Survival Of The Fittest
TommyVercetti
Join Date: 2003-02-10 Member: 13390Members, Constellation, Reinforced - Shadow
Join Date: 2003-02-10 Member: 13390Members, Constellation, Reinforced - Shadow
<div class="IPBDescription">One more try...</div> <span style='color:red'>// Major change to chapter 1. //</span>
<u><b>Chapter 1: Terra's Finest</b></u>
A title held by the United Trans-System States Navy's First Battlegroup. But the TSA brass seated around him now knew the truth. Omega Company, the newest addition to the Frontiersmen forces, now held that dubious honor, regarded as the finest warriors ever produced by Terra... but with this title came immense danger. They would be deployed where others had failed, fight where only death would await them. They were a chance to make a difference in this perpetual war against nightmarish monsters. He was proud of them, but at the same time worried. He wondered how many of them would make it back as he fumbled through his briefcase looking for the data crystal with their specs on it... and found it under a half-eaten candybar. He hesitantly rose from the excessively padded pleather executive chair to give the presentation. It was a pain being around these military-types all the time, with their enforced etiquette. Shouldn't be too hard to get by with a few slip-ups - these people are burnt out already, he thought as he inserted the crystal into the base of the holoprojector at the head of the table.
After a few seconds of screens displaying ominous red top-secret messages in hundreds of languages and a short decrypt, he began. "Ladies and gentlemen of the TSA armed forces, as the science team leader of the project, I'm here to introduce the technology behind the warriors of Omega Company. I'll try to be as clear and concise as possible, but if you have any questions during the presentation feel free to ask. First, we have their powered combat armor... Largely based on a popular UTSS design, we've integrated a wide range of new insturments, and have tailored the setup to be a perfect Kharaa-killer. The outer shell," the faded green portions of the armor were highlighted on the hologram "is a very tough composite, the same 'hard-plastic' you see on armored vehicles. It has been tempered against the acid produced by the glands we've retreived from dead Kharaa, and of course is backed up with standard repair nanite plates." The burly colonel sitting at the far end of table interrupted "Just how much corrosion can it take, doctor?" The scientist rapped on the small keyboard at the base of the projector and a graph appeared "Based on endurance testing, we believe it will be able to absorb the effect as much as 78% more effectively than current heavy armor models." The next layer was highlighted "This is the liquid metal component. It is a recently developed material, it reacts to movement and can amplify speed and strength both by a factor of six. Interwoven into it is a complicated artificial muscle system which consists of remarkably strong spidersilk fibers acting in concert with the operator's own muscles, making even the most strenuous movement effortless. It's covered in a black heat dissapating applique designed to bolster the suits resistance to extreme temperatures and reduce the suit's infrared signature." The camera panned and flew inside the suit, replacing the liquid metal and shell components with a wireframe and illuminating what appeared to be padded segments that covered the entire body up to the ears and neck, an inner layer similar to a modern space Intercepter flight suit "Inside these packets is a gel that can actively change in temperature and density to dampen shockwaves and vastly improve resistance to extreme temperatures. It can also neutralize localized kinetic energy release," he smirked mentally, he had thought of that phrase to replace 'it stops the hurt when you get whacked with a crowbar' on the fly "preventing internal organ hemhorrage, and it can even serve as a growth medium for the massive population of multi-purpose nanites suspended in it, which can be used for tasks such as tissue or armor repair and creating new ammunition as it is needed. We have incorporated a spray nozzle," he indicated a small port that resembled a torpedo launcher on the wrist "that can disperse these nanites for tasks such as rerouting power in computers - hacking - repair of other Marine assets, or even to cause damage to enemy xenoforms." The Colonel interrupted again "Just how do the nanites do that, Doctor?" "Well, they can combust for a flamethrower-like effect, or in close quarters battle they can kill the individual cells of an organism, much as a virus would." He rapped on the keypad once more, causing the camera to pull back out and reveal the final layer beneath the rest, the mesh. "This fine mesh of sensors can detect the nerve impulses of the operator, ensuring that the armor moves and feels are natural as a second skin. In fact, when working in conjuntion with the Omega company's neural implants, these suits can enhance reflexes by a factor of twenty times. However, there is a brief "mating" period of which two weeks remain before these effects can be fully realized amongst the Omega soldiers; I strongly recommend that you <i>do not deploy</i> before then..." He looked over the room, gauging the reactions of the command staff that would never see battle. They shot each other secret glances, nervous glances in the dark. He felt a sinking feeling. Omega was not ready for an op this early, especially not with the psychological conditioning that had been given to the Captain that he was elite. Right now they were just above the strength of regulars, and that only due to the protection of the vehicle armor they wore... In any case, there was nothing he could do if the brass were planning an op for Omega. He sighed and sent the final details on the reactor and other built-in tools to the conference room terminals.
As the MPs escorted him out of the room and into the sprawling lobby of Trans-System Authority Ariadne Command Alpha, he heard the men and woman behind him say something about Facility One and research.
<u><b>Chapter 1: Terra's Finest</b></u>
A title held by the United Trans-System States Navy's First Battlegroup. But the TSA brass seated around him now knew the truth. Omega Company, the newest addition to the Frontiersmen forces, now held that dubious honor, regarded as the finest warriors ever produced by Terra... but with this title came immense danger. They would be deployed where others had failed, fight where only death would await them. They were a chance to make a difference in this perpetual war against nightmarish monsters. He was proud of them, but at the same time worried. He wondered how many of them would make it back as he fumbled through his briefcase looking for the data crystal with their specs on it... and found it under a half-eaten candybar. He hesitantly rose from the excessively padded pleather executive chair to give the presentation. It was a pain being around these military-types all the time, with their enforced etiquette. Shouldn't be too hard to get by with a few slip-ups - these people are burnt out already, he thought as he inserted the crystal into the base of the holoprojector at the head of the table.
