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Not every decision is black and white. But some are quantifiably easy enough to make.

Left or right. Pain or pleasure. Cake or death.

When it came time for Envoy to make the decision that would put him on the path of his new life, he always expected it to be a tough call. As it turned out it was easy as cake or death.

Envoy wasn't like most guys. When asked if they would be the sex slave to an alien mistress most would fight, scream and raise all sorts of hell.

Two years ago when he had been set down and given the choice between psychological reconditioning, or serving a mistress as he was, Envoy left his old life and name behind and jumped at the opportunity.

Waking on the first day of a shining new month, Envoy sighed and rolled over to look at the clock. It was just about seven in the morning. The anthro horse remembered a time he wouldn't even consider getting up before nine, which meant the chemical sleep was really doing its job well. He wouldn't have survived this long without it since now he operated with thirty-one hour days, nine days a week and no holidays or weekends bar downtime between his mistress' calls.

He'd never worked this hard in his life, and were it not for the daily dose of stims he'd be a ragged, tortured husk. And the physical aspects of his work didn't help any.

Now don't misunderstand. It wasn't unpleasant work exactly.

There was movement in the covers beside him. Envoy sat up as he watched a slender hand reach out groggily before letting taught, scaly fingers drift across the fur on his toned stomach. The sheets slid aside and revealing herself was Envoy's mistress.

The vyper were a naga-like race, mostly humanoid with an anthropomorphic torso, hooded cobra heads and long, powerful tails. They had taught, fit physiques that formed an entirely slender female figure. The entire race was female in fact, and how exactly reproduction worked, Envoy found himself so busy experiencing their prowess in the act he neglected to ask.

Standing at about eight feet in height, leaving in excess of about seven feet of tail gathered around her base, Nazrella was quite a bit taller than Envoy.

But she wasn't a butch giantess. She was not unlike the sizzling hot models and porn actresses Envoy once upon a time perved over on his computer, built slim and slender. Despite being clearly reptilian, she had breasts, ample tantalising mounds on her chest merely missing the pink fleshy nipples mammals would have. What purpose they served the little biologist in Envoy couldn't figure out. But then he didn't much care either, as in overall they added a more sexy curvature to his mistress' already perfect body.

Rolling onto his side, Envoy smiled and gently stroked a hand across the smooth curve of her wide hips. "Good morning, mistress."

The vyper's tongue flicked from her mouth as she smiled back, her wide enchanting eyes considering him with an air of enthusiasm. "Good morning, pet," she replied, her sultry voice best described as aural erotica. "I hope you slept well."

Her hand pressed firmly against his muscles before gliding downward. Finally, her fingers found their prize, softly enveloping the thick, hot shaft that was already poking out of his sheath.

"After what we did last night? I don't know how I couldn't sleep as soundly as I did."

She gently pushed herself up, beginning to tower over Envoy. "Good. Because I'm in the mood for a repeat performance."

"Anything for you, mistress."

Nazrella smiled, pinned her plaything to the bed and pressed her lips to his.

Envoy's new job was not unpleasant; it was just... strenuous. And it showed on Envoy's body.

He'd been a bit of a fat-body back in the day. He never really saw the need to take care of himself and had been a little chubby. His hair had never been combed in his life and he spent a lot of his time surfing internet porn while scarfing down Cheetos at mach-five. All he'd known about women back then was what they looked like. And even then it was just the women confident enough to slut up for a camera or twirl around poles.

Now Envoy was a different man. Twenty years old, he'd shed his body fat. There were layers of toned muscles lining his limbs and gut. His chestnut fur shimmered, clean and well kept. The dark brown hair fell in luxurious waves down to his shoulders and his eye seemed to shine like they were polished. Much of the new Envoy was thanks to the conveniences of modern Galactic Federation technology.

And then some of it had been Envoy's sheer will to please his mistress.

This was his life now, similar to the lives of thousands of other humans who had been moved into Galactic Federation space. Those who resisted the Galactic Empress' will were executed, as the gruelling 13-Hour War had shown. But those who bowed were rewarded with a life of servitude and some luxuries. Plenty of young terran men and women like Envoy now lived in the Galactic Federation society as servants, happy, safe and taken care of.

Breaking the kiss, Nazrella arched her back and gaped at the headboard. These past two years serving Nazrella, Envoy knew never to lay still and simply let his mistress do all the work. It was after all his job to pleasure her. So as they kissed his hands set to work.

He had begun by her neck, gently sliding his fingers down over her sleek scales and cupping her breasts. Massaging them with one hand, he prioritised his left to move down to her waist, slide over her hip and then work its way around the front. The key was not to move too fast. But at the same time, if he was too slow Nazrella would grow bored and as a result antsy.

Envoy had learned the correct speed, the correct rhythm for everything. Nazrella was a woman of simple tastes, they were just rather specific.

Envoy knew to squeeze her breasts hard as his right fingers felt the opening right where her pelvis and tail met down the front of her body. He knew to find the slitted opening and gently massage it open. When he felt moisture he knew it was time to move in slightly, to find that little pearl of flesh just above her now hot and drenched tunnel.

And the moment he found it, Nazrella lifted herself up, hissing with delight at the ceiling.

