Breathe out. Squeeze the trigger. A green hole appears in the figure in the scope. Time to move. When I get back to base, I’ll celebrate my hundredth kill. One less greenblood, one step closer to Earth’s freedom. Hooray.

Settling into my waiting routine in an empty warehouse when three greenies ‘ported in. The Cherenkov shine gave me enough warning to drop a grenade and roll out the window. I counted those as fifty-three, -four, and -five, not that I went back to check.

Thirteen was after the Battle of Brooklyn, that fiasco. Was fleeing, separated from the rest, when I found a greenie climbing out of a dead power suit. Tackled the fucker and beat its head against the ground until green brains came out.

Sergeant gave me a rifle and pointed at the greenie in the cell. Shoot, she said, get a feel for killing. Okay, done. That was number two.

The first time I killed, it was a knife. Just me and the target, no ceremony, just in the neck and out, and blood on the ground. Moments later, the ships appeared above our cities. No ceremony, just lasers.

God damn, what a time to be alive.