Chapter Thirty-Five - A Terrible Mistake

“There are two kinds of survivalists. The enthusiasts, who only wish to participate in a hobby that could well save their lives later, and the true survivalists, those who wish to abandon the shackles that society has placed around their necks.

This forum is for the true survivors.”

--Opening Page of a Dark Web Forum, 2025

***

Gomorrah flew a wide circle around the top of the brick factory. It was pretty much what I imagined when she described the place to me.

Big, made of red bricks, with a tin roof that had seen better days and three big chimneys poking out above. A large channel in the dirt ran up and through the building, and I had the impression that it was once meant to pass water through.

Maybe this was one of those super old mill-like places, using hydro-electricity or something to keep working.

Right now, the nearest river forked away from the factory, and the channel leading up to it was partially filled in. Plenty of stagnant water in the bottom though. I couldn’t wait to smell it.

The complex itself went on for a while, with a dozen smaller buildings and warehouses, even what looked like a small town filled with mobile homes nearby.

“Are you sure we’re the only ones for this job?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“No explosives kinda cuts me off at the knees, and this place looks like it’s going to be nothing but close-quarters fighting. It’s not exactly my forte.”

“There were a few other hives spotted, but this one seemed like the easiest to take on. It’s still small. The others have started spawning antithesis past the single-digits already. The Family’s planning on hitting most of them from orbit later.”

“Oh, shit,” I said. It was basically going to be raining god-rods in a few hours then. “Not this one?”

“Not this one, and not any that are in very sensitive areas,” Gomorrah said. “They needed someone a little more delicate to take care of this hive in particular.”

I nodded. “And you instantly thought of me when the word ‘delicate’ crossed your mind. Makes perfect sense.”

Gomorrah chuckled. “Yes, that is a word I would use while describing you. I’d perhaps add ‘in’ before it, but that’s up for debate.” She gestured out ahead. “I’m going to land on that rooftop there. The flat one. The Fury can hover while we jump out.”

“Got it,” I said.

We flew lower, the Fury surprisingly quiet as we coasted to a gentle stop atop one of the smaller buildings next to the main factory. I guessed that it was some sort of admin building, next to the parking lot.

I opened the door, glanced down to make sure Gomorrah didn’t want me to drop too far, then shifted out to the side.

The roof clanged as I landed, then it rattled even louder as Gomorrah touched down next to me. She reached around and adjusted the pack of her heavy flamethrower. “Is the area clear?” she asked.

I got my head into the game, flicked on the invisibility on my coat and armour, then brought my Bullcat around to scan the area. “Seems like it,” I said.

There was a roof access hatch nearby, but I didn’t know if we’d be able to pull it open, rusted as it was.

Then Gomorrah pointed her flamethrower down, pulled the trigger, and spat out a foot-long jet of blue flame that melted right through the hinges of the door. “Want to pull it off? I’ll cover you.”

“So, this is the amount of subtlety we’re going for,” I said as I reached down and yanked the cover off. “Good to know. I was worried I’d have to be careful.”

There was a ladder inside the darkened room below, but the floor wasn’t too far down, so I grabbed onto the edge of the roof and dropped myself down. The moment my knees absorbed the impact, I checked the room for trouble. All I found were cleaning supplies that had been unusably old two decades ago.

Gomorrah came down with a bit more trouble. She ended up tossing down her flamethrower, pack and all, before dropping herself. “I am not fit for this kind of activity,” she muttered.

“Hey, no big deal,” I said. I opened the door into a corridor, Bullcat sweeping the room for any nasty surprises. Nothing, just an ancient office space with some old desks, their panel-wood peeling apart. No computers under the desks, though I did spot a couple of those big boxy screens piled up in one corner, their fronts blown right off.

“Someone's been here,” Gomorrah said.

