the weakest bloodline.

"Impressive, now let me also show you what's new." He then brought up his arm and rapidly tapped fingers on a screen device attached to his wrist, and from his car drones flew out. Not just drones, but highly weaponize killer drones. "Target confirmed, permission to engage," the AI attached to the wrist device requested. "Fire," he ordered softly. "Authorization confirmed." "Fly out of here Naomi!" Jeremy shouted suggested. "Not without you," she said in a monstrous voice. The drones began to fire at her, but her high speed of flying really saved her even a single hit. The drones however had already locked their aim at her and followed wherever she flew. Marcus soon grew impatient and raised

Ethan ripped his hands away from the wheel and drew his silver-plated revolver from his inner holster. Two tactical scout drones rounded the corner of the stone archway, their lenses glowing a cold, analytical crimson. The moment their sensors locked onto Ethan's heat signature, their internal weapon pods opened, preparing to fire high-voltage paralytic darts. Ethan didn't give them the chance. Moving with impossible, fluid precision, he fired three consecutive shots. The heavy lead bullets slammed directly into the optical centers of the drones, shattering their glass lenses and sending sparks flying across the stone floor. The broken machines collapsed into useless heaps of metal, their ge

“That’s why I told you to prepare the poison. Otherwise, they would tear our team apart, even if they are all shadow troops.” The shadow team consisted of highly trained ninjas, but even they would struggle against a large pack of hungry wolves. Micah attached the poison-filled tubes to five of his drones and programmed their routes according to the wolves’ positions. Click. He pressed Enter. One after another, the drones flew silently into the forest. When they reached the wolves gathered in groups, they released the poison. Within moments, the wolves began to collapse. One after another, their bodies lost strength until they could no longer move.

Her voice is a dry, useless rasp. Elias doesn’t even look at her. He’s staring at those screens like a god tracking a storm he created. “Variant Seven,” he murmurs. “Your mother’s final architecture… perfected. Airborne now. Elegant. Efficient.” He pinches the tablet, zooming in on a forest feed. A pale, greasy mist pours from the underbelly of the drones—thin, almost invisible as it drifts on the wind like dust pretending to be harmless. “It doesn’t kill them quickly,” Elias continues, his tone dripping with an unholy sort of pride. “That would be crude. It rewrites them from the marrow out.”

If we feed the code there, we can overwrite the cleansing protocol!” “The problem is only,” Nova called from above, “that they have noticed us!” dozens of small, Black dots. There were no wooden gliders. It was autonomous catching Old World drones – slim, angular and familiar, cold purple light her lenses. Kael put his hands on my shoulders. “Get us in, Jada. Do the rest we.” I looked at the approaching thunder of drones, spanned the muscles and ripped the cross. We were the heirs of Ouroboros, and this heaven was ours.

Then he hefts the greatsword, plants himself at the VIP entrance, and addresses every guard trying to approach with a single word that rolls from his throat like a rockslide. *Fuck off.* Behind him, Dorian's drone swarm is already airborne. Twelve folding-wing units deployed from the metal case. Stark white searchlights rake wildly across my seat. A single micro-drone breaks formation and hovers right above my nape, its sensor blinking an abnormal red. Dorian stares at the control panel, fingers typing a command. He deletes it. Types again. Deletes it. On the third attempt he enters: *Target locked. Continuous sampling. Set to highest priority.*