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Chapter 1

Almost a Normal Life

Marcus held up the small blue figurine and analyzed it briefly, registering it as little more than some generic soldier of science-fiction before returning it to the box. "He gave me all of this?"

"He knew you liked games," his father replied. The older man was still dressed in black funeral wear, his lips slightly curved into a melancholic smile. "Although I don't think he ever understood the difference between video-games and board-games."

A light chuckle managed to escape the twenty-four-year-old. His grandfather, may he rest in peace, had never quite acclimated to the electronic age. Anything more complicated than a flip phone threw the elder for a loop. It was a pity, considering both grandfather and grandson were natural gamers. Though born too early to experience the wonders of modern entertainment technology, the Amalfitano senior's age hadn't stopped him from diving into the tabletop market.

Marcus glanced over the collection of games piled on and around his coffee table, all ranging from decades old to somewhat new. There was an original edition of 'Axis & Allies' from the 1980s along with its modern '1942 Second Edition' version, a 'Dungeons & Dragons' set, an aging 'Magic the Gathering' card box, 'Diplomacy', 'War of the Ring', 'Fortress America', a few more common board games like 'Risk' and 'Settlers of Catan', and the cardboard moving box labeled 'Warhammer 40K' he was currently shifting through. A charming collection to be sure.

He just wished it still belonged to his grandfather.

"Want some help bringing it all down?" His father came to his side standing a little less than a couple inches shorter and patted the younger man's right shoulder. "Or do you think you can handle it?"

About to refuse the offer, Marcus instead hesitated. "Sure."

Five or so minutes later, the two had finished finding room for the tabletop games in the basement's extra closet space. The older of the two made a gesture of wiping his hands before casually walking to the center of the room and seating himself on the large sofa there. "Really outdid yourself with the place," he said teasingly.

The basement was more a man-cave than anything else. A large rectangular living area that could double as a studio apartment, its walls were decorated in a wide variety of memorabilia including posters, model planes and ships, picture frames, and a few reminders of Marcus' time serving in the U.S. Navy. Mounted on the wall at the back, opposite of the staircase leading up to the single-story house's kitchen, was a 65-inch flat screen television. A handcrafted wooden entertainment center stained in a dark cherry red rested beneath the TV, it being home to nearly every video game console created since the Nintendo 64. To the left of that in the far corner was a computer desk housing his custom-built high-performance desktop computer with its 32-inch LED monitor.

A barely amused snort escaped Marcus' lips as he made his way to the mini fridge located beneath the staircase. "I've had the place for a year, Dad. Plenty of time to make it my own." Pulling out an ice-cold Samuel Adams, he gestured towards his father. "Want one?"

"Have any Heineken?"

"Nah, all out of those."

"Damn."

"I have some Boston Lager..."

"Ain't the same." His father grunted. "But might as well. Hand me one, will ya kiddo?"

Marcus snickered at the moniker. After grabbing the second beer and picking up the bottle opener he typically left atop the mini fridge, he plopped down on the sofa as well and sent his father a not-so-serious stink eye. "You ever gonna stop calling me that?"

The parent chuckled while opening his bottle. "As long as you're my son, you'll always be my kiddo," he declared with a smirk.

Lightly shaking his head, Marcus still managed a small smile in return before taking a sip of his beer, savoring the refreshing taste of the Summer Ale. "Pain in the ass."

"Bafangool." The two then looked at each other and, for the first time in what had likely been months, shared a heartfelt laugh. A short-lived but welcome distraction from the somber mood of the day.

The last time he and his father had managed to embrace a similar moment had been a year ago, shortly after his EAS and he'd received his DD214 form. Marcus had returned to New York City after five years as a Hospital Corpsman, and his whole extended family saw it fit to celebrate his return with a large dinner party stereotypical of Brooklyn-Italians. Before that was during his farewell party on the day prior to his shipping to RTC Great Lakes and the beginning of his military career. On both previous occasions, the two had found themselves in similar positions quietly enjoying their drinks with sparse conversation, although those moments had been on the roof of his parents' apartment building in Brooklyn rather than in the basement of his upstate New York single-bedroom flat.

Eventually, the memory of his grandfather came back to mind. "How's Mom and Nana doing?" he asked after another swig.

