The Turning Point
It's been four months since life on other planets has been discovered. Of course, we learned this through an alien invasion by the Centrons, centaur-like creatures with six fingers and advanced tech. Strangely enough, the first target was not our military, or our food supply; they targeted the world's communication experts, then the scientists. Over 90% of the world's leading scientists have been killed, and pretty much anyone that had a communication job is dead. After that they killed the Wi-Fi and our cell signal. Long range radio waves were jammed, internet taken down, but our hardline phones remain. The forces here in Los Angeles had all communication cut off from the rest of the world, but can communicate within the city is because of boosters for short-range radios that I built. I'm still working on reception in L.A.'s Topanga Canyon, though.
Really, building stuff and scavenging is the only way for me to help out in this war. I even set up a few home bases for myself around L.A. county. After Los Angeles fell, my dad has been leading the resistance to take back the city. His motivation: the fact that my mom, a military doctor, was killed by the Centrons Their high tech armor makes most small arms useless. That doesn't matter to my dad though, he'll just keep shooting the same exact area over and over until the bullet goes through. Or knife them till they die. Everyone at the military base expects greatness from me, since my dad, Elmer Calderon, is a Ranger.
I really hope my older sister Emily is okay. She went to Florida on spring break to visit some family just before the Centrons invaded. I wanted to go as well, but I'm stuck in high school and my Calculus teacher assigned homework over spring break, so my mom wouldn't let me go. Well, never did end up doing that homework thanks to the invasion. Oh well.
The base was running low on soap, so I offered to go scavenge some more. Had to get off the base anyways; I was getting tired of all the single women trying to butter me up so they'd look better in my dad's eyes. I grabbed my pack, my walkie, my binoculars, my grappling hook ladder, my favorite customized military grade knife, and a few varieties of grenades, my e-cigarette and left the Los Angeles Recruiting Battalion Office they turned into a base. There was a Targot on Sepulveda that the resistance hadn't touched yet, mostly due to the WareCo that was on the same street. I cut through the Sepulveda Basin and decided to hop into the canal for the L.A. River and pop out on the other side of the old 405 Freeway. Smoked my vapor cigarette, which is shaped like a grenade, while I was in the canal. I know I'm too young to smoke, but I just do it for the flavors. Man I miss cheesecake. I climbed out of the canal on the north side, across from the old mini golf course. Normally I would hop out on the south side onto the bike path that was east of Sepulveda through a hole in the fence I cut out, but I saw a patrol of Centrons trotting toward the 101 on Sepulveda, so I doubled back and used the grappling hook ladder to climb out. This little piece of equipment is another of my own creations: a double grappling hook tied together at intervals with rope. It's a little harder to throw than a regular grappling hook, but when time is of the essence, it lets me climb faster than a regular hook with a single rope. I've gotten very good at throwing my modified grappling hook. Anyways, I snuck through the buildings, slipped through the gaps in the fences I made beforehand, and crept past Magnolia into the multi-story brick building parking lot, which is one of my bases.
I stepped over the tripwire I had placed long ago and looked at the lock on the door to the stairwell. It was a fake lock I placed to know if someone broke through. One could spend eternity picking the fake lock and do nothing. I shifted the metal loop above the fake lock and pulled, unlocking it and snuck inside. I had spent over two months on the run after Los Angeles fell, which is why I set up personal bases all over the San Fernando Valley and a few on the way downtown. Nearly got caught by Centrons a few times setting up the paths I use to get around. I went up the stairs onto the first floor and checked the traps I set on the handicap entrances. The second trap had been sprung. It was nothing lethal, just an indicator that says that something had entered the building. No one I had grouped up with before the military found me is alive, so the likelihood that a human sprung it is low. Then I heard it. The clopping of hooves. A Centron is inside.
Sounds like there's only one. I head for the stairs. Centrons, having a horse's bottom half, have real difficulty with stairs, which is why all my bases are multistory buildings. I decide to pull out two of the grenades in my pack. I make it to the stairs, open the door, and there is another Centron halfway up to the second floor. We stare at each other for a while , then I come to my senses.
