I’ve seen the blessed walking in holy unison as they return to the hive’s bosom. Their faces freed of the cares we face today, no worry over their next meal. No anger from the latest e-FUD. Just a simple certainty in where they stand in the world and a return to the simple purpose we used to have before technology and science and media. Let us prepare the way, draw the new masters to bless us with their holy blessing, and make us part of the Ever Seven.

--Darren Kittritch, founder of the Church of the Ever Seven

***

Back at the turn of the century, any serious pistol shooter would tell you that two-gun mojo is a myth. It’s a fantasy created by the entertainment industry because shooting two pistols at the same time is a cool look. For most of human history, that was true. The human brain could not truly think fast enough to accurately aim at two separate places at the same time. Then came the Samurai. With non-human senses, cyber integrated aiming systems, and enhanced reaction speeds, it was possible for a Samurai to pull it off. A couple even specialized in it.

For the average, unenhanced, Mark One human, however, shooting with two weapons at the same time only slowed you down and turned you into a hazard to any allies. But it still looked cool, and I couldn’t resist the call to dabble in it. Being born fully ambidextrous helped a lot. In private, I had practiced two-gun enough that, on a lucky day, I could pull it off enough to impress the customers. They loved it at the after-class parties. With fifteen to one odds and the prisoners in the middle of it all, I needed some awe to go with the shock of my entrance.

My hind-brain took over much of the precision guidance for aiming, making dual wielding much easier. Before I had taken two steps, each of my .45 automatics had fired, dropping the cultists closest to the door on each side.

Time seemed compressed. I wasn’t moving faster, but my thoughts ran in overdrive, aware of every detail. I turned, found new targets, aimed, and fired again. Blood and brains splattered the huddle of prisoners as two of their guards fell. Another step, another turn, re-aim and fire one-handed, another falling guard.

A cultist to my left had overcome his surprise and started to lift his rifle. I double-tapped him in the chest, toppling him. My head spun, and I found another prisoner guard in my sights. I rushed my shot and hit him in the neck. Arterial blood sprayed on the ceiling as he fell.

In the corner of my eye, motion drew my eye. One of the women had drawn a knife and charged me, her face filled with rage. I fired again, decorating her forehead with a red spot, and she dropped in a heap halfway to me.

I was nearly to the far wall now and spun to put my back to it, then froze with my arms spread wide.

To my right, the cult leader had stepped in from the balcony, his face a mix of rage and madness. To the left, the last cultist near the prisoners had grabbed a woman and held her between us. His rifle dangled from the strap, and he had a large knife at her throat. In the corner of my glasses, I saw the probe’s camera skittering over toward me.

“What the fuck are you doing? We’re just about to reach apophasis, and you come in here and try to stop us?” I heard a yell to my right. Shifting my eyes only, I looked to find the cult leader, robes still flowing to the floor, staring at me. Despite having my pistol aimed right at him, he continued to blather on. “This is a sacred space at a holy time. What greater blasphemy are you willing to commit and prevent us from our righteous…” I tuned him out as he droned on. If he wanted to monologue, I was happy to make use of the time, so I shifted my eyes back to the hostage taker.

I loved the fact that the mirrored visor hid where I was looking, as long as I didn’t turn my head. The hostage taker was a tall man, almost two meters tall, with heavy muscles. The hand holding the knife was rock steady, chrome wrapped around a black plastic hilt.

--You have the links and tools, but not the skills yet. I’ll do it, and we can train on that at a later time.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

In the corner of my eye, my Upgrade Items list showed, and a number “2” appeared next to the Cyber Warfare line before instantly minimizing itself.

--I’m in his system now, shutting down the arm in 3…2…1”

As Corie’s countdown reached one, I pulled the trigger, hitting him in the eye. The woman screamed, even as the blow jerked the man away and caused him to fall backwards. I turned to the cult leader to find that he was pointing at me, trembling with his impotent rage. “Kill him!” he yelled.

