Page 15 of Salvation for the Alien Mercenary
Motherfucking assholes!
A burning agony seared through his torso—sharp and electric. It spread outward with each heartbeat, muscles seizing, fingers spasming.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself into a roll. Shock response be damned. He pushed through it, coming up in a crouch behind a large, overturned planter. Exotic alien flowers spilled across the concrete, their vibrant petals crushed and scattered like the remains of his dignity. His chest throbbed with every breath, each inhale sending fresh fire through his rib cage.
“Fuck,” he muttered, tasting copper and turned to spit blood onto the pavement. He didn’t have time for this shit.
NOMAD training came to the fore. Compartmentalize. Function through the pain.
Straightening, he scanned the chaotic concert-entrance plaza, tuning out the screaming civilians and flashing lights as he looked for viable targets.
“Mira, status on the shooter?” His voice came out rougher than usual, as if he’d been gargling gravel.
Mira’s voice responded immediately. “Got him, Davis. Ten meters—your two o’clock—struggling with his rifle.” Something about her calm, steady tone cut through the fog. Not just professional… reassuring. The woman had never seen combat before last month, yet here she was, cool as ice while he bled all over himself.
He shifted his weight, wincing as his muscles protested. Peering around the edge of the planter, he spotted the Latharian attacker exactly where Mira had indicated. The bastard fumbled with a bulky energy rifle.
It didn’t look like standard merc gear. It was something more sophisticated. More dangerous. And, unfortunately, pointed in his direction.
“I see him.” He raised his weapon. The familiar weight felt good in his hand, a small comfort against the fire spreading through his chest.
Two precise shots. The rounds punched through the Imperial’s leather combat suit, center mass. The attacker crumpled without a sound, weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.
No time for satisfaction. He immediately scanned for the next threat, tracking movement patterns among fleeing civilians.
Covak’s deep voice cut into the comms. “What in the seven hells are Imperials doing attacking us here?”
His mouth twitched in a grimace.
“Two more hostiles breaking left, near the fountain!” Mira called, guiding him through the chaos.
He shifted position. A searing jolt flared again as he moved, making him hiss through clenched teeth. The weapon’s energy wasn’t normal blaster fire. It lingered, pulsing through his nerve endings, making muscles contract randomly—like being electrocuted in slow motion.
The main venue doors burst open. Ryke and Rann emerged, weapons up, moving with that practiced synergy that came from years of fighting together. They took positions flanking the entrance, eyes quickly assessing the firefight.
Ryke spotted him. “Davis! Status?”
“Hit, but I’m operational!” he yelled back, forcing strength into his voice and straightening slightly to prove it. No need to worry the boss when they were all neck-deep in shit.
Ryke nodded curtly, firing a burst at an advancing Imperial. “Gael Stormix is inside with venue security. Our job with him ended at the door.”
“Just as well,” Rann added dryly, neutralizing another attacker with methodical precision. “His self-narration was giving me a headache.”
He almost cracked a smile. Almost.
Shifting to a better vantage point, he tracked a new wave of attackers. Six or seven emerged from the panicked crowd, using the chaos as cover. Something odd caught his attention: they completely ignored the venue doors where Gael Stormix had disappeared.
Their fire converged entirely on the Reaper positions, specifically targeting Ryke, Rann, him, and Covak, who was currently wrestling with two warriors near a vendor stall.
Energy bolts sizzled past his head—close enough that he felt heat on his face.
“Ryke! They’re targeting us!” Cold realization settled in his gut.
“Confirmed,” Anson added through comms. “Tactical patterns suggest a targeted elimination, not a VIP grab.”
So, not here for the rock star. This was about the Reapers.
Great. Fucking wonderful.
