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Err *nervous wave* Hi. Never been on this board before. Snipe (may he live forever in his green regular halo) has recommended I post this here, and no it's not for a word count - I'm just following advice. I've been a newbie for 288 days or summat, and spam ain't my deal.
I wrote it in a spasm of creativity - would you believe it after reading about how all the newbies are flooding the boards. It's not mean't to offend either - take it in the spirit. It's cleaner than the version on the ninty board (spelling and stuff). Hope you enjoy it.
:o)
---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----
Drip. Drip. Dark foetid air combines with sweat and fear.
*phsssssss* steam gasps from the cracks in the reactors side. Spinning like a cat he crouches and listens. Nothing.
Bodies litter the floor, their tortuous contortions in the geiger-esque scene falling onto his seared retina's. Brain refusing to compute what is before him he mentally recites the mantra that has kept him alive for the past 48 hours “Family, friends, Christmas, Nintendo…Family, friends-“
*blip*.......*blip*. The hair stands on the back of his neck, the motion sensors monotone screaming down his spine, adrenal glands pouring their contents into his veins. Closer still. *blip*..*blip* knuckles whiten as he flicks the full auto on the Smartgun, and feels it writhe in his grip locking on to the target.
Sweat burns his eyes, but not a blink - that would be fatal.
*phssssssssss*...
It rips towards him, cat like and with terrifying speed, it's hive mind driving it on with insane chittering. It has seen food, a host even - and it has called others, he knows it. The terror, hot and raw jerks his arms up - he squeezes the trigger and feels the weapon take control, it's servos rock his body into position. The muzzle flashes and spits it magnesium death in bright orange streaks. The n00b takes each round in the thorax, gouts of green acid streaking the walls. The 'guns violent harvest ends abruptly. 15 rounds in 100th of a second...with only 200 left it's gonna be a long old haul.
The blips die with the Creature's last spasms.
It was not our choice. Circumstances and a terrible mistake have resulted in this, the dusk of humanity. The Creatures are thriving and the human hosts they use to build their ranks dwindling - only a few outposts remain, clear from the pestilence and shielded by massive energy draining domes, powered by human battery banks. Just 20 years ago it would have been abhorred, the very idea of it sickening. But, without the ability to mine for fuel or man the oil pumps that power the stations - mankind had to look to himself for a renewable energy source. Generations will never see a life, enjoy things like Christmas, family life or something he cherished from his childhood, Nintendo games played with his brothers. They came and took the child you had, and you knew it had to be. One in two went. But he did not believe this was the only way. He had heard from the few who ventured away from the domes and returned that the Creatures used a power-it warmed their egg farms and sustained their existence. It was given the moniker "Forumma" by the pioneer scientist W. Hitestripe. By heating it slowly it changed it's molecular structure much like sulphur - too far and it became highly unstable. Too little and it was simply inert. Strike it just right though, and a few cubic centimetres could power a city for a hour. Or a war to destroy Them.
The Creatures had brought it with them, secreting it in vast quantities during their metamorphosis. The larvae, also known as a Christanious, is every bit as hell bent on procreation as the adult drone. It emerges from the egg sac and, alerted by struggling, attaches itself to the host like a parasite. Leeching all it can from the host it “spams” an egg deep into the host bowl cavity. 2 days later the host, starved from the growth of a terror impossible to comprehend, wakes to the "kicking" of it's hellish new born. The drone claws it's way out and the hive mind welcomes it. It may become a Gerrid, an egg laying machine - or it will be a faithful n00b, gathering hosts and secreting Forumma.
“This is all we know…” he was told. But he knew better. The people who sent him knew more. They knew his parents and family had been taken by the Creatures. They knew their lives ended miserably and violently in some dark hole. They knew this ate him every day of his life. They knew he would go, venturing into their Web armed to the teeth and itching to discover their weakness – a way to harness the Forumma. They knew he would go…
Here. An assumed location of a Gerrid. His team airlifted and dropped in a state of the art APC could only hope they would leave alive. As it was, Unbeliever, Tilta and Snipe were all that survived of his colleagues. They waited for him, hollow eyes and knife edged sanity in the dropship circling this site. Just yesterday Tilta had found a friend, his body mutilated as the Creature had erupted from it. Smashed. Delorentis had pushed him aside and bent to check the tag on the bloodstained uniform.