I responded by putting a round in his face and another in his chest. He stumbled back onto the balcony, tipped over the railing, and fell over the side. He screamed through the fall until the Anti’s below shut him up with a sickening, squishing sound. “Cut the cancer to save the body,” I muttered to myself before I turned to the other cultists. None of them had moved yet, maybe in shock at the loss of their leader.

“The antithesis don’t care about you or even realize you are anything but food. They will consume you, and if you are lucky, you will be fully dead when it happens. There’s no blissful becoming one with them, not anymore than the lettuce in your salad is blissful as it is torn apart by your teeth. I’m not going to let you feed these people to the aliens. You can try to force your delusion on us, but I guarantee that most of you won’t live to complete it. I’ll give you a few seconds to think over your options, but stopping the prisoners and me from leaving is not one of them.”

As I spoke, I reloaded my pistols and moved to stand between the cultists and the prisoners. I nearly jumped when I felt a light tugging on my pants. The spider’s camera showed that it was climbing up my body to end up perched on my helmet. The camera steadied into a rear-facing view.

As if we’d been watching a movie feed, the Anti’s enforced my timeline by breaking into the room. Behind one of the curtains, a door burst open, meters away from me. A mass of Threes burst into the room and charged me and the cultists. Behind me, one of the hostages screamed, triggering others to join him. The sound attracted the Anti’s attention as I rapidly fired into the mass. Two fell even as they came within arm’s reach. One pistol clicked empty, then the other, and I dropped them while calling to Corie:

I caught the twin blades and swung wildly. In the back of my mind, a clinical part of me questioned the wisdom of asking for two when I could barely use one effectively. Another part screamed at me furiously for not getting more pistols. I shoved those thoughts aside and dodged a lunging Three. There was enough lead flying already from a few cultists, showing the shallowness of their faith. I didn’t want to risk hurting a hostage myself with a bad shot. Even I missed sometimes. The dodge turned into a spin as I caught an alien behind me in the throat. A tug on my shoulder pulled me back and down, only to release with a jerk. I used the tug to reverse my motion and swing at an M-3. My hand was poorly angled, and the flat of the blade smacked into its neck.

“Get into the prison area! Quickly!” By camera, I watched Kaitlyn run in behind me and lift the injured girl one handed. In the other hand, she still held her rifle.

I dodged in and around the Anti's without a plan beyond trying to keep them distracted long enough to get the prisoner’s out. Beyond the monsters, I saw a couple glimpses of the cultists fall under the tide. The man doused in green had an ecstatic look on his face as an M-3 tore out his throat.

An M-4 joined my melee, its long tentacles whipping over the M-3s that surrounded me. One tentacle wrapped around my leg and started to pull me over. I sliced it, the blade twisting in my grasp to fillet it as much as chop off the boneless limb. As I fought, I had to admit that the only reason I had survived so long was due to the sharpness of the knives. A Three used its companion as a step to make a flying tackle, forcing me to dodge to the right. As it flew past, I slipped, leaving me open to another coming in from the left.

Three shots cut through the room in the familiar crack of an AK-47. Kaitlyn’s shots hammered into the M-3 lunging from my left, sending its lifeless body to my feet. “Everyone’s out. Get your but over here, Marcus.” Kaitlyn yelled over a battle field that had grown eerily quiet. The gunfire from the cultists had fallen off as the members died. The yelling from the hostages faded with their exit, leaving the always silent Anti’s, me with my knives, and Kaitlyn the only people left in the room. In the camera, I could see her standing in the doorway, rifle raised.

I concentrated on pulling back and dodging, trying to keep to the right, out of her field of fire but still towards the prison door. I was starting to get tired, and I stumbled again, clipping the corner of the stage with my foot.

Brrrrt. Automatic fire from the doorway ripped through the pair of M-3s that lunged to catch me while unsteady. I recognized the lighter rounds of the P5-AT and saw a spray of wounds flicker over the Anti’s filling the room. Ginny had joined Kaitlyn, and the two sprayed the room with bursts of fully automatic fire, some rounds getting dangerously close to me. The two beat back the tide for a second, letting me reach the doorway and get my back to the wall.

I dropped the knives and grasped for my rifle, only to catch air instead. Somewhere in the melee, the Tribulator had vanished.