"Why are your shots always perfect?" Zhang Xiaowen asked while reloading.
The Cube rotated its optics. "Distance calculation, atmospheric compensation, thermal tracking..."
"Stop flexing your tech privilege!"
"Flexing? I don't understand human monetary obsessions. Should I transfer virtual currency to your account? Any amount you..."
"Forget it!" Zhang cut it off, approaching the clubhouse's glass doors. "Just help clear the interior without ruining the Persian carpets."
Inside the marble lobby, the Cube transformed mid-stride. Its blade-arm severed a zombie golfer's legs at the knees before executing a point-blank headshot. "Autobot style!" it declared, black ichor splattering across a €20,000 rug.
Zhang groaned. "That's hand-woven Kashan! Do you know how to use a mop?!"
The mech paused mid-slash. "Malfunction detected: Human aesthetic priorities conflicting with combat efficiency."
—— Upstairs, Zhang cleared bedrooms methodically. Her visor highlighted two heat signatures behind oak doors – CEO and secretary, eternally united in death's embrace. Twin headshots preserved their modesty with merciful swiftness.
The Cube peeked through the doorway. *"Whistle* Human mating rituals fascinate..."
Zhang grabbed its chassis and hurled it into a banquet hall swarming with undead socialites. "Enjoy your buffet!"
——
By noon, fifty-seven corpses decorated the resort. Zhang cycled downhill to the truck, wind cooling her sweat-dampened hair. Students emerged blinking into sunlight, awed by the bullet-riddled paradise.
"Restrooms in the clubhouse," she announced. "Fifteen-minute break before lunch."
Fatty Wang approached hesitantly. "Sis Zhang... we could help clear..."
"My RC car's handling the last villas." She gestured uphill where gunfire echoed. "Save your strength for farming lessons."
As students marveled at the "toy car's" firepower, Zhang's cheeks flushed. The Cube deserved credit, but its existence remained her secret. For now.
From the hilltop, the mech's sensors tracked everything. Its logic core pondered humanity's contradictions – how they cherished carpets yet abandoned entire cities. Perhaps survival required embracing such beautiful irrationality.
A zombie chef lunged from the kitchen. The Cube's rotary blade reduced it to sushi-grade slices.
"Bon appétit," it crackled to no one in particular, advancing toward the wine cellar. Priorities first – secure vintage Bordeaux, then world domination.