New series I'm going to try out...been a fan of AVP for along time. Meant to be read as journal entries in a Southern American accent XD Let me know what you guys think and if you enjoy it I'll happily continue!

Thursday, May 7th, 2195

Glasgow Station orbiting KG-115

Day #1

I don't know why the brass of the marines listens to the corporate big wigs of the company. Weyland-Yutani my ass. I was perfectly happy on LV-734, guarding that little outpost. Me and the boys had our card night, hell the base even had a bar!

But nope, life was turning around too nicely for Butch, wouldn't it? So that's why they said my "experience" would be better suited on a more active site, that being this here station. Glasgow or something. Named after some place back on Earth.

Companies did that all the time. Said it made it made the place feel more homey. Huh, yeah right. I'm 33 years old and the last time my feet were on Earth was when I was 18...you do the math. Ain't nothing homey about steel floors and the blackness of space.

At least I wasn't on some little planet yet, with one of those backwater colonies. That's where all the bad shit happens. It's where I got my "experience" as the company would say.

Though it ain't all bad. Lots of shops and services here on Glasgow...lotta people too. I seen the models before and they're suppose to hold 3000 people, though my guess is there's about half that here now. Lot of families with people either working on the ship or mining on the planet below.

All I was here to do was help police the station with the rest of the security force. Nothing major, but I guess a lot of them didn't have real combat experience. Go figure.

Oh yeah, I met them right after I landed. Found out there were about a dozen members and I still haven't met half of them, but I did meet my "commanding" officer, a woman named Sam Keene. She might've been younger than me, I don't know. All that mattered was rank and she was ahead of me. Being a major in the field apparently meant shit all here.

"Major Williams?" She has asked in a slightly British accented voice, her eyes lighting up when she saw me. She was very dark skinned, no Latino for sure. When I had approached her, I had thought her to be as tall as myself but when I stood about 5 feet from her, I realized she was probably six inches below. That put her at about 5'5 or 5'6 I'd say.

Despite her apparent greenhorn like ways, she still wore the standard issue uniform, which wasn't really suited for the environment itself but what did I care? It was comfortable.

But I saw she never had her standard issue M41A pulse rifle. Should've expected that. We were dealing with people, not bugs. Still, it disappointed me I'd have to put Jezebel away for awhile. Me and that gun have been through it all...would hate if she went cold on me.

What she did have was the M4A3 pistol, which surprised me. I mean I had one, but I figured only about 1 in 5 marines chose it over the 88 Mod 4. Mostly they chose it because it had a faster rate of fire than the M4A3...made up for being a shitty shot. Didn't have the power though.

I set my bags down beside me and reached to shake her hand. I was dressed in uniform, all except for the helmet and com systems. That was in the bag. The sidearms, the one I just praised, was in its holster on my side. Jezebel was disassembled inside my luggage. If guns could cry, I'm sure that one would be.

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am." I told her, meaning about half of it. I wasn't what you'd call a great people person, but she seemed to know her shit.

I got a toothy smile for response, the pearly whites a sharp contrast to her dark skin. Her hair was darker still, blacker than a moonless night, and came to her shoulders in curls. If this had been a real professional outfit, she'd have it cut right to her scalp, but stuff like that didn't bother me none.

She gestured for me to walk with her as I picked up my bag. I could already feel the heat and claustrophobia of the station, beads of sweat running into my moustache. "Sorry if this is really sudden, but the company thought you'd make a great addition to the security team here."

Sam spoke with the calm, collectedness of an officer, which probably explained her young age. If she had been a grunt like me, she definitely be a lower rank. We passed groups of people, walking along the plaza near the transit station where I had come from. "How was your flight in?"

The question had surprised me. I guess I had been kinda quiet myself. "It was fine. Not a huge fan of cold sleep, but you do what you gotta do."

That brought a snicker from her. "Indeed. I don't think I've met anyone who enjoys it." Her brows seem to bend though after that. "Your accent, Mr. Williams...did you come from Earth?"

