Date: 1:35 AM, April 1, 2025
Location: Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Washington
The armory’s steel doors shuddered, a deafening clang echoing through the concrete chamber. Sarah pressed her back against the wall, the cold seeping through her soaked jacket. Her rifle lay across her lap, barrel still warm, though she’d lost count of how many rounds were left. The bells—those damn bells—thrummed in her skull, louder now, a relentless pulse matched by the Hive Tyrant’s roars outside.
Rodriguez stood near the doors, barking orders to the dozen soldiers left—ragged, bloodied, but still moving. “Barricade it! Crates, racks, anything!” They dragged ammo boxes and weapon racks, piling them high, though the dents in the steel told Sarah it wouldn’t hold long. The air stank of sweat, gunpowder, and fear, thick enough to choke on.
A soldier—Martinez, the one Rodriguez had sent earlier—slumped beside her, clutching his bandaged arm. “Civvies made it to the bunkers,” he muttered, voice hollow. “Kids, families. Hope they’re deep enough.”
Sarah nodded, throat tight. “What’s that thing out there?”
“Death,” he said simply, eyes fixed on the ceiling as another tremor rocked the room. Dust sifted down, coating her hair.
Rodriguez knelt by a radio, static hissing. “Command, this is JBLM. We’re pinned—hostile bioforms, heavy casualties. Need extraction, air support, something.” Silence, then a faint crackle—“JBLM, this is NORAD. Situation critical nationwide. Hold position. Reinforcements delayed—” The line cut as the doors buckled again, metal groaning.
“Nationwide,” Sarah whispered, the word sinking in. Not just Seattle. Not just here. Everywhere.
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Rodriguez tossed the radio aside, grabbing a shotgun from a rack. “They’re not coming. We’re it.” He met her gaze, steel in his eyes dimming to resignation. “You still got that story in you, Thompson?”
She forced a grim smile. “If I live to write it.”
A screech pierced the air—sharp, psychic, like nails on glass inside her mind. She winced, clutching her head, as the soldiers staggered too. The Hive Tyrant. Its presence pressed down, heavy, suffocating, whispering in tongues she couldn’t understand. The bells swelled, a chorus now, and Martinez muttered, “They’re calling it…”
The doors split, a claw—massive, serrated—tearing through. Gaunts poured in, a flood of snapping jaws and scything limbs. Rodriguez fired, the shotgun’s boom dropping three in a spray of ichor. Sarah raised her rifle, hands steadier now—fear burned away by adrenaline—and shot, hitting a gaunt’s eyeless face. It crumpled, but more surged past.
“Fall back!” Rodriguez yelled, shoving her toward a rear hall. The soldiers fought, buying seconds—rifles blazing, a grenade bursting in a wet splatter of alien flesh. Half didn’t make it, dragged down as the Tyrant’s shadow filled the breach, its wings scraping the ceiling.
Sarah ran, Rodriguez at her heels, into a narrow corridor lined with lockers. He slammed a bulkhead shut, locking it, though the pounding followed. “Ammo dump’s ahead,” he panted. “Last chance—blow it, take ‘em with us.”
“You mean—”
“Yeah. Suicide play. Unless you’ve got a better idea.”
She didn’t. The bulkhead buckled, claws piercing through. The Tyrant’s psychic scream hit again, and she stumbled, visions flashing—Jake, kneeling before a robed figure, his eyes glowing fourfold. “No,” she gasped, shaking it off. “He’s still out there.”
Rodriguez grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the dump. “He’s gone, Thompson. Focus.”
They reached a steel vault—crates of explosives, C4, grenades. He started rigging a detonator, hands swift despite the blood on them. Sarah watched, helpless, as the bulkhead screeched, giving way. The Tyrant loomed, its blade-arms glinting, a towering nightmare of hunger and hate.
Rodriguez finished, holding the trigger. “Ten seconds. Run or stay—your call.”
Sarah stared at the monster, then him. The bells sang victory. She nodded. “Run.”
They bolted, the Tyrant’s roar chasing them as the countdown began.