He pressed the issue. While his thumb massaged her clit in little, sensual circles, he slipped one finger into her drenched opening. The velvety walls parted to allow him access, then parted further for a second, then third finger.

Working his fingers in and out of her became a practiced wrist motion. But it wasn't long before Nazrella grew tired of this foreplay and hungry for the main event.

She rolled off him, the signal for Envoy to withdraw his fingers. And when he did she lay herself back on the bed. She kept her arms up around her head, bearing her fully naked form to his mercy.

"Enough teasing, Envoy." A wide smile spread across Nazrella's features as she waited eagerly. "You know what I like."

Envoy quickly rolled on top of her, obediently preparing himself. It didn't take a great amount of training to do as he was told. He was a man after all, and a gorgeous woman was telling him to mount her. There was no stopping him.

So with his hands pressed into the pillows beside her head, Envoy skilfully pitched his hips forward and with practiced ease lined his erection up with her sopping opening.

It was no mystery as to why Nazrella had purchased Envoy in particular, even though he hadn't been particularly handsome when originally on sale. Like the various close friends and relatives she had shared Envoy with, she had her quirks and likes, and subtle little things that brought her to a drooling orgasm. But by far, what Nazrella loved about her little pet, was his equine cock.

Woman of simple tastes, remember?

He pushed forward. Nazrella flexed with excitement under him until her body yielded. Her soft, scaly lips parted on both ends of the spectrum, one to let out a soft sight of pleasure, the other to let the thick terran shaft into her quivering canal of pleasure.

Envoy felt her flesh part and the wet heat slid over his cock's head before inching itself down his shaft. Each beautiful moment he savoured with joy until he was hilted with in her. The moment he struck home he could feel his mistress wrap her arms around his back and rake her nails through his fur.

He started from there, rolling his hips back and forth. Drawing back he slipped from his mistress' tight depth until the head nearly came out. Then after a second pause he would plunge back in all the way. His rhythm was one he'd practiced for a very long time. One Nazrella had tutored him on personally.

She no longer had to remind him to speed up or slow down anymore. He had it just right and never let her down.

It didn't take long for Nazrella to shudder with pleasure. Their morning sessions were never as extensive as night runs. Her mouth hung open and a thin line of drool ran down the corner of her mouth. Each thrust Envoy delved into her with let out a wet slap of his flesh on her sleek scales.

She dug in her nails. Her spine arched and snaked and the end of her tail coiled tightly on Envoy's ankle. One hand slid down his back and found his buttocks, urging him to thrust harder. It was a clear indication she was getting close.

Her walls tightened around him. Each time he drew back his shaft pulled a small membrane of pink flesh with it, standing out against her glistening tan scales.

Then, with the sweetest of moans she came. Fireworks exploded in her eyes as she threw her head back and her back lifted off the mattress. Her breasts squashed against Envoy's firm chest as he pushed in deep and held fast, despite every instinct in his body telling him to keep pounding. He had an arm around the back of her waist and he held her close as she rode through wave after wave of her orgasm. Nazrella's excitement already soaked his crotch and now her cum flowed freely past his cock and stained the mattress, small squirts dappling the duvet that lay bundled and forgotten to one side.

"Is my mistress satisfied?" Envoy panted, trying his best not to sound out of breath.

"I am," Nazrella said with a breathless smile, tenderly cupping his long face in her hands. "How about you, my pet? Are you close?"

Envoy simply nodded. He never imposed his own desires on her.

"Then by all means, Envoy. Finish inside me."

"You are too kind, mistress."

Before he could begin rolling his hips again, Nazrella giggled and coiled around him. In a single deft move like an experienced wrestler she had her toy flat on his back and propped herself up on her arms. Her body still impaled upon his erection, she smiled devilishly.

"I rather am, aren't it?"

Then with silky smoothness she started to move, caressingly riding up and down every glorious inch of cock that she and she alone owned. Her hips swayed back and forth as she rode, rising up to the point she nearly slipped off him, then after a pause she slid all the way back down, swallowing every bit of the thick meat. He could feel her squeeze as she rode him down to the base, clearly savouring the feeling of the median ring about halfway down his shaft plopping in and out of her drenched entrance.

When she rode up again, droplets of her arousal drooled down his shaft like condensation on a cold drink on a hot summer's day.

Finally as he lost count of how many times she rode up and down his length, Envoy could take no more. He clenched, but unlike before there was no stopping it. The dam broke, and he came hard. He came inside her, just as hard as last time. And the time before that.

He had never cum as hard in his own hand before the Galactic Federation took him away. Only when he was fucked by his mistress. Only Nazrella had ever made him cum so hard.

It was like a mighty geyser inside her - a force of nature. Nazrella clamped one hand on the headboard as if desperately hanging on for dear life. A powerful spurt straight up inside her the moment she hilted him for the final time of this session. His head pressed on her cervix and injected her with his seed, filling her to the brim with a glorious, warm, sticky torrent.

There was so much it was almost too much. Some of it leaked, spurted out between where her nether-lips were spread taught around the girth of his shaft. Bubbling and trickling, the creamy white cum ran down to catch on the fur on his balls while they churned, still throwing their contents up into his hungry mistress.

