Targeting Pack - ~repack~

“Scarab. Suppression. Non-lethal area.” Scarab-2’s 20mm cannon didn’t fire a shell. It fired a sonic projectile—a focused, concussive blast of air designed to incapacitate. The round hit the floor two meters from the Archivist. The shockwave lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the far wall. He slid down, unconscious but breathing.

The pack responded. Firefly detached a single, pencil-thin tendril of explosive. Cicada’s manipulator arms snatched it and, with insectile delicacy, glued it to the center of the maintenance hatch. The Archivist, focused on his work, didn’t notice. targeting pack

The Sundered Quarter was a graveyard. Peaseblossom slipped through a shattered window frame, its quad-rotors silent on magneto-hydrodynamic drives. The air inside was thick with rust spores and the cold, chemical smell of old battery acid. Kael saw through its camera: a long corridor, desks overturned, terminals with their screens spiderwebbed by kinetic rounds. A child’s shoe, bleached white, lay in a pool of dried slime. He forced himself not to see it. He was the targeting pack. He had no room for grief. “Scarab

“Targeting pack, new directive. Do not eliminate. Capture. The Archivist has a dead man’s switch. The schematics are rigged to self-destruct if his heart stops. We need him alive. Repeat, alive . Disable and extract.” It fired a sonic projectile—a focused, concussive blast