Chapter 20 – Pressura

August 18th, 2552 - (09:42 Hours - Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Viery Territory, Eposz

New Alexandria, Galactic Cup Committee Building

:********:

Duncan turned the corner rifle-first. Leaning out, he got a good view of the hallway on the other side. It carried on for a few steps before reaching an open area, the main attraction of which was an imposing trophy case. Set against the wall and within a glass case, several shelves held up dozens of trophies, from gold and silver to bronze and even a few platinum. Each had an ornate design which, though distinct to itself, bore two uniform characteristics to the others. The first was a figurine of a sportsman in varying poses. In their hand or arm was the metallic glowing orb of a gravball. The second feature was that somewhere on their bases they all possessed three white lines that pointed to a circle of the same color. It was the symbol of the famous intersystem sporting event known as the Galactic Cup.

The symbol wasn't restricted to the trophies either. It was also printed in crimson canvas on the banners draped around the room: '2552 - Reach Galactic Cup'. They were set alongside photo projections of famous gravball players in their moments of glory. They were scoring goals, hailing stands of cheering or even rueful crowds and receiving awards, some of which were housed inside the case. Duncan just so happened to notice that a few of those photos showed teams from different worlds and games set on other colonies. Names like 'Miridem Maulers', 'Jericho Jaguars' and 'Camber Cobras' stuck out to him. It was hauntingly surreal to see them stenciled on the jerseys of such cheerful faces, on men and women embracing rival teams from other planets and systems, celebrating the event that brought them together as fellow colonies.

It was surreal because none of those worlds existed anymore. The reason why was ogling the fruits of their labor, three in fact that stood transfixed before the trophy case.

The Jackals were not very scrupulous. For one, they were letting their eyes consume the shimmering forms of the trophies as one of them searched for a way to open the case. They had also turned their backs to the two adjoining passages and lowered their weapons. They had let their guard down.

"Now."

At the Staff's behest, Duncan stepped fully around the corner. Mito did the same from an adjacent hallway. Both of them drilled into the aliens with fully automatic fire. The first two to be hit shrieked in pain. They stumbled as their assailants advanced then fell over as the rest of the platoon filed in after them, tearing into their armor with merciless speed. The last of the Jackals dropped his attempt at cracking the case a second too late. A wave of bullets made it dance to the music of its own screams before it collapsed beside its comrades.

1st Platoon fanned out across the space. Once they were sure it was clear, Duncan and Mito strolled back to observe their handiwork.

"That's two more for me." Mito smirked.

Duncan shook his head with mock politeness. "Nah, you only wounded them. You can't really call dibs after the whole platoon joined in. Not unless you saw where every bullet went."

"Sure did. Don't forget, Kato Danzo, I have an eagle eye for this sort of stuff."

"No you don't, and stop calling me that."

"Sure thing, Kato."

Duncan kicked one of the Jackals in what was left of its head as he cast an avenging eye on the trophy case.

"Anyway, that's that." He declared as he looked over to the Staff. "Building secured, sir."

"Alright, we're linking up with Fox-Actual at the tram stop on Floor 20. We'll use the elevators for the sake of time."

The Staff planted a new Nav point on their destination some eight floors below. The platoon gravitated back out of the room, leaving the bodies of the last Covenant troops behind. Duncan lingered a while longer. He took a few more eyefuls of the photos, of the array of determined, distraught and exultant faces on them. He wondered at team names like the 'New Carthage Badgers' and the 'Reach Grizzlies'. The last one stuck with him. He remembered many years ago having an argument with a little kid about which of the two was better. A flash of guilt struck him like a bolt out of the blue, however, and reminded him why he preferred to avoid that particular memory.

At last,he drifted to the banners hanging about the place that spoke to the Galactic Cup's annual cycle finally bringing it to Reach. It was supposed to happen sometime around August. Now he doubted it would, and worried if it ever would again.

"Ep-8?" Renni called as she passed by. "Don't forget your appointment. I need to replace that biofoam every now and again, otherwise it'll wear off." She patted him on his bad shoulder. "Don't want that going necrotic now do we?"

"No ma'am."

Duncan took another look at the room then left after Renni, turning the corner with her to join the rest of the platoon. It was a short walk to an elevator and a longer ride down. For once, the enclosed space made him happy it was an interior lift. An exterior elevator at a time like this could risk everyone becoming the prey of an opportunistic Seraph or Banshee. They would need to play it safe until they left the building, just as they had when they came in.

Taking their target building had been easier than he expected. Following their little incident on the rooftop, the platoon entered in from the highest level and started working their way down. Incidentally, and advantageously, of the 60 floors that comprised the building it was the 59th that held the security operations room. As the squad's resident tech head, Duncan was up to the task. The others had his back while he went to work on the main processor. Using a few municipal master key codes to bypass layers of security lockouts, he gained full control of the camera systems. From there he conducted conglomerated activity scans on one group of floors after the next. It allowed him to get a sense of what was or wasn't going on in each area, office space by office space, hallway by hallway and stairwell by stairwell. Thankfully the first couple of scans only took a merciful ten seconds. Most gave him an update of 'Motion Activity: 0%'.

Since Duvall's troopers were already working their way up towards '15, he decided to check the last floors between them and '30. The first and only time he received a warning notice was on Floor 28. The mention of 'Motion Activity: 0.5%' was eye-catching yet relaxing in a way. It meant either they were about to rescue a few stranded civilians or they were about to mop up some easy prey. Either one was fine with him though he honestly preferred the former. A quick check on the floor's camera feeds showed it to be the latter.

Since the Jackals were cleaned up, 1st Platoon got underway for their next rendezvous with the remnants of Lima Company. With kindred haste, the elevator slid to a stop. The doors parted to let them out among the Army personnel of Floor 20.

They arrived at a spacious lobby of black marble floors that absorbed the sunlight coming in from the other end. A pair of velvet carpets ran like snakes' tongues from the exit and back, passing by more pictures of Gravball royalty and banners of the Galactic Cup that adorned the walls. They also passed the brims of long-running fountains that spanned the length of the lobby, their basins and channels still flowing. The sound of running water provided a peaceful ambiance to the two platoons' worth of men and women lying on the floor. Minor injuries were bandaged, severe burns treated, and body bags zipped shut. Those who were able pulled their boots off the carpets, allowing the platoon to walk by unhindered.

