Prologue
Emergence Day
The Locust breeding chamber was sweltering with heat and gas, the Maidens, three-faced organisms with red, silvery bodies and long, gashed tongues stood over the clot-shaped pods containing the soon-to-grown might of the Locust army. Normal "Wretches" as the humans called them, in truth bipedal creatures with large, humpback armor-like skin hide, with five sockets for head, two arms, and two legs, were harvested in the hatcheries of eggs, brown egg after light brown egg, assembled on the floors like breadcrumbs. The Mating Court, a diabolical definition of "rape" if no more than subjection to reproducing and enforcing more Locusts creatures, was only a cliff end away. Inside the Court were fields after fields of metal slabs, ironed to the center with near-unbreakable, cooled metals and fashioned together with long, heavy chains and braces to withhold their prisoners: The species of fierce, sight-inept drugged Locust Amazons, the mighty Berserkers themselves.
No human had ever come to know it, or so the Maidens sought to believe, but the Berserkers were the female sex of the very unlucky, often victim male Drones, though you couldn't tell the akin species by appearance or personality. The tables were lined with Berserker bodies, some rattling and shaking violently in desperate attempts to break free of their collars and chains, others with the only other option of laying still, lifeless, as their organ systems shut down for continued abuse and neglect of care. While some Berserkers were kept under heavy sedation to give the drones an attempt at forcefully bonding and mating with them, there were those unlucky drones, such as the Brown-Chest Drone farthest left, approaching an easily started Berserker, in the Kantus sect known as "Truth In Anger". He tried to grab her arm, but she threw it upwards in a sudden jerk and sent the Brown-Chest thirty feet, tumbling through the air and crashing into a column, sliding down onto an empty table.
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The noise awoke Tunnel-Worm, XXII III Drone (Kantus 2:6 : "Vile Of The Betrayed"), born of Drone Genetic XIX IX VIII and Berserker (Kantus 7:1 : "Big Star") from his sleeping chamber, part of the den that housed many infant Drones of his very own kind. He cuddled against a sloshy, throbbing heart-shaped mass of tissue pushed into his arms by the machine above him, attending to his needs with six to eight limbs adjusting and shifting back and forth around the clock, set to tend to the infant's needs and invoke solutions to any respiratory, cardiovascular, or muscular issues it may have had. Tunnel Worm was of course not the individual bearer of this title, all of his brethren within the Den held the title of "Tunnel Worm" at the age of One, and at the age of Two, would be granted the title of "Rock Circle".
Once they reached three, they would be evaluated on their physical and mental conditions, which would determine whether they were fit for military service and what future awaited them once they were trained and drafted.
He lurched, upstarted as the crash of Brown-Chest made more Tunnel Worms awaken, and suddenly, hundreds of beady, still developing eyelids focused on their caregivers and the Maidens watching them. One Maiden (Military Doctrine 5th Call: "Maiden 253") stood over him, watching Tunnel Worm spurt tears from his eyelids, pain obviously emitting from each drop as he turned and kicked, the water boiling his weak irises. She summoned more Maidens to the scanner machine above him, his neural patterns shallowed out among distant waves and in awkward, foreign messages that the machine itself seemed to fizzle at. Medics, Kantus Priests, and Service Officer Drones hurried to their Den, everyone began searching through birth records but no answer could be found.
But without warning, the Tunnel Worm silenced and curled back into a sleeping position, one eye whipped open as the nurses returned to their stations. Tunnel Worm gulped, throwing his left fist in the air, wiping away the tears charring along his peach-white cheeks. The Den was quiet once more, as all the Tunnel Worms returned to their regulated sleeping and exercising. No further problems with Tunnel Worm (Military Doctrine 5th Call: "Tunnel Worm 22 ' 300") were ever to be reported.
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Five Years Later
Green-Chest Drone (Myrrah: Captain Asaaer; Lotch Squadron , Kantus 3:6 : "Uncontrollable Desire") XXVI XVI grabbed his weapon, a freshly-ironed Hammerburst assault rifle with exquisite hammer fashioned in the shape of a Kantus-bred nocturnal and red, skull-splashed receiver, tandem with the small silhouette images of Lady Myrrah tattooed on each separate clip. He exhaled, the immediate bump and the sound of rocks splashing and smashing together in heaps of rubble, tarmac, and cavern water alerted him that their ride, an airborne Snuffer mech used to transport Drones, Snipers, Wretches, and even Boomers safely to the surface of vertical, hollow tunnels, had reached its end.
