Sophie pressed herself against a cold metal of the industrial piping, feeling the vibrations of something massive moving through the facility below. The single-horn Harbinger prowled between the processing stations like a caged tiger—all coiled muscle and barely contained violence. Its scarred hide told stories of battles that had probably leveled city blocks.
"Christ," George whispered, his voice tight as piano wire. He was one of the volunteers for this recon. The kid was trying to keep it together, but Sophie could see the tremor in his hands as he gripped his rifle. "How are the workers just... ignoring it?"
That was the question, wasn't it? Down in the maze of conveyor belts and processing stations, human miners went about their business with the kind of mundane focus you'd expect from any industrial operation. Except for the seven-foot alien death machine pacing among them like it owned the place.