After a few seconds of screens displaying ominous red top-secret messages in hundreds of languages and a short decrypt, he began. "Ladies and gentlemen of the TSA armed forces, as the science team leader of the project, I'm here to introduce the technology behind the warriors of Omega Company. I'll try to be as clear and concise as possible, but if you have any questions during the presentation feel free to ask. First, we have their powered combat armor... Largely based on a popular UTSS design, we've integrated a wide range of new insturments, and have tailored the setup to be a perfect Kharaa-killer. The outer shell," the faded green portions of the armor were highlighted on the hologram "is a very tough composite, the same 'hard-plastic' you see on armored vehicles. It has been tempered against the acid produced by the glands we've retreived from dead Kharaa, and of course is backed up with standard repair nanite plates." The burly colonel sitting at the far end of table interrupted "Just how much corrosion can it take, doctor?" The scientist rapped on the small keyboard at the base of the projector and a graph appeared "Based on endurance testing, we believe it will be able to absorb the effect as much as 78% more effectively than current heavy armor models." The next layer was highlighted "This is the liquid metal component. It is a recently developed material, it reacts to movement and can amplify speed and strength both by a factor of six. Interwoven into it is a complicated artificial muscle system which consists of remarkably strong spidersilk fibers acting in concert with the operator's own muscles, making even the most strenuous movement effortless. It's covered in a black heat dissapating applique designed to bolster the suits resistance to extreme temperatures and reduce the suit's infrared signature." The camera panned and flew inside the suit, replacing the liquid metal and shell components with a wireframe and illuminating what appeared to be padded segments that covered the entire body up to the ears and neck, an inner layer similar to a modern space Intercepter flight suit "Inside these packets is a gel that can actively change in temperature and density to dampen shockwaves and vastly improve resistance to extreme temperatures. It can also neutralize localized kinetic energy release," he smirked mentally, he had thought of that phrase to replace 'it stops the hurt when you get whacked with a crowbar' on the fly "preventing internal organ hemhorrage, and it can even serve as a growth medium for the massive population of multi-purpose nanites suspended in it, which can be used for tasks such as tissue or armor repair and creating new ammunition as it is needed. We have incorporated a spray nozzle," he indicated a small port that resembled a torpedo launcher on the wrist "that can disperse these nanites for tasks such as rerouting power in computers - hacking - repair of other Marine assets, or even to cause damage to enemy xenoforms." The Colonel interrupted again "Just how do the nanites do that, Doctor?" "Well, they can combust for a flamethrower-like effect, or in close quarters battle they can kill the individual cells of an organism, much as a virus would." He rapped on the keypad once more, causing the camera to pull back out and reveal the final layer beneath the rest, the mesh. "This fine mesh of sensors can detect the nerve impulses of the operator, ensuring that the armor moves and feels are natural as a second skin. In fact, when working in conjuntion with the Omega company's neural implants, these suits can enhance reflexes by a factor of twenty times. However, there is a brief "mating" period of which two weeks remain before these effects can be fully realized amongst the Omega soldiers; I strongly recommend that you <i>do not deploy</i> before then..." He looked over the room, gauging the reactions of the command staff that would never see battle. They shot each other secret glances, nervous glances in the dark. He felt a sinking feeling. Omega was not ready for an op this early, especially not with the psychological conditioning that had been given to the Captain that he was elite. Right now they were just above the strength of regulars, and that only due to the protection of the vehicle armor they wore... In any case, there was nothing he could do if the brass were planning an op for Omega. He sighed and sent the final details on the reactor and other built-in tools to the conference room terminals.
As the MPs escorted him out of the room and into the sprawling lobby of Trans-System Authority Ariadne Command Alpha, he heard the men and woman behind him say something about Facility One and research.
Comments
Captain Drake C. Merriwether, commander of Omega Company, found himself lying on a form-fitting gel bed. He blinked twice in the harsh light as his eyes adjusted and flexed his newly augmented arms. The increase in muscle mass was frieghtening at first, as if he had woken up in someone else's body, but that odd asphyxiating feeling left in an instant. He slowly got up from the operating table - or at least he meant to get up slowly. Instead he jolted up and nearly fell on his face, but he now possessed reflexes fast enough to prevent his fall, but the difference was imperceptible to him. Someone behind the one-way mirror above said something about success.
Yes, back when his body was getting used to the enhancements... that entire week had been hell, training with a set of abilities completly alien to his nervous system, enduring unimaginably painful headaches as the neural implants interfaced. But he was lucky - he was one of the few who even survived the process, and he had been rewarded for his perseverance with the command of Omega. Now, inside his powered armor, cocooned in its artificial muscular mesh, nanite-filled shock-absorbent gel, and tough shell he was completely confident that he could take on an army of Kharaa. So was the rest of the company, all forty of them. Calling them a company was sort of a joke designed to help morale - they were just above platoon strength under TSA standards after all the lives lost during the aug procedures. In any case, he was alive and had a job to do.
He had a perfect view of the space station they were approaching - his HUD was plugged into the Scythe ship-to-ship boardship's computers. Ariadne Arm Research Facility One - a joint venture between nearly every government that had existed when the first colonies were set up in this region of the galaxy. The incredible array of bolt-on expansions and improvised growths of structure jutting out at all angles from the Facility One were a testament to its importance to Terran science as a whole; it was probably the oldest space station that still got this kind of attention. And now it was in the hands - no, the <i>claws</i> of the enemy. There had already been a massive assault on the station, conducted by thousands of TSA regulars who entered the 12 kilometer wide station, never doubting that they would return after an easy mop-up. None did.
A female voice echoed from the cockpit "Captain, we're coming in fast to Shuttle Bay 121-S/L. Atmosphere mix there is favorable, the nanites have it locked down. No biosigns detected. And it looks like the bacterium is growing on the <i>exterior</i> of the station in some places. I'll take a closer look when you're in." Drake unplugged the video feed on his HUD and glanced around at his squad. Lieutenants Brisbane and Walker and Sergeant Willis would take the other three squads to the auxillary generators, archive core, and command central, respectively. Drake himself would be going to Epsilon Labs, where the highest-priority work was done. It was to be secured at all costs...
Then the hatch opened. Drake and his men were out and in defensive postions in the blink of an eye, their custom weapons sweeping the dark corners, just asking for something to pop out. There was no power here - the only illumination was provided by the ship's dim floodlights. The Captain examined his surroundings. Ye olde shuttle bay. This was one of the original designs, with a raised platform wide enough to accomodate a main battle tank splitting the bay in two. Drake's squad was scattered across it, behind crates and control panels and old ship parts. Below this path was a tangle of fuel lines and maintenance arms where no human ever had to tread. There were catwalks lining the interior wall, leading to tiny access ways, sealed hatches, and monitors. At the end of the raised platform he was on, there was a massive airlock. Something big had rended it outwards from the other side. Of course there were already plenty of Onos here - the frontal assault launched hours before was still dying.
"Alright people we're here to do a job. First things first, we lock down this bay. Watch the spaghetti pipes and hatches and get over to the airlock. Li, you see if we can blas-" Then it happened. The ceiling burst open, a huge fleshy tentacle dangled from it for a second, and then slammed into the dropship, wrapping itself around it. "Holy s***!" The lights were gone, and everyone toggled on their weak helmet lamps "Fire at the thinnest portion - cut it!" Acknowledgement indicators winked on and the air was filled with bullets and explosives. He couldn't see clearly at all - the smoke from their firearms combined with the acrid smoke of the acid-melted boardship hull made it impossible to see anything but the flashlight beams darting irregularly around the bay. For a split second Drake's enhanced vision saw where all their rounds were going. "Cease fire! Cease fire! It's regenerating too fast for our guns!" The tentacle slammed the ship's engines into the exterior airlocks, shaking the entire bay. Drake lost his balance. He tried to catch himseld as he tumbled backwards. There was nothing to catch on. He fell 20 meters into the spaghetti of fuel lines. He hoped they were fuel lines.
// More later, if I'm not out. //
Something stung his left forearm, and the ceiling of a small corridor shot into focus. Before a second had passed, Drake had his UTSS-issue .50 caliber pistol pointed at Corporal Vance's visor. He slowly lowered the gun. "How long was I out?" he asked as he got to his feet. "I'd say fifteen minutes, sir. I saw you go down, your neck would've been broken for sure if it weren't for the armor." Drake slid his hand across the back of his neck, and felt an imaginary dent in the armor plates there. Just then he realized that the rest of the squad was nowhere to be seen. "Where's the rest of alpha, Corporal?" Vance shook his head slowly "I'm not sure, sir. They pretty much scattered when the big guys started breakin' through the door. What's worse is that something's jamming comms, and I got no idea what's doing it, unless there's another Terran force operating here." The Corporal absent-mindedly handed Drake his CLAW - his Combat Light Assault Weapon, another UTSS tool he'd picked up. The corridor was a small maintenance way, with a pair of removed panels on the walls. The ceiling had collapsed on one end, and the door on the other other was damaged. The only way out was the open bot ducts... Drake thought up a plan quickly, and by the book "Well, we're going to attach to the Sergeant's squad in central command. We might be able to use the ship's internal comm system to find the rest of Alpha."
