His armor and weapons felt a lot heavier than he remembered. The sky was getting lighter, but the sun had not quite risen yet. The Marine was only halfway back to base camp. He still had a long way to walk.
Just when he was starting to feel hopeless, the first rays of the sun were cast over the hill behind him. Right as his despair was starting to wane, a large, ape-shaped shadow appeared. The trooper tensed and dove forward as he heard the...
CHOOF! CHOOF! CHOOF!
...of a Brute Shot. The explosions of the grenades launched the Marine farther than he expected. As his rolling came to a stop, multiple thuds were heard as two Brute Minors wielding Spike Rifles jumped from the trees to join the Brute Captain holding the Brute Shot.
The soldier knew there was no chance in hell he could take on three Brutes, so he turned around and ran towards the woods, hoping beyond hope that he could at least outrun the beasts. He heard the Brute Minors open fire with their Spikers, and he saw the foot-long spikes whiz past him. He almost made it to the trees when a spike impaled his left knee.
The Marine collapsed immediately onto his face on the edge of the dirt road, almost blacking out from the intense pain. He knew that the spike had just signed his death warrant, but he decided to kill as many of the bastards as possible. The soldier pulled the assault rifle off his back and crawled to the nearest tree, bracing his back against it. He singled out a Brute Minor, aimed, pulled the trigger, and watched the numbers on the ammo counter dwindle. The Brute slumped over, dead, as the counter read zero.
The other Minor ran towards the soldier while the Captain calmly approached at a leisurely pace, not caring that his subordinate was just killed. The Marine reached for another clip before remembering he had none. Before he could draw his pistol, the Minor was upon him. The PFC swung the butt of the rifle at the Minor, who simply caught the rifle in one hand and tossed it over a shoulder.
The Brute punched him in the stomach before not-so-gently grabbing a leg (his uninjured one, luckily) and lifting him upside down until they were face to face. The Marine groaned in pain. The Minor howled in his face, and in response, the PFC used all of his strength to yank the spike from his knee and drive it through the Brute's neck.
As he was dropped, he pulled the spike from the Minor's spurting throat and tucked his head so he landed on his shoulders, then flopped onto his front. The Minor gave one last gurgle before toppling backwards.
With his left knee heavily bleeding, the PFC shakily got onto his hands and knee to look at the Brute Captain. He switched the bloody spike from his right hand to his left so he would be able to draw his pistol. Before he was able to, a thud and a shimmer appeared in front of him. Said shimmer uncloaked to reveal a Brute Stalker wielding a Mauler. The Marine's hope for survival plummeted.
The Brute reached for the PFC, who immediately tried to stab him. The Stalker grabbed his left hand and elbow and promptly broke the arm, causing the spike to be dropped. The Marine could do nothing but scream in pain as the meaty hand of the Brute wrapped around his neck and lifted him off the ground.
The Stalker turned him around to face the Captain, who turned the Brute Shot around so the blade was pointing towards the doomed Marine. The Captain thrusted the blade out and braced his legs as the Stalker pulled the Marine backwards. With hearty laughter and one mighty heave, the Brute threw the PFC through the air, towards the awaiting blade.