Duncan became aware of a few recognizable faces. One or two of the 77th personnel that had tagged along with them from the MagLev station were here as well. By their wounds, he wagered that the most they could do was wait for a medevac. It was sure to be another bad omen for their efforts going forward.

"Hey Ep-1, how far out is that-, ugh, Carari place again?" Hector asked.

"Császári." Nova corrected.

"Right, that one."

"About two kilometers." The Staff explained. "Why?"

"Just saw a couple of our drivers off to the side there. We might need to go solo on this one."

"I don't like sound of that." Yuri groaned. "There's no way I'm taking us on any more flights today. That last one was close call, and I don't want to take any more calls if you catch my drift."

"Yeah, I catch it." The Staff said as they neared the exit. "Just give me a minute, we'll figure something out. Let's help set things up here and use the time to think."

They reemerged into the light of day. Their visors quickly adjusted, showing them that they had come to the top of a circular arrangement of steps. They radiated down to a long, elevated platform that jutted out from the building's side like an outstretched hand. At the other end of the platform were several docking braces that arched over the open air like claws. The spiny maglev rail just so happened to pass through them before continuing on and on until it was once again out of sight.

To the best of their ability, those of Duvall's able-bodied troopers had established a perimeter. They had plopped down UNSC-issue defense barriers, planted turrets behind their U-shaped openings and were slowly ringing the rest of the edges with sandbags. The only two openings were to the docking station on the far side and to the stairs of which the platoon jogged down its short descent.

Not spotting Duvall, the Staff went for the next best thing in a team of troopers setting down a turret behind a barricade. Among them was a hollow-eyed corporal who used his weight to angle the triple-barrels towards the embattled skyline.

"Corporal, where's your company commander?"

"He's on the ground floor, front lobby." He replied dispassionately. "We found what was left of a part of our battalion's X-Ray Company down there. Turns out they'd been looking for a rallying point too before things went south. We never even knew they made it this far, what you see back there is a mix of their casualties and ours."

"I'd suppose the guns and barricades came from the same place?"

The corporal nodded as he left another trooper to manage the turret. "Fox-Actual's trying to bring some more up the lifts. Those X-Ray guys made a last stand you see, it wasn't pretty." He gestured to a patch of blood on one of the sandbags. "And that's after we cleaned it. But yeah, Fox is trying to sort that out before he sends them up. Might be a minute. Need me to pass on a message?"

The Staff shook his head. "No, I already told him the place is secured. We just wanted to know if he needed any help before we headed out. Also, I should warn you that I already radioed the building's capture to the guys at NA Central. They said they've dispatched a security team to help hold down the neighborhood along with a supply drop. They also sent a tram full of civilians behind them, should be here in the next five minutes."

"Five? That's a little too close, isn't it?"

"We're not the only ones on the clock, trooper. So, what'll it be?"

"Well, if you want you can help yourself." The corporal said with a strange reluctance as he peered past him. "Speaking of which, we've got some more incoming."

The platoon followed his gaze back to the lobby where a handful of carts were being wheeled out from the elevator, each ladened with sandbags.

"Let's make this quick." The Staff said.

The platoon moved for the carts which came to a stop at the top of the stairs. They reached up as soldiers passed them the sandbags and hefted them towards the last gaps in the perimeter.

Duncan reached out for a bag when Renni pulled him back.

"Time to check on that shoulder, Ep-8. Come on, while we've got the chance."

"Yeah, Doc." With a sigh, Duncan followed her to the side of the steps. There she sat him down and helped him remove his right shoulder pad. Taking off the last of the armor components beneath, she pried an opening in the Kevlar undersuit and got a visual on the wound.

"Alright, it's not too bad. The fluid's starting to dry out though."

Duncan tried to look for himself. The yellowish green fluid inside the wound was still hardened but was beginning to turn to a pukey green crust. Renni worked one-handed with a tool to carefully scrape it out. She used her freehand to grab his head and turn him back around.

"Look that way for me please. This'll only take a minute."

Duncan let out another long exhale and sat still. He watched discontentedly as the others helped lay out the sandbags. More than once, a bag slipped out of somebody's hands because of the blood on them. Most, however, made it to whatever position they needed to fill within the platform's new perimeter wall. Somewhat unconsciously he tapped an impatient foot on the ground for every second that passed.

Much to his displeasure, the lack of work to do gave him what was turning out to be a shared problem for Daz and Reznik: a chance to think.

Right away the hotel was on his mind. Erica and Noah were at the forefront of his worries. He was able to repress it until now with the non-stop grunt work of the last hour. With everything having come to a stop, if only temporarily, his fears swamped him like a busted hornet's nest. He had the strong urge to find and kill something. Grunt, Jackal, Elite, whatever. So long as it was alien and took his mind off the obvious, it would do. He eyed the rooftops of the surrounding skyscrapers for any sign of a threat. The routine appearance of UNSC and Covenant fighters offered him no solution. He couldn't shoot down that kind of enemy and it gave his nightmare scenarios the chance to slowly creep up on him.

He found his salvation in an unlikely source. Zack had stopped midstride after something fell off a sandbag he'd been carrying. He crouched down and picked it up for a better look. In his hand, Duncan saw that he had someone's dog tags. The radioman wiped off the blood to see the name.

Duvall's corporal saw it as well. Duncan witnessed the moment the man's once hollow gaze came alight.

He dropped what he was doing to jog towards Zack. "Hey-hey, Helljumper, that's one of ours. Hand them over."

"Oh, sorry. Hey, you sure you don't want me to run this to the lobby back there? Those medics looked like they could use some IDs for the-"

"I said give it back, ODST." He said more forcefully. "That there is none of your business."

As the corporal reached down to take them, Zack closed them off in his fist. He tilted his head contemptuously as he sized him up. "What's your problem, man? Got something to get off your chest?"

"I said hand them over."

Zack stood up until he was visor to face with him. "I heard you the first time. What I didn't hear was a please."

A few others around the platform stopped working. Duncan noticed a rising tension in the air and it was mainly coming from the Army troopers. They were looking back from their sandbags and barricades, staring hard at Zack.

"Do you know who you're talking to right now, trooper?" The corporal sneered.

Zack looked him up and down for a moment and shook his head. "No honestly. I don't even know your name."

"Well, that shouldn't matter because I know who's that is." The corporal pointed to the tags. "They're a friend of mine's. I knew him, you didn't. So hand them over."

Zack's stubborn mug softened. "Oh...well hey, sorry pal, I didn't know." He opened his hand.

The corporal snagged them scornfully out of his palm. "Of course you didn't. Why would you even bother to?"

