**TEXT ONLY MESSAGE FOLLOWS**

**EMERGENCY BROADCAST FOR [HEADER CORRUPT] AREA**

**TEXT ONLY DO NOT PLAY SOUND OR VIDEO ATTACHMENTS UNLESS FROM A TRUSTED SOURCE**

"I don't know if this will get far. I'm using the sector emergency broadcast system. Greenies of the 17th Special Tasks Combat Team have managed to get it up and running.

"There are things you need to know. These ten tips may help you make it to tomorrow.

"First of all: You are not alone. There are other survivors out there.

"Second: Listen for the sound of howling. The sound will keep the shades away. Even if nobody is there any more, it is a safe place.

"Third: Turn off and/or destroy any and all viewscreens encountered. This will slow down their ability to move around and slow down their spread.

"Fourth: Spraypaint the date and your initials on easily visible surfaces such as walls in order to let others know that you were alive on that date. Put words of encouragement to your fellow survivors on walls and floors.

"Fifth: BobCo Emergency Survival menu is accessible on all nanoforges. Even nanoforges that are disconnected from GalNet and SolNet. Iron and sodium chloride infused cans of spraypaint are on menu A-871. These can be used to spray walls to prevent shades from moving through. Additionally, mylar sheeting can by used with tinfoil on the windows and strips of tinfoil hung from the ceiling will prevent shade incursions.

"Sixth: There are rumors of prayers to the Digital Omnimessiah being answered. Do not lose faith. Reports of light emanating from beings praying to the Digital Omnimessiah have come in across the affected zone. Shades cannot enter that light. Futhermore, prepubescent females of known species singing hymns to the Digital Omnimessiah while wearing blindfolds appears to hold off phasic shades within hearing distanced of the hymns.

"Seventh: Steel may work in a pinch, but pure iron works best. Iron oxide, rust, can be thrown out and will disrupt them as well as can be used as wall coating when mixed with paint or glue.

"Eighth: News from Confed sources state that salt AKA NaCl AKA Sodium Chloride creates a barrier to the shades. Mixed lightly, 10:1 to 20:1, with iron oxide and the barrier causes damage to the shades. Salt can be used to close barriers as well as create circles of protection.

"Ninth: The shades are more active at night but paradoxically enough they are at heightened activity during times of full lunar visibility at night, as if the light of the orbital body strengthens them. They are not as strong but are still deadly in absolute darkness and can be easily seen.

"Tenth: The shades mostly linger around the site of their last kill or near places reminiscent of places important to them in life. Know their grouping areas, paint warnings to others. Shades, when quasi-dormant, repeat the same actions over and over in some kind of loop. Loopers do not react to the appearance of the living unless their loop is disturbed.

"And lastly: This event is survivable. You can survive. You can stay alive. Do not lose hope.

"If you can hear this, stay alive. That's my message to you. Stay. Alive.

"Use text. Stay informed. Stay alive.

"Ave Imperator." - Recorded Broadcast from the front Lines of Iron Piglet; Journalist unknown (Presumed Killed in Action, remains unrecovered, file header damaged)

Captain Tut'el ducked underneath one of the enraged Terran's swings, the lineart and shading passing over his head without even disturbing the air. He thrust out with the tire iron, poking the Terran in the stomach.

The Terran gave an enraged scream and puffed into nothingness.

Ectoplasm splattered him as Major Vuxten ripped through two shades with one swipe, turned, and chopped twice at one attempting to move through the car to get at the driver, who was moving around the car with a can of spraypaint in one hand and a bottle of narcobrew in the other.

All three shrieked and vanished.

The driver, Beatnik or something like that, finished off the narcobrew he was holding and whipped the bottle at one of the phasic shades. It didn't really do anything but make it flinch, but it gave the driver time enough to draw his pistol and fire twice.

The iron bullets popped the shade and the driver holstered the pistol, reached back into the vehicle, grabbed a beer, knocked the cap off, and took a long drink with one smooth, practiced motion. The private went back to quickly and sloppily spraypainting the car with something he'd pulled out of the trunk.

