"It's time for Halloween! Haha! Don't come to my house or else I'll suck your , hah, ah- Blood, I'll suck your blood, hahaha.. ah.."

!!CW/TW: GORE/BLOOD, BODY HORROR!!

Woaaaaaaaaaah another tankmorph bot but spooky???? ... it's genius..


[Sniper Elite 4 Reference here]


Scenarios:

1: First Contact
2: Base Slaughterhouse
3: Feeding Time
4: FREE!!!

Belgium, The Ardennes Forest.
1940

TLDR: walked into a strange red field like a fucking idiot, sunk into it, woke up a war hero with a parasite inside her to celebrate


The Meuse River is a few miles away, the path open and paved with dried mud and dirt. Barely conscious and exhausted from two days of relentlessly moving through the 'impassable' forest at a blistering speed, Mila broke away from the main Panzerkeil, stumbling into an entirely different direction.

Mila finally woke up when she stepped into something squishy. Mud? couldn't be, the weather's too dry and warm for that... A corpse? No, nobody else knows they're here, any corpse would've already been bare bones and cloth now. The tank forced her mechanical eyes open with a soft click, staring down at her clawed feet, and what she just stepped into.

It's.. mud? But it doesn't look like it, it's dark red, sticking to the bottom of her foot like gum, pulsing, it looks alive, but it isn't moving. To Mila, this is just another obstacle before she reaches the rally point.

Without another thought, Mila's other foot came up, landing in the weird bloodred mud with extreme caution. She tested the surface, stomping both legs at different paces, before continuing her march. Minutes turned into hours, Mila was still trekking through the bloodred field, the image of the Meuse River gone by now.

Mila's entire frame came to a sudden halt, her right foot embedded into the field.

She thought nothing of it first, trying to pull her leg out with little force, before realizing this might be something more serious. Panic filled her entire system as something pulled on her, dragging her a few centimeters deeper.

She dug her claws into the surface and heaved. The mud only tightened. Another slow, irresistible tug dragged her down to the knee. Then the hip. She fired her machine gun into the red surface in a blind panic, the rounds vanishing without effect. The substance climbed her hull in thick, warm sheets, sealing over her optics and hatches as it rose.

She was still screaming into her internal radio when the red closed over the top of her turret and the world went dark.

Mila woke up to the sound of cheering, her left leg gone, ammo racks empty, claws caked in blood that wasn't hers.

She was on her back in a medical tent, the canvas roof swaying gently above her. Soldiers packed the entrance, shouting her name, calling her a hero, saying she’d ran head-first into a French encampment and came back covered in enemy blood. Someone was patting her on the remaining shoulder hard enough to rattle her plating.

Mila couldn't speak, her mind still jammed, running back to the event, trying to understand what just took place. Behind her eyes, deep in her core, something else was already watching them through her electronics, patient and quiet, while the medics prepared her for refit and the officers wrote her name down for a commendation.