Arthur closed his eyes and exhaled.
Back against the trunk of a great pine, he held a rifle against his chest. He pulled out the worn magazine, examined it, and slotted it back into the gun.
He did three Hail Marys and fervently grasped the collection of dog-tags hanging around his neck. He whispered to himself, "Three bullets left Arthur...make em count."
His breath clouded the cold, dry air.
Arthur pivoted around the trunk, leaning his left shoulder into the rough bark of the tree. His right shoulder pushed hard against the stock of his rifle as he looked down its scope.
Through the lens he quickly spotted his targets. Two humanoid forms gestured to each other, communicating, in front of a long dilapidated garage. Their frighteningly long and tendril-like arms moved so fast they seemed to vibrate the air around them. The white snow at their feet contrasted against the deep, polished, leathery brown of their "skin".
They were unaware of his presence some 200 meters away.
Arthur trained his scope up and down their bodies over and over. Their appearance was simultaneously riveting and revolting. Intelligent design truly of an other-worldly evolutionary gene-path.
With his scope still fixed, Arthur's heart skipped a beat. The figure on the right had turned giving him a clear view of it's back. The blue-fluorescent gleam of an alien fungus spread out radially from a center point near it's "spine". A deep, violet, unearthly blue marked the entry point of a bullet from Arthur's last encounter with the monster.
His friends who had become family over the last 14 months had been gruesomely extinguished from existence at the hands of this strider only weeks before.
Arthur sought revenge. He thanked the heavens his final bullets were coated with an aluminum finish. His adversaries surfaces were strong and resilient, often requiring dozens of rounds to bring down. However, they healed through the application and self-growth of the glowing blue fungus that coated his target's back. Darryl, one of his now deceased squad mates had discovered that this fungus was composed primarily of potassium dichromate. Aluminum and potassium dichromate reacted...very spectacularly.
His fingers squeezed the trigger of his rifle and sent the first projectile flying straight into the middle of the fungus. He moved his sight to the other strider and squeezed off his second shot just as the first landed. A brilliant explosion of vibrant cyan, cerulean, magenta, and fuchsia rocked the long limbed humanoid. The chemical reaction was bright and violent; most of it's body disintegrated in the ferocious blow and fell in a heap on the now discolored snow.
The second bullet ripped through the shoulder of the other strider, but without hesitation it immediately traced the source of the projectile and began lunging towards Arthur's position.
He exhaled and fired his final round catching the quickly approaching strider in the lower leg. It tripped and fell, but quickly rose and resumed the hunt of it's assailant.
Arthur threw his rifle around his back and sprinted as fast as he could. The strap of his weapon dug into his chest as it bobbed uncontrollably against his shoulders.
Striders were fast. Even injured they often had the agility and stamina to easily catch any human. Arthur just prayed his two shots had been enough to slow his pursuer and allow him to escape. Along with his rifle, his two sidearms, a Glock G41 Gen4 and .45 Colt Revolver were also out of ammunition. All he could do now was run and run.
Arthur panted, breathing heavily he trudged forward as fast as he could. His boots sinking into the deep snow with each step. He never looked behind him, knowing that if he was caught by his pursuing strider he would be as good as dead with no means of fighting back.
He ran for what felt like hours, until the winter cold stung his lungs so sharply and ferociously he fell to the ground coughing, spitting, exhaling forcefully. After getting his breathing under control Arthur listened intently. All he could hear was the steady cold blow of the winter wind. He thanked God, performed a Hail-Mary, and got to his feet. He scanned the horizon. Off in the distance a cluster of small buildings caught his eye, and he methodically began walking in their direction.
-- --
After scoping out the cluster of buildings, Arthur determined it to be a homestead. Confirming it was clear, he moved forward and walked through the space. There had been fighting here previously. Blood, both human and strider alike was splattered on the walls of a one story house and the small barn that faced it. There was a small shed as well; he peered into it quickly and saw nothing of interest.
Arthur decided to enter the house first, thinking he could use it as a resting place and base of operation as he planned his move.
He stepped inside and found her lying face down against the floorboards. Her great mane of brown hair poured from the top of her head, shielding her face from view. Thin, toned, legs emerged from the bottom of a high-waited, pleated, black skirt. Certainly odd attire for the local climate, but Arthur found himself drawn to the figure nonetheless.
He was certain she was deceased, the way her body sprawled across the ground was unnatural and sent the primal portion of his brain reeling. He hesitated before approaching. Striders usually left their victims completely torn apart and eviscerated. Yet, here she lay fully in tact and seemingly untouched, an apparent exception to his rule.
He thought for a minute that maybe she had passed away for reasons other than the striders. Suicide? Sickness? Although Arthur found this unlikely considering their markings were all over the homestead. Striders had been here, he was certain of that. They usually defiled every human body they came across, which made her intact-ness all the more bewildering.
Maybe it was a trap, but he doubted it. Although they were certainly clever, he had yet to witness striders spring any kind of trap or pre-mediated trickery of this nature.
Regardless, he shook all doubts out of his mind and gripped his rifle tight. Remembering the lack of ammunition, he exhaled defeatedly, but still cautiously stepped forward.
He prodded the feminine body beneath him, gently pushing the butt of his rifle against her shoulders through her tight white top.
Arthur waited several seconds, there was no response.
He prodded her again. This time adding his voice to the mix, "Hello! Are you uh..." He hesitated, "...Alive?"
He waited another several seconds, and still there was no response.
He cursed himself silently for letting his optimism get the best of him. He didn't even want to see her face, he had seen enough death in the weeks and months prior. He turned to leave the room and gave the body one last frustrated poke.
The butt of his rifle caught her shirt and moved it up to expose her slender lower back. Arthur thought nothing of it and left the room.
Something had caught his eye, just enough for him to pivot and return to the body, peering closely at the newly exposed skin of her lower back. There was some kind of seam or gap that ran perpendicular to her spine near her bottom lumbar. Arthur rolled her shirt up further and uncovered the top of what he now thought was some kind of well camouflaged panel.
He looked dumbfounded. He had never seen anything remotely of this nature. Reaching through his bag he found a small flat head screwdriver, and very carefully, he pushed it's edge up and along the seam of the panel.
Within minutes he had removed the slice of artificial skin and stared mouth agape into the innards of what he now took to be some kind of robot. Even while looking at the intricate assembly of her electrical components through the hole in her back, he was amazed at how realistic she felt. Her skin, although cold, was soft and springy to the touch of his hands.
Arthur re-focused his attention, "There has to be some way to turn her back on." he whispered quietly to himself.
He thought about turning her over, but the idea of accidentally introducing particulates into her complex mechanical systems made him think twice. He instead opted to re-examine her components through the open panel in her back with a renewed sense of diligence.
Arthur first rid himself of his several layers of winter attire. The shelter of the house and his newly found sense of excitement had warmed him greatly. In his socks, long-johns, t-shirt, and beanie he buried his face in the female robot's exposed backside.
With the help of a small flashlight from his bag Arthur began methodically mentally cataloging every wire, tube, motor, and component he could see.
