Brother's Keeper

The thundering of hooves faded into the distance as the brothers staggered away from the pasture. Sweat streaked down their faces, mixing with soot and dirt. The ranch house behind them was now fully engulfed in flames, casting long, dancing shadows across the field.

"Keep moving," Arthur commanded through their earpieces. His voice was tense, fingers drumming nervously on his desk. "That was too simple."

Javier shot a confused glance skyward, as if Arthur could see his expression. "Too simple? We just blew up our fucking house!"

Ignoring Javier, Arthur's eyes darted across his monitor, scanning for threats. The interface showed no immediate dangers, but years of gaming had taught him to recognize patterns. Boss fights were never this easy. There was always another phase, another twist.

Jonathan opened his mouth to respond, but instead, his body went rigid. His eyes rolled back, showing only whites. He pitched forward, face-first into the dirt.

"Jonathan!" Javier dropped to his knees beside his brother, rifle clattering to the ground. "What's happening? Jonathan!"

Jonathan's body began to convulse violently, limbs thrashing against the soil. Foam bubbled at the corners of his mouth, his back arching at an impossible angle.

"What's happening?" Arthur demanded, leaning closer to his screen as if proximity would give him better intel. "Talk to me, Javier!"

"He's having some kind of seizure!" Javier's voice cracked with panic as he tried to hold his brother steady. "I don't understand—he was fine a second ago!"

A cold prickle ran up Arthur's spine as he scanned the periphery of the camera view. The darkness at the edge of the tree line shifted.

"Javier," Arthur's voice dropped to a whisper. "Look up. Tree line. Your two o'clock."

Javier raised his head, squinting through the gloom. His blood froze.

It stood at the edge of the forest, silhouetted against the darkness. Not human. Not even pretending to be human like the wrong-men. Its body was slight, almost childlike in proportion, but there the resemblance to anything earthly ended. Its head was massive and bulbous, tapering to a narrow chin. In the dancing firelight from the burning house, its skin gleamed a sickly, oily gray.

But its eyes—Christ, its eyes—were solid black pools that reflected the flames like obsidian mirrors.

It wore what appeared to be a fitted suit of deep crimson material, almost organic in appearance, like wet muscle tissue sculpted into clothing. One hand was extended toward Jonathan, clenched in a tight fist. Around its massive head, a faint shimmer distorted the air, like heat waves rising from asphalt. The shimmer extended outward, visibly connecting to Jonathan's convulsing form.

"What the fuck is that thing?" Javier's voice was barely audible.

"Unknown hostile entity," Arthur responded automatically, falling back on gaming terminology to process what he was seeing. "It's causing the seizure. Break the connection somehow."

Javier reached for his rifle, movements deliberate, trying not to draw attention. His fingers closed around the cold metal barrel, dragging it toward him.

The alien's head swiveled to track his movement. Its lipless mouth parted, revealing needle-like teeth in a grotesque parody of a smile.

Javier raised the rifle, finger moving to the trigger.

The creature's other hand lifted, palm outward.

Javier's arm stopped mid-motion as if gripped by an invisible force. He strained against it, muscles bulging, tendons standing out in his neck. The rifle began to move—not toward the alien, but in a slow, inexorable arc toward Jonathan's head.

No!" Javier gasped, fighting the invisible control with everything he had. "No, no, no!"

The rifle barrel inched closer to his brother's temple. Javier's knuckles whitened on the grip, veins pulsing in his forearms as he struggled to redirect it.

"Drop the gun!" Arthur shouted, slamming his fist against his desk in impotent rage. "Let go of it!"

"I can't!" Javier's voice was strangled. "My hand won't—I can't open my fingers!"

"Then shoot! empty the magazine!" Arthur yelled louder, if he couldn't stop the gun, at least he could make it useless.

A chunk of dirt just an inch left of Jonathan's head exploded, but before Javier could repeat the action, he felt his fingers turn rigid.

"I can't feel my hand!" Javier cried in fear and pain.

The alien's mouth stretched wider, its needle teeth gleaming wetly in the firelight and it spoke a single alien word, translated by Arthur's interface as "Not yet".

Arthur shoved back from his desk, nearly toppling his chair. "This is bullshit!" he roared, pounding his fist against the wood hard enough to send pain shooting up his arm. "Fucking cheating bullshit!"

