It slowly walked in a straight line towards its enemies, like it was wading through molasses. Its heart pounded so loudly that it sounded like someone striking an anvil in Giuseppe Verdi’s opera Il trovatore. The beating sound was so loud that even the enemies, over the crackle of their guns, could hear. But was it, with its beating heart, alive?
Nobody knows. Certainly it wasn’t hurt. The bullets bounced off as if they were rubber balls hitting a brick wall. And like a mindless tank enduring a barrage of pebbles, it felt nothing and kept moving forward.
It eschewed taking cover along the way. Cover, it thought, would make it seem weaker and much less of a masculine machine.
The bullets were useless against it. But the bullets increased until they were like a plague of locusts enveloping everything. One could not breath through one’s nose or mouth without introducing bullets into those orifices. And the air reeked of hot lead.
Yet, like a new-born babe, it did not have a single scratch on its cheeks, and it did not suffer from smoke inhalation. However, the price for this invincibility was dark red vision. Everywhere it went and it saw everything through blood-red lenses. There was no time for love or friendship.
At last, it reached the enemy, and it engaged in a punching match as if it was playing Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots. It was like a robot who didn’t feel pain, nor did he care about others’ pain. This is the life of a bullet sponge.
I’ve heard people describe some video game characters as bullet sponges. I tried to describe how the bullet sponge acts.