Hell. Why do I have to open my big mouth? Remember I said I had barely had contact with the Barkers? A severed leg hits Tom smack in the chest, eliciting an awful high-tinged, panicked scream from the Mapinguari. Artillery rounds and spells begun raining on the FOB (forward base) moments ago and everyone is rushing in the dark towards the tents in search of safety. We’re in one of the armories, by chance. Just one hour ago I was chilling, playing cards with Diego and some of the assault troopers. But right when I’m doing the last check of the night, hell decides to break loose. I slap the back of Tom’s head, my assistant who’s now hugging his knees and whimpering in shock. “Shut the fuck up, Tom! We’re safe here. Go bring the heavy arms and wands!” I order, kicking the leg away from him and then helping him up as I try to find the right key to open the sealed crate. I try not to think about the custom boot that was on that leg, yet I get the sinking feeling that Rudá has become a sorry version of a Saci - the mythical (not mythic) one-legged creature. If he survived, that is. I did say the tents were our best piece of technology, didn’t I? They prove their worth as they weather the shelling remarkably well. You didn’t believe we came to an alien planet with canvas tents, did you? They’re made of a material so advanced and resistant that I’ve never seen its equal before or since and they are equipped with good energy shields to boot. People caught on the outside are far unluckier than us; shrapnel shoots and ricochets along corridors, killing and maiming those who couldn’t reach shelter. The Unity Army’s white flags through the camp are stained red, burned and pierced full of holes — and this has barely began. Don’t judge Tom too harshly because he froze, this shit is terrifying — you would freeze too. Besides the shelling there are the agonizing screams all around. Luckily, my assistant snaps out of it after a moment, nods to me with wide eyes and rushes to do my bidding. I manage to unlock the testy crate and I’m just opening it when I her Diego’s guttural voice barking (pun intended), “Follow me! To the Armory tent! Do not stop!” As soon as he sets foot in my tent and looks at me, I throw the laser Mk II shotgun into his loving arms. He releases his strapped AK-47 U-mod, letting it dangle from behind is back, forgotten in a second. Obviously it’s the Unity’s specially modded Kalashinikov with some hefty improvements granted by our AI Overlords **BZZZT**. Let me turn off this fucking VI for a second; tt’s not the time to care about the AI’s dainty feelings. As I was saying, all of Earth’s weapons we receive are modded, but they’re still very underwhelming in comparison to many alien and xeno weaponry. Some are not even in the same power scale as the cutting-edge magitech we hear so much about. “Fuck yeah!” Diego checks out his weapon close to half a dozen disarrayed soldiers follow him into the tent: four human privates, a Cabriola spell-corporal and a Trasgo engineer-lieutenant — make that seven, there's another spellcaster. They wear the same uniform, but my overlay distinguishes between the lot for me. It helps keeping the enemy from sniping people in key positions. “I need you to arm these boys, Lieutenant! What’s the fun in using Helena without people to boast to?” He chose the right place to come, but maybe at the wrong time — our inventory is running thin still. Though there are two lieutenants and another corporal present, everyone defers to Diego; he’s clearly the more experienced one for the upcoming fight. And me and the Trasgo are from auxiliary branches, so there’s that. But I spare a moment just to glare at the idiot who named his gun even as shells keep whistling through the air to castigate our base. Who the fuck does that? “I’ll do the best I can. Just don’t shoot the quartermaster, asshole.” I answer, non-committal but very judgmental. “Don’t look at me like that!” he complains as I run around, ignoring him. I waste no further time berating him as I turn to scream at Tom why the hell it’s taking so long. Turning back to his impromptu squad, the werewolf says: “Our pickets, traps and wards should buy us a few moments, but we should get ready as fast as we can. I’m not sure how the long golems and drones will buy us either.” “Here, boss, this all that I could find!” My Mapinguari assistant drags over two laser carbines, a machine gun and assorted ammunitions and grenades. For the two mages I run to fetch a crate of lightning rods which they eagerly add to their collections. My Decodifier Monocle helps me find him the right