SHELLS
He slammed another shell into the loading gate and racked the pump.
Shhk-shhk!
Before him, the imp's fireball fizzled out in its spindly hands as its head burst into a cloud. The shotgun's report would've been deafeningly loud even in the spacious confines of the Res Ops cafeteria, were it not for the audio filtering of the suit's helmet.
One of its only operational functions, he bitterly noted.
Shhk-shhk!
An empty, smoking shell clattered to the floor. The noise was quickly lost among the roars of the fallen imp's half-dozen friends, and his own thunderous footfalls as he charged through the barrage.
Caught reloading, goddamnit. Had the suit emerged from its stone prison fully powered, he'd have the autoloader, and this fight would already be over. He could've been halfway to the satellite array by now if didn't have to fiddle with the damn shells.
Ducking and rolling under a trio of chest-height fireballs, he rose back up with a snarl. Already, precious time wasted on just a few imps. A delay so soon.
Unacceptable.
He slammed another shell into the loading gate and racked the pump. Shhk-shhk!
In an instant, he brought the muzzle up and took aim at the nearest imp, some ten paces away, and fired. At the same time, the imp ducked left, lunging into swinging range. The shot went wide and hit its shoulder, tearing the arm clean off but leaving the maimed creature in the fight.
He charged forward, coming face-to-face with it in a mere three steps and slammed the stock into its cheek. With a sickening crack, the imp spun on its toes and reeled back, several bloody fangs knocked out to clatter on the deckplates below. It noisily collapsed into a cluster of chairs, several of them already upended and scattered around from whatever chaos had befallen the dining hall at the start of the invasion.
The imp didn't get up. He slammed another shell into the loading gate. Shhk-shhk!
Another of the imps screeched and snatched up one of the cafeteria chairs, hurling it across the room with a manic twirl. With a quick side-step, he narrowly avoided taking the hunk of metal straight to the chest. Instead, the chair crashed into the pillar to his right, falling to the floor severely misshapen and still glowing faintly where the imp's flaming claws had torn through the metal. By the time it hit the ground, he was on the move again.
Vaulting over a table, he one-armed a shot at the offending imp. The majority of its chest blossomed into a gaping crater and it collapsed to the floor, emitting a final, pitiful noise that was more a gurgle than a screech.
Shhk-shhk!
He slammed anot-
A deep scowl marred his face when his hand found nothing in the bandolier's pockets but empty space. The remaining shells were on the other side, on his back.
Sprinting across the room to avoid another maelstrom of fireballs, he sharply tugged the bandolier around with muttered curses, bringing the last few shells to his chest and practically tearing one out. Slamming it into the loading gate, he had just enough time to note that the shell was not a standard red-coated one. Its plastic casing was instead a deep black.
Shhk-shhk!
With a hollow thunk, the explosive round arced across the room and landed among two of the remaining imps. In an instant, their bodies were reduced to a mist, the few solid pieces remaining scattered across the room. Scorched and twisted chairs were sent flying, and the closest tables were flipped onto their sides. The shockwave barreled into his chest and made him grind his boots against the floor to steady himself. It compensated for the underwhelming pop of the explosion, courtesy of the helmet almost shutting off the microphones entirely. In barely a second, the sound rose back to its normal level, letting him catch the last of its echoes.
Of course, he was the only one that wasn't hearing all of this racket. The demons in the surrounding sectors were surely inbound to reinforce their friends. Not that a protracted fight ever bothered him any - it would just delay him more.
What he was truly concerned about was that the imps had acted far more cunningly today than they ever had. They avoided the tight clustering that would've allowed that explosive round to end the battle there and then. They were throwing their fireballs faster, too, and charged like rabid wolves instead of the cautious, ranged approach they usually took. Had they gotten stronger while he was entombed? That possibility didn't bode well for his mission, especially not with the suit underpowered and him still fighting off the rust from his long sleep. In the face of a new invasion, he couldn't afford to be…
…weak.
The thought sickened him.
Shhk-shhk!
His eyes darted back to the last two imps, who were rapidly bearing down on him like he hadn't just whittled their pack down to a pair. They closed the distance rapidly, rushing at him with their claws splayed out and a murderous fury in their eyes-
HeslammedanothershellintotheloadinggateSHHK-SHHK!
