Chapter Ten - Coming Up With a Better Plan

“Who needs a plan? Just charge in and kill everything! That’s what I always do. Alright, chumps, let’s do this!”

—Last words of Samurai Stephen “Leeroy Jenkins” Henkle, shortly before the destruction of the Chicago Rookery Arcology, 2031.

***

The Goddard Shopplex was a massive, perpetually understaffed monument to Capitalism in the Corporate Era. It serviced millions of people across the state every day through distribution centers, direct-to-home drone deliveries, and more. As such, it could never exactly be described as “clean”, with its dozens of janitors having to constantly maintain a fighting retreat against the grime of a hundred thousand daily shoppers—all under the vain hope that the mall might shut down for a day and allow them to catch up. An Antithesis incursion was their worst nightmare.

I let out another near-silent groan as I stepped through the third food container in an hour, my new shoes once again getting coated in unidentifiable sludge. I’d thought I was being clever by grabbing one of the fancy, expensive pairs, but the faux-leather wasn’t even good enough to block spilled pop from soaking into the synth-wool socks I’d pulled off a broken mannequin.

At least they protected against broken glass. And there was a lot of that; windows across the Shopplex had been blown out of their frames by a recent ripple of explosions nearby, spreading shattered sheets of plastic-infused silica across the floor. The intermittent thunder of explosives, mixed with constant cracks of gunfire, was clearly audible through the holes left by the glass’s destruction, and had steadily grown closer since Harry and I’d left Macy’s—something I hoped heralded the arrival of the National Guard. Still, despite the cacophony coming from outside, we were trying to avoid making too much noise… Something I’d quickly realized I was quite bad at, given that I spent too much time watching out for more Antithesis instead of watching where I was stepping. Harry, meanwhile, was practically gliding around the various bits of debris on the floor, making up for the heaviness of his steps by creating almost no other noise besides.

Something that wouldn’t have been possible if we hadn’t found his prosthetic leg right outside the department store’s front door—I wasn’t sure how well he’d be doing at stealth if he was still hopping around with a cane. His fake leg had been chewed to hell, but it seemed like the Antithesis finally got a clue that it wasn’t organic and spit it out. He’d made us stop for a few minutes just so he could wipe all of the xeno drool off the limb, something which I’d profusely protested at first. However, as he spit-shined the exposed metal joints with a raggedy handkerchief he’d produced from one of his uniform’s many pockets, our brief pause had turned out to be the right move. Several packs of Threes, Fours, and other Models unknown to me all suddenly dashed about on the floors below us, chasing after some unknown target. If Harry hadn’t made us stop, we would’ve been right in the middle of them. There was no way I’d survive that. Not yet.

While peeking over the railing, I’d also seen an additional Model Six on the bottom floor, escorting some giant, worm-like Antithesis into the middle of the central atrium. The mall had active noise suppression systems—a measure designed to prevent richer patrons on the upper floors from hearing the general din of the floors below them—every few storeys, so I couldn’t hear its whistling. However, the bear-sized Antithesis was obviously commanding the other aliens around it, as they all formed an orderly line in front of the large worm. I’d watched in disgusted fascination as the Antithesis horked up their food one by one, while the worm unleashed lashing tentacles from its lamprey-like mouth to drag the half-digested meals into itself. I’d then been informed by Lynata that I was looking at a Model Eight, which was a “mostly harmless biomass transferal unit”. It was also, apparently, considerably more durable than I could handle.

The massive amount of Nope in the central mall was why we were now sneaking down this hallway, following an old map of the Shopplex that Lynata had found in a local storage server. The blueprint was more complete than the kiosk maps, showing maintenance stairways that would hopefully allow us to get up the next few floors without issue. Unfortunately, it also appeared to be out of date, as we’d already come across one wall that wasn’t on it—apparently the conference center we’d been passing through had once been a movie theater. My quip about how happy I was that we were rid of that ancient relic had not been met kindly by Harry, who’d instead complained about my generation not having “any entertainment good enough to need a movie theater.”

Still, we’d made our way around the wall (going through an old, broken fire exit in one of the conference rooms) and were now only a single floor below our destination. Harry, like the ancient caveman he was, had pulled out an old smartphone several times along the way to receive updates from Frank; the older security guard had calmed down considerably since he’d first called us, after it’d become obvious that the smaller Antithesis wouldn’t be able to break into his room. At that point, I’d debated with Harry whether we should still go “save” him at all, when the matter was suddenly decided for me.

