“Things are getting interesting,” mocked Doctor Winslow. He held his TR6 tighter and tapped its butt as if he was ready to go outside to fight.
John and Derek quickly adjusted themselves in their seats to control the Ariel launchers again. Their radar interfaces became bloated in red dots behind them. The camera screens were all covered by fumed clouds of red light, swimming in a disorganized phalanx behind them.
“We can’t fight all of them. We need to get outta here or we’ll be the food of those altered fish,” Derek unleashed torpedoes and hit a target, although it was too blurry to discern, even after the systems had reduced the saturation and contrast of the live image.
The only way he knew he did was because the number of detected foes descended from 180 to 179. A long number to g
