"Shut up and shoot, idiot. It's just noise."
Except that it wasn't 'just noise.' It was a very special kind of noise. The first part of the attack was Elton John's performance at Wembley Stadium in 1984. The raw sound of the live concert added to the fury of the impending battle. The second part was more subtle, pitched at 12 hertz, below the threshold an unaugmented human ear could detect. These sound waves coming from the Roomba were felt by the brain, the inner ear, and other internal organs, causing nausea, panic, and dizziness. Two men broke and ran as the sight of the terrible robots with burning eyes mixed with the infrasound vibrations triggered an extreme fear reaction. Ironically, it was probably the most logical course of action as well.
Harder men chose to stay and fight, drawing the six-shot plastic guns each carried. There was some hesitation as a few of the men couldn't tear their eyes from the sight of Bloggy screaming and clutching the remains of his forearm. Twelve men pulled their guns and began firing, hampered by trying not to shoot each other. The bullets flew in the direction of Milo's apartment and the empty rooms to either side. Four robotic eyes glowed, and four guns melted as the ammunition inside cooked off and exploded. The hands holding the guns didn't fare any better as skin crisped and moisture turned to steam. One unlucky fellow was standing in the path of a beam meant for another person and took a fraction of it in his face, blinding him in one eye and causing enough pain to drive the idea of shooting out of his head, which at least saved him from losing a hand.
The other seven men began firing at the oncoming attackers. The robots were easy targets, and most shots were aimed at either the center of their chests or the glowing red eye. Dents and cracks appeared on the machines as the Roomba judged more and more shots to hit the holograms. Milo made for a much more difficult target. He leaped forward, keeping low with arms extended, turning his forward leap into a roll, and then dodged right with reflexes twice that of a normal human and a brain totally focused on the fight and operating at speeds that would have astonished anyone but Wally. As Wally had theorized, Milo 'thought' with more than just his brain. His abnormal and very numerous array of neurons were used in emergencies as a secondary brain system, similar to microprocessors in a computer. He was tracking the reactions of the entire mob of people in front of him, using his eyes and the cameras along the walls, giving him a complete view of everything, no matter how he was oriented.
Two shots came close enough to graze his armor but left no mark. One clipped his shoulder and bounced off, pushing him in that direction and forcing an adjustment to his stance. The other nine shots aimed at him missed. Firing at a dodging Milo while drawing bulky, makeshift weapons wasn't an effective way to hit a target. It also meant you became a priority target for a laser-wielding robot executing Plan Omega. Milo reached the first mercenaries, running low and moving between them. He could see they wore body armor covering their chests, groins, and helmets. His claws could cut through the armor, but it would slow him down, so he shifted lower. His outstretched claws caught each of them on the front of the thigh and carved a four-inch channel from front to back.
A brief debate had gone on between the parts of his brain. He didn't want to kill people. Killing these men would cause complications later and could escalate the violence. On the other hand, they were the ones who had started the fight. They were aiming guns at him and were obviously fine with causing death in other people, especially him. The debate ended when he decided that his options were few, and the quicker he took them down, the better chance his family had of surviving. The inner walls of a habitat were thin. Bullets from these guns could penetrate and still have enough velocity to injure or kill. The well-being of the mercenaries was worth less to him than his family. Blood spurted as femoral arteries were cut by claws sharper than any knife ever made. And then he was in the middle of the group, spinning, slashing, and minimizing their chance to hit him.
His brain was analyzing the situation and looking for any advantage. It tapped into techniques Milo had never practiced in the real world and would have made his Claw-Fighting instructor proud. He spun, clawing at bodies and legs, leaving slashes on anyone near him while his tail broke two ankles and slapped a man in the face, breaking his nose. He bounced back and forth within the group as the Roomba took out guns and hands with lasers. Every man was bleeding and hurt, some seriously with enough bleeding to be fatal in the next few minutes. Then, he found himself directly in front of a man on the edge of the mob. This mercenary was just raising his gun in a two-hand stance, legs braced, when Milo saw him and slammed into him; a horizontal swipe of his claws sent the weapon spinning along with six fingers and a thumb. The man rolled on the ground, screaming and tucking his ruined hands into his armpits to stop the bleeding. Milo slid across the floor and pivoted as fast as he could. He'd overshot by a little and was behind the group, leaving himself exposed. As they turned, several men still standing braced and aimed at him. Four more shots came from the Roomba, and four more guns exploded. The remaining mercenaries fired at the point Milo was starting to charge them again...
