“So what about Nurse or… did Alvarez have a special moniker?”

“Nope. He didn’t like them. Dunno why but he always said if we didn’t want to call him by his real name we could call him Captain or Sir but he wouldn’t accept anything else. Not that he didn’t earn the right.”

Samir began nodding.

“As far as I heard he filled some big shoes and did so exceptionally.”

“No doubt. He and Awali both were unmatched. No better man to follow than Alvarez and no other I'd want in a bad situation than Nurse,” she chuckled slightly, “even if his bedside manner left much to be desired.”

Deag puzzled for a moment before speaking up.

“Big shoes… like a hard act to follow? As in the previous Captain was very good and it would be difficult to match him?”

“Precisely.” Pen confirmed

Conolly was laughing.

“I see human phrases have been treating you well? We don’t make it easy.”

“I’ve been getting better, but they can be quite vague. Lots of cultural layering that one must be privy to to understand. And the translator isn’t always helpful. That said what… shoes… er, whose shoes was he filling?”

The demeanor of every human in the room changed. Deag quickly got the sense he’d asked one of those question anyone could answer.

Samir spoke first.

“Pen? I feel like you should be the one to answer, considering…”

“You knew them?” Ton’et asked.

“No actually but I suppose we share some connection tangentially. I got my... moniker from him.”

“I thought it was a reference to an old earth myth?”

“It is, Scylla was a sea monster, but it’s also a reference to him. Scylla was one of a duo. Charybdis was the other half of that duo and also the moniker he took during his time. Apparently our… feats were similar. We were both close combat specialists and-”

“And you’re both the only two motherfuckers who’ve taken a Sentinel down in hand to hand! Not to mention the wake of bodies? Kinda underselling it here…”

“O’Brian I told you to behave yourself if you wanted to come.”

“Sorry Sir but I mean, come on!”

“A Sentinel?” Deag asked.

“A combat frame, more or less… or well, more I suppose. A lot more.” Pen answered.

“Ah…”

“I’m sure you can imagine… They’re outlawed now, war crime of the highest order.”

Deag did his best not to imagine.

“Only recently though?”

“Well, when I… they were by the time I had to but Charybdis was Captain of Cerberus during the Steel Wars. That's when they were developed and put into use. Massive casualties had them outlawed after that.”

“And you’ve fought one of these hand to hand?”

Pen rolled her eyes.

“I mean… only technically. I didn’t punch the thing out if that’s what you’re thinking, and I doubt Charybdis did either. You just can’t. Might as well punch a steel wall. But they have weaknesses and I got lucky.”

“Please, got lucky... She challenges something,” O’Brian stood and loomed over their guests for emphasis, “a full head taller than any human, three times as strong, thinking as fast as a computer, and decked head to toe in plates of heavy armor.”

He held his hands up as if he were telling a horror story.

“Any details I’m missing?” he asked.

“I don’t think I could fill in any if I wanted to. I barely remember it in all honesty. I was half conscious, hyped up on adrenaline, and running on sheer desperation. I was lucky. It wasn’t.”

“You suck at storytelling.”

She shrugged. O'Brian sat down.

“Fine… well any advice for me?”

“Advice?”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“If I come across one?”

“Don’t.”

“…thanks…”

“You use a shotgun?”

“Yes.”

“Single slug rounds and don’t loose the fucking thing.”

“In hand to hand?”

“Look kid I dunno. Make a mistake and you’re definitely dead. Don’t make any and you’re probably still dead. So don’t make mistakes and go for the neck, I guess.”

“Jesus…”

“Alright. O’Brian, sit down. I think maybe we change the subject.” Conolly cut in.

---

It was just her.

Alvarez sat up against a console. His dark visor allowed for an illusion of sorts. She had no way to know but it seemed as if he was watching her. He didn’t move. His chest did not rise or fall. Blankly he stared. Nurse was…

She had to move.

A brave soul pushed through a door with a shotgun. Pen traded him for the shotgun with a knife through his neck.

Two at the other door. The first was stepping into the room. Three steps, one shot, red mist. He fell against a console and slid down to the ground.

The second hesitated but still tried to challenge a shotgun with a rifle at less than few meters. Her shoulder was deposited on the hallway wall behind her.

Three shots left. There were shells on the corpse she’d taken the shotgun from so she took a second to drop and grab the shell carrier as she burst through the door he’d been closest to. She saw three figures coming down the hallway straight ahead of her. Heading right would only lead around to the door that led back into the command post so she cut left, leaving Alvarez and Nurse behind.

She could hear the enemy chasing after.

Her legs carried her down one hallway after another. The place really was a maze but perhaps that was to her advantage. An idea started to form in her racing mind as she outpaced her pursuers and as soon as she was certain they’d lost direct sight of her she dove into an abandoned room.