crates, but it’s combat’s functions aren’t the greatest to my skill-set. It’ll have to do. “Can you find us mana bombs or more mana injectors, Lieutenant?” the Cabriola mage-corporal asks me, worried. My overlay identifies him as Corporal Cariri, and he’s mostly likely the descendant of the Cabriolas who survived the genocidal Barbarian Wars in the 17 and 18th centuries northeast Brazil. Yeah, I like history — sue me. My life was turned upside down when I learned how many episodes of Brazilian (and Earth) history secretly had to do with mythics. “The attack has drained me half dry,” Cariri explains, motioning to the spells and fragments occasionally hitting our tent’s shield. I hurry to find his requested items while Tom does the same for the soldiers. As Diego reads our assembled people’s records, I hurry and get my beloved little submachine gun; it’s not a modded MP5, but an alien design with its exterior based on the iconic weapon. The energy barrier can deflect some damage still before it runs out of juice, but we get busy piling crates to use as cover. Diego is far from pleased by the paltry selection of guns I’ve given them. “Don’t you have anything good at this armory?” he complains. “Had a bunch of fire-throwers and inferno wands, but you took all of them away in your last push,” I bit out, singling out the most effective weapons against the Barkers. “Seen any of them by any chance?” It’s not my fault the fools ransacked my carefully horded supplies and wasted it all! We’re lucky we don’t use paper anymore because I’d have to cut down a whole forest to fill out all the missing and lost gear reports. And this was the Armory supposed to hold mostly large, explosive anti-vehicle shells and countermeasures. “Uhhh, yeah, forget about those. Any of you boys can buff us? Or ward the barricade?” Diego asks the two mages whose records he still hasn’t gotten around to checking out. “I can cast a Minor Dexterity Blessing on all of us,” Cariri offers, beginning to focus his newly replenished mana. “And I can prepare a Minor Magic Ward for the barricade,” the second one says, following suit. (You can notice we’re in the… Minor Leagues) “Very well, everyone activate the combat override now if you haven’t yet! If any of you are Chippers, it’s about to get real,” the werewolf barks (yeah, I can’t stop). My Chip has already done so automatically in accordance with Unity protocol, but the Chippers’ less advanced, bare-bones ones are known to fail to activate. Luckily, none of the troops seem to be complete rookies and they all confirm their readiness. The combat override allows us to temporarily integrate more blessings, exo-gear and such with the Chips - more than it would be healthy or recommended for prolonged use. I feel the unnerving tingling of the blessing as it settles over me, my Chip automatically accepting its empowering touch; one of its functions is to dispell blessings when they overtax a soldier’s magical tolerance to avoid horrific and debilitating mana intoxication. **Minor Dexterity Blessing accepted!** **10% increase on appendage acuity** All my movements become more precise with the blessing - it’s a small advantage, but we will use any we can get. After checking up with the combatants, I order Tom to fetch the two best pieces of exo-gears he can to fill the slots of our troops. Most carry their preferred extra gear on their persons, but not all. Like the weapons, I’m afraid my current selection of exo-gear is very poor at the moment. But I equip the ones I have, feeling them syncing with the Chip. Their presence on my mind is somewhat soothing. **Strength-Boosting Armbands integrated on Free Mech-Slot!** **15% increase on Arm Strength** **Recoil-Reducer Manacles Integrated on Combat Mech-Slot!** **10% decrease on Horizontal Recoil.** I’ve recently opened a mech slot (well, my Chip did) so I haven’t had the time to look for a good biomech-implant (the permanent kind). The exo-gear I equip pale in comparison to Diego’s exo-armor, but it’s the best I can do for now. “Hey, Barro, remind me, what variation is this FOB’s again?” Diego asks as he tries to get a handle on the situation. “Type 3. We’re to the extreme left of the camp, medical is behind us,” I say, pointing to the tent with the red cross behinds us. “Shit, these are two critical facilities,” he replies, pouting. He’ll have to stay and defend them. Unfortunately, his fear of not using ‘Helena’ soon prove to be unfounded. The barrage finally stops, and as some people reluctantly pop out their heads out to check for danger, we hear howling. “That sounds like a deranged wolf pack,” I