The mother is desperately bashing the alien beast with a metal chair, her breaths coming in frantic gasps between guttural grunts and panicked screams. The thing writhes and spasms on the grimy floor, its movements increasingly feeble with each strike. Its carapace—a thin but unnervingly resilient shell like a crab’s—splinters under the relentless blows. Its strong, whip-like tentacles flop lifelessly, and the sickly green light fades from its stalked eyes, which retract as if trying to escape the inevitable.
Still, she doesn’t stop. The weight of her fear and desperation drives her, each swing a desperate attempt to destroy the horror before her. The chair splinters, one leg snapping clean off. She keeps going, clutching the broken piece and hammering down, her voice raw and hoarse. It might already be dead, but in her shock, she can’t stop. Not yet.
Finally, realization seeps through her adrenaline-fueled haze. The thing isn’t moving. It isn’t breathing, that is if it even breathes at all. With a shaky exhale, she lets the broken chair leg clatter to the floor. Her arms tremble violently as the tension drains away, leaving behind an unbearable emptiness. Silent tears stream down her dirt-streaked face as she collapses to her knees, crawling toward the restroom door. The dim, flickering light overhead buzzes faintly, casting uneven shadows on the dark bloodied floor.
She sits heavily against the wall next to the doorframe, her back scraping against it. Resting her head against the cool surface, she closes all four of her eyes, trying to steady her breaths. The sharp sting of reality creeps back in as she feels the dampness of the otherworldly ichor on her hands and the fatty and metallic smell of the creature’s remains. She raises a hand, slowly and weakly knocking on the restroom door.
— Kalene… Favo… — her voice is barely above a whisper, cracked and raw. — You can come out now… It’s gone.
For a moment, there’s no response, only the sound of her ragged breathing and the distant, haunting echoes of the city outside. Then, the door creaks open. Two small figures peek out, hesitant and wide-eyed. Favo, the older one, clutches her younger sibling’s hand tightly. Kalene clings to her arm, his face half-hidden in her torn sleeve.
They step into the dim light, their small feet crunching lightly over shards of broken tile and stretching to avoid stepping on the dark puddle ahead. Favo helps her mother to her feet, her young face strained with the effort but determined. Kalene grabs hold of his mother’s hand, his grip tight and trembling. But she forces a faint, weary smile.
— Let’s go… — she murmurs and gathers her strength to walk by herself.
Overturned cars litter the road, some with doors flung open, their interiors stripped of anything useful in the desperate moments before their owners fled. Storefronts sit eerily quiet, their glass shattered or smeared with dust and blood. Amid the debris, law enforcement vehicles still pulse with silent, strobing green and red lights, their beams sweeping rhythmically over the carnage. Mauled remnants of officers and civilians lie scattered near the vehicles. The signs of resistance, bullet casings litter the ground near barricades made from overturned tables and crowd control shields. Some cars are embedded into walls, their chassis twisted and crumpled, while others are crushed under now ominous footprints imprinted on the chassis.
High above, a haunting sight dominates the skyline. A helicopter stood lodged precariously into the seventh floor of a commercial building, its tail jutting out at an awkward angle. Flames lick hungrily at the wreckage, sending black smoke billowing into the sky. One of the crew dangles lifelessly from a parachute tangled around the landing skis, the body sways gently in the heat’s updraft.
Favo grabbed a piece of metal scrap from a car’s door and followed his mother, trying to stay alert with her, as his younger brother Kalene stayed close and held onto her waist. The cold air swept the streets in between the buildings, getting slightly warmed up as it passed over fires, carrying within it the smell of burnt plastic, slowly howling as distant sirens and gunfight persisted. Little flaming and bright debris penetrated the thick and swirling cloud cover above them, like shooting stars, bringing silent light and wishes, wishes that hope those may be their invaders losing the battle above the clouds.
Through the narrow gaps between the buildings, the sky seemed alive with activity. The lights of distant aircraft moved with coordinated precision, cutting through the clouds with deliberate purpose. A sudden roar grew louder, and two jets streaked overhead, their engines thundering as they passed low enough to rattle the loose debris on the ground. They flew through a flock of worm-like creatures, which wheeled and danced erratically as they skimmed high, afloat without wings or other visible mechanism. The jets split apart as they passed through the swarm, their paths diverging as the creatures scattered in panic.