B. Dandy. Tilta, wrecked. The other members of the team visibly shaken.
That was just the start of it all.
They had made their slow way through the compound, signs of struggles visible, barricades built, stale fear still hanging in the air. And everywhere strands of Forumma. But not a single body.Yet. Delorentis ordered the formation, “loose deuce”. It allowed shifting of positions, and a melee style of fighting, but his men were conditioned. Hours and hours of combat training had sharpened reflexes. Each Ninty knew that a back covered, meant their own would be too.
Unbeliever took point – the massive Smartgun circling his body like a lover doing the waltz - it’s muzzle seeking a target. The team worked their way through corridors, nerves twanging with every new door or corner. It got darker. Sources of light had been covered by Forumma, edges and corners filled by it. Tunnels it seemed were a favourite with the Creatures and the humidity and heat increased. Delorentis gave the order: “IR lads – filter for heat signatures above 45”. Swiftly the team activated their targeting systems, lowering the visor over the left or right eye. It was hot –the filtering did something for the myriad of heat sources but…still very difficult. Not a sign of the Creatures anywhere. Snipe started some nervous chatter – it was his way of cooling off but it was not helping. Cloying claustrophobia set in, two abreast. This was not good…
*Blip* oh mother of God… “Is she still alive?” Frantically Snipe grabbed the women’s arm, tipped the head back and looked into the eyes…she looked dead, cold. But something had moved.*Blip*. We all knew then. But some had never seen it and stared at the ghoulish scene unfolding. They would wish on dark nights they never saw it. Torched before it could scuttle off, the n00b hung from her body, squeals pealing through the compound… Delorentis released the trigger, the flame of the blue pilot light glittering in his eyes.
*Blip*…*Blip* “I got six, can’t tell above or below – where the hell!!!!” *Blip* “I have two!! Boss what we gonna do… can’t see ‘em…” Barking the command to “Back to Back”, Delorentis unleashed the beast in the Smartgun –Unbeliever’s whining servoes telling him he had done the same. And the roof crawled. Dropping from the roof, hissing and screaming the n00b horde fell into the middle of the crew, staccato gunfire punctuating the confusion. Screaming obscenities, Tilta lay about with his flamer while Snipe backed up against him, his carbine chattering death into the squirming mass. The Ninty’s were fighting hard but every so often a scream and one more crackle of static. Desperately calling for the men to fall back Delorentis spun to see Cooky lifted bodily into a vent his arms flailing. The world slows…treacle like… he raises his side arm and looks into Cooky’s eyes and sees It… *crack* the pistol bucks in his hand.
A better way to go.
Limping back to the APC with the hordes of hell in pursuit, his team decimated and broken he commanded them to go. He would do it alone – what would be one more in the thousands that had already died? Looking up at the Dropship’s howling engines he thinks of his family, friends, Christmas and the simple pleasures of gaming with his brothers on the Nintendo.
---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----- ---- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----
Might write another installment next year - there's a Gerrid waiting for Delorentis! Hehe....Merry Christmas!
I wrote it in a spasm of creativity - would you believe it after reading about how all the newbies are flooding the boards. It's not mean't to offend either - take it in the spirit. It's cleaner than the version on the ninty board (spelling and stuff). Hope you enjoy it.
:o)
---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----
Drip. Drip. Dark foetid air combines with sweat and fear.
*phsssssss* steam gasps from the cracks in the reactors side. Spinning like a cat he crouches and listens. Nothing.
Bodies litter the floor, their tortuous contortions in the geiger-esque scene falling onto his seared retina's. Brain refusing to compute what is before him he mentally recites the mantra that has kept him alive for the past 48 hours “Family, friends, Christmas, Nintendo…Family, friends-“
*blip*.......*blip*. The hair stands on the back of his neck, the motion sensors monotone screaming down his spine, adrenal glands pouring their contents into his veins. Closer still. *blip*..*blip* knuckles whiten as he flicks the full auto on the Smartgun, and feels it writhe in his grip locking on to the target.
Sweat burns his eyes, but not a blink - that would be fatal.
*phssssssssss*...