The spiderbot ducts were not meant for humans, especially not humans in bulky armor. Aside from some status lights and tiny monitors built into the wall, there was no light. A distant ventilation fan could be heard in the distance, whining every few seconds as it chopped through and obstrution. It was hard work shimmying through these ducts - sometimes they even went vertical - so Vance had to come in head first to make the climbs. "Freeze! Movement dead ahead, seven-point-four meters!" Drake fired his CLAW straight. The muzzle flash illuminated the thing for a second - a skulk. He stopped firing. He couldn't tell if it was still there, or still alive. The only thing certain was that the Kharaa knew they were here now, and they were stuck in a vent.
"Sir! Independant motion tracker shows intermittent contacts at fifteen meters! S***! They're all around us!" Drake cursed under his breath and started crawling as fast as he could. "C'mon! Blueprints show an access panel just around the next bend!" Vibrations rattled Drake's teeth in his armor as something huge stomped right above him. The top of the duct buckled and creaked and the clearance suddenly got a few inches smaller. Something black darted past the monitor at the junction. The sound of skulk claws clicking on the metal got closer and closer. Vance screamed "They're right behind me! Ohmigod-" There was a noise like a knife being drawn and a squish and the Corporal cried out in pain and lagged behind. Nothing Drake could do. Suddenly his HUD flashed a bright red warning, multiple contacts right in his face and he couldn't even see them. The CLAW let loose more hi-explosive rounds. The ammo counter counted down each precious shot - reloading was impossible; his left arm was dragging hard against the walls. 40. 30. 20. 16. Yelllow-green blood splashed out onto his visor. He couldn't see at all now. But he had made it to the junction - now it was only another two meters to the hatch on his right...
The scream behind him turned into a wet gurgle. Jesus, how the hell had a single Skulk pierced vehicle battleplate? Maybe it wasn't a skulk. Just as Drake was positioning himself for the turn, a Skulk came out of nowhere, right in front of him, and locked its jaws around his gun arm. The gun was already wedged in the other shaft, there was no way to kill... yes there was. He toggled the cutting laser in his helmet on. He heard the thing squeal, but it held fast. Its teeth crunched through a layer of armor. He could see its bioluminescent orange eyes through the green haze of its bretheren's blood. They narrowed in pain and hatred. Another layer of armor cracked. The laser was boring through the alien's abdomen and had almost reached the other side. The final layer of armor held long enough. The Skulk died, its body reflexively thrashing about.
Two TSA Marines made their way down another corridor littered with bodies. One was mumbling to himself, the other's hands were shaking so badly he could barely keep his gun level. They were trying to look everywhere at once as they approached a hatch stencilled SHUTTLE BAY 121-S/L 200M. Then a loud stomp and a furious roar echoed in from a vent... followed by screams. They froze in place, gathering up the courage to move. "D-did that p-panel just move?!" The mumbling one looked at the floor tile his partner indicated. It burst open, the lightweight metal shattered and slammed against the celing. Shaky bellowed and fired his light machine gun at the opening. "Cease fire! Cease fire, godammit!"
A single gloved hand appeared from under the floor, and Drake pulled himself out. He wiped the blood from his faceplate. The two Marines just stood there staring blankly at the 7' tall robot in front of them for a few moments. "Uh- uh, sir! Private First Class David Peterson! This here's Private Lewis. W-we gotta get outta here!" Drake nodded and added "You aren't getting out that way. Trust me." He examined the holes pierced in his armor to emphasize, but what he saw was shocking - not only did these Skulks have sharper teeth than the garden variety, but it looked like most of the damage was caused by... acid, which would have to be incredibly strong to get through the tempered composite. Worse, the exposed nanites weren't responding to the repair requests issued by the suit computer. Drake suddenly felt like he was wearing a suit of medieval armor into a firefight. But there was no time to think about it. The hatch down the hall way burst open in flames, there was a purple light and a buzz, and there was suddenly a grinning fade on top of him...
// If anyone likes, I will continue. The real plot unfolds if they get to the command central. //
<u><b>Chapter 4: Path to Hell</u></b>
The fade species was fast, stealthy, and incredibly strong. This one was no exception. Just as the thing came out of its half-blink Drake grabbed its arms, before it could orient itself and react. He braced himself and struggled with the thing, the writhing beast tried to pull out of his grasp to bring its scythes to bear. The Marines opened fire. The force of a shotgun blast was added to its strength, and Drake fell on his back, the Fade right on top of him. It wrestled one of its arms away. Drake tried to grab it, but it was too fast for his damaged armor. The blade cut straight through his armor. Lewis' shotgun ran dry and the Marine cursed and charged, knife poised - the Omega Marine in front of them was getting diced. Drake embedded his free fist in the fade's throat. The thing looked surprised for a second before Lewis stabbed it through the back of its skull and twisted the knife.
Drake ordered the Marines to come with him to command central. They had said there was extreme resistance there, but then these were Omega boys. Still, based on their performance today Drake had serious doubts about the competence of his team. But as they methodically moved through the dimly lit bowels of the station, he pondered the changes in the Kharaa he'd seen - they were a lot tougher than the garden variety just as his team was. Skulks with potent acidic saliva, and that fade - the feeling his neural chip sent when its arm had cut through his chestplate (fortunately never reaching the inside) was that of a combat knife sharpened with nanotech. If the Kharaa could attain that kind of edge, they must have nanotech; the Bacterium had never been able to produce this kind of lethality. It was a disturbing thought, but he kept his mind on the dark corners as they made their way to central...
A full 100 meters from their destination they began to see the sticky green Bacterium matting the walls. And as they pushed deeper into the station, the infestion only seemed to grow thicker, covering an area far larger than any one hive could produce. And yet they had not been attacked once. Could they know about Drake's augs? Would they act upon that knowledge if they did? It made no sense... but all of them had been seeing things. Something darted behind a crate, darkness that seemed to ooze across the floor and move. Peterson delivered them all a fresh shot of adrenaline when he fired at nothing at all directly above him. He said that a black, amorphous creature had flown straight at him, but there was nothing. Sometimes they heard faint footsteps and breathing... The thing that troubled Drake the most, though, were the voices.
Another set of twists and turns, and they were making their way down yet another hallway when a door shot open. In the doorway, an Omega troop stood upright for a moment, then crumpled to the ground with a metallic clank. Jesus... it was Harrison. This room was completely dark, lit only by a weak chemical lightstick lying next to the eviscerated body of a Marine regular. The ceiling was too high to see. Peterson started shaking again as Drake motioned for a room clearing. He brought his CLAW up and swept the darkness with it as he moved to the right of the door. Lewis and Peterson followed, taking up poistions on the left and center. There were splotches of darkness on the floor and lining the walls that reminded Drake of ghosts strewn about the room - bodies. Drake crouched and crept over to the dead Marine, careful not to step in him. The man's eyes and mouth were wide open, frozen in an expression of terror. Drake realized that the floor panel wasn't red; he was standing in a pool of the blood of a dozen Marines. What the hell had happened here? He picked up the HMG lying nearby. Its ammo counter read 0, and its barrels were still warm. Then there was another whisper behind him, one that steadily accumulated into an inhuman snarl. He gasped and spun around - but the sound instantly cut off, replaced by the jingling of Lewis' utility belt as he tensed, expecting Drake to open fire at something right behind him... He was only a few hours in and his nerves were already ragged. This was insane... When he looked back at the door, he saw Harrison's body - the damage was all to her abdomen, she had been attacked from the front. The Kharaa, they must have propped her up against the door... and these inexplicable sounds, Peterson's black ghost. The Kharaa were telepathic. God, was this a psy-op?
