Date: Cycle 492, Lunisect 09, Decaday 03, Galactic Day 12
Northern Hemisphere
Sector 14
Supply hub Ekka
CT-4567
The first warning came through the internal comms—brief, panicked shouts before static swallowed them whole. Then the alarms blared, a deep, pulsating tone that vibrated through my helmet. We were under attack.
Through my visor, I watched the external perimeter cams. The first wave of BCUs had torn through the outer defences like a rouge wave, their chitin-laced bodies writhing through the vacuum, propelled by bursts of internal gas sacs.
Some detonated on impact, spraying caustic bio-acid across our defence turrets, while others split apart mid-air and latched onto our vehicle's hulls taking my brothers and their vehicles in an explosion.
We clones were bred for war, but nothing in our training had prepared us for fighting an enemy that used its body as a weapon.
“CT-8392, status report!” I barked, stabilizing myself against the bulkhead as the base's artificial gravity failed in sections.
“Outer perimeter is lost,” 8392 responded, his voice tense but controlled. “BCUs are pouring in through breach points Draal and Gruum. Defensive drones are holding, but we need reinforcements now.”
The entire base was falling fast reinforcements would only find our corpses. “Fall back to Sector-3 bulkhead. We hold the line here.”
I checked my rifle—mag locked, chamber primed. There was no more running this would be our last stand.
---
CT-7421
We were three klicks from Ekka when they hit us.
Convoy-7 had been escorting what remained of our supplies—a mix of ammunition, oxygen tanks, and experimental incendiary rounds designed to counter the BCUs. But they were smart. They didn't hit us head-on.
Instead, they erupted from beneath the regolith, their grotesque forms launching at us in a swarm, like living missiles.
The first truck went up in a silent explosion, its hull splitting apart in a flash of blue fire as a BCU detonated against it. I saw CT-2248, one of my batch mates, ripped from his harness, flailing in zero-G before another creature slammed into him and tore through his suit. The vacuum did the rest.
“Engage! Keep them off the cargo!” I shouted, firing controlled bursts at the lunging horrors. Some were shredded apart, but others twisted mid-flight, limbs extending, adapting, surviving.
CT-9903, my gunner, unleashed a volley of incendiary rounds. The creatures shrieked in silent agony, their bodies collapsing in on themselves before imploding in a spray of organic shrapnel. But there were too many.
“7421, the convoy’s lost!” 9903 yelled. “We need to evac—now!”
I hesitated. Leaving meant condemning Ekka to starvation and defeat. But if we died here, we’d be nothing more than bodies floating in the void.
“Fall back! Regroup at Checkpoint Trokka!”
As our surviving vehicles accelerated, I watched the BCUs kill any survivors they found dragging the remains of our fallen away. There was no victory here. Only survival.
---
CT-3198
The lights flickered inside Ekka, casting erratic shadows against the corridor walls. I floated in position with my squad, rifles trained on the bulkhead leading to Sector 3. We could hear them. Even in the vacuum, the vibrations through the metal were unmistakable.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Then, silence.
“Hold,” I whispered over the squad comms. My grip on the trigger tightened.
The bulkhead groaned as something enormous slammed into it. The metal buckled inward, a web of fractures forming as the pressure locks gave way.
Then it exploded inward.
A massive BCU pushed through, its large body struggled to push through as it forced itself into the cramped corridor. Its grotesque mouth widened I could see its eyes focus on us its mouth opening wide showing its razor-sharp teeth.
“Fire! Fire now!”
Round after round tore into its flesh, but it kept advancing. It ignored the damage we dealt as we were being pushed back with one massive leap its razor-sharp teeth pierced the armour of CT-5502 his screams drowned out our comms before it ripped him in half.
I fired until my rifle clicked empty. Then I reached for my sidearm, but the BCU lunged, its teeth held my leg tight the pain was unbearable. My HUD flickered as my suit’s integrity alarms blared.
“3198, do you copy ?” A voice—CT-4567.
