Jimmie let the finger on his trigger slowly ease into place, he didn’t shoot, he knew better. But the finger ached, ached to shoot that, thing.

Leaning into his scope, he measured the distance. A green tinted “1327” came up, the distance between him and the alien. He zeroed in, and waited.

It was big, almost the size of a mech, but wider. When it looked around, Jimmie noted that its entire backside had, what looked like, a turtle’s shell. Four appendages sprung from its body, two that looked like arms, and two that looked like legs. The legs were thick as trunks, claws sticking out like toes that digged into the earth below, keeping it steady and still. The two arms were proportional to its body, which is to say, enormous body-builder like arms. Although they were not as big as their legs.

It held a gun that was thicker than it was long, its barrel rounded and stubby. The gun didn’t look like it had a sight, making Jimmie ponder how the alien aimed it.

But Jimmie wasn’t aiming at its body, no, Jimmie held the dot square on the alien's face, or what Jimmie guessed was its face. It had a snout like an anteater, but it was thicker and shorter. The head seemed to lack a neck, because whenever the alien moved, the head followed.

Jimmie looked for its eyes, eyes being the mirror to the soul, and the body's weakness. But it took him a lucky break to even spot them. Small, beady, black eyes, no larger than Jimmie’s pinky. They were just beneath an armored part that covered half of its face, the same shell material as its thick back.

It stood there, absentmindedly gazing at something, almost perfectly still, like a statue. Only occasionally turning around, either bored, scouting, or something else.

Jimmie felt a tap to his helmet, then Dick whispered.

“Will you make the shot? Between the eyes?”

Jimmie nodded slowly, eye still attached to the scope. He didn’t see Dick’s response, but felt him crawl somewhere behind him, presumably towards the commander.

And the seconds ticked on.

Jimmie had a guess. He guessed that this alien had been posted at its position as some sort of guard. Maybe the aliens heard something, maybe it was random; it didn’t matter to Jimmie. He just felt that these things, these aliens, were what was attacking the fortification. And Jimmie had to kill it, he just had to.

He heard something crawl behind him. He let it crawl close, eyes firmly stuck to the scope, and the scope stuck on the alien. He felt something lean against his rock, then a voice.

“You got permission to shoot-“

Jimmie pulled the trigger.

A loud bang, followed by five consecutive bullets, tearing through the air.

The alien reacted immediately, twisting its body slightly to its left, Jimmie’s right.

Two bullets missing mere breathes to the aliens right.

Three bullets streaked from ear, to eye, to the bridge between its eyes.

And then there was silence.

The alien fell.