We move in a tight, tactical formation across the low-gravity surface. Our boots kick up plumes of gray dust that hang in the air, refusing to settle.
Kade and I flank the engineering team. Lyra and her security detail take the rear, their heavy assault rifles raised, scanning the shadows of the crater walls.
We are two hundred meters from the Anchor when the ground begins to move.
Contact! Lyra’s voice crackles over the comms from Earth, tight with panic. Luna, thermal scanners are picking up massive biological signatures! They are not human! They are not drones!
I look at the ground. The lunar regolith is shifting, swirling, rising into the air.
The Formless is not using biological drones here. There is no biology on the Moon.
It is using the dust.
Massive, towering golems of gray
