NO ONE LIKES ZIPLINES

[SLAYER LOG - DAY 1, NEURO-5]

I pushed myself up and dusted off my dirty clothes as the ZS-33 buzzed against my wrist again. Looking over the sandbags, I saw their rifles had finally been lowered. The guards traded annoyed glances before turning back to me. A new notification glowed on the display.

[NOTIFICATION: KILLS CONFIRMED]
[SPAWN TYPE: BROOD]
[+16 SLAYER CREDITS ADDED TO BALANCE]
[+24 EXPERIENCE GAINED]
[SOURCE: ASSIST]

"Easiest farming you're ever gonna get, and all you did was run," the guy with the hoarse voice grumbled. "Now, are you gonna stand there like a dumbass, or are you coming over?"

"Farming?" I asked.

"If a Spawn dies while you are close by, you get a share of it," he shouted. "Now are you gonna get over here or not?"

I slinked over to the group of Slayers, my arms still stinging from the thorns. A mixture of sweat and blood trickled down my arm to my fingertips.

"One of 'em get ya?" another one asked.

The question came from a skinnier guy who looked closer to my age than the rest of the grizzled crew. He had sandy-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and wore a tank top under a lightweight chest rig, much smaller than the heavy armor worn by the grumpy one with the hoarse voice.

I shook my head, my neck so stiff it felt like trying to turn an anvil on my shoulders. "No. I got scratched up hitting the brush on the way here. One of them tailed me and I took it out."

"Then why didn't you take care of the other four?" the grumpy one barked.

"Look at him, Rom," the ponytail kid chimed in. "He's greener than grass."

"He said he took one out, Teddy," Rom fired back. "Thought maybe he had a little more fight in him."

Teddy turned back to me. "So, how'd you take it down?"

"I kind of shot blindly and got lucky while it was jumping at me," I admitted.

A chorus of chuckles broke out among them. An older guy with a clean-shaven face and a sharp, dark-red mohawk stepped forward. He reached out and gently tugged my arm, guiding me behind the safety of the sandbags. His eyes were the only ones in the group showing a shred of sympathy.

"Teddy, grab me the med kit," he said.

"Sure thing, Bird."

I was a little confused by the nickname until I took a closer look at his profile. He had a long, hooked nose that gave him a distinctly raptor-like appearance.

"Romulus, Teddy, go out there and make sure we don't have any other broodies lingering around," Bird instructed, unpacking a roll of gauze.

The big guy with the hoarse voice, Romulus, let out a loud grunt as he motioned for Teddy to follow him past the barricade.

"Is this the entrance to the fort?" I asked, watching them step into the dark.

"One of three outposts on the canyon rim. We're on night watch, last night of our rotation," Bird responded. "Now hold still."

A sharp sting shot across my skin as Bird sprayed a cold cloud of disinfectant over my forearms. I hissed through my teeth, watching the stinging foam bubble over the scratches.

"It's clear out here, Bird!" Romulus shouted from out on the road.

"That's good! Didn't want a swarm of 'em on our last night!" Bird called back. He turned his attention back to my arms, unrolling a length of white gauze. "You're lucky it's me doing this, fresh meat."

"Why's that?"

"Anyone else on this rock would've charged you five credits for the gauze," Bird said, tying off the bandage. "But I still remember what it's like to be fresh meat thrown into the grinder."

"I didn't even know what the credits were for," I admitted.

"Every kill gets logged to your wrist. You use 'em at the fort's requisition counter to buy better gear, ammo, or an extra ration so you don't starve." Bird patted my wrapped arm, standing up. "Corporate gouges the hell out of us, so save every credit you can."

"I didn't know that," I said. "They gave me a standard Tark 9mm, kicked me off the carrier, and told me to run west."

Bird chuckled. "They really didn't tell you a single thing, did they?"

"Sounds about right. So, how far is this fort, anyway?"

"Follow me," Bird said, turning and heading down a narrow trail.

I followed him to the lip of a steep cliff overlooking a massive canyon. In the distance, a cluster of harsh floodlights cut through the dark.

"There she is," Bird said, gesturing toward the valley. "Fort Carmone in all her glory."