Momentarily ignored, Mama used the distraction to go back inside, keeping low. The family had abandoned the front room and were huddled low in the bedrooms, younger children under the adults. Big Butch had been opening the door, intending to charge out, but saw his wife and dragged her inside and into the inner rooms. "Next time, I get to talk sass to the thugs. There's a flaw in your 'They won't hit a woman.' plan!"
She had to smile, even though it hurt her bruised face. "A small flaw, but I don't care. I just didn't want you out there. You'd have stood up to them and got yourself hurt."
"What the hell is going on, though?! It's like a war is going on outside our house!"
She kept her suspicions to herself as they huddled on the floor, not about to try and explain what she'd seen.
Nine men were still armed (with both guns and hands to shoot them with). Six of those turned and braced to shoot at Milo. Three others were too close to the Roombas as they rolled forward and turned up the focused infra-sonics. The three men groaned as their inner ears revolted and their hearts missed beats. One tried to keep shooting, but the gun dropped from his hand. The other two curled up into a fetal position. The six shooting at Milo emptied their weapons, firing at him in a panic. The sight in front of them was terrifying. They didn't know if he was human, a machine, or a combination of the two. Cyborgs were expensive, but not unheard of, especially for assassinations. Claws on his hands and feet shone brightly, clean of the blood that dripped from his arms. His face showed nothing but a metal mask and two unblinking eyes. The metal tail twitching back and forth added to the feeling that this wasn't something human. They fired and kept firing.
Milo's armor couldn't negate the momentum of the bullets, and it drove him backward, keeping him from regaining the relative safety of being among them. His first step was brought to a halt as the slugs hit him. Thirty-six shots came at him. These were men who knew their weapons and practiced on a regular basis. Still, he was a small target, crouched low, and the infra-sonics were scrambling their brains as the Roomba rolled closer. Thirteen shots hit Milo. Four glanced off of him, hitting at angles that carried them away and into the walls. Seven bullets hit him in the body, one in his head, and the last hit his arm, spinning him around as he stumbled backward and collapsed against the wall. He lay in a heap, unmoving.
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Max was carrying out his orders, but his power was running low. The high-intensity shots were a drain on his batteries, as were the holograms and sonics. The robots quit advancing and disappeared, revealing four security Roomba with shiny black shells and lasers pointed at their enemies. As the mercenaries turned and saw what they had been fighting, they screamed angrily. (As opposed to those laying on the floor with wounds and burns who were screaming in pain.) Max ordered a retreat, but Dee and Rob were too slow to escape, and booted feet came down on their shells, bending their wheels. Max and Lemmy turned and used the last of their energy to burn the men with wide-angle heat rays to drive them back, but that, too, died after a few seconds when their batteries were drained. Two of the mercs were venting their anger, trying to stomp the exhausted Roomba; two had med kits out and were tying tourniquets on the worst of the wounded. Bloggy stumbled to his feet and picked up a dropped gun with his left hand. "I want to make sure that bastard is dead!" He took a step towards Milo.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. I may be late to this fight, but I'm here now, and you aren't fast enough to turn and shoot with your left hand before I put a .44 into your skull." A red dot appeared on the side of Bloggy's head. In the doorway of his small apartment stood Old James, leaning against the door jam, arms extended and holding a large silvery gun. "Hands up, all of you. I've got enough shots for each of you... Go ahead. Make my day!"
Bloggy dropped his gun. Hands were raised, but one of the mercenaries was staring at the gun, and a smile of pure joy appeared on his face. "I can't help but notice that your fine-looking weapon has a distinct emblem on the side of the barrel. An emblem that came on the replica .44 magnum issued with 'Dirty Harry VS. Grand Theft Auto 7 Silver Anniversary Edition'. It's so nice that you own one. I've wanted that gun since I was a young boy. Even after I started shooting real guns, I still wanted one, but they were impossible to find. And now you have one for me."
"That isn't real, Sergei? It looks real." One of the other mercs was staring at Old James and the large gun in his hands.