Part of Captain Tut'el wanted to be outraged about how the driver was drinking in uniform, probably drinking on duty, another part of him felt like he should just give it up, that all was lost, that there would be no way to punish the private so why bother getting angry.

Tut'el held onto the part about the private drinking.

Two more shades rushed Tut'el. He was a disgrace to the uniform the first one Tut'el snarled at and smashed its hands away with the tire iron. The private was a disgrace to the Corps, Tut'el stepped forward, stabbing with the pointed end, feeling resistance. a disgrace to Telkan everywhere Tut'el pushed harder and the shade shrieked and dissolved.

Another shade swooped in out of the dark, hands outstretched, and Tut'el stepped to the side and swung the tire iron in a move that would have broken a living person's arms. Drinking on duty, the arms sprayed out line-art and the hands and forearms dissolved as the shade screamed. probably carousing Tut'el swung again, this time hitting the shade across the back of the head and stealing government property the shade exploded into whitish dust even as another pair rushed Tut'el and defacing the barracks murals the tire iron swept through the lower abdomen of one of the shades and it puffed out of existence and putting the forks in with the spoons in the messhall!

The tire iron felt like it hit resistance this time when Captain Tut'el swung it with both hands, hitting one of the shades in the torso. How dare he drink on duty like common street trash! Tut'el hauled back the tire iron and hit the shade again, this time in the face.

The Private probably even doesn't have his card with AR-670-1 printed on it in his pocket like he is supposed to!

Ectoplasm splattered him.

He probably doesn't even have ear plug case on his person much less on the first belt loop to the right of the trouser enclosure!

Another shade lunged out of the shadows and Tut'el spun and swung the tire iron.

Why, he probably even has inter-species pornography in his room!

The tire iron hit the shade in the shoulder, ripped through with a spray of ectoplasm, and the shade screamed with the voice of the damned as it dissolved.

Tut'el glanced over and saw that the Private was spraying the front of the staff car with something from the spraycan that still gleamed wetly. The Private threw the can to the side, ducked under a phasic shade swinging at him, and fired twice, the iron bullets popping holes in the shade but not stopping it.

He's probably wearing winter socks even though it's summer!

Tut'el stepped forward, stabbing the shade from behind. The Private nodded tightly and climbed over the hood, up onto the roof of the car, and dropped inside through the ring-mount.

The chainsaw roared and an arc of ectoplasm sprayed out.

"Get in!" the Private snapped, the engine on the car roaring to life. "Not the doors, car's sprayed!"

Tut'el scrambled onto the hood, feeling the weird tacky feeling of not-quite-dry instant drying paint. He dove into the ringmount, landing on his side, and wiggled away from the seat.

The Warfather dropped in, feet first, crouched, and slammed the ringmount hatch.

The driver, Beatnik or whatever, lit a Treana'ad smoke and looked at the Warfather.

"Where to, sir?" the Private asked.

The Warfather reached down and picked up a narcobrew, using the dash to pop the cap off, and took a long drink. He wiped his mouth as he put the bottlecap in his top pocket.

"Gotta rally the troops," Vuxten said.

"What about your armor?" Beatnik asked.

Vuxten touched his implant. "471, how's the armor?" he paused for a second. "What do you mean it's demanding I name it? Fine, give me a minute..."

"Troubles at home, sir?" the driver asked, hitting the headlights. The lights looked weird to Tut'el. The shades actually flinched back from the yellowish light.

"What did you do to the headlights?" Vuxten asked.

"Sodium lights," Beatnik said. "Cut the wires to the headlights, put in a sodium-chloride solvated connector," the private shrugged. "Ran it off the cracked nanoforge in the trunk," He handed back a spray can. "Use this, sir, on your clothing."

Spraying his clothing with one hand, Vuxten put his fingers on his temple. "471, sodium lights, use sodium chloride solvate terminal connectors, whatever that is!" the Warfather looked at the Private. "Where did you get that idea?"

"Big Mike's Terran horror movie night, sir," the Private said. He jerked the wheel, catching a shade with the fender and ectoplasm sprayed across the hood and the windshield. "Used iron/sodium-chloride infused CARC crimson-880808 finisher coat spray-paint."

