Chapter Thirty - Six

“-this will mean a decrease of one to two percent on next term tertiary stocks.”

“Of course, sir.”

--Dickson Tech Enterprises. Owners of 2517 Trudeau Avenue. Current time minus one hour.

***

I tried being quiet as I moved.

Tried was the wrong word. I was quiet. Years of sneaking out from my shared room at the orphanage, days spent trying not to be noticed until I grew a backbone.

I was damned good at moving silently.

It's why I think none of the aliens spotted me as I hid behind a counter.

The entire floor, or at least a chunk of it, was dedicated to a food court. There were about ten or so restaurants lined circling the middle of the floor, with tables and chairs laid out all around next to the windows.

That, on its own, wasn't too special. I'd been in my share of places like this in malls and such.

Automatic pizza places, traditional tofu shops that had the traditional acne-faced teen employees.

Then there were all the usual chains. McDonalds and Burger King and such.

Unfortunately they were all closed just then.

The two dozen model threes and the half dozen model fours dragging dead fry cooks across the floor gave away the reason.

They were gathering all the bodies over to one side, where a bridge connected the building over to the next one over.

There was an entire network of passages connecting buildings together. That wasn't anything new. Those connections being used to yeet the dead to the streets below, on the other hand, that was different.

“Shit,” I muttered as I pulled back behind the counter I was using as cover. I’d initially moved to use the main paths around the edges of the building, like I’d done on every other floor, but seeing so damned many aliens had encouraged me to find another way around.

As it turned out, all the maintenance corridors linked to the back of the various restaurants, probably so that they could stock their fridges and shit without bothering their clients. I’d picked a nice hiding spot next to the till of a Noodle Zen shop to do my snooping after coming in from the back.

“We can’t possibly pass by here if there’s so damned many,” I whispered. I reached up and scratched my nose through one of the disposable masks I’d bought earlier. No point in getting fucked over by all the Model Fours around.

You could go down and back up through the elevators.

“And when all of these xenos decide to race upstairs? I don’t think a little barricade will do anything to stop these numbers,” I said. “Not if they can get more from other buildings.”

There was another thing I was considering. The number of aliens around meant a whole load of points. I was down to seventy. That wasn’t going to get me far.

Sure, if everything went exactly according to plan, then I’d be out of here, and out of the worst part of the city with the kittens before nightfall.

Things didn’t have a habit of going off without a hitch for me.

You have seventy points. There might be a way to spend them in such a way that eliminating the remaining Antithesis in the area would be possible.

I bit the inside of my cheek and slowly poked my head out again. There were a lot of aliens around, but one or two well-placed grenades could take out a number of them.

Then my attention was drawn to one of the bridges spanning the distance between this building and another, wider one across the street. The bridge itself was built like a sort of glass-roofed atrium. With twin rows of--now empty--planters inside it acting as rails of a sort except where a car-sized hole had been torn out. It was maybe twenty meters long, five wide, and jam-packed with aliens.

Model Threes were sniffing about, Model Fours were stomping to the edge of the hole, each carrying one or two bodies, and sometimes crates of food or in one case an entire rack of chips. The thing worrying me was the lumbering beast standing near to the entrance.

“What’s that one?” I asked.

A Model Six. They are uncommon this early in an incursion, but they will begin appearing with more regularity by nightfall. I would suggest avoiding direct confrontation. While your current weapons could injure it, it would require a great deal of luck to actually kill the model.

I could see why. The thing had six legs, set around a long, thick body covered in nearly angular plates. It moved over a little to get out of the path of a pair of Model Fours carrying an entire vending machine. The vending machine gave me a sense of much-needed scale. The Model Six was nearly a meter and a half tall, easy.

Its face was a boxy thing, two sets of eyes on either side and a squarish jaw that was filled with flat-tipped teeth like some sort of camel.

“What’s its gimmick?” I asked as I slid back down.

The Model Six serves as a heavier Antithesis combat unit. They are also far more intelligent than most other models in the one to ten ranges and will act as a sort of command unit. Listen carefully and you’ll hear it issuing very basic orders.

I frowned, but did as she asked, tending an ear over to try and make out any unique sounds.

There was the hum of wind pushing into the building, the sizzle of a frier someone had left on, and the shuffle of aliens. Then I heard it, a faint, but distinct whistle that warbled and shifted in pitch.

I nodded. “Got it. So it’ll need to be taken down along with the rest.”

It does give more points.

“Great.” I sighed as I pressed myself against the counter. I had to come up with a plan of some sort, but the only thing that came to mind was to fling explosives around and hope for the best, and that wasn’t a plan.

Or was it?

“How tough do you think that bridge over there is, and can I afford a bomb big enough to take it out?”