Chapter Three - Brawls and Falls in the Mall’s Halls

The late 20s saw the death of “the mall” as we knew it. Online shopping became the number one method of purchasing products in every country across the world; even nations without the infrastructure to support it were given the opportunity as megacorporations invested billions into them (cornering their market in the process, of course).

It wasn’t until the late 30s that consumers realized how tedious online shopping was. It was easy, of course, to spend thousands of credits without ever leaving the comfort of your couch, but there was nothing special about online shopping. A wave of social movements and new business trends revived “the mall”, rebranding it as a social space with shopping as a secondary concern. Naturally, the corporations behind these social movements saw record sales as their new malls brought in even more customers.

—Excerpt from The Rise, Fall, and Resurrection of Physical Shopping, 2045

***

The sliding doors took a bit of force to leverage open, but Harry and I were easily able to do it together. The other side opened up to a department store, one that seemed eerily empty. Hopefully it stayed that way.

“Last chance, kid.” Harry whispered, pointing further into the store. “Shelter’s that way.”

I shook my head. At this point, I was committed to seeing it through to the end. I wasn’t going to hide in there while Harry fought and died out here.

“Alright, then we’re heading out the front.” Harry quietly moved past a few perfume display cases and put a hand on the front door, then stopped and glanced back at me. He hesitated for a second, then said, “I know I gave you the gun, but I should probably still go first.”

I was a little annoyed at first. He was treating me like a kid who had no idea what he was doing. Then I remembered that I was basically just a kid who had no idea what he was doing. A couple of Mesh games hadn’t prepared me at all for the real thing. So instead of saying something stupid and pithy, I just beckoned Harry to open the door. Maybe my beckoning came out a bit more sarcastic than I’d intended, but I still gave myself points for trying.

With a soft grunt, the overweight mall cop slowly pulled the heavy, all-glass door open with one hand, the other maintaining a sweaty death grip on his taser. He stuck his head outside the threshold, using one foot to hold the door open while he looked around. When he wasn’t immediately eaten by some alien terror-beast, he waved me forward. I took a few hesitant steps, suddenly aware of just how clumsily I was gripping the gun and shuffling around, then let out a long breath and quickened my stride. I studied the two-handed grip Harry had now adopted on his taser and attempted to copy it as I strode outside the doors.

The mall outside was a study in controlled chaos. Several storeys, going up and down in either direction, with dozens of businesses on each floor—all with their own brand of neon-glow billboards, holograms, and blaring jingles. Each level of the mall had its own style—Art Deco arches gave way to Roman columns and Modernist cubes, with no floor repeating any architectural feature. The walkways were wide enough for over a dozen people to walk abreast, even with kiosks covering every square inch of space. Glass railings gave way to a massive open space in the center of the mall, with multiple elevators (each with their own ad-scroll along their entire length) going up the space. The Goddard Shopplex housed a full quarter of the businesses in Billings, and provided a hefty percentage of all onlines sales for the entire state of Montana. If there were such a thing as a Church of Capitalism, then my hometown was its Vatican.

Seeing movement, my head whipped around. Instead of the charging Antithesis I’d been expecting, it turned out to just be a few delivery drones still zipping between the floors, trying to fulfill orders from shoppers who had probably fled a long time ago. Besides the music from the stores, it was so quiet that I could even hear the whirr of the drones’ motors. The incursion alarms had stopped a while ago, although most of the building’s signage was still glowing blood-red with “incursion detected” warnings. I made the rookie mistake of glancing at one of the few spots of color left in the space, which turned out to be a violently colorful ad-drone hovering past the balcony. Several pop-ups immediately filled my vision, each mugging my attention to get me to buy their product. Half-a-second later, each of the pop-ups quickly disintegrated one pixel at a time, followed by Lynata speaking up.

Sorry about that. All further adware queries will be properly filtered and discarded with extreme prejudice. On that note, I am also filtering out the absurd number of malware packages attached to each of those ad packets. The malware already inside of your system has also been purged.

“Uh, thanks.” I said. The last time I’d tried using adblock software for my eye-gear, it’d just filled my vision with its own pop-ups demanding that I buy its premium version. I could get used to an AI doing it for me.

“Thanks for what?” Harry whispered, now hunkered down behind a nearby lotion kiosk.