I gave her a firm nod, keeping my eyes ahead as a man dressed in a track suit jogged by us. "Yes, ma'am. Louisville actually. Yourself?" The accent could've meant Britain but then again I knew lots of colonies had adopted accents from the places their people originally hailed from.

She turned to look at me, eyes amused by that. "Oh that's interesting, I haven't met very many people from Earth personally." She told me, which wasn't odd for a colonial. What she said next confirmed that. "No, I grew up on LV-521. Charming little place really. Real fertile soil for growing plants and vegetables."

"Interesting." I had told her. I had never heard it but colonies with growing potential were few and far between. This girl had been lucky.

As we walked along, passing a small courtyard where there was a water fountain with a stone fish spewing water from its mouth in a wide arc, I saw two more marines coming towards us.

Now, we before I continue I should say that I use the term "marine" lightly. So far, I could tell there wasn't one real god damn marine in the place. They were members of corps, but no more than glorified security guards. What a shame.

"Staff Sergeant, there's something going on in the plaza." One of the approaching marines whispered when they got near us. He was a tall boy, his face stretched tight over his face. Her looked like a skeleton but he had a good half a foot over me and at least he was wearing his uniform. I looked at his name tag and could see the name "Samson" written on the metal, just like mine read "Williams".

I glanced over at Keene, her face quickly turning to a look of confusion and distress. That worried me. She had struck me as one not to really sweat issues on a space station. Either I was wrong or the issue was bigger than I thought.

The other marine had been quiet. He was shorter than Samson was, but seemed to be in better shape. He was a little taller than me and wore a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose, something I hadn't seen a lot of marines do. Once again I use that term loosely. He had kind of fat face with a bit of an overbite.

Now I am not the one to stereotype. I'm from the south and I'd like to think I'm less of a racist and more smart than people give me credit for. But this man looked like the biggest nerd going. It made me question just who in the hell the marines let into the ranks nowadays. And he was staring at me like two heads. If this had been LV-420, I'd have smack that dumb look of his face. But this seemed to be more of sophisticated outfit.

Keene finally nodded. "Alright. Williams, you're with us." The amount of command in her voice astonished me. She wasn't that big of woman and was a little hippy, but if I didn't know better I'd have said she was Major Janes from back in training. God damn, that woman could give orders.

I followed behind the four person group quickly as passersby seemed to be all going the opposite way, looks of fear and confusion in their eyes. But there was no screaming or pushing. They all calmly got out of our way, watching us with nervous eyes.

The big man, Samson looked over his shoulder at me, eyes looking me up and down. He wasn't much more than a teenager, maybe 20 at most. "You the new guy?" He asked lazily, his Adam's apple moving as spoke.

The one with glasses glanced over his shoulder as well, looking from Samson to me. "Yeah, I am." I then looked at the other marine, who hadn't stopped examining me. "Take a fucking picture, it'll last longer, four eyes."

When he had half turned I saw his name tag: Harris. Harris' eyes seemed to widen quickly before snapping back around. Good. I'll put that silly looking fool in his place. Neither Keene nor Samson said anything to me.

We walked for about five minutes and the people that passed us grew thinner and thinner. We had been moving through the plaza and I began to see a few shops now: a small pizza outlet, a jewelry store, and a clothing department.

I caught some movement in the clothing store through the windows behind the mannequin. I would've spoke up, but Keene was already moving towards the entrance to the store off the main walkway through the station. The whole area reminded me of a shopping mall they had back in Kentucky when I was teenager.

When we came to stand by the entrance of the store, I must say I was a little confused as to the situation inside. From what I could see, it was some cheap, generic place with clothes for all genders and ages. Might've been second hand shit, but who knows? Wasn't that big anyway, maybe 10 yards deep and that wide again.

From what I could see there were three people in the store. That's a lie. There were two people and a corpse. The corpse was wearing a uniform like hours, but the person wearing it looked like less of a marine than Harris. He was a pudgy man with a grizzly black beard and bald head, one that was glistening with sweat. I could see a several dots of red coming through his shirt but couldn't count them right at that moment.