It rips towards him, cat like and with terrifying speed, it's hive mind driving it on with insane chittering. It has seen food, a host even - and it has called others, he knows it. The terror, hot and raw jerks his arms up - he squeezes the trigger and feels the weapon take control, it's servos rock his body into position. The muzzle flashes and spits it magnesium death in bright orange streaks. The n00b takes each round in the thorax, gouts of green acid streaking the walls. The 'guns violent harvest ends abruptly. 15 rounds in 100th of a second...with only 200 left it's gonna be a long old haul.
The blips die with the Creature's last spasms.
It was not our choice. Circumstances and a terrible mistake have resulted in this, the dusk of humanity. The Creatures are thriving and the human hosts they use to build their ranks dwindling - only a few outposts remain, clear from the pestilence and shielded by massive energy draining domes, powered by human battery banks. Just 20 years ago it would have been abhorred, the very idea of it sickening. But, without the ability to mine for fuel or man the oil pumps that power the stations - mankind had to look to himself for a renewable energy source. Generations will never see a life, enjoy things like Christmas, family life or something he cherished from his childhood, Nintendo games played with his brothers. They came and took the child you had, and you knew it had to be. One in two went. But he did not believe this was the only way. He had heard from the few who ventured away from the domes and returned that the Creatures used a power-it warmed their egg farms and sustained their existence. It was given the moniker "Forumma" by the pioneer scientist W. Hitestripe. By heating it slowly it changed it's molecular structure much like sulphur - too far and it became highly unstable. Too little and it was simply inert. Strike it just right though, and a few cubic centimetres could power a city for a hour. Or a war to destroy Them.
The Creatures had brought it with them, secreting it in vast quantities during their metamorphosis. The larvae, also known as a Christanious, is every bit as hell bent on procreation as the adult drone. It emerges from the egg sac and, alerted by struggling, attaches itself to the host like a parasite. Leeching all it can from the host it “spams” an egg deep into the host bowl cavity. 2 days later the host, starved from the growth of a terror impossible to comprehend, wakes to the "kicking" of it's hellish new born. The drone claws it's way out and the hive mind welcomes it. It may become a Gerrid, an egg laying machine - or it will be a faithful n00b, gathering hosts and secreting Forumma.
“This is all we know…” he was told. But he knew better. The people who sent him knew more. They knew his parents and family had been taken by the Creatures. They knew their lives ended miserably and violently in some dark hole. They knew this ate him every day of his life. They knew he would go, venturing into their Web armed to the teeth and itching to discover their weakness – a way to harness the Forumma. They knew he would go…
Here. An assumed location of a Gerrid. His team airlifted and dropped in a state of the art APC could only hope they would leave alive. As it was, Unbeliever, Tilta and Snipe were all that survived of his colleagues. They waited for him, hollow eyes and knife edged sanity in the dropship circling this site. Just yesterday Tilta had found a friend, his body mutilated as the Creature had erupted from it. Smashed. Delorentis had pushed him aside and bent to check the tag on the bloodstained uniform.
B. Dandy. Tilta, wrecked. The other members of the team visibly shaken.
That was just the start of it all.
They had made their slow way through the compound, signs of struggles visible, barricades built, stale fear still hanging in the air. And everywhere strands of Forumma. But not a single body.Yet. Delorentis ordered the formation, “loose deuce”. It allowed shifting of positions, and a melee style of fighting, but his men were conditioned. Hours and hours of combat training had sharpened reflexes. Each Ninty knew that a back covered, meant their own would be too.
Unbeliever took point – the massive Smartgun circling his body like a lover doing the waltz - it’s muzzle seeking a target. The team worked their way through corridors, nerves twanging with every new door or corner. It got darker. Sources of light had been covered by Forumma, edges and corners filled by it. Tunnels it seemed were a favourite with the Creatures and the humidity and heat increased. Delorentis gave the order: “IR lads – filter for heat signatures above 45”. Swiftly the team activated their targeting systems, lowering the visor over the left or right eye. It was hot –the filtering did something for the myriad of heat sources but…still very difficult. Not a sign of the Creatures anywhere. Snipe started some nervous chatter – it was his way of cooling off but it was not helping. Cloying claustrophobia set in, two abreast. This was not good…
*Blip* oh mother of God… “Is she still alive?” Frantically Snipe grabbed the women’s arm, tipped the head back and looked into the eyes…she looked dead, cold. But something had moved.*Blip*. We all knew then. But some had never seen it and stared at the ghoulish scene unfolding. They would wish on dark nights they never saw it. Torched before it could scuttle off, the n00b hung from her body, squeals pealing through the compound… Delorentis released the trigger, the flame of the blue pilot light glittering in his eyes.