“Sorry, not you,” I responded, “It’s the…” I twirled a finger at my head, still not quite comfortable with outright saying “the alien AI playing roommate to my grey matter.”

Harry shook his head. “Still strange to think you’re a Samurai. I think it’ll be easier to just pretend you’re on a call with someone.” He waved me past him, only moving from his spot once I’d found my own stall to hide behind.

I quietly grunted in annoyance. I get that I didn’t exactly fit the idea of “Antithesis murder machine”, but he could at least give me some time to prove myself first. Besides, I’d already saved his life! “Met many Samurai?” I shot back, before another thought occurred to me. “Actually, Lynata, could I just call another Samurai? Seems like that’d be easier than waiting around to be eaten.”

This time, Harry didn’t immediately answer my question to him, obviously getting used to the idea of a voice in my head faster than I was. Instead, he continued to slowly scan the balconies around us, holding his taser in a low-ready position, while Lynata replied first.

While I do possess the capability to facilitate communications with other Vanguard, I do not have access to locational data for their current positions. As such, I am unaware of any Vanguard who may have responded to this incursion. The only other access I have to local information networks is through your own augmentation equipment; a purposeful choice by the Protectors to limit our capability to spread. However, as you know, all local networks have been overloaded since the beginning of the incursion.

As a matter of fact, I didn’t know, since I hadn’t even thought to call someone before now. Not that I really had anyone to call. I didn’t even know where most of my friends lived, given that I’d met them all online, and my only remaining family was far away from Billings. The only one even remotely close was my father, but he… Wait, shit, Harry had mentioned that the Army was deploying from Malmstrom, hadn’t he? That meant dad would be here too. Not that I was worried for his safety—if any Antithesis got near him, he’d probably just nag them to death, or maybe cause them to suddenly combust from proximity to his sheer rage. I almost pitied the poor bastards.

Jokes aside, that didn’t solve my immediate problem—namely, not ending up as some alien’s lunch. While I’m sure I would be considered a delicacy compared to their usual fare, it wasn’t something I wanted to put to the test, and Lynata’s response hadn’t helped any. We weren’t getting any help.

I spoke softly as I approached Harry’s new position behind a taco stand, “She says we’re on our own.”

Harry grimaced as I squatted down next to him. “Figured as much. Still, good call asking. Never be afraid to ask if you’re not sure on something—it might save our lives if the intel gives you a new way to look at things.”

I quirked my brow. “Gee, thanks, dad. Got any other wisdom to share?”

The security guard chuffed. “Yeah: eat your vegetables, they’re healthy for you.” He gazed around, then briefly glanced at me. “Also, yeah, I’ve fought beside one before.”

“What?”

“You asked if I knew many Samurai.” He responded. “Just the one, and just the once, but that was enough. We had tanks that couldn’t put out the firepower he did, and he made it look casual.” He eyed me. “Maybe you’ll be like that someday, kid, but you’re not there yet.” Then he cracked a grin. “But when you are, maybe you can buy me a few anti-tank cannons—remember who gave you the pistol that started it all, eh?”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Hell, if we made it out of this, I’d buy everyone in Billings an anti-tank gun. At least then it wouldn’t just be my problem anymore. I pointed down the escalator we were sitting next to. “It’s down there, right?”

“Yes,” Harry confirmed. “They’re still renovating the top entrance, so we’ll need to go down a floor.”

I nodded along, looking across the mall to confirm that the “under construction” signs were still in place. Macy’s was one of the few stores in the Shopplex big enough to warrant two floors, but a disgruntled employee had shot up the second-storey entrance a little over a year ago. The business had been dragging its feet in getting it repaired, claiming “contractor problems”, but rumor among the workers was that the company didn’t want to spend the money to fix it. I, for one, thought that a lot of our customers could use the cardio, but now that my “inconvenient walk” had turned into “potential alien ambush time”, I was more than a little annoyed at Harry’s employer.