It had four exits total. Another door down the same wall as the door she’d came through led back into the same hall. Two more doors mirrored those on the far side of the room. The only difference was elevation. The room seemed to be a presentation theatre of some kind as the floor was more akin to steps. The lowest part being the front of the room where Pen stood and the highest at the back. Each step was lined with a row of chairs sporting collapsible desk arms.

The footsteps were becoming louder, accompanied by shouts. Pen got to work.

She shifted a number of the chairs just messing with them in such a way that made it clear someone had come through. Next she holed up in the corner of the room just left of the door she’d come through, quickly loaded the shotgun, and became utterly silent.

More than likely the first person to come through the door would be unfortunately perceptive. As unfortunate for Pen as for them. However, with some luck and some trigger discipline, they’d all move into the open room and make themselves easy targets.

A moment passed silently. Pen held as still as anything else in the room. Finally the door slid open and the barrel of a rifle poked through the threshold. She could swing around and take them, easily, but she held. Not moving a micrometer.

“Through here!” a gruff voice yelled.

Three sets of footsteps responded, stomping down the hallway.

One figure made his way in. His head turned her way, but the room was dark. He made no move to indicate he’d seen the ambusher. His rifle trained up towards a far door and he moved past. Pen held.

A second figure moved past. Then a third and a fourth.

“None of the other doors are open…”

Four sets of footsteps. She’d heard three join the first. But still she held. Something told her to wait. Like an ambush predator she was primed to strike but she held.

A fifth figure moved into the room.

“Anything?”

“Yea they-”

CRACK!

She opened up. From closest to furthest. She tore open three before they couldn’t begin to react. The fourth almost readied her gun and the last, the first one to move into the room, readied but never fired. The closest to her certainly got the worst of it but even at 15 meters from her this last enemy was shredded.

She was already moving. Distant footfalls were closing accompanied by a very distinct set, heavy and metallic.

---

25 minutes. Penelope ran, stopped, ambushed, and ran again. Pursued but never caught by that final Sentinel. Wherever its thudding gait found itself, Penelope had already fled. Again and again for approximately 25 minutes she did this. Dark room after blind corner. When the shotgun ran dry, she shed it and switched to her pistol. When it ran low, she stowed its last few rounds and became a nightmare of blade and fist.

Her throat was horse from shot-gunning air. Her head buzzed. The mercs had slowly pushed her down to one of the basement levels. She stalked down a long wide hallway into a large warehouse-like storage room. Scaffolded shelving accompanied tall stacks of heavy metal crates.

There was no other exit. Terrible place. She’d be cornered. She turned to leave but twitched still as her ears strained. It was soft and distant, but footsteps plodded down the hallway after her. There was no mistaking it. They belonged to that wretched Sentinel. If she turned around now, she’d be caught in an open hallway.

She moved into the room and hid behind a stack of crates piled up before the start of a line of shelving. Her mind raced. Three shots in her sidearm. Even armor piercing rounds that they were, punching through the Sentinels armor wasn’t a sure thing. She should lure it to the other side of the room and slip out the way they’d come.

The heavy double doors slid open audibly. Its metallic feet clanked against the concrete floor as it slowly moved inside. If she could evade it’s notice and make it to the door… the thought died as it shot through her mind. Other voices came from the doorway.

“No, let the machine do its job. We stay here.”

SHITshitshit.

Two at the door. The Sentinel pushed closer to her. It stopped.

“Oh?”

That deep buzzing sounded out followed by quick footfalls closing on her quickly. She pulled out her pistol and pushed out from cover. It was already within a few meters of her and closing with speed. Time seemed to slow as her thoughts raced. So few choices. She took aim but stopped at the last moment.

It closed on her.

She was aware of things more on instinct than any conscious level. There was the Sentinel closing on her. There were two mercs at the door, already taking aim with rifles. The Sentinel’s weapon was still mangled beyond repair.

She saw herself shoot the Sentinel, fail to damage it, and die by its hand.

Another step.

She saw herself shoot the Sentinel, damage but not kill it, and die by its hand.

Closer still.

She saw herself scrap the machine, by sheer luck, but couldn’t get back into cover before the rifles took her.

It was on top of her. Its mangled right arm swung like a club for her head as its left reached out to grapple her. Alvarez’s words shot through her mind as she moved. She pulled the pistol back, ducked and spun underneath its arms, and down to a knee.

Every move they make is the best possible choice in their current situation.

She was on a knee directly to its right, but it was not her priority. Her pistol came forward, past the Sentinel, and she took aim at the two men at the door.

POP. POP. POP