The dining room of the Quarso estate had transformed from a high-society anxiety dream into a slaughterhouse in approximately three point five seconds.
It was... fascinating.
"Prof! Heads down!"
I ducked. Not because I have warrior reflexes, but because my clone pushed my head down. A plasma blade sliced through the air where my parietal lobe had been a millisecond ago.
"Thank you, me," I muttered.
"You are welcome, me," my clone replied, before materializing a sniper rifle from the ether.. of Shadow Construct, and blowing the head off a Viper Krall that was trying to flank the dessert cart.
Purple blood splattered onto the remains of the apple pie. Mommy is going to be furious.
The room was a cacophony of violence. The Centaur Krall was galloping across the mahogany floor, her hooves tearing up the expensive wood. She was massive, a tank of flesh and chitin, swinging her blades with lethal grace.
"Iya! Suppressing fire!" Capt shouted.
He didn't have his armor. He didn't have a weapon. He was wearing a dinner jacket and dress pants. But he moved like a force of nature. He leaped onto the dining table, kicking a silver platter of roast duck into the face of a lunging Krall scout.
"On it!" Vice screamed.
She activated her Gatling Rose. Her arms, usually so elegant in her dress uniform, shifted. The skin split and retracted, revealing the rotating barrels of high-caliber machine guns hidden beneath the bio-synthetic flesh.
A wall of lead slammed into the Centaur. The bullets sparked off her chitinous armor, but the force drove her back.
"Aim for the joints, Iya!" Capt commanded. "The knees! Make her kneel!"
"I am trying!" Vice yelled, her face twisted in a mask of beautiful rage. "She is fast!"
"Chef! Navi! Flank left!" Capt ordered, sliding across the table like he was surfing on the tablecloth.
"Yes, Capt!" Chef shouted.
She didn't need a gun. She clapped her hands together.
Fire erupted from her palms. Not just fire… it's blue, superheated plasma. She threw a fireball at the Centaur's exposed flank. The alien screeched as the heat seared her flesh.
"Cool off!" Navi yelled from the other side.
She touched the floor.
Ice spikes shot up from the ground, trapping the Centaur's hooves. The thermal shock of fire and ice caused the alien's armor to crack with a sound like a gunshot.
"Now, Dad!" Capt yelled.
Liquida did not run. He did not jump. He simply walked forward, leveling that absurdly large shotgun.
"Get off my carpet," Liquida growled.
And… boom!
The shot hit the Centaur in the chest. It wasn't buckshot. It was a solid slug the size of a soda can. The impact lifted the massive alien off her feet and threw her back through the hole in the wall she had created.
"Nice shot, old man," Capt whistled, hopping down from the table.
"You are sloppy, Ragia," Liquida grunted, ejecting the shell. "You exposed your left side when you jumped. A Queen would have gutted you."
"Everyone's a critic," Capt rolled his eyes.
"More incoming!" Private squealed.
She was cowering under the table, still holding her spoon. But as a Viper Krall slithered toward her, hissing,
Private's eyes went wide.
"No!" Private shouted. "That is my pudding!"
The room shook. The roof of the dining hall groaned as a massive, metallic hand smashed through the ceiling. Private didn't summon the whole Titan… but there wasn't room.
She summoned just the fist.
The giant metal fist slammed down on the Viper Krall, flattening it into a paste of purple gore and red skin.
"Giga-giga smash!" Private cheered, scraping the pudding bowl clean.
I analyzed the battlefield. The initial wave was neutralized. The Centaur was down. The Vipers were paste. The dinner was ruined.
"Clear!" Vice called out, her Gatling arms cooling down, smoke rising from her sleeves. "Perimeter is secure."
"Good work, ladies," Capt dusted off his jacket. He looked around the wrecked room. "Well, this was fun. Better than the time we played charades on Jupiter."
"My pie," Mommy whispered, looking at the purple-splattered dessert. "They ruined the crust."
"We will get you another pie, Mira," Capt said, walking over to her. He put a hand on her shoulder. "I promise."
"Capt…" Mommy said, looking at him. Her eyes narrowed. "You are sweating."
"It was a workout, Mira," Capt grinned. "Cardio."
"No," Mommy shook her head. Her rabbit ears twitched nervously. "You are pale. Paler than usual."
Capt laughed. "I am fine. Just a little..."
He stopped.
The glass of wine he had picked up slipped from his fingers. It shattered on the floor.
Capt swayed.
"Ragia?" Vice stepped forward, her weapons retracting. "Ragia?"
He brought his hand to his chest. To the left side. Right over the heart. Right over the scar where the Krall had impaled him.
"Ah..." Capt gasped.
It wasn't a scream. It was a small, confused sound. Like a child who doesn't understand why he is hurt.
"It... burns..." he whispered.
"Capt!" I shouted, abandoning my position. "Shorty! Medic!"
"Capt!" Shorty scrambled out from under the table, her medical kit already in hand.
Capt fell…
He didn't collapse gracefully like in the movies. His knees buckled, and he hit the floor hard, face first.
"Dad!" Private screamed… or maybe she yelled 'Ranyan!'
It was hard to tell over the ringing in my ears.
Vice was there instantly. She rolled him over.
His face was grey. His lips were blue. His eyes... those golden eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, but they were unfocused.
"Pulse!" Vice yelled, pressing her fingers to his neck. "I can't feel a pulse! Shorty!"
Shorty slid onto her knees beside him. She ripped his shirt open buttons flying for the second time tonight. She placed her hands on his chest.
"His heart..." Shorty stammered. Tears were already streaming down her face. "It's... it's fibrillating! The scar tissue! It's rejecting the beat!"
"Do something!" Liquida barked. The shotgun lay forgotten on the floor. The terrifying Supreme Commander looked suddenly... old.
Just a father watching his son die.
"I need to recharge him!" Shorty cried. "Remido! I need to use Remido!"
"Do it!" Vice screamed.
"I can't!" Shorty sobbed. "He is unconscious! He can't... he can't Felt! I can't generate the fluids without the input!"
"Prof!" Vice looked at me. Her eyes were wild. Desperate. "The serum! The GX-778-C! Do you have it?"
"That is a poison, Vice!" I argued, my logic centers fighting against the panic rising in my throat. "It was designed to kill the Krall DNA! If his heart is weak, it could stop it permanently!"
"He is dying anyway!" Vice roared. She grabbed Ragia's shoulders, shaking him. "Ragia! Wake up! Don't you dare! Don't you dare leave me again! We just got you back!"
Capt convulsed. His back arched off the floor. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat.
And then... silence.
He went limp.
"No..." Vice whispered. She laid her head on his chest. "No, no, no."
The room was silent. The dust settled on the ruined feast. The smell of ozone and roast duck and blood hung heavy in the air.
I looked at my datapad. The biometric readings from his ankle monitor.
Heart Rate: 0.
Status: Critical Failure.
"Deus ex Machina," I whispered to myself, my voice trembling. "Where is the cheap plot device now? Where is the magic wine?"
But there was no wine. Only blood on the floor.
And…
The terrified sobbing of seven women and one father, echoing in the hall of the dead.
It's the end of Chapter 35… just for you.