// Meh, I need some feedback. If you got any ideas on how I could make it better, or criticism (constructive or not) go ahead and post it. //
and give me details of the Marines weaponry, the big guy's weapons and stuff
<b>Combat Light Assault Weapon</b> - Known affectionately as the “Claw” among the Frontiersmen fortunate enough to field test this modified United-Trans-System States weapon, the Combat Light Assault Weapon offers power and flexibility in a compact bullpup design. The primary component of this weapon is the 10x52mm caseless rifle located on the top of the weapon, capable of firing armor-piercing rounds from a standard 55-round magazine or anti-personnel “shredder” rounds from a standard 60-round magazine. The armor-piercing rounds can easily penetrate Kharaa carapace, but the anti-personnel ammunition can do massive damage to the internal organs of lightly armored xenoforms. The 10mm gun’s bullpup configuration provides all the accuracy of a long-barrelled rifle in a compact frame, and its recoil compensation system is known as one of the best produced for good stability. Underneath the primary gun is the 20mm self-propelled guided projectile launcher, which is capable of launching several different types of 20mm ammunition and guiding them using data collected by the operator’s sensor package. The most common types are hi-explosive, fragmentary, incendiary, and anti-armor. Those types and the “webber” utilize interchangable warheads attached to the propulsion and guidance systems. All of those are self-descriptive, but some of the more difficult to procure ammunition types such as the “webber” and gas grenade require a detailed explanation. “Webbers” detonate on impact, netting the area with a sticky artificial spidersilk many times the strength of high-tensile steel that can entrap Kharaa that walk into the stationary web and completely immobilize them when the projectile bursts directly onto a xenoform. The gas grenade is unlike the other ammunition loaded into the 20mm gun because it fires in an arc, not propelled by a rocket as the others are. After coming to rest for approximately 2 seconds, the gas grenade releases a nerve gas engineered to be fatal to Kharaa within up to 20 seconds depending on the type of xenoform that comes into contact with the nerve agent. This gas generally lasts for around 2 minutes indoors and 40 seconds outdoors or in well-ventilated places (large rooms, air vents, etc.) and can travel through small passages. This gas is harmless to humans and therefore is useful for creating unpassable barriers for the Kharaa or defending locations by depriving the enemy access to them. It has little or no effect on the organic structures of the Kharaa.
I didn't exactly see a way to jam that in somewhere <!--emo&:p--><img src='http://www.natural-selection.org/forums/html//emoticons/tounge.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='tounge.gif' /><!--endemo-->. Drake lost his explosive ammunition when he was knocked off the shuttle platform by the Bacterium tentacle. //
<b><u>Chapter 5: Devour</b></u>
They started seeing more and more fallen Marines as they made their way deeper into the heart of the station, but nothing could prepare them for what they would see when they arrived at the elevator to command. The walls were not just covered now... they <i>were</i> the Bacterium. It wriggled with each step Drake took, sloshed, receded and bloomed with new growths and pores oozing with viscuous fluids. When the floor began to change beneath their feet, they halted. "S-sir, Captain, your pals c-can't be in there... C-can they? We need to turn back, look for another way, I don't know, jus-!" Peterson's pitch rose involuntarily towards the end of his request. Drake tried to be as soothing as he could, but there wasn't much you could say to someone who had survived through hell for over five hours "Take it easy, Marine," he said in a half whisper "Sarge is the toughest sonofabitch you'll ever meet... and he always gets the job done, no matter what the situation seems to be. And he's waiting just ahead to make sure you get to a safe, warm bunk real soon. " Despite his words, Drake felt a rising sense of dread; they were walking through a tunnel of the same matter that had formed the tentacle back in the shuttle bay, and the only light left was struggling to penetrate the thick, fleshy growth that had covered the emergency lamps.
Drake took another cautious step forward onto the next floor brace, as if testing the water of some demented septic tank. The substance jumped and engulfed his boot. He was pulled from the edge of the last floor plate. "S***!" Lewis lunged forward and grabbed the access panel on the Omega armor's back. Drake angled his CLAW downwards and sprayed it, ignoring the chunks of alien ichor pelting his visor. Something was trying to penetrate the joints of his armor. Lewis held him just long enough for Drake to see by the light of the gun's enormous muzzle flash what waited beyong the end of this maw. There was a Marine down there, helmet and armor missing. It was impossible to tell where he ended and the Bacterium began. <i>Not me!</i> Without thinking, he got a firm grip on the floor panel, primed both his frag grenades, and with the amplfied strength of the armor, pulled himself up- but just as he threw his weapon over he was pulled back in neck-high. Lewis cursed and fired at some unknown horror behind Drake, Peterson was catatonic, and the walls were beginning to throb and... contract. <i>No!</i> The Bacterium pulled harder... but the armor was strong. Peterson bolted. Lewis fired the rest of his shells, cursed louder, and ran back out of the writhing mass as the hole they had entered through became smaller... a pinprick... then nothing.
Lewis spun and fired a fresh shell at the wall of flesh just as it closed, then backed up a few steps. "Dave? Dave! Godamnit!" Drake was dead. He had to be. That Omega had led him here to the all too real belly of the beast, then went and died. The roar of an Onos reverberated through the green-tinted halls that had once belonged to Terra's finest scientists and command crews. Lewis began to mumble again, consciously this time "Come 'n get it you muthaf***in' monsters. I'm gonna wipe out your whole god damn race, no mercy, no mercy, no mercy," The Onos rended a heavy grating on the left side of the hall open, impaling it on its tusk "NO MERCY! YOU HEARD ME, BASTARD!" Lewis was fully aware that he had no Cx10 pistol and that he was completely out of buckshot. No matter. It was a surreal feeling, knowing he was going to die like this. It has always been his dream to be a Marine, defend humanity. A sick grin spread across his broad mouth. This thing was going to feel <i>pain</i>. Yes, "I am a hero," he whispered to his knife. When time slowed down like this, you could count out the number of scaly fragments of carapace lining the creatures face, see the blood pulsing through the capillaries in its eyes as it cast the metallic fragments from its horn. The moment passed. He was face-to-face with an Onos. He lurched forward before it could even contemplate goring him and stabbed it straight through the right eye. The withdrew the knife, slammed it back in, pulled, sliced, pulled out again, lodged the knife in the thing's jawbone. It was stuck fast. Oh well. He heard the horn pass through his gut more than he felt it. Hitting the wall of bacteria behind him felt like falling into a bed softer than he had ever graced before, a wondrous end to his torment. He took one last glance into the creature's good eye... It seemed to drop away into ash. A blinding white light blossomed from its skull... an angel... Valkyries...
Lewis died.
// You'll have to wait til next time to see exactly what that white is. My brain has burned out as of 11:58PM EST. //
but keep this in mind
many people get confused around the subject of brain frying, some say it whenever they get tired, but its almost raw at that point, a brain is fried when every other word that comes out of your mouth well... isnt a word... or when even the sentences in your head become jumbled and you forget what your doing, thats when your brains fried...
some people do their best work when they're tired, you've been writing for so long that your in the groove! but when it becomes fried, thats when you've got to walk away <!--emo&:(--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/sad-fix.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='sad-fix.gif' /><!--endemo--> even if it does mean making us wait for the conclusion of the story...
and can you describe Drakes armor? how it looks like? and where the flashlight is on?