I followed her gaze and noticed the cans off to one side of the room. There was a couch there, probably for people who were waiting, and all around it was all sorts of shitty junk, wrappers and a few boxes.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

I moved over, boots making my tread basically noiseless, then knelt next to the couch. “Unless they had Deus Ex branded Prepsi back before I was born.” The can didn’t just have Deus Ex on it, there were about five or six samurai, but she was the one I recognized immediately.

“Could just be people coming over here to hang out,” Gomorrah said.

“Or to fuck,” I said with a gesture to the couch. “I wouldn’t sit in the middle of this thing.”

“Disgusting,” Gomorrah said.

“I actually agree. You’re just asking to catch something if you’re rubbing your fun bits against something like this. I think this thing is corduroy? It’s nasty,” I said.

I could feel Gomorrah giving me the stink eye, even through her mask. “We should move on. The antithesis clearly aren’t in this room. Probably not even in this entire building.”

“Was the hive supposed to be somewhere specific?”

“The Family only suspects that it's around here,” Gomorrah said. “There might not even be a hive. Though if they spotted antithesis around the area...”

“Then they’ll have started a hive,” I finished for her. It was probably even a good spot for one. Walls all around, some natural stuff to chow down on, and no one to interfere with their growth for a while.

Well, no one but the two of us. I suspected we were about to do a whole lot of interfering.

Heading out, we found the exit, an old glass door, so dirty, it was almost impossible to see out of. It wasn’t locked, and someone had helpfully jammed a brick at the foot of the door. I rubbed my hand against the glass to see outside, then checked for aliens.

I wasn’t actually expecting to find any.

“Huh,” I said. “Model three.”

Gomorrah tensed up behind me. “Where?”

“Dead,” I said. “Right up next to the factory. It’s in the shadows, next to this little entrance spot that’s sticking out.” The entrance was a boxy protrusion on the side of the factory, with a peaked tin roof and a few windows that I couldn’t quite see into. “Can’t see what killed it. Want to wait here?”

“Certainly. Leave the door entirely open, in case I need to join you.”

I nodded, then slid the door open. It creaked a bit, and the brick I jammed in place to keep it open wasn’t exactly quiet either.

After listening in for a moment—the only sounds I could hear were the faint pitter-patter of a very weak drizzle of rain and the creak of an old building moving—I ran out and across the parking lot of the factory. I kept my eyes on a swivel until I slowed to a stop next to the model three.

The thing was very dead, its face blasted right off so that all that remained were fleshy giblets hanging on with sinew and skin. “Looks like someone shot our alien pal here,” I said over the coms to Gomorrah.

“Can you date it?”

“Uh.” I touched the body. “Do model threes give off much heat? This thing is room temp.”

While most Antithesis will give off some heat, it is usually much cooler than the average Earthly mammal. More comparable to the temperature seen in cold-blooded creatures. Exceptions exist, of course. Models bred to resist colder climates will actually be significantly warmer.

That was good to know.

“I’m going into the lobby,” I said.

“Careful,” Gomorrah warned. “I imagine whomever shot the model three might still be around.”

I nodded, even if Gomorrah couldn’t see, and moved over to the doorway into the factory. Turns out, her warning was warranted. “Oh hey, a booby trap,” I said.

“What sort?” Gomorrah asked. “Remember, no explosives. Not even if they’re not yours.”

“Not a bomb. This is a bit more low-tech than that.” Above the door was a long piece of string, wedged between the doorway and the doorframe. Peeking through the glass on the door, I could make out the string going above, and holding onto a trio of tin cans with holes punched into them for the cord.

If my guess was right...

I reached up, grabbed hold of the string, then carefully opened the door.

The string loosened, and would have fallen if I wasn’t holding it.

Once the door was open a crack, I checked around for more traps, and finding none, slid inside, still holding onto the cord. I gently, gently gave it more slack until the strung-together cans touched the floor.

“Looks like someone rigged some cans to clatter around if you opened the door,” I said.

“Interesting,” Gomorrah said. “I’m running over to your position now.”

I watched as Gomorrah darted across to where I was.

She was only halfway over when someone opened fire on her.

***