Favo turned to watch one of the jets, its engine trail fading as it moved further away. His relief was short-lived. A searing red bolt of energy erupted from the clouds, striking the jet with unerring precision, the aircraft exploded into a fiery blossom following the net direction of the bolt and its own, its wreckage spiraling downward and disappearing into the haze below. The charged air particles lingered for a moment leaving a fading shadow of the bolt, its crimson hue casting an ominous glow across the nearby buildings. Favo froze, gripping the metal tighter as Kalene whimpered softly. Their mother took a sharp breath, tightening her grip on both children and urging them forward, her pace quickening.
The trio moved carefully through the debris-strewn streets, the mother’s eyes fixed on a seemingly untouched minivan parked partially on the sidewalk many meters away. Its clean exterior stood in stark contrast to the destruction around it. She stopped and turned to Favo, her voice firm but low.
— Stay here with your brother. Behind the car. I’ll check the car. — She grabbed a brick from the rubble nearby, its edges rough and crumbling, hoping it could protect her and her children a little more than her bare fists.
— Mom, I can– — Favo began, gripping his piece of metal tightly, but her sharp look silenced him. He exhaled heavily, nodding reluctantly.
— Just stay low. — She adjusted the brick in her hand and turned away, walking toward the minivan with deliberate caution.
Her footsteps were light but measured as she approached the vehicle. She moved slowly, leaning slightly to one side and then the other, scanning her surroundings for any movement. Her eyes darted to the dark windows of the nearby buildings, the heaps of wreckage, and the shadows cast by the flickering fires.
Reaching the minivan, she hesitated for a moment before grabbing the door handle. She pulled gently, the latch clicking faintly as the door swung open. Relief flickered across her face—until the sound of another door opening on the opposite side froze her in place.
Her breath caught as she turned her head, and she found herself staring at a figure stepping out from the other side.
— Freeze. Put your hands where I can see them. — The voice was masculine, commanding, but it felt… Off. It lacked a shared exhaustion, perhaps, or fear, adequate to such a dire situation. — Step back from the vehicle.
— It’s alright, it’s alright. — She swallowed hard, raising her free hand while letting the brick slip from her grip. — I’m not armed. Don’t shoot! I have my kids with me... I was just trying... I didn’t see you– — Her words trailed off as her gaze locked onto the figure now fully visible on the other side of the van.
A specter stood on the other side, his stance rigid and precise, rifle held like a textbook illustration. His appearance was strikingly alien, yet familiar, a geometric, vaguely hoku shape clad in a battered military uniform, its fabric and plating showing signs of heavy wear. Scratches and streaks of soot marred what might once have been pristine, the insignia on his chest faded but still identifiable. A blood splattered yellow armband marked him as a medic. Glowing matrix display-like eyes on his long face shifted subtly as if they could actually see her, scanning her as his mechanical ear-like antennae twitched and pivoted, keeping track of the environment. He stepped carefully toward the front of the vehicle, rifle still trained on her but now held with less tension.
— Are you injured? Are you alone? — His voice was direct, efficient, but not harsh. His antennae flicked again, catching faint sounds from the surroundings as his glowing eyes stayed locked on her.
— No, no... I have kids. They’re right there. — She gestured slightly with her chin toward the overturned car where her children hid, her hands still raised. Her voice cracked slightly as she added, — Favo! Come out. It’s a doctor... It’s a doctor that wants to see you. — She tried to sound calm, though a tremor betrayed her attempt. Slowly, the older boy emerged first, clutching the makeshift weapon tightly before noticing the specter and loosening his grip. Kalene followed closely, clutching his brother’s sleeve.
The specter’s head tilted slightly, his antennae twitching again as he assessed the children from a distance. Satisfied, he lowered the rifle, the weapon releasing a faint hum as it locked magnetically to his side. He raised a hand and motioned toward the van.
— … Good, bring them over. We need to get them checked. — His tone softened slightly, though it carried urgency. — My partner is two blocks down this street treating an injured man. I’m trying to get us another vehicle to catch up with our unit. — He stepped aside, gesturing again for the trio to move toward the minivan. The faint glow of his eyes dimmed slightly, his attention splitting between them and the empty streets around, ears still tuned to the distant chaos.
