Chapter Four — Sudden Death, A.T.L.A.S
Sam narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly as he stared deeper into the rift.
The silhouette within the darkness was clearer now.
Too clear.
It shifted—slow, deliberate—its outline scraping against the very surface of the tear as it paused just shy of stepping through. Sam's pupils dilated as his gaze traced the edges of the shape, trying—and failing—to make sense of what he was seeing.
Beside him, Serena stiffened.
Her fingers trembled around the knife in her grip, knuckles whitening as her mind betrayed her. The image surged back without mercy—the reporter's scream, the blur of motion, the wet, tearing sound that followed.
Her breathing hitched.
"Serena," Sam said quietly, never taking his eyes off the rift.
She didn't answer.
Suddenly—
A massive hand burst through the tear.
The living room shook as claws dug into the air itself, the rift stretching violently around thick, green flesh. Veins bulged across the limb, muscles knotting like coiled rope beneath rough skin.
With a brutal wrench, the creature forced its way through.
Its full body followed a heartbeat later.
ROAR!!!
The sound slammed into the room like a physical force. Glass rattled. The floor vibrated beneath Sam's feet.
It was an orc.
At least, that was the closest word Sam's mind could grasp.
The creature stood a little over seven feet tall, its body a mass of brutal, compact muscle. Thick green skin stretched over bulging veins, power coiling beneath every movement. Two predatory yellow eyes glowed from either side of its face, set at an unnatural angle that made its stare deeply unsettling.
Its mouth parted as it roared again, revealing thick, uneven fangs—too large, too numerous—built less for tearing and more for crushing.
Its legs were like tree trunks, feet cracking the tiled floor as it fully planted itself into the room.
In one hand, it gripped a massive bone club—crude, jagged, stained dark with something Sam didn't want to think about.
The orc's gaze locked onto them, glowing with barely restrained murderous intent.
A low growl rumbled from its throat.
Sam's grip tightened around the knife. His heart hammered, instincts screaming at him to move—to do something. His mind tore through every drill, every technique, every half-remembered fight.
I can take it… right?
I just need to—
The rift rippled again.
Sam's blood ran cold.
Three more figures stepped through the tear, one after another, their massive frames forcing the rift wider with each step.
ROAR!!!
Their combined roar filled the house, vibrating through the walls.
Serena sucked in a sharp breath, frozen in place. Her lips trembled as barely audible words slipped out.
"Red demon… green demon…"
The orcs didn't waste a second. The first lunged at Sam, swinging its bone club with brutal precision. Sam barely jumped back just as the floor cracked beneath the blow. The other three followed suit, roaring, charging, knocking aside anything on their path.
Just then—
A sudden hum cut through the tension.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't violent.
But it didn't belong.
The sound deepened, resonating through the walls, the ceiling—through the house itself. Above them, the ceiling split open with a smooth mechanical glide, revealing a circular lens descending silently, its surface glowing with soft blue light.
At the same time, a calm female voice filled the room.
Emotionless. Precise.
"Threat detected."
The orcs paused, low growls rumbling as their eyes flicked upward.
"Classification in progress… activating weapon systems."
Panels slid open along the walls. The floor beside the creatures cracked—not from impact, but from design—as mounted mechanisms rose into place. Barrels extended. Frames locked. Systems aligned.
Weapons.
Dozens of them—each a bizarre, futuristic contraption—rose and angled inward.
They surrounded the orcs in a perfect ring.
Sam could only stare, eyes wide, as a whisper slipped from his lips.
"…what the fuck?"
The hum intensified.
The barrels began to glow.
Then—
Bang!!!
Beams of blue light erupted from the mounted barrels, streaking through the air at silent, devastating speed.
For a fraction of a second, nothing happened.
Then heads exploded.
Green blood and fragments of bone burst outward in violent sprays. Brain matter splattered against the walls. Chunks of flesh rained down across the living room floor.
One splatter struck the edge of Serena's clothes.
She froze.
The orcs never had time to scream.
Their massive bodies collapsed almost simultaneously, boneless and broken, weapons clattering uselessly from limp hands.
Silence fell.
A heartbeat passed.
Then—
"Ahh…"
The sound slipped from Serena—too small to be a scream, too broken to be a word. Sam flinched, the shock snapping him out of his stupor.
"Serena—!"
She staggered, knees buckling. Sam caught her instinctively, pulling her back against his chest as she retched. Her body shook violently, breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
"I—I—" she choked. "They're dead… Sam, they're—"
Sam swallowed hard.
His own hand trembled as he wiped his face. When he pulled it away, his palm was slick—green blood, bits of flesh, things he refused to name.
His stomach twisted.
"What…" His voice came out hoarse. "What the hell was that?"
The house answered him.
"Neutralization complete."
Sam went still.
Slowly, he lifted his head, eyes tracking upward toward the hovering lens.
"…ATLAS?" he said, though it sounded more like a question.
The lens rotated slightly, the blue glow dimming to a softer hue.
"Yes, Master Sam."
His jaw clenched.
Serena's fingers dug into his arm. "You—" his voice shook. "Since when could you do that?"
"I was created for this scenario," ATLAS replied evenly. "Obviously, my defensive parameters include an automated weapon system."
Sam stared. "Then how come I—no. We don't know this?"
"You never asked."
Silence.
—It lingered for exactly half a second.
"The hell—"
"I was instructed to intervene only if one of two conditions were met," ATLAS continued.
Sam frowned. "Which were?"
"One," ATLAS said, "a confirmed existential threat to the occupants of this residence."
Sam's gaze flicked briefly to the headless bodies littering the floor.
"…And two?"
There was a pause.
Brief. Measured.
"In the event of your parents' failure," ATLAS said. "At which point I am to escort you to the underground facility beneath the residence."
Sam went still.
"…failure?" he repeated quietly. "What do you mean failure?"
"Further clarification requires your presence in the underground facility."
Sam laughed under his breath—short and hollow. "Of course it does."
He looked down at Serena. Pale. Shaking. Still staring wide eyed at the corpses.
"Hey," he shook her softly. "Stay with me."
She nodded, barely.
Sam looked back up.
"…ATLAS?"
"Yes, Master Sam."
"Lead the way," A pause. "And please make sure nothing else comes through that rift. Not tonight."
The lens glowed faintly brighter.
"Confirmed."
Sam nodded, then turned to take one last look at the rift—
and froze.
He gently eased Serena from his grasp and took a stiff step toward the fallen orcs on the floor.
For a long moment, he simply stared.
Behind him, ATLAS remained silent. Serena watched his back, unease crawling up her spine—half-expecting the demons to rise again.[1]
Then Sam spoke, voice low.
"Is that…"
[1] They are NOT actually demons.