Birds croak loudly overhead, gliding from bow to bow, as the wind made each snowy pine ache. Looking up from the snowy ground, Martinez tries to spot one of the avian interlopers.

Be it their natural camouflage, the density of the trees, or the encroaching end of nautical twilight, hardly a glimpse could be seen as they flickered overhead past the starlight above.

It was unnerving that he could not see the murder only a few meters away. But on occasion, he spotted a pair of vicious, sharp gold eyes flickering before vanishing. It was like millions of eyes were watching him and Kyroll march further into the woods toward death and destruction.

At least that was the thought niggling in the back of Martinez’s mind. He was well aware the birds were not crows, ravens, or even some distant cousins. They just sounded so similar that he could not help but think of the little harbingers of death back on Earth.

That eerie similarity had been on his mind since they got back on the road and up into the mountains. The other thought that kept his hand firmly on the cold knife in his pocket was what the hell was in that duffle bag.

Not knowing the contents of the bag was taking its toll upon him, letting his idle mind wander to the worst possibilities: Poison, bait, guns, and drugs were only a few of the things that he believed may be within his companion's possession.

With his limited knowledge of the grander universe, Kyroll could bring millions upon millions of possibilities to bear on him. Not knowing all of those possibilities made Kyroll's protectiveness of the bag all the more unsettling.

Kyroll had certainly been keen on keeping it out of sight of Martinez—or at least out of his reach. The moment their feet hit the snowy dirt a few kilometers down the hill, he scooped it up and never let it leave his shoulder. He always kept it abreast of Martinez. That fact remained constant even now, traversing through pitch-black darkness.

At least if Kyroll did try something, Martinez was armed with his knife and Nelya’s bolt action, which was chambered in the galactic standard sniper round on 12.7mm caseless. He ensured that the weapon was fully loaded several times before setting off and following the old man. You can’t be too careful, and it pays to perform your pre-combat checks.

For the most part, their walk up toward camp was an uneventful affair, filled with a quiet understanding that neither trusted the other. The only odd thing that occurred surprised both Martinez and Kyroll, thrusting them into ingrained military actions.

When they were only a stone’s throw from where they would go to ground a massive bear-like animal emerged in the path before them. Surprisingly, it was as silent as the wind and as graceful; the snow around it and even the bushes were barely disturbed as it emerged.

How something that massive could be that silent was beyond Martinez, but whatever this thing was had gotten close enough that he could smell its choking musk.

Kyroll reacted fast, dropped to a knee, and tossed his fist high, giving the GU and Human militaries a silent command to halt.

With a reaction that is built into his very soul, Martinez followed suit by tucking down off the side of the trail using a downed log as cover. The cold snowpack bid him welcome as it crunched beneath his body and heavy backpack, soaking through his gear nearly instantly.

Both trained their rifles on the mass of lumbering horror as it turned in their direction, its jaws snapping and breath billowing in the breeze.

Now, to call what Martinez would later learn is called a Milurt a bear was not accurate, but it was the only thing that Martinez could compare to.

Unlike a bear on Earth with fur, four limbs, and a rather ornery disposition, this thing was something totally different. Its pelage was far too heavy to be called fur; it was like a mat clinging to rippling muscles.

Each step caused a low vibration in the dirt, shaking them to the core.

Even in the low candela of the Moon overhead, the creature’s grotesque lips were easily visible as they slopped open trailing spit. Each appendage was lined with jagged, backward-facing teeth. Tendril-like tongues caressed their surfaces and flicked at the air, tasting for their prey.

The pair waited with bated breath, hearts careening against their ribs as though they would break out at any moment. Slowly but steadily, they curled their fingers onto their triggers and began to take up the slack, ready to rely on their oldest and boldest reaction to a threat from a military man.

Good old violence of action. When in doubt, being faster and more violent than any threat will lead you to victory; how intact you will be at the end is always up in the air, but being battered is better than death any day.

Violence was always an option, especially amidst violent men; go figure, the two warriors were violent men through and through.

While Martinez might be an individual who does more saving lives than taking them, the stack of ribbons and medals on his dress uniform showed his ability to do both.

Kyroll, on the other hand, had lived his entire life in violence, though the Human only had the slightest inkling of it. What little Nelya had told the Human of the older man’s life barely scratched the surface— hell, not even she had a good scope of everything he had done.