Not giving him a chance for a rebuttal, the Army trooper turned and left, returning to his own corner of the defenses.

"What's his problem?" Zack muttered over comms.

Hector brushed past him ferrying enough sandbags for two or three men. "Probably that his buddy from boot just died and you got your hands on what was left of him."

"How do you know they were from boot?"

"A best guess, tends to work out that way out here. Whatever that was, don't take it to heart."

"I'm not, but he sure did."

The Staff butted in. "Check back with that cart, Ep-7. I think that's the last of the bags in there."

"Copy."

Watching the whole thing unfold, Duncan considered why the Staff had called for their radioman to finish the job and not someone like Hector, the squad's workhorse. He must have sensed the friction too. He was probably trying to keep them out of any problems going forward.

Still, the tension persisted at least from the survivors of Lima. Sneaking glances at the platoon, flashing contemptuous looks or whispers, Duncan saw everything from the stairs. He suspected that the corporal didn't know the name on the tags at all. The way he moved, the way he spoke, it wasn't grief but scorn. He might have just been looking for a solid reason to take them from Zack.

Duncan had a good idea why too.

He understood where it was coming from. He'd felt the same way a handful of times over the years. It was always when the platoon and Epsilon had had to be saved by Spartans. A small voice in the back of his head would tell him that they could've worked it out without the Spartans. But looking back on it, on the tight spots the UNSC's supersoldiers had pulled them out of, he knew it was nothing but a lie. There was no other way out in most of those cases which was something he'd grown to accept. He'd take a little bruised pride over a closed casket any day.

But did Lima see things the same way? Some of them had seemed happy to have them coming to their rescue. Now he wasn't so sure.

The tension was interrupted, at least for the moment, by the hum of engines. The sounds were plentiful and caused those on the platform to peek over the edge. Duncan could also see over the rail to the movement below.

Some 20 stories down, the streets were alive with the spurring wheels of Warthogs and the rumbling treads of Scorpions. The high elevation granted him a good vantage point from which to gauge their numbers. Two convoys of ten Hogs each had driven in from the direction of the park. Four Scorpions rolled after them. They converged on the committee building before proceeding to spread out around it. The Scorpions set themselves up against the four corners of the structure. Their cannons pointed out towards the nearby streets where the Hogs separated themselves into pairs. Each parked themselves across the roads to construct an encircling cordon. As cannons and turrets turned outwards, a defensive buffer zone was created for the inbound evacuation.

"And there's our backup." Mito said. "Hey Ep-1, we should check with them to see if they have any extra armor we can burrow."

Looking down at the cordon, the Staff shook his head. "Heavy armor doesn't make any sense at this point. What we need going forward is speed."

"Speaking of speed." Hector pointed.

The others traced his finger to three dots in the east. Although they were hard to make out against the light of the rising sun, their velocity allowed them to quickly resolve into more obvious shapes. The pair of Falcons, Kilo-9-2 and Kilo-9-4, swooped in from the maze of skyscrapers. They flew to either side of a Pelican dropship. In coordination the three made a rapid descent towards the building.

Those in the way ran off to the sides as the Pelican came to hang just a meter above the platform. It rotated until its rear was aligned with the building itself. The bay door was lowered to expose the cargo inside. Several ammo crates lay waiting, lined up to be pushed out. That was exactly what the Pelican's crew chief did. The sole occupant of the bay pushed them until they were over the edge, letting them fall the short drop to the ground. The Pelican cruised forward to avoid them falling out on top of each other as one came down after the other. Kilo-9-2 and 4 hovered above it as armed escorts. The presence of their gunners and autocannons put Duncan at ease. For the time being they had some protection from hostile airpower.

He listened to the mechanical hiss of the injector as Renni inserted a new salve of biofoam into his wound. His head swirled for a second. He got a bit of a high from the 'morphophetamine' mixture that Renni had once warned him not to get used to. He wanted to keep fighting, not overdose or turn himself into a druggie, so he kept that in mind.

Renni cleaned off the excess then resealed his undersuit and started returning his armor. He helped her secure his shoulder pad back in place.

With that done, she patted him on the back. "Alright, you're good to go. Don't forget you'll have to replace that every now and again."

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll remind me every other minute."

"More like every second. You wouldn't have had to go through any of this if you'd just stayed back at base to finish your treatment, but..."

Duncan got up just in time as the last crate thumped onto the platform, splitting the space down its length. The Pelican closed its door and turned to take off.

Kilo-9-2 came over the platoon's comms. "This is 2 to 1st Platoon, we're heading out to refuel and rearm. We'll be back in the area once the 83rd Tactical arrives. You'll have to get used to life without us 'till then. That okay?"

"We miss you already." The Staff said. "Don't worry, we'll make do. See you in a minute."

"Copy, Kilo out."

The Pelican's drives let out a loudening shriek as it ascended. The two Falcons followed it back east towards the Maglev station, slipping away into the cityscape.

Duncan slapped his rifle back onto his magnetic harness and strode with the others to the crates. In a silent consensus both Army troopers and ODSTs got behind them and started pushing them to the left side of the platform. The storage units moved like ancient blocks until they were set behind the defenses there.

All of them were DR44 Transit Boxes which the Staff proved the fastest at opening, typing on the exterior keypads and popping the lids in a manner of seconds. Inside of each was everything the platoon could have put on their Christmas list. Fully stocked magazines of every rifle class and capacity were held in pullable racks. Grenades, new attachments and even extra weapons gave them the chance to augment or exchange their loadouts: an armory away from the armory.

Duncan preferred them to the master pallets, the giant resupply boxes that were always more trouble than they were worth whenever it came to cracking them open. Like the others, he was reaching for a couple magazines when a command intruded on that.

"Stop, we need these."

It was the corporal.

Confused visors turned to the adamant soldier as he held up a hand. "Sorry troopers, but our supplies are already drained as it is. We're going to need these if we hope to hold this place."

"You need all of these?" Hector asked disbelievingly.

The soldier seemed to hesitate under their gaze, but after looking at his own comrades he answered with an affirmative nod.

"I doubt that." Yuri laughed.

The Staff stepped forward. "Corporal, we need these. We're about to head out and this location is relatively secure. We-"

"With respect, sir, I'll have to correct you on that. Once the 83rd pulls in, this place will be a hot bed for Covie activity. We don't have any stable air support. They'll come at us like white on rice. We can't afford not to have what we need once they show up, sir."