<b>Military Self-Loading Pistol .50</b>
A reliable and rugged pistol that fires the powerful 12.7x35mm round. The recoil-operated MSP is very accurate, making it the sidearm of choice for operators wielding short range weapons as their primary armament. It features a small self-destruct explosive that will detonate if anyone whose DNA is not registered to the operator or his/her organization attempts to fire it, a memory polymer grip that absorbs recoil and molds itself to the operator's hand, and a large trigger guard that covers the entire grip and is large enough for heavy powered armor. Recoil absorbtion is very good, making the MSP comfortable to fire for passive armored operators. Fixed night sights are standard, with a small 1.5x power zoom digital scope mounted beneath the barrel that can be smartlinked to the operator's HUD. Common 12.7mm ammunition types are semi-armor-piercing hi-explosive rounds, prefragmented anti-personnel rounds, tracking/marker rounds that permanently designate the marked target on friendly radar within 120m, and discarding-sabot flechette rounds that can penetrate most armor. MSPs even have 12cm retractable double-edged half-serrated blades for emergency cutting tasks or as a weapon of last resort. This is the weapon of choice for patrolmen or officers who require a light weapon that is easy to carry and/or conceal, but need firepower that can punch through medium powered armor, so it is the most common PDW (personal defense weapon) available.
I will probably add a detailed armor description to Chapter 1; it's pretty long, but for your imagination just think of what the Master Chief would look like if he were in Fallout 2.
Not much action in this chapter, but necessary nonetheless. //
<b><u>Chapter 6: Reunite, Reveal, and Reload</b></u>
Drake hovered in a twilight zone between consciousness and death. He couldn't feel his body. "Check your fire with that damn plasma gun, I just lost my eyebrows! Nice shot." There were voices, real voices. "Sir, sorry, sir! More bogies inbound, sir!" "HI system hot! Bravo weapons firing-" A dull thud, muffled by the Bacterium "No, I said <i>behind</i> that fuel line!" Machinegun fire. "-your six! Contacts all around!" "I know, I know!" Drake glanced at his armor integrity monitor. "-egulars out of here! Heavies, move up and flank- Carter! Covering with the HMG, you worthle-" The color of the neck armor had gone from ready green to flashing red and crimson. What did that mean..? Breach. "Sir, I'm getting something on indie sensors... I think it's him." "Well put that cutting laser to use, we're kind of f***ing busy over- I SAID COVERING!" Again, gunfire. Much closer now. A shotgun... but not standard. Could they really..? Sergeant Willis. It clicked into place. Drake suddenly felt as if a vacuum had suddenly manifested in the core of his brain, but instantly forgot about it. Then he remembered his grenades. Why hadn't they gone boom. Boom! Good. The slimy bowels of the Bacterium seemed to melt. Drake suddenly found himself riding a wave of fluid along with his CLAW and dozens of partially decomposed Marine bodies as the liquified matter gushed out. He saw many Omegas, Heavies, and retreating regulars in front of him. Andrea swung around just in time for him to slam into her armored knee head-first. For the second time in one op, Drake blacked out.
Someone nearby spoke "Medical to Doctor Argyle. The Captain has regained consciousness." The ceiling, and everything else, including the fact that he had no armor, shot into focus so quickly Drake nearly fell off of the operating coffin. "Calm down. We're safe here." That voice... Xia - glow of the sunrise - all too apt under the circumstances. He tried to form a sentence as he rose, but was still far too dazed Strangely, the sensory mesh that detected his nerve impulses and sent them to the suit computer was still attached to his skin. Yes, it was Xia - her jet black ponytail gave her away just as the sensory data reached his brain. She was wearing the hazmat/lab coat hybrid Eurasian syndicate scientists preferred. "Y... your- armor?" "You need water. The cleansing nanites were very aggressive this time, Sarge's orders." She handed him two glasses of water. He only realized how thirsty he had been when the water touched his lips. He listened to her as he gulped the sweet liquid down at superhuman speed. "I don't know how you survived in there. This entire area has been low on defensive nanites since the war for Ariadne One began. There was nothing keeping the Bacterium from competely destroying you from the inside out. There was already a colony that had collected on your spinal cord, that's why we had you in the coffin for so long - three whole hunter-seeker flushes." Drake surveyed the medical bay. It was uncharacteristically small; usually these places stretched on as far as the eye could see, with row after row of coffins, the nanite operating platforms that resembled caskets, and even some manual surgical arms suspended from the ceiling for the more routine patch-ups. This room was just like any other, only much smaller. The only other noticable differences were some prototypes even Drake had never seen, and of course the only vent in the room was rigged with one of Xia's trademark "Boom Colas," a Pepsi (her favorite beverage) can filled with anything flammable and laced with C12 foaming explosive and a single Cx10 bullet that would be primed if something disturbed the tripwire. Drake took the next glass of water and took a sip "So, how're you holding up?" Xia laughed. This man had just been bitten, stabbed, and partially digested "We're doing okay. Better than I thought we would be after what happened in the fighter bay." Drake's expression suddenly became serious "What happened?" "Something new. The Bacterium formed an arm of some kind - probably the same thing it must've done to get you. In any case, Argyle wants me to bring you over to ops. Better suit up. Sir." She tossed him a pair of jeans and boots, complete with the fresh nanoproduced smell. He would've preferred TSA fatigues, but he let her be. Weird sense of humor.
Drake strode down the crowded corridors in his mesh, jeans, and untied boots. There were Marine regulars sitting against the walls chatting, techs configuring door panels to handprints, robot trays carrying medpacks and ammo. He easily spotted more than a platoon of men (and women) on his way to Ops - this place was certifiably <i>packed</i>. A few of them shot him accusing glances. Maybe they had lost buddies on the expedition to save him? That concept stung worse than a Fade's acid. But how could they know where he was, let alone that he was in danger? Drake had no problem thinking of questions for Argyle. After stumbling around a Heavy stupidly positioned in the doorway, he was in Ops. It was a relatively large, yet surprisingly small, domed room with several terraces that got wider and wider towards the bottom. Terminals, consoles, and holograms lined the terraces, and the dome itself was a huge view of space with a series of holographic projections inside of it. Drake instantly recognized the truck-sized representation of Facility One.
Leaning over the railing with a datapad in hand, was the man Drake assumed was Argyle. Although rather short and frail in appearance underneath his old-fashioned labcoat, the man running the show ordered the overworked techs below with a sense of urgency and authority in his voice Drake had thought no one but his old Drill Sergeant could replicate. He turned to face the man in the mesh and jeans. "Ah, Captain. I suppose we can relieve the Sergeant now that you're back among the living." The Doctor's face seemed to hang loosely from his sharp, angular bones, but with his antique optics, something the neural encyclopedia called "spectacles," he appeared less dilapidated than he did wise. "I have much to tell you, and I'm sure you have many questions," Argyle leaned over and told a busy unarmored Marine something "but this place is to loud. To my office."