*Blip*…*Blip* “I got six, can’t tell above or below – where the hell!!!!” *Blip* “I have two!! Boss what we gonna do… can’t see ‘em…” Barking the command to “Back to Back”, Delorentis unleashed the beast in the Smartgun –Unbeliever’s whining servoes telling him he had done the same. And the roof crawled. Dropping from the roof, hissing and screaming the n00b horde fell into the middle of the crew, staccato gunfire punctuating the confusion. Screaming obscenities, Tilta lay about with his flamer while Snipe backed up against him, his carbine chattering death into the squirming mass. The Ninty’s were fighting hard but every so often a scream and one more crackle of static. Desperately calling for the men to fall back Delorentis spun to see Cooky lifted bodily into a vent his arms flailing. The world slows…treacle like… he raises his side arm and looks into Cooky’s eyes and sees It… *crack* the pistol bucks in his hand.
A better way to go.
Limping back to the APC with the hordes of hell in pursuit, his team decimated and broken he commanded them to go. He would do it alone – what would be one more in the thousands that had already died? Looking up at the Dropship’s howling engines he thinks of his family, friends, Christmas and the simple pleasures of gaming with his brothers on the Nintendo.
---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----- ---- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----
Might write another installment next year - there's a Gerrid waiting for Delorentis! Hehe....Merry Christmas!
is this a story competition or sumfink? all well, seeing as this is about the future of gaming i might as well describe the future of gaming in a narative style. kind of. if you dont like surreal stuff then you might get bored. i have a twisted sense of humor, :P
5 years on from the downfall of microsoft, the x-boxes huddle around a small camp fire, living in fear of the almighty PS2. the gamecubes became extinct after the x-boxes and PS2s forged an alliance which was broken after an x-box stole the PS2s ham sandwhich...... it all happened the day before today, but i remember it as if it was yesterday.
*somewhere in the middle of neo-tokyo, rotten sushi and urine could be smelt everywhere, not to mention the stench of the sizzling motherboards in the fallen gamecubes*
'god, this place gives me the creeps' said jasper, the specialist PS2, 'especially at night, to think that our overlords actually bought these useless purple boxes'
'hey, theyre pretty good eatin' replied cleatus, the hilibilly x-box 'especially roasted next to a nice microwaved skunk'
'christ, you are seriously messed up in your head you know that?'
this pointless conversation went on for a while until cleatus made a remark that was totally uncalled for
'oh yeah, well your momas so fat an' ugly, the only thing attracted to her is gravity!' and at this point jasper glanced over at cleatus' big green blob in the middle of his face and pondered if he would be fulfilled if he shoved a copy of cyber-tiger for the PS1 right into the middle and repeatedly stamped on his face. he was intriegued by this thought, so he gave it a go. unfortunately, just as he was about to leave, a legion of gamecubes just happened to glance over in jaspers direction. five hundred thousand gamecubes turned around and spotted the PS2, all alone, nobody to protect him, and thn they seized their chance and took him hostage. he was dragged for miles, being mocked with phrases like 'wheres your allmighty gang now you ugly box of s--t' until they arrived at an abandoned branch of KFC, where he was tied and bound and thrown into a deep fat fryer until his services were required.
*PS2 highquarters, a photo of jasper is recieved and they plot how to save him*
'bomb them over and over until the man with the moustache has nobody left to rule!' screamed squadron leader Bob
'Bob, this isnt the war against Israel you sick demented wierdo, that ended a decade ago, no i have a much better idea. we shall release our new secret weapon' cried Rick mayall, who was there for no apparent reason 'release the PS3s!!!!!!!!!'
there was much deliberation about wheather or not this was safe, but then the authors mum yekked at him for not tidying his room so this story will be continued in 2 days
hey, that wasnt that surreal at all! dang, and i was just getting to the bit with....... oh balls, g2g
5 years on from the downfall of microsoft, the x-boxes huddle around a small camp fire, living in fear of the almighty PS2. the gamecubes became extinct after the x-boxes and PS2s forged an alliance which was broken after an x-box stole the PS2s ham sandwhich...... it all happened the day before today, but i remember it as if it was yesterday.
