I do not own the Doom franchise. Universal, Id, and Activision do, so don't sue. Also, I do not own. I do own any OCs and the original part of the plot… and all original cuss words. ;)

I'm back! And, as promised, I have my reworked Doom story. Being stuck in my brother's house, in a cold, damp basement for a week without internet really helped me out with finishing this. I hope you all enjoy.

This story is finished… I promise!

This has only slight OC/character romance in it, but it is as an undertone. The reason for writing this is because I thought the movie needed a little more estrogen in it to level out all that testosterone (laughs). I hope you all enjoy!

This takes place during and slightly before the movie with a little extra character added. Hopefully it won't be like all the others that are out there… which I love by the way!

Rated for violence and lots of naughty language.

Forgive the breaks, doesn't all lines anymore… which is moronic.

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Pain… intense, blinding, white, pain. It flowed from my abdomen like a river of fire.

Then calm… nothingness.

You see that woman lying on that cold gurney, wires coming out of her body, the steady beeping of the heart monitor mixing with the dripping of the IV fluids filling her ears… that woman is me.

So, you want to know how I got here, who I am?

Well, I've nothing better to do at the moment. So sit back and I'll start from the beginning.

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I was a young, smart, nineteen-year-old college student who had a very promising future as I was told by many people. Everyone would tell me, "Oh, you're so nice… so funny… so sweet… so smart… so young!"

Yeah, well, they didn't know what I really was… I was so fucking bored.

Bored with life, bored with love, bored with college, bored with all the morons, and bored with people telling me what I was and what I should be. No one asked me what I wanted… no one cared. I was going to be the first person in my family to get a PhD… in what? It didn't really matter, as long as I got one.

So I chose Psychology.

It was cool for a while, but then I got bored… I switched majors five times, each one more tedious then the rest.

It wasn't that I was dumb, or that the classes were boring, or that the professors sucked… they were all really cool actually… but it was just so fucking easy!

I had dropped out of school when I was sixteen, got my GED and walked down that shity-assed graduation ceremony they had for it (the one my family insisted I go to so they could take pictures of me in that dumbass cap and gown) as the top graduate in the county (big fucking whoop! I live in a place full of moronic people who can't seem to pull their heads out of their asses) and in the top 10 percent of high school graduates in the country (again, big fucking whoop-de-do!) all because I got bored with school. My school never had placement testing. If your fifth birthday was sometime before school started, then con-fucking-gradulations you're in Kindergarten! I was so ahead of those kids (already knew how to read, write, and do math) that it was fucking embarrassing… for them, not me. I should have realized then, when the teacher had us coloring in those fucking letters that were shaped as fucked up creatures, that I would be ahead of the rest for my entire academic career. So it was no surprise when I beat out a shit load of people for a scholarship to the community college… the place that was BEST ON STUDENT SUCCESS!

Can you feel the sarcasm?

I suppose it was pretty cool at the time… but now, I couldn't give a fucking flying fart in Finland… try saying that ten time fast.

I never paid attention to the instructor, and I think my counselor finally realized why. He asked me why I was in college. I told him the truth…

My family was in control of my life. They wanted to turn me into my brother… the lone success of the family. He went to West Point where the future Army officers of American went to get their ass kicked and so much pressure put on them that a few contemplated committed suicide… but not my brother… not the Golden Boy! Never! He passed top of his class with a Bachelor's degree in Combat Engineering. He gets to go off and play soldier while I'm stuck here in this dead-end shit hole.

"Have you ever thought of a career in the Military?" he asked.

Have I? Fuck yeah I have! I wanted to be in the military long before my brother had even heard of West Point. Even as a four-year-old, I dreamed of going into armed conflict and kicking ass, flying over some battle in a helicopter and sliding down on a rope, guns blazing and shells going off left and right. I watched one too many episodes of G.I. Joe I guess. But I wanted it so bad I could taste it! When I got older and discovered the wonders of paintball, I used to stake out a spot in the dirt and dig myself down until I was out of sight. Then I would pelt anyone who came into sight… my first experience as a sniper, if you will. Oh, how I wanted to be a sniper… stuck out in a place all alone for days, waiting for intel I could report back to my commanders… or a good shot I could pop off in some fuckwits head, that would be ideal. Yeah, I'm bit fucked up, what can say?

So my counselor, one of the coolest people in the world, slid a pamphlet over the smooth, polished, clutter desk in his office to me where I was lounging in his office chair.

"The Few, The Proud, The Marines." I read, then lifted my eyes back to him. He grinned… I grinned… "Well Ooohraah."

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I dropped out of college, effectively making the choice to the threat my dad had sent my way… stay in school, or you will be disowned.

That was not a hollow threat… two days later found my ass on a Greyhound bus with a one way ticket to San Diego where, after a three week wait, I would spend the next 12 plus weeks in boot camp.

The food sucked…

I used a shitload ketchup…

God, I fucking hate ketchup!