Right as he raised the gun towards the imps, the closest one was upon him, swinging-
red hot white hot pain pain so many so many can't run can't fight no ammo left pilot's dead stuck here stuck on phobos i'm going to die here like everyone else they can hear me they can smell me they'll eat me alive
He jerked to the right, keeping his chestpiece from being ripped open, the demon's claws instead tearing into the shoulder, right in the gap between the chestpiece and the shoulder guard, cutting through the bandolier strap, cutting into the undersuit, rending flesh and spilling blood-
blood so much blood so many bodies command please respond requesting reinforcement requesting casevac please god help me no signal no one can hear me I'm going to die here
With a guttural snarl, he snatched the imp by the throat, holding it at arm's length, leveling the shotgun's muzzle to its sternum, but the second one had caught up, just milliseconds before he could pull the trigger, but it didn't sink its claws into his stomach, the obvious target, no, it went for the gun, wrenching it up and away-
it's here IT'S HERE IT'S HERE IT'S GOT MY GUN
A gunshot rang out, and he was deafened, shards of glass and plastic rained down from the lights, and the imp tore the empty shotgun from his hands, hurling it across the room-
dead end dead end no way out no no no NO NO I CAN'T DIE HERE
With a roar he didn't consciously emit, he slammed a boot into the thief's chest, sending it flying a good ten meters away, into the pool of its brethren's blood, and grabbed the other by the shoulders, crushing its collarbones, and twirled it around, hurling it in the other direction, and it collapsed into the chairs, but it got up again-
i can't die here I WON'T DIE HERE I'LL KILL YOU ALL
The bandolier finally snapped and dropped, it had been right there, right between his shoulder and the imp's claws, and it had finally frayed too much to stay intact, so he snatched it from the air and charged, meeting the imp halfway, and they collided, him twisting around to its back, looping the strap tight around its sinewy throat-
ambush it at the corner grab it slam it into the wall punch it punch it PUNCH IT AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN BEAT ITS HEAD IN
-tug the strap, crush its throat, keep going, dig into the muscle, the strap goes taut and its head is torn off and the strap is suddenly loose again, blood coats the visor, the suit, the energy rushes from its lifeblood, it flows into him, healing his cuts, repairing the undersuit, and he feels strong, so strong, and there's still another imp, so he stays moving-
again again again AGAIN AGAIN on the floor now hit it again AGAIN AGAIN teeth flying teeth broken skull broken bloody hands bloody monster's ruined face AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN open skull brain everywhere AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN
-the imp stayed back, keeping a table between them, and it threw fireballs at him, horrible aim and it just kept missing, the kick probably broke most of its ribs or maybe it's just afraid because he was going to tear it apart-
my hand might be broken no no no there's more of them coming they heard the noise more in the doorways you BASTARDS MONSTERS DEMONS I'LL KILL YOU ALL
-it broke rank and ran away, but it didn't matter because he would catch it, he would catch them all, he always would, and he slammed his boot into the table, spikes of pain shot through his heel, and it slid towards the imp, legs shooting sparks and leaving black trails on the ground-
not-human biting him tear its head away slam an elbow into its nose feel the crunch break its face tear the gun away slam the stock into a monster's face crush its skull beat the non-human again AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN KILL THEM ALL
-the table slammed into the wall, bending and buckling the structure and sending a light fixture crashing down onto the floor in a spectacular burst of glass shards and a mighty crash-
another not-human threw a grenade somewhere and he felt the pressure wave and the heat and all he heard was ringing but it didn't matter because he brought it down and slammed its own pistol into its cheek AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN
-but the imp was clever, and it kicked off the wall, rolling atop the table before it crushed him, but he didn't let up for a moment, and he charged and tackled it off and they landed in a tangle amongst the chairs-
broken bones broken arms broken legs jaws noses skulls missing teeth thumbs in eyes torn off fingers limbs heads blood so much blood so much screaming they never stop screaming they never stop coming kill them all KILL THEM ALL RIP AND TEAR
-and he slammed his fist into its head again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again and again and again again again again AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN-
"Monitoring your brain activity indicates that you are experiencing severe distress." VEGA's voice rang out like a gunshot in the deathly-silent room. "Is there any way I can assist you?"
He knelt on the floor, panting, greedily sucking air through his teeth. His ears were ringing. Every sound was muffled, distant, as if it all came from the next room over. Despite the suit's temperature regulation, he had broken out in a cold sweat. Attempting to center himself, he focused on the faint hum of the few unbroken holographic screens above him, displaying either "connection lost" or "demonic presence eliminated - lockdown disengaged".
There weren't any demons tearing through the doors to reach him yet. Maybe they had been scared off by his… episode. The imps wouldn't be getting reinforcements after all. For now, he was alone with the AI, probably still waiting for an answer.
No. You can't.