Dark deeds should be done in dark theaters and kept there, and Kyroll was not about to tell his bubbling starlight of a wife all of that. It would only upset her and cause him more issues.

“Don’t you move,” Kyroll hissed, slipping down next to Martinez, doing his best not to alert the creature of their presence.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Martinez whispered back, shimmying down to allow his rifle to rest upon the log.

The Milurt curiously stepped closer, rooting through the bushes and snow while Martinez glanced over at Kyroll, trying to gauge his reaction and understand how royally screwed they were.

A cold sweat rolled down the mountain brow and lingered ever so slightly on his scarred face. He wetted his lips and rolled his shoulders like a boxer preparing to brawl.

Kyroll’s nervousness told the Human that this was undoubtedly the region's apex predator if its bulk, claws, and rows of saw-like teeth weren’t enough of a hint.

After a few more plodding steps, Martinez caressed the safety of his rifle, readying to launch a slug straight into its gullet. At the same time, Kyroll had decided the beast had gotten close enough; his announcement of that objection was opening up on the beast with blistering gunfire.

Round after round roared, their defiance as hypersonic pills were launched in salvo. Each fiery report gave them a brief snapshot of the creature's scarred and bulky body. It was twice the size of a polar bear and likely just as uncaring of fights.

The Milurt roared, grunted, and flinched as each bullet splattered on its thick armor-like fur and hide. The bullets initially only appeared to be a minor annoyance, barely causing the beast to change its course—but by the time Kyroll’s rifle bolt locked back on an empty mag, the only sign of the animal was its bellowing and the thunderous snapping of trees falling in its wake while it retreated from the duo.

While Martinez could understand the sudden shock and surprise of being ambushed in the dark, something so massive having that much of a reaction was still surprising—he did not even need to fire a single shot.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

But he could compare the idea to someone throwing a million stones at you. Even if it weren’t killing you, you still wouldn’t wish to be there. Death by a thousand cuts was still death at the end of it.

“Thanks for that,” Martinez sighed, watching the treetops a distance away from them shudder as the animal crashed through their bases.

“Don’t be. I’m not dying for your sorry ass,” Kyroll grunted while sending a new magazine home; the hefty thunk of his bolt emphasized his distaste.

That's it? It was just a cold statement that he was in it for himself. Martinez was starting to think his brain might have been a broken record. Why else would he always ask what the hell was wrong with Kyroll?

He didn't even give an “Are you all right?” glance to check on him, nothing—just the cold fact that he did not care about the Human one way or another as he turned and continued up through the verdant pines.

Martinez stood stock still for a moment as silence fell over the forest, the last vestiges of the sound of the beast running away deafening in the snowpack. Kyroll did not even notice that the Human was not following him for several seconds; he just continued to be himself and moved further up the hillside, vigilantly scanning the trees.

Sighing dejectedly, Martinez stepped off to follow the man, not wanting to encounter anything that might be in the woods all alone. Only once he resumed following him did Kyroll occasionally look behind him at Martinez, keeping him well within his patrolling scan.

A detail Martinez noticed. Does Kyroll have some niggling of fear for him knowing something is up? Or is it something else entirely?

Once at the site Kyroll had chosen for their campsite, Martinez could not help but go slightly slack-jawed. Even if this short trip with Kyroll did not work out, the site alone would make it all worth it.

The moon barely crested the treetops across a smooth-as-glass lake, reflecting every detail with exquisite precision. Dancing around the shore, little insects flew, giving off a faint greenish-blue glow.

The tiny illuminators pranced from icy frond to frond in pairs, spiraling around one another. The insects, Stars, moon, trees, and all of the universe reflected in the water's surface almost made Martinez forget about his dower companion—until Kyroll just had to rain on anything joyous around him.

While Martinez gawked, Kyroll calmly doffed his backpack and retrieved a small metallic object. It was no larger than an apple and just as shiny as chrome. Pressing a button, it blared, sounding like the alarms aboard HNS Jericho, warning him it was time to abandon ship.

The repeated cry was shrill and deafening, an insult to Martinez's peace of mind and the tranquility of the locale.

"What the fuck," Martinez grimaced, gripping his head and watching the insects flee the area running from the waling object.

