Omicron 7:
Chapter 3: The Right Stuff
"Lieutenant!"
"Yes Sergeant?"
"It was just as we thought sir."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes sir. Recon came back about an hour ago, the section has a few dents but other than it's unbreached. The spec ops must have made the area out of some hard metal, the creeps can't get inside."
"Has Jason found a way around the coding unit?"
"Yes sir. He is on standby, as soon as we are close enough . . ."
"Good. And what did recon have to say about opposition in the area?"
"That's the bad news sir. Since that is the only part of the ship the creatures haven't ransacked they have had five zerglings and two hydralisks ripping at it constantly."
"I could remember when those numbers would mean nothing to our army."
"Sir! What are your orders?"
"We move out in two hours. No matter what, we must get into that room."
"Yes sir!" With a quick salute at attention and an about face, Sergeant Clayborne rushed to make preparations.
Inside the, use to be, locker room lay a tired and weary man. Bret Copeland had been through so much and has lost everything. It probably wouldn't matter at all if a zergling comes in right now and chews him ragged. He was tired and weary of living. Lying there just looking up at the flickering dim bulb on the ceiling, he wondered about life itself. Was it supposed to be so tough? Were you supposed to die without being happy? Bret thought to himself for a second about all the things that had transpired over the long months. He wondered why he should go on. In a memorable flash he saw Desmond Wright lead his men to victory over the zerg hydralisk and he remembered what it felt like to have that vigor and faith in a leader. Seeing this kind of leadership allowed him to return from his morbid state.
"I have to talk to him!" He said to himself as he tried to stand on his one good leg.
Being able to focus his eyes further he could see that Slim had encased his leg in a make shift splint. No matter how secure his leg was it hurt like hell. Nevertheless he would have to try and walk on it, but the problem was getting up. Hopping and falling all over the place he slammed into locker upon locker as his attempts at walking became more frustrating, Bret finally got his bearings and stability and began to walk. He began to make his way into the shadowy corridor where Desmond went a few hours ago.
"Where do you think you are going?" boomed a voice from the corner.
"Who's there?" he demanded as he felt around in the dark.
The stunning effect of a fist to his gut, made Bret drop to his knees and gasp for air.
"You don't worry about who is there!" said a husky voice from the front "Did you think that I would leave you unguarded?"
Looking up Bret could see that it was the man Desmond called Jason.
"Cannibal scum like you don't deserve to roam free around this station! I have had an eye on you since you were first brought here."
"I am no a cannibal." Bret said in a choking voice as he tried to suck air in from that last blow.
"Then why were you in the cannibal sector?" demanded Jason as he landed a fist across Bret's face.
"Enough of that!" sounded a soft voice in the shadows.
As the words faded a slender, athletic figure emerged out of the shadows. Bret thought it was an angel. yes it had to be an angel, finally come to take him away from all this torture and pain. Focusing further he could see that although this woman was beautiful as an angel her demeanor was that of an assassin, more like a heartless ghost. He had seen the ghosts always doing drills on Praxton 3 before the attack happened. Yet he had never really seen what they could do.
"My job is to watch him and make sure he doesn't hurt anyone. You compromise my mission and I will take you out myself."
With that the massive man turned and walked out with his fists clinched and his lips muttering obscene phrases under his breath.
"Thank you." said Bret as he tried to rise to his feet once again.
"Don't thank me. You hurt anyone in this group and I will finish what he started."
With that the deadly woman faded into the dark corridor leaving him alone in the dank room.
-------------------------------------
2 hours later
A dark feeling crept through the souls of the group of men sneaking down the corridor. Some knew that the day would come when their lives would be lost. They figured that out months ago, when the incident happened. Just dying like a bunch of cockroaches running in the night was not enough for these men. To prolong their lives, they hid from the spores and the deadly zerg crawling around the ship looking for a meal. They lived in fear and hate at what cards destiny had dealt them, with no hope of salvation in sight. It was not until one man rose from the ashes to help them. In Desmond Wright they found hope, they found a chance to go on. But most of all they found a way to go out the way they would want to. in combat. He had an aura of determination about him. No matter how bad things got he was always able to pull them out. This is what made him Lieutenant of his squad on Praxton 3. And with little doubt, that is what made him leader of the refugees.
Right now the group depended on his leadership so much that they would follow him into the depths of hell if he asked them to. Today he asks them to follow him to what could be glory. Desmond had come up with a plan, but for it to work he would have to make it down the elevator shaft. The problem is that the elevator shaft may still contain spores. Reason being that it was sealed off to stop the spores from spreading. If the spores had found a different route then they would be gone but if not . . .
Desmond was not sure if this plan would work but he had no choice. Armed with makeshift spears of steel, glass, and shards of crystals the band of men made their way down the slimy corridor. The walls had been covered with a slimy ooze that just pulsed as they passed by. If you looked closely enough at these popped bubbles of slag, you can still see the remains of marines that did not make it. Forever encased in this grimy substance until the acids in the sludge melted away their bones and cloth.