The Staff depolarized to stare commandingly at the young soldier. "Corporal, we have a job to do."

"Again, sir, I understand that but so do we."

"...Step aside, that's an order."

The corporal stood firm. "Can't follow it, sir."

The Staff's glower hardened to a glare. "And why's that, soldier?"

"Because Sergeant Major Duvall outranks you...sir. I'm sure he'd take our side if I explained the situation to him."

"I wouldn't be so sure." The Staff moved to add Duvall to their conversation. However, only a flood of static answered him.

"He's probably somewhere out of range." Nova advised. "We might want to give him a sec so he can help us out."

"I don't think he will." The corporal said.

Before the Staff could rebut him, Zack stepped in as well.

"What's your name, guy?"

"What's yours?"

"Zack, short for Zachary Matthews. Your turn."

A surge of irritation shot through the corporal's expression as he answered. "Stanley Jones. What about it?"

"Okay Stan, can I call you Stan?" Zack asked condescendingly. "So, Stan, are you seriously trying to send us into this next fight without ammo? I mean, I knew you had a problem before but this? This is too much, man. You can't have this much stupid in one head. Save some for the rest of the world, will you?"

The corporal jabbed a finger at him. "You better watch it, trooper or I'll-"

"You'll what? What're you going to do, huh, pull rank? You're getting orders and you're not even listening to them so why should we listen to you?"

While the two argued, Duncan became aware that all eyes were on them. Nearly three times as many soldiers were watching the conversation play out with worried or steely eyed demeanors. The atmosphere was tenser than before. Something about it made him very aware of where his rifle was and how long it would take him to get it in hand.

"We need it to better defend this position." Stanley asserted.

"And we need it to get to the next one." Zack shot back. "We used up a crap-ton of our supplies trying to rescue you guys. Now you're trying to stop us from getting what we need, probably to go save somebody else that's stranded out there? Tell me how that makes sense."

"We've been bleeding all day. We need the supply more than you do."

"Yeah, well maybe if you were better at your job you wouldn't bleed as much."

Right then Duncan felt those words split the tension, and the two groups, like a knife. Those of the soldiers who looked uneasy before were now looking on, eyes wide, backs erect, hands curling into fists. The rest of 1st platoon realized this as well and a few turned to watch them.

Stanley's eye twitched. "What'd you just say?"

"What, you lost your hearing too?"

"No, but I did lose a friend who died along with his squad because they ran out of ammo, just like we're about to. So, you can go-"

"That sucks, it really does. Did you ever think about this though? Maybe if they were better shots then they wouldn't have needed so much ammo. Maybe then they'd still be alive, hmm?"

There was a collective flash of seething fury across the gathering. The soldiers were ready to burst.

Stanley gritted his teeth like he was about to throw a punch. "Better...shots?"

"Yeah, like this."

Zack drew his sidearm in a blink, pointing it right in Stanley's face before anyone could react.

The whole platform froze.

Stanley stared down the barrel and at the visor of the man on the other end.

Zack depolarized to show a look of resolve that matched the corporal's. "You know, I've lost quite a few friends myself, but I've never used them as an excuse to get somebody else killed. You're not going to do that to us. I might be low on ammo, but I know I haven't used my M6 for the day."

"Ep-7, stand down." The Staff said strongly.

"Him first, sir."

"Ep-7, that's an order, not a suggestion. Stand down."

Zack stood firm.

Stanley slowly shook his head. "You're bluffing. You know you won't."

"Actually," Zack's eye flitted to his gun then back to the corporal. "I don't. But I hope you're right, and you better hope so too, 'cause if not, you're about to have the worst day of your life, and whatever family you've got are about to have an even worse year." His forefinger tightened around the trigger. "Still want to find out?"

The panicked realization was gradually setting in on the corporal's face even as he spoke against it. "You-...you're not serious."

"Why not? I've been locked up for crazier stuff, right guys?"

Stanley beheld him like a madman. "You're-...you're insane."

Zack seemed to seriously consider it then came away shrugging in agreement. "Probably, but I mean that's kind of a prereq for the job."

Suddenly another Army trooper drew his rifle on Zack. "Drop it! Drop the weapon now!"

The others quickly followed suit and, perhaps more out of instinct than reason, 1st Platoon paid them the same courtesy. In a heartbeat the entire platform transformed into an armed standoff.

Both sides traded shouts for the other to stand down. Neither listened.

Duncan found himself in the middle of the last kind of situation he was expecting to run into. Seeing his rifle's crosshairs turn a friendly green gave him a sickening feeling. But he kept his aim anyway, switching between the heads of a pair of troopers that were doing the same to him.

In the middle of the shouting match Stanley and Zack were still carrying on.

"Better shots, huh?" Stanley huffed. "I guess we can't all be suicidal maniacs, can we?"

"No, and that's a crying shame. As ironic as it sounds, we seem to live longer. You, you're the reason the Covies are having a field day in the city right now."

"Us? We're the ones trying to hold it."

"So you say, but you're looking real small for a 'company'. You don't want to get any smaller do you-"

Without warning, a hand swiped the gun out of Zack's grasp, leaving him holding nothing but air.

Everyone looked to the Staff.

Having Zack's pistol in hand, he scowled at its owner with a piercing intensity that Duncan had never seen before. It alone caused the riotous platform to fall into a dead silence.

Still looking to Zack, he pointed at Stanley. "See him?"

Zack nodded cautiously, his courage all but gone. "Yeah."

"That's a friendly."

His eyes settled on Stanley who took an intuitive step back. He pointed to Zack. "See him?"

"...Yessir."

"That's a friendly. Different armor, different roles, same purpose." He pointed off again in the direction of a distant Seraph squadron. "We're here for them, not each other. The second we forget that, we've lost. And if you don't mind, troopers, I'd rather lose a planet to a glassing than having it court martialed out from under me. At least one of those battles I can win if I just don't shoot the person trying to save my life." He paused to survey the whole gathering who had given him their undivided attention. "We're not here to kill each other. Let the Covenant do that. But in the meantime, while you're still here, you're going to kill Covenant. Do I make myself clear?"

A round of worried voices answered in a tentative "Yessir."

The Staff settled again on Zack.

"You, I'm going to set you straight later." He turned to the corporal. "As for you, I'm reporting this to your CO. I'll let him deal with you. Now, we have somewhere to be and we're almost overdue." He held Stanley in his gaze as he nodded at Zack. "Unless you really want to find out what it means to fight ODSTs, I suggest you step aside."