The mother, still cautious, began leading her children toward him, her instincts battling her relief at finding someone, something, that might help. The group settled into the van, the children huddled in the back while the mother sat in the passenger seat, still clutching her knees. Chase took the wheel, his movements precise and mechanical, yet his attention flicked between the road and the dashboard's cracked display, scanning for potential threats.
The van's interior was sparse, with a lingering smell of wet fur and chemicals—likely remnants of its original pet shop use. Chase’s glowing eyes dimmed slightly as he adjusted the vehicle’s settings, the engine coming to life.
— Where are they? The army, the navy? Why aren’t they pushing these things back? — the mother asked, her voice tense but not accusatory. Her gaze was fixed on the cracked windshield ahead as the city passed by.
— The army and navy are engaging the invaders on the coasts. Most of the conflict is concentrated on beaches and waterfront cities. Initial reports suggest the invaders are either drawn to these areas or started their assault there intentionally. — his synthetic voice responded evenly, though there was a weight behind it. He turned the wheel sharply to avoid a mangled streetlight lying across the road. The children jolted slightly in their seats, but Kalene clung tightly to his brother, staying quiet.
— And the civilians? Where are they taking us? — she pressed further, glancing briefly at the rearview mirror where her sons’ reflections trembled in the faint light.
— Inland, to army bases and hospitals. — his antennae twitched, and his glowing eyes flickered as he processed additional information. — But it’s slow. Supply lines are severed, and the creatures are spreading inland. Some fauna—smaller than their war units but no less lethal—have infiltrated further than expected. It’s creating bottlenecks everywhere.
— You… You mean it’s not safe anywhere? — the mother exhaled sharply, gripping her knees tighter.
— To my awareness, no. But the limited information we have suggested the people might be safe in the old wastelands. Long-range radio communications have been down for the last three hours. The hostile fauna has made it difficult to maintain small group cohesion for units like mine, so every… — He paused suddenly, glancing briefly at her before returning his focus to the road. — However, Expanse protocol states that I give you only the relevant, positive, information, in order to avoid panic and mass hysteria. — that last line felt awkwardly polite given the dying city outside.
She turned to look at him fully for the first time, noting the scratches across his uniform and the faint scuffs on his metallic limbs.
— You said ‘your unit…’ What’s left of it?
— To my knowledge, myself and my partner only. — He adjusted the wheel again, his voice steady but edged with something that sounded like regret. — Army medical unit, designation XAS3-KA25, callsign ‘Chase’, and sergeant Gora Honeda. We were assigned to extract wounded personnel and civilians. That mission continues. — the mother sighed and leaned back on her seat, not knowing what to make of it exactly. — Our best chance is to keep moving inland, away from the coast. If the navy can regain control of the seas and space, their efforts should alleviate the situation on land for the general population to re-settle.
The van hit a bump, and Favo winced as his head struck the side.
— Sorry about that, kid. — Chase’s voice carried a faint hum of reassurance, as if trying to sound less of a machine.
The mother didn’t respond immediately, her mind racing through his words…
— If there’s even a chance we’ll make it… — she turned back to look at her sons, then faced him again — you better get us there.
— That’s the plan, ma’am, — Chase replied, his antennae twitching slightly as he scanned the road ahead.
— Forget that… It’s… It’s Lalene.
— Alright, Lalene… Just hold on. — Chase’s voice was barely above a whisper as he brought the van to a slow stop. As soon as the door opened, the pungent smell of burning fuel and scorched metal hit them. The scene ahead was a nightmare in motion.
The overturned military truck was aflame, its twisted frame a grotesque silhouette against the dimming sky. The medic, dressed in army fatigues with the same yellow medical armband that Chase wore, worked desperately over the body—if it could even be called that anymore. It was from the chest down all reduced to a pulp, leaving behind an unrecognizable mass. The blood stains the pavement in dark streaks from the main pool. The medic’s hands moved feverishly, pressing into what remained of the torso as though they could somehow revive it. Her voice cracked with each utterance.
— No... No, no, no... We can't lose another one, not like this, not after everything... Stay with me, damn it! Stay with me! It’s an order, soldier! — behind her, a little girl, no older than seven, wailed. Another wounded man, his face hollow with exhaustion and pain, held her tightly, his arm around her waist, keeping her from running forward. His eyes were locked on the medic’s frantic efforts.
