His Sovereign Grace sat leisurely upon his throne. He dipped his hand into the gleaming chalice beside him and scooped a handful of chocolate morsels, eating them one by one.
“Fire,” he casually announced to the sparse crowd of trusted advisors.
The humanoid settled into position on the range floor, gripping the long, powerful rifle with its metallic claws. A dozen shots in quick succession ripped into a target over two hundred yards away. All bullseyes, a first for this model.
The hushed crowd looked up at their leader, waiting.
“Wonderful,” he finally said. “I’ll take 100,000 more like him.”
The Weekday One Hundred 