Eventually it all stopped and the ringing in Envoy's ears was replaced by the heavy breaths of Nazrella bearing down over him. Soothingly she kissed him on the lips.

"Good boy," she praised before slowly lifting off him. His head slid from her opening with a wet pop, and slowly his flaccid length, cold in the open air began to recede into his sheath.

They lay together for a good half an hour before Envoy slowly sat up and inspected the bed. Wet, slimy patches were rife across the sheets. That would not do.

"I'll clean this, mistress," Envoy assured, drawing a nod from Nazrella.

As the young equine went to dress, the vyper slithered out of bed and stretched with cat-like grace. She coiled up in front of the boudoir on one side of her room and began polishing her scales with care.

Envoy busied himself with stripping the bed and clothing his body. His attire was typical of a carnal servant. Simple fatigues that were cheap to manufacture, but showed off his assets for the public to enjoy. The black trousers had a sleek straight leg fit that made an emphasis on the bulge at his crotch and the ends tucked into a pair of flat soled boots that auto-laced around his ankles. The shirt was a shade of purple that would be at home in a hooker's boudoir - advertising his status as someone's and had an auto-zip down the front. It closed right up the turtle-neck wrapped around his throat and the attire seemed to re-fit, tightening around his arms, shoulders and torso.

That was it. Shirt, pants and shoes. No underwear, no socks, no thermal layers over the top. The fatigues were so light it was like he wore nothing at all. Then considering he was a glorified sex-toy, perhaps that was the point.

Dressed, he dismissed himself from Nazrella's bedroom to see to his chores. But as he left, he felt he left a part of himself behind. These two years had been a roller-coaster of emotions. Some nights he lay awake wondering what would have happened if only he ran harder when the Galactic Federation synthetics came to get him. He wondered what would have happened if he refused to become a carnal servant.

What if he disobeyed and fought his mistress from the start?

The thoughts of regret terrified him. He lived to serve Nazrella. Serving her completed him. He always ended up taking his stims and sleeping soundly. Then in the morning, all the feelings of regret simply vanished. Like he had never been up at all with his mind racing.

The thing he hated more than those times he waited for his stims to kick in was whenever his chores took him away from Nazrella. The house servants were busy enough, so Envoy took it upon himself to do his own laundry, sometimes if they made a particularly big mess Envoy would even clean the sheets himself. But it was not the tasks he hated doing, it was his separation from his mistress that pained him. Were it up to him, were it even physically possible, he would spend every moment, waking and otherwise, basking in her presence.

She was... like something. Like something he'd known of while on Terra, something he'd never dared try... he'd forgotten the word already. Not that it mattered. He didn't even consider Terra home anymore.

This was home. This was where he belonged.

When Envoy finished the laundry he headed back up to the bedroom. It took some time, the Nazrella estate was a sprawling residence. It was warmly decorated, kept spick and span by an assortment of servant aliens, not only terrans. No other vyper though, Nazrella's children were all grown up and living in their own estates.

Marvelling at the rich, sleek vyper architecture as he always did, Envoy crossed the hall outside his mistress' bedroom. The runner carpet running down the centre of the wooden floor muffled his footsteps until he reached the door. In essence the panel was a paper-thin sheet, decorated with colourful splashes that were alien patterns pleasing to the vyper eye. Envoy would have been able to hear through it, but he heard all the more clearly as the door stood half open.

Walking up and putting his hand on the wooden frame he peered inside, hearing his mistress speak with a voice he had not heard before.

Nazrella stood by her boudoir, the mirror glass having faded away and given way to a holo-board displaying the face of another vyper on the vid-link. "The office of war consultants has been dissolved, mei-mei. I am retired."

The vyper in the vid-link nodded. She wore the cap and uniform of a general in the Galactic Federation military. Envoy recognised the markings. Nazrella had taught them to him to sate his curiosity. She too had once been in a branch of the military, an office that specialised in advanced warfare tactics.

"And I fear I may have to ask you to come out of retirement to assist in the matter," the other vyper said.

"I think you underestimate how much I am enjoying retirement."

There was a chuckle on the vid-link and the general looked away for a moment. "This Terra business is making us look rather foolish. Will you think it over? Come to the ball at the empress' palace tomorrow night and see me in person. We can discuss it further in detail, and perhaps I may be able to pique your interest."

Nazrella smiled. "Perhaps you might. I will see you at the ball then."

"Very good. Servants serve you well, mei-mei."

"And you, mei-mei."

Nazrella had barely closed the vid-link when her carnal servant slid the door aside fully.

Eagerly Envoy stepped forward and announced himself. "If you are to go to the empress' ball, mistress, you would look ravenous in your red dress. Shall I have it cleaned for you, mistress?"

Nazrella turned her head looking visibly startled and Envoy realised his mistake. He immediately pinned is ears back and bowed his head.

"Oh, mistress please forgive me. I was not eavesdropping, I merely..."

The vyper's expression had long since softened and she smiled, slowly sliding closer with a seductive sway of her hips. She silenced her plaything with a finger on his lips, gently shushing him like a mother cooing to a baby.

"It is alright, Envoy. So long as you hide nothing from me, I have nothing to hide from you." She gently pressed his head to her bosom to comfort the equine, cheering him right up. "You think I would look ravenous in red, do you?"

