Raze, Part 1

by Kuraun15

The story of Turner, a soldier during the Raze war. This takes place during levels 1-7 in the game, though with different characters. Rated T for graphic violence. Check out my other story, Knight of Gotham: Laughing has its Downsides (rated T for violence, drug content, and some disturbing elements)! Tell me if I need to change the rating on either of these.

1. Chapter 1

Raze, Part 1

CHAPTER 1: TRAINING DAY

My story begins three months after the war started. I remember the first indicator that we were being invaded: hundreds of ships hovering over L.A. The aliens tried to convince us they weren't hostile, even showing us their guns, but we weren't convinced. The U.N. gathered, deciding that it would be in everybody's best interest to create an international army. This was called Raze. Most countries agreed, including ones like Russia, the U.S., Great Britain, and Japan. Countries like South Africa and France, however, wanted to leave their defense to themselves (idiots).

I was 30. I was already in the U.S.M.C., so I was chosen for Raze, being a program which accepted only the best and brightest. I was assigned to Colonel John Faxell, a muscular black guy who always smoked a big cigar and woke you up with sounds that he could have conceivably conjured from Hell. Training days were always the worst. You awoke (violently) to said sounds at 4:00 in the morning, to be greeted by a loud, deep, condescending voice with the thickest Louisiana accent on the planet. Your breakfast consisted of a measly (literally, the stuff could've had the measles virus) piece of bread and cheap soup. Faxwell always said it was so we would "know what it's like to eat on the battlefield".

After choking this down, you would suit up and head into the training room, which was changed monthly in preparation for the next training day. I remember when my story kicked into high gear. It started about two months after I joined Raze. I entered the training room, stomach still protesting the foreign objects that had been put there. One of the training screens along the wall told me to take out my weapon before beginning. I pulled out my Magnum T2 and stared down the first obstacle.

It was a wall about ten feet in height. The training screen explained how our suits strengthened our legs, enabling us to perform jumps around this height with ease. I ran, holding my gun with both hands, towards the wall, and jumped. This part of the training was nothing new. I landed on the top of the wall successfully. The next obstacle was right in front of me.

While the first wall wasn't new, this next obstacle was. It was an elevated platform about fifteen feet in height. The training screen explained the new boost charges in our boots, allowing us to, in a sense, double-jump. I'd heard about these. I also heard that during one of the first tests, the soldier trying them was flipped into the wall. That made me even less enthusiastic, if that was even possible. I jumped once and activated the charges through the neuro-headset in my helmet. I flipped and narrowly missed banging my head on the edge of the platform. But in the end, I landed on my feet, surprisingly, with new confidence.

The next obstacle wasn't new either. The training screen once again flashed to life and told me what it was: a jump pad. These jump pads gave us a boost to get to higher ground. They were installed to propel snipers to their own little perches, just in case the facility needed defending. Recruits were trained in all kinds of different ways, so that they could function as any kind of soldier in the field.

I walked onto the jump pad, and of course, jumped. It felt exhilarating. I landed on a platform twenty feet above me. The next screen said to try a running boost. I had to run off the platform, and boost in the middle of the fall to make it to the next part. The first time I tried, I boosted too late, and landed in the pool of water thirty-five feet below. I had to get out, climb on the first platform, then use the jump pad again. My second attempt succeeded. I went into the next room.

There were three ten-foot high partitions that I had to jump over in order to reach the final part of the training room. After getting over all three, I jumped down to the final stage: going up against a training-bot. The training-bot already had an assault rifle (power significantly lower than if it was in the field, of course), while I only had my T2.

The training-bot opened fire immediately. I rolled to my right, avoiding the shots. I finished rolling and took a shot at the training-bot's head. Its head exploded in a cascade of microchips, sparks, and wires. It's good to be a marine. Of course, after five seconds, another training-bot appeared in a random spot. With my luck, it popped up behind me. It had only a magnum this time, but there was an ice chain-gun right behind it.

It got the chain-gun and stated shooting. I was hit immediately. This was the most annoying part about the training day. When you get hit, it's still exceedingly painful, and your suit is automatically powered down for five seconds.