I stealthily pull the pin on the real grenade, drop it, throw the vapor grenade up the stairs, turn around, and bolt. Before I can shut the door I hear the centron land after jumping down the stairs. I get clear of the doorway, unsheathe my knife, and cover my ears. The explosion is deafening. Sadly, I'm used to it, and I open the door to find the Centron on its' side, writhing in agony since, for some stupid reason, only the man half and the front side of the front legs of a Centron are armored. I hit the button at the bottom of the knife, and jam it through the Centron's eye. As I get behind the helmet, the blade explodes. The bullet-proof helmet now works against the alien, shielding me from the fragments. Then I run up the stairs.
As I get up to the second floor. I see the second Centron has charged after me. I knew there would be a second one. I dodged to the left to avoid the energy blades mounted on the backhand of the very angry alien, making it to the door and running into the hallway. As I peek at the mirror installed in front of me, I see the Centron backing up and getting ready to jump. I run past two doors and open the third door on the left. As I run into the office, not quite shutting the door completely, I can hear a mechanical voice blasting, "Now I have you! DIE!!!!!" As the Centron charges into the office, it doesn't realize that only the first three feet of the office still exist. It falls into the pitfall and gets skewered by the spikes below. As I hang by the rope in the middle of the pitfall, I can't believe my luck. It actually worked!
I swing on the rope, getting ready to let go and land on the remaining floor when, all of a sudden, the ceiling collapses. I don't even try to reach the ledge, I unhook the grappling ladder from the side of my pack throwing it at the broken ceiling, hoping to hook it. I get it, and grab a rung to stop falling. I feel a sharp pain in my right foot; apparently I grabbed one rung too low. I slowly lift my foot off the floor spike, gently swing the grappling ladder, and land on the floor. Stupidly landing with most of my weight on my punctured foot.
As I limp into the adjacent room, I reach the kitchen. I try to turn on the portable grill, hoping there is gas left. It turns on. I grab the kitchen knife and heat it until it's red hot. As it's heating, I take off my shoe and sock. When it's glowing red, I place it against my foot, cauterizing the wound. I clench my left hand as the pain sears though my body. I turn off the grill, put my now ruined shoe and sock on, and limp toward the skewered Centron.
It's bleeding out. At least, I think it is: there is a lot of blue blood on the floor and it doesn't react to the sound of the unhooking of the grappling ladder. As I approach it, I notice a watch like thing on it's wrist. It's flashing what must be the Centron Language. I take it off the Centron and put it on; as I do, the watch screen flashes.
As I stare at the watch, I decide to take a long shot. I tell the watch "set the default language to American English." The letters actually change. After a victory pose, my left hand hits the yes button, changing the screen from "Are you the new owner" to the main menu. I take the back-hand blades and put those on as well. The screen changes to "Will you integrate the Algron blades? Yes/No". I hit "yes," of course. I make a fist and the blade pops out. I try to slice the Centron's armor, and it cuts through it like butter. It didn't even flinch. Guess it died. "Please set name of the user" says the watch. I say "call me Andy." I spend the next few hours figuring out the watch and the Algron blades. Then I remember my original objective.
I recheck the GPS on the watch, see no dots signifying other Centrons and make it to the Target. I grab a jacket while there and replace my shoes and socks. The jacket is long enough to cover the Algron blades, as well as half my palm. I slip my thumb through a thumb hole in the jacket's sleeve to keep it from slipping, grab the supplies, and head toward the base via Burbank Blvd. As I stare at the GPS, I say out loud, "I will name you Sheela." The screen outputs "Name registered." I think I'll keep Sheela a secret for now. However, I'll feed the intel I get from Sheela to my dad. Sheila may be what humanity needs to take back Los Angeles.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That was the turning point of the war. Me finding the functioning watch, taking it off of a living Centron (it stops working if the user dies), managing to get the watch in a language I understood, and registering myself as the new owner (even if you take it off while the user is alive, it still stops working if the owner dies). Most of our modern scientific advances came from that watch. Had any of those things gone any differently, we would have lost that war.