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The Asset slammed his fist across the man's head. Bone shattered under the metal, and the man crumpled. Gunshots fired at his back, and the Asset whirled around, flinging his arm up. Bullets zinged off, and he growled—a low, animalistic sound that resounded throughout the small room. His attackers spun and fled, and he stalked after them, head angled down and ice glaring above the mask. Muscles rippled under the leather armor he wore, curling and stretching and tensing.

The Asset was a machine. He was built and programmed to follow his orders without fail. He was as close to indestructible as a machine that started off human could be.

His orders now? Kill every person in this building.

Was he going to do it? Of course. He was, after all, a weapon.

His last targets were cornered. They were backed against a wall, frantically firing in a last, desperate attempt to save themselves. None of the bullets struck home, and the Asset seized their weapons. They clattered to the floor as he cast them aside. Two men crumpled heavily to the floor as two hands tore their heads from their bodies. The last man whimpered as ice surrounded by black pinned him to the wall.

The Asset stepped closer, his flesh hand wrapping around the man's neck. The desperate human wheezed as he pleaded for his life. The broken words fell past his lips and dropped to the floor along with the body that had uttered them.

Mission: success.