Argyle led the way to a sparsely decorated room with a table, an espresso machine, and two chairs. It had only been an office for a few hours, apparently. Drake politely refused a the Doctor's offer of coffee and sank into the soft pleather seat opposite the old man "So Doctor, tell me, how exactly did you manage to secure this place? My people are out there strolling around like the facility isn't even under attack." Argyle smiled imperceptibly beneath his white beard "I believe we have the United Trans-System States to thank for this momentary respite." He grinned and nodded at Drake's UTSS-issue pistol Xia had thoughtfully placed in his pocket. He had just noticed it; God, that woman moved like a ghost! "You see, the American scientists posted here were working on the very xenoforms you're here to fight. After a few... accidents, they convinced the UTSS military to send over one of their 'space bunkers,'" All TSA vets were familiar with these safe-rooms, or more accurately safe-bases within bases. If the UTSS was willing to spend massive amounts of cash on each of its installations, the Frontiersmen would have it easy; each bunker was completely self-sufficient, had only one access point, a large nanosludge resovoir, very few vents (a feature introduced since first contact), and was wrapped completely in 20 meter thick Space Tau-Battleplate that had bolstered the UTSS Navy's dominance after the Expansion. And it was electrified. "Installation, excluding the bribes that had to be made to gain access to other government's sectors, cost billions upon billions; their experiments were secret, and the scientists were firm about not transporting their equipment and subjects. They knew we were aware they had Kharaa, yet they tore apart and rebuilt the station anyways. So, I would think that they are hiding yet another military secret."
The Doctor set his datapad on the table and rapped on its keyboard. A hologram popped up. Cursory inspection would reveal little - the creatures of light hovering above the table looked like regular Kharaa, with some additional creatures on the side. A particularly baffling creature looked like a scorpion without legs. When Drake studied the known Kharaa more closely, he was shocked. Increased muscle mass. Acid-producing glands all over. Multi-layered carapace so thick the creatures looked as if they were wearing some kind of bony powered armor. <i>Cybernetics. Nanite-enhanced tissues. Nanite resovoirs.</i> Argyle must have read his expression "Yes, they brought these vile creatures to glory. This endeavor was not to come to fruitition without a price, as you well know." He rapped on the pad again, and the Kharaa were replaced with diagrams of their DNA. It had mutated noticably, and for the better as the Doctor had implied. There were telltale signs that these structural changes had been made by nanites.
The Doctor's demeanor suddenly changed; he seemed weaker now, exhausted. He sighed. "But Captain... that is not the worst news I have for you," Drake braced for it. Argyle looked up, his eyes wide, his voice a whisper "Drake, these creatures. The Kharaa. They have an <i>empire</i>. Based on data the scientific organization I am a part of has collected, we have infringed on them. What we have seen so far... they are mere scouting parties, expendable, grown on our own air and resources. We have seen subspace ghosts of-" Drake shook his head. It was too much information "Slipspace? What the hell are you talking about?" "The Kharaa, their Bacterium spreads like a virus, it worms its way in, it consumes all organic matter. It can take control of... and pilot... starships," he hit another key, causing a miniature Facility One to pop up. Huge veins of growth outstretched from Command Central "It's proven; the longer the Bacterium, the overall guiding hand of the Kharaa, has to gestate, the smarter it gets, and I have reasonable proof that this strain has grown to a point where it may very well be smarter than <i>us</i>." Drake shifted uneasily in his chair. What had seemed like a good, strategic advantage was turning into a nightmare. "What I was trying to say, Drake, is that they have gotten control of a prototype, a prototype that had an important stake in mankind's existance, and now plays an even more important role in our survival. It was called the <i>Prometheus</i>, after the Greek god who gave us fire... but that fire has fallen into the hands of the Kharaa. Drake," the Doctor was breathing heavily now, almost panicking "This ship can reach any of our systems without a phase gate, and is fully eqipped for massed landing," Argyle's eyes were glazed as his voice dropped to a whisper "It's a perfect colony ship..." The revelation of the true importance of his mission shattered Captain Drake C. Merriwether's mind as sure as a ball-peen hammer would have. Hundred-kilogram weights attached to his heart. The fate of the human race was now weighing down on the shoulders of a company of exhausted, beaten men who had been through one hell. "Now they must prepare for another," he said under his breath.
The Sarge did not realize that Drake was nearly catatonic with the responsibility that was his alone "I felt like a kid in a candy shop, too." Sergeant Len Willis let out a disturbing giggle Drake hoped he would never have to hear again from a man as gruff as the Sarge. But he was right - this armory was remarkable to say the least. All kinds of prototypes lying around, the "expensive playthings of our friendly but useless security guards," as Argyle had put it over the PA system. Drake was not in the mood. He was angry, he was tired, he was sad... The emotions all blended together. The Sarge continued as they walked down the corridor bristling with mankind's best pointy sticks. "We got X-ray pulse lasers, we got linear particle acclerators, we got Gauss rifles, we got Argon-suspension laser pistols, we got plasma bolters, we got maserguns, we got big-bore anti-material cannon, we got knives, blowguns, 20th century reproductions outta private collections! Everything, sir, you could ever want when it comes to man-portable carnage-induction devices! And the nanites can cook us up a whole new batch if we want 'em." Drake ignored the gun racks and walked over to the screen displaying the stars outside. He gazed out of that window for a long while, long after the Sergeant had left the room. He found his home constellation. It would not, could not fall. Terra's finest versus the Kharaa's elite. Drake found a new determination in him that moment, a deciding factor. His posture straightened and he turned from the window. They would fight, they would put every last ounce of blood and sweat into it. Hell, they might just save the universe. He activated his link to the closed-circuit comm, which the Bacterium hadn't been able to jam.
"Drake to all Omega; lock and load and get ready to make a push. We're going to this rig's one and only Capital Dock. Drake out."
// whoa //
What branch is he in?
<b><u>Chapter 7: Rolling Thunder, Part I</b></u>
Even with all of the Omegas in their powered armor and Marines strewn about the armory, it still seemed too quiet and empty. Souless, almost. Lieutenant Pierpont, the only surviving member of the TSA Intelligence Agency's tag-along squad, unrolled the digiscroll, providing a ninety centimeter screen for the briefing. As the last Marines arrived and the nervous chatter in the room gave way to silence, Drake scanned the faces of the fourteen Omegas under his command. Some were blank, some were concerned, others were twisted in anticipation of battle. Two were bloodied. He cleared his throat as the scroll lit up and its inks swirled to life.
"As I'm sure many of you have realized, we can't stay here forever. We have a plan that will get all of us out of this mess, but we're still Marines and we still have a job to do. One far more important than reclaiming Facility One," Drake manipulated the touch-sensitive scroll, bringing up the station's blueprints, scarred with the thick veins of the infestation. "This," he highlighted a compartment near the outer hull of the station "is Ariadne Arm Research Facility One's one and only Capital Ship dock," He tapped the flashing red compartment on the scroll twice more, bringing up a slowly rotating silhouette masked by the gargantuan flashing words
UNITED TRANS-SYSTEM STATES GOVERNMENT PROPERTY, OLYMPIAN 9-X CLEARANCE REQUIRED. UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS WILL BE MET WITH EXCESSIVE FORCE.