— Don’t look, son. — Lalene’s voice broke through the haze, her hand gripping her son’s arm. She glanced at the scene again and immediately wished she hadn’t. — Don’t look at that. — she gently pushed Kalene behind her seat, putting herself between them and the window, unable to look away from it as she covered her mouth from gasping.
Chase’s movements were methodical, his antennae flicking forward, trying to catch any sounds or signals. He knew this was only part of the nightmare, but even so, there was no hesitation in his voice when he spoke again.
— Gora? — he called, his voice slightly strained, but steady. No response. He stepped closer to the medic, his feet crunching against the debris as he raised his voice once more. — Sergeant Gora? My… My sensors indicate she is gone. — the specter seemed to hesitate as he spoke calmly.
— Come on! Please, don’t leave me... not like this, please, please… — Her efforts only grew louder, her face wet with tears as she cried out to the lifeless body beneath, giving harsh compressions over a red-soaked towel.
— You need to come with me. We’ve got more lives to save. — His grip on the medic’s shoulder was a quiet command, his tone more stern.
— We lost him... we lost them all... I... I couldn’t– — She broke off, shuddering with tears and anger, but Chase’s grip tightened, pulling her up with surprising gentleness but undeniable force. He placed a strong hand on her back, urging her away from the scene.
— Gora, I need you to focus. There’s nothing more you can do here. We’ve got a new mission now. — Chase spoke clearly and gently pulled on her shoulder.
— I’m not leaving him... I’m not leaving any of them! — Gora cried out in frustration, her voice breaking as her figure gave up to his gesture.
— We’ll honor them. But we can’t help them now. — He turned, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. — The van’s waiting. Get moving. — Chase looked at the man and his daughter remained frozen, too frightened to speak. — You two, in the van. Now. — his mouthless face ordered sharply through the speakers, his eyes steely as he glanced back at them.
The man nodded quickly, gathering the girl into his arms, and made his way to the van with hurried steps. The little girl clung to him, still sobbing, but with no words left to say. They both climbed into the back of the van, and the door slammed shut with a dull thud.
— Let’s go. We don’t have time to waste. — Chase stepped in behind them, his voice low, his gaze hard as he looked out the front window and turned the car on.
Lalene sat silently in the front, her face pale as she tried to reconcile what they had just seen. She caught the reflection of her son, his wide eyes filled with confusion and fear, staring at the shattered world outside as it began to slowly roll past her face.
— It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. — She whispered, though her voice wavered. Everyone inside was then quickly alarmed when Chase’s face turned off and he plopped flat against the wheel, blaring the horn for half a second before it too went mute. Alarms and lights from cars around them too blared and blinked for a short moment before becoming mute, the city block now illuminated by the faint light from distant fires bouncing back from the clouds.
Opel Moreé (Fighter 12): "Tower, this is Fighter 12, requesting immediate comms check. I'm inbound to Hukat, 10 clicks from target, under heavy fire from hostile forces. I repeat, we need a comms check—do you copy?"
Comm Officer: "Fighter 12, this is Hukat Tower, loud and clear. What's your status?"
Opel Moreé: "Got multiple opp on my tail, breaking off evasive now. Need to establish a line to surface forces for coordinated response, over."
Comm Officer: "Understood. Hold tight, Fighter 12. We’ve got surface units engaging on the ground, but they’re stretched thin. We’ll patch you through to the command node. ETA to surface—two minutes?"
Opel Moreé: "That’s affirmative. I’m going in hot, out of options up here. What’s the latest intel on ground movement? Over."
Comm Officer: "No clear reports from the surface as of five minutes ago. The front is collapsing under pressure. We’ve got assets trying to hold off the enemy, but reinforcements aren’t in place yet. Can you give us eyes on the ground once you're down?"
Opel Moreé: "Copy that. I'll relay real-time visual as soon as I clear the deck. Adjusting descent now, weapons primed for any targets of opportunity, over."
Comm Officer: "Roger that, Fighter 12. We're updating surface command with your approach. Make it count. Out."
