Here's something I was writing while trying to break up some writers block from my other fics; I'll go ahead and start posting it since I already have several chapters composed. It's a brief series that follows a squad whom, during a supposed rescue mission, comes across something they were not supposed to discover. Rated M for course language, adult situations, and scenes of a graphic nature.

Please note: The characters in this story are my own and any similarity to names or places from other fictions is strictly coincidental.


15 A.E. Before Operation Hollow…

After detonating the Lightmass Bomb, in what seems to be a desperate attempt, the Locusts begin a series of insurgencies across the nation of Tyrus. Theta Six is one of eight squads dispatched to search and eradicate or dismantle any COG intel that may have been left behind.

The squad of six Gears, including a conscript, a chaplain, and an former incarcerated felon, the six man band of misfitsthat make up Theta Six come across something they did not expect when they're given orders to find survivors at the Santa Fe Imulsion Research Facility in Gail, a small but heavily tourist district that sits along the Tyrus border.

This is their story.


Faces of Atrocity

Stay, when you think you want me,
Pray, when you need advice,
Hey, keep your sickness off me,
Trying to get through.

Blame, all your weakness on me,
Shame, that I'm so contrite,
Hey, keep your fingers off me,
Why can't I get through.

You think you have the best of intentions,
I cannot shake the taste of blood in my mouth.

~*Seether~


Chapter 1: The Routine

"Demitri, hurry the fuck up man! I swear you better not be reading in there"

…a voice could be heard following another series of banging against the thin pine, outhouse door hat rattled against the rickety doorframe. The sudden obnoxious knocking broke Demitri's focus from his magazine, consequently causing him to drop it on his bare lap.

"Gah, shit! ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT…fuck, can't I shit in peace?" Demitri moaned to himself before he picked the magazine back up. Normally he didn't take quite as long in the bathroom, often finishing whatever business nature compelled him to accomplish which normally took less than ten minutes….but today, for whatever reason he couldn't do it.

"He's hogging the only working toilet, sir"a voice could be heard through the outhouse walls. Apparently their commanding officer was getting on his squad mate's case about his blatant impatience with Demitri using the outhouse alot longer than he originally anticipated.

He started to roll up the five-year-old nudy magazine and stuffing it back into his leg pack that was hanging on a nail next to the makeshift toilet paper dispenser, which was nothing more than a crooked nail hammered in at an angle with the roll of TP over it.

The magazine was one of several souvenirs he found during their squad's five-month trek in a string of towns along the Ephyrean border. It was the only piece of literature he was able to use to keep his sanity, satisfying that itch which made him male. Although normally any means or vices that can wash the callous days away with just a long, stagnant glance at some centerfold broad, straddling in an suggestive position, it kept some of his more primitive drives in check, even if it was just him spending time alone with his magazine and a rosy palm…but not today.

Shitwhat's wrong with me, he mumbled to himself before he stood up onto his feet to pull up his fatigues that have been wrapped around his knees for over fifteen minutes.

"Ah, fuck…" he griped, feeling both legs cramp while trying to get his bare ass back into his pants before another loud knocking on the door startled him once again.

"DAMNIT, CAN YOU GIVE ME A MINUTE TO PULL UP MY FUCKING PANTS?" Demitri yelled back through the door over the noise of the insistent knocking.

"Other people need to take a shit too, asshole! It's not like we got a lot of other Johns around here…"

"Yea, yea, I'm almost done," he growled back before mumbling to himself as he buttoned his fly, "fucking jerk."

Private Demitri Samson's squad, Theta Six, had taken refuge in a town called Barnabas. It was once a small, but flourishing community, known mostly for it's vineyards and wine presses. It was long abandoned now, the streets littered with emergence holes that looked a few years of age, judging by the weeds that were sprouting from the cracks around the splintered crust of the Serean surface. Whatever damage the Locusts intended to do to it, it seemed they had lost interest in it and moved on to another town, and then the next.

It was a number of towns they have surveyed along the Tyran border, looking for Fallen COG units that needed to be dismantled, mostly fallen craft that had feel victim to the human/Locust war. Trying to keep COG intel and artillery from the Locust horde proved to be a delicate matter, knowing that any King Raven, fallen or otherwise could still pose a risk if not properly disposed. The Locusts were becoming more efficient in recent years, salvaging COG armaments for their own vehicular use. So far, they had found only two out of six that have been reported missing in the area.

Squeezing back into his utility belt in the tight, cramped quarters in between the infinitesimal wooden walls of the outhouse, Demitri managed to get his utility belt on before finally lifting the hook lock to carefully open the rickety door, only to find a crabby Private Rodney Brussels standing in front of the entrance with his arms folded across his chestplate.

