"NEXT WAVE IN FOUR MINUTES."Around Lorcan, scattered survivors ranged from teens to middle-aged men and women armed with everything from kitchen knives to construction hammers. Marcus and Amira had led the others in search of whatever weapons they could scrounge up within the tight confines of the barrier. Marcus had been lucky enough to find a sledgehammer that he now held with a look of grim determination, while Amira still had her baseball bat.
Victor had explained to the others what they had guessed about the Status Sheets. The tension in the air softened slightly as the survivors began adjusting their stats. Fingers swiped through empty air, their faces shifting as they felt the effects of their choices. Some stood taller, their confidence growing. Others looked uncertain, but the spark of determination in their eyes was undeniable.
“Alright,” Victor said, his voice firm. “Who here has a weapon?”
Hands went up across the crowd, clutching an assortment of tools and weapons: crowbars, wrenches, broken broomsticks, and even a machete. One older man held up an antique hunting rifle, the wood polished but worn.
“Good,” Victor said, nodding. “Keep those close. If you don’t have a weapon, find something now. A stick, a rock, anything. And if you can’t fight, support those who can.”
Evan shifted nervously, his shotgun cradled against his chest. “We’ll need lookouts,” he said, his voice wavering but determined. “The fairies are fast. If they catch us off guard, we’re screwed.”
Rachel nodded. “Volunteers for lookouts?”
A few hands went up, including the boy with the slingshot and a middle-aged woman gripping a garden rake.
“Stick together,” Rachel instructed, her voice calm but firm. The EMT was proving to be the calmest and most level headed of the group. “Watch the edges and call out if you see anything. Don’t try to fight alone.”
Marcus stepped forward, his sledgehammer resting against his shoulder. “We’ll need a fallback point too. Somewhere we can regroup if things go sideways.”
Lorcan scanned the area, his eyes landing on a partially intact storefront. The glass was shattered, but the walls were sturdy, and the interior offered decent cover. “There,” he said, pointing. “We should barricade the entrances. It’ll buy us time if we need to retreat.”
Amira turned to a stocky man with a wrench tucked into his belt. “Can you handle that?”
The man nodded, his jaw set. “I’ll need a couple of hands, but yeah.”
“Take whoever you need,” she said. “Make it fast.”
As the man and a few others moved off to secure the fallback point, Victor turned back to the main group. “We need fighters on the front line. If you’re willing and able, step up.”
The hesitation was palpable, but slowly, people began stepping forward. The man with the hunting rifle joined, his expression grim. The teenager with the slingshot followed, his hands trembling but his eyes resolute. A wiry woman with a hammer and a man clutching a spiked wooden plank joined as well.
“Thank you,” Victor said, meeting their gazes. “Stick with me, Amira, and Marcus. We’ll lead the defense. Everyone else, hold the perimeter and protect the fallback point. Watch each other’s backs, and remember: we’ve already done this once. We can do it again.”
Amira stood near the storefront Lorcan had designated as their fallback point, her bat slung across her shoulder. Her sharp eyes swept over the gathered survivors, lingering on the youngest among them. The battle had left them scared, clutching tightly to each other or to the nearest adult. Those with parents still alive were huddled behind them. A knot tightened in her chest as she thought about the baby whose mother had fallen during the first wave.
The infant was wrapped in a torn blanket, his tiny cries piercing through the somber quiet. A frail, elderly woman held him close, her bony hands trembling slightly. She looked up at Amira with pleading eyes, her face etched with lines of grief and exhaustion.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“We need to protect the children,” Amira said firmly, addressing the group. Her voice was loud enough to carry but softened to convey the weight of her words. “They can’t fight, and they shouldn’t have to. But if we’re not careful, they’ll be caught in the crossfire. Those with kids of their own should stay behind to protect them , but we need at least a few people to look after those whose parents aren't here or...”
She didn't finish her sentence but everyone knew what she meant.
A few of the survivors nodded, murmuring in agreement. Others exchanged uncertain glances, clearly struggling to balance their own fear with the enormity of what Amira was asking.
