Here is chapter 2.
[USM Bellerophon. Registration Tag CA-3452]
[CAPTAIN'S PERSONAL LOG: ROMANOFF, ALISTAIR]
[TYPE: TEXT]
[We arrived in the Proxima Centauri system five days ago. Routine patrol. Boring stuff. I even sent most of my crew to the station for some well-deserved R & R. Since then, Dr. Boland and his medical staff have been swamped with cases ranging from headaches to complete mental breakdowns. I know what's causing it. It's the fucking REDACTED . Damn spooks in the higher up are playing with fire. When Aegis VII went kaput, they should have seen the warning signs. Titan Station should have been the alarm bells. Hell, there was a fucking sign right in front of them that said 'DO NOT CONTINUE OR YOU WILL REGRET IT IN VARIOUS PAINFUL AND UNIMAGINABLE WAYS. LOOK AT THE EVIDENCE'. Anyway, I've ordered the affected crewmen quarantined and placed under close observation. I've recalled all personnel from the station just to be safe.]
USM Bellerophon
April 8th, 2512
14 hours after communications blackout following Marker activation
[Personal Log, 0700 hours…Shit…I'm bleeding out here. This is…argh! This is Staff Sergeant John Whitaker, commanding officer of Evac Squad, part of the 213th Tactical Brigade, subsection of the 409th Intelligence and Sustainment Command, out of the USM Bellerophon, blah-blah-blah-blah, that's not important. I'm out of grenades and down to my last two med packs. I've got maybe thirty more rounds in this rifle and enough Plasma gas for two shots from the cutter. But okay, listen up: This is very important. Don't go for the body. It's the limbs. Dismemberment is the key. Kenneth and Donnelly wasted two full clips each trying to take them down with body shots. Don't go for the head either; they go berserk when you do that. I…shit, that's a lot of blood…what was that?]
Whitaker glanced around him, one hand holding his guts in, the other grasping the bloody Pulse Rifle. The noise came again, that of feet against metal. A few corridors away, someone screamed. Female. Johanna? Amy? Renata? Once he was sure that whatever killed them wasn't coming after him, he turned back to his log.
[Most of my squad is dead. They trapped us in the Mess Hall. A few others made it out. I think that was one of them getting ripped apart. I got slashed a couple of corridors back. Hang on…]
Whitaker stumbled into a storage room and sat down in relief; no large vents here, just ones that only a mouse could fit through. Wincing, he took his last two med packs out and stabbed a vein with the syringes within, before placing a patch of synth-flesh over his wound and wrapping his chest with medical tape. Once that was secure, he glanced out into the corridor and continued limping forward.
[Listen, it's important that you understand this. I'm going to try and make a run for the fighter bay. Maybe there's someone still alive there. Hopefully a pilot. But listen: if you come across these things, run for your lives. Don't be a hero, just run. They are vicious and extremely fast. As far as I can tell, as long as there's a vent near you, then you're in danger. They're using the vents to get around and ambush us. That's how Alpha and Delta got taken out. If you have a cutter or a Kinesis module, then by all means, use them, but don't be a hero. Take out those that you can and then run like hell. That's what I'm doing. Better yet, if you find this log and still have a way off the ship, then by all means, do so. If you're E.D.F., then train your vessel's guns on this ship and destroy it. Blast the colony. If even…]
Whitaker paused as he entered the atrium of the hangar. The massive titanium doors separating it from the actual hangar had been ripped from their hinges. The burning remains of several fighters met his eyes. His heart sank. Then…wait…yes, it was! An operational gunship sat in the corner. It didn't have the emblem of the USM Bellerophon, that of the hero riding Pegasus, but instead had a snake wrapped around a sword as its emblem. Whatever ship it came from, it was his salvation.
Panting and wincing in pain, Whitaker began shuffle-running across the deck. His haste to escape was so great that he didn't bother making sure the hangar was secure. He heard the scampering sound on the catwalk behind him too late.
ZZZ-SPLAT! The Lurker's trio of barbs sliced through his left knee before he could turn and fire. Whitaker cried out in pain and fell forward. As he did, another trio of barbs slammed into his back, puncturing the suit. The next one blasted the hand holding his rifle, sending the weapon sliding across the deck and out of his reach. Screaming in pain, Whitaker turned around and fired his last two shots in his Plasma Cutter at the Lurker. They severed its tentacles and blasted its face to pieces. The Lurker hit the deck, dead.
