"--that would mean a one to two percent drop in the next period for Tier 3 stocks."
"This is almost unacceptable. Can we put down some chaff and cut this corner a little tighter? I'd like to at least break even."
"I'll see what we can do, sir. Our next issue is the New Montreal Invasion. It landed near some of our properties. Initial damage assessments don't look good."
"Aren't those buildings still under construction?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then throw it to the insurance department. Tell me about the upcoming holidays. It's almost Christmas."
"Of course, sir."
——Dixon Technology Enterprises. Owner of 2517 Trudeau Avenue.
***
I'm keeping quiet. I'm quiet. Ha ha.
For years I snuck out of the shared room at the orphanage and spent days trying not to be noticed until I grew a backbone.
I'm very good at moving quietly.
That's why I don't think a single alien spotted me while I was hiding behind the counter.
An entire floor, or at least part of it, is dedicated to a food court. There are about a dozen restaurants in the center of the floor, with tables and chairs arranged around the windows. This isn't too special. I have also been to similar places, such as shopping malls and the like.
Automatic pizza parlors and traditional tofu shops all have teenage employees covered in acne.
Then there are all the usual chain stores. McDonald's, Burger King, etc.
Unfortunately, they were all closed by then.
Two dozen three-models and six dozen four-models dragged the dead fry cook across the floor, revealing why.
They gathered all the bodies to one side, where a bridge connected the building to another.
There is a complete network of pathways connecting the buildings together. This is nothing new. On the other hand, these connections were used to carry the dead to the streets below, which is different.
"Shit," I muttered, retreating behind the counter I was using as cover. I initially moved to the main path at the edge of the building, like I did on the other floors, but seeing so many damn aliens I had to find another way.
It turns out that all the maintenance corridors are connected to the back of the various restaurants, probably so they can store refrigerators and shit without disturbing customers. I picked a nice hiding spot next to the checkout counter at a noodle shop and came in from the back to spy.
"There's no way we're going to get through here with all these damn people," I whispered. I reached out and scratched my nose with the disposable mask I bought earlier. There’s no point in getting screwed over by all the four-molds around you.
You can go up and down the stairs via elevator.
"When all these aliens decide to run upstairs? I don't think a little barricade is going to stop these people," I said. "Not if they can get more out of other buildings."
I'm thinking about another thing. The number of aliens around means a lot of points. I'm down to seventy. That won't get me very far.
Of course, if everything goes exactly as planned, I'll be out of here with the kitten and the worst part of the city before nightfall.
Things don't have a habit of going smoothly for me.
You have seventy points. Maybe there's a way to use them to eliminate the remaining antagonists in the area.
I bit the inside of my cheek and slowly poked my head out. There are a lot of aliens around, but a well-placed grenade or two can take out some of them.
My attention was then drawn to one of the bridges that spanned between this building and another, wider building across the street. The bridge itself resembles a glass-roofed atrium. Inside were two rows of — now empty — flower pots that served as a railing of sorts, save for where a car-sized hole had been torn out. It was about twenty meters long and five meters wide, and was packed with aliens.
Model Three sniffed around, while Model Four stomped to the edge of the hole, each carrying a body or two, sometimes a box of food, sometimes an entire rack of chips. What worried me was the hulking beast near the entrance.
"What is that?" I asked.
Model six? They are uncommon early in the invasion, but by nightfall they will begin to appear more regularly. I recommend avoiding direct confrontation. While your current weapons may damage it, it will take a lot of luck to actually kill Behemoth Six.
I understand why. The thing had six legs surrounding a long, thick body covered in almost angular plates. It moved a bit to get out of the path of a pair of Model Fours carrying an entire vending machine. The vending machine gave me a sense of scale. The Type 6 monster is nearly one and a half meters tall, very simple.
Its face was a boxy thing, with two pairs of eyes on each side, and a square jaw filled with flat-pointed teeth like a camel's.
"What's the gimmick of it?" I asked as I slid down.
Model Six is a heavy opposition combat unit. On a scale of one to ten, they are also much smarter than most other models and will act as a sort of command unit. Listen carefully and you'll hear it issuing very basic commands.
I frowned, but did as she asked, listening intently, trying to pick out any distinctive sounds.
There was the hum of the wind blowing into the building, the hiss of a fryer someone had left behind, and the sound of alien footsteps. Then I heard a faint but distinct whistle, the sound trembled and the pitch changed.
I nodded. "Got it. So, it needs to be dismantled along with the rest of it."
More points can indeed be given.
"Great." I sighed, leaning against the counter. I had to come up with some kind of plan, but the only thing that came to my mind was throwing dynamite and hoping for the best, but that wasn't a plan.
Or is it?
"How strong do you think the bridge over there is, and can I afford a bomb big enough to blow it down?"
