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The rotting stench of Vlatava's capital city hit me before we even cleared the tree line. Forty-two million people crammed into a country the size of a postage stamp, and every last one of them apparently shitting in the same river. Typical Eastern European squalor. My listeners back home would have a field day with this material.
"You smell that, Flag?" I muttered into my comms unit, adjusting the strap of my tactical gear. "This is what happens when globalist interests force multiculturalism on homogeneous populations. Infrastructure collapses."
Rick Flag grunted beside me, not even turning. "Just stick to the mission, Livewire. We secure Zytle, we get out. Simple."
Simple. Right. Nothing about working for Amanda Waller was ever simple. I'd been recruited from my podcasting empire – "The Omega Truth" – after my "unconventional" methods of exposing liberal hypocrisy caught her attention. That and the fact that my hatred for that alien freak in Metropolis led to me getting electrokinetic abilities thanks to a stupid fucking forced Compound V injection and a lot of shock therapy by the scientists at Vought. Now I was here, an male omega leading a squad of D-list rejects while the real heroes got the glory.
Behind us, the rest of Team A stumbled through the underbrush. Condiment King, looking ridiculous in his mustard-stained costume. Orca, somehow managing to look both fishy and sweaty in his wetsuit. Polka-Dot Man, whose dots were currently shimmering with nervous energy. And the Trickster – some dimension-hopping psycho from a place called the Entity's realm, constantly giggling to himself about "hooks" and "generators" in Korean.
"Target location is two klicks east," Waller's voice crackled through our earpieces. "Zytle's scheduled speech at the Victory Plaza begins in twenty minutes. Team B and C are already in position at the northern and southern borders."
"Copy that," Flag replied, motioning us forward. "Move out."
We'd barely taken fifty steps when the first scream echoed through the abandoned streets. Not human – something deeper, guttural, like a predator's cry.
"Movement up ahead," Orca whispered, pointing a webbed finger toward a crumbling apartment building.
Something shifted in the shadows between buildings. Tall – impossibly so, maybe seven feet – and shaped like a nightmare. It moved with an unnatural fluidity, all elongated limbs and glistening carapace that seemed to absorb the dim light of Vlatava's perpetually overcast sky.
"What the fuck is that?" Polka-Dot Man squeaked, his dots flashing erratically.
The creature stepped into view, and my breath caught. It was biomechanical horror given form – a elongated skull with no visible eyes, a mouth within a mouth that dripped clear viscous fluid, and those elongated limbs ending in what looked like black talons with silver tips for nails. Its torso was protected by some sort of ribbed exoskeleton, and a segmented tail lashed behind it, tipped with something that glinted dangerously in the low light.
"Open fire!" Flag commanded.
The Trickster was the first to act, throwing some kind of razor-edged glowing dagger that ricocheted harmlessly off the creature's carapace. Condiment King squeezed his bottle of ketchup, splashing red liquid that did nothing but make the ground slippery.
Orca charged forward with a roar, shifting into some kind of humanoid-orca hybrid. He managed to land one solid punch before the creature's tail shot out, impaling him through the chest. The sound was wet, final. He collapsed with a gurgle, his transformation reversing mid-death.
"Fall back!" Flag yelled, firing his rifle. The bullets sparked against the alien's shell but didn't penetrate.
More shapes emerged from the shadows – dozens of them. Some were smaller, almost dog-like but with the same elongated skulls and double mouths. Others clung to walls, moving with impossible speed.
Polka-Dot Man screamed as one of the smaller ones leaped onto his back, sinking its teeth into his neck. His polka-dots expanded defensively but the creature simply tore through them like paper. The Trickster laughed maniacally as another pinned him down, its inner mouth extending with a sickening hiss.
"Get to cover!" I shouted, my omega instincts screaming at me to flee. But I wasn't some cowardly omega – I was an alpha in spirit, a fighter for the cause.
I raised my modified taser, the one I'd designed specifically for crowd control during my patriotic protests. The electricity crackled as I fired, hitting one of the creatures square in the chest. It convulsed, screeching, but didn't fall.
"Keep moving!" Flag grabbed my arm, dragging me toward a partially collapsed building. "We need to regroup!"
Condiment King went down next, his mustard and ketchup bottles doing nothing to stop the creatures from swarming him. His screams were cut short by a sickening crunch.
The two of us – me and Flag – managed to barricade ourselves in what might have once been a bakery. The creatures threw themselves against the doors and windows, their claws screeching against the reinforced materials.
"Status report," Waller's voice cut through the chaos. "Team A, respond!"
"Team A is compromised," Flag panted, reloading his weapon. "Livewire and I are the only ones left. We're under attack by... I don't know what the hell these things are."
"Doesn't matter," Waller replied coldly. "Zytle is still the priority. You two will continue the mission. Teams B and C are already encountering similar resistance. This changes nothing."
"Nothing?" I shouted. "My entire team is dead! We're facing some kind of fucking alien invasion!"
"Then you'd better be glad I sent three teams instead of one," Waller shot back. "Now move out. The other teams are converging on Zytle's location. Don't be late."
Flag looked at me, his expression grim. "She's right. We keep going."
I stared at him in disbelief. "We can't fight those things with just the two of us! We need extraction!"
"Extraction isn't coming," Flag said, checking his magazine. "Not until we have Zytle. Those are our orders."
Outside, the creatures' shrieks intensified. Something heavy slammed against our barricade, cracking the wood.
"We're gonna to fucking die out here," I whispered, the omega part of me trembling with fear.
"Maybe," Flag admitted, shouldering his rifle. "But we die trying. Now let's move."
He kicked open the back door and we sprinted into the nightmare-filled streets of Vlatava, two survivors against an alien horde, with nothing but Waller's cold voice in our ears and the impossible task ahead...