A hispanic Marine leaning against the explosives locker interrupted "What's that 'sposed to be? A manatee or somethin'?" Drake glanced at the blackened outline on the screen "Looks like it. All we know at this point is that it is an experimental spacecraft designed for the colonization of starsystems that do not possess phase gates." A wave of murmurs passed over the room. "The Kharaa have gained control of the ship, and have shown an advanced knowledge of its systems and operation," Drake paused for emphasis "They <i>must</i> be stopped before they can ready the ship for another jump. Doctor Argyle's project, a Type A artificial intelligence, has already decipered a small amount of data on the ship - it must recharge for approximately twenty hours in between jumps. The AI has also determined that its jump coordinated are locked in... It's going to Earth." The combined voices of the Marines rose to a roaring cacophony of expletives. Drake drew an imaginary check on the screen, causing the image to zoom back out, realign, and zoomed back in to a highlighted path that looked something like spaghetti. "This is the most direct path from this bunker to the dock. Since the bacterium has jammed our sensors as well as comms, we don't have any intel on where the most resistance is. It stands to reason that the Kharaa's most powerful lifeforms will be guarding central command, where the core of the bacterium's nerve center is believed to be, and the dock... We'll be moving out at 2330 hours, Terran standard time. That is all Marines; you're squad leaders will discuss the finer tactics of the mission."
The other Omegas were instantly up and at attention in front of Drake. They were being a lot more formal than they usually were; each one wanted first dibs on the weapon selection. "Alright folks, have some fun and get what you need. This is gonna be one hell of a fight." They immediately scattered around the armory. The prototype section was a favorite. Drake himself was going to stick with his CLAW Custom; it had a 55mm launcher barrel as opposed to the 20mm one designed for passive-armored operators. He ran his hand down the guard rail keeping the weapons in place as he walked, contemplating what else to pick up. Lots of shiny energy weapons, nothing he would want... then he found the shotgun. An 8 gauge shotgun. He whistled and examined the weapon; folding polycellular buttstock - that would help a lot with the recoil, and a magnetic sling. Apparently, it could hold six shells at a time. Drake tossed the shotgun over his shoulder, allowing the magsling to draw it to his armor with a metallic click. There were a pair of MSP50s lying on a table on the other side of the room. His own pistol was corroded and damaged. He picked up another and loaded it with a twelve-round SAP-HE mag. Yes, this was the same weapon, with the same perfect balance. Another sidearm would be handy. A small claw-like plasma gun with a grayish pearlescent sheen caught his eye. What the hell, the other Omegas had always recommended these guns. He attached a spare magsling to it and set it on his left thigh. He then walked over to one of the Americans' big nanofabricating vending machines. He ordered forty-two 8 gauge 00 buckshot shells, six fifty-five round 10mm mags for the CLAW, a silencer, three SAP-HE mags, and two subsonic jacket soft point mags for the MSP50, a pair of plasma canisters, four heavy fragmentation grenades, six nanomed vials, two cat-packs, and uploaded and ordered four of the KX-4 anti-Kharaa nerve gas grenades some scientist had cooked up in the last few hours. Drake though he must look like some evil supervillian decked out with all the modules the tech team had attached to his suit. The most visible was a dark cloak and series of metallic pipes that looked like external ribs on his back that supposedly raised hazmat resistance by a lot, but he also had some small jump jets in his boots, a MTHEMP-SA/X sensor suite in his helmet, the same unjammable laser-comm system everyone was getting, and most importantly he had the new Hacking and Security Circumvention Digital Sentience as it was officially known in his neural chip... a cold, inhuman voice that would occasionally note that it was performing a diagnositc on something. Argyle was confident the AI could get them through any security that may still be operational, and might even revive some sentry robots.
Once everyone else had similar loadouts, some with linear particle acclerators, some with plasma bolters, still others with weapons whose workings were infathomable to Drake, they were ready. 2302. As they walked down the hall past the battle-ready regulars, a reverent silence settled in the room. The Marines knew that the AI had finally synched the Omegas to their powerful armor, repairs had been made, weapons loaded. Now the fight was going to be brought to the Kharaa in more ways than one. It was an unspoken fact; it was time to get revenge for all those killed in the war against an implacable foe.
// Yes, I realize the other chapters had more action. But honestly, it's hard to keep up with this story when most of my creative thoughts are directed towards schoolwork and other things... Well, I promise the next post will be awesome and a bit longer. //
all those shiny weapons and stuff!!! GIVE DETAIL ABOUT EACH WEAPON!!! TOO AND START THE BLOODY FIGHT !!!! <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/biggrin-fix.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin-fix.gif' /><!--endemo-->
<b><u>Chapter 8: Rolling Thunder, Part II</b></u>
The main hatch had been under the watchful eye of an overweight techie who looked a bit ridiculous in the Marine armor he'd picked up. Drake thought it was madness leaving such an individual to guard the only point of ingress the bunker had, but he had done the job. Now it was time for the offensive. The portly guardian started over the PA "Uh, sirs, I am now starting the decontamination process. This is your last chance to, uh, change your mind. Sirs." Frost yelled over the comm "Open the damn door! I'm gonna kill every last one of those muthafuc-" Drake squelched the comm. It would take twenty minutes for the decontamination protocol to be satisfied that the thirty-odd Marines and thirteen Omegas in the bay were completely clean before leaving, and it couldn't be bypassed. And now that the AI had finally synched them to their suits completely, every second seemed to last a minute. Enhanced reflexes had their drawbacks - sitting still was an impossibility. The regulars gave them all a wide berth as the Omegas got psyched up for the drive into hostile territory. Andrea had almost killed a Marine that got in her way during a training exercise, and everyone knew it. Right now she was fidgeting with her Eurasian Syndicate Heavy Carbine - a beast of a chaingun with an insanely short barrel. The long chain of 20x75mm "shorty" rounds that fed the gun from the ammo box taped to her back jingled as she loaded and unloaded the weapon several times. Li was looking around the bay, testing out his new vision, seeing how fast he could see. He had a big plasma bolter hanging loosely from his right arm. Frost had his twenty-four centimeter tanto-point self-sharpening blade out, and was stabbing an invisible opponent with it. Everyone else - Xia, Ricardo, Rami, Ethan, Mitchell, Guang, Sheng, Dewei, and Zev - was either checking their weapons over and over or practicing some kind of hand to hand.
Three minutes before the hatch was destined to open, the tech alerted them that there was a lot of movement converging on the bay door. He couldn't tell what it was. Drake pinged the door with his new sensors for luck, even though he knew the bunker was shielded both ways against intel sweeps. The Marines, with their HMGs, jetpacks, and Heavies, stopped chatting and raised their weapons. Without his enhanced perception, Drake would not have noticed his own squad's weapons rising to the blast door... Two minutes... one... "Sirs, targets identified! Onos, Fades, and... last one doesn't match!" Thirty seconds. Drake noticed a bead of sweat drop from the Marine next to him, drop through the air like a lost raindrop. Twenty seconds. The ventilation ducts slammed shut. Ten seconds. The yellow ready lights began to twirl. The hatch cycled open.
Someone bellowed "FIRE!" and Hell was unleashed.
Explosions rocked the bay, plasma incinerated flesh and bone, and the Kharaa were caught somewhere in between a charge and a retreat. They didn't expect the new technology. For an instant, Drake's visor polarized as the bay was lit with a brilliant, flaming light - a particle accelerator. Where an Onos had once stood, there was only the vapor of newly liberated atoms. The Skulk fleeing behind it and about fourteen armored decks were instantly vaporized, in their place a clean glowing shaft bored through the station. More and more aliens poured into the space, some through elevator shafts, some through hallways, others through the walls themselves. A second blinding light, and a clean path was cut through the panicking wave of xenoforms. Drake ran straight out, firing, and the Marines took the flanks, airborne jetpackers firing shell after shell and Heavies sweeping the aliens away with their HMGs as if by will alone. When it seemed that the last Onos was retreating, the ceiling collapsed.