*somewhere in the middle of neo-tokyo, rotten sushi and urine could be smelt everywhere, not to mention the stench of the sizzling motherboards in the fallen gamecubes*
'god, this place gives me the creeps' said jasper, the specialist PS2, 'especially at night, to think that our overlords actually bought these useless purple boxes'
'hey, theyre pretty good eatin' replied cleatus, the hilibilly x-box 'especially roasted next to a nice microwaved skunk'
'christ, you are seriously messed up in your head you know that?'
this pointless conversation went on for a while until cleatus made a remark that was totally uncalled for
'oh yeah, well your momas so fat an' ugly, the only thing attracted to her is gravity!' and at this point jasper glanced over at cleatus' big green blob in the middle of his face and pondered if he would be fulfilled if he shoved a copy of cyber-tiger for the PS1 right into the middle and repeatedly stamped on his face. he was intriegued by this thought, so he gave it a go. unfortunately, just as he was about to leave, a legion of gamecubes just happened to glance over in jaspers direction. five hundred thousand gamecubes turned around and spotted the PS2, all alone, nobody to protect him, and thn they seized their chance and took him hostage. he was dragged for miles, being mocked with phrases like 'wheres your allmighty gang now you ugly box of s--t' until they arrived at an abandoned branch of KFC, where he was tied and bound and thrown into a deep fat fryer until his services were required.
*PS2 highquarters, a photo of jasper is recieved and they plot how to save him*
'bomb them over and over until the man with the moustache has nobody left to rule!' screamed squadron leader Bob
'Bob, this isnt the war against Israel you sick demented wierdo, that ended a decade ago, no i have a much better idea. we shall release our new secret weapon' cried Rick mayall, who was there for no apparent reason 'release the PS3s!!!!!!!!!'
there was much deliberation about wheather or not this was safe, but then the authors mum yekked at him for not tidying his room so this story will be continued in 2 days
hey, that wasnt that surreal at all! dang, and i was just getting to the bit with....... oh balls, g2g
I still can't imagine gerrid being happy with such great inconsideration for his bowels.
I know, i did.
See
Even newbies recognise greatness when they see it
Of course I am a scientist, pins didn't make themselves you know
Even newbies recognise greatness when they see it
Of course I am a scientist, pins didn't make themselves you know
COOL! im a parasite!
but I dont think gwrrid will be too happy having to lay all those eggs. he's got a delacate bowels system you know. as for a scientist WS, HAH!
but I dont think gwrrid will be too happy having to lay all those eggs. he's got a delacate bowels system you know. as for a scientist WS, HAH!
Err *nervous wave* Hi. Never been on this board before. Snipe (may he live forever in his green regular halo) has recommended I post this here, and no it's not for a word count - I'm just following advice. I've been a newbie for 288 days or summat, and spam ain't my deal.
I wrote it in a spasm of creativity - would you believe it after reading about how all the newbies are flooding the boards. It's not mean't to offend either - take it in the spirit. It's cleaner than the version on the ninty board (spelling and stuff). Hope you enjoy it.
:o)
---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----
Drip. Drip. Dark foetid air combines with sweat and fear.
*phsssssss* steam gasps from the cracks in the reactors side. Spinning like a cat he crouches and listens. Nothing.
Bodies litter the floor, their tortuous contortions in the geiger-esque scene falling onto his seared retina's. Brain refusing to compute what is before him he mentally recites the mantra that has kept him alive for the past 48 hours “Family, friends, Christmas, Nintendo…Family, friends-“
*blip*.......*blip*. The hair stands on the back of his neck, the motion sensors monotone screaming down his spine, adrenal glands pouring their contents into his veins. Closer still. *blip*..*blip* knuckles whiten as he flicks the full auto on the Smartgun, and feels it writhe in his grip locking on to the target.
Sweat burns his eyes, but not a blink - that would be fatal.
*phssssssssss*...
It rips towards him, cat like and with terrifying speed, it's hive mind driving it on with insane chittering. It has seen food, a host even - and it has called others, he knows it. The terror, hot and raw jerks his arms up - he squeezes the trigger and feels the weapon take control, it's servos rock his body into position. The muzzle flashes and spits it magnesium death in bright orange streaks. The n00b takes each round in the thorax, gouts of green acid streaking the walls. The 'guns violent harvest ends abruptly. 15 rounds in 100th of a second...with only 200 left it's gonna be a long old haul.