"...That really a suggestion or an order, sir?"

"Neither. It's a threat, and you better listen."

The Staff shot him such a glare that it finally caused him to crack. Stanley let out a long breath and took slow steps to the side. The last weapons were lowered and the tension around the platform ebbed. It wasn't fully gone, however.

At that stage no one in 1st Platoon cared to address it. The brutal taskmaster that was their mission clocks made no allowance for apologies. They immediately set to the crates. They reached in and scooped out what they needed, slipping frags into their BDUs, loading fresh magazines into their rifles and stowing extra ones into ammo pouches

Duncan was at the same crate as the Staff and Zack. He didn't dare look directly but listened in as he shopped for his assault rifle.

"Whatever that was back there, you better keep it in check." The Staff warned with no small bit of insistence. "Save it for the enemy. And yes, that one's actually an order."

"...So...that's it?" Zack ventured. "No...chewing out?"

The Staff shot him another look that reburied his resurrected courage. He resumed taking what he needed, quietly accepting the olive branch.

Nova came over and sifted through the grenade variants. "You're real lucky, Ep-7. That could've ended a whole lot worse."

"I know." Zack groaned.

"I hope I don't need to keep an eye on you."

"You won't. I'll be fine."

"You better be, because the last thing we need today is for something to actually be going on in that head of yours." She gave him a light bump on the helmet and walked off with her new flashbangs.

Duncan understood where they were coming from. There was no time to talk about it.

But maybe they should have made time.

He thought back to what he saw as the corporal was held at gunpoint. It was almost completely out of the blue for Zack. For a second, to him at least, it seemed like the radioman wasn't himself. He wanted to check in with him about it once he got the chance. He didn't want to think that the battle was putting his friend on edge just as much as him...if that was the cause.

The whole thing left a deep sense of foreboding that he couldn't shake. If it was true, if it was because it was New Alexandria, because it was Reach, then what about him? How was he going to react once they came within sight of the hotel? Who would he threaten?

An answer came to him. It was so sickening that he immediately threw it out of his head and denied any further progress along that line of thinking.

Through sheer will he was able to pay heed to his ammo counter which stopped at a gluttonous '352'. There was still plenty left for everyone else. Plenty enough to make him seriously doubt whether it would have been worth killing each other over.

A general commotion was forming on the other side of the platform. The soldiers gravitated towards it to look out at something. The low thrum of magnetic acceleration gave it away.

Stanley broke them up and ordered his troopers back to the defensive positions around the platform. Duncan saw it then, the white serpent shooting towards them along the magrail. It snaked its way out of Lakatos Boulevard at breakneck speed before spending the last few hundred meters slowing down.

Upon nearing the committee building the newly reactivated tram had decelerated enough to hit the brakes. It slid the rest of the way into the archways of the docking station. The braces lowered and clamped around it like pincers, securing it in place.

Several doors slid open and tens of people trickled out. The trickle became a flood as tens turned to hundreds. The civilian passengers shuffled out of the adjoining compartments to file out of those connected to the platform. They were families with antsy children that moved fast, elderly couples that took slower strides and loners of every age that were passing through on their own, some much too young to be on their own. Some were clean and untouched; others were carried along on stretchers by Army medics. In the end they all melded together into a collective mass that was New Alexandria.

1st Platoon and their almost-enemies stepped aside or moved in to guide the surge. Some pointed the people up the steps, past the wounded in the lobby. They funneled the arrivals towards a general queue that was quickly building up at the elevator doors as well as those leading to the stairs.

Duncan didn't help. He was already lost in his own world, surfing the sea of faces for the ones he was looking for. He was thorough, searching through the kids as well as the adults. They were moving with sufficient slowness that no one could have escaped his scrutiny, though none cared so much as to look his way.

Still, as the last civilians drained into the lobby, there was no sign of his family.

But in the back of his mind he imagined what might have happened if they were there. What would have happened if Zack had pulled the trigger, if Erica and Noah just so happened to be on that tram, if they had found him bleeding out? To both his amazement and silent horror, the crowds passed by none the wiser as to what they had almost walked into.

:********:

Lieutenant Walker put a boot to the door in front of him and applied careful pressure. He consciously kept his balance, not wanting to risk falling over and dropping his charge. Noise was their greatest enemy if ever there was one, and if the deep silence of the rest of the floor was anything to go by, where they were headed next wouldn't be much different.

The door opened without issue. He shuffled inside with Noah on his back, sweeping the room with his rifle.

The rectangular expanse of Floor 71's banquet hall still retained some sense of refinedness. The tables that honeycombed the space were still draped over and fully furnished. The room's red carpet with its floral patterns had retained an air of beauty. But that beauty was smothered beneath the pooling blood stains that just so happened to blend in with the fibers. What didn't blend were those tables that were thrown over, the bodies of people that had tried to run past them, hide behind them or seek shelter beneath them. Close to a hundred of the hotel's guests laid in, sat against or hung over the spots where they'd been killed. The walls and ceiling were pockmarked with more scorch marks than bullet holes. Because of that, the lieutenant discovered the remains of more of his troopers than those of the enemy.

The last of his 4th Platoon, Squad Tango had made their last stand behind a row of tossed tables near the doors on the other end. They had done reasonably well for what they had on hand, leaving Grunts here, a few Jackals there and even an Elite or two. Nevertheless, like Squad Romeo in the sauna rooms and Victor in the information center, Tango was wiped out to a man.

The sizzling noises coming from some of the corpses made it clear that the hall was the last safe room to fall. The enemy might still be nearby. Considering what their chances were if they had a run-in, Walker settled for taking it slow.

He aimed them towards the doors on the other side and the executive landing pad only a few corridors down. If they could just get outside, he could maybe communicate with a passing dropship. He could get Noah away safely and call for reinforcements.

He stopped after a few steps. The bodies and debris presented a staggering maze that he would somehow have to navigate. He couldn't do that holding someone on his back. He looked over his shoulder at Noah. The kid was squeezing his eyes shut, his hands shaking as they held onto his shoulder pads.

Walker poked him in the forehead to get his attention and signed for him to stay quiet. "Noah, I need you to walk for this one." He whispered. "Watch your feet but try not to look around too much, okay?"

"...Okay."

Walker crouched down to let him off then led them forward.

The two of them tiptoed through the mire. Noah stayed in his shadow, stepping where he stepped over the bodies and turning where he turned around the tables. The kid didn't have much trouble. He must have been using everything he had to look only at where his feet were going and nothing else. That was probably for the best.