Drake examined the internals, silhouette, thermal and EMP emissions, and cell structure of the things that were now seconds away from breaching the ceiling plates with his MTHEMP-X/SA package. They were human. Had been human. The supports finally buckled and the first one dropped in. The Marines stopped firing for a moment, recognizing the pale green armor of one of their brothers in arms. He seemed to sway there for a second, almost as if he had no skeleton, then his guts exploded across the floor - pinkish giblets in a lumpy soup of green fluid. A single Marine fired his LMG at the thing, taking a chunk of armor and gangrenous tissue out and splattering it on the wall behind it. The man leaned back impossibly, his face contorted and bulged, then his whole body... He exploded in a spray of green and yellow. "Holy f***ing s***! Oh my f***ing God!" The Marines were engulfed in their former comrade, an acidic jelly. They couldn't move. Xia and Mitch ran to them and tried to cut them out with their helmet lasers, but the material seemed to regenerate as it was destroyed. The Marines inside stopped moving as they were visibly digested by the goo. A Heavy vomited inside his armor. Drake spun around - more contacts. The entire ceiling crumbled under the weight of the zombified Marines. Drake switched his CLAW for his shottie "Take 'em out!" The first zombie came down directly on top of him. The buckshot slammed the abomination back up against the ceiling, and splattered its partners with acid. Where it hit them, the skin dissolved and they leaked out their liquefied insides. Plasma bolters incinerated the others almost instantly, but there were five Heavies.
These things were <i>fast</i>! One charged the Marines on the left of the hatch, spewing chunks of its former operator out of its joints. It collapsed in the midst of the formation, covered in plasma scoring... Drake fired at the Heavy coming for him as fast as he could. He took off an arm. Both arms. The head. It kept coming. Two more shots. The first slammed into the thick chest armor, stopping the zombie in its tracks. The Heavy zombie in the Marine formation gurgled, bubbles pouring from its joints, and exploded. The armor held for an instant, then shattered and flew like shrapnel. Twelve Marines went down. The Heavy in front of Drake regained its footing, leaned forward. Greenish tentacles spurted out of the arm holes and tried to wrap around his shotgun, but he was too fast now. Drake dodged and spun around behind the creature, jammed the shotgun in its neck port, and fired. The other Omegas took care of the other Heavies... but the damage was done. Two dead Marines and ten used medical packs. Only two more kilometers to go...
// More tomorrow. //
Yours are all novel like and mine are like reading a scientific entry. Pehaps we could collaborate on a work when you get a chance? I would enjoy that. Or if we could just pull and elaborate details on each other's stories. Might be cool.
<span style='color:red'><b>x5</b></span>
<span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>(NS works only, only trust 3 people with the Xzianthia stuff at this point)</span>
<b><u>Chapter 9: The Third Factor</b></u>
--Six hours later, Western Sector 4-A, Sub-zero Experimental Environment Maintenance Area--
Lieutenant Brisbane ran. He had to keep running, and running was what he had to do. <i>The airlock had not even closed!</i> The heavy, metallic footsteps behind him grew closer by the second. <i>We didn't stand a chance! They had </i>cybernetics<i>, how did they-?</i> The growl of something big, ferocious, and hungry. <i>Run.</i> The dark corridors lined with pipes and hung with wires had long ago blended into one nightmarish maw, luring him in further with false promises of safety - he ducked under the dead-end pipes, spun, rebuilt his momentum, and nearly slammed headfirst into a thick sewer access point. The pipes he had narrowly avoided buckled, spewing searing steam, another roar, tainted with pain this time. Brisbane slammed the keypad on the hatch, revealing its inner circuitry. His neural chip urged his suit to send out nanites through the port on its wrist. They adhered to the wires and circuit boards, rerouting power, intercepting security checks. The hatch popped open, the pipes were rended from their welds, and Brisbane darted into the next section.
That had been close. Too close, but not the worst since he'd arrived in this man-made Hell. <i>The squad... My squad. They're... They...</i> Brisbane shook his head vigorously. It was not his fault. He checked the ammo counter on his HUD, then checked his total inventory record. Three half-depleted mags for his caseless SMG, one round in the chamber, a standard TSA hand grenade, a spidersilk capsule grappling gun, and nothing else. Overall suit integrity 59% and holding, two breaches detected, one suspected. Brisbane sighed and surveyed the room he was in. It was another claustrophobic compartment, with a small blood-stained table directly in front of him, a pair of vending machines on the left, and a report log terminal for the engineers on the right next to a ladder. The tiny iris hatch at the top of the ladder and the airtight door behind him seemed secure. He slung his SMG and took a look at the still-operational vending machine. He ordered the NaturaSynth Fried Chicken with Mashed Potatoes for fifteen creds, and sat down. Brisbane briefly wondered if he was insane, eating like this in the middle of a cyberalien-infested space station. No, anyone would take this kind of break after going through what he had. He took a moment to recall the events that had led to this point.
First, the insertion. As soon as they were in the fighterbay it had been over. The walls themselves attacked. Communications simply stopped. Kharaa more powerful than anything he'd ever seen, even in the planetside invasion sims... He had trouble recalling what happened next. Strange. His suit hadn't registered any hits to the head... Brisbane let his mind go blank as he finished the meal, then retreived his SMG from the hands of the corpse sitting next to him.
The iris at the top of the ladder hissed open to reveal an eerie greeting. The lights went blue and an automated announcer began with words so terribly slurred Brisbane could barely understand them "Well. Come to the Uni-eye. Dead transis. Temstates Sub-Zee... row. Laaaaah- ab." As he approached the heavier iris at the top of the ladder, another announcer stated in a much easier to understand pre-recorded message "Warning. Do not enter without at least Class B Environmental Protection. Extreme cold temperatures ahead." Brisbane tried to remember what Class his Omega armor was rated at, but was surprised to find that he couldn't. He couldn't even form a thought to call up the suit's stats over the neural. The hatch cycled open, and the blast of freezing air stung the exposed wound on his neck like a railroad spike. He had to keep going.
Brisbane looked around. He was standing in a room so large the ceiling and walls were invisible. Snow fell from the black sky, individual flakes landing on his visor. Strong winds blew from all directions. Aside from the muffled noise it made whistling against his helmet, the place was completely silent. Brisbane instinctively raised his SMG. The lock alert was blaring in his head. What-? Missile? There are n-
The Lieutenant burned and flew, in what direction he did not know. The snow-covered floor came straight for him. A minute later his eyes opened. He was looking out of his cracked, bloodied visor, half-buryed in snow and dirt, dazed beyond all reason. Slow footsteps approached from behind, crunching the snow. Three, two things? A black boot sunk into the snow right in front of his face. Someone else, probably standing by his feet spoke "Damn, they're dropping like flies." Something warm grazed the wound on Brisbane's neck "Tell me about it. They got this one, too." "No s***?" "I told you these boys weren't active..." The conversation continued. Before Brisbane's vision faded to black, his memory came back to him for a split second. The boot in front of his face was the same kind he was wearing, but the color was wrong. Standard config... based on...
// Yep, we'll see where Drake is "6 hours later" next chapter. Or not. //
BTW: What font is that your using in your signature?
The font, if I remember correctly, is bold Tacoma.//
<span style='color:red'>// CHAPTER BLAM'ED! PENDING REWRITE! WRITTEN DURING BAD DAY. // </span>
btw whats a third??
and... ADD A PICTURE Of DRAKE!! IN POWER ARMORRR!! <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html//emoticons/smile-fix.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile-fix.gif' /><!--endemo-->
All we got is this drake nubby :S