The blips die with the Creature's last spasms.
It was not our choice. Circumstances and a terrible mistake have resulted in this, the dusk of humanity. The Creatures are thriving and the human hosts they use to build their ranks dwindling - only a few outposts remain, clear from the pestilence and shielded by massive energy draining domes, powered by human battery banks. Just 20 years ago it would have been abhorred, the very idea of it sickening. But, without the ability to mine for fuel or man the oil pumps that power the stations - mankind had to look to himself for a renewable energy source. Generations will never see a life, enjoy things like Christmas, family life or something he cherished from his childhood, Nintendo games played with his brothers. They came and took the child you had, and you knew it had to be. One in two went. But he did not believe this was the only way. He had heard from the few who ventured away from the domes and returned that the Creatures used a power-it warmed their egg farms and sustained their existence. It was given the moniker "Forumma" by the pioneer scientist W. Hitestripe. By heating it slowly it changed it's molecular structure much like sulphur - too far and it became highly unstable. Too little and it was simply inert. Strike it just right though, and a few cubic centimetres could power a city for a hour. Or a war to destroy Them.
The Creatures had brought it with them, secreting it in vast quantities during their metamorphosis. The larvae, also known as a Christanious, is every bit as hell bent on procreation as the adult drone. It emerges from the egg sac and, alerted by struggling, attaches itself to the host like a parasite. Leeching all it can from the host it “spams” an egg deep into the host bowl cavity. 2 days later the host, starved from the growth of a terror impossible to comprehend, wakes to the "kicking" of it's hellish new born. The drone claws it's way out and the hive mind welcomes it. It may become a Gerrid, an egg laying machine - or it will be a faithful n00b, gathering hosts and secreting Forumma.
“This is all we know…” he was told. But he knew better. The people who sent him knew more. They knew his parents and family had been taken by the Creatures. They knew their lives ended miserably and violently in some dark hole. They knew this ate him every day of his life. They knew he would go, venturing into their Web armed to the teeth and itching to discover their weakness – a way to harness the Forumma. They knew he would go…
Here. An assumed location of a Gerrid. His team airlifted and dropped in a state of the art APC could only hope they would leave alive. As it was, Unbeliever, Tilta and Snipe were all that survived of his colleagues. They waited for him, hollow eyes and knife edged sanity in the dropship circling this site. Just yesterday Tilta had found a friend, his body mutilated as the Creature had erupted from it. Smashed. Delorentis had pushed him aside and bent to check the tag on the bloodstained uniform.
B. Dandy. Tilta, wrecked. The other members of the team visibly shaken.
That was just the start of it all.
They had made their slow way through the compound, signs of struggles visible, barricades built, stale fear still hanging in the air. And everywhere strands of Forumma. But not a single body.Yet. Delorentis ordered the formation, “loose deuce”. It allowed shifting of positions, and a melee style of fighting, but his men were conditioned. Hours and hours of combat training had sharpened reflexes. Each Ninty knew that a back covered, meant their own would be too.
Unbeliever took point – the massive Smartgun circling his body like a lover doing the waltz - it’s muzzle seeking a target. The team worked their way through corridors, nerves twanging with every new door or corner. It got darker. Sources of light had been covered by Forumma, edges and corners filled by it. Tunnels it seemed were a favourite with the Creatures and the humidity and heat increased. Delorentis gave the order: “IR lads – filter for heat signatures above 45”. Swiftly the team activated their targeting systems, lowering the visor over the left or right eye. It was hot –the filtering did something for the myriad of heat sources but…still very difficult. Not a sign of the Creatures anywhere. Snipe started some nervous chatter – it was his way of cooling off but it was not helping. Cloying claustrophobia set in, two abreast. This was not good…
*Blip* oh mother of God… “Is she still alive?” Frantically Snipe grabbed the women’s arm, tipped the head back and looked into the eyes…she looked dead, cold. But something had moved.*Blip*. We all knew then. But some had never seen it and stared at the ghoulish scene unfolding. They would wish on dark nights they never saw it. Torched before it could scuttle off, the n00b hung from her body, squeals pealing through the compound… Delorentis released the trigger, the flame of the blue pilot light glittering in his eyes.
