By Matthew Fu

Part 1: MSG Edward

Two long hard years, but he’d made it! Former corporal (Promoted to captain) Edward had finally gotten to Captain. He parked his little Honda Accord in the cracked parking lot, and walked towards the main building, still covered in metal scaffolds, hard hats, and yelling construction workers. The General’s office and the lobby had both been repaired, so workers can go without problem. As he exited the lobby, Edward heard a clunking sound behind him. Second Lieutenant Warrant had been promoted to fill in the gap of the dead Lieutenant Enrique, who was still rotting away somewhere under Chicago in a crushed van. “Hey Ed. Chief wants to see you for your first major mission,” he said, guiding Edward up the stairs, one breaking on the way up, causing an angry construction worker down below to yell up at them. The General’s office was as grand as ever. “Hello Edward. Your case is a bit…grim. I’ll put it to that, and leave you to the details,” he said darkly. Edward shivered, wondering what could happen. After all, this unit had all sorts of mishaps, given that a giant worm had been the cause of construction workers now swarming around the building. He headed down to the garage with Warren. “You pick out a car?” he asked. “Yeah. That old Honda Ridgeline no one wanted. Works fine,” Edward replied. The truck was parked just down the lot, with Edward’s M9 in it. Another officer came running out the door. His hearing aid set him apart from the others. “Hey Clyde,” Warren said. “WHAT?” Clyde said, turning his hearing aid up. “I said, ‘hey Clyde’,” Warren repeated. “There we go,” Clyde muttered, tapping his hearing aid. Clyde shoved another M9 into his pocket, and the two hit the road. Barely thirty minutes out of the base, Clyde groaned. “All the way to NYC. That’s what I hate about this unit. Only mode of transportation is a car.” Edward said nothing. 

The nonstop driving took about three days, two shady hotels, and a nice 11 fast food restaurants. At last, they hit their destination…which was a parking lot. “Seriously? Three days at the wheel, and we’re investigating a parking lot?!” Edward banged on the horn in rage. Clyde took out the file and read. “Not just any parking lot…well, maybe it is just any other parking lot, but it normally happens here. There’s this…thing…that drags people down manholes…and they don’t come back out”. Edward shuddered. That sounded unpleasant. “And…I assume we’re investigating a sewer?” he asked tentatively. Clyde nodded. Edward stepped towards it. “You know, I think we should have brought some flash—whoa!”. His sentence was cut off by a gray hand shooting out of the sewer, and pulling him down the dark tunnel. “Wait for me, Edward!” Clyde shouted, hopping into the hole…and immediately being doused in cold, dirty sewer water. Wasting no time in disgust, Clyde sloshed on after the screaming Edward, who was yelling out his visual of his abductor. “It’s gray…I guess you saw as much…got an octopus-squid head, fins…sticky–out elbows and kneecaps, and…tentacles for fingers.” Clyde smiled in spite of himself, knowing full well that Edward was the kind of guy to report his visuals even in this scenario. The thing rounded a bend in the pipes, and Clyde gave chase. Barely five seconds had passed, yet a mildly funny chase had turned into a gruesome scene. The creature had pinned Edward to the wall. Its tentacles were sucked onto the sides of Edward’s face. “It’s fine, Clyde! I’ve been through worse than-OH GOD! SON OF A SEA SNAIL THAT HURTS!” he screamed, as, presumably, the thing’s claws popped out of the finger sockets. The creature pulled, and the skin tore. Edward screamed. Clyde, however much he wanted to help his friend, was paralyzed in fear. At last, the tentacles that were meant to shove food into the thing’s mouth tore…and ripped Edward’s face off. The suction cups made a hollow sound, like a vacuum, and Edward’s skin glowed…and vanished. The rest of Edward, leaning against the wall, collapsed. The thing began to glow, and at last, limbs twisting the creature took on the shape and color…of a man…of Edward. Rage filled Clyde, along with a shame at not helping his comrade sooner. Whipping out the M9, he fired three rapid shots at the creature. The Edward illusion shattered, and the creature hissed with rage. “That was almost perfect! You ruined….” As it spoke, its speech became hisses again. The creature slammed water into Clyde, dousing him again, and escaped into the Labyrinth of pipes. Clyde trudged through the pipes back up to the parking lot where the Honda pickup was parked, and started the engine. Three days later, he was sitting in Vincent’s office, recounting the events in the pipes. At last, the General, thoroughly disturbed, sighed and started pacing. “Well, though we cannot do anything for poor Edward but strive in his name, we can classify this. Give this creature a name, as no doubt biologists have never seen it before. Since you witnessed it, what do you make of it, Clyde?” Vincent asked. Clyde hesitated. The clouds darkened as a name was born. “The Pretender,” Clyde said quietly.

