“Get out of the way, Erika!” her brother shouts through the mirrored face mask of his helmet, trying to get a clear field of fire. There’s a sickening crack as the Zadon’s arm connects with the corporal’s helmet; remarkably the helmet remains undented by the impact, it’s the boy’s head that absorbs all the kinetic energy of the sledgehammer blow. “Too bad we don’t have a rocket launcher!” the third boy, a blond 14, exclaims. The tall, long legged trooper with the shattered pelvis is unceremoniously dumped onto the street; his two friends, tossed out alongside him, are already dead, but he’s still clinging to life, lying sprawled out on his back and groaning as he drifts in and out of consciousness. “You fucking bastard!” her brother screams in a voice choking with rage as he unleashes a fusillade of laser fire at the cyborg. He tightens his grip on the gloved hands of his two older friends and they respond in kind as the trio lock each other into the next step that they’re about to take. It’s a relief to be out in the open again, free from the suffocating transports; eager for combat, they’re rewarded with the sight of two Zadons standing there, waiting for them.