*Blip*…*Blip* “I got six, can’t tell above or below – where the hell!!!!” *Blip* “I have two!! Boss what we gonna do… can’t see ‘em…” Barking the command to “Back to Back”, Delorentis unleashed the beast in the Smartgun –Unbeliever’s whining servoes telling him he had done the same. And the roof crawled. Dropping from the roof, hissing and screaming the n00b horde fell into the middle of the crew, staccato gunfire punctuating the confusion. Screaming obscenities, Tilta lay about with his flamer while Snipe backed up against him, his carbine chattering death into the squirming mass. The Ninty’s were fighting hard but every so often a scream and one more crackle of static. Desperately calling for the men to fall back Delorentis spun to see Cooky lifted bodily into a vent his arms flailing. The world slows…treacle like… he raises his side arm and looks into Cooky’s eyes and sees It… *crack* the pistol bucks in his hand.
A better way to go.
Limping back to the APC with the hordes of hell in pursuit, his team decimated and broken he commanded them to go. He would do it alone – what would be one more in the thousands that had already died? Looking up at the Dropship’s howling engines he thinks of his family, friends, Christmas and the simple pleasures of gaming with his brothers on the Nintendo.
---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----- ---- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----
Might write another installment next year - there's a Gerrid waiting for Delorentis! Hehe....Merry Christmas!
I wrote it in a spasm of creativity - would you believe it after reading about how all the newbies are flooding the boards. It's not mean't to offend either - take it in the spirit. It's cleaner than the version on the ninty board (spelling and stuff). Hope you enjoy it.
:o)
---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----
Drip. Drip. Dark foetid air combines with sweat and fear.
*phsssssss* steam gasps from the cracks in the reactors side. Spinning like a cat he crouches and listens. Nothing.
Bodies litter the floor, their tortuous contortions in the geiger-esque scene falling onto his seared retina's. Brain refusing to compute what is before him he mentally recites the mantra that has kept him alive for the past 48 hours “Family, friends, Christmas, Nintendo…Family, friends-“
*blip*.......*blip*. The hair stands on the back of his neck, the motion sensors monotone screaming down his spine, adrenal glands pouring their contents into his veins. Closer still. *blip*..*blip* knuckles whiten as he flicks the full auto on the Smartgun, and feels it writhe in his grip locking on to the target.
Sweat burns his eyes, but not a blink - that would be fatal.
*phssssssssss*...
It rips towards him, cat like and with terrifying speed, it's hive mind driving it on with insane chittering. It has seen food, a host even - and it has called others, he knows it. The terror, hot and raw jerks his arms up - he squeezes the trigger and feels the weapon take control, it's servos rock his body into position. The muzzle flashes and spits it magnesium death in bright orange streaks. The n00b takes each round in the thorax, gouts of green acid streaking the walls. The 'guns violent harvest ends abruptly. 15 rounds in 100th of a second...with only 200 left it's gonna be a long old haul.
The blips die with the Creature's last spasms.
It was not our choice. Circumstances and a terrible mistake have resulted in this, the dusk of humanity. The Creatures are thriving and the human hosts they use to build their ranks dwindling - only a few outposts remain, clear from the pestilence and shielded by massive energy draining domes, powered by human battery banks. Just 20 years ago it would have been abhorred, the very idea of it sickening. But, without the ability to mine for fuel or man the oil pumps that power the stations - mankind had to look to himself for a renewable energy source. Generations will never see a life, enjoy things like Christmas, family life or something he cherished from his childhood, Nintendo games played with his brothers. They came and took the child you had, and you knew it had to be. One in two went. But he did not believe this was the only way. He had heard from the few who ventured away from the domes and returned that the Creatures used a power-it warmed their egg farms and sustained their existence. It was given the moniker "Forumma" by the pioneer scientist W. Hitestripe. By heating it slowly it changed it's molecular structure much like sulphur - too far and it became highly unstable. Too little and it was simply inert. Strike it just right though, and a few cubic centimetres could power a city for a hour. Or a war to destroy Them.
