7. Kira

7

Kira

The alien sun dips below the horizon, casting long, distorted shadows across the endless red wasteland. Sweat stings my eyes, blurring my vision as I have long abandoned the fruitless task of wiping them off every ten seconds.

Hunger gnaws at my stomach, a constant companion that I could have done without, but it isn't as if I have a say in the matter.

The alien weapon feels heavy and awkward in my hand, a stark contrast to the standard issue slug luggers I am used to wielding back on Earth, but I hold it at the ready, regardless. It's been quiet so far, but every step from the crash site feels like a gamble, a dance with an unknown predator in a hostile environment.

I roll my eyes.

Damn, Kira, way to tempt fate , I chide myself.

Given the fact that I'm heaven knows where on some unknown planet somewhere in the universe, some predator might very well be following me. I don't even know what to look for or what sounds might signal impending doom. This is so stupid.

I halt my advance, frowning.

I don't enjoy complaining. Right from my early days in the academy, it was something I took care to expunge from my system, and with time, it became second nature to ignore uncomfortable situations I had no control over.

Now look at me.

Right from the moment I got entangled in this whole alien nonsense, I seem to have gotten a long list of things to complain about. Am I really all that tough if years of training and built-up fortitude can get wiped away so easily?

It's a vexing thought.

A flicker of movement in the distance catches my eye, rousing me from my thoughts, and I catch a ripple in the endless sea of red sand. I squint, adjusting the makeshift scope on the stolen weapon.

Two figures emerge from the haze, their grotesque forms resolving into a horrifying scene.

One is unmistakably the same pink slime covered three-legged abomination that I've seen more than enough of for a lifetime, its bulbous body pulsating with that same old infuriating shade of pink I am slowly starting to abhor with every fiber of my being.

Luckily, it's a different shade than my new hair or I'd have clear evidence the universe fucking hates me.

The other alien is entirely new, and a cliché that's making it seem like all those conspiracy theories about Area 51 I used to laugh at might not have been as insane as they seemed.

It stands taller than the blob. Slimmer and drier, its gray-green, bulbous form vaguely humanoid except for the spindly arms. Its large black eyes gleam with cold intelligence.

The new creature, this Graylord, I christen it on the spot—and let it be known that my penchant for naming shit is dog water—seems to be aligned with the slime.

I'm not sure how much longer that will last for them. Even though I am some distance away, I can deduce that it isn't a smooth partnership.

It might look like a child, but I am sure it's the one calling the shots, judging by the way it has its small chest puffed out and the decisive gesticulation. The slime doesn't seem to appreciate whatever it's saying.

A sickeningly familiar surge of wanton sensation washes over me as the pink blobs' body modifications do their job and I feel a sickening arousal bubble up in my gut the longer I stare at the slime-covered freakazoid and its Graylord master.

Fury clouds my vision.

Before I can rein it in, I raise the alien weapon, aiming for the slime's pulsing mass. No, that's stupid thinking.

I pause for a moment. Is this wise?

It would be better to test my weapon first, but as soon as I do I'm announcing my presence anyway. I've never met a gun I couldn't figure out within a few shots. I glance around to note what cover I need, then decide to just go with it.

Those two would look a lot better with bullet holes in them.

My finger squeezes the trigger. The unfamiliar weapon coughs, a plume of purple smoke erupting from the barrel.

The shot misses, scorching the sand a few feet away from the surprised blob.

"Dammit."

Both creatures whirl around, their stomach-roiling eyes locking onto me. The dolphin snot slinger lets out a high-pitched screech that sends shivers down my spine. The Graylord hisses, its spindly arms waving vaguely with activity as it points a fixed, bulbous finger in my direction.

Adrenaline surges through my veins, momentarily eclipsing the simmering anger.

I'm not here to pick fights with the dominant species. I need to get out of here before whatever other denizens of the land get curious enough and decide to join the party.

Of course, I should have thought about that before taking a pot shot.

I shrug and take another one. Might as well go all in.

This one flies wildly past the Graylord's head.

Panic threatens to consume me, the unfamiliar weapon feeling like a dead weight in my hand.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I force myself to focus. I close my eyes briefly, picturing the countless hours spent on the firing range back at base. I think back over how each shot missed and make a quick calculation.

Opening my eyes, I line up the shot, ignoring the part of my brain screaming at me to run. This isn't about revenge anymore. This is about survival.

With a newfound calmness, I squeeze the trigger.

The alien weapon roars, spitting out fire and purple smoke as the slug strikes the slime square in the chest. It lets out a piercing shriek, its bulbous body convulsing before collapsing onto the sand in a heap of glistening goo.

The Graylord screeches in outrage, its spindly arms lashing out in a frenzy.

I take the time to double check my cover. The rock is smaller than I'd like, but hopefully enough.

It pulls a weapon, and I fold in my body as much as possible.

Shards of rock rain over me as it returns fire, clearly much more familiar with its weapon than I am.

There's a moment's hesitation and I take the opportunity to stick my arm out and shoot in its general direction.

A chittering clicking, followed by a muffled thud, inspires me to take a chance at popping my head out.

I'm right, the alien is looking for cover.

Before it can react further, I aim again, this time focusing on the creature's jutting forehead as it tries to sink down behind its own rock.

Another shot erupts from the muzzle, blasting a hole into its egg-like head. The Graylord stumbles back, its eerie eyes flickering with confusion before its entire body crumples to the ground, twitching.

"Fuck yeah," I say in an explosive breath.

It's good to know I can take care of myself just as well here as on Earth. Dad would be proud.

Heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, I stand there for a moment, the weight of what I've just done settling on my shoulders. I get closer and the metallic tang of alien blood fills the air, and oddly enough, the pungent smell seems to cool the nerves the tension of this little fiasco filled me with.

I've spilled plenty of blood in my life, and now I have the weapons in hand to do it more efficiently. If that's what it takes to survive here, then watch out alien world, Kira has arrived.

Before I can pat myself on the back further, the ground trembles.

Dammit.

I should know better than acting out of rage without thinking things through. I've dressed down plenty of other people for far less.

It's the sort of stupidness that gets you dead real quick. The sort of thing I thought I was immune to as a veteran. Sanity might have come back to me too late.

What fresh horror did I just summon?

"Fuck."

Without a second thought, I turn and sprint, the alien weapon clutched tightly in my hand.