The tide had just receded from the rocky beach on the island's eastern shore.
Ten flashlight beams swept low across the ground, finally stopping at the location marked on the satellite photograph.
Captain Holt raised his fist.
Everyone crouched at once.
Seven puddles of black slime lay in the gaps between the rocks ahead.
They had spread so thin they almost blended into the seawater. Occasionally, a strand of black filament stirred in the sea breeze, then drooped limply again.
The life detector gave a soft beep.
[Seven life signs detected.]
"Their vital signs are very weak," the technician behind them whispered. "Two of them are about to stop moving."
Holt grinned.
"Mr. Drake was right. They really can't adapt to Earth's environment."
He raised a hand and pointed at the rocks.
"Cryo team, get ready."
Four mercenaries immediately stepped forward. They wore heavy body armor, with soundproof headphones built into their face shields. The metal tubes at their muzzles slowly rose, pale blue vapor spilling from the seams.
"Wait." The technician watched the screen. "They seem to be moving."
Holt frowned.
All seven masses of black fluid contracted at once.
The movement was slight.
Like a dying animal breathing.
"Even better." Holt pressed his earpiece. "Pack them up as soon as they're frozen. Live specimens take priority, but dead ones won't affect the research."
The liquid nitrogen launchers began charging.
A jet of white mist sprayed from a muzzle.
Just as the triggers were about to be pulled, the foremost puddle of black slime suddenly reared up.
It didn't spring upward.
It dragged the entire rocky beach up with it.
"Fire!" Holt roared.
Too late.
Black spikes erupted from the ground like a rainstorm sweeping across the sand.
Blood Butcher was the first to plunge into their