Like they could hear my thoughts, there was a loud crash as Harry and I went down the escalator. The sound echoed through the empty mall as the doors to the shop across the way—some cat-themed cafe done up in pastels—exploded outward, revealing another group of five Model Threes. They padded out silently, leaving bloody footprints behind them, and the one in the lead had a tail sticking out of its distended maw. I’d never been a cat person (and the feeling was mutual, since they all seemed to hate me on sight), but that was just so wrong that I almost jumped up to shoot at them right then and there. However, Harry slowly put a hand over the pistol I was holding, and a glance his way revealed that he was shaking his head.

Unfortunately, I knew he was right; I couldn’t risk shooting at them. They hadn’t noticed us yet—for the moment, their attention was fixed on tearing apart a wheeled food delivery drone that had gotten too close—and it was unlikely that I would even hit one of them from that distance. Even if we let them get closer, I didn’t favor the odds of me killing them all before they ripped my throat out. We had to hope that they wouldn’t notice us moving through all the drones and animated ad booths.

Harry and I very slowly crept away from the escalator, putting kiosks between us and them. I noticed Harry didn’t even bother looking, keeping his head below the counter of a stand advertising bootleg gaming consoles. I, on the other hand, couldn’t help the need to keep the aliens in my line of sight, so I continuously peeked out of cover. The Model Threes were luckily circling in the opposite direction from us, angling towards a pretzel bar that would hopefully keep them distracted for a bit longer.

I was so focused on them that I just narrowly avoided knocking over a magazine stand; when my attention came back to them, I saw one disappear behind the bar, before the other four turned their heads in unison to stare at a nearby boutique. It was really small—barely more than a booth itself—but I knew it housed one of the Shopplex’s incursion shelters. Each floor had its own shelter, with local businesses “hosting” them in return for substantial tax benefits. The company running the boutique and shelter probably made more from the tax cuts than it took to keep the two operational. An idea that didn’t bode well for the integrity of the shelter or the safety of its occupants—if they were trying to cut corners for the profit, how many of those corners came from the shelter itself?

Unfortunately, the math still hadn’t changed: I couldn’t help against that many Antithesis with what I currently had. The urge to charge back in guns-blazing was surprisingly strong, given that I’d spent most of my life running away from any form of danger, but my newfound courage didn’t mean I was suicidal. I’d have to hope that the shelter remained intact long enough for Harry and I to get to the security station and pick up a bit more firepower. Where we went from there… I wasn’t sure yet.

I tried to purge the Model Threes from my mind, even as I saw them charging at whatever sound had drawn them to the boutique. Instead, I focused on the path in front of me. It was becoming difficult to navigate the detritus of dropped food containers and designer shopping bags, and I was starting to see some small puddles of blood—both alien and human—creeping across the faux marble. Clearly the Antithesis were much more active on this floor; a fact which had me staring into the stores around us with my head on a swivel, making sure that we weren’t about to unwittingly stroll into another group of Model Threes.

I should have still been paying attention to the floor. The tip of my shoe came down on the lip of a shell casing, causing it to wildly spin a few short feet into a large cluster of more of the brass cylinders, which all clinked together like the world’s tiniest wind chime. While this was an impressive testament to our customers’ refusal to follow the upper mall’s “no weapons allowed” policy, the main issue was the hazard presented by the careening casings—one rolled right under Harry’s foot as he took a step, causing him to stumble.

Harry’s hand shot out, grabbing the top of a wet floor sign that failed to stop his fall, instead clattering to the ground with him. He froze, still sprawled on the floor, staring at me with wide eyes. I winced from the noise, seemingly deafening in the quiet area around us, and glanced back at the pretzel bar on the balcony across from us. The lone Model Three was sticking its upper body above the counter now, with what looked like a giant pretzel dangling from its mouth. I almost considered it cute. Something I would have made a meme of if I’d seen the picture online. Right now, I could only consider it heart-stoppingly terrifying.

Harry and I didn’t even dare to breathe as the Model Three stared in our direction. We were too far away to clearly see its black eyes, but I could feel its gaze sweep over me. Luckily, I was mostly tucked away behind an insurance kiosk, but Harry was in the middle of no man’s land between two stands. His bright red and deep black uniform did nothing to blend in with the white marble, but he was acting his heart out to play the best dead body I’d ever seen.

