Alana sat in the back of her gunship on the way back to Boone, bouncing her knee in frustration. The job was nearly three-quarters done when she’d gotten the recall request. Just a little longer and she could have stemmed the tide of Antithesis, turning a siege into a cleanup operation.

Then again, this entire job was supposed to be a cleanup operation.

Regardless, she couldn’t leave a Model Twenty-Three unattended in the middle of Boone. Much less a variant. There was no point defeating all the Antithesis if it came at the cost of all the lives in the city. She may have been down to the last quarter of the sonic piles she needed to place, but that still would have been a significant chunk of time.

“Sitrep, Alvarez,” she said over the radio. She was going to need a plan, and to make one, she needed to know exactly what the situation was.

“I have both teams distracting the big bastard but I’m not sure how long it’ll be before it realizes we’re just flies. It’s shrugged off fifty-cal, rockets, and even that weird napalm you loaded the flamethrowers with. Best we can do right now is trade off who’s attacking it and keep it running back and forth,” the lieutenant reported, punctuated by gunfire.

Alana knew she was definitely going to need to immobilize it somehow. Keep it from moving long enough to blow it up from the inside. A model that big would be hard to stop for long, though. It had the strength to break through almost anything used to bind it. But maybe they could restrict its movement rather than stopping it entirely, then give it something else to think about than getting loose.

“Alright, I’m going to need both anti-armor and flamethrower specialists to meet me at these coordinates,” she said, marking a point on the map and sending it over to Alvarez’s augs. The Stalking Tigers were all equipped with a military model with additional features such as map markers with coordinates by default for calling in fire missions and the ability for superior officers to update objectives and waypoints for everyone in their chain of command. Additional firewalls and security as well, but that wasn’t relevant right now.

“Copy that, they’ll be there.”

“Brown, I have something for you to blow up,” Alana said next, switching to a direct channel with the specialist.

“Really!? You’re the best, LT!” the demolitionist squealed in excitement.

“I need you to go…here,” Alana continued, sending her a different set of coordinates, “and rig the sewers to detonate and collapse when the Twenty Three walks over that spot.”

“I rescind my previous statement,” Brown replied in a much less enthused tone.

“Would you like to try that again?” Alana asked threateningly.

“Eep! I mean, yes ma’am!”

“Model Twenty Three should be rounding the corner any moment now,” Jackson reported as a Humvee sped through the intersection, machinegun pointing backwards and firing. Once it was through the gunfire cut off, and Alana knew they would be speeding up and leaving the Twenty-Three behind now. Moments later the Antithesis emerged, long legs pumping furiously as it chased its prey. It was nearly ten meters tall, most of which was leg, but it was also a lot more heavily armored than any Twenty-Three Alana had seen before, almost like someone had put barding on a t-rex.

As soon as it was in sight she starting shooting. High-caliber rounds which should have been more than enough to penetrate a Twenty-Three’s hide bounced off harmlessly, but accomplished their actual purpose: drawing its attention. The monster turned towards Alana, now the only person firing at it, and charged. It closed the distance more rapidly than she had expected, but Specialist Brown had seen it in action already and knew her explosives well- with perfect timing the pavement ahead of Alana puffed up and then fell away, and the Twenty-Three’s next step landed on empty air.

Even tumbling ass over elbows didn’t seem to cause much damage. It was like the Twenty-Three’s legs were unbreakable. That was fine though, because the goal was merely to put its head at ground level and give it no space to turn. With time it could easily climb out, but Alana didn’t plan to give it that time.

“On my mark!” she ordered, dashing forward. The Twenty-Three saw her coming and opened its jaws, exactly as she wanted it to. “Dylta, now!”

A solid block of pure titanium manifested between the tyrannosaur’s teeth. When they came down, the metal buckled ever-so-slightly, but that was all. Even a Model Twenty-Three couldn’t bite through solid titanium, though Alana was a bit disturbed to realize its teeth had somehow survived the experience.

“Flamethrowers!” Alana shouted next, rapidly backing away. In came Specialist Fields and a man from Alvarez’s squad, each toting flamethrowers capable of melting steel. Burning gel erupted from the nozzle of both weapons and coated the Twenty-Three’s jaws inside and out, clinging tightly even as it shook its head and discarded the block in its mouth. A sound like pained shrieking accompanied the burning plant flesh, but Antithesis didn’t feel pain or vocalize- this was merely moisture evaporating right out of its incinerated tissues.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

On the outside, there was no visible damage. On the inside, muscles and tendons shriveled and became ash. The Twenty-Three’s lower jaw sagged and fell open, no longer able to support its own weight, and without the ability to feel pain, it didn’t even notice. It grabbed at the pavement in preparation to hoist itself up, not realizing it was vulnerable for the first time.

“Rockets, staggered fire, right down its throat!” ordered Alana, and then the first rocket erupted from its launcher. It struck the back of the Twenty-Three’s throat and exploded, casting a cloud of smoke back out of its mouth and causing enough damage that there was nothing stopping the rocket after it from sailing right into the Twenty-Three’s stomach. The next rocket did just that and struck home inside the large Antithesis’s gullet, destroying vital organs and bones equally.