The lieutenant couldn't risk doing the same. He needed to be alert. Because of that, he was gradually noticing that not all the bodies showed signs of plasma damage. Quite the opposite. A lot of them, especially the civilians, bore deep gashes and wounds indicative of claws. It was as if one or more feral animals had broken in and started tearing them apart. That got him thinking. He became far more uneasy, remembering that that style of killing was the signature of the worst kind of species.

Except it couldn't be them either.

He'd seen what a lone Brute could do to a squad or a pack of them to an unsuspecting platoon. The tables would have been shattered, not thrown over as they were. Some of the old and the weak as well as Squad Tango would have shown signs of torture, particularly those that might have been captured alive. Dismemberment, disembowelment, mutilation, there was none of that. Everyone was instead sliced up, gunned down or both. He didn't see any of the Brutes' trademark spikes either. It was less like a pack of wild beasts had broken in and more like a storm had come crashing through, less purposeful but farther reaching in its destruction.

Halfway to the other side, Walker spotted a helmet lying beside one of his soldiers. He recognized the trooper as Sergeant Bradley, Tango's squad leader. The man seemed to have had his helm forcibly ripped off his head before something clawed out his throat. The lieutenant kneeled to take it in hand. He palmed away the blood, took off his own helmet and replaced it with the new. He reached around for the communications equipment. But out the corner of his eye he saw Noah slowly angling his head until he was looking straight up.

The boy called to him in a wavering whisper. "Hey...Mr. Soldier?"

"Walker," The lieutenant said, only just realizing that he hadn't told him his name yet. He quickly returned to linking the comms to his BDU.

"Mr. Walker?"

"What is it, Noah? Do you see somethi-"

"Roaches."

Walker turned to him confused. "What?"

Noah looked even more confused and yet simultaneously terrified. "There's roaches on the ceiling."

Walker nearly dismissed it out of hand as his scared imagination when he heard a very real noise: the brief flutter of wings.

Roaches?

The rest of his body was paralyzed as he too craned his neck to look.

At first his brain tricked him into thinking that the whole ceiling was breathing. It eventually caught up to him that it wasn't the ceiling itself but individual thoraxes that were expanding and contracting, inhaling and exhaling.

Those were not roaches. They were Drones, dozens of them.

The swarm had congregated on the ceiling, using their clawed hands and feet to anchor themselves in place. They were all still, sleeping off the weariness of their latest slaughter.

In his paralysis, Walker felt Noah looking to him for answers. He had none. The situation itself had glued his mouth shut with dread. For Noah's sake, he fought it down to avoid freaking him out. He swallowed the rock growing in his throat as he carefully got up from beside his sergeant. Now mindful of every creak of his armor and every crack of his joints, he searched for the nearest exit.

He located it in a pair of stainless-steel doors. It had to be the banquet hall's kitchen. At just 10 meters away, they looked like the doors to heaven.

He stayed vigilant of the hell ready to break loose overhead as he signaled for Naoh to follow. Thankfully the kid seemed sharp enough to catch on to what was really happening. Walker had him come in front as he steered them over to the kitchen. Meanwhile he kept his weapon trained on the living mass that threatened to wake up at any moment.

But not all of them were sleeping.

Walker found out which when he spotted a Drone in a far corner of the ceiling. Like the others it had its arms and legs anchored to the surface, but its head was up and looking right back at him. The cold glow of its amber eyes was not idle either, the compound orbs turning steadily, observantly as they tracked the two across the room.

The lump in Walker's throat made a return.

Noah must have followed his gaze, whispering worriedly. "One's looking at us."

"Just keep going."

That was all they could do. Walker desperately hoped that the thing staring back at him was simply sleepwalking, if its species even did that.

Those hopes were dashed once the Drone opened its mandibles to release a series of loud chirps. Several others stirred. Several quickly turned to the whole nest as sudden awareness swept through them like wildfire.

Walker abandoned stealth altogether. He grabbed Noah and dashed the rest of the way to the doors. He kicked them open and rushed inside, pulling the doors shut behind them. To his horror, there were no locks.

Frantic, he whipped around to the rest of the kitchen for a way out. There was one, a door marked 'Exit' in the back. He ran for it but stopped short of the handle. The whole thing was sealed shut. Through the door's small window he saw that pieces of heavy furniture had been stacked against it on the other side. Someone must have seen what was in the banquet hall and decided to barricade it. He tried pushing it anyway. The door budged an inch but no more.

A collective buzzing noise was growing back in the hall. Through similar windows in the entrance, he could see Drones flying by. A few were moving towards the kitchen.

Walker looked for another way out. There was none.

With the increasing activity outside, he knew he had a matter of seconds before the swarm forced its way in. He switched tact from escape to defense.

The kitchen was a labyrinth of steel preparation tables as well as overhead and floor-based cabinets. They were solid opportunities for cover. It was better though to find a means of barricading the doorway.

"Noah, find some place to hide." Walker said as he placed him down and hustled back to the doors.

"Bu-, but we-"

"Just do it, go, quickly."

Walker didn't look back but heard the kid run off to a part of the kitchen. He on the other hand vaulted over the last table between him and the entrance. He grabbed a couple of the heaviest wheeled tables from nearby and started angling them against the doors. He leaned the last one into place just as a Drone crashed against the other side. The barricades drew back a few inches but otherwise held.

They couldn't stop the creature from charging again, however, this time creating enough space to shove an arm through the opening. Walker ran forward and slammed his gun on it, pinning the limb in place. The Drone screeched in pain as he held it down. The arm flailed about then took swipes at him. Walker flinched as the claws slashed him, cutting a deep gash in his cheek. He growled and pressed even harder.

Two more Drones cannoned into the doors. His makeshift barricade began to creak and falter, skidding back across the floor. He pushed against the new strain that was gradually forcing him back. He couldn't hold it.

He took one last look around.

Noah was gone, and he couldn't tell where to. That was a relief. The kid was out of sight and hopefully out of mind for the Drones.

Walker shoved his shoulder into the doors and gave a final push, driving the aliens back a bit before he abandoned the barricade entirely. He sprinted down a lane of tables just off to the side of the way in. He crouched behind one in a corner of the kitchen, putting him in the blind spot of anything about to break in. He peeked out with his DMR, scoped in on the entrance and waited.

