o 012cb099c1ab6050 by POTATO (freda ebook reader TXT) 📕

to ash. They

don't care if you fight or not."

"Caston," Marc said, after a long moment's silence. "Where are you from?"7

"Don't you get it?" Caston said, wheeling around. "It doesn't matter! Pick a planet! Our

cities are being destroyed and overrun and obliterated from orbit.

You don't get to stand on the

goddamn sidelines, Marc. If we don't fight, we're extinct."

Behind Marc, something floated between the dark pillars of two

skyscrapers. Two

somethings. Huge, dark shapes with dangling appendages. The

well of icy water spilled over,

crawling up Caston's arms and over his shoulders.

He'd first seen overlords in the final days of Mar Sara, rising over the horizon like tumors.

The zerg had been unknown then, and he'd sat on the rooftop of

his parents' home, watching

them come, eclipsing the daylight.

He remembered only snatches of the day that followed. Dark

clouds of mutalisks flooding

across the horizon in rippling flocks. Hiding beneath a cellar door while his mother shielded it

from outside, screaming as bloody claws cut through her into the

wood beneath. His father's

rough hands around his waist, shoving him into a last transport as

zerglings swarmed up the

ramp and the overlords hung overhead, watching...

Caston shrugged the FN92 off his shoulder and pushed past

Marc.

"Caston, what—"

Through the scope, the two overlords were perfectly visible, even

though it was night.

Bulbous pulsing masses of purple-red flesh, pierced by knobs of

carapace and jagged bones.

Spiderlike legs twitched underneath, just behind hanging, somber

heads. Each one had dimly lit

clusters of eyes: the bigger overlord's was purple; the other's,

green.

They had halted in the gap, and were turning towards each other.

If they hadn't been

monsters, Caston would have imagined that they were speaking.

He centered the crosshairs on the nearest one's head. The

weakness—the trembling fear

that had haunted him in the academy's entrance hallway—was

gone.

"Caston," Marc said. "I've heard about this. All the zerg have gone wild. No one's controlling

them. They're harmless."

"Good," Caston said, and pulled the trigger.

The overlord's head jerked sideways. It sank into the side of a

nearby building and tumbled

gently to the ground, crumpling like a discarded sack. Purple eyes

winked out one by one.

With glacial slowness, the remaining overlord turned to face him

through the crosshairs.

Emerald eyes flared in the dark, meeting his. Seeing him.

He fired again and missed. The overlord had vented some of the

gases keeping it afloat and

drifted to the left, behind the nearest building.

"I'm not going to watch this," Marc said. Caston ignored him, aiming above the skyscraper

line, and side to side. The lift doors pinged behind him as he

waited.

An hour passed, and Green Eyes hadn't reappeared. Grimacing,

he slung the rifle back over

his shoulder and descended.

* * *

No longer One and One, are we.

One, are we. Alone, are we. The last of our kind, are we.

With grief and rage, hurtle we from the horizon line. From the

embrace, flee we.8

Into madness.

Into solitude.

we...we...

are alone. we are the last of our kind.

The we who are born now wil not remember the time before the

Becoming. our world will be

forgotten.

There must be payment for this. There must be punishment.

we will punish them.

we?

I.

I will punish them.

And I will bring the We.

* * *

Caston, Kell, and Marc advanced up a narrow street lined by

towering ruins. The empty

windows opened onto rounded darkness like empty eye sockets.

A rifle boomed from a roof. The shot lanced down, splashing

against Kell's armored leg and

spraying red across the ground. Caston and Drumar hustled into

cover against the rusted frame

of a luxury vehicle.

"Again with the leg!" Kell groaned, falling obediently to his paint-round-stained knee and

crawling towards the rest of his squad.

"You call that a kill shot, Private Berry?" growled Sergeant Bayton across the open channel.

"Sorry, Sarge," Berry replied from the roof. The rifle boomed again, missing Kell by a meter

and change. Caston tracked the shot and caught the muzzle of

the rifle disappearing back over

a roof's edge. His HUD bracketed Berry's armored outline through

the concrete.

"Tagged and locked," Caston said, grinning. "Sorry, Berry."

"Well done, Private Gage," Sergeant Bayton said. A rifle bolt clacked. "Please feel free to

stand up and receive my congratulations."

"Holy hell, Gage," said Kell, finally reaching them. "That's fourteen kills today. Save some for

the rest of us."

Behind him, Marc turned away, his expression hidden by his

faceplate.

Two days had passed since they arrived. Caston had waited for

Marc to report him as

dangerous and unbalanced. The moment had never come, and

Caston had recovered from his

initial embarrassment. They'd run a dozen war games since

yesterday, and he'd topped the

charts nearly every time.

Killing the overlord had saved him. He'd finally met the enemy

face to face and taken his

shot. The hallway had been a fluke; he'd never hesitate again,

never be weak again. The

universe swarmed with the enemies and traitors of humanity, and

he was a marine, paid to kill

them.

Life was good.

"Sarge, I don't get it," Kell said. "Why do we have to pretend we're hunting down fake

rebels when there are real zerg all over the planet?"9

"Because they're feral, Private," said temporary rebel commander Bayton. "They're

dangerous, but disorganized. No real challenge."

"And this is?" Kell said, glancing around the edge of cover—

The sergeant's shot splattered against his faceplate, and Kell

went down. The sergeant had

the sun behind him. Caston couldn't see a thing.

"Ow," groaned Kell from the ground. "Killed by amateur rebels. My shame is endless."

"Amateur!" Vallen said over the channel, from his hidden sniper's nest. "How dare you!"

"Right," said Hanna. "We're hardened rebel elites, thanks."

"Exactly," Vallen continued. "We don't shave or bathe. We

'liberate' civilian settlements by

setting them on fire."

"According to propaganda, that's what we do," Hanna growled.

"But actually, we're

displaced settlers with legitimate patriotic concerns—"

"Just finished a scan," Dax interrupted. He'd stayed behind to get the base systems up and

running, and the radio static flattened his dull monotone stil

further. "Al clear."

"Don't sound so disappointed, Private," Sergeant Bayton said.

"That's just how he talks since the recruiters panned his brain flat, Sarge," Hanna said.

"We're lucky he has a soon-to-be-court-martialed-for-smartassery private to speak up for

him, then."

"Just trying to sound like a rebel," Hanna said cheerfully.

"You're not cursing enough," Vallen said.

"Hold on," Kell said. "If I'm a rebel, I get to curse, set things on fire, and stop bathing? I'm on

the wrong team."

"They don't allow you to marry your sister," Vallen said.

"Rebel scum!"

"Privates Saul and Wolfe," Bayton said, "would you kindly stop