I looked across the canyon at a structure surrounded by lights and tall pale concrete walls. It reminded me of the smaller bases back in the colony where I grew up. My friends and I used to look out at one from a short distance after we finished playing for the day, wondering what life was like behind those walls. I wondered if Jimmy had ever gotten his wish and become a Marine.

"So, when does a carrier come to pick up new Slayers?"

He looked at me, stared for a second, and then burst out laughing. "A carrier to the fort? That's a good one, fresh meat! They're not using a drop carrier to shuttle us down there."

"Um... how do I get down there, then?"

"Well, from up here, it's about a half-day march around the canyon rim, and it's crawling with broodies, too. Good news for you is that getting down from here is a hell of a lot easier. And I must say, it's some of the most fun you'll have around here."

"You're not exactly telling me how I am getting down there."

Bird walked closer to the cliff's edge, stopping beside a steel post anchored deep into the rock. Wrapped around it was a thick steel cable that cascaded off into the dark, stretching all the way down toward the fort's distant lights.

"I really hope you aren't afraid of heights, fresh meat."

My brief lucky streak felt dead on arrival. I frowned, staring into the abyss. "And let's say that I am pretty terrified of them?"

"Well, you can either take this wire or venture through the long way by yourself. I gotta tell you, I know which one I'd be picking right about now."

"So, are other guys taking over your post?" I asked, trying to stall.

"Yep. Our relief gets here around sunrise, and then me and the others ride this zipline back down to the fort."

"So... zero chance anyone walks down with me?" I asked, stomach turning as I peered over the drop. I'd always hated heights. It was the main reason I avoided rollercoasters back home. Now I felt like I was staring straight down the barrel of a gun.

"Not a chance. Fresh meat doesn't loiter at a post, rules are rules. And to be honest with you, fresh meat, you're in for a rough time. Half this planet is made of canyons like this one. You won't last long if you don't adapt."

He kicked open a large footlocker near the post, pulled out a harness vest, and tossed it to me. The metal buckles gleamed under the light of the three full moons.

"How long does it take to get down?" I asked, catching it.

"About two minutes," Bird replied. "Once you do it a couple of times, it's really a blast. I know I personally look forward to it."

"Not a lot of fun around here, is there?"

He grinned mischievously and shook his head. "Welcome to the life of a Slayer. So, what's it gonna be?"

I started slipping into the vest, meticulously fastening every single snap, buckle, and strap to make sure I was locked in tight. If I fell, word would definitely get back to boot camp: Basham Anderson survived two Spawn attacks on his first night, only to die of user error on a zipline.

Those Marines would probably get a good knee-slapping laugh out of it.

"Are you ready?"

"Not really," I replied, taking a hesitant step forward.

Before I could back away, Bird reached behind me, grabbed an industrial metal carabiner attached to my vest, and tugged me forward like a dog on a leash. He clicked the metal hook and its pulley wheel onto the steel cable.

"Listen, I bandaged you up real good, but I don't have all night to stand around convincing you to go," Bird said, stepping back. "I've gotta start packing up."

A hollow pit opened in my stomach the closer I got to the edge. Looking down, the dark canopy of a forest stretched out far below, giving way to a barren stretch of massive boulders near the valley floor.

Horrible scenarios immediately came to mind. If the line snaps, I'll crash through those trees, feeling every single branch break my bones on the way down. But if it snaps further out over the rocks, at least it'll be quick.

"Has anyone ever fallen off this thing?" I asked, staring wide-eyed into the abyss, desperately hoping for a little reassurance.

"Well... a couple of guys did before we bought the upgraded vests from the corporations. God, those things were expensive."

I froze, my fingers white-knuckling the frayed straps across my chest.

"Am I wearing an upgraded vest?"

"To be completely honest with you? No idea," Bird replied casually, crossing his arms. "I grabbed the one on top of the pile."

There was no way in hell I was taking a leap of faith on fifty-fifty corporate hand-me-downs. "I can't do this. I'm sorry, I'll take my chances with the Spawn in the wo--"

Before I could finish my protest, he planted his boot squarely on my butt and shoved.