"Did you hear that, 471?" the Warfather asked. He nodded and repeated it. "Terran horror movies. Yeah, more of them are probably true than we want to know. No, I haven't figured out a name. Wait, tell her her name is Aki'mi'hehrt, after my sister."

Tut'el watched as the driver slammed the car into a pack of shades, tensing, almost sure that they'd just sweep through the body of the car and through all of them, snuffing out their life-force as they passed through the living.

Instead, they shattered into ectoplasm.

Tut'el startled himself by accepting the Treana'ad smoke from the driver, taking a deep hit off of it, and handing it back even as he coughed and hacked from the harsh smoke.

"Paint's on the floor. Spray your shirt and pants," the driver said.

Tut'el nodded and picked up the can of spray, shaking it, and starting to spray himself. "Anger and rage help," he coughed.

"Does at that, sir," the private said. He slammed on the brakes, sliding to the side. "Tell 'em to come in through the mount. Use the spotlight on them."

As he took the hand held spot from the private, Tut'el heard the thumping of shades shattering on the vehicle's surface.

Tut'el stood up, yanking back the ringmount panel and poking his head up. He triggered the spotlight and shined it around.

A half dozen troops were all gathered together, twice their number laying dead on the ground, shielding their eyes from the harsh bright yellow light.

"In through the mount, troops!" Captain Tut'el yelled, then ducked down.

One by one the troops dropped in, most of them moving into the back. The last one reached up and slammed the ringmount hatch shut as the vehicle lurched into motion.

"Here, spray this all over yourself," the Warfather said, holding out the can of spray. "Just close your eyes or you'll end up blind." He put his hand on the door again, closing his eyes, reciting something under his breath.

"What is it?" one of the troops asked.

"Your mom's ass blast," the driver said.

"Nicky! 'Sup?" one of the troopers said, pushing forward between the seats.

Tut'el noted that they had the spray all over their face and clothing. A glance showed tendrils of electricity moving along Vuxten's arm, onto his fingers, and dancing across the door.

The air inside the vehicle reeked of spraypaint to the point where Tut'el reached forward and hit the NBCRN system to clear the air.

"Got shades in the road!" the driver called out.

The vehicle hit with the weird spongey feeling of having driven into a cascade of falling water. Ectoplasm splashed the windshield hard and Beatnik hit the wipers instead of the static discharge cleaning system.

So it doesn't get rid of the paint, Tut'el thought to himself.

"Motorpool coming up!" the driver yelled. Tut'el looked up to see small drones spraying something on the ground outside the motorpool. "When I stop, unass the vehicle!"

The driver, Bet.nik, no, Bit.nek, slammed the brakes, yanking on the wheel, sending the heavy vehicle sliding toward the gate. Tut'el saw at least two drones arc away even as another bounced off the window.

"DISMOUNT DISMOUNT DISMOUNT!" Bit.nek yelled.

The six troops unassed the vehicle. Tut'el went to get out and Vuxten grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back.

"Not us," Vuxten said.

A green mantid, wearing red painted armor, swooped out of the darkness, wings extended and microjet turbine hissing. It swooped in and landed on the Warfather's lap.

Vuxten slammed the door. "Hit it."

"Where we going, sir?" Bit.nek asked, slamming the accelerator, the engine roaring. He swerved out into the road as the mantid climbed over the back seats and into the back where Tut'el had reasoned out a cracked nanoforge was hidden.

"City is sixteen miles away," Vuxten said. He looked over the back. "Fab us up body armor with cold iron and sodium-chloride layers and coating. Make sure it's 880808 coloration."

--oh specops forge nice-- came from the back.

The Private had already grabbed the ebrake, yanking on it, and pulling the armored vehicle in a tight 180, dropping the ebrake and slamming the accelerator to send the vehicle hurtling down the road.

"We're going to get to the emergency broadcast system," the Warfather said. He held up his stubber and checked the telltales. He lowered it.

"Can't stop the signal, Mal."