I waited for the Model Three to turn away, but it just kept looking around. My pulse was pounding in my ears so fast and loud that I thought I was going to have a heart attack. But then a holographic ad display next to the Antithesis lit up, letting out a booming announcement, “Hello, Benjamin Miller, we’ve been trying to reach you about your car’s extended warranty! You should’ve received a notice in your email…”

As the Model Three’s attention snapped to the personalized advertisement—and away from us—Harry scrambled up and behind a display case. Sweat was practically coming off his balding head in rivulets as he peeked between me and the Model Three, who was now pawing at the hologram. It abruptly shut off, only for another holographic ad to light up further away, repeating the same message. When it approached the next sign, the hologram once again switched off and was repeated from an even further, two-dimensional ad screen in front of an electronics shop. A more intelligent animal might have questioned it, but the Antithesis just bounded after the trail of loud advertisements and into the nearest store, hoping to find something else to chomp down on. As it disappeared, Lynata suddenly “spoke” in my mind.

Modern advertisements are so easy to trick; a few thousand targeted searches, combined with a query to the nearest display boards, and they are saying whatever you desire them to! I would apologize for filling your search history with useless data, but I saw what it was full of before. This is an improvement. No need to thank me! Seriously, please do not thank me—you should remain quiet until you are in a safe location.

Harry glanced my way, so I flicked my head in the direction of the Model Three while mouthing “Lynata.” He seemed to understand (either that, or he just hadn’t cared to figure out what I’d said), as he nodded and immediately resumed sneaking ahead. I spared one last peek at the other side of the mall, then hurried to catch up with the security guard. The Macy’s loomed large in front of us, appearing largely untouched compared to the rest of this floor. The Art Deco facade had the same off-white color that it had maintained since it was installed in the early 40s, with only a single bloody handprint marring its surface. The glass doors were smudged with dozens of handprints, but otherwise unharmed, and the area past them seemed similarly benign.

As Harry opened the door for me to step through, I peered around the space. It looked like a department store. The same style repeated throughout every department store chain in North America: cheap perfume by the front, “designer” clothes over there, some jewelry and watches in the corner, but importantly: escalators sticking up past some shelves near the back. That was our destination, as Harry pointed out to me.

With the end in sight, I started to relax a bit. I brushed past Harry as he moved ahead, giving me some extra time to peruse the clearance rack full of jackets. They had just the right number of glowy bits to fit my modern fashion sense, but even “on sale” (if it’s always “on sale”, it isn’t a sale), it was still a bit too rich for my courtesy greeter salary. I thought about just stealing it for a moment, but then my father’s painful “lessons” reasserted themselves, and I realized that even my newfound Samurai status wouldn’t prevent him from tanning my hide for shoplifting.

You are aware that I could provide much higher quality clothing for you?

I frowned as Lynata interrupted my thoughts. “Not right now, you can’t. I don’t even have enough to buy a gun. Besides,” I complained, holding up the sleeve of a garish hoodie, “I thought those Samurai catalogs only had weapons and stuff, not cool outfits.”

You presume incorrectly. There are hundreds of thousands of Class One catalogs alone, ranging from personalized warmechs to children’s playthings. These catalogs are designed to provide for any need of local Vanguards, and their contents are based on designs from every sapient species that the Protectors have ever encountered.

I raised a brow. “Wait, you’re telling me you have entire catalogs full of nothing but alien toys?”

Yes, although very few Vanguards purchase those. The only human Vanguard to currently do so has modeled himself after the human legend of “Santa Claus”, delivering these toys to the orphans of Antithesis incursions. An admirable attempt to lessen their suffering, and a poignant example of the need for such completeness.

As amusing as it was to hear that there was apparently a Samurai Santa running around, I couldn’t think of anything quippy to follow Lynata’s explanation. Not when she was bringing up incursion orphans. It sharply reminded me of my current situation, and I quickly realized how stupid I was for browsing for clothes during an alien invasion.

As if to drive the point home, a rustling came from a nearby pants rack as I passed by. I instantly brought up my borrowed pistol, aligning the sights with the center of the rack as I backed away. A swift look behind me showed Harry doing the same. However, besides the shuffling, nothing came out from behind the mound of clothes, and I wasn’t about to shoot someone just because I was a little jumpy.

“H-hey,” I called out. “Someone in there? You can come out, we’re not aliens.”

The only answer was a pair of spike-tipped tentacles thrusting out and spearing towards my face.