He rose from his seat in a manner more elegant than the simple grunts of the Locust invasion force, rising slowly and cautiously unlike the others that simply shot up, wavering their ARs like marrow canes or the sharp-ends of broken stalactites. He wanted to get up there to the surface right away, get the battle done with so he could move on toward bigger, more important targets like the House of Sovereigns before Daker or Sanra squadrons could arrive. Humans were meat to them all, whoever killed the most awarded prestigious honors and possibly even being promoted to Theron or Palace Guards, appointed to defend the Queen or any royal, sacred chambers she possessed.
Lotch squadron, comprised of three drones including himself, a Boomer, and a batch of Wretches held under their command by a beating shred of Brumak intestines dressing the undersides of their armor, crossed around and between the rectangle platforms extended by the Snuffer, the transport held up by eight, octagonal legs that stabbed into the surface of the walls around it, and towards the rugged walls. He knew what he had to do, and took one last convincing glance at his friend, Orange-Chest Drone LXIV VII IX IV (Myrrah: Private Ashyiinar). Then he tapped his right gauntlet, lighting up a purple button that transmitted the input command.
The Lotch soldiers hastened, the Wretches were the first to make their way up via use of their extensive claws, climbing experience, and natural built body structure to scurry upwards with little to no difficulty. The Boomer (Myrrah: Grinder Oare) held back, artilleryman-style chaingun, aptly named 'The Mulcher' for its wide firing abilities, in its massively-cut hands as it waited, watching the Lotch Drones escalate as the Snuffer illuminated from its center point a powerful ray. The Drones clung tightly to the walls, anxious for the entry and unafraid of the unsavory possibility that the blast could loosen them and result in a great, long fall. The Boomer made an almost sarcastic grunt as it motioned them with a hand to push themselves into the nearest crevice, and as they did so, the Snuffer's primary weapon fired, a light red laser fired from it's main cannon and into the hollowest, most open point of the surface until the ground began to heat.
BOOM. The earth caved in, from above it appeared to shatter like glass and collapse unto its invisible porch, deeper and deeper into the ebony forest of stone, dust, gel, and cement plaster, showering the Drones as they prepared to ascend. Ashyiinar was the first to taste the dry, lucid afternoon air, the scent of his Hammmerburst, having saturated in the stench of the underworld they called home, and the traces of Brumak lacing his skin were the only things that kept him from immediately puking on the nearest thing, a raised platform of curved steps. Drone XXXVII came up behind him, Lancer-Hammer modified rifle armed, and immediately took aim at the masses. He joined him, and within minutes, the city was cast under the emergence of a terrifyingly unpredictable threat.
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The world around Brown-Chest XXII III was bathed in gasoline-promised flames. The buildings rippled, falling in and out view as certain areas of fire lifted and heaved as they were tugged by the ever-present winds, despite the sky's current blackness. What few clouds dared to venture seemed to dissipate upon the slightest contact with Peresep's skyline, the human "stronghold" toppled like a lamb and brought down by a couple of matches, transformed from a pristine, garlic acropolis into a bed of smoldering, ash-ridden coals. He couldn't breath, that was certain if he laid there much longer, buried under a crop of fallen debris formed from shattered, collapsed buildings and windows. He cursed, feeling glass lodged in his back prick upward through his skin and out as he stood, shoving off a particularly rugged sign that covered his chest. There was only one option: Retreat to the nearest Emergence Hole.
But from where that his squad had originally emerged, he wasn't sure. His memory was edged, foggy as he struggled to remember what had happened prior to a rampant Corpser crashing his Reaver and an importu lunge into a nearby skyscraper, the rest of his team abandoning him to complete their inssurgency. It struck him, not long afterward was he called to interrogate and capture humans for an unknown goal, right before one of the human aerial transports had smashed into the vicinity and left him buried there.
They knew he couldn't last long by himself, not in the present surface air conditions, nor could any of his squadron. Why were they kept out for this long, and what had happened to his teammates.
The Brown-Chest Drone coughed harshly, covering his gaping mouth as he rounded a building corner, Boltok wrestled into his hands as the Drone went, racing off farther into the city, scavenging dried up emergence holes for any kind of sign of his team or an active escape route.
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