It felt like I was on the floor for an eternity. When I got up, I had the good fortune of a thunder-gun appearing next to me. I grabbed it, and the training-bot zeroed in on me again. It fired. I dodged constantly, without time to breathe. Eventually, I was able to hide behind a platform, with the training-bot on top. I slid out from under the platform and fired. The thunder-gun's powerful bolt went straight through the training-bot, making it violently explode.

After a new one appeared, I easily shot it, blowing off its arm and a chunk of its torso. "Heck YEAH!" I said. The fourth training-bot appeared on a platform above me, on the left side of the room. It had grabbed a zapper. Wonderful, I thought. This weapon was quite possibly the worst. Instead of using bullets or anything similar, the zapper used focused microwaves that would basically cook you from the inside out. It was a relatively slow death, and considered cruel. The training-bot took aim as I jumped on the platform in the center of the room.

I failed to hit it, and I used the last bolt in the thunder-gun. I didn't have time to reload, nor did I have time to switch to my T2. The training-bot let loose with the zapper. While it wouldn't kill me, it still hurt like heck. My suit powered down for another five seconds, and after I got up, I scrambled toward a pair of bio-uzis while the training-bot's zapper ran out of juice. I opened fire mercilessly, the bolts from the bio-uzis melting the training-bot.

The next five seconds had me alert, waiting for the next training-bot. When it appeared, I found that a rocket launcher was next to me. I picked it up, said, "Hasta la vista, baby," and fired. The RPGs in the training room only have enough fuel for a couple of seconds, but that's plenty. The war heads are also disabled, so as not to kill anyone. But it's still satisfying to see one hit a training-bot. When the RPG struck it, it went flying and hit the opposite wall, shutting down. The wall to my right rose up, revealing Faxwell, smirking. "You did better than last time, Derrickson," he said. Coming from Faxwell, that was pretty good.

Faxwell and I started walking along the hall, away from the training room and towards the main part of the facility. "Well, rookie," he said, "I just got the order. You're going to be stationed in L.A." I stopped. L.A. was the epicenter. I felt horrified. The aliens hadn't attacked yet, but if and when they did, it would start in L.A. "Seriously?" I said. "Yes," replied Faxwell, grim. "But don't worry. You'll be fine out there." "How do you know?" I asked. "Because I trained you," he replied, smiling.

I was going to be transferred a few days after that. But only two days later, the aliens started. L.A. was being fired upon heavily. Casualties were in the neighborhood of one soldier every ten seconds. Just in case you're trying to do the math, that's thirty-six hundred of our boys an hour. After the primary assault, training ramped up. It was too risky to send anybody in to L.A. at the moment, so I stayed for another month. They squeezed in three training days in that month.

No amount of training would've prepared me for what happened next. There were fifty different training facilities all across the U.S. I was in Baton Rouge. Mine wasn't the first to be hit, though. After reports that one of the ships had drifted off towards the east, other reports came in from Carson City and Phoenix saying they were being attacked. We hunkered down for another month, with another three training days. Eventually, the ship was destroyed by the guys in Austin. But Phoenix, Carson City, and Santa Fe were almost gone. After another two weeks (and another training day; it was easy for me at that point), Tokyo was hit. Japan fell. The remaining soldiers were transferred to Beijing.

Sometime later, Russia fell, along with Israel and Spain. And then, finally, my day of reckoning came. The fire had died down enough to send me to L.A. It was the day before I was supposed to leave. I was with Faxwell, discussing how the whole thing would go. Suddenly, the alarms went off, and three alien foot soldiers dropped through the ceiling. One had a thunder gun. Faxwell took out his gun, but the alien fired first. It blew off his arm, spraying blood and making tendons fly. There was just a few strings of gory pulp left on Faxwell's shoulder. "Sir!" I said. "Turner," he said, "get out of here. Help…secure…the facility." He died. He had never called me by my first name. It made me rage at the aliens. The aliens snarled. I yelled and pulled out my T2. I got behind a corner and fired at the one that killed Faxwell. Its head snapped back and nearly came off with the force of the bullet. I ran to the main section of the facility, ready to avenge my C.O.