observe, shivering a bit, I have to admit. That sound is terrifying. “They have some of the big ones, for sure. It seems they are going for a full encirclement, probably overran our first lines of defense as we were getting ready. You should hear my pack’s howling if this spooked you,” scoffs Diego, feeling superior. But some of the others are also looking uneasy. “Meaning… we’ll get attacked for sure?” I ask, gritting my teeth to control my fear. “Yeah. They might raze some tents, but the way to truly win was to break through our lines and make us panic,” he say, shaking his head at the perceived incompetence of his foes. “They might raze some tents like… ours?” I ask again, scowling at him. He realizes my point and stops his show of derision at the Barkers. He lets Helena dangle and takes his AK-47 U-mod to the first, longer ranged phase of combat. “Okay, okay. We’ll give them a warm reception. Hey, kid-” he says to Tom who is distractedly waving his gun about, the idea of muzzle discipline foreign to the Mapinguari apparently, “put that fucking gun down before you shoot me or someone else. You’re a big guy, get one of them sonic hammers and switch out the exo-gear. They’ll have to charge us to destroy the tent from the inside, that slugger will probably come in handy.” Tom heeds the advice, strapping the heavy weapon to his back and changing to melee-oriented gear. Diego starts ordering people around and everyone starts pushing and dragging even more crates to make a fallback point in case they push us back from the barricade. We stack buckets of supplies through the new positions as well. The Trasgo engineer takes charge of the machine gun at the barricade, checking all of its moving parts before battle is joined. I try to only point them to useless cargo, but at this point I don’t even know anymore. Between the barricade and the fallback position we set another group of crates where Tom and I will can shelter as we take the casualties away. Ah, why the fuck did I volunteer for this fucking army? Oh, I haven’t told you yet? I’m one of the very few humans who volunteered; many mythics jumped on the idea to grant their families a safe place on Earth’s first Orbital Station. Some regret it, as our AI overlords proved true to their word, protecting the mythics from any retaliation after they accidentally broke the Veil and exposed them. I just did it to get away from an asshole sergeant before I lost my cool and blew his head off. Kidding (no, I’m not), they offered a great salary and benefits, like the Neural Omni Optimization Bus Chip and the many enhancements (tech or magic) it allows us to integrate seamlessly. We get to keep all of it after we leave the force, and the civilian versions are piss poor in comparison, not having the ability to organically advance with its users, promoting their growth. My already alert Chip realizes I’m very close to entering a combat situation and turns on the shooter-like combat overlay. My internal computer starts becoming sluggish for some reason - it should be aiding the Chip more in its resource-hungry mode, but something is drawing its power. At the bottom right corner of my vision, the number of bullets in my alien MP5 appears, as well as the number of magazines on my belt. Yeah, nearly everything Unity-made can integrate in a blink. Their proprietary systems are also unhackable as far as I know. On the bottom left my overlay shows my estimated body integrity and the meager 2 healing-nanite’s boosts in my system. There are more nanite injectors in the fallback line, but we’ll reserve them for emergencies. I’m really not meant or geared up to be in the upcoming slugfest, so Diego tells me to stay as a “reserve force” with trembling Tom and only focus on helping the wounded — there’s no way they’ll run through everything we’ve stacked though. That was nice of him. Not that I have to hear him; I do outrank the werewolf corporal. But this is as far from my area as it gets, so I do the smart thing: I shut up and follow his instructions. Gun and spellfire erupt everywhere along the FOB proper. We hear the soldiers on the tent ahead of us make their stand as the enemy starts crossing our warded and mined open lands. The Barkers’ advance loudly and our side’s response seems to whither until it comes to a complete stop. All our combatants are already on our defense line, waiting for the xeno’s to burst through the tent ahead of us. “Fuck, did they already…?” one of the privates next to Diego wonders. We have our answer soon: thankfully a group of our own people activates the tent’s emergency back exit, a flap appearing in the previously whole high-tech material. First a Caipora darts from the exit, then two Kurupiras follow, making a fighting retreat. They excel in those, their normally awkward feet help them avoid tumbling down when walking backwards. The Caipora sees and comes towards us screaming, “RUN! RUN! GET COVER, IDIOTS!”