Year unknown. The Earth is at constant war. There is no longer peace, and technology has forced the masses to submit.

An unknown force launches a gigantic spacecraft that engulfs the world in flame. Very few survived this attack, and only ten thousand humans remain on the planet.

20 years pass. Society has yet to fully rebuild. For years, they observe Mars, now mysteriously shrouded in metal.

Year unknown. The biological mutants of the last era are found roaming the Earth. Hunter Team are formed by a powerful family to exterminate the last of them.

After a night observing the metal planet, the head of Hunter Team, Graś, recalls a legend; the legend of ORION-1 — a cybernetic beast created to rend the world of sin not once – but twice. Yet while a hundred years ago this may have seemed just a folk tale, now he knows it to be real. Recalling odd details put out online such as the estimated weight of such a creature, it seems simply too accurate to the situation to not be true.

Year unknown. Hunter Team is mobilized to stop the legendary beast after gargantuan ion storms rain down from Mars, obliterating cities and killing hundreds – forcing humanity to once again retreat to the underground.

The first flame killed over 8 billion, enough to nearly wipe the earth clean. Now Orion is trying to finish the job.

"I had an 80-round around here somewhere. Last I recall it was just sitting in this chair, but father must have hidden it just before the first attack." The young man sifts through various containers, looking for his gun.

Meanwhile, his fellow hunter cracks open the floorboard, and she gleams – "Ooh, looks like there's a bunch of stuff down here."

The boy springs to action and begins sifting through the dozens of various broken lever-action rifles and beach towels for some reason contained within the floor, and finds an 80-round drum magazine in the rubbish. "Here's the spare mag I had when I went hunting. Now where's..." He wonders, while the girl holds something infront of his face. "This it?" She questions, holding a strange – and, in the pile of rifles – out of place sub-machine gun.

"Yes! That's it. Thank you," he says, grabbing the gun rather hastily from her hands. With an ugly drum round and simple, un-ergonomic front grip, the gun is not the prettiest.