The monster tore through red base, glitter dripping from its slavering jaws. Blood pounding in his ears, Simmons sprinted around the corner, desperately trying to escape the beast's grasp.
In the weapons room, Sarge's trembling hand grasped his shotgun, as he held his breath, praying to go unnoticed. His wishes went unheeded, however, as a figure burst through the door, panting with fear. His finger tightened on the trigger, until he saw it was Simmons, and relaxed.
Surveying his second in command, Sarge took note of his haggard appearance. His pained eyes spoke volumes of the horrors he'd seen, as did the dark circles under them. A heavy weight in his chest, Sarge wished that his team had never had to face the true horrors of war. Although he acted callous and blunt, he secretly treasured the innocence of his subordinates, and would've done anything to spare them this.
They exchanged a weary glance as Simmons made his way over to his commanding officer. His trembling legs finally gave out, and he collapsed next to the other soldier.
"Grif?" Sarge asked, dreading Simmons' report.
"Gone," Simmons said, a look of loss etched across his features, "I - I tried to save him, but..." he trailed off into speechlessness.
Sarge closed his eyes in sorrow. Deep down, he'd known since the moment Simmons walked in alone. Sure, Grif and he fought all the time, but in times of crisis, they would've never abandoned each other unless it was too late.
Footsteps thundered down the hallway, increasing in volume as they neared the door. There was a brief moment of silence, in which they held their breath in fear, and then the door was torn off its hinges. The clatter of reinforced steel pummeling the floor echoed in the ears of the terrified soldiers and light streamed in, blinding them to all but the horrifying silhouette standing in the doorway.
To his left, Sarge heard Simmons muttering frantic pleas, and he closed his eyes and grimly accepted his fate.
Leaning against the doorway, Donut looked at his fellow soldiers in bewilderment. Why were they all running from him? It's not like he wanted to kill them; he just needed to practise styling hair. Grif even stopped screaming after the fifth time he was threatened with a curling iron.
Sighing at the appalling lack of taste prevalent in his team, Donut stepped forward, and beamed with only a hint of malice.
"Who's next?"