DN - Autocannon

“That is ENOUGH!” I shout. “You’ve got one chance to surrender! Come out of your mecha with your hands—”

The green one shoots me in the face with an autocannon.

***

In the fight’s first half second, explosions ripple up my chest, neck, and face. It is stunningly painful, and for a moment I lose hold of the lattice and get punted fifteen yards into the back of an abandoned delivery truck. The last time I was shot, it was by a submachine gun firing pistol ammo that’s about the size of two knuckles of my pinky finger. That was uncomfortable. This is an autocannon, and it fires rounds that are longer than my hand. My face has gone hot scarlet with pain. I’m still staggering to my feet when the missiles arrive. They burst like tiny suns, and a driving rain of shrapnel tears into me. Then something hits the bus from behind and drives it forward into the truck, crushing me between them. A few seconds later, one of the mecha hops over and douses the whole area in napalm.

This is not going how I pictured it in my head.

My ears are ringing and my skull throbs. My body screams for release from the steel pressure that’s pinching me between the truck and the bus. The flames haven’t reached me, but drips of liquid fire are starting to pour in from all over. With a great rippling effort, I peel the bus and panel truck apart, and slip out the gap to the side.

- Dreadnought, Chapters 32 and 33