Looking up, Envoy smiled meekly "Would I lie to you, mistress?"

"Hmmm." Nazrella smiled coyly as she slid her fingers down his body and felt a shaft of hardening meat expand between her fingers. Clearly he was imagining her dressed in red.

Turning, she nudged the flared head of his now erect cock with her hip and slithered towards the bed. Lounging across it, the vyper lay in a way that put an emphasis on the slender curvature of her body. She rested her head in one hand and narrowed her eyes seductively. "Bring me my red dress so you can show me exactly how good you think I look in it."

If his excited run towards the closet was anything to go by, the cleaners would have their work cut out for them if she wanted to wear that dress tomorrow night.

~~~~

// Terra, Sol System.

The saucer was like something out of a cheap 60's science fiction flick. A featureless flying disk with a bulge of silvery material on top that must have served as a cockpit of sorts. Lights dotted the outside and gave the only indication of how the saucer turned while it flew.

How the crew were able to operate without getting dizzy was a mystery Buster put off for another time. For now, he had other worries to focus on.

Lowering his head behind the rubble, the teenager waited for the saucer's spotlights to glide further down the decayed street before he popped up again and glanced at his fellows. They were teenagers like him, all eighteen years old and dressed in dark clothes with tactical gear that didn't look quite right on them.

Buster looked to Slick in particular and remembered exactly why they called him that.

Slick seemed to fit into his tactical gear just right. After all, he had several more years' experience wearing it than the others thanks to an avid obsession with playing airsoft. It seemed all the hours and euros he'd sunk into his hobby finally paid off in a practical way. But not only did that make him a valuable operator on the field, it made him a valuable armourer and gear-guru, having attained an encyclopaedia of surprisingly useful useless tactical and arms-related information for no other reason than 'it interested me.'

The human wore a pair of hiking boots with dark grey cargo pants. Affixed to his right hip was a holster holding his pistol in place, next to which were various other pouches for gear and ammunition. Over his top he wore a black soft-shell jacket and he kept his customised AR-15 carbine tucked against his shoulder, the aggressive looking wire-cutter keymod front rail wedged between two pieces of rubble for stability. The weapon looked to have been painted in a distressed woodland paint job at one point, but the paint had mostly rubbed off and faded with use, speaking in volumes of how much he used it.

Finally, with just a bandana around his neck and a baseball cap on his head, the teenager kept things 'high speed, low drag,' earning his nickname 'Slick.'

The others wore similar attire. Jeans or cargo bottoms with sturdy shoes or boots and thick sweaters or jackets staving off the damp autumn cold. Some of the anthros wore belt pouches and backpacks as per Slick's example, while others opted for tac-vests and chest-rigs to carry their gear. Some wore combat helmets they had found, and every one of them was armed with enough ammo to conduct an impressive gunfight.

Touching the pistol affixed to his leg, Buster drummed the holster with his fingers thoughtfully. The Galactic Federation knew as well as he did that they needed supplies in order to survive. Which explained the sweeping saucer patrols all over the Monster Mart just down the road.

It wasn't just aerial patrols filling the moonless night sky either. There were barricades set up in the parking lot and alien foot patrols surrounded the building. The Monster Mart supermarket had been turned into a tactical position hiding months' worth of food and medical supplies within.

Food and medical supplies Buster and his peeps needed.

"Looks dicey," Slick commented, pressing his rifle-mounted night scope to his eye. "I count three saucers and twenty synths on the deck. Two longshots on the roof and who knows how many of them are inside."

"What are they packing?" Beside Slick a girl attempted to peer through her sniper scope but she seemed to be having trouble focusing in the poor light. After a while she just canted her rifle to one side to keep the aliens downrange sighted through the offset iron sights.

"Air guns and tasers." Slick handed his rifle to the girl for her to take a look, then looked at Buster. "The gear-heads know we need food and shit. They're expecting us to hit them. And when we do they'll dart us and cart us."

Buster flashed his friend a toothy grin. The anthro tiger wasn't one to back down from a challenge, least of all now, just moments from executing days of planning and preparation. "C'mon, man. I thought you had moves?"

"I have got moves. I'm just saying, my awesomeness is a little outmatched here."

"Well then the rest of us are going to have to pull our weight."

"Yup, I'm fucked."

All joking aside, Slick knew as well as Buster that a resistance movement needed clothing, feeding, hydrating and taking care of. A few kids in their group were running low on asthma inhalers and the babies needed formula. They'd scavenged all the other smaller supermarket chains in Haven city already. Monster Mart was one of eight larger supermarkets, all of which were heavily guarded by the Galactic Federation like they knew Da Cubz would have to hit them eventually.

They could risk searching abandoned houses and apartments instead, but most of the time they just came away with some scraps of tinned food - they barely ever got a hold of the many other supplies they desperately needed.

There was no choice. They were out of time. They were hitting Monster Mart tonight. It was do or die.

Luckily though, 'Da Cubz' were too stubborn to die.

"C'mon, let's get this over with," Buster whispered scrambling backwards down the rubble of what used to be an apartment block.

Without any complaints, the eleven other teenagers followed him down and quietly crept over the ruins of their world.

Two years ago everyone on Terra was touched by the 13-Hour War one way or another. It was an aptly named battle.

