No plan of operations extended with any certainty beyond the first encounter with the main enemy forces.

  ~ Prussian Field Marshal Helmuth von Moltke the Elder, 1871

  The streets were quiet in a deceptive way, the kind of calm that always made my nerves twitch. Birds chirped as if nothing were amiss, but the early-warning alert on my augs still blinked insistently: INCURSION DETECTED. Dismissing the alert with a flick of my eyes, I adjusted the strap on my messenger bag, feeling the weight of groceries and the gleaming new chef’s knife shift closer to my body.

  And the day started with cinnamon rolls, chai, and plans for some fun meals to make this week. Now it’s gone to shit just like that. I hated how a bunch of damn plants could ruin everything. Lunch deserved better.

  Even as I made my way toward the shelter, I couldn’t help but notice little signs that the day had already started to unravel. A café window was cracked from some earlier scuffle, a trash bin had toppled into the street, and a few distant voices were raised in alarm. It wasn’t a full-blown panic yet, but it had that pre-storm tension you felt in your chest when the fog rolled in just a little too fast.

  “Things aren’t looking good chat,” I muttered to myself

  I hugged the side of the building closest to the shelter, scanning the streets with augmented precision. My pulse was already rising—part adrenaline, part irritation. I had errands to finish, groceries to unpack, and now apparently a fucking incursion to contend with.

  Turning a corner, my eyes caught movement: small, quick, deliberate. Shadows darted across the sunlit pavement, and I recognized the shapes instantly. M-3 xenos, dog-like with three snapping jaws and jagged claws. My pulse spiked.

  I swallowed the last remnants of a sugar high from my cereal treats and braced myself. The days of calmly folding marshmallows and counting cookies were over. It was time to move, and fast.

  The shelter was just ahead, two blocks away, but I knew I wasn’t going to reach it without dealing with the threat in my path. My grip tightened on the strap of my bag, fingers brushing the hilt of the new chef’s knife tucked safely inside. This wasn’t baking; this was survival.

  And suddenly, just like that, the peaceful morning — the rainbow-sprinkled treats, the quiet chatter of regulars, the golden sunlight breaking through Cascadia’s fog — felt like a memory from someone else’s life.

  The fight was coming. And there was no running from it.

  Step one was figuring out how to get past the xenos without being noticed. I remembered some of my training from boot camp going over how some Antithesis could use scent to track prey. Sadly, I didn’t remember if this applied to the M-3s.

  Looking at things with a critical eye, I noticed that this side street was just too narrow for me to slip by unobserved. Unless I was willing to risk going a few streets over, I would need to get past this hurdle.

  A part of me wished I was still on Active Duty at this moment. The service weapon I had been issued would have at least offered some comfort. My little pocket knife (read: glorified box cutter) probably wouldn’t do much more than penetrate the skin of one of the dog-like shrubs.

  Continuing to take inventory of my surroundings, I noticed that a café across the way had recently been raided by the plants. Overturned tables littered the sidewalk and the sunshine glinted off the metal pole of an umbrella that had been knocked over.

  “I’ve got a dumb idea, chat,” I muttered to myself as a rather dubious plan formed in my brain. I really needed to talk to more people other than my stream chat at work. At least no one was around to hear that.

  Sticking to the shadows as much as possible, and trying to limit how much noise the cans in my shopping bags made, an attempt to sneak my way across the street was made. It was immediately followed by me missing the step and stumbling. Shit.

  Looking up, I saw several hungry xenos now staring at me. If I couldn’t hide from them, then maybe I could distract them and add a bit of chaos to the mix.

  “Hey, you oversized weeds! Lunch is served!” I yelled, flinging a bag of groceries toward the nearest jumped-up shrub. The bread, fruits, and cans tumbled across the pavement.

  One bolted forward, a blur of mottled green against gray concrete. The sound of claws on asphalt grated in my ears, too close, too fast. No time to hide. Move.

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  I yanked the umbrella from the wreckage of the café tables. The shaft rattled in my grip as I braced myself. The thing lunged, jaws wide, teeth glistening like broken glass. I swung wide and low, a clumsy arc powered by panic more than training. The tip smashed into its skull with a crunch that rattled all the way up my arms. The body dropped like a sack of wet leaves.