I was under weight… what the fuck to they expect when I hadn't had a decent meal in the three weeks prior to boot camp… so they put me on double rations…

Did I mention how much I fucking hate ketchup?

Luckily, in the three weeks prior to camp, I had been studying up on what was expected of me… I could kiss my counselor for the "Surviving Marine Corps Basic Training" book he gave me.

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Long story short, I survived boot camp… or hell. Take your pick.

I spent a year and a half in the suck (1) before I was given the opportunity to join the privateers… the best of the best… the badasses of the Marine Corps.

I was approached by a sergeant one day. To say this guy was muscled would be a fucking injustice… he had muscles on his muscles… on his muscles. He was fucking huge… and he wanted me.

Not like that fuckwit.

He was looking for someone to join his RRTS, a Rapid Response Tactical Squad, and he wanted me on the team.

If you don't know what my answer was then you haven't been paying attention to the fucking story, now have you?

"When the fuck do we leave?"

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I was introduced to the rest of the team… they had been together for longer than I had been in the service.

There was the big guy who came to me, Sarge was what he was called… shit; I'd call him princess if he wanted me too, just so long as I didn't piss the fucking yeti off.

Duke and Destroyer, they were like brothers… eventually they became brothers to me too… but I'm getting ahead of myself. They grew up in the same neighborhood, and were friends before they signed up. Duke looked up to destroyer, and after Destroyer was given the choice of either jail or service and choose the former, Duke eventually followed.

Mac was next. They called him Mac because no one knew how to pronounce his fucking name… so Mac it was.

Then there was Goat. I'll tell you about him later.

Gunner… he was the kind of the kid to the group even though he was older than I was. He and Reaper were the best of friends. Had even made it through basic together… It's in the service where you find you true friends.

And finally Reaper… John Grimm "Reaper". What can I say about him? He was bad news, but so was I, some with argue. But he was, and still is… untouchable. He was cleaning his gun and chewing on a piece of Extra Chewing Gum… he was a God… and I was head over heels for him.

But I was a Marine… a woman in a male dominated profession… I couldn't, and wouldn't, let on that I felt that way for him.

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I stayed in the same room with the guys; a lot of things have changed since the twentieth century. For one thing, women and men shared the same barracks, which happened in the twenty-first century, but women still weren't allowed in a combat situation. Now, with the world going to shit and UAC running everything, women were being sent into more and more dangerous situations, and were seen as more of an equal to men then they have been since the stone age.

So, there's your little history lesson for the day… now back to the real story.

My cot was next to Goat. He was always reading from his bible or saying prayers and penances. Other than that, I had never heard him speak.

He saw the tattoo on my inner forearm of a cross I got when I turned eighteen… when I still had faith in things.

"Do you believe in God?" He asked. To say I was startled would be an under sight. I looked around to see who he was talking to, but everyone was staring at me. Reaps had even stopped his meticulous cleaning of his gun. I turned back to Goat, he was looking at me.

"I've been living too long in hell." I told him after only a moment's hesitation. He nodded… everyone nodded and went back to what ever the fuck they were doing prior.

"I was like you, once." He told me. I was shocked. It was the most I had heard him speak since I had arrived.

"Yeah? So what changed?"

"I spent some time in hospital after a mission gone a rye. I guess you could say I found myself… and God there, lying there and reliving everything bad thing I ever did, not sure whether I'd live or die." He didn't go into anymore details… I didn't ask. There are times when you press on for more information and time when you learn to just fuck off. I learned that the hard way… I still have the scar.

"Maybe I should get my ass shot…" I laughed bitterly. "Not that anyone would care." I mumbled under my breath. Goat heard.

Know how I know?

Because people always pause in what they're doing when the hear something they know they weren't meant to.

"Why's that?" He asked me, turning to a page in the small black book.

"My dad told me I either stay in college, or he'll disown me." He looked at me, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"Since you're here, I guess you no longer have a family." Ding-ding-ding, we have a winner!

"Yeah." He brought back memories I thought I had locked up and forgotten about. "I'm getting some air." I picked my ass up and walked out.

It was fucking cold outside… freezing balls as my brother would say… I missed him.

Life's a bitch.

I thought about all the things I had given up just so I could join the Marines…

I wanted to cry…

But I didn't…

Because I'm a fucking Marine.

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I woke slightly, Sarge was yelling at John's sister… I couldn't concentrate on what it was all about. I heard him say something about Pinky…

Fuck, my stomach hurt like a bitch.

I tried saying something, but it came out as a fucking moan. I sounded like a fucking crack whore begging for a hit.

Sam came over and injected something into my IV. I looked and saw the worried looks of Duke, Destroyer, The Kid, and finally Reaper. I didn't need their fucking pity.

I was consumed by the darkness of unconsciousness one again.

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That's the first chapter. Hope you like. R&R!

Amanda

1 The Suck is a label used by the Marines to describe the Corps.