"Of course, it looks real. It is a perfect replica with silver plating, exact weight, and everything. Except that it can't be fired. Just a prop. And before you start making noise, I claim it. And no one hurts the old man but me. Anyone with enough balls to stare us down with a toy gun deserves only a light beating and the loss of that trophy."
James didn't budge. "You just keep thinking it can't shoot, and they'll be scraping up your brains off of the floor."
Sergei laughed and stepped forward to take the gun. James shot him between the eyes, and the back of Sergei's head exploded, scattering brains across the other mercs. James sneered at them, keeping the gun level. "What sort of idiot wants the Silver edition when you can get the Platinum edition gun, fully firing with custom 'man stopper' ammunition guaranteed to knock over a charging grizzly? Go with the best, lads, or regret it for the rest of your lives." There were some shrugs and sighs before the rest of them went to their knees and put their hands on their heads or, with James's permission, assisted in helping their fellows who were bleeding out.
Behind them, the crumpled figure rolled to his feet, causing panic in the remaining mercs, but no attack came. There was a bright mark on the side of its head and many more on its chest. Milo's armor had absorbed 97% of the force and redistributed it across a wider area, but the impacts had still done damage and flung him back against the wall. Milo was in a state of deep hyper-focus, half his brain telling him to attack and finish them and the other half trying to get him to stop. Both halves recognized James as an ally. The problem was solved for him as he saw the rapid approach of more men on the security cameras he was watching. It was time to go.
Butch, Big Butch, and Mama all received calls from Milo asking them to come outside and assuring them that the fight was over. Butch stuck his head out the door and saw James holding a surprisingly large gun. Milo was watching the mercenaries intently. He gave a thumbs up to them and they came out. Mama rushed to Milo, looking for injuries. Butch and Big Butch stared at the carnage and the remaining mercenaries on their knees or helping the injured. Milo had kicked the remaining guns into a small pile in case anyone was tempted to do something stupid.
Mama could see Milo trembling. "You didn't have to put yourself in danger like that. We can take care of ourselves. Bruises heal. How you aren't full of bullet holes and leaking on the floor is beyond me."
Milo shook his head. "They wouldn't have stopped. Too much money is on the line. They have to find Belinda, and they can't. That's my fault. And it's my fault they came here to hurt you. We need to go. Now. More men are coming, and they'll ask questions we don't want to answer. I can't keep you safe if we stay here. But I can protect you if you come with me. It's not far, but no one will find us."
Mama nodded and yelled inside. "New game, kids. Close your eyes, leave the door, stay on the right-hand wall, and take the next right. Pretend it's a blackout drill, and we're heading somewhere with good air." Blackouts didn't happen a lot, but they could be terrifying, and everyone had done the drills. A string of children and adults left the apartment. Milo showed them where to go. "I fixed the air vents in the next two corridors; it's breathable now. Head down them and follow this map. I've got one more person to get."
James was surprised when Milo came back for him. "What do you mean, go? Go where."
"Someplace better. I may need your help with the hydroponics, and I can't leave you here."
"But my games... they're all I have left."
Milo could understand that concern. "You're right. I'll jam the lock for now and come back for them. They're too valuable to leave."
The old man grabbed his cane with his other hand and started hobbling through the courtyard. "Fine, but I'm keeping my magnum. One of these greedy suckers would try to steal it." Milo followed him with four slightly dented Roombas following behind on bent wheels. Max and his army quietly began playing We are the Champions as they rolled away.
Habitat Security and ten Security Guards from Manpower arrived two minutes later and were treated to the sight of fifteen wounded mercenaries and three bodies. All were suffering from burns, slashed limbs, missing hands, and ruptured eardrums. None of them would talk about what had occurred. And while a fight had certainly happened, there was no evidence of the 'Killer Robots and Murderous Rat Monsters' that the two fleeing mercs had babbled about. Arriving scarcely five minutes later were a squad of regular police and a dozen medical personnel, responding to the 'Shots fired.' report called into them by a resident, James Murdoch. Over the next six hours, over two hundred law enforcement officers flooded the habitat, gathering up the remaining mercenaries, including those stuck in an elevator. They found no evidence of the missing girl everyone was looking for. Nor could they find the person who had called in the report or the family living closest to the fight. All of them had dropped out of sight, literally, in this case.