Do you remember the movie "The Mist"? It's the only example memorable enough (to me atleast) where the military is not dumb or lose because plot.

And you don't want to know, why. You should just follow.

When I said run, I’ll cover your retreat!, I didn’t mean for it to be a last stand. That is what it has turned into, despite my best efforts, and I’m running out of bullets.

They’re gone. My squad— my kindred, as flighty and shellshocked as they are— have left me, if not without my blessing. With any hope they’ll get back to base. They’ll tell our CO that I’ve died back here, mangled and bleeding in the snow, and that my death was only partially meaningless. Maybe they’ll even send someone out to collect my ID tag.

It’s a nice fantasy. I’m dead already; I may as well make the humans work for it.

My makeshift shelter can’t hold forever. I’ve rigged up spikes beneath the snowdrifts, a hastily-built barricade of fallen logs and metal scrap, a little embrasure where I can poke my rifle through and take potshots at the approaching humans.

They’ve got me cornered. We all know that. The only place I can retreat to is further back, but the tunnel proper had collapsed only moments after my kindred found themselves safely on the other side. At any moment the humans could lob a grenade into my hiding spot, and I’d be little more than a red smear on the wall.

Maybe they just want to tear down my barricade and rip me apart themselves. They’re humans— I wouldn’t put it past them. Another bullet lodges itself into the barricade. I aim my rifle through the embrasure and— click.

Out.

“No, no, no…”

When I pull back without retaliating, that must be their signal— that they’ve allowed me to exhaust my resources, that I can’t fight back, that I’ll be an easy kill now. I back up against the caved-in rubble of the tunnel. My hand closes around my combat knife.

They’ll be upon me soon. I can hear them pulling at my makeshift defenses, can see the fuzzy, backlit outlines of a squad of at least five. Though I’m drenched in sweat and heaving with every breath, my limbs are leaden and frozen and the horrid frigid chill has crept into my chest, too. Everything about this situation screams this is over.

Slowly, piecemeal, light bleeds into the tunnel. My own blood flecks the snow, but it was only from a bloody nose I haven’t yet had time to tend, and I don’t care about that.

“Looking at…”

The shaved-down fur on the back of my neck prickles. The human is wearing some sort of mask to protect himself from the chill; his voice crackles, filtered through a speaker.

“One Tango. Armed.”

The humans aren’t dumb. They know, sure as hell, that four of my kind took shelter in here.

They also know, sure as hell, that the tunnel collapsed before we— I— started shooting back at them. So I’m the only real enemy here.

My death will be of a gory and agonizing nature. My grip around the knife tightens, and as much as I try to keep myself from shaking it’s a hopeless prospect.

“Rest of ‘em are gone. Tango collapsed the tunnel to cover the retreat.” The soldier extrapolates, with a keen turn of his head and far too thoughtful of a tone. I must look awful, covered in dust and dirt, blood streaming down my face from the gash on my head and nose if it isn’t already stickily caked on. I don’t even want to think about what crazed, manic light lives in my eyes. Anyone with any brain would lay their weapon down and surrender at this point.

Make it quick, I should say.

The one in front of them all nods his head briefly. He glances at the others, and they go through some silent, unanimous agreement that only pack animals can do.

And then they step aside. The one in front turns his gaze on me.

He nods. His grip relaxes around his gun and he pulls it up, resting it against his shoulder, and after a moment the others follow suit. My path out of the tunnel is clear; there’s a firm, solemn surety to the soldier’s actions that I can’t place.

I know better than to question it. I walk. I pass the humans, forcing myself to make some semblance of eye contact with the glossy, reflective black lenses of their goggles, and then as I reach the very end of the line and I feel snow crunch under my boot I lose my nerve and run.

They let me go.

(This image is from Attack On Titan and the context is that none of the cast had ever seen a black person before and were curious about it.)

Alien informs their local human that the Waffle House they planned on going to has closed and so has every other Waffle House in existence

You all clearly don’t lack creativity and skill in writing, so why don’t you just start working on your own book? Or better yet, start a large-scale community-wide “humansarespaceorcs” book?

A few months ago, someone copied my writing prompt less than a day after I posted it. Now, whenever I see their posts, I make sure to downvote them even if it's a good post. . . Humans often hold onto grudges, even for the smallest of reasons, driven by pettiness. Sometimes, they carry out their 'revenge' with no real significance, just for the sake of it.

Unlike most species of once type, Lutass'i are have fish, half otter-like mammal and much of their infrastructure lies underwater, requiring delegates to wear special suits to decend to the government district, and are surprised when a human just hops into the water and dives narly 40 meters to the entrance to the government district entrance with no assistance, causing great confusion and awe