Part 2: SGT Lydia

“The face of a squid?” Lydia asked. Clyde nodded affirmatively. The two had just gotten out of the garage of Unit 48, and were cruising down the street. “So, it uses the-,” Lydia began. “Yes, yes, Lydia. It uses those tentacles to ‘absorb’, for lack of better words, the face of its victim, then it looks like the victim. You shoot it, you only shoot an outer layer. It’s got a whole other squid life under the ‘Edward facade’,” Clyde said in a rush. Thankfully, this time, the sighting was closer. Maybe, if one were to be a pessimist, that was a bad thing, given that the Pretender was getting closer to their base. “Trouble is, we don’t know how many there are. There could just be half a dozen, or even a whole army of them,” Lydia muttered. As they neared left their home state of South Dakota, the sun began to rise, causing the cold interior of Edward’s (now Clyde’s) truck to warm up. They hit Montana at around noon. By the time they reached a place to stay overnight, the two were tired, sore, and stiff. The last thing Clyde saw was a white mattress…then he collapsed. Next morning, they woke at 3:00 A.M to head out, and as the sun began to rise, they hit the highway. By 8:00 in the morning, the sun was shining cheerily on the country roads. At last, the clouds covered the sky in the afternoon, and rain poured as they got to Seattle. Within three seconds of stepping out of the truck, Lydia and Clyde were soaked. They stuck their hands in the freezing puddles of water, and opened the sewer. Lydia jumped in, and Clyde plunged down after her…and was splashed with sewer water a third time upon landing. As they strolled through the tunnels, revolvers loaded. Footsteps sounded down the tunnel, and three people, dressed in unit uniforms, stumbled around the corner, eyes lighting upon Clyde and Lydia. The unit uniforms were all dark green button-up shirts, and khaki pants. “Thank god we found you!” one of them gasped. 