Death rained down on Terra in troves. Nowhere was safe. Adults were the first targets. Millions died in the first minutes. Even would be looters hunkered indoors, praying they were safe behind locked doors.

They weren't.

In thirteen hours it was over, the opening chemical attack killing anyone older than eighteen years old, leaving the supposedly helpless children and teenagers to be rounded up. Human, anthro, it didn't matter who you were. Past discriminations lay forgotten as the Fed synths swept in and started darting and carting everything that moved.

But what the Galactic Federation did not realise was that terrans were a very stubborn race. Thus Da Cubz were formed.

Skirra had become the new Mecca of revolution with word spreading quickly over radio waves and the slivers of internet still live. Groups of young ones braved frigid Atlantic waters and Galactic Federation patrols to reach the island where the high-schoolers from the city of Haven had taken the first step in fighting back against the invaders. Word had it small pockets of resistance were springing up across the globe as well, following their example.

Those first few months had been easy and Da Cubz had racked up an impressive body count. The Galactic Federation had not expected resistance while they mopped up the remnants of children left over after the 13-Hour War.

Now however things were getting dicey as the Galactic Federation were taking the young resistance groups more seriously. They still hadn't escalated to using lethal weapons on them yet, but they had stepped up their aggression game.

They weren't the only ones. Months ago Buster never would have dared to strike such a fortified target.

But desperate times and all that.

So the desperate teenagers scrambled back up the rubble hill. Only instead of packing their rifles and machine guns, each of them was holding an RPG launcher; the simple kind of launch tube with the massive rocket on the muzzle you'd commonly see in video games or military movies being used by insurgents or terrorists.

"One to three," Buster announced, angling his RPG upward. "Pick your targets..." he paused to line up the shot then squeezed the trigger.

"FIRE!"

Three plumes of smoke and fire blew up a cloud of dust and debris behind the teenagers. In response three rockets streaked into the sky. The first hit was echoed by two more explosions as the three saucers went up in flame. Buster's kill split in half, the two halves of the saucer turning into deadly pinwheels of death that fell onto the Monster Mart car park and flattened an array of barricades the Fed synthetics had set up.

The other two saucers were thrown off course. One skimmed the far corner of the building's rooftop before ploughing into the overgrown treeline that was a flanking public park. The final saucer evaporated as a series of secondary and tertiary explosions tore the flier apart from the inside, raining a haze of smoke and shrapnel across the stunned synths.

The explosions lit up the night sky like a volley of fireworks. The light show was easily seen from a kilometre away as it lit up the skyline. Easy for Da Cubz long range team to realise things were kicking off.

"Four to twelve, shift fire down and fire at will!" Buster barked.

Slick's was the first of the other launchers to fire. Nine rockets streaked from their position and hit the car park between the clusters of synthetics. One was blown completely apart, raining its fellows with what must have been a visceral scene for a robot.

Slick's rocket bounced on the tarmac and clipped one of the synthetic soldiers before exploding, knocking down two others.

The moment of reprieve as Da Cubz dropped the empty launchers and went for their primary weapons ended with a whistle and a bang.

A plume of smoke and debris ignited in the midst of the car park, and when the air cleared a broken crater surrounded by mechanical viscera was revealed. The first shot was followed up by three more detonations following the whistle of mortar rounds raining from the sky.

Each explosion left another crater in the car park and blew apart clusters of synths running for cover. One lifted what looked to be a quadrotor drone above its head and threw it into the air. The rotors spun up and plucked the drone out of its fall before the device gained altitude in order to search for the mortar team harassing their position.

"Slick, take that drone out!" Buster ordered.

The human was all over it. Peering through his scope, he sighted the drone and let lose a single shot that burst from the AR-15 barrel with a 'pop!' The drone sparked, bobbed sideways then went crashing to the deck.

The synth who had launched it watched it drop, processed the situation then brought up a rifle which pointed in Slick's direction. The mechanical warrior had already calculated the range and windage adjustments a shooter would have had to make to take that shot, observed the direction the drone veered before it crashed and zeroed in on the human's position. A quick thermal scan confirmed twelve hot bodies hidden in the rubble directly ahead and the synthetic was beaming contact report to a shared wave between the other synths on station.

The upload was about three-percent done when all of the robot's hard processing work was wasted when a mortar shell landing directly on its head.

Buster allowed himself a grin as that drone controller exploded. The mortar crew didn't let up, decimating the Galactic Federation opposition while at the same time being careful not to strike the Monster Mart or his position. He had three flare guns on his person to communicate with the mortar team, red flares to hold fire and yellow and green flares to indicate whether they should shift fire left and right respectively. Of course this limited his ability to direct their fire, but Da Cubz didn't have access to radios. The radio waves would be too easily intercepted by the Feds, bringing saucer gunships down on their heads in moments.

So Buster relied entirely on the mortar team's wits, which turned out to be razor sharp. They'd done their calculations correctly, used range-finders to get the angle of their mortar tubes just right and they had scouted accurate scale maps of the Monster Mart car park so they could fire blind with reasonable accuracy.