"Well it's about fucking time!" Rodney sneered, watching Demitri rub his eyes. His pupils were still adjusting to the sudden bright light that was in contrast to the dimly lit quarters of the old outhouse he sat in for nearly twenty minutes.

"Yea, do us a favor and go drop your load so you can shut the hell up…damnlight,"Demitri grumbled, still squinting under the bright haze mixed with the airborne dust coming from the gravel road nearby.

Before Rodney could even get around to the outhouse entrance, he quickly noticed Demitri's magazine stuffed in a different leg pack than from the one it was in, before he went inside the outhouse.

"Damnit, Samson, you've been masturbating on the John again, haven't you," Rodney growled at the squinting Private, still trying to adjust to the sudden illumination.

"What fucking difference does it make…shit," Demitri griped back, lifting is hand to shield his eyes from the midday, scorching sun.

"Fuck, if you need to jerk-off, go do it in the fucking frat house shower! Keep the only running bathroom we've got, open for those of us who have to shit!"

"Alright, alright….damn,"Demitri staggered out of the way, allowing Rodney space to enter the bathroom.

"I mean it, Sams," Rodney blurted out while unhinging the belt around his pants, "…if I even so much as find a drop of your jizz on the floor or on the seat, I'm kicking your ass!"

Conveniently ignoring Rodney's excessive nagging was a feat Demitri has since learned to harness over the past few rotations. Like most squads he was assigned to, there would always be a member he would eventually butt heads with.

It was the same shit, day after day, always moving from one location to the next, in search of fallen aircraft that fell victim to the sky ravaging Nymacists. In daylight, they often kept a watch, monitoring their radar for Seeders while sparsely keeping contact with command to avoid giving away their position. Their squad commander, Sergeant Towslend would make arrangements daily to report to command, keeping everything coded in the event a group of Stranded or Locusts may be nearby, eavesdropping on their communications.

Walking along a vacant parking lot littered with cracks caused from the seismic tremors of an old, giant emergence hole nearby, Demitri peered over to the rest of his squad, sitting idle next to a tattered automotive garage, drinking water from their canteens. With water in short supply, they would search diligently for a cistern or water well, but in Barnabas, they managed to fill their bottles from the town's waste/water treatment plant. Although it was clean enough to drink, the aftertaste from the chlorine made the water pungent in taste.

"Dang, Sams, did you have the runs or somthin?" one of his fellow squadmates asked while Demitri approached the group sitting under the shade coming from an idle cargo truck.

Not intending to answer the ludicrous question, he soon noticed their commando scout, Corporal Josephine Marrow sitting in the squatting position on top of the roof of the big rig they managed to salvage from the winery storage warehouse. It was Josephine's turn to keep watch today while their Stranded conscript, Leonard Maverick was under the open hood of the truck, replacing the battery with another one they managed to rip off another truck from the salvage yard nearby.

Amongst the motley crew that made up Theta Six was the squad cleric, which in this case, was literally. Although in rank, the men called him Corporal Hiraku Gaiman, on the field, he was referred to as Father Gaiman. Although he branded the South Island dressings, his Tyran was just as clear as any other soldier of the COG. It was long understood that Gaiman kept some of his mothers' island roots but still honored the ethos of his Tyran missionary father. His island roots made Gaiman a man with exceptional tracking skills, which saved his squad a time or two, but he was mostly known for his uncanny ethics. The man didn't drink, smoke, nor cursed, and as far as anyone could recall, the man didn't fornicate.

"Father…" Demitri first greeted Gaiman, especially since he knew Gaiman was seldom going to scold him over something as nonsensical as masturbating, or shalackingoff as Josephine would rhetorically put it.

Of all the squad members Demitri has ever had to work with, their Commando, Corporal Josephine Marrow was probably, by far the most unconventional. Before being drafted as a Gear, Josephine was a hard-lined felon, institutionalized in the Tyran penal system back in Ephyria Penitentiary. Although originally charged for first-degree manslaughter, additional sentences were added to his repertoire, after he was charged for intentional manslaughter while institutionalized. According to rumor, Josephine shanked several of his fellow inmates which consequently lead them to bleed to death. Although it was argued that he acted out of self-defense, he was transferred to solitary confinement for six months before his formal sentencing before the board.

Needless to say, Josephine wasn't a stranger to violence anymore than a cat was a stranger to hairballs, but the Gear life seemed to fit him like a glove, and oddly enough, Demitri could swear that Josephine found solace in it.

Carefully walking under the shade coming off the truck, Demitri made an effort to step over Gaiman's Lancer that was lying out on the floor with the chain belt disassembled. Greasing the drum to the chainsaw bayonet, Gaiman responded to Demitri,

"Greetings Samson…I take it you got your daily grievance report from Private Brussel's usual list of complaints?" Father Gaiman asked while still keeping his working gaze on the Lancer's chainsaw mechanism.