Opel begins his rapid descent, his fighter skimming through the dense atmosphere as enemy fire streaks by, narrowly missing the sleek form of Fighter 12. His voice cracks over the comms as he shifts tactics.
Opel Moreé: "Fighter 12 to all units, keep your heads on a swivel. I’m about to breach the front—eyes up, I’m not alone here. Orders are coming through as we speak. Stand by for an uplink."
Wingman (Fighter 5): "Fighter 12, you’re not the only one in this mess, but you’re damn good at drawing fire. Watch your six. We're coming in behind."
Opel Moreé: "Copy that, Fighter 5. Appreciate the backup. Let's keep this clean. Out."
As Opel dives deeper, the radio crackles again, and the voice of his superior officer breaks through, his tone urgent and focused.
Squadron Lead: "Fighter 12, we’ve got new orders—try to link up with ground command, but if they’re not operational, I need you setting up for a quick evac. Understood?"
Opel Moreé: "Understood, Lead. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Fighter 12, engaging target—two o’clock low, hostile interceptor inbound!"
Opel adjusts his throttle and pulls a sharp turn, locking onto the enemy craft. He fires a quick burst, hitting the target with precise accuracy before dodging a retaliatory shot. His pulse quickens as he dives into the chaos below, the landscape of Hukat stretching out before him.
Opel Moreé: "Hukat ground, Fighter 12 descending through the hot zone, be advised. Preparing to establish landing coordinates, over."
Hukat Command (Ground): "Fighter 12, you are cleared for landing. We’ve got a patchy defense line, but any help is appreciated. Watch for incoming fire, we're not in the clear yet."
Opel Moreé: "Roger that. I’ll be your eyes and ears on the way down. Keep tight, I’m bringing in the data now. Hold the line, over."
The fighter maneuvers through a hailstorm of gunfire, steadily approaching the surface as the adrenaline surges in Opel’s veins. His fighter screeches in a high-speed dive, the ground growing closer by the second, and his focus sharpens on the task ahead.
Opel Moreé: "Tower, we’ve got a full-on cluster down here! Multiple targets—flying creatures, half-egg-shaped craft, heavy anti-air crossfire. I’m seeing coordinated fire from both surface defenses and the enemy ships above. This is a hot zone, repeat, a hot zone!"
Comm Officer: "Copy, Fighter 12! Stay sharp, we're patching through intel on the creatures and the craft. You're in the thick of it now. Keep your altitude and avoid getting caught in that crossfire, over."
Opel Moreé: "Roger, trying to break through it. Adjusting course to avoid heavy flak and moving fast. I’ve got a visual on one of those half-eggs, it's charging something—wait! They're all firing on that big flying thing—third party crossfire!"
Wingman (Fighter 5): "Fighter 12, stay low! There’s no room to maneuver in that mess, take what you can and make it quick!"
Opel Moreé: "Copy that, Fighter 5. Look alive, this is gonna get messy. Watch your fire on the ground—these bastards aren't the only ones out here!"
Opel's fighter dives low, narrowly dodging a hail of tracers coming from a parked war machine as he moves over the city park. Large, scaly, and winged creatures circle in the sky, and the massive anti-aircraft batteries are firing in a steady rhythm, the shots lighting up the sky. He barely avoids a few large bursts as he zooms in between two high-rise buildings, the displaced air leaving a trail of shattering windows behind him.
Opel Moreé: "Hukat command, I’m seeing defensive fire from war machines—stationary but effective. They're pushing back the flying monsters, but the alien craft aren’t slowing down. We’ve got mutual targets down here, they’re not friendly. Need a response, now!"
Hukat Command (Ground): "Fighter 12, hold position. We're activating secondary systems to support you. Any targets of opportunity you can take out to clear the skies, do it. Watch your back—those creatures are moving in fast!"
Opel Moreé: "Understood. Engaging one of the larger creatures—going for the wings!"
Opel locks onto a massive winged creature circling below, its large, leathery wings casting a shadow over the chaos below. He pulls the trigger, sending a burst of cannon fire into the beast's underbelly. It screeches, spiraling as its wings lock up, and crashes into a building, sending debris and smoke into the air.
Opel Moreé: "One down. Eyes peeled, they’re everywhere. I’ve got multiple targets on the radar, inbound fast. No slowing down now—adjusting speed, hold on!"