The three introduced themselves as Officers Roberto, Tony, and Barton, all from Unit 27. The five walked through the tunnel, Barton in particular seeming very excited about something. “We found the hive. A huge squad of Pretenders, about fifty, are just getting the run of a huge operating ground for plumbers,” he said, hopping around, Roberto barely containing him. “If we can let fly with the bullets, this case could be closed in no time,” Tony added. At last, they came upon an end to the pipes, in which a ladder led down to a huge room, full of valves, dials, meters, pipes…and pretenders. “Just where we need you,” Barton said. Clyde turned to him. “You mean the Pretenders?” he asked. Barton smiled slightly. “No. You,” he said flatly. Suddenly, the three members of Unit 27 pushed Clyde and Lydia over the side. Screaming, Clyde and Lydia flailed in the air, until Lydia’s hand latched onto one of the pipes. Clyde was not so lucky, having grabbed onto Lydia’s shoe, pulled it off, resumed his fall, then fell onto a pipe of his own. The two let go of their pipes, and plummeted the short distance down to the ground, where the pretenders waited. Barton, Tony, and Roberto dropped down. Their skin had begun to turn gray, heads elongating, turning into squid-like things with tentacles and a claw-like mouth in the center. They too, had become pretenders. Clyde eyed the ladder leading up to the pipe they came from earlier, hoping to be able to get a route to that. However, the fifteen meters to the ladder was blocked by Pretenders. Lydia seemed to be thinking the same thing, fingering her revolver. As silence fell on the pipe room, the Pretenders jostled to get a look at the intruders. As they wrestled amongst each other, a commotion broke out. “Barton” was trying to get up to the front, but another Pretender had resisted. The fight broke out, and as Clyde got to the ladder, Lydia in pursuit, “Roberto” looked at them. He hissed and screeched, and the Pretenders came at them. “Climb faster, Clyde!” Lydia shouted. Clyde had just hit the fifteenth rung, and Lydia followed. The Pretenders, with their hollow finger-sockets, struggled at first. By the time Clyde had gotten halfway up, they realized that their claws could come in handy, and hastily swarmed up the ladder. Lydia fired her revolver, and the first three screeched, bullet holes letting out dark red blood. They fell onto their ascending comrades. Generally, it was a vertical domino effect. However, some particularly strong ones let the cascade of gray beasts fall, then resumed their climb. As Clyde hauled Lydia up, the two sloshed down the tunnel. “Good thinking with the revolver,” Clyde said. Lydia nodded, but saved her breath. At last, the ladder up the sewer, marked by a missing rung on the bottom, came into view. Lydia heaved on the cover, and a cloudy sky greeted her. The rain had subsided into a drizzle, and the two clambered out. As they closed the lid, and ran for their truck, Clyde could see the cover vibrating as dozens of pretenders clamored to get out. As soon as he got in the truck, Clyde threw the vehicle into reverse, and halted sharply as one of the wheels rode over the sewer lid, preventing it from opening. The truck heaved as the Pretenders tried to get out. Finally, the shuddering stopped. Clyde could hear the screeches and hisses, possibly the Pretenders giving orders to return to that pipe room. A loud vibration, growing fainter by the second, was heard. The parking lot, deserted as ever, gray concrete cracked, looked calm. Clyde drove away, the GPS destination set for their headquarters. Clearly, these Pretenders weren’t just a pretty face.

Part 3: SGT Isaac

Lydia jogged lightly through the halls. Her call to the General’s office was in all caps, which either meant the person sending was very urgent or they forgot to turn off the caps lock. Upon entry, Vincent, the General, was sitting behind a desk, a chair facing him. In that chair was an African-American man, dressed in the same dark green button-up and khaki pants as all the others. “Lydia, meet Junior Lieutenant Isaac. He’s quite experienced, and it wasn’t exactly an easy climb for him, nor for any of us,” Vincent said. Lydia shook hands with Isaac, and sat down. Vincent’s brow creased. “It’s getting more drastic,” he said. “More pretenders everywhere. They took Vegas.” Lydia nodded. “How many this time chief? Ten? Fifty? Lay ‘em on me, ‘cause-” she was cut off abruptly. “I don’t mean it like the squad you and Clyde encountered. Something gave the Pretenders the guts to come crawling out of the pipes. Vegas is inhabited entirely by Pretenders. Inhabited as in, they’re in the casinos, in the restaurants…in the housing,” the General said darkly. Lydia’s face clouded. “A whole city inhabited by Pretenders? It’s a wonder they didn’t get out to the rest of that state,” She muttered. “You two won’t survive five seconds with the Pretenders,” Vincent said, rummaging through his closets. At last, he pulled out a gray suit, in the shape of a Pretender. 

