Prologue
It started 4 years ago. Just a few isolated incidences at first, and then a few turned into a dozen. Then a dozen became more and more, until we were over run. The attacks, when they occurred, were sudden, brutal and relentless. They usually happened during the night, so most of us sleep during the day, so we can be alert during the dark hours. What brought them here? I'm not sure. What I do know is what ever it is it's not from this planet. The earlier files described this threat precisely as "The Perfect Killing Machine". Supposedly it was an alien life form discovered on an expedition. Military scientists wanted it for experimental study. They wanted it for some type of bio weapon. It was supposed to have been eradicated, destroyed in space, but somehow it made its way here, to MP 34, a small colony on a moon that orbits the 7th sun.
There are 7 of us left in our unit. Sergeant Pierce, 12th battalion Space Hammer Assault Rifle Command, S.H.A.R.C for short. His specialty is, heavy explosives and long-range assault. He was stranded here after his pod crashed. He doesn't like to talk much about what happened to his unit prior, but aside from his easy going demeanor he's a tough a rhino hide on a hot desert day. The man's got metal for skin and battery acid for blood. I couldn't imagine a better man to be stuck with. The short brick house of a gentleman to my left, that's Stackhouse, a space marine of the finest quality. I've served with him for the last 8 years. He's always up for a good scrap, As part of the elite infantry team his specialty is close combat and tactics and if there's anything I know about him, is when you're in too deep, he's the guy you want to be in it with you. Corporal Fleetmire, we call him "flea" for shorts he's our other tactical coordinator and weapons specialist, when it comes to mechanical weaponry, If he can't work it or fix it, they don't make it.
Then there's C-Mack, Charlie Maxwell, Master Chief Gunnery Sergeant 1st class Black-Ops unit C. Give him a gun and he can pick a flea off another flea at 100 yards. He's pretty quiet and he's always reading something. Either computer manuals or his ever handy copy of Riflery Monthly. Johan Sincavage, military genetic scientist and computer genius. And lastly, yours truly, the name's Rex. That's it, no more no less. My thing is Weapons of any kind, shuttle piloting electronics. You name it I can do it. I guess you could say I'm a bit of an expert in many fields. The training was arduous but well worth it.. so now that you know who we are, now to catch you up to what going on. As I said before we are the last seven holding fort on the north east side of the colony. I'm sure there are other survivors, somewhere…, but we haven't come across any so far. It's my turn to lead the sweep so I'm putting on my boots , armor, and helmet. I grabbed my heavy rifle equiped with flame cannon, vectral scanners, thermal sensors, and multi-band infrared scope. I slung one strap over my shoulder, the other I wrapped around my waist, and gave myself one more once over, making sure to pull down my night-vision goggles and check the safety on my rifle. I set the motorized arm that carried most of the weight of my rifle, which is more like a cannon honestly, but it has a scope, so it's classified as a rifle, and set out from base into the dark foggy ill lit streets with my team Who knows, Maybe we'll find someone, anyone.