He gave a lazy two-finger salute as I plunged off the cliff into the dark canyon below. "See ya down there!"

The air was ripped clean out of my lungs. I screamed until I had nothing left but a dry throat, rocketing across the dark canopy of trees below me.

Every shade of the dark canopy seemingly blended together in a blur. My chest tightened so hard that it felt bruised. The sheer rush of wind dried my face instantly, whipping away whatever sweat had been left on my skin as I cleared the tree line.

Down below, the rocky patches flashed past, giving way to another paved road cutting through the canyon floor. Air finally surged back into my lungs. The floodlights of Fort Carmone grew larger by the second, their bright beams shuddering and dancing against the speed of my descent.

I kept falling, my legs kicking wildly as if I could somehow touch the paved road below. I was still suspended in the air, probably forty feet up, and dropping fast. Straight ahead loomed the rusted metal gates of Fort Carmone, surrounded by blinding perimeter lights. I screamed another panicked wail that bounced off the canyon walls with an echo. I was hoping someone at the gate would hear me before I hit the ground.

The glare of the floodlights washed over me as I shot toward the threshold of my new home. A sudden, violent jerk ripped through the harness, bouncing me downward.

Oh god, I thought. Bird gave me one of the cheap vests.

I was going to die.

The webbing around my chest was beginning to fray and strain under my weight. The small tears grew larger as my eyes widened.

I was so close. The harness just had to hold together for a few more seconds. Please, universe, let me make it. I checked the ground. I was down to fifteen or twenty feet now, and the friction on the cable was finally bleeding off some of my speed.

As a wave of relief started to wash over me, another buckle gave way with a sharp, sickening pop.

I looked down in absolute dread. The only thing keeping me suspended was a single central strap, fighting for its life against my body weight. The cable screeched in a shower of sparks as friction dragged the pulley to a shuddering halt. I hung there helplessly, my boots dangling only three or four feet above the asphalt, the fort's massive gates towering ahead.

I made it.

Then the final strap snapped.

Gravity yanked me down. For the fourth time tonight, I crashed onto the ground, but the pain was dulled by what I could only guess was adrenaline and the fact that the cheaply made vest had held up long enough to make it.

My ZS-33 alerted me as I lay on my belly and lifted my wrist to see the screen.

[NOTIFICATION: MISSION COMPLETE]
[LOCATION: FORT CARMONE]
[+8 SLAYER CREDITS ADDED TO BALANCE]
[+10 EXPERIENCE GAINED]

My wrist went limp, falling back onto the road, as I lay there and looked past the lamp posts at the massive, bright moons hanging overhead. The night sky would have been breathtaking had I not been sentenced to a death march as a Slayer. I slowly sat up, pulled one knee to my chest, and rested my chin on it. Standing mere feet away were the gates, bathed in the perimeter glare. A pair of behemoth metal doors, green paint flecked with patches of rust.

I dragged myself to my feet, stumbled over to the metal threshold, and gave the hard surface a couple of light knocks. The humid night air was suffocating, with the lingering scent of damp moss, sweat, and the sharp realization of what life on Neuro-5 was going to be like.

"Come on! Open the damn door!" I yelled, hammering on the panel with what little strength I had left.

Footsteps echoed from the other side, followed by the metallic screech of a small viewing slit sliding open to my right. Finally, the nightmare was over.

"State your purpose," a young voice demanded. Through the narrow slit, a pair of beady brown eyes peeked back at me.

"I'm a new Slayer assigned to Fort Carmone."

"What's your assigned MOS?"

"My ZS-33 says I'm assigned to the mess hall," I replied. "I was a short-order cook back in the colonies."

"Oh, good. The kitchen's been short-staffed ever since Rodney got slimed by a horde of broodies."

I grabbed the lower edge of the slot and locked eyes with him. "That's not very comforting, but can you at least let me in?"

"No can do, fresh meat," he replied casually. "All incoming Slayers have to be formally processed by Colonel Akers, and she's currently asleep."

"Can you, like... wake her up?"

"She's not someone you want to wake up before 0500."