That second rocket had probably been enough to kill it. Four more were launched just to be sure. Only when the Twenty-Three’s insides were thoroughly pulverized and it collapsed to the ground, shutting its jaws for good, did Cabot and her counterpart cease fire. Alana approached the corpse and found that, despite it all, its armor remained intact.

“Good work everyone. Let’s all get back to our posts,” she ordered, turning back to those present as she spoke over the group-wide channel. Two Humvees pulled up containing the remaining members of both squads, ready to carry the ones here back the front line. Brown stepped forward to examine the body more closely, a thoughtful look on her face.

“You know, I think I could have actually killed it by-”

Alana tried to tackle Brown to the ground the moment she heard the gunshots, but her legs didn’t respond. Looking down, she saw a gaping hole in her torso, right around where her diaphragm should be. There was surprisingly little blood- a benefit of her upgrades no doubt. She tried again to move, but her legs stayed put. It was only when her torso began to slump that she lost balance and fell to the ground.

“Sniper down!” someone shouted.

“Get the LT to cover!” yelled another voice.

“Hey, who are they- reinforcements already?”

“No, look at the uniforms, sir. They’re not ours! Take cover!” a man barked, his drill sergeant voice enough to make Alana twitch instinctively.

Dylta, what’s the damage? Alana asked in her mind, directing the question at the AI she knew could hear her thanks to her extra implants. Given all her upgrades, she already knew it must have been bad. So much of her had been replaced with cybernetics already that Alana should have been able to keep moving even when severely injured, so the damage had to be catastrophic to disable her to this extent.

Report: heart module at fifty-percent capacity. Lung module at sixty-percent capacity. Digestive module: compromised; stomach compartment ruptured. Toxin filter: unresponsive. Legs: unresponsive. Bone fragments detected in thoracic cavity. Thoracic vertebra eight through twelve shattered. Conclusion: spinal column severed by multiple high caliber bullets.

She wanted to roll her eyes at the mechanical response of her AI, but her eyes didn’t want to move. Instead, she asked: Am I dying or not?

Prognosis: chances of survival one-hundred percent barring further damage. Internal nanite factories initiating repairs. Estimated time to completion: three hours. Alert: insufficient oxygen to maintain consciousness.

Alana’s consciousness faded before she could respond. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Alvarez took control of both squads, rushing to get the situation under control.

“How many of them are we dealing with?” he asked into the radio, leaning out from behind one Humvee to return fire. Both cars had been disabled almost immediately after Alana went down, but they were armored and could serve as cover even if they couldn’t move. McIntire and Alvarez squads were pinned between the vehicles and the closest building, up against a solid concrete wall.

“At least two squads on this side!” one of Alvarez’s men answered.

“I count three over here, and they brought portable cover,” Sergeant Jackson reported from behind the other Humvee.

“Any word on reinforcements?” Alvarez asked next, directing the question to his own sergeant, who’d been tasked with calling for help.

“No dice. Our own comms are fine but we can’t connect to anyone else. I think we’re being jammed and the only reason we can hear each other is that we all have the upgraded helmets,” was the response, which Alvarez was not happy to hear.

“Great, so we’re outnumbered at least two to one and no help is coming. Ammo check, everyone!” Various answers came in, but the short of it was that everyone was low after their extended fight with the Model Twenty-Three. All the advanced weaponry in the world wouldn’t be of any use with no ammunition. The range was too great for the flamethrowers and the rocket launchers were entirely expended, as were the heavy machineguns. Both squads’ riflemen were down to their last magazines.

Their opponents had clearly come prepared, as well. When Alvarez leaned out of cover again he found the other pair of squads deploying their own cover as well. He fired a test shot directly at one and it bounced right off; these barricades were thick enough to shrug off Class I bullets from Class I firearms. It didn’t help that, while everyone here had weapons far better than the rank and file, Alana had still had to compromise somewhat in order to outfit so many people.

“Need some solutions, people! Right now the only option I’m seeing is rushing down one team while they’re still setting up, and we’re not pulling that off with no casualties.” As he spoke, Alvarez ducked back down, glancing around at the fourteen men and women crammed into this narrow space with him. One grenade would have decent odds of wiping them out entirely.

“Sir, my family’s from Boone and I’m pretty sure there’s an emergency bunker in the building behind us!” answered Specialist Silverton, the marksman from Alana’s squad.

“That’s great but I’m not seeing any doors!” someone else retorted.

“I can make one, sir,” Specialist Brown chimed in, already reaching into her vest pockets and pulling an assortment of tools out.

“Do it, specialist! Specialist Lin, you’re the only one strong enough to carry Lieutenant McIntire, so get ready. You’re going in first. Everyone else, keep up suppressive fire! Once we’re in that bunker your ammo isn’t doing us any good, so make them think we’ve got plenty!”