V1 stands there menacingly. It had somehow escaped from the layers of Hell itself and it's unrelenting massacre of the damned souls inside. It could always feel it's fuel levels slowly draining away, like a constant timer to it's death.

It was no demon, but a creation of man and yet far more terrible than any spawn of hell. It had been designed and built for a great and terrible war. A machine, an object. A weapon. Yet it was the only one of its kind.

It's Revolver hung loosely in it's right metal hand.