"…and then some," Demitri mumbled before lifting his hands onto his forehead to slick his sweat-saturated hair off his brow.

A condescending laugh could be heard from above as Demitri looked up to see a smug Josephine, making gestures with his hand that resembled someone pulling root. Fucking psycho.

"No Marrow…nobody wants to hear about your love sessions back in the slam…" Demitri sneered as Josephine let out a mocking chuckle.

"Come now mon amie, how long do ya tink dos pictures of yer fake-tit bitches are gonna get your rocks off, before dey lose dere luster, and den you're left to yer own dwindling imagination?"

Demitri didn't reply as he simply lifted his arm to flash Josephine the middle finger, keeping his potty mouth to a minimum for the sake of Father Gaiman's company.

"What seems to be the problem now, Josephine?" the voice of their commanding officer could be heard as Sergeant Towslend peered around the corner of the trailer.

"It's just been awhile since da Private's here frosted any pastries, Sarge…" Josephine mused in his broken Tyran, heavily sloshed in an foreign accent.

Josephine didn't resemble a typical convict thug by being grossly top heavy from lifting weights eight hours of the day, or using his body as a canvas by littering it in ink. In contrast, he was long and lanky, his musculature lithe and rigid which probably complimented his ability to haul ass.

The only tattoo that he did have was not by choice. It was a bar code that was inked on his back, a system the penitentiary used to keep track of their inmates for identification purposes in the event they were to be mutilated beyond recognition. Otherwise, Corporal Marrow was composed and disturbingly amiable for a man who literally fought to stay alive in one of the most violent penitentiary's in Tyrus.

Sergeant Towsland impatiently looked down at his wrist-watch before looking to see Private Rodney Brussels rejoin the group after taking care of the usual paperwork, which he still had strapped to his supply pack.

Although Demitri would more often than not, stereotype Brussels as the official squad asshole, he would still have to admit that he's dealt with worse. Rodney's biggest character flaw was that he was a stickler for cleanliness, hence the reason he insisted on keeping a roll of toilet paper on his persons in the event when nature called. The man was so anal retentive about it, Demitri swore that the man probably carried a bar of soap in his pack and secretly scrubs his ass in an available lavoratory whenever he got the chance.

As Brussels finally approached the rest of the group, he could instantly hear Josephine snicker,

"We was wondering if ya fell in…"

"Fuck you, Marrow," Brussels sneered back.

"The both of you, shut up and listen…" Towslend ordered, "…and this goes for the rest of you gentlemen…"

"We're anytin' but gentle, Sarge," Josephine made a point to remind the Sergeant.

"ShutupMarrow and pay attention…I'll need you to get the map out a little later to start looking for a route between here and Gail."

"DamnSarge, all the way to Gail?" Demitri blurted out at the news of their relocation.

"That's right Private! I've just been given orders to pack up and head out to Gail…"

"The fuck for?" Brussels began to gripe before he even got word of their new objective.

"Apparently, there is an Imulsion research laboratory that was sacked last night, and we need to go back to check for survivors."

"So why us? Why don't they drop off a squad by Raven?" Demitri had to ask despite that he knew he probably wasn't going to like the answer.

"It's too hot for KR transport, and we're the nearest squad in route, so guess what..."

"Sigh, fuck me,"Demitri quietly grumbled to himself.

"Dere's only one road ta Gail, Sergeant…" Josephine pointed out.

"I know that Josie, which is why I need you look up every possible farm road, detour, substation, or feeder that can give us indirect access into town."

"How about a sewer conduit?" Gaiman suggested.

"Ohhellno! I'm not walking in shit again…" Brussels instantly protested.

"I don't give a flying fuck if we have to swim in raw sewage, Brussels! Our orders are to go to Gail and eradicate any Locust outpost and extract any survivors from that facility."

"Why the sudden interest in rescuing civilians from a research facility?" Gaiman asked, knowing that it wasn't usual COG protocol to go out of their way, or expend additional resources for just a handful of civilians.

"Sigh, I asked them the same thing, Father, and the best I can gather is that this is on a need to know basis."

"So it's another shit assignment?" Brussels scoffed.

"Yea, Private…it's another shit assignment."

*I keep on thinking that it's all done and all over now.
You keep on thinking you can save me…save me…
My ship is sinking, but it's all good and I can't go down,
You got me thinking that the party's all over.


Thank you for taking the time to read my fic. As mentioned earlier, this was just something I composed out of boredom when I was struggling with writers block. In the event when I was stuck, I would just go back to this since the plot was simple to render. As always feedback is welcome.