Tom "Oldtimer" Sellecky

Tom "Oldtimer" Sellecky watched the enormous assault-class battle machine loom on his targeting display, a dark titan against the bruised sky of Xylos. His own heavy bipedal unit, a relic in an era of sleek, advanced combat walkers, felt small and vulnerable. The enemy's sensor signature pulsed, showing a veritable arsenal of energy projectors and missile racks. Oldtimer's machine, by contrast, relied on the raw, kinetic punch of its heavy autocannons. This wasn't just an uphill battle; it was a vertical climb.

"They think I'm a soft target, eh?" Oldtimer muttered, his voice raspy over the cockpit's comms, more to himself than his silent crew. Decades of drop-zone dust and countless engagements had honed his instincts to a razor's edge. He knew every twitch of his machine, every thrum of its aging power plant, every nuanced kick of his beloved ballistic weapons.

The enemy charged, a thunderous tremor across the barren plain, unleashing a volley of blinding energy blasts. Oldtimer didn't engage directly. Instead, he plunged his machine into a maze of rusted wreckage – the skeletal remains of a long-forgotten starport. He let the heavier machine blunder, using the debris as both cover and a tactical blind spot. The larger machine's wider profile became a disadvantage, its long-range weapons useless in the close quarters.

Then came Oldtimer's moment. Bursting from behind a shattered cargo container, he opened up with his autocannons. The familiar, rhythmic THUMP-THUMP-THUMP filled his cockpit, each shell a kinetic sledgehammer. He didn't waste a single round, aiming not for the thick frontal armor, but for the exposed joints and weapon mounts, areas he knew were weaker. Armor segments peeled away, sparks showering the battlefield as the heavy rounds chewed into the larger machine's arm actuators and cooling vents. The enemy pilot, panicked by the unexpected, brutal assault, tried to bring its main weapons to bear, but Oldtimer's rapid, precise volleys shattered its tracking systems. One final, devastating burst from both autocannons tore into the enemy's exposed power conduit, triggering a chain reaction. The immense battle machine shuddered, then exploded in a silent, expanding fireball.

Oldtimer brought his smoking, battle-scarred unit to a halt, the acrid smell of ozone and burning metal heavy in the air. "Never underestimate an Oldtimer and his big guns," he grumbled, a faint, tired smile playing on his lips.

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You can get Tom here:
TOM "OLDTIMER" SELLECKY

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Crush And Burn!

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