Trying to keep a steady stomach, from the damp putrid smell of rotting flesh, the group pushed on. Some men could not hold their stomachs any longer and bent over to cough up the little food they had taken in before the mission started. Most of the men had dry hacks and it felt as if fire was erupting from their throats and stomachs. For those who could not make it just returned back to the hiding spot. Desmond could not be mad at them; after all he was asking them to sacrifice everything.
Those that stayed were urged to move on. As they passed the south passage the light became dim. It was very hard to see your hand in front of your face, yet these men pressed on. They were used to the darkness. Sometimes the darkness was what helped them escape death. It had become their brother.
Upon reaching the elevator shaft the group took a rest. Some wondered why the area was so quiet. Usually by now zerg would be all over looking for a snack. Not wanting to stick around to see what happened, the men got back on their feet and pressed on until they were at the doors to the elevator.
The ragged doors were sealed shut but bared the marks of battle. Bullet holes and claw marks were everywhere. The rustic silver panel that was once used to call the swift transport was now black and gray wires sparking in the dim hallway. Using a make shift crowbar one of the men struck the opening of the door. Bracing his foot on one end of the outer door and his back on the other, he pulled with all his might. Without words another man joined. The two straining men had almost given up when the door cracked.
"GAS!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Everyone cover your faces!"
In a spread of panic the men scattered in different directions from the green spores erupting from the shaft of the now open elevator. The spores spread for a few inches then died down. Seeing that the spores were not spreading any further, Desmond took it upon himself to wrap his face in thick cloth and make his way slowly to the open shaft. Slowly he inched towards the rickety door taking small careful steps. As he brushed by the, now green floor, his steps pushed the spores into the air. Not noticing this event he continued onto the open shaft. Looking in he could see clearly that the spores that came out were just remnants of what was left inside the elevator shaft. Looking downward he could see darkness in the shaft. Look upward he could see a dim flickering light, which signified the bottom of the elevator that was once used to shuttle them around the ship.
With a quick motion, Desmond turned and motioned for the group to rejoin him.
"Make sure to secure your masks boys!"
They continued onward through the green dust and into the compartment. Using thick cloth the group descended down the shaft to the third floor. Prying open the door they could hear the clicking and crunching sounds of zerg.
"Ok boys from here its absolute silence."
With humped backs and spears in hand the group made their way through the corridor. The clicking and crunching was getting closer. It was time to put Desmonds plan into action.
Chapter 3: The Right Stuff
"Lieutenant!"
"Yes Sergeant?"
"It was just as we thought sir."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes sir. Recon came back about an hour ago, the section has a few dents but other than it's unbreached. The spec ops must have made the area out of some hard metal, the creeps can't get inside."
"Has Jason found a way around the coding unit?"
"Yes sir. He is on standby, as soon as we are close enough . . ."
"Good. And what did recon have to say about opposition in the area?"
"That's the bad news sir. Since that is the only part of the ship the creatures haven't ransacked they have had five zerglings and two hydralisks ripping at it constantly."
"I could remember when those numbers would mean nothing to our army."
"Sir! What are your orders?"
"We move out in two hours. No matter what, we must get into that room."
"Yes sir!" With a quick salute at attention and an about face, Sergeant Clayborne rushed to make preparations.
Inside the, use to be, locker room lay a tired and weary man. Bret Copeland had been through so much and has lost everything. It probably wouldn't matter at all if a zergling comes in right now and chews him ragged. He was tired and weary of living. Lying there just looking up at the flickering dim bulb on the ceiling, he wondered about life itself. Was it supposed to be so tough? Were you supposed to die without being happy? Bret thought to himself for a second about all the things that had transpired over the long months. He wondered why he should go on. In a memorable flash he saw Desmond Wright lead his men to victory over the zerg hydralisk and he remembered what it felt like to have that vigor and faith in a leader. Seeing this kind of leadership allowed him to return from his morbid state.
"I have to talk to him!" He said to himself as he tried to stand on his one good leg.
Being able to focus his eyes further he could see that Slim had encased his leg in a make shift splint. No matter how secure his leg was it hurt like hell. Nevertheless he would have to try and walk on it, but the problem was getting up. Hopping and falling all over the place he slammed into locker upon locker as his attempts at walking became more frustrating, Bret finally got his bearings and stability and began to walk. He began to make his way into the shadowy corridor where Desmond went a few hours ago.
"Where do you think you are going?" boomed a voice from the corner.
"Who's there?" he demanded as he felt around in the dark.
The stunning effect of a fist to his gut, made Bret drop to his knees and gasp for air.
"You don't worry about who is there!" said a husky voice from the front "Did you think that I would leave you unguarded?"
Looking up Bret could see that it was the man Desmond called Jason.
"Cannibal scum like you don't deserve to roam free around this station! I have had an eye on you since you were first brought here."
