Author's Note: So I found out my friend loves writing fan fiction. I lol'd. Then, I was requested to be a beta reader, and her passion for writing reignited my own, so I thought I'd give fan fiction another go—after about a decade or so. It's short and pointless, but I hope you enjoy this!
Thanks, G.
He was a dead man.
An alarm blared in his headset, urging in vain for him to replace his power supply. The CMC armor he'd been trapped in for the past week had started sputtering this morning, struggling to stay online. He commended his trusty suit for holding out this long.
As he rested against the wall of his unit's trench, an orange light blinked across his cheek. The ammo counter on his C-14 Impaler read, "sixty-six." He had no spare magazines.
A series of hollow whistles shot overhead; the last one stopped with a sudden, sharp thunk. The ground pounded as another marine clad in the same armor cratered into the trench floor. A barbed, dagger-like spine made from what looked like red bone protruded out of the soldier's visor. Lucky bastard had taken a hydralisk spine to the face—his death was instantaneous, and he wouldn't have had to suffer the nasty effects of Zerg poison. The reclined marine didn't need to see what was left of his fallen comrade's face to identify him; it was the greenhorn transfer from Dog Company.
Idiot always did poke his head out too far high. The marine thought.
All around the soldier, fellow teammates were engaged in a desperate firefight, shooting wildly in all directions. There were only a handful of them left, now in their little trench. A flood of Zerg forces had completely drowned the frontlines, and staticky transmissions reported Nydus Worms in the main base and in the expansions.
Worse still was the mountain of burning, twisted neosteel in the distance—their evac cruiser. Minutes before, as the Devorak came to their rescue, a swarm of scourges blotted out the red sun and overwhelmed the battlecruiser. The marine had never seen such a mighty and terrifying display of brutal power. In all his years of service, he had never seen a battlecruiser scuttled so quickly.
It was hopeless. The Zerg were too many and too powerful.
The marine reached for his sidearm. He could end it quickly and spare himself from being eaten alive by those unholy creatures.
He winced as harsh static hissed in his ear.
"—old the line! Tr—nsport 357 is lift—off now! Enginee—team away!" The garbled transmission said.
The marine lifted his head, his eyes now alight with determination.
She's alive. He knew it to be true.
The marine glanced down at his oversized, armored hand. There was a sticker of a cartoon rabbit on his gauntlet. Just days ago, he had requested repairs to his arm servos. The engineer who helped him was a young woman who had a disturbing indifference to proper servicing guidelines. She removed part after part from his malfunctioning piece of armor, but somehow got it working again. Unable to reassure the soldier of her handiwork, she slapped the sticker on his armor as a mocking seal of her approval. He wouldn't admit it then, but he was endeared by her gumption. It was a shame he never bothered to get her name.
The marine brought his gauss rifle to bear and aimed at the tidal wave of Zerg forces bounding and slithering toward him. He squeezed the trigger once. His expert aim was spot-on; a U-238 shell punched through the skull of a witless zergling. The nightmarish grasshopper-creature tumbled and skidded across the ground, kicking up a cloud of orange dust. He squeezed the trigger again and again, and more zerglings found themselves with holes in their brains.
The ground gave way under him.
Dammit, they're burrowing!
The marine hopped back in time to see a giant, crab-like form emerge from the ground—a roach. Dirt cascaded from the roach's spiked carapace, and the creature shrieked at him. Barely fazed by the zerg's cry, the marine held down the trigger. Bright yellow flashes and a thundering staccato pounded the air as rifle shells tore the roach apart. Globs of red splattered across the marine's armor. The roach's remains slid back into the hole from where it emerged, and the marine kicked the carcass to help it along.
A massive shadow swallowed him, and the deafening roar of four thrusters blasted directly overhead. It was a heavy transport vessel, and on the side it read, "357." Two wraith fighters darted in close pursuit, spewing red lasers at any zerg mutalisks that got close. It was a majestic sight, watching dozens of oversized worms with bat wings explode and catch aflame.
The marine's spectacle was cut short by a tremendous crash. A snakelike creature with scythe-like arms and a massive, crowned head smashed through the trench wall.
"Hydralisk!" A poor team member cried out before being effortlessly sliced in two halves.
The zerg creature's menacing red eyes met the marine's deathly stare. The marine shot a quick glance at his rifle; the ammo counter read, "zero." Without a moment's hesitation he flicked a switch, and a massive neosteel bayonet shot out from under the barrel. Just then, another hydralisk slithered into formation behind the first.
He was unafraid. He was a dead man—with something to die for.
The marine snorted and let out a bellow, "come get some!"