Who the hell is training these people? Jesus, when I went through, you had no body fat left after two weeks! They worked you like a god damn dog and if you couldn't keep up, they shipped you back home. Tough luck.

That aside, I saw the remaining two people in the store, both alive for now. One was a woman, quite young but her face was peppered with dark spots. I couldn't be sure if it some sort of disease, scarring, or just plain dirt. I knew it was dirt in her blonde hair though, matted to her head as it was. She was wearing some sort of ragged workers suit and held a firearm in her right hand...looking like a 88 Mod 4. Probably the dead man's, but then again I shouldn't be going assuming such things.

The second person was also a woman and was held around her neck by the first woman. She was shorter and incredibly skinny. I could see she had been crying as she had mascara running down from her eyes. In fact, she was done up like a expensive hooker...not my kinda girl. Red Miniskirt dress, long black boots, that kind of crap. Probably the salesgirl.

Well that was all of it. First hour on this god damn station and I'm dealing with a hostage situation. What kind of luck do I have at all?

"Brooke, stop!" Keene yelled as she snapped up her own sidearm when we had entered the store. I was close behind. When your CO draws a firearm, that gives you permission to do the same in my book.

The woman holding the hostage stared at us now, a fearful look in her eyes. Something didn't seem right with her. Her eyes were wide and erratic, and the hand with the gun was shaking.

All the same, she stepped backwards and seemed to tighten her grip on the hostage. "Help me, please!" The hostage sobbed, her face bent in a look of pain and terror. "She's crazy!"

The woman Keene had called Brooke, the captor, gave the woman a smack with the side of the sidearm in the temple. I watched as the hostage's head snapped back with the impact. Her eyes seem to head toward the back of her head but never quite reach there, instead just staring aimlessly off toward them, trying to find focus in something.

We had moved to about 15 feet of them now. Samson and Harris has also drawn them weapons, both 88 Mod 4. My suspicious were correct: poor shots. But at least they had drawn them and known that we had to spread out in a semicircle around the hostage. I brushed by a rack of clothes, bargain blouses actually, and cursed. I hated clothes shopping, always did.

Brooke seemed good and panicked now, and she had started to rotate to try and keep an eye on us all. "Stay back!" She yelled, her voice hoarse and raspy. "I'm warnin' you!"

She was scared. She didn't seem that old and I found myself wondering what had led to this situation at all. I found myself feeling bad for her.

"Brooke..." Keene started lowering her weapon a little, but she kept walking forward slowly. Smart move. She was trying to talk down the girl first. Might work, might not. Situation didn't seem that dire yet. "You promised we wouldn't have an issue again, remember?"

Again? Now I felt myself tense. I don't know what the hell happened before, but the idea that this may not have been a first time thing put me more on edge.

Brooke seemed to weigh the option for a split second, though she never lowered her weapon. Keene was still moving forward, sidearm in hand but lowered so it pointed at the floor. "We can take you back to rehab for another couple weeks an-"

"I don't want to go back, damnit!" Brooke screamed, eyes now blazing. I felt myself tense even more. I wasn't panicked. I was on the furthest left of the semi circle and she looked at me the least. I had a shot at her if need be, the iron sights of the handgun aimed for her temple. "I just want some Zip!"

Keene had jumped a little when she screamed and the gun in her hand had risen a little. But she managed to hold it together and kept it lowered. I could feel the situation escalating and knew if Keene never got this under control soon, things could get messy. Not the best way to start my tenure here.

The word "Zip" was familiar to me though. It was a short name for Xeno Zip, a pretty addictive street drug. Some of the recruits that had been in my training platoon had done it when we first started. Made you wired and feel pretty unstoppable, apparently opening your eyes to lots more stuff that you couldn't see otherwise. I heard it came from the bugs so I didn't want much to do with it...wanted less when I actually came across the critters.

So we had a junkie. Great. Keene had stopped moving forward, only about 10 feet from Brooke. I could see the sweat on her face, but she was doing an okay good of keeping her composure.