As always, the guys and gals to his left and right were doing Buster proud. They had adapted to this new world, turned from angsty kids throwing tantrums because their parents wouldn't buy them the new iPhone into unsuspecting angels of death.

"Light 'em up!"

Da Cubz overlooking the car park lined up their guns and fired. Pops of gunfire were followed by the cracks of bullets breaking open synthetic shells and fizzing through combat-hardened circuitry. The teenagers kept their shots disciplined as well. Each of them had learned the hard way only to shoot at what they could hit. Their guns stuck to semi-automatic, even the few carrying the iconic AK-47 assault rifles most insurgents never realised had a semi-automatic setting.

Their ammo, not even just their armour piercing ammo, would not last forever, so Da Cubz made each shot count. But at the same time they couldn't take their time. They had a matter of minutes before the Fed neighbours circled in to see what all the noise was about.

Buster rolled onto his back and fired his red flare gun into the sky. A crimson sun lit up the night air and the whistling of falling mortar rounds stopped abruptly. The last two bombs that were still arching through the sky impacted and exploded, turning the thunder of war into sporadic pops of gunfire.

The girl with the sniper scope on her rifle kept the weapon canted to one side and put a round through the head of the last synth still standing... well, crawling. A few weeks ago Blitz had neglected to put down a crippled synth and it had nearly torn her leg off. She was clearly not going to be making the same mistake again.

"Up and over," Buster ordered dropping his flare gun before the others could call out an all-clear report. "Every second counts!"

Slick was the first one up, having anticipated the order, and with his gun pointed skyward and the stock tucked under his arm the human vaulted over the rubble he used for cover.

"Race 'ya to the candy aisle!"

Blitz scrambled over after him. "You're on!"

Guns at the ready but not quite aiming, Da Cubz sprinted across the parking lot, weaving between craters and debris as well as the odd barricade still standing. They cleared the two hundred or so metres in less than a minute, Buster counting down every blessed second they weren't blind-sided by a patrolling saucer. They were making good time. Better time than Buster had initially thought they'd make.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be a price for their progress.

The glass front of Monster Mart exploded outward and several synths who had sheltered inside marched out, their air rifles firing from the hip. Alien tranquiliser darts zipped past Da Cubz as they dropped to the deck and slid into craters or behind barricades. Slick and Blitz fell in behind a stack of sand bags and Buster dropped to the deck behind a low concrete barrier as one of the darts cracked off his helmet.

The three synths broke cover and marched boldly towards the cowering teenagers who knew the price of getting hit by one of those darts. Buster had seen too many fellows fall only to be scooped up by the Galactic Federation recovery teams and carted off to God only knew where. As opposed to the adults the Feds decimated in the 13-Hour War, they wanted the children alive. Buster wasn't too keen on finding out first hand why.

Rolling onto his side, the tiger cupped a hand around his mouth and called out to the duo who bumped off to one side while the others ran up the middle. He'd anticipated something like this might happen and he was blessed to have a team that remembered the plans and contingency plans Buster came up with before executing an operation like this.

"Pester! Now!"

Having already crawled into cover on the flank, an anthro tabby cat - Pester - and his assistant gunner - an anthro pig with uneven tufts of blond hair on his head called Stitch - popped up hefting their support guns. Both kids carried SAWs, aptly named machine guns in Buster's opinion as they tended to cut down enemies and foliage like a saw.

They had figured out to how to make simple ammo for their guns a while back and could mass produce replacement bullets, but they were nowhere near as effective as the military grade bullets Da Cubz scavenged from the Haven Military Barracks in the entrepreneurial months of their insurgency. But the SAWs were able to make up for poor ammo quality with sheer volume.

Their guns propped onto the concrete barrier they used for cover, Pester and Stitch fired and didn't stop. The range between them and the offending synthetics was single digit metres and their friends were all in hard cover, so the duo didn't bother aiming. They just pull the trigger and sprayed in the general direction of the alien robots.

Rounds sparked all across their armoured hulls and they turned to face the new threat. But while they were well enough protected, they were being spammed by dozens upon dozens of rounds without a break in sight.

The first two synths were overwhelmed in the opening salvo. They swatted at the sparks erupting over their skin for a moment, then each fell to the ground having an electronic seizure. The third was torn limb from limb as the machine gunners focused their fire, turning it into the robotic equivalent of street pizza.

The entrance clear, Da Cubz packed it in again and breached the Monster Mart.

Keeping his compact little tactical AK-74U shouldered, Buster swept in one direction while Slick watched his back, sweeping the opposite direction. The trademark wood furnishings on Buster's Kalashnikov were replaced with black synthetic ABS-like materials. Picatinny rails were mounted on the front with a reflex sight stuck on the top and a vertical grip underneath, the lit tac-light on one side illuminating the dark interior of the supermarket.

They both scanned across bargain bins and abandoned check outs before lowering the rifles.

Buster remembered coming here years ago. It used to be a regular haunt for him and his buddies during lunch break when they were still going to school. Back when life was simpler. Back when - as he realised now - when he was a bit of a jerk. He was sure Slick still remembered those days vividly too.

