Tiny Horror

Jack Miller’s life was a series of tactical redundancies. As a former Senior Security Consultant, he knew that in a world of perfect mimics, the only thing that did not lie was a physical protocol.

He sat on a crate in the Outpost 4 barracks, cinching an industrial knee brace over his left leg. The limp was a souvenir from a 2044 Clear and Sweep in the ruins of Chicago, where a mimic had used the recorded voice of his own daughter to lure his squad into a kill zone. He was the only one who walked out.

"Sector 4-Delta is hot, Jack," Sergeant Halloway said, leaning against the reinforced doorframe. "The Sniffer units on the ridge are reporting a 10 ppm spike in ammonia and sulfur. Something is nesting."

"The Bio-Static is up," Jack grunted, checking the action on his Short-Strok 12-gauge. "The trail-cams are ghosting. They are blinding us before they move."

Jack was the lead of the Security Detail, but he felt more like a technician of the apocalypse. He reached into his tactical vest and touched the Level 4 Master Bypass Card. The heavy, encrypted plastic was the Skeleton Key to the Outpost’s entire defense grid.

"I am taking MDU-7," Jack said, his voice cold. "If the sensors go dark, I will provide the visual."

He climbed into the Mobile Defense Unit, a Ford Transit armored with AR500 steel and repurposed transparent aluminum. As the massive steel gates of Outpost 4 groaned open, Jack did not look back. He was driving a box of failing mid-century tech into a valley of things that had already learned how to mimic his heartbeat.

The tale continues...