The doors flew open as his pursuers cannonballed through it. The last of the barricade was tossed aside and the hall's overhead lights mingled freely with those of the kitchen.

Drones, three of them, were fluttering beyond the threshold like moths drawn to a flame. They hovered close together, the beat of their wings filling up the room while they scanned it with their plasma pistols.

After a few seconds one of them felt comfortable enough to land on its legs. The squat creatures had a few inches on humans whenever they walked about. This one was no different. It stalked its way down a lane of tables, looking here and there for signs of them. Walker tracked it from behind, its now limited mobility making it the best target of the three. His reticle turned red on the back of its head and he hooked a finger into the trigger guard.

He held his fire.

The Drone had passed a grounded cabinet. One of its doors was partly open. In the shadows of the interior, Walker saw a small hand quietly struggling to close it.

He hesitated. Noah had found a good spot, but he was too close for him to take the shot. If he missed, the creature could very easily turn and notice the cabinet.

He reconsidered his strategy. The creatures didn't know where they were. Maybe if they stayed put, the Drones would give up. Maybe they would go back to sleep and give them another chance to escape.

Patience would prove not to be an option though as that very same Drone came to a sudden stop. The two antennae on its head twitched spasmodically. The alien followed them until it had set its sights on the cabinet. It raised its pistol and made a cautious yet predatory approach.

He prepared to take the shot again. New activity, however, gave him new cause for concern. The two Drones hovering by the doors were now on the move. Their antennae also twitched and turned, causing them to flutter towards him.

Walker ducked down, unsure which to target first.

He stiffened at hearing something smash over the floor. The Drones did too and turned away.

He looked out again.

All three were moving to investigate a shattered plate. He realized Noah must have thrown it. Why? Was he trying to save him? Regardless of the reason, the three 'roaches' were now closing in on the cabinet.

Walker looked around, found a small platter and grabbed it. He took a steadying breath then threw it. The toss was purposeful. The dish crashed into an opening between the tables.

The Drones stopped. They chittered to each other in some insectoid conversation. The two that were still flying then banked off to check it out. The third didn't budge, glancing between the cabinet and the new sound as if unsure which to inspect first.

Walker didn't plan on giving it the chance to choose. He brought up his rifle again and aimed for the two flying ones. They hovered down to the opening, putting them in a perfect line of sight.

A violent screech assaulted Walker's ears as the source came crashing down on top of him. Clawed hands and chitinous limbs slashed and pulled at him in a flash of swipes and yanks. A fourth Drone, one he hadn't seen come in, had however seen him and snuck up on him from the ceiling. He'd been so wrapped up in watching the others that he hadn't noticed until it was right on top of him. There it stayed, slashing the protection on his back with its feet, flapping its wings as it tried to wrestle his rifle away.

Walker didn't let it. He hung on even as it broke a piece of his armor and sliced through his fatigues, drawing blood.

He wasn't willing to budge and neither was the creature.

Despite fighting for his own life, he was able to glimpse what was going on across the kitchen. The two Drones he'd distracted were watching him fight. They kept their sidearms drawn but lowered. Their friend was far busier. Walker saw the cabinet thrown over by the last Drone who proceeded to launch itself back into flight. Its nimble feet yanked open the doors, reached inside then retreated, pulling out a struggling Noah by the shoulders. He was shouting, screaming.

Walker had enough. He allowed his assailant to get more pull on his rifle, just enough to level out the stock and point the barrel. Before the creature caught on, he fired twice. Both shots struck point blank and the Drone gave an agonized screech. The lieutenant seized the opening and, with new strength, pulled.

Still holding on, the Drone arced over his back as he slammed it into the floor. Its shriek wavered from the blow then ceased entirely as Walker stomped on its face. He finished it off with three more shots to the chest and ducked as a burst of plasma bolts zipped by.

The other two Drones opened fire. He paid them back as they split off to the left and right, running to flank him. As one passed a break in the tables, Walker slowed it with a shot to the leg then exterminated it with a follow-up to the head.

The glint of a blade caught his eye before vanishing. The third Drone screeched painfully as a kitchen knife found a break in the chitinous armor of its stomach. Noah drove it in deep, eliciting greater screams from the alien. It let him go. He fell, smacking his side against a table on the way down.

Noah was left groaning on the floor. His attempted captor did the same. It managed to keep flying while it grasped the knife and started pulling. The blade reemerged in a flick of yellow blood. The Drone tossed it aside and homed in on Noah. The kid was crawling backward, shaking his head at the thing that wanted to kill him. He stumbled to his feet and made a run for the back of the kitchen. The Drone followed him with its pistol as a bolt of overloaded plasma gathered at the barrel.

The deadly blast was released straight into the ceiling by a bullet that took the alien by surprise, blowing off a chunk of its head. Its death spasms made it flutter about for a few seconds before its wings petered out. It fell to the floor and painted it with brains.

Walker needed one more lucky shot. His last opponent was intent on denying him that. It flitted left and right as it flew and ran intermittently, rushing up a lane that led straight to him. Walker whirled around to meet it. His shots, though narrow, were dodged with apparent ease. He only got off three. The third managed to catch it in the wing, tearing off a piece so that it tumbled to the floor. Walker tried to finish it but his trigger clicked, empty.

The Drone's agility allowed it to roll off the fall and sent it careening towards him. With no room left, Walker switched his grip and prepared to swing. Yet the Drone was luckier and got off a final bolt that struck him in the thigh. He didn't get to wince or scream as both of them swung at each other, claws to gun. But Walker's was a feint and he ducked beneath the blow, rising as it lunged past him to bat it in the back of the head.

The creature smashed into the floor face first. It tried to turn and fire but a boot pinned its pistol to the ground. The other crashed on top of its free arm, breaking the joint. It shrieked. Walker made it cry even more as he brought the butt of his rifle down on its face, striking again and again with everything he had. The Drone fought back with its feet, using the sharp appendages to kick and slice at his legs in a desperation that the lieutenant readily matched. Its mandibles flared in anguish, twitched in pain then broke off entirely. Several swift strikes rendered the alien immobile.

Walker slowly returned to his senses. His face was covered in yellow viscera. He added more to it by drawing his pistol and unloading half a clip into its abdomen. The light in the creature's eyes faded for good.

He stepped back to take a breath. He checked himself. The unarmored parts of his legs were cut up, the fatigues ripped and the skin torn and bleeding. The bolt he'd taken had left a glowing crater in one of his thigh bracers. The adrenaline was wearing off and he was starting to feel the pain. He looked again for Noah.

