Sweat beats caused momentarily distractions from the hopelessness of their
situation. Strained conversations took place in the front of the ship, from
the pilots who wouldn't have to fight, but beyond that everyone was still,
silent, and ready. The mammoth dropship "Laureola" touched down on the
base's surface, and only one person onboard wasn't scared of what was
underneath. Corporal Flynn Taggart. He was ready. All he had with him now
was a pistol and his demeanor to protect him, as there was no time to stock
up, but he was the least nervous of the group. They had 72 hours to save
the planet from the Underworld. Again.
They filed out of the ship in attack formation, expecting to be surrounded by demons. But it was deserted. It recalled images of old western ghost towns and was all the more unsettling. A rocket launcher lay on the ground next to a severed hand. You couldn't help but wonder what happened to the rest of him.
An uppity private picked it up, striving for anything more than a pistol. That was his fatal mistake. A huge pig-demon leaped out from the shadows and tore off his head in one swift bite.
"Open fire!" shouted a worried lieutenant.
The command was unnecessary, as the demon left as quickly as it had come without a mark on its massive form.
"Shit!"
Casualty one, Flynn tallied in his head. He intended to make sure he wasn't one of those tallied and checked to see that his pistol was fully loaded. Behind him, Flynn heard the dropship doors slam shut and its engines fire away.
That left Flynn in command of a half-dozen men, armed with a single pistol and fifty bullets to their name. This would be a slaughter.
They silently walked up to the main hall. It was a gargantuan construction that cast a looming shadow over everything with in a half a mile. As they approached the pig came back and slaughtered everyone except for Flynn in quick run-bys. He hadn't been here for ten minutes, but already had the blood of every one of his comrades on his uniform. It was already a massacre and the carnage had only just started.
This is shaping out worse than the first time...
He squeezed his eyes shut, and, preparing in a slightly Zen manner, pushed the button to open the door.
To be continued...
They filed out of the ship in attack formation, expecting to be surrounded by demons. But it was deserted. It recalled images of old western ghost towns and was all the more unsettling. A rocket launcher lay on the ground next to a severed hand. You couldn't help but wonder what happened to the rest of him.
An uppity private picked it up, striving for anything more than a pistol. That was his fatal mistake. A huge pig-demon leaped out from the shadows and tore off his head in one swift bite.
"Open fire!" shouted a worried lieutenant.
The command was unnecessary, as the demon left as quickly as it had come without a mark on its massive form.
"Shit!"
Casualty one, Flynn tallied in his head. He intended to make sure he wasn't one of those tallied and checked to see that his pistol was fully loaded. Behind him, Flynn heard the dropship doors slam shut and its engines fire away.
That left Flynn in command of a half-dozen men, armed with a single pistol and fifty bullets to their name. This would be a slaughter.
They silently walked up to the main hall. It was a gargantuan construction that cast a looming shadow over everything with in a half a mile. As they approached the pig came back and slaughtered everyone except for Flynn in quick run-bys. He hadn't been here for ten minutes, but already had the blood of every one of his comrades on his uniform. It was already a massacre and the carnage had only just started.
This is shaping out worse than the first time...
He squeezed his eyes shut, and, preparing in a slightly Zen manner, pushed the button to open the door.
To be continued...