I jumped as a low buzz filled the hallway. My eyes searched wildly for the source of sound, sure that we were about to be attacked by some new alien horror, before realizing that the noise was coming from Harry’s pocket. The mall cop winced as he pulled his vibrating smartphone from his cargo pants, mouthing a short “sorry” as he silenced the phone and put it to his ear. An ugly, vindictive part of me was briefly glad that this time I’d get to lecture him on being more careful, before the rest of me realized that part was being a dumbass. I’d made some very serious mistakes over the last few hours that I needed to focus on fixing first. I was learning, slowly, while Harry had done all of this (or at least something a lot like this) before. His smartphone buzzing wasn’t any more noisy than the crunch of glass under my feet; as long as this mistake wasn’t the one that brought a bunch of Antithesis down on top of us, we could use this as another learning experience. Now, if only I could convince my rapidly beating heart to calm down too…

Lost in my introspection as I was, I hadn’t been listening to Harry’s conversation, so it took me a few seconds to register his words. “—where’d they go? What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’?”

I waved to Harry to get his attention and mouthed, “What’s going on?”, but he dismissed my question with a wave of his own. Instead, Lynata answered me.

Mister Markus has just been informed that your place of employment has become bereft of Antithesis.

“What?” I whispered.

The Antithesis have all left your store.

“What?” I repeated. “Where?”

That appears to be the matter of contention between Mister Markus and your friend, Frank. Antithesis rarely disengage when they have confirmed the presence of live prey—even when they seem incapable of reaching it, the Antithesis will wait to receive the assistance of more specialized Models. It can thus be inferred that something drew them off; in all likelihood, a command from another Model. This was the case for yourself, as you would remember.

It took me a second to think through that. “That’s bad, right?”

Almost certainly. The Antithesis are rarely complacent. If they are no longer attacking Frank, then they have found a better target.

“‘Better’, meaning ‘more people to kill’.”

That was the implication of my statement, yes.

I sighed. “Fantastic.” Harry’s argument with Frank continued in the background, giving me a few more seconds to think on the subject. “So, you’re an AI—”

Last time I checked.

This time, it was a sigh of frustration. “Right, so, you’ve got to be good at the whole math and guessing thing. Do you have any ideas where they could’ve gone?”

While you are correct that I am quite proficient at ‘the math and guessing thing’, I do not currently possess enough information to provide you with an accurate estimation of their destination. However, I am capable of providing you with a list of the most likely scenarios, if you wish.

I waited for Lynata to say more, then realized that she was waiting for me to ask. “Look, you know I’m going to say yes, so why don’t you just tell me?”

Apologies, my position requires that I follow my Vanguard’s lead before giving out estimates with insufficient data; the Protectors have noted the delightful human behavior of ‘going with your gut’ more often than listening to established data patterns. However, your request has been noted, and I will endeavor to be more informative moving forward! To that end: the most likely scenario is that a specialty Model has arrived on site, and the lower Models have been retasked with either assisting or guarding it. The second most likely scenario is that they have been retasked with defending the Shopplex.

I quirked my brow at nothing in particular. “Defending it?”

You may have noticed the increasing intensity of combat outside. If the hive considers the Shopplex to be a site of strategic importance, and the number of units outside is insufficient for defending it, then the hive will prioritize its defense over harvesting of biomass. This is assuming, of course, that the hive deems that the amount of biomass lost in the defense will be less than the amount to be harvested from this location.

I looked out the nearest window frame. Several buildings and streets farther away were on fire, creating a constant haze of smoke that rivaled the smog of one of the megacities, and prevented me from seeing much of what was going on in the rest of the city. I also couldn’t see the streets around the Shopplex from this angle, so I couldn’t confirm Lynata’s theory. However, I could still see the sun, peeking out from between two of Billing’s taller skyscrapers, indicating that night was only a scant few hours away. I wasn’t afraid of the dark, and the Shopplex’s lights never turned off anyways, but it was a generally accepted fact that Bad Things happened during nighttime in an incursion. If the xenos were trying to reinforce the area, and the National Guard couldn’t break through before sundown, then we were well and truly fucked. “Let’s hope it’s not that last one.”

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Either of these scenarios would be very troubling. In the first case, a specialized Model would be far more immediately deadly to you.

I chewed on that thought for a second as Harry’s conversation devolved into a furious, whispered argument behind me. “What about that worm-thing back there? Could they be guarding that?”

