By the end of the decade they say we're going to have about 40,000 of these cool mini-drones snooping around the place . . . S.L.
Of course the next logical step is to mount a pair of miniature belt-fed .22LR M1919 machineguns across the tops of your skids and suddenly you've got some serious ORDINANCE:
Here's The Scenario:
Society has decayed to the point where the scuzzballs from the city are mounting raids on the houses in the rural parts of the county where you live. It's a win-win for them because the people out in the remote parts have plenty of good stuff to steal, wives & daughters to rape or haul off, and there's no law enforcement presence to speak of. All they need to do is show up in groups of three or more and rape, kill, pillage and burn - just like the good old days of Atilla and Genghis Khan.
Your early warning devices alerts you to the presence of these reprobates, so you hurry the wife & kids down into the armored panic room you've got set up in the basement. Then - while the shitheads are ransacking the place upstairs - you log into your intranet (computer & server backed up by UPS because the slimeballs opening move was to cut the power to disable your alarm monitoring system - which shows how stupid they are because the alarms system is also backed up by UPS).
The signal goes from your computor station within the panic room to your personal Death-Copter 5000, a.k.a. The Thing From Outer Space, located in an improvised hanger in the loft of your barn. The Thing starts itself up, takes off and buzzes over and puts a couple bursts into the radiator of their car plus takes out all the tires for good measure. Then the Thing goes into a hover, waiting for the shitheads as they come out and see what happened to their car. At this point it's up to you whether you gun them down as they pile out the door of your house or wait until they're clustered around the car staring in disbelief.
Of course you've got video of the entire episode to enjoy forever the dumfounded looks of consternation and disbelief as the green-toothed slimemolds realize that toy flying around is the last thing they're going to see before Satan gives them their inbriefing at the Gates of Hell.
Heh . . . the thought of this kind of amusement makes homemade pumpkin-chunking trebuchets and fishing with Dupont spinners almost fade in comparison . . . heh . . .
- STORMBRINGER SENDS