His mind raced through strategies, options, exploits—anything to counter this unexpected enemy ability. In all his years of gaming, he'd never felt so utterly helpless. This wasn't a game where he could reload a save or try a different approach.

Sweat beaded on Javier's forehead as he fought against the alien control. The rifle barrel now pressed directly against Jonathan's temple. His brother continued to convulse, unaware of the deadly threat poised against his skull.

"Please," Javier begged, tears streaming down his face. "I don't want to do this. Please don't make me do this."

The alien's only response was to clench its extended fist tighter. Jonathan's seizure intensified, his heels drumming against the dirt.

Arthur slammed both palms on his desk, scanning his interface frantically for any new option, any ability that might have unlocked after his previous success. Nothing. The communication channel was his only tool, and words seemed pathetically inadequate against telekinetic mind control.

"Javier," he said, forcing his voice to steady. "Listen to me. That thing is controlling your body, but not your mind. Focus on your finger. Just your trigger finger. Everything else is secondary."

"I'm trying!" Javier gasped, sweat now pouring down his face. "It's too strong!"

The alien took a step forward, the shimmer around its head intensifying. Its black eyes seemed to drink in the fire's light without reflecting anything back. Soul-less. Hungry.

Javier's finger whitened on the trigger.

The shot rang out. A single, deafening crack that split the night.

Jonathan's body went still. The seizure stopped. Everything stopped.

Time compressed into that singular moment—the echo of the gunshot still hanging in the air, the smell of gunpowder mingling with the scent of burning wood from the house, the warm stickiness spreading across Javier's hands where he still clutched his brother.

"No." The word escaped Javier's lips as a broken whisper. Then louder: "NO!"

On the other side of the screen, Arthur stared in silent horror. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Strategic calculations and tactical assessments dissolved into white noise. He'd failed. Actually failed. Not a game over screen that could be reset, not a mission that could be reloaded. A young man was dead because Arthur hadn't been good enough.

The alien lowered its fist, the shimmering connection to Jonathan's body dissipating like morning mist. Its needle-toothed smile widened, black eyes reflecting nothing but cold satisfaction. It cocked its massive head, studying Javier with clinical detachment.

Javier didn't notice. His world had contracted to the lifeless form in his arms, his brother's body still warm, face frozen in an expression of confused pain. Tears streamed down Javier's dirt-streaked face, carving clean trails through the grime.

"Jonathan," he sobbed, rocking back and forth. "Jonny, please..."

Raising its hand again, the alien forced Javier to rotate the barrel, pressing it against his chin. His mind, broken, offered no resistance.

Arthur found his voice at last. "Javier! Fight it!"

But Javier didn't even seem to hear him. The grief was too raw, too consuming. He knelt in the dirt, his brother's blood soaking into his jeans, the rifle barrel cold against his skin. He seemed to accept his fate. What was the point? What was left?

The alien took another step forward, clearly savoring the moment, tightening its telekinetic grip on the human's mind.

A low, rumbling snort cut through the night.

From the darkness beyond the burning house, something massive moved. The ground trembled with each heavy step. The alien paused, its black eyes shifting toward the sound.

A bull—one of the few that hadn't followed the herd—emerged from the shadows. Steam puffed from its nostrils in the cool night air. It pawed the ground, one hoof digging into the dirt.

The alien's head swiveled fully toward this new threat, its concentration wavering, releasing Javier.

The bull charged.

Twelve hundred pounds of muscle and fury thundered across the field. The alien's hand shot up, trying to assert control over this new threat, and just as the bull started to sway, Arthur took control of the situation.

"SHOOT IT!" Arthur roared.

Something clicked in Javier's grief-fogged mind. His finger found the trigger. With mechanical precision, he swung the rifle toward the alien and fired three rapid shots.

The first bullet struck the alien in its outstretched hand, shattering bone or whatever passed for it. A second punched through its crimson suit at chest level. And the third broke it's glass helmet and caught it directly between its massive black eyes.

The creature's head snapped back, a spray of iridescent blue fluid erupting from the wound. It staggered, arms windmilling. Before it could recover, the bull slammed into it with the force of a freight train.

The alien's slight body crumpled under the impact, lifted clean off the ground and carried forward on the bull's horns. With a final, furious toss of its massive head, the bull flung the broken form into the darkness.