A hard crash wrenched his attention back to the doors. Several more Drones were pushing against them in a bid to open them all the way.

Walker holstered his sidearm and frantically reloaded his DMR. He thought better of it, however. Instead of firing, he reached into his BDU and took out a frag grenade and a flashbang. They were his last. He pulled the pin on the first and lobbed it. The frag bounced up in front of the doors just as the first Drone was reaching through.

The blast changed that. The Drones were blown away, reduced to dismembered limbs and bits of thorax that spiraled back into the banquet hall. A choir of surprised chitters rang on the other side.

The doors barely held. Both had broken off their upper hinges and leaned out into the kitchen. The way was open but he denied the advance of a third wave by tossing the flashbang through the entrance. He shut his eyes to the blast of pure light which earned another series of screeches from the hall.

He knew he'd bought some time, though not for himself.

:********:

Noah was ready to cry again. He didn't though. He held it in because he wasn't sure if the creepy bug things were going to come after him again, if they would try to take him again. He pulled his legs in close to his chest to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. He hid in a spot between a set of shelves and the door to the meat locker. He held his eyes behind his arms to try to block out anything and everything, thinking that maybe if he couldn't see the monsters then they wouldn't see him.

He ignored the gunshots and plasma sounds, the screeches of the aliens and the furious grunts of Mr. Walker. What he couldn't block out was the sound of an explosion that scared him out of his wits. He listened and heard another one that sent a flash through the kitchen.

There was silence for a while. He weighed whether he should go out and see what had happened or stay put. Then fast approaching footsteps froze him with fear.

He hugged himself tighter as a shadow appeared and a figure rounded the corner.

"Noah?"

The worried and bloodied face of Mr. Walker put him at ease. Not for long. He saw his legs and could tell they'd nearly been torn to ribbons. There were so many cuts and slashes that Noah sat amazed at how he was still standing.

"You okay?" Walker asked.

Noah unfroze enough to mumble "Yeah" despite wanting to ask him the same thing.

Screeches and chitters echoed through the kitchen.

Walker spared a worried glance in the direction of the banquet hall. "Come, you need to go. Come on, get up."

Noah heard the hurriedness in his tone and got up quick. Walker grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him back out into the kitchen. Noah saw that the bugs had fared far worse. The one he'd stabbed still twitched. The doors were no better and were clinging to the last of their hinges.

Walker didn't let him look for too long. In seconds they reached the corner of the kitchen farthest from the entrance.

There, in the wall just above his head, was a vent.

His body reacted without him and he tried to stop, to back away. Walker didn't let him and brought him smack in front of it. Noah flinched as without warning he fired his rifle, blasting away at the four corners of the covering. He slid his hands through the gratings once he was done. A single pull tugged the cover out of place and exposed the hole beyond. It was big enough for Noah...but not for Walker.

Noah shook his head. "I-, I can't-, I can't go in there."

Walker answered him with action, putting his rifle on his back so he could wrap his arms under Noah's. He aimed him towards the vent. Noah felt his heart speed up. He kicked himself back from the opening.

"I can't do it. I can't go in there."

"Yes, you can."

"No."

"Hey!" Walker brought him up to his face. "You're going to need to if you want to see your folks again. You want to see them again, right?"

Noah still hesitated.

Another round of angry shrieks made him change his mind.

"What about you? What're you going to do?"

"Don't worry about me, I'll find my own way out. You just need to go, right now, you hear me?"

Noah felt the urge to cry again. He bobbed his head in a half nod.

Walker hefted him back to the vent. This time Noah didn't resist and he loaded him into the opening like a torpedo. There was plenty of space inside and a corner lay up ahead. Noah used his elbows to turn back around as Walker handed him something. He took a quick peek. It was a sheathed blade, his combat knife.

"If you run into anything else, try to use this like you did back there, okay?"

Noah held it close like a long-lost toy. "Okay."

"Good, now get going." Walker crouched himself behind the last table before the corner wall. He pulled out his pistol. Together with his rifle he aimed both weapons at the busted doors.

There was nothing, nowhere left for him to run.

The tears begged for release again with the question that Noah wanted answered. "You're lying...aren't you?"

Walker broke his focus on the doors to glance at him. "What?"

Noah's voice cracked from the strain of trying to talk. "You-...you're stuck here."

Rather than trying for another excuse, a look of somber acceptance fell over the soldier. "And you're not."

A new wave of chittering screams erupted into the kitchen as a swarm of bugs surged forward, breaking down the doors like a burst pipe. Several of them flew straight for where they were.

Walker fired both guns into the horde, dropping two who were quickly replaced by twice as many.

"GO!"

Noah couldn't. He was too caught up in what he saw.

Two of the monsters ran at Walker from either side. He shot down one but the other fired pink needles at him, the same Noah had seen on Tommy. He let out a grunt as they stabbed into his leg.

A bright explosion battered Noah's eyes. He blinked away the stars in his vision and immediately wished he hadn't.

Walker wasn't on his feet anymore. He had slid down against the wall in a puddle of blood, one that streamed from his wound. His left leg was blown open with little left but torn muscles and jutting bones. Noah saw it and so did the monsters, but Walker couldn't. His eyes were shut.

One of the creatures landed beside him. It looked at the torn vent cover, at the vent itself and right at Noah.

Impulse took over and Noah scrambled back around. He crawled towards the corner in the duct. He didn't get far. A shadow crossed the opening and something grabbed his heel. He tried to shirk it off but it refused to let go, cutting into his leg. He swallowed down the pain and looked back.

The monster had him by the leg. He kicked against it but it wouldn't give up, slowly pulling him back out.

Then two gunshots.

The bug let out a loud screech. It let him go and fell out of the opening.

He saw Walker. His eyes were open again. He was still alive. Noah wanted to go help him. Another bug beat him to it as it flew at the soldier. He started aiming his rifle at it with tired slowness. The bug was faster and grabbed him by his armor. Its foot swatted the gun out of his hand as it flew up and forced him against the wall.

Noah could only see his legs yet he watched them tremble as something stabbed him. He heard Walker let out a gargled scream that shocked him back into action. He crawled away with everything he had.

A shadow fell over the vent again. There was an agitated chitter. He didn't dare stop to look. He was close to the corner when the vent was filled with a blue glow. He kept going even as he heard what sounded like something burning. A loud whining noise filled the vent, and as he chanced looking back, his world exploded in light.

Pressura - Pressure