"Bless their souls." His father made the Catholic sign of the cross with his right hand. "I had to run to Duane Reade for a new pack of tissues."

"That bad?"

"The reception will help."

Marcus made a sound that was halfway between a grunt and a chuckle. "Fine food and the chance to gossip could lift any Italian woman's spirits."

The older man nearly spit out his beer. "If only you knew how right you are," he stated with an amused head shake.

"I grew up with them, ya know. Think that gives me a good idea of how 'right' I am." Going for another sip of his Summer Ale, Marcus' lips were met with emptiness. He sighed, then looked to the analog watch on his left wrist. "Speaking of the reception, it's probably about high time we start heading there."

"Right, don't tell your mother we had a drink already. God forbid a man can't have one beer before he gets behind a wheel..."

—

Eleven Months Later

September 5th, 2012

Marcus walked into his home with a hammering headache and feeling as if each step carried a bag of bricks. It had been another long night on the job, the passed day having been particularly taxing. He could only imagine how dark the bags under his eyes were. Receiving a bottle of water and three tablets of Ibuprofen from the kitchen, he made straight for the living room and dropped onto the couch with a deep sigh of relief, uncaring that he was still in his work getup and grey autumn jacket. He popped the tablets in his mouth, drained the bottle halfway with a long gulp, then closed his eyes and rested his head back. After shifting around a bit for maximum comfort, it wouldn't have been difficult for him to fall asleep.

His phone's notification tone, the generic default option of his Samsung Galaxy S2, went off not a minute later. With a groan, he pulled the device out from his pants' pocket to see who or what dared to bother him at two o' clock in the dead of night. It was a text message.

Jake: [hey bro, you up?]

Of course it was him. Marcus might have laughed had he not been so tired.

Marcus: [barely. just got back from work lil while ago]

Marcus: [whats so important you had to interrupt my beauty sleep?]

Jake: [you say that like you aren't an ugly bitch]

Marcus: [fuck you we both know I look better than your stank redneck ass lol wtf you want?]

Jake: [lol you wish city boy. I wanted to know if we're still good for tomorrow]

Marcus: [technically later today and yea we're still good. bringing the wife and kids?]

Jake: [smartass. you know it'd be hell to pay if I didn't bring them along]

Jake: [they've been meaning to meet you in person]

Marcus: [sounds good. now why tf is a family man like you up so late?]

Jake: [me and the missus woke up and had some nighttime fun. can't do it during the day anymore with the boys running around]

Marcus: [jokes on you, the single life is where it's at]

Jake: [yeah I bet you been working Palmella real good]

Marcus: [fuck yourself lol]

Jake: [no need, I got the woman of my dreams in bed and naked]

Marcus: [well then go bother her. night]

Jake: [will do. night bro]

Marcus placed his phone on the coffee table with a shake of the head and a small smile. Jake, his old Marine buddy who was visiting New York City from his home state of Utah, always knew how to lift his spirits at the oddest yet most effective of times. The retired Navy corpsman was happy for the week-long paid vacation that would begin in the morning, providing all the time he desired to spend with his family and Jake's.

Later, once he'd finished the rest of his water and the pain-relieving effects of the ibuprofen had kicked in, he finally went through the process of removing his garments. He then found himself in the shower shortly afterwards, steaming water flowing over his head and back. Since his return from military service, he'd come to fully appreciate his privacy and access to hot water like never before. Even in his exhausted state, he long remained in the shower until his flat's boiler depleted at last and the heat in the water gave way to cold.

It wasn't until he was in bed and on the brink of sleep, wearing nothing but a white undershirt and boxer briefs, did the smoke detector activate with its obnoxiously loud beeping alarm.

You've gotta be kidding me, he thought groggily while rising from the comfort of his queen-sized mattress. This was not the first instance that the device had malfunctioned. I really need to get a damn replacement. With a towel from his closet in-hand and an expression of avid annoyance on his face, he passed through the dining area and made for the living room where the smoke detector was located on the ceiling. The moment he was about to begin fanning with the towel to push a fresh batch of air into it, however, was when he noticed the smell.

Something was burning; a mixture of plastic, wood, and some other faint materials from what he could tell by the scent.