"Relax. It will be over soon, so quit your bitching," Kyroll said just loud enough for Martinez to hear while laying the contents of his backpack on the ground and beginning to set camp.

“What the hell is that thing?” Martinez yelled.

If Kyroll had heard him, he did not acknowledge the question and just kept working on preparing his gear.

The horrendous sound only lasted for maybe another minute; during that time, every creature within a kilometer of the gem-like lake fled far away, attempting to escape what sounded like a cross between a dying animal and an evacuation alarm.

Once the sound had ended, Martinez could finally breathe. The overbearing sound waves kept his diaphragm in constant motion during the activation. How Kyroll was so unaffected by the deafening cacophony was unknown and did not matter; before Martinez could dwell upon the thoughts in slight differences of Aviex and Human constitution, Kyroll spoke.

"Are you going to set your shit up? Or do I have to show you how to do that?" The older Alien sneered, shoving his duffle bag and backpack into his tent.

"Fucking bastard," Martinez muttered under his breath while finding a spot a distance away and beginning to set up his bivvy sack.

Unlike Kyroll, who used a proper tent and sleeping system, Martinez used an old-fashioned rolled-up bivy sack with a sleeping bag that fit neatly inside. He knew many of the Marines he had worked with did not enjoy being issued these, comparing them to sleeping in coffins, but he kind of liked it.

Bivy sack systems were lightweight, and they took a few seconds to set up, not minutes like most civilian tents. Curiously, Kyroll’s did not seem to take minutes to set up but mere moments. Martinez was a bit distracted and didn't see him pitch it. Maybe it's some grand technology that he was unaware of. It wouldn't be the first time the GU had surprised him.

By the time Martinez set his bivy sack up, tossed his backpack inside, and turned around, Kyroll was already preparing for sleep, putting on a watch cap, staging his boots and socks, and reviewing his map.

Curious, Martinez began to step closer, wishing to ask him about where they would be hunting in the morning. But as soon as Kyroll noticed that he was approaching, the map was quickly shoved into a pocket, and the rest of his gear was tucked into a corner of his tent out of sight of his Human, would be his son-in-law.

"Are you ready to rack out?" Kyroll asked. “We will be getting started early in the morning, likely in only hours," he finished, glancing down at his watch.

"Pretty much, but where are we going to be going in the morning?" Martinez questioned, undeterred by the apparent standoffishness.

"There's a valley up over the hill," Kyroll said, gesturing off to the north. "Over there is damn near the dead center of the area my company has claimed to. It's the furthest from anyone in the region. I can guarantee we'll find something interesting there."

Interesting—even Martinez, as dense as he was, could not miss the slight hiss in the man's gravel-like voice. While he still wished to give the other man the benefit of the doubt, too many factors were just not adding up. Something was on the old man's mind, and the more he interacted with Kyroll, the more curious he became.

Back at the logging camp, he looked somber; he looked heartbroken when Lysa slapped him, and at the bar, after Nelya dressed him down, he looked like a beat dog.

Kyroll had something bubbling under the surface; despite having picked up on this, Martinez couldn't help but feel that the man in front of him was as much of a predator as the Farqs were on Verillon: cunning, unyielding, and perfectly ready to stab a Human in the back if it meant they got what they wanted—or were coerced by the rebels to do it.

Back on Verillon, the young Corpsman had changed plenty of bandages for Marines and GU soldiers alike who had been stabbed in the back by their so-called allies, friends, or family. But that was an active warzone, and they were the invaders.

Here, nestled deep in the GU, he should not be questioning if his future father-in-law was going to try and cut his throat like a Farq.

They were supposed to be learning to get along. Maybe Kyroll needed some more time to warm up to him, but at this rate, this entire trip was going to be a disaster.

"Alright, I will see you in the morning; I hope we can hunt something we can bring back to Nelya and Lysa," Martinez replied.

There it was again. Mentioning the girls back home made Kyroll visibly grimace and look away from Martinez. It was so odd. The man was a killer, or at least he had been. But his family apparently was a soft spot for him to the point hearing their names spoken by Martinez hurt.

Kyroll nodded and entered his tent, zipping it shut and leaving Martinez alone in the dark. He returned to his bivy sack, readying to sleep even with a cold knot in his gut.

What was going on? Tomorrow, he could get into the duffle and get answers. Lord knew Kyroll was not going to give him any.