"They want to uplift humanity. Good. Of course. That's nice. How do they do it? Give Landos some space guns?

Yes and no, it's not a lift.

Of course, they have other things to do. Samurai would often "buy" a blueprint and sell it to one company or another. Usually the highest bidder.

And then everyone gets expensive hover cars.

Everything is connected, can't you see it? They don't want to elevate us, they want to see what we do with their toys! Then they'll steal our memes! "Huh

--4Cha

Comments to the /ET/ Board, 2021

***

There was no better time than now, I made sure that my trenches were tightly tucked behind my pants, that the bulky sparrows were ready and the safety devices were turned off, and that the four grenades I bought (each with five points, and they counted down to fifty) bulged out of my pockets.

When I asked for something that would break the bridge off the side of the building, Miaris suggested something called a "space-locked graphene auger." It looks like a small cylinder with a thick black band around it, and according to my AI friends, it will definitely mess up the local building without actually exploding.

I have other toys. One of them is a highlight little thing that looks like a table tennis ball. It has a nice red button at the top, the kind of button that screams "press me" without any labels.

My thumb squeezed the top of the ball and it started vibrating in small amplitudes, once per second, then twice, and it vibrated faster. Silent countdown.

I threw the ball to the end of the cafeteria with all my might.

It bounced off the ground once, then slid across the floor below it, stopping next to a wooden box used to hide trash cans.

The ball glows crimsonically and then begins to hiss. "Oh no, Sally, your legs! -Never mind! We can do it! Help me up. - You are bleeding. What if they come? I blinked.

"What?" I asked as I crouched down.

Ma

The K I audio scent lure is designed to appeal to a variety of opposites, including those who are smart enough to parse basic human language.

Well, that's pretty scary.

A Type 3 alien rushes up to the trash can and starts sniffing around, and then several more join in. One of the models, Model Four, carrying the corpse, dropped it and got some closer.

It's working. It's not perfect. Some models approached but didn't join the crowd, others just watched from afar.

That's good enough for me. I just need them to distract me a bit.

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a grenade. It's small, just a ball with a label on it. Miyalis called a directed chemical laser grenade, and it is silent, which is important to me.

The grenade bounced and rolled, then slid to the side when one of the Type III cars walked up to it.

I crouched down and waited. The room lit up, as if someone had just turned on the most avant-garde disco ball ever for a few seconds. There was no sound, but the floor was bouncing, and a faint smell of burning opposing flesh wafted in.

Now I just have to finish the rest. The sparrow "ding" landed on the counter. One of the most recent Type Three models turned to stare at me.

Four, maybe five aliens were lying on the ground, their bodies sliced open and still smoking, others also had straight line burns, but still standing. I'll fix that in a moment.

"Die, silly giant," I said.

I'll need to keep writing my quips later. Haha.

The bulky machine-gun spewed out a dozen rounds of bullets that were eventually sewn into Model Three.

Instead of stopping to watch it die, I handed the gun to the next lonely model. Another gunshot rang out, and a Type 4 car was torn to shreds.

A large crowd around the bait began to turn towards me. I greeted them, emptied my magazine, and formed a line that ran through the entire line. Some of them were hit outright, others were only brushed along, but I saw a couple of people flinching when two or three bullets passed through them.

The sparrow clicked empty, so I pushed it aside, spun it on one heel, and ran into the back of the restaurant, the door to the staff area closing behind me.

My plan is fairly simple. I think this is the best way to execute the plan without letting it explode in front of me.

I ran through the narrow hallway behind the store as I pulled out my trench machine. When I saw a familiar double-arched sign on a door, I squeezed my shoulders into it and broke into a room filled with the smell of burning oil and processed vegan chicken.

The moment I walked behind the cash register, I glanced at the side where I had just killed the alien. Some of them are missing. Back to where I've already been? Never mind.

I rushed across the counter and toward the open bridge. There were more aliens out there, and some of them turned to me, distracting them from their work and throwing corpses into the streets below.

I shoved the gun under the stump, secured it with my armpit, and took out the first of three strangulation grenades. I pulled the pin out with my teeth and threw it farther with all my might, watching it fly over the heads of a dozen aliens.

I've always had a good arm.

When the next one appeared, the large model six whistled and every alien in the area began to move towards me.

I flicked off the second grenade with my low hand. It bounced to a stop just about a meter from the entrance to the bridge.

Perfect.

The grenade froze in mid-air a foot above the ground. The black straps around it suddenly fell off, and two pieces of metal slid across the floor before the device began to whine.

A thin black circle appeared around it, at first only a few centimeters wide and then growing larger.

One of the passing aliens stuck his legs into the black circle. Its legs were cut into a hundred thin layers, and the rest of its body was slammed into the spinning blender of the single-molecule razor belt.

The circle widened further until it devoured the walls and ceiling of the bridge, turning them into a faint cloud of dust.

Through the mist, I saw a piece of the bridge in the distance fall to the ground.

That's it.

My last strangulation grenade was tossed to a group of xenomorphs running towards me. When I run, it gives them something to play with.

When the other end of the bridge collapsed, the entire building creaked. The sudden pressure on the proximal end, combined with the torn part and the gravity of my old friend, did the rest.

Just as the dust settled, a huge black figure leaped into the cafeteria.

The Type Six was missing most of its leg and covered in abrasions and cuts, but its four round eyes were still staring at me.

I found myself feeling a strong urge to get out of this hell.