  One down. Three to go.

  The others surged in, snarling, claws sharper than any knife eager for my blood. I jammed the umbrella shaft between snapping jaws, but the creature wrenched it free. Another lunged from the side. Its hot, rancid breath hit my face as claws grazed my jacket. Too close.

  I ripped the messenger bag free and swung it hard. Cans and apples burst free mid-swing, clattering in every direction, a storm of noise and color. The bag connected with a meaty thwack, staggering the beast. That wouldn’t stop it. Not for long.

  The strap tore, groceries spilling like guts across the street. A claw raked my calf, tearing flesh. Pain lanced up my leg, white-hot. My vision swam, knees buckling as blood ran warm down my boot. I couldn’t outrun them. I had to finish this here.

  My eyes locked on the box. The chef’s knife. Shiny, perfect, stupidly expensive. It lay half-open, glinting in the sunlight. My breath caught. The blade was gorgeous, flawless, the kind of thing I’d dreamed of wielding in the kitchen. Not now, Amby. Survival first. Admire it later.

  I dove, rolling across broken glass, fingers snatching the knife free. The balance was perfect, the edge impossibly sharp. It hummed in my hand like it wanted blood. Guess you’ll get it.

  The first beast lunged again, and I stabbed, the blade sliding clean through its eye. There was no resistance, just a sickening give as the body twitched and collapsed.

  The last one circled, low and cautious now. I pushed forward, teeth bared, and slashed across its face. The knife cut clean, too clean, like slicing through sponge cake. The hilt snapped as it lodged deep in bone. My only weapon. Gone.

  Panic surged. My hands scrambled for anything and found the umbrella, slick with gore. The shaft slid through my grip, viscera coating my palms. Last chance.

  I rammed it forward, screaming, shoving the jagged edge into the xeno’s skull. It spasmed once, twice, then fell still. The weight sagged against me before collapsing into the street.

  It was over.

  The smell hit me first. Wet grass and rotting mulch. My stomach rebelled. I doubled over, rainbow sprinkles and marshmallow-sweet bile burning my throat.

  My body trembled, lungs dragging in ragged gasps. The street was quiet again, save for the drip of blood off my sleeve and the faint roll of a can wobbling to a stop nearby. For a second, I thought it was over. Then the world tilted sharply. A cold, metallic bite pressed against the back of my skull, and a flash of blinding white light surged across my vision.

  I jerked, but my body didn’t respond the way I expected. There was a strange, invasive weight, like tiny needles threading themselves along the base of my skull. Ice slid through my thoughts, followed by a hum deep in my neurons, and I realized: something was moving inside my brain.

  Pain shot up, sharp, fleeting, almost like an electrical storm racing along my spine. My hands shook violently, and my vision flickered. One second the street was sunlit and familiar, the next, a sterile cascade of data scrolled across my vision in bursts I couldn’t quite comprehend.

  Words flashed before my eyes:

  System startup sequence initiated…

  Loading personality matrix…

  Initializing startup connection…

  My thoughts scattered, every synapse firing as if the world had been unplugged and then rewired.

  Connection established.

  Class XII Vanguard Communication Implant installed.

  Connection to Class XII Vanguard Personal Assistant AI established.

  Unit designation: ?2-544214-248624-530988 SKRZYD?O

  User designation: Ambrosia “Amby” Vale

  User profile loaded.

  Finalizing system connection…

  Connection integrity confirmed.

  System active.

  Then the voice, warm and a bit snarky, but unmistakably present, threaded itself into my thoughts.

  “System initialized!”

  “Congratulations. Through your actions, you have proven yourself worthy of becoming one of the Vanguard and a chosen defender of humanity. I am Skrzyd?o, here to assist you as you uplift humanity and defend your homeworld from the Antithesis threat!"

  The words resonated differently than any voice I had heard. Less sound, more thought. My mind raced to process the integration, but a strange clarity accompanied the invasion, a cool, deliberate logic threading through the chaos.

  "Rise, Ms. Ambrosia, and become a protector of the weak."

  I whispered, almost reflexively: “What the fuck?!”

  Discord for that!