He pulls his fighter hard to the left, dodging an incoming blast from one of the egg-shaped alien ships. The ship shudders as the air resistance tears past him, but Opel maintains control, narrowly skimming the tops of buildings as the battlefield rages below him. The alien ships above seem to be focusing on the flying creatures, but a stray round finds its mark on a nearby anti-aircraft battery, sending up a column of fire.
Opel Moreé: "We need to get these damn creatures and ships off the line—too much collateral! Fighter 12 to all units, I’m clearing a path for landing! Need a green light, now!"
Comm Officer: "Fighter 12, landing site is clear. We’ve got enough defensive fire to give you a window, but you’re on your own once you touch down. Get in and out fast."
Opel Moreé: "Copy that, patching through now. I’ll relay intel as I land. Hold steady—here we go!"
Opel pulls his fighter down through the crossfire, his view narrowing as the ground gets closer. Above him, the alien ships continue their firestorm with the giant flying creatures, but the chaos below demands his focus. He lowers his altitude, breaking through the clouds and skimming over the debris-strewn streets, heading toward the designated landing zone.
Opel Moreé: "Hukat command, this is Fighter 12—final approach, standby for coordinates and intel. Almost on the deck!"
The air crackles with the sound of explosions in the distance as Opel’s fighter lands hard on the park’s open space. He quickly shuts down the engines, unstraps, and prepares to exit the fighter as the ground shakes from distant impacts. He climbed out of his fighter and checked the surroundings as a truck quickly rolled up to tow it off the landing strip. The ground shook lightly with each step of the heavy mechanical bird-legged machines in the distance.
— You made it down, sir. — one of them said, nodding toward the sky. — We weren’t expecting any more of you. — Two low-ranking officers approached Opel, their faces tired but determined.
— What’s the status on the Karapa? Why aren’t we receiving surface signals? — Opel asked, glancing at the towering inferno where the city’s space elevator once stood, the massive skeletal frame still burning.
The officers exchanged uneasy glances before one of them pointed towards the ruined structure, the once proud rings now twisted and charred.
— They’ve taken down our space elevator. The anchor and its satellite infrastructure might’ve been swung away into space… — he muttered, the weight of the loss evident in his voice.
Opel’s gaze shifted to the walking war machines striding in the distance, towering tanks with mechanical bird legs, moving swiftly from underground platforms.
— And those old war machines? Are all we’ve got??? — Opel remarked, squinting at the sight.
— Old tech, yes. But when war hits, a weapon is a weapon. — The officer’s tone was grim as he continued, his eyes following the machines. — We’ve got a defense holding well in Qelizaabede right now, though. A coastal city. But it’s fragile.
— We can’t just sit on our hands, — he said, his voice low but intense. — The higher-ups are pushing to blast orbit, trying to wipe out everything in space. Karapa is stalling, but you need to do the same here. It’s not just about holding the ground—it’s about buying time. I need to speak with the general, he said firmly. The Chelok fleet is coming, but we have to hold out. They’ll provide support, but they can’t do anything if the planet's orbit is a paper shredder. We need to stall, for as long as we can.
The officer remained silent for a moment, his gaze flickering toward the machines again. Then, breaking decorum, he spoke in a hushed tone.
— We are stalling... just not the way you think. — the officer said, his voice strained. — We’re intending to use our nuclear arsenal on the ground instead. A detonation in the stratosphere would fry our still-working electronics. We still have short-range ground comms, targeting systems, lose that, and we won’t even be able to aim. But if we target the mothership near the coast, the impact would be limited by the horizon, mostly affecting the surrounding area due to atmospheric attenuation.
Opel's eyes widened at the officer's words.
— On the s-surface? — Opel's jaw clenched. He hadn’t expected this, but it made a grim kind of sense. If the orbit was a kill zone, what other choices did they have? — That’s not stalling — he said, his voice tightening. — That’s a retreat by annihilation.
— It’s all we’ve got left! — the officer cut in, his words were steady, but the cracks in his tone showed through. — We don’t have time to waste.
Opel's jaw clenched. He hadn’t expected this, but it made sense in a grim sort of way. The more he thought about it, the more it became clear—they were out of options. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the wrong move.
— Get me to the command center. Now.
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