"Well this brings up sucky memories," Slick commented, beating Buster to the punch.

"Beat me by like five seconds." Lowering his Kalashnikov he waved the others inside and indicated they split into their assigned groups. "Blitz, take your peeps and grab food. Pester, you and the guys are on extras duty. We need clothes, blankets, extra odds 'n ends, all that shit."

"On it."

"Got it, boss."

As they were moving off with their groups to see to their assigned tasks, Buster waved Slick over. "We're raiding the pharmacy."

Slick nodded and went to follow as Buster ran to the back of the supermarket, but was topped by a slender hand on his shoulder. Turning he saw Blitz holding him up.

Their resident marksman was a bit of a tomboy. The anthro tiger shark had sandy coloured skin with black-brown stripes across the top of her snout, neck, and word had it they ran right down her back. She had a lean, leggy figure hidden under layers of baggy clothing and a chest-rig holding magazines and other fighting equipment across her front.

She didn't wear a helmet or hat, revealing her metallic purple dyed hair, cut short. Though considering how unevenly it was cut the description 'butchered short' would be more apt.

She wasn't a big girl, having only about an inch on Slick and built just as lean, but in the low light she was still pretty intimidating. Slick figured it had something to do with those alluringly slanted violet eyes... that and a mouth full of pointed teeth.

"Hey, Slick. Will you grab some loot for me?"

He usually wasn't one to deviate from Buster's pre-set plans, but for Blitz he usually tried to make an exception. "What do you need?"

"Condoms. Morning after pills. Pregnancy tests too, if you can get them."

Slick raised an eyebrow. "Saywhat now?"

"Suture asked me to grab them, but I'm not on pharmacy duty," Blitz explained. "Do me this solid? Please?"

Slick wasn't sure. On the one hand he didn't want to say no to his friend, but on the other hand... "Buster is gonna freak if he sees me pack that kind of scav. You know the rules."

"I know. That's why I trust you'll be discreet?"

The human gnashed his teeth with frustration, then looked out to the burning car park. They were losing time. There was no time for a socio-political debate. He gave in and nodded. "I'll do it."

He ran in the direction Buster went before Blitz could thank him. He didn't want to hear the gratification that bumped him higher on one friend's list while his actions might remove him from another friend's list entirely.

Turning a corner, Slick moved to the pharmacy recessed into a cove at the back of the supermarket. Buster was already there, his backpack open as he started scavenging supplies.

"What took you so long?" Buster asked while shovelling loot into his backpack.

"All this running gave me a stitch," he lied.

Slick jumped the pharmacy counter and started picking prescription inhalers and other meds from the list he'd written on his hand. he stuck as close to the list as he could, then shoved some extra stuff that looked useful into his backpack.

As Buster packed in some baby formula, Slick crept over to the adult products aisle and sighted what Suture had sent Blitz to fetch. He wasted no time in - as quietly as he could - piling several boxes of contraceptives and nearly a dozen pregnancy tests into his bag. He felt awful going behind his friend's back like this and partially figured he deserved to be caught and chewed out by Buster.

Meanwhile the anthro tiger stood on his tip toes to look over the top of the aisles to spot Slick's head. "What are you doing over there?"

Slick stepped out, his bag shouldered and holding a tube of KY jelly. "We're almost out of gun grease. Thought I'd try this out as a replacement."

Walking over, Buster frowned and took the tube from him. "We're not that desperate yet." He tossed the tube then beckoned Slick to follow.

They'd spent enough time scavenging. The others were probably wrapping up now too. It had been five minutes since the firefight at the front door. The Feds were going to call round any second now.

Buster was once again blessed by his strike team. They all gathered at the pre-arranged rendezvous point by the doors leading into the back of the supermarket at the right time. Blitz and Pester's teams were wheeling shopping trolleys they'd 'liberated' and had piled the carts high with supplies.

Monster Mart had just experienced a fire-sale the likes of which it had never before seen. Da Cubz were more relentless than Black Friday shoppers.

They'd done their jobs perfectly, although Pester had been a little more liberal with the interpretation of his job than the others.

Pester's cart had a baseline of clothes, blankets and several large packs of nappies for Da Cubz's youngest members waiting back home. But piled on top was an assortment of bottles containing spirits, top-shelf wines and craft beers.

Slick gaped at it, picking up one of the blood red bottles. "Why would you only grab a dozen packs of nappies and twenty litres of alcohol?"

Pester laughed as if that was a stupid question. "Why else? 'Cuz we're gonna get riggedy-wrecked, son!"

Slick looked expectantly to their leader. "How are you not okay with grabbing KY jelly, but perfectly okay with this?"

Buster scoffed. "Trust me, I'm furious right now, and it doesn't help that I'm armed too. No time to take it back though. We'll trade this scav with Callie's Settlement for something useful."

Pester's expression dropped. "Aww, what?"

At the same time, Blitz was chuckling at Slick. "What the hell was the lube for?"

"Oh, wouldn't you just love to know?"

Focus on the situation at hand spiralled out of control from there. Several of the teenagers started laughing or calling dibs on items in their carts.

Buster sighed with a roll of his eyes and fired a shot into the ceiling to get everyone's attention. "Docking bay," he pointed out, his voice serious now. "Move it."