"Brooke," Keene began, trying to speak slowly to the apparent addict. "I know times are tough. But you can't hold up a clothing store looking for money for your next bit of Zip. You know that. Just put the gun down and we'll get you some help."

Keene tried to take another step forward, but Brooke jostled her hostage, who still hadn't fully recovered from the blow on the head. "Take another step further and I'll blow her brains out, I swear!" She was breathing hard and her face was drenched in sweat. Withdrawal was hitting her hard. She was desperate. "I'm going to walk out of here and everything will be fine, you hear me?"

Fuck, I felt bad. She was just a scared kid in over her head. I had heard Zip could drive someone crazy if they got too hooked on it. Made people think they needed it like they needed air.

"I can't let you do that Brooke." Keene spoke firmly. "Just let go and nothing will happen to you, alright?"

It was then I noticed the duffel bag over Brooke's right shoulder. I assumed it was full of cash from the store. What else could it? Most junkies weren't smart enough to make a bomb anyway.

Brooke's face was contorted in a mix of frustration and rage. "Shut the fuck up or I'll blow your brains out too!" She snarled, teeth bared, crooked and rotten as they were. That's what drugs do, kids.

I watched as Keene started to take a step forward. And as she did, Brooke started to turn the gun from her hostage toward Keene.

The situation had turned sour. All bets were off and negotiations had fallen through. Time seemed to slow and Brooke's firearm was turning. Neither Samson nor Harris appeared to have a shot as good as mine.

I'll admit, I regretted what came next. I didn't relish in killing people, it's just what marines were trained to do though. You got over it. I had done it plenty before. Militant groups within larger colonies, lone gunmen driven crazy by the isolation of a far off settlement, that sort of crap. You just did it because usually it prevented further death. One life to save ten. That's just how the world worked.

Brooke's gun never got up far enough for even a shot. I'm sure she would've taken it out of desperation if nothing else else. The bullet was well placed, going in through her right temple and exited on the left side further back. There was a splatter of blood and a wet cracking sound of bone breaking.

I watched her gun clatter to the floor, harmless now. I thought of the man she had killed it with, trying to justify what I just did. Both Brooke and the hostage dropped right after, , the hostage, screaming when I had fired the shot. Not out of pain of course, but out of fear.

The echo of shot died down. The whole instant only probably occurred in less than two seconds, but it felt like an eternity. I never even lowered the gun until I saw Samson and Harris rush forward, the latter keeping his gun on the body while Samson helped out the still screaming Voynov.

When I did, I found Keene staring at me, a horrified look on her face. It was the look of disbelief that someone got when they had grazed by the jaws of death.

"You killed her..." she breathed, shaking her head, eyes locked with mine. "Sh-she was only 18..."

Keene seemed like she was in shock. All professionalism had gone out the window and o could see how chest heaving, trying to take in enough air.

I nodded, putting my sidearm back in its holster slowly. The barrel was still warm. "Yeah I did." I told her, staring at her now. "Unless you missed it, she killed one person and could've killed you or the hostage too."

She never said anything, only shaking her head in disbelief. I walked slowly toward her, going to examine the body once I got by her. Keene wasn't shaking or nothing, she seemed frozen. She had fully expected to talk that girl down.

As I got beside her, I put a hand on her shoulder and leaned in to her ear. "If it didn't happen now, it would've eventually...maybe with more people dead."

It took a second for her to respond, a short nod and a firm lip. "Right...thank you." She finally told me. "I'll get sanitation here to clean this up."

That didn't bother me none. The rest of the day was just a blur, dealing with a shaky Keene as she showed me the rest of this particular area of Glasgow. There was more but Keene thought it best for me to just go to my quarters for the rest of day, unpack and whatnot after cold sleep. I wasn't gonna argue. A real bed would feel nice after two months in cryo.

So I'm sitting here at a little desk in my cramped room and decided to document my time here at Glasgow. So that's about it for day 1 though. But I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach about this place...anywhere you have to kill someone your first day is bound to be more trouble than it's worth. Williams out.

Major Butch Williams

#713990

Glasgow Station, KG-115