Twenty minutes later, Lydia and Isaac sat in Isaac’s Chevy Equinox, wearing the gray suits. The ride to Vegas was fast, boosted by Isaac’s aggressive driving. At last, they reached a giant barbed wire fence. Nestled in the fence was a raising gate, one of those strips of metal that you see at the train tracks. Isaac being Isaac, smashed through the gates. Immediately, they saw Pretenders up and down the streets, and other humans, presumably the ones that had obtained a disguise. Stepping out of the car, Isaac was relieved to see that no one had seen through their disguise. “Now…I guess we can just follow a Pretender, see what they’ve done to the place,” he muttered. The two walked down the street, following a shorter pretender, before it suddenly opened up a storm drain and slipped under. Isaac, not hesitating, followed suit. The two followed the Pretender through the tunnels, until they reached a huge chamber, full of giant grates leading off to the side…with humans in them. The rest of the pipe each human was in was blocked off. They were all haggard, wet, and emaciated, no doubt imprisoned here for a long time. Guarding each prison was a pair of Pretenders. Lydia and Isaac hid behind in a vacant grate, and watched as two guards opened the gate and dragged out a man. Middle-aged, wide-eyed, and resembling a living skeleton. He was limp in the guards’ arms as they dragged him. Lydia and Isaac followed quietly, each tiny splash of their feet making Isaac cringe with fear of being found out. At last, the short Pretender, waiting for the man, was given the victim, and dragged to a dead end, made up of a gray wall. Isaac almost spat out his heart when the wall opened, revealing two yellow, hateful eyes. The wall slid away, and the chamber was open again. What was on the wall, Isaac could see, was a giant octopus, fifty meters tall, with gray skin like that of the other Pretenders. The man was thrown face-first onto the floor. A low growling sound came from the octopus, as it reached sharply, and grabbed the man with its tentacles. The man screamed in agony as his limbs were stretched out, but went silent as the octopus exhaled on it, green gas enveloping his face. The man collapsed on the floor, skin turning gray, head elongating, eyes turning yellow. The gas had turned him into a Pretender. The new Pretender turned around and began trooping out of the tunnel, towards Lydia and Isaac. Isaac got up and walked casually, hoping the Pretender wouldn’t see through the disguise. However, Lydia bolted, and Isaac, groaning at the folly of her action, sped after her. 

“Gas?” General Vincent asked. Lydia nodded. Isaac sat next to her, nodding as well. Vincent’s eyes gleamed. “I guess the only way to do it is to get them to choke it out,” he murmured. “Oh no. Chief’s getting trigger-happy,” Lydia said, looking at the ceiling. “What’s on your mind Vincent?” Isaac asked. Vincent looked out the window. “They need to cough it out, yes?” he said quietly. Lydia nodded, a tad bit impatient. The general’s face darkened. “I don’t like it…but we’re gonna have to bomb Vegas”.

Part 4: General Vincent

A note from the author

Yeah, I know, he’s back! You all haven’t seen this guy in action since Creapicrolly town. Normally he sits at his desk, filing things, eating donuts, sending people on missions, eating even more donuts…

Sorry, I was hungry when I wrote this. Anyways, enjoy the now rare moments of Vincent having the spotlight!

Anyways…back to the story…

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Clyde muttered. Vincent shrugged. “Sorry, man. We have to. Otherwise those Pretenders are gonna come our way,” he replied. The job of General was hard. Lots of files. Tough decisions. Clyde followed Vincent like a dog down to the inventory. There, lots of people were sitting at workbenches, using the dimly lit lightbulb to organize and load up. As they headed down the stairs, Vincent and Clyde saw multiple people lugging gray, swirly balls, each the size of a medicine ball, and about as heavy, up the stairs. “Hey, Chief,” Warren said, grinning as he lugged one of the balls up the steps. However, before he even got three steps up the stairs, his prosthetics crumpled under him. Vincent sighed. “I got it,” he said, picking up the orb. Clyde tailed him, another orb in his arms. “May I ask what these are, General?” he asked. “Smoke bombs,” Vincent said. “We know that Pretenders all got…breathed into by an octopus. The smoke is gonna make them cough it out. We load these up on the copters, and boom. Vegas is normal again, besides the fact that there are a few open orbs laying around on the streets.” Clyde nodded. Vincent exhaled, relieved that no one seemed to be objecting. Then Clyde frowned. “Where are we getting the copters from? I don’t suppose Bull and Dozer’s is gonna supply them, given how we totaled the cranes last time,” he said. “Unit 27’s got it,” Vincent replied. They exited the building, and a roar filled the air as a few black and white bell helicopters landed out of the sky. Immediately, after a dozen of the aircraft had landed, members of Unit 48 poured out, and began loading the giant smoke bombs onto the helicopters. After fifteen minutes, with members from 27 and 48 bustling around, the bombs were loaded. Vincent gave the whole team a prep talk. “You know I don’t like to give speeches, so this is all I’ll say. This is for humanity. This is for our brethren in Vegas. We’re gonna give these Pretenders a good dose of reality!” he exclaimed. His last words were met with cheers and roars of assent. As half of Unit 48 bundled into the helicopters with 27, the other half went on ground vehicles. These guys would get the Pretenders to a central region. That way, there wouldn’t be bombs all over Vegas. Vincent climbed into a helicopter with Warren, along with two smoke bombs. As they lifted off, the cars got a good twenty-mile headstart while the people in the aircraft did a count of the people there. Then, they cruised towards the Pretender-infected Las Vegas.