While Model Eights are an important part of the Antithesis hive cycle, they operate almost exclusively in areas cleared of resistance. They do not require “guards”, as such, beyond the few lower Models necessary to feed them. It is far more probable that the Antithesis would be guarding one of the higher biowarfare or command Models, which are specialized to a degree that they are comparatively defenseless. A Model Twenty-Two, for instance.

Lynata pulled up a helpful little window in my aug-gear, highlighting a fat, ugly creature covered in bulbous sacs. She then added a model human for scale. It was larger than a hovertruck. “That thing is defenseless?” I asked incredulously.

Compared to other Models of its caliber, yes. It is a mobile hive, dedicated almost exclusively to feeding and growing more Antithesis. Not to worry, however; most hives focus on creating smaller Models for a span of time roughly analogous to your planet’s days. If this hive follows the usual model, then it will be approximately two days before it is required to produce a Model above Twenty. It is improbable that you would encounter one.

I groaned. “Oh great, now you’ve jinxed it.”

Oh! The amusing human concept of willing negative thoughts into existence. The conception of an idea from rendering it aloud is a key concept in the religions of multiple species, although it is interesting that humans only ever consider it in the negative.

“Exactly! So stop it!”

Despite exhaustive research, the Protectors have found no evidence that this concept bears true in reality. One event is as statistically likely as another, and any observation of ‘jinxing it’ stems from ‘it’ either being the most likely event in the first place, or merely observational bias due to specifically anticipating said event.

I just nodded along. “I’m gonna pretend I understood that.”

Would you prefer a chart? Perhaps with fun little pictures you can color in yourself?

“Fuck off,” I huffed with a roll of my eyes. “Please, just don’t jinx us.”

In respect to my Vanguard, I will modify my speech to refrain from ‘jinxing us’ again. Now, it appears that Mister Markus has concluded his conversation.

I furrowed my brow in confusion, then flinched as a hand touched my shoulder. Harry had finished his call while I was distracted, and was now trying to get my attention.

“Hey,” he started, “it looks like the Antithesis spooked off, so we don’t have to worry about Frank anymore.”

I nodded in response. “Yeah, I heard. Lynata was just giving me the rundown on where she thinks they went.”

Harry tilted his head in curiosity. “What did she have to say about it?”

I shrugged. “Either something a lot scarier is about to show up, or they’re worried that the military is about to show up.”

“Those are merely the two scenarios with the highest probabilities of being accurate—there are seven other potentialities of statistical likelihood, albeit far lower in possibility than the two which Benjamin has so eloquently outlined.”

Harry merely nodded along when Lynata chimed in, while I was too busy trying to figure out if my AI was sassing me. “That sounds about right. Either way, one of our problems is solved, so we don’t have to keep sneaking around here now.”

I paused, looking around the liminal space we’d found ourselves in, and realized that I couldn’t really think of what to do next. “So… what now?”

Harry shrugged in response. “It’s up to you, really. You’re the one who needs to get more points. I was hoping to link up with Frank to get more people together, see if we could work up a numbers advantage, but after our conversation… I don’t think he’d be willing to help.”

I bit my lip in contemplation. Despite the situation, I hadn’t really given my options much thought—I was so far out of my element that I’d just been content to let Harry come up with the plan so far, with me following his lead. He clearly knew what he was doing, whereas my combat experience existed solely in the realm of Mesh-shooters… Some of which were actually fairly accurate, now that I thought about it. But in just about all of them, I was already a super-powerful Samurai who was always told exactly what to do and where to go (and even got waypoints to my objective, if I was willing to watch an ad before the match).

Well, if I had to think for myself, then I was going to put my best foot forward: shamelessly steal Harry’s idea, because it actually sounded really good, and I couldn’t come up with anything better in the five seconds I thought about it. “What about the other security guards? You guys all have to do yearly mass shooter training, right? So all of the rest of them should be good with a gun, too.”

Harry shook his head. “I wouldn’t be too much stock in our ‘training’—most of my colleagues can’t hit the broadside of a barn. But maybe I’m just biased.” He gave a sardonic chuckle. “The only one I know can shoot is Margaret, and that’s only because I made the mistake of asking her what the red stain by the front door of her shop was.”

I stopped for a second to give him my best look of incredible concern. “Uh… Do I wanna know?”

“A customer tried to swipe a few of their magazines, and she keeps a shotgun loaded with birdshot under the counter,” Harry elaborated.