Lorcan stepped up beside her, his expression somber. “She’s right. We’ve got a chance to keep them safe, but it’ll take all of us working together. Who here can stay behind to watch over them?”
There was a moment of silence before the elderly woman holding the baby spoke up, her voice quavering but resolute. “I’ll stay. My fighting days are long behind me, but I can hold a child and keep them calm.”
Amira smiled faintly, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you. We’ll need more than one, though. Someone younger, someone who can move quickly if things go wrong.”
A slender woman in her early thirties stepped forward, her brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail. She held a broomstick with a jagged, broken end, her knuckles white around the improvised weapon. “I’ll stay,” she said. “I’ve got kids of my own back home… or I did. If it were them, I’d want someone to look out for them.”
“What’s your name?” Amira asked.
“Samantha,” the woman replied, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.
“Alright, Samantha. You’re with her,” Amira said, nodding toward the elderly woman. “Stay in the fallback point and don’t leave unless it’s absolutely necessary. If the worst happens and we lose this position, your priority is to get the children out of here. Understand?”
Samantha nodded firmly. “Understood.”
From the corner of the group, a teenage girl hesitated before stepping forward. Her clothes were torn, and a streak of dirt ran across her freckled face.
“I can help too,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I-I’m not great at fighting, but I can watch out for them. Maybe… maybe I can distract the fairies or whatever if they get too close.”
Amira knelt to meet his gaze, her expression softening. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Gwen,” she said, her shoulders squaring slightly as if bracing herself against her scrutiny.
“Alright, Ben. You’re on lookout duty with Samantha and…” She turned to the elderly woman, realizing she hadn’t gotten her name. “What should we call you?”
The woman straightened her back, some of the fragility leaving her posture. “Margaret,” she said. “But everyone calls me Maggie.”
Amira smiled. “Okay, Gwen, Samantha, Maggie. You’re the core of our protection team. Your job is to keep the kids safe, no matter what. If things go sideways, you head for the nearest cover. Got it?”
The trio nodded, and Gwen clenched her hands into fists, determination filling her eyes. Maggie cradled the baby closer, humming softly to soothe his cries. Around them, the other children huddled together, their wide eyes darting nervously between the adults.
The countdown ticked down the minutes. The survivors moved with purpose now, their fear tempered by action. Weapons were gathered, barricades were reinforced, and lookouts took their positions. The air buzzed with a tense energy, every sound amplified by the eerie stillness of the battlefield.
Lorcan felt a flicker of hope as he watched them. They were scared, yes, but they weren’t broken. They were fighting back.
"NEXT WAVE IN ONE MINUTE."
The air grew thick with anticipation, every breath heavy with the weight of what was to come. Lorcan tightened his grip on his weapon, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He had looked for a weapon along with the others but the best he could find was a length of rebar half-buried under broken bricks. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
The mechanical hum began as a faint vibration in the air, barely noticeable over the tense murmurs of the survivors. Lorcan tightened his grip on his weapon, his pulse quickening as the sound grew louder, a rhythmic grind of metal on metal accompanied by heavy, deliberate footsteps. The first wave had been monstrous, but this—this was something new.
“Heads up!” One of the lookouts shouted from the perimeter. It was the woman with the rake, her sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit street. “Something big’s coming!”
Lorcan motioned for the group to hold position, his heart hammering in his chest. The survivors fell silent, clutching their weapons as they waited. Then, from the shadows of a side street, the first enemy appeared.
Towering over 8 feet tall, the mechanical construct was a grotesque fusion of fae ingenuity and industrial might. Its body was an angular frame of rusted iron and scorched brass, with plates bolted together haphazardly yet solid enough to suggest immense durability. Tubes and gears jutted out at odd angles, leaking faint plumes of steam as it moved. In its clawed, metallic hands, it gripped an oversized morningstar that gleamed dully in the faint light, its jagged spikes promising pain. Perched inside the transparent cockpit at its center was a small figure, its beady black eyes glowing with malice as it piloted the machine with practiced ease.
[Gremlin, Vegit Mechanaut – Lesser Fae]