The trip took mere hours. As the bright lights of Vegas came into view, the crew tensed. Vincent was almost sweating. The helicopters slowed to a stop, hovering above the vibrant city. The doors slowly slid open, and a gust of cold air poured into the aircraft. A mass of Pretenders was on the street below them. The ground team had done their job. “Roll out!” Vincent roared above the sounds of the blades. Three of the bombs fell onto the street. With relish, the detonators grinned as they pushed the button, and a wave of smoke poured out of the bombs. A few seconds later, a few dazed, visibly confused Las Vegas residents stumbled out of the haze. The air crew cheered. The helicopters moved onto the second region. Same results. Third area. Piece of cake. Fourth one…not really. The Pretenders had caught onto what happened to their brethren, so when the bombs dropped, two of them were hastily rolled away by the creatures, resulting only half of the people intended by each bomb to be reverted. A wave of despair rolled over Vincent. Warren smirked. “Don’t worry, Chief. That’s why I packed this,” he said, pulling out a fourth bomb he smuggled onto the helicopter. Vincent, awed, grinned as the bomb rolled out, and disinfected the remainder of Las Vegas’s population. The crew cheered as they landed on the intersection, the residents greeting them with congratulations, well-wishes, and thanks. The crew took it well, but they knew that they had another job. Suddenly, the sewer down the street clattered, and four of the ground control tumbled out. Weapons were raised. “Not infected,” one of them said. Clyde had just landed in a separate chopper and squinted. “Barton? Alright, now I’m confused?” he said. Barton shrugged. I guess it was a good thing I was gassed, not skinned,” he said. Suddenly, the sewer exploded, along with the concrete next to it, and Barton and his buddies fell back down the way they came. 

The giant octopus rose out, gray skin stretching and undulating, tentacles whipping out, not bothering to breathe on the people, but simply eating them on the spot. The few paranoid ones that brought the big guns opened fire. The desperate ones fired with the pistols. Vincent’s heart pounded. He’d let his unit down…wait. There was a roaring sound. The sound of a car engine. A shower of bullets peppered the octopus, causing it to screech, which shattered some of the windows. A black Chevy suburban roared into the intersection. It would’ve been any other chevy…were it not for the turret on the roof. Lydia whooped as Isaac stomped on the gas, and she opened fire yet again to the octopus. “WHO CLEARED YOU TO USE MY CAR?!” Vincent roared mock-angrily, but he was smiling. The succession of bullets from the unit and Vincent’s car grew to be too much for the octopus. It split into dozens of parts, one eyeball rolling like a bowling ball of hate down the street. Blue blood spurted out of the octopus, draining through the sewers, staining the streets, showering an enraged Barton. The octopus flailed its tentacles in a wild and desperate last grab at life, its rubbery skin tearing…until its remaining eye glazed over and dimmed, as it collapsed, dead on the street.