"I am no a cannibal." Bret said in a choking voice as he tried to suck air in from that last blow.
"Then why were you in the cannibal sector?" demanded Jason as he landed a fist across Bret's face.
"Enough of that!" sounded a soft voice in the shadows.
As the words faded a slender, athletic figure emerged out of the shadows. Bret thought it was an angel. yes it had to be an angel, finally come to take him away from all this torture and pain. Focusing further he could see that although this woman was beautiful as an angel her demeanor was that of an assassin, more like a heartless ghost. He had seen the ghosts always doing drills on Praxton 3 before the attack happened. Yet he had never really seen what they could do.
"My job is to watch him and make sure he doesn't hurt anyone. You compromise my mission and I will take you out myself."
With that the massive man turned and walked out with his fists clinched and his lips muttering obscene phrases under his breath.
"Thank you." said Bret as he tried to rise to his feet once again.
"Don't thank me. You hurt anyone in this group and I will finish what he started."
With that the deadly woman faded into the dark corridor leaving him alone in the dank room.
-------------------------------------
2 hours later
A dark feeling crept through the souls of the group of men sneaking down the corridor. Some knew that the day would come when their lives would be lost. They figured that out months ago, when the incident happened. Just dying like a bunch of cockroaches running in the night was not enough for these men. To prolong their lives, they hid from the spores and the deadly zerg crawling around the ship looking for a meal. They lived in fear and hate at what cards destiny had dealt them, with no hope of salvation in sight. It was not until one man rose from the ashes to help them. In Desmond Wright they found hope, they found a chance to go on. But most of all they found a way to go out the way they would want to. in combat. He had an aura of determination about him. No matter how bad things got he was always able to pull them out. This is what made him Lieutenant of his squad on Praxton 3. And with little doubt, that is what made him leader of the refugees.
Right now the group depended on his leadership so much that they would follow him into the depths of hell if he asked them to. Today he asks them to follow him to what could be glory. Desmond had come up with a plan, but for it to work he would have to make it down the elevator shaft. The problem is that the elevator shaft may still contain spores. Reason being that it was sealed off to stop the spores from spreading. If the spores had found a different route then they would be gone but if not . . .
Desmond was not sure if this plan would work but he had no choice. Armed with makeshift spears of steel, glass, and shards of crystals the band of men made their way down the slimy corridor. The walls had been covered with a slimy ooze that just pulsed as they passed by. If you looked closely enough at these popped bubbles of slag, you can still see the remains of marines that did not make it. Forever encased in this grimy substance until the acids in the sludge melted away their bones and cloth.
Trying to keep a steady stomach, from the damp putrid smell of rotting flesh, the group pushed on. Some men could not hold their stomachs any longer and bent over to cough up the little food they had taken in before the mission started. Most of the men had dry hacks and it felt as if fire was erupting from their throats and stomachs. For those who could not make it just returned back to the hiding spot. Desmond could not be mad at them; after all he was asking them to sacrifice everything.
Those that stayed were urged to move on. As they passed the south passage the light became dim. It was very hard to see your hand in front of your face, yet these men pressed on. They were used to the darkness. Sometimes the darkness was what helped them escape death. It had become their brother.
Upon reaching the elevator shaft the group took a rest. Some wondered why the area was so quiet. Usually by now zerg would be all over looking for a snack. Not wanting to stick around to see what happened, the men got back on their feet and pressed on until they were at the doors to the elevator.
The ragged doors were sealed shut but bared the marks of battle. Bullet holes and claw marks were everywhere. The rustic silver panel that was once used to call the swift transport was now black and gray wires sparking in the dim hallway. Using a make shift crowbar one of the men struck the opening of the door. Bracing his foot on one end of the outer door and his back on the other, he pulled with all his might. Without words another man joined. The two straining men had almost given up when the door cracked.
"GAS!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Everyone cover your faces!"
In a spread of panic the men scattered in different directions from the green spores erupting from the shaft of the now open elevator. The spores spread for a few inches then died down. Seeing that the spores were not spreading any further, Desmond took it upon himself to wrap his face in thick cloth and make his way slowly to the open shaft. Slowly he inched towards the rickety door taking small careful steps. As he brushed by the, now green floor, his steps pushed the spores into the air. Not noticing this event he continued onto the open shaft. Looking in he could see clearly that the spores that came out were just remnants of what was left inside the elevator shaft. Looking downward he could see darkness in the shaft. Look upward he could see a dim flickering light, which signified the bottom of the elevator that was once used to shuttle them around the ship.
With a quick motion, Desmond turned and motioned for the group to rejoin him.
"Make sure to secure your masks boys!"
They continued onward through the green dust and into the compartment. Using thick cloth the group descended down the shaft to the third floor. Prying open the door they could hear the clicking and crunching sounds of zerg.
"Ok boys from here its absolute silence."
With humped backs and spears in hand the group made their way through the corridor. The clicking and crunching was getting closer. It was time to put Desmonds plan into action.