With a frustrated sigh Pester redirected the trolley that would force a devout AA member off the wagon and they moved through the store rooms in the back. It was weird moving around the back there. Two years ago they weren't allowed to just wander around the staff only areas. Now Buster and his friends could technically do whatever they wanted, go wherever they wanted.

They didn't though. They still had an alien invasion to fight. But if they ever kicked the Feds off Terra there might be time for a never ending party. Something to look forward to.

For now though, Buster focused on making sure they all lived long enough to see that day.

Side by side, Buster and Slick busted down the back door and stepped onto the loading dock around the back of Monster Mart. This was where the trucks would have normally rolled in to make deliveries or pickups. But at the moment it was abandoned. The sliding gate cordoning off the restricted area was closed and there were no synth guards to be seen.

Moving his eye from the night scope, Slick gave Buster a nod, who in turn waved the others forward. As Buster was helping them wheel the trolleys onto the tarmac, Slick cleared the courtyard and grabbed the gate, forcing it aside. It was a slow process, and he was grunting like a weight-lifting competitor but slowly and surely the heavy electronic gate rolled aside, the gears and wheels squealing as they fought the human for every inch.

When her trolley was secured in place with the others, Blitz ran over and threw her rifle in its sling to help the human. Buster moved over slowly, only instead of helping he moved out of the gateway and flashed his tac-light down the street.

Two flashes for all clear.

Four sets of headlights flicked on and a quad of trucks easily mistaken for abandoned and stripped vehicles shuddered to life. The drivers kicked them into gear and they raced over, slipping into the loading dock and idling beside the loaded shopping trolleys. Each of the drivers hopped out and quickly helped their peeps load the loot onto the flat beds.

As they were loading up, Slick stood separate by the dock entrance. Someone had to keep watch. This was the most dangerous part of a mission, the time where you thought you were home free. The extraction phase was never as simple as flipping your enemy the bird and banging out.

Case and example...

Slick turned just in time to see movement in the shadows, just down the road. He barely got his rifle light up by the time it launched forward and clocked him.

The synth was wounded, missing an arm and several of its armoured plates, but it was effective enough to swipe Slick's gun away and lift him into the air by his collar. The human immediately felt like the victim of a bigger, stronger bully. And technically, that's what the Galactic Federation synthetics were.

From a distance it was hard to make out all of the details that made up a synth's appearance. But it was with the synthetic right in his face that Slick remembered that synths didn't have details.

They were generalised bipedal automatons with sleek white exterior casing made of an alloy Da Cubz hadn't figured out how to smelt down just yet. The breaks of armour plating at the joints revealed the servos and complicated looking cabling within the robotic creature.

Their first assumption had been that whatever alien had created the synths as their primary military force were likely bipeds like the terrans. That assumption had proven wrong when Da Cubz realised the synths were being made to represent terrans. Some had a bulky adult male shape to them. Others had the adult feminine curves. Some had mechanical tails, some looked pretty much human. A lot of them were shaped to resemble anthros. Were it not for the blank canvas like exterior each of them would be as individual and unique as terrans naturally were.

They were a psych out as well as a fighting force, no doubt made to resemble terrans so they were either more approachable if you wanted to surrender, or harder to kill if you decided to fight. God knew Slick had difficulty pulling that trigger the first time he stood nose to nose with a synth.

That felt like a lifetime ago though. And he'd learned his lessons since.

Crying out, Slick locked a hand around the synth's wrist while his free hand darted for his pistol. The Glock 17 was firing from the moment it cleared the holster, working his shots up along the battered chest plate of the robot. Each round flattened into the alloy but did not pierce, leaving a trail of twisted copper and lead buttons until his fourth shot slammed home on the synth's exposed throat.

Two follow-up taps tore through tubing and hydraulics, spraying the dock with fluids and sparking electronics, making the synthetic's head wobble grotesquely as its grip on the boy loosened. The synth dropped to the ground a moment later, making a squealing noise before it died a slow, noisy, peasant's death. It flopped to the ground with a clang as Slick climbed unsteadily to his feet.

"Okay... so that... was fucking awful..." he said between heavy breaths.

Spotting Blitz before she leapt off the truck to go to Slick, Buster stepped in and yanked his friend towards the vehicles. There was no time for any of them to lick their wounds or hug it out.

"Bitch about it in your own time. We're leaving." He vaulted into the back of one truck then turned and helped Slick up.

When they were secure, Buster punched the roof of the vehicle twice, then signalled the other drivers to rally up. With the grinding of gears and clutches, the trucks jolted off, tires squealing on the tarmac.

Sitting down among their 'groceries,' Buster felt Slick punch him on the arm. Looking he saw the human pointing at the Monster Mart car park as they sped by, a wide smile plastered across his face. Buster followed his friend's finger and got a good view of the destruction and chaos they had wrought in ten minutes flat.

It kind of scared him how good at this they had gotten.

"Tonight was totally fucking operator. You think the Feds are gonna be upset with us for that?" Slick asked.

Despite himself, Buster smiled at the burning wrecks that used to be Galactic Federation property and bumped fists with his human buddy. "Fuck 'em!"

The terrans were not going to go down easy. This was one fight the alien scumbags were going to regret picking.