| abstract | - As Excalibur's reign of murder grew greater he begun to choose bigger targets. On one particular strike before it all ended he was given a very sharp reminder about how even a Spartan can become another victim of simple mortality. A high caliber round suddenly smashed into the wall behind Excalibur. A sniper a block down the road crouched on the walkway of a warehouse. No doubt they were already lining up another shot. Falling back on over a decade of instinct the vigilante dove to the side, over the corpses of the two Insurrectionist's he'd killed moments ago. He came up running, darting side to side as he sprinted down the crumbling street. Around him the ground sparked as sniper rounds exploded around him. Looking to his left he saw part of a destroyed wall, it's lower half clinging to the remains of the house it once supported. Excalibur quickly slid across into cover. The shooter was close, close enough that he could just make out the glare of the scope in the failing sunlight. A sprint to the bottom of the warehouse and the first phase of the operation would be complete. Not to mention he'd have a new weapon for the weeks ahead. Already he was planning out good vantage points around the city. In his head Excalibur counted from three. One. Check weapon magazine. Two. Rise into a crouch. Three. Tense.. He reached three and Excalibur darted forward. He'd done this routine his whole life, from his first days on Onyx to here. But this time he stumbled. His HUD flashed red. His armor felt heavy. His eyes darted to the warning, the multiplying circuits had failed. And now he was out in the open and unable to move. Excalibur fell. Putting all his strength on his right side he tried to roll, succeeding in turning himself just a bit. A second later a snipers bullet suddenly slammed into his armor. It crashed into his chest plate and ricocheted off. If he'd not rolled himself he'd be dead. The force of the shot still crashed into his ribs and he let out a gasp of air. A second later the warning on his HUD disappeared. His armor became lighter. Not wasting a second Excalibur leapt up and sprinted full tilt for the cover of the warehouse. The shooters body dropped to the catwalk. Neck broken and bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds. Excalibur sat down just next to him. Just chest still ached from the sniper shot, he'd need to check himself over when he got to the hideout. He looked down at the mark the round had left, a large dent in his left chest plate. Probably the worse injury he'd sustained thus far. The words of Lieutenant Ambrose slipped through his minds "Machines break". Looking at the rest of his battered armor Excalibur knew his suit was reaching it's last legs. But it was the one thing that had protected him for so many years. As much a part of him as his own skin and bones. His own metal skin. But he also knew he'd become to reliant on it. Always trusting in it's protection. From now on he'd have to be more careful.
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