. Nothing lights a fire beneath a man’s feet (pun intended) like the demolition’s guy screaming for you to run - he’s momentarily the highest ranking office for everyone, and I mean everyone, in the vicinity. The Caipora reaches us and jumps over the barricade as we promptly get down, hoping the others can do it as well. KABOOOOOOOOOOM! There weren’t fucking earthquakes in Brazil, but I think I now know something close enough. We just try to hug the ground and pray the little maniac’s fireworks won’t get us all killed while it happens. The Kurupiras do not reach safety; they are instead picked up and thrown by the shock-wave as if they were kids’ toys, flying high over our barricade and smacking the distant end of our tent with sickening thuds. With our ears ringing from the little supernova, the only thing we can hear is the insanely loud cackling of the Caipora, safe from behind our improvised barricade. **Status ailment suffered: Temporary Deafness** **Activating Medical Nanites** I angrily swipe the screen away, knowing the mending will need very few nanites, nothing close to a full dose. I hope the little bastard hasn’t completely destroyed the high-tech tent, I’m sure I won’t get another… Diego has to wave his hands frantically for me to focus on him. He doesn’t bother trying to speak, certain that I won’t be able to hear him anyway. He asks me to take Tom and go check on the wounded, mimicking it. I give him a 2 out of 5 for effort, he flips me off and points to the back of the tent again. Bark is supposed to burn well, isn’t it? I hope so. I don’t know what kind of explosive the Caipora jerry-rigged, but if he tried to do the same thing here he wouldn’t make the hill quake, he’d erase it out of existence. The bugger now hugs a box of grenades with avarice, snarling at everyone he thinks wants to steal one of his toys. It’s a shame the whole base is in the damn hill. I suspect my job is now more keeping on eye on the shifty pyro than on being a “reserve force” — that and helping the wounded, like the two unfortunate Kurupiras. “Check the first one, Tom,” I instruct as I approach the other one, who seems to be in a really bad shape. He didn’t hit the intelligent canvas like the other, he crashed into a heavy create of ammo head first by the dent on it. Our implants could communicate, but I’m not a doctor nor his squad-member, so I don’t have ranged access to the Kurupira’s status. I have to get next to him for his implant to cough up the information. He lights up in an alarming red at my overlay, and blue screens start popping up. **Status Ailment: Heavy Concussion** **Medical Condition: Broken Arm (Left)** **Medical Condition: Broken Clavicle (Left)** **Medical Condition: Moderate Brain Damage** **Medical Condition: Internal Bleeding** **Another Medical Nanite’s Boost Needed for Stabilization** **Please contact a Doctor for Treatment** Fuck me sideways. I only have two nanite boosts and I already have to use one on this sorry bastard. One of my doses is already on the injector (basic equipment for a trooper) and I only have to stick it to the man’s chest. The microscopic little shits **BZZZT** will take care of him for now. Focus on the combat, not on my language, damn VI. This thing keeps turning back on. I look to Tom’s Kurupira and it seems she was far luckier. Only a mild concussion and a sprained wrist; her own nanites are already hard at work to return her to normal condition. As Tom helps the woman stand up, I fetch a modded AK and a belt of ammo for our friend. “Good to go back?” I ask as I hand her the items. “Just dandy,” she answers, sarcastic, as she checks the weapon. “Please keep the crazy away from combustibles and explosives,” she says as she starts heading to the barricade. “Please keep him close to the scary trees outside,” I quip and get a chuckle out of her. “Am I interrupting something, Lieutenant?” my traitorous assistant asks, snickering. “I liked you better when you were a whimpering ball of smelly fur,” I riposte. Not that it was his fault: the Mapinguaris exhale a strong scent when threatened. You’d think they were were-possums. While I’m gloating at his shamed reaction, that’s when all hell breaks loose again. Howling, shouting and gunfire — a mayhem of violence breaks out at the tent’s entrance.