Грань будущего

           Notthekindofmassamammalthat’s70percentwatercouldeverhopefor. Asingleswipeofoneofitslimbscansendamanflyinginathousandlittlepieces. Theirjavelins,projectilesfiredfromventsintheirbodies,havethepowerof40mmshells. 

           Tofightthem,weusemachinestomakeourselvesstronger. WeclimbintomechanizedarmorJackets-science’slatestandgreatest. Webundleourselvesintosteelporcupineskinsotoughashotgunfiredatpointblankwouldn’tleaveascratch. That’showwefaceoffagainsttheMimics,andwe’restilloutclassed. 

           Mimicsdon’tinspiretheinstinctivefearyou’dexpectifyoufoundyourselffacingabearprotectinghercubs,ormeetingthegazeofahungrylion. Mimicsdon’troar. They’renotfrighteningtolookat. Theydon’tspreadanywingsorstandontheirhindlegstomakethemselveslookmoreintimidating. Theysimplyhuntwiththerelentlessnessofmachines. Ifeltlikeadeerintheheadlights,frozeninthepathofanoncomingtruck. Icouldn’tunderstandhowI’dgottenmyselfintothesituationIwasin. 

           Iwasoutofbullets. 

           Solong,Mom. 

           I’mgonnadieonafuckingbattlefield. Onsomegodforsakenislandwithnofriends,nofamily,nogirlfriend. Inpain,infear,coveredinmyownshitbecauseofthefear. AndIcan’tevenraisetheonlyweaponIhavelefttofendoffthebastardracingtowardme. Itwaslikeallthefireinmeleftwithmylastroundofammo. 

           TheMimic’scomingforme. 

           IcanhearDeathbreathinginmyear. 

           Hisfigureloomslargeinmyheads-updisplay.