I lightly banged my forehead against the damp metal door, thoroughly exhausted and running on fumes. "So, what do I do until then? You can't leave me out here with the Spawn."

"We've got multiple guards in the watchtowers keeping an eye out for them. You can sleep outside until you're formally processed, fresh meat."

I gripped the slot tightly, my knuckles turning white. Peering past the beady-eyed Slayer, I could see a courtyard where several people sat around an open fire, laughing and drinking, like the crew I'd run into up on the ridge.

"Alright, can I speak to someone else, maybe?"

"No, you may not. Everyone who has the authority to supersede my post as night doorman is also soundly asleep."

"Not a single person you could possibly wake up to let me in?" I begged. "I've had a long night, I almost died, I had to ride a zipline despite being terrified of heights, and it's hot as hell out here."

"No can do," he replied. "Can't bend the rules for fresh meat. Gotta say, nights have been boring since Craven went dark."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Used to shoot the breeze with the night guy over at Craven on the radio. Nothing but static for three weeks now."

"Anyway, sorry, but that's the best I can do. I strongly recommend staying on the asphalt and not venturing off into the brush."

"I didn't plan on it," I said. "I already got jumped by a Spawn the second I dropped in."

"That's good to hear."

"The fact that I was attacked by a monster?" I scoffed. "You aren't much of a people person, are you?"

"No, I'm not. And the reason you shouldn't wander into the woods is because we've laid a ton of landmines out there."

"Wait, there are mines out in the woods?!"

He gave a wide grin and nodded enthusiastically. "Helped place 'em myself. Colonel Akers' idea and all, but with those mines we can bottleneck any Spawn right onto the asphalt road out there. Makes tagging and bagging the broodies a lot easier, you know?"

"I'm gonna be honest with you, not really. I only got dropped onto this rock tonight."

"Well, stick around me and you'll learn a lot of stuff, fresh meat."

"What's your name, anyway?"

"Oh, everyone calls me Doorstop around here," he replied. "My real name is Patrick, though. Yeah, they just sort of call you by whatever assignment you've got until you prove yourself. Don't worry, you'll work your way up from 'fresh meat' to 'cook' in no time."

Great. My life seemed to get progressively worse every time someone opened their mouth. I leaned the back of my head against the door, letting my grip slip from the slot, and leaving me to stare out at the empty paved road.

"Does anyone ever get called by their real name around here?"

"Oh yeah. The ones who really kick ass out there and rack up major Spawn kills, they get called by their real names out of respect and all."

"How many Spawn have you killed?"

He paused, pursing his lips and squinting into the dark. "Lemme check."

I peeked back through the slot, watching him tap his own ZS-33 until a small holographic menu flickered to life. He swiped across the display, scrolling through tabs, yet another feature nobody had bothered to mention during basic training.

"Oh, it says here I've killed twenty-one of the suckers."

"You've killed over twenty of those things and they still call you Doorstop?"

"Oh, those are rookie numbers compared to some of the Slayers in here."

"Listen, Patrick, is there any way you can let me in? Please?"

"Nope. I'm not getting chewed out for a stranger. Just try to get some shut-eye before the Colonel wakes up to process you. My shift is almost up anyway."

"So you're going to go to sleep?"

"Yep. Then I'm back on the gate tomorrow night until they send me out on a Spawn hunt in a couple of days. You'll get added to the rotation, too, before you know it. See ya on the other side, I guess."

"Wait."

The viewing slit slammed shut with a heavy metallic clack. I slowly slid down the iron door until I hit the damp asphalt, pulling my knees to my chest. I rested my head against the rusted metal, desperately wishing for my busted orphanage mattress back home.

Just as exhaustion began to pull me under, a deafening boom shattered the quiet, rattling the iron door directly against my spine.

My eyes snapped open. A plume of dark gray smoke rose above the treeline, followed instantly by a chorus of panicked, wet shrieks. A second explosion lit up the canopy with a flash of dull orange flame. The landmines were doing their job.

I shivered in the humid air as bits of charred foliage and smoking scale rained down on the pavement yards away. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to sleep to the sound of monsters being blown to bits.