The problem with bipedal systems was that there was always a bit of sway in the step, no matter how motion-controlled the cockpit was. He had to admit that this one was one of the best he’d seen. Most were considerably worse, but it was still noticeable. That said, and despite his inner monologue, Eric was in no danger of losing his lunch. After decades flying some of the most high-performance jets in the world, his stomach was cast in iron.

He stomped out of the park, coming to a rest in front of the building they’d identified as the headquarters for the local Guard resistance. That ID was confirmed by the swarm of men in urban camo that came rushing out to cover him with their guns. Eric ignored them in favor of the man who calmly walked out, wearing a sidearm and cowboy hat as his most distinguishing features.

Eric popped the cab of the EXO mech and pulled himself out, dropping the ten feet to the ground with an easy motion. He walked through the ranks of men who weren’t quite aiming their weapons at him and came to a stop in front of the man in the hat.

“Ranger Swenson, I presume.”

Swenson snorted.

If this cock-a-wop thought for a second he was impressed by that bit of showmanship, then he had a hard lesson coming his way.

“You must be that braying fool, Weston,” he said, looking the man right in the silver faceplate of his armor. “Nice toys you have. Too bad you didn’t share them with us earlier.”

The suit hissed as it equalized pressure and the man, Weston, reached up and pulled his helmet off.

“I was busy clearing New York, then recapturing Detroit and Hamilton,” Eric said simply. “And as for the toys, there aren’t enough to go around.”

“So you left us to rot. That’s mighty nice of you,” Swenson snarled. “Now what? You think we’re going to let you nuke our city?”

The men around them drew back, most paling as they heard that. Eric just smiled coldly.

“Ranger, how do you propose to stop it?”

Swenson put a hand on his pistol menacingly. “Maybe we don’t let you leave.”

Eric just laughed at him. “I don’t hold the football, Ranger.”

“Right, like they’re going to nuke their little messenger boy.”

“Ranger, you don’t have a clue what’s going on here.” Eric stopped smiling. He was out of patience and talking through clenched teeth. “These things aren’t just another enemy to kill. They’re here to eat and breed, and when they’re done there won’t be anything left flying in our orbit around the Sun but a crumbling pile of crawling alien spiders.”

That stopped the ranger for a moment, and Eric pressed on.

“This is genocide, Ranger. Either they all die, or we do.”