I couldn't answer. My breath was shallow, vision blurring. The BCU’s body began to swell. It was going to detonate.
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With the last of my strength, I activated my suit's emergency thrusters, propelling both of us forward—toward the maintenance airlock.
Open it, I thought. Do it now.
The last thing I saw was the explosion ripping the creature apart, dragging its remains and me into the void.
---
CT-4567
3198 was gone.
There was no time to mourn. The BCUs were everywhere, flowing through the station’s remains like a plague, destroying everything in sight.
“Seal the core section!” I ordered, dragging a wounded clone behind cover. The inner defences were collapsing, but the reactor chamber was still intact. If we could hold it, we might still stand a chance.
8392 limped to my side, his suit punctured but still operational. “They're overwhelming us. What’s the plan?”
I hesitated. There was only one plan left.
“Core overload. We detonate the reactor.”
8392 stiffened but nodded. “Understood.”
We worked fast, bypassing the security locks, and setting the fail safes to manual detonation. Outside the chamber, the BCUs gathered, their forms moving in sync, watching.
Why haven't attacked?
“Detonation in T-minus two minutes,” the AI droned.
Through the observation port, I saw the remains of Ekka—twisted corridors, floating bodies, flickering lights. It was over we lost.
“To all surviving units,” I broadcasted on open comms. “Evac now Ekka is lost. Repeat, Ekka is lost.”
Then, I turned to 8392. We both knew we weren't leaving. As the bulkhead breached and the creatures poured in, we raised our rifles one last time.
Then the world turned white.
---
CT-2291
My helmet display flickered, warning after warning flashing across my vision—low ammo, suit integrity failing, oxygen reserves critical. None of it mattered. Not any more.
Lunar base Shrann was gone. The outer defences had crumbled under the endless onslaught of the BCUs, their endless numbers spilling through every corridor, every bulkhead, destroying everything in their path. Most of my brothers had died in the first waves, torn apart, dissolved in acid, or suffocated in the vacuum after the creatures breached the base walls.
I was the last one left.
I braced against the remains of a shattered barricade, my boots magnetized to the deck as I fired down the hallway. My rifle spat rounds, tearing through the mass of writhing horrors, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
The BCUs numbers were too many. They exploded on impact, sending jagged bone shards through the base's structure and defenders. They moved faster now faster than what we were told. They were evolving.
I reached for my last mag, my fingers numb. Empty.
“Command…” I rasped into my comms, voice raw from oxygen deprivation. “This is CT-2291… I am the last defender of Shrann.”
There was silence. Static. Then, a voice crackled through my helmet.
“2291… Confirm your status.”
I exhaled sharply. “Station’s lost. No survivors left inside. BCUs have full control. I am at Reactor Command, holding them back. I am requesting immediate orbital bombardment on my position.”
Silence. Then:
“2291, confirm… You’re calling a strike on your position?”
I could hear the hesitation. They would rather not do it. They cared too much about what they could salvage. But there was no other option.
“Confirm,” I said, stepping backwards as the blast doors slammed shut. I drew my combat knife.
I watched through the cameras scanning the hallways, they were a graveyard of my brothers. Their helmets cracked open, bodies frozen in impossible contortions. Their blood had crystallized in the cold vacuum, floating between the bodies of the very creatures that had killed them.
I could still hear them in my head. Their screams, their last breaths.
I activated my emergency beacon. My location locked onto the fleet above.
“Target acquired,” Command finally responded. Their voice was tight. “2291, you have one hundred seconds until impact.”
A Hundred Seconds.
I deactivated my boots, floating upward in the zero-G, my body weightless I was flung backwards as the doors exploded inwards shrapnel piercing my body.
The BCUs surged forward, sensing my weakness. One wrapped its elongated body around my waist, another bit down I felt its sharp teeth in my shoulder. I didn't fight them any more. There was no point.
Above me, through the shattered ceiling, I could see the darkness of space. Then—light.
The strike was coming.
“Tell them…” I whispered. “Tell them we fought to the last.”
The comms cut out. The world turned white.
And then, nothing…