Whitaker turned, just in time to see a young man dragging a young woman, and an older man trailing them, enter the shuttle. He tried to cry out for them to wait for him, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of its engines. The shuttle lifted off the deck and blasted off. Whitaker groaned and propped himself up against a crate.
"…*sob*…gotta…get…these…" He succeeded in ripping out the barbs in his back. He tossed the useless Plasma Cutter aside.
[HOLY FUCKING MOTHER OF GODDAMN JESUS CHRIST THAT HURTS! Argh…this is Staff Sergeant John Whitaker. I'm in the hangar. Damn bastards ambushed me…took off my leg. I used my last med packs healing myself up earlier…I'm going to bleed out soon, so I hope you find this. Mela honey, I love you. Tell Jackson to be strong for his daddy…I love you both (voice breaking)…I'm sorry I can't come home…]
With a crash, one of the wall vents was smashed open, and a trio of Slashers popped out. More spilled out behind them and they began advancing on Whitaker. Several more entered from a vent on the upper catwalk. Whitaker groaned and returned to his log.
[Listen, if you find this and are still in one piece, especially if you haven't succeeded in killing one, then here are the basic rules for survival: Go for the limbs, stay away from the vents, and above all, keep moving. And whatever you do, don't get within melee range. That's how I got clipped earlier. The ranged ones can still take you out, but they all do much more damage at melee range…Jesus Christ…nononononononononono…oh god oh god…I just want to go home…EEEEAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGH!]
[Sound of RIG flatlining, followed by shuffling of Slasher feet.]
[Log ends]
USM Jerusalem
En Route to Proxima Centauri System
"What do you mean it's not a milk run?" Owen snapped. Corporal Lena Amirsaleh just shrugged.
"Look at the facts. They load us up with 50 Havok high-yield nuclear warheads, and enough torpedoes and turret ammo to wipe out the population of any city. You think this is going to be another simple run and gun mission? No, whatever we're up against, it's scared the spooks above into arming us to the teeth."
"That explains the new suits." Private Ashley Chen chuckled. She walked out of the showers, butt-naked and towel flung over her shoulder. She was followed shortly by Lance Corporal John Allen and Corporal Lindsey Fields. They were also naked, except John at least had a towel covering him.
"Guys, put some clothes on." Owen asked. The others all laughed.
"What, since Owen got tied down, he hasn't had time to admire these?" Lindsey turned and bared her bosom at Owen. Owen groaned and buried his head in his locker.
"Come on, guys, lay off him." John grunted. A tattooed muscular giant, he reminded John of one of those body-builder models. Lindsey smirked and sidled up to Owen before bumping him with her bare hip. Owen tried not to take a swing at her.
"Not going to take advantage of the sex pun I could use right now." Lena grunted "John, Ashley; you guys come with me. And for the love of the Lord's saggy left ball, put some clothes on!"
The command deck was busier than usual. Crewmen dashed to and fro, and all the consoles were manned, which was a first. Captain White was hunched over the holoprojector along with the XO Raphael Hernandez and Commander Erika Benson, commanding officer of the 55th Intelligence Brigade.
"I want those guns prepped and ready the moment we reach the Proxima Centauri system." White ordered, chewing the unlit cigar in his mouth furiously. It was against regulations to smoke while on duty, so White made the best of his situation. Usually, when he was chewing it at that rate, it meant he was agitated.
"Corporal Lena Amirsaleh reporting for duty, sir!" Lena said, snapping to attention.
"Private Owen Haines reporting for duty!"
"Corporal Ashley Chen reporting for duty!"
"At ease, gentlemen." White grunted. "You're probably wondering why I called you up here."
"That's correct, sir!"
"Well, you're about to find out." White turned to the shipwide speaker and cleared his voice.