The Creatures had brought it with them, secreting it in vast quantities during their metamorphosis. The larvae, also known as a Christanious, is every bit as hell bent on procreation as the adult drone. It emerges from the egg sac and, alerted by struggling, attaches itself to the host like a parasite. Leeching all it can from the host it “spams” an egg deep into the host bowl cavity. 2 days later the host, starved from the growth of a terror impossible to comprehend, wakes to the "kicking" of it's hellish new born. The drone claws it's way out and the hive mind welcomes it. It may become a Gerrid, an egg laying machine - or it will be a faithful n00b, gathering hosts and secreting Forumma.
“This is all we know…” he was told. But he knew better. The people who sent him knew more. They knew his parents and family had been taken by the Creatures. They knew their lives ended miserably and violently in some dark hole. They knew this ate him every day of his life. They knew he would go, venturing into their Web armed to the teeth and itching to discover their weakness – a way to harness the Forumma. They knew he would go…
Here. An assumed location of a Gerrid. His team airlifted and dropped in a state of the art APC could only hope they would leave alive. As it was, Unbeliever, Tilta and Snipe were all that survived of his colleagues. They waited for him, hollow eyes and knife edged sanity in the dropship circling this site. Just yesterday Tilta had found a friend, his body mutilated as the Creature had erupted from it. Smashed. Delorentis had pushed him aside and bent to check the tag on the bloodstained uniform.
B. Dandy. Tilta, wrecked. The other members of the team visibly shaken.
That was just the start of it all.
They had made their slow way through the compound, signs of struggles visible, barricades built, stale fear still hanging in the air. And everywhere strands of Forumma. But not a single body.Yet. Delorentis ordered the formation, “loose deuce”. It allowed shifting of positions, and a melee style of fighting, but his men were conditioned. Hours and hours of combat training had sharpened reflexes. Each Ninty knew that a back covered, meant their own would be too.
Unbeliever took point – the massive Smartgun circling his body like a lover doing the waltz - it’s muzzle seeking a target. The team worked their way through corridors, nerves twanging with every new door or corner. It got darker. Sources of light had been covered by Forumma, edges and corners filled by it. Tunnels it seemed were a favourite with the Creatures and the humidity and heat increased. Delorentis gave the order: “IR lads – filter for heat signatures above 45”. Swiftly the team activated their targeting systems, lowering the visor over the left or right eye. It was hot –the filtering did something for the myriad of heat sources but…still very difficult. Not a sign of the Creatures anywhere. Snipe started some nervous chatter – it was his way of cooling off but it was not helping. Cloying claustrophobia set in, two abreast. This was not good…
*Blip* oh mother of God… “Is she still alive?” Frantically Snipe grabbed the women’s arm, tipped the head back and looked into the eyes…she looked dead, cold. But something had moved.*Blip*. We all knew then. But some had never seen it and stared at the ghoulish scene unfolding. They would wish on dark nights they never saw it. Torched before it could scuttle off, the n00b hung from her body, squeals pealing through the compound… Delorentis released the trigger, the flame of the blue pilot light glittering in his eyes.
*Blip*…*Blip* “I got six, can’t tell above or below – where the hell!!!!” *Blip* “I have two!! Boss what we gonna do… can’t see ‘em…” Barking the command to “Back to Back”, Delorentis unleashed the beast in the Smartgun –Unbeliever’s whining servoes telling him he had done the same. And the roof crawled. Dropping from the roof, hissing and screaming the n00b horde fell into the middle of the crew, staccato gunfire punctuating the confusion. Screaming obscenities, Tilta lay about with his flamer while Snipe backed up against him, his carbine chattering death into the squirming mass. The Ninty’s were fighting hard but every so often a scream and one more crackle of static. Desperately calling for the men to fall back Delorentis spun to see Cooky lifted bodily into a vent his arms flailing. The world slows…treacle like… he raises his side arm and looks into Cooky’s eyes and sees It… *crack* the pistol bucks in his hand.
A better way to go.
Limping back to the APC with the hordes of hell in pursuit, his team decimated and broken he commanded them to go. He would do it alone – what would be one more in the thousands that had already died? Looking up at the Dropship’s howling engines he thinks of his family, friends, Christmas and the simple pleasures of gaming with his brothers on the Nintendo.
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Might write another installment next year - there's a Gerrid waiting for Delorentis! Hehe....Merry Christmas!