Right, I’d almost forgotten she was on the first floor. They operated on a slightly different set of rules down there. “Alright, well she’s probably out—until I get the points for a rocket launcher or something, I don’t want to go to ground zero with half of the Antithesis in the mall down there, and I definitely don’t want to fight another Model Six without one. What about the big guy, uh… José, I think it was? With augs like his, he wouldn’t even need a gun.”

Harry pursed his lips. “I don’t think so. From what he tells me, he used to be part of a gang that did that kind of thing, but then he took a bit of a tumble off a motorcycle and hit his head something fierce, and now he doesn’t have a violent bone in his body.” He made a gesture of uncertainty with his hands. “I’m not sure exactly what happened to him, but now he’ll cry if you so much as mention physical violence. I think they just keep him around to look tough—not like they have a lot of crime up in the cloud district, anyways.”

I sighed. What Harry had said probably applied to most of the security in the “cloud district”, which accounted for the top few levels of the mall. Only the richest shoppers went there, and any crime they committed was skated over as “the cost of doing business”. Unfortunately, the cloud district was also probably the only area of the mall still unmolested by the Antithesis, which meant our best chance of finding someone to help. “Is there anyone you think would be able to help us?”

Instead of answering immediately, Harry stared off into space, clearly lost in thought. He drummed his fingers against his prosthetic leg, which gave off a soft, plasticky thump with each impact. “I haven’t heard from many more people—almost everyone was either off-duty or probably got into a shelter with everybody else. I guess there’s Manny, but…” Harry stopped, then pulled out his smartphone. “Actually, Manny might be perfect. He’s on the same floor as Frank, and if the Antis have left him alone, we can probably get to Manny.”

As Harry typed away on his phone, I raised my hand like I was a child in a classroom (one of those old-timey ones, before androids took over most of the teaching roles and students had to start queuing questions on their augs instead). “Uh, who’s Manny?”

“He’s a lot like me, actually,” replied Harry, “although a bit more… rough around the edges. But he used to be a marine back in the days of the U.S., and that’s just the right combination of dangerous and crazy that we’re looking for.”

I considered it for a moment. “Well, that sounds good, but is he actually able to help? Have you heard from him?”

Harry chuckled as he crept a little closer and gave me his smartphone. “Oh yeah, he’s willing to help.”

The ancient device showed a picture of a rather grizzled man somewhere in his sixties, with short-cropped hair and a faded scar down his entire face. Based on the miscellaneous bits of destroyed mall in the background, the selfie had been taken quite recently. ‘Manny’ was giving a thumbs-up to the camera, along with an absolutely manic grin, as he centered the shot on what looked like a booby-trapped pretzel on the ground over his shoulder.

“Where the hell did he get a grenade?” Was the only question I could think to ask.

“I’ve found that it’s best not to ask where Manny’s involved,” Harry sighed in response. After taking his phone back, he waved me forward, and we continued our slow trek to the nearest maintenance stairway. “The more important question you should be asking is, ‘does he have any more?’ If he does, you might try convincing him to give you a few. Would really help with making points.”

I nodded in vague agreement as Harry opened the stairway door and took a few seconds to clear the stairwell beyond. Anything like that would be a huge improvement on what I had at the moment—the hand cannon I was using now was certainly better than the crappy pistol Harry’s job had supplied him with, but I wanted a real weapon. Something like I got in the Mesh-shooters, which could clear a whole room of aliens in a second.

Actually, my handgun catalog probably had a few things at least a little like that. Maybe something with smart tracking, or some other weird technology that normal people wouldn’t have access to. Samurai weapons could get weird real quick, but I just needed something that I wouldn’t need to bother carefully aiming while being charged by a bunch of Model Threes.

The Kinetic Handguns catalog provides a wide variety of options for killing large numbers of lower Models in quick succession, although you will need significantly more points before you gain the capability to acquire many of them. However, several options are still available with your limited number of points.

As if reading my mind, Lynata chimed in and opened a new tab in my eye-gear. There was an audible whirring in my skull as the eye-gear’s fans kicked in from the sudden load, and several dozen guns flitted past my vision before the tab minimized. While a few of the options looked really fun, I didn’t have time to view any of them before we reached the top of the staircase. Harry glanced at me, making sure I was ready before he reached for the door handle. There was no window on this door, so I made sure to move around from behind him and take aim in case there were any Antithesis on the other side.

Harry grunted as he tried to push open the door, which seemed to be rusted shut. He tried to be quiet at first, then gave it a heavy kick with his prosthetic leg. With a final push, the door gave way, and he quickly shuffled out of the way to give me room to enter first.

On the other side of the door was a scene that I could only describe as a rave from Hell.