"This is the captain. As of 1700 hours two days ago, Earthgov Command lost contact with the USM Bellerophon while she was on a routine patrol in the Proxima Centauri System. A SOS signal was received by the Nova Prime colony at 0300 hours yesterday. It bore an E.D.F. Navy signature. They sent a scout shuttle to investigate, the USG O'Reilly, and she has not been heard from since. Now the brass up in Command hasn't released this information to the public yet, but there's been a complete loss of communications with the colony in that system, Kreemar, and the orbital space station, Perseus Station. As of right now, they are attributing it to a temporary maintenance issue. The following information is to be considered top secret, and anyone who leaks it will be labeled a traitor and be executed, so I don't want anyone getting any funny ideas. The O'Reilly was heard from: she launched her own distress beacon along with the ship's log and black box recorder shortly after arriving at Kreemar. I'm going to play it…"
[Recording begins. Time stamp 0600 hours.]
"…De-shocking in three…two…one…we have entered the Proxima Centauri System…"
"Mr. Farnsworth, anything on your end?"
"Negative sir…wait, sensors are picking up something massive…there it is…"
"Christ, that's big."
"It's a strike cruiser, what do you expect?"
"It looks like they had a collision with that supply barge. Its engines are toast. The barge must have skidded across the hull before being lodged between those nacelles. The comm array has been torn off…and look at the fuel leaking out of those tanks.
"Jenner, prep a boarding team. Once we dock, I want you to assist that ship's crew with repairs. Renning, contact Copernicus Station. We may need to bring in some tugs to drag that thing back to drydock."
[Recording ends. New recording begins at 0700 hours.]
"Anyone find it odd that there's no one here to meet us?"
"I'm picking up a couple dozen life signs. Maybe that's why."
"That's impossible. Ships that big carry a crew of a few hundred or so. The damage from that collision didn't look so bad. There should be over a hundred survivors."
"Well I'm reading twenty-seven—hang on. The number's rising. Eighty-eight. One-hundred-seven...what the hell?"
"Jenner, what is going on?"
"Sir, my team is picking up hundreds of new life signs. They're popping up all over the…what the fuck is that?!"
[Sound of vent cover hitting the floor.]
"Jesus…open fire, open fire!"
[Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat.]
"I can't take it down!"
"What the hell...Captain, Capston and Weinberg are dead! No, don't waste any more ammunition. We need to retreat! Prep the shuttle, we got to go!"
"Move it, people!"
[Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat]
"This is nuts, I-aarrrggghhhh!"
"Where's Lewis? And Garland?"
"Forget about them! We need to go!"
[Ka-blam! Ka-blam! Rat-tat-tat-tat]
"SHRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKK!"
"What is that thing?!"
"I can see the hangar!"
"Captain, we're all aboard!"
"Great! Bring the shuttle back in and get-…."
[Error type 101. Data feed is corrupted. Please contact your nearest TS Administrator-]
"…and that's all we have so far, folks. From the ship's log, we can assume that something attacked the Bellerophon. So here's the deal: We're going to be entering orbit of Kreemar in two hours. By that time, I want all squads armored up and armed to the teeth. We're going in with the expectations of full combat. I want the Medical Deck prepped for extreme combat situation. This is no joke people, we're dealing with something that even I don't know how to respond to. Captain out."
White turned back to them. "Commander Benson, I want you to pick out three squads, but they don't have to be from already-existing squads. Choose your best people and have them armor up. They are to enter the USM Bellerophon and find out what happened over there. Expect a hostile reaction."
"Whoever they are, they now have access to the ship's entire store of weapons and munitions." Ashley noted.
"Correct, Corporal. That is why I'm sending in AEGIS." White said.
"Sir, the AEGIS division hasn't been tested in combat. Are you sure they're ready for this?" Lena asked.
"Whoever took the Bellerophon managed to wipe out a crew of 427, not including the 700 or so marines and couple hundred support personnel. That's a lot of firepower. You saw the tests. Private Kushler took two APMS to the chest in that suit and walked away just fine. It was designed for heavy-duty combat."
[PERSONAL LOG]
[PVT HAINES, OWEN]
[TYPE: AUDIO]
[Personnel log…Private Owen Haines. We're due to arrive in less than an hour. Guess who was chosen as part of Squad Three? Gah…luckily, I don't have to put on one of those AEGIS suits. I'm in my Security Suit. John, Talia, Jackson, and Roland are wearing them. Lindsey, Lena, Ashley, and I are the rest of Squad Three. We're entering the ship via airlock, and we're getting to the airlocks via shuttle. Captain won't risk a direct link between the Bellerophon and Jerusalem. Haines, out.]
Please R & R!