war and chicken

It was dark and gloomy. I promised myself not to fear. But my heart beat louder than a marching hulk.
For once, I dared to land alone. I insist—I am coming back in one piece. In one living piece, I mean.
Then I heard that scary sound. A voxengin is there behind a mountain way too thin to make anyone feel safe. Does it know? Should I shoot first? What is hiding behind that mountain? The sound was coming closer, and I had a choice to make. Either I summon my stratagems and risk being heard, or I run into the dark plain and pretend the red light spots aren't as scary as what is hidden behind the mountain.
But this time, it was different. This time I decided to really listen as that robotic noise kept coming. Then it said it. It had said it a thousand times already, but now it was very clear: “Helldiver scum!” What did you say, you piece of shit scrap? Who is scum? I realized then and there how confident the bots had become, and if I was dying anyway, why not burn the whole planet. I had just the right tools for that, and there was no time to wait. Meanwhile, the little pass between two mountains started to blink with light—a horror Christmas tree.
First, I needed my Leveler, and I needed my augmenter hover pack. While my crew was loading them into pods, I thought of the millions of martyr Helldivers. I felt pity for those who died to the last surviving trooper, those who froze in the deep lake, those who landed on a mountain and had to fall into certain death, so democracy's ineluctable march could continue. Then I thought of those who died to a traitor mine before they could trigger their Hellbomb.
That last thought gave me a smile. Today won’t be the day. While grabbing my newly acquired jetpack, I grabbed my scanner scope and watched. The voxengin that was about to reach me wasn't alone. A little army of radicals was rapidly marching towards me. Some hulks here and there were immobile, as if they knew what would happen and didn’t want to be involved. But more worrying were the scouts running to the little mountain road, bringing the attention of a small group of war striders that looked through the scanner like pixelized headless chickens. But then I saw it: the hundreds—no, the thousands—of hellbombs stuck to the mountain. Each had its own story; each had seen my brothers and sisters falling.
Now my fear turned into rage—a euphoric rage. I was about to avenge all those who tried. The voxengin is always hiding behind the little soldiers. But today won't be the day.
Without overthinking it, I hovered slowly to the mountain top and screamed, “Let there be liiiiiiiiiight!” And in one movement, all the enemies turned their head toward me while the vox engine, in its slow dramatic way, turned its trunk to face me. But I wasted no time: I needed one bullet in each hellbomb, one bullet for the memory of each martyr. I lay down, dodging the red bullets piercing the space around me, and watched a thousand mines get thrown into the air. Then the first blast happened, and a second, and a third. Pieces of junk flew everywhere and disintegrated before gravity could take them. The air was too hot to breathe, and the light was too bright—I had to cover my face with both arms.
Slowly, the light and sound faded into a fleeting moment of peaceful silence, alas, shattered too quickly by a single, no longer frightening voice: "Run, Helldiver."
The orphan voxengine, still pretending bravery, was still there, standing as close as it could—too low to shoot me in the chest, too foolish to understand it had lost, and I wasn't in a clement mindset. I immediately hovered down and to the back until I faced my worst nightmare. While grabbing my leveler, I looked it in the eye and, in a cold, slow tone, I said, “Not.. today!” And I pressed the trigger. I watched the projectile travel. Now time froze. Courage had taken over, and a calm confidence replaced the fear. “For Super Earth,” I thought while hovering down, brushing away a single tear. I was indeed ready, and nothing could stop me.
Then I saw it—a red signal flare flew nonchalantly on the horizon, then a second one. It was my signal to run. After all, one has to choose their fights. But the flares kept flying—in front of me, behind me, all around. The bots didn’t take the humiliation lightly. Soon, dropships covered the sky, and I realized I didn’t have to fight alone anymore. If death is happening, let it be, but I am going to need some help. While throwing an SOS beacon, I first heard "Come see hell, diver" coming from nowhere, and then "Super Earth Will Burn!", and then the one that revived the patriotic rage in me: "Soon you will be part of us." That made me scream “neveeeeeer!” while frantically throwing orbitals left and right, and shooting a first wave of troopers. The troopers were easy to clear, but two hulks were throwing flames at me from right and left. I dived, throwing a giganade to each, and contemplated if there was an escape. But three war striders were squeezing their way to me. A look to my right and I saw an agitator pointing at me, and different kinds of robots looking at him, then at me, and starting to run—when a blinding light suddenly appeared from behind the mountain behind me: a great metallic dragon gaping a terrifying maw and letting out a bloodcurdling screech. What followed can only be described as a demonic choir of a thousand vox engine sirens wailing in unison.
Suddenly, a large object dropped behind me, and another one, then a third. Followed by three explosions. I turned in disbelief to the war striders, and they were flat. Three Helldivers rose from their scraps. “There is hope,” I thought, but my heart resisted believing. Then another Helldiver dropped, and another one. All I could see were metal bodies getting flattened, just to have another Helldiver take their space and, without a word, decimate the enemies. Drop pods were raining from here to the horizon, and a frantic maniacal cackle came from the sky. A Helldiver was riding the Dragomaton. It was the chaotic guffaw of democracy. The voxengines were blowing up one after the other, and their wailing became faster and faster, more insistent, more desperate, getting closer and closer—when I suddenly heard a voice: “Wake up, you idiot. Your are late for your first Helldivers training ”
Reality was settling way too fast. “Mom, I couldn’t hear the alarm.”
“Your father thinks about getting you a rooster. But believe me, you won’t like it.”
A rooster!? You have no idea, Mom.. You have no idea.