Marcus' mind and body went into overdrive, prior lack of energy forgotten. He ran for the fire extinguisher in the kitchen, recognizing then how the smell grew in strength the closer he was to the basement door. He soaked the towel still in his hands with water from the sink, then wrapped it over his mouth and nose before pulling the safety pin from the fire extinguisher, the speed and quick-thinking of his actions a benefit of the firefighting skills he'd acquired in the Navy. He'd call 9-1-1 either when the fire was put out or if whatever fiery mess he found was too much for him alone to handle.

The sounds of intense gunfire and firecracker-like explosions entered his ears as soon as he opened the door, stopping him in his tracks. Looking down the staircase, he saw flashes of differing colors of light illuminating the walls in incoherent but rapid-firing patterns. He couldn't tell what the source was since it all originated from deeper within the basement. It sounded as if a small war was being waged, possibly from a military film playing on the television.

Confusion aside, common sense at the very least dictated that someone had broken into his home. There were two small windows lining the ceiling of the basement's far wall, and whoever was down below might have broken the glass of one and sneaked in when Marcus was in the shower. With that thought in mind, he carefully abandoned the fire extinguisher to the corner of the kitchen and returned to his bedroom in a hasty yet controlled pace. He then knelt beside his bed and retrieved a large rectangular black case from underneath, the contents guarded by a four-digit combination lock. Entering the correct number-code opened the container to reveal his personal firearm.

The former sailor had managed to acquire a permit for long rifles several months back due in no small part to his veteran status, allowing him the opportunity to legally purchase a Colt AR-15. It wasn't extensively customized; just an EOTECH holographic sight and a quad-rail with a mounted flashlight. Laid alongside the semi-automatic rifle were two 30-round STANAG magazines, each already filled to capacity with .223 Remington 55 grain FMJ rounds. He loaded one magazine into his rifle with an audible racking of the bolt and pocketed the second into his boxer briefs. No time had been afforded to adorn a pair of pants.

He was back at the open door leading into the basement a moment later. The sounds of battle and ensuing light-show were still raging on. Rifle expertly shouldered and trained down the staircase, he placed his finger on the trigger while simultaneously flipping the safety off with his thumb. It was then he took his first steps downward, his descent steady while keeping his back to the wall on the left.

Marcus didn't know what or who he would find when he reached the bottom. However, what he saw after turning the corner to the right nearly caused him to drop his rifle. Occurring before him was what could only be described as a violent war between toys. Or, more specifically, what were once the inanimate figurines that made up his modest collection of 'Warhammer 40K' tabletop minis, now apparently fully alive and equipped with functional weaponry.

At the opposite side of the room was a group of about a dozen Space Marines, the identities of the chapters given away by the blues and whites of the Ultramarines and the greens and blacks of the Salamanders. Fighting beside them was a larger contingent of troops sporting the army green uniforms of the Imperial Guard, their numbers supported by the bastard lovechild of a WW1-era British Mark V, Interwar-era French Char B1, and WW2-era Soviet T-34 that was the Leman Russ tank situated on the floor. The forces of the Imperium had altogether taken control of his entertainment center and were using it as a provisional fortress, utilizing disk cases and old video-game cartridges as barricades or trench walls. Some of the Guardsmen were even using the actual disks as pseudo-ballistic shields with varying degrees of success.

Located at the farthest right side of the basement was a platoon of Eldar exchanging fire with the Imperium. Various unit types were mixed in the fray, including the crimson hairs of several Howling Banshees, the white armors and green helmets of about two dozen Guardians, the blue armors of a squad of Dire Avengers, and the decorated purple and gold regalia of a Farseer. They had secured the bar area he had created for the occasional social gathering and converted it into their own base of operations, employing the various glasses, bottles, and accessories as makeshift fortifications.

The boom of the Leman Russ firing its main gun and the following explosive blast that blew apart a row of shot glasses behind the bar counter was what broke the retired Navy corpsman out of his frozen stupor. He removed the wet towel from his face and rubbed his eyes in a meager attempt to ensure he wasn't hallucinating. Then for good measure, he pinched his right forearm hard. When he arrived at the conclusion that he was not under the influence of heavy hallucinogens nor inside the machinations of a deep slumber, he reached for the switch on the wall to his left and flooded the basement in proper light.

And that was when every "living" being within the room immediately stopped whatever they were doing.