The Mimics

Chapter 9

Matthew POV

The barracks smelled of damp concrete, ozone, and the sour tang of nervous sweat. I sat on the edge of my cot, methodically lacing my combat boots, the repetitive motion the only thing keeping the static in my head at bay. Around me, the rest of the squad was a blur of olive-drab movement and frantic chatter.

"New transport coming in today," Bucky said, leaning against a locker. He got the name because of a pair of front teeth that seemed determined to escape his mouth, but he was fast with a rifle—one of the few who had survived the run from North Texas. "Maybe we’ll finally get a decent recruit. Someone who can actually run a mile without puking. What do you think, Chief?"

I didn't answer. They called me Chief because I was the oldest at nineteen, and because I’d spent the last month turning this group of traumatized teenagers into something resembling a fireteam. My mind was miles away, buried under the weight of everything the Greys had taken from me. Senior year, football, my future—it was all ancient history now. Taking back the planet wasn't a choice; it was a debt I owed to the dead.

I looked at the concrete floor, and for a second, the gray stone melted away.

One Month Earlier

The arrival at the Bunker had been a sensory overload. Deep beneath the Texas soil, the military had opened a facility that wasn't supposed to exist—a massive, top-secret subterranean city capable of housing hundreds of thousands. They’d managed to rig solar arrays and hydroelectric turbines to bypass the EMP damage, bringing the hum of electricity back to life.

I remember the smell of bleach and the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights. They’d been running "Recruitment Sweeps," using salvaged Humvees and shielded buses to pull survivors from the failing safe zones. They focused on the youth—anyone between five and twenty-one.

We were separated immediately. One bus for the boys, another for the girls. I’d watched the girls' transport head toward the medical and administrative sectors, figuring they were being trained as nurses or clerks. The boys were funneled straight into the dark, metal heart of the combat wings.

I was alone. My mother, my father, and my little brother, Toby... the virus had taken them all in a matter of days.

I was just a number. I stood in a line, stripped naked in a cold, sterile room while technicians sprayed my body with stinging decontaminants. They took vials of blood, checking for the black-veined signature of the virus to make sure I was "Clean."

When they were satisfied, they dressed me in white—a plain shirt, pants, and slippers that made me feel like an inmate. I was led into a small, windowless office where a man in a high-ranking officer’s uniform sat behind a metal desk.

"The human race is on the verge of extinction, Matthew," he said, his voice as hard as the walls around us. He didn't look up from his files. "The Greys have launched their third assault. They aren't just killing us with viruses anymore; they’re terraforming. They’re altering the Earth’s climate, dropping temperatures to sub-zero at random intervals. They’re freezing us out of our own home."

The man finally looked up, his eyes narrow and sharp. "Unless we stop them. And we’ve finally figured out how to see them."

He reached under the desk and placed a heavy, matte-black weapon on the table. It was a modified NARP—the New Assault Rifle Platform. It looked standard, but the optic mounted on the rail was massive, glowing with a faint, internal amber light.

"The specialty scope," the officer said, tapping the casing. "It reads bio-thermal signatures across a spectrum the aliens can't mask. You look through this, and if the body is green, they’re human. If it’s red... it’s a Grey."

I stared at the gun. A months ago, I was worried about the scouts from UT and A&M. Now, I was looking at the tool I’d use to commit xenocide.

"So, what do you say, Matthew?" the man asked, leaning forward. "You want to avenge your family? You want to take back our planet?"

I closed my eyes, and for a split second, I saw Toby. He was laying on a stained medical cot in the camp, his face pale and blue, his eyes hollowed out. Black ooze—the calling card of the virus—was leaking from his eyes, nose, and mouth. He had died screaming for me.

I snapped my eyes open and looked the officer dead in the face. I tightened my jaw until it ached.

"Yes, sir."

The man smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Good. Now, we’re going to chip you. Standard procedure for the field. If you get into trouble or go MIA, we need to know where our assets are."

Another man stepped out from the shadows behind me. I felt the cold, heavy weight of a pneumatic machine press against the back of my neck, right at the base of my skull.

"Deep breath," the man muttered.

I inhaled, and then a brief, sharp pain lanced through my spine. I felt the chip embed itself deep under the skin, a permanent tether to the military.

The officer stood up and extended a hand. "Welcome to the new world, soldier."

I shook it, but I didn't feel like a soldier. I felt like a ghost.

I snapped back to the present, the cold, sterile light of the Bunker barracks burning into my retinas. The humming of the subterranean vents was the only constant—a low-frequency vibration that seemed to match the tension in my bones.

"Hey, Chief, you hear?" Twitch piped up, his leg bouncing at a million miles an hour. He was a jittery kid, always fiddling with a piece of wire or his bootlaces. "Rumor from the comms deck says one of the girl’s buses from the North sector got hit. Changelings. Apparently, they’re getting more aggressive, hunting in larger packs."

I didn't say anything. Every report of a lost bus was a tally of faces I’d never see again, a reminder that the world outside was being systematically erased.

"What a shame," d**k sneered, leaning back against a metal locker. He was sixteen, but he had the soul of a man who’d spent his life in a gutter. He was crude, loud, and the kind of guy who thought every tragedy was just an inconvenience to his ego. "Bet there were a few real hotties on that bus. I’m still working on a way to sneak over to the girls' wing. It’s been months since I had any. Hey, Chief," he looked at me with a greasy grin, "when was the last time you had some good p***y? Or did the Greys freeze that off you, too?"

I ignored him, the insult sliding off me like water off a stone. People like d**k were just noise in the machine. I stood up, the springs of my cot groaning, and walked toward the heavy blast door.

"Going to meet the new intake," I muttered.

"Pick a good one this time, Chief!" Bucky yelled after me. "Maybe someone who knows how to hold a rifle!"

I navigated the labyrinthine halls of the Bunker, passing squads of soldiers in tactical gear and scientists in hazmat suits. The facility felt more like a prison every day. Eventually, I reached the processing room where they held the new male recruits.

The air in there was thick with the smell of unwashed bodies and fear. This group was young—far too young. Most of them looked like they should be in middle school, not being prepped for a war against an alien empire. They were huddled together in groups, some openly sobbing, others staring at the walls with the thousand-yard stare of kids who had seen their parents "change."

I scanned the room, looking for anyone with a spark of life left. Then, I saw him.

In the far corner, away from the crying clusters, a small boy stood by himself. He was pale and his oversized white shirt hung off his thin frame. He was trying so hard to be strong—his jaw was set, his small fists clenched at his sides. He looked like he’d been through hell, but he wasn't broken yet.

I walked over to him, my heavy boots echoing on the linoleum. I stopped a few feet away, softening my stance just enough to not look like a threat. He reminded me of my little brother, Toby, but I pushed the thought away. It didn't matter who he reminded me of. He was just another soldier in the making now.

"Hey," I said, my voice low. "What's your name?"

The boy hesitated, his eyes darting to my NARP rifle and then back to my face. He took a shaky breath, standing as tall as his small stature allowed.

"Theodore," he said, his voice barely a whisper but steady.

"Well, Theodore," I said, looking at the hollows under his eyes. "Welcome to the Bunker. Hope you're ready to learn how to fight."

He didn't blink. He just nodded once.