Caleb dropped as the Mimic's right scythe crossed the transport crate. The blade split the metal above his helmet and struck the floor where he had been crouching.
He rolled against a crushed chest plate. The suit spread the impact across his back, but his shoulder tightened hard enough to stop him drawing a full breath. A D-rank pin scraped his glove when he pushed off the plate.
Dozens of dead recruits lay in the moss around the crate, their gray armor crushed flat. Helmets had sunk into yellow fluid in the center of the room, and an abandoned stretcher rested half above the stain. Earlier squads had reached this dome before them.
Suzu pulled Kei onto the dry wall lip. Taichi followed with his scatter-gun close against his chest, dragging the burned leg over the edge. Caleb crawled toward them while the Mimic worked its blade free.
"Route Delta is collapsing," its speaker called. "Man down on the right. Cover me."