If VEGA expected him to communicate, it would be sorely disappointed. It couldn't offer him anything.
Well, maybe more guns. Ammunition. A new bandolier. Some way to power up the suit again. There was no time for anything else. He had already spent far too much time dealing with just a few imps. How many hundreds of them were scattered throughout the rest of the facility?
Get moving.
Still dazed from his fervor, he pulled his fist from the crater he had produced in the deckplates and tried to shake off as much of the blood as he could. Standing up, he immediately took notice of a security camera, perched just above the severely warped wall. It openly stared at him, not even bothering to pretend it was scanning the room.
Not that he was surprised, of course. Even when the AI had introduced itself less than an hour ago, he suspected that he was being monitored, and that he wouldn't be able to go anywhere in this facility without being under its prying eyes. He had half a mind to throw a chair at it and smash the damn thing so his rejection would be unmistakable, or at least raise a middle finger in its direction. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth it, and just gave the camera a stern glare before turning away and trudging back to the discarded shotgun.
Finding it and the ruined, bloodsoaked bandolier that contained his last eight shells, he bent over and scooped the gun into his arms. A brief inspection confirmed that the imp's claws had thankfully left just a few shallow scratches in the receiver, certainly nothing that would cause a failure.
Surprisingly durable, he noted with no small amount of approval.
Shhk-shhk!
The ejected shell clattered on the floor before rolling out of sight between a forest of chair legs, and he swiftly replaced it with a new one. As he filled the tube once more, his thoughts wandered to his shoulder, and the wound that he shouldn't have received. Getting cut up by an imp. By itself, too, not even there to back up a stronger demon.
Pathetic. He thumbed another shell into the loading gate.
And he hadn't thought about… before in a long time. Not since they came for the Argenta.
What the hell are you thinking? You need to focus. He thumbed another shell into the loading gate.
Slow, stupid, weak. Unacceptable. Not here. Not now. Since he emerged from the sarcophagus, he'd been rusty. He'd been through far worse, so why was he slipping up now? Almost getting mauled just because he couldn't reload fast enough? Had he been too reliant on the suit doing it for him?
You killed the Icon without it. He thumbed another shell into the loading gate.
He survived before, without the suit, without his power. His wits, his training, it had been enough. It had to be enough. It had to still be enough.
Don't forget what you are. What she taught you. He thumbed another shell into the loading gate.
He still remembered it, the endless drills and training, standing at attention, his ears ringing from the constant shouting. Sore all over. The rest days were never enough. Crawling in mud, kicking, clawing. Gunfire. The fear was never entirely beaten out of him. It was drowned out.
Semper fidelis. He thumbed another shell into the loading gate.
A slow marine is a dead marine. A stupid marine is a dead marine. A weak marine is a dead marine.
And a dead marine is a useless marine. He thumbed another shell into the loading gate.
Walking over to the cafeteria's enormous windows, he aimed a hard stare at the other parts of the facility, beyond the Res Ops center. His gaze wandered over the buildings scattered across the martian surface before finally settling on that tower and the beam it emitted, rocketing upwards and piercing the clouds. Some of mankind's finest effort, no doubt, only for it to bring their undoing. All of this for the energy. The wraiths' blessing and Hell's essence combined. Suffering in purest form.
We warned them all. The sentinels spoke of a great tower in the wastes, built of bones and blood. That great and terrible factory of pain, the pinnacle of torture and cruelty, sanctioned by the bastard angels who chose to forsake their children. He thumbed the final shell into the loading gate, tossing the bandolier away.
A dead worker lay curled in a pitiful heap at the window's base, mauled past recognition. The tattered remains of their jumpsuit bore the barely-legible insignia of a "Tier 1 Advocate." Menial workers, from what he had gathered. They likely knew nothing of the experiments, the portals, the expeditions, and the atrocities being committed for them. These poor people, killed because their masters, VEGA, Hayden, Pierce, threw them into Hell's maw. Their masters, who took the bait, drunk on the energy, drunk on the power, who breached the veil and invited them in.
These people were too slow to see what was coming, to fight back. He had to be fast, to save as many as he could.
These people were too stupid to stay away, to realize the cost of power. He had to be smart, to see right through the demons' schemes and keep them on their toes.
These people were too weak to save themselves. He had to be strong, so at least some of them could live.
He had to survive. He had to keep fighting. He had to be strong. He was the only one strong enough.
You're the only one who can save them.
SHHK-SHHK! The shotgun's pump creaked under the force of his grip, and he let out a breath he had held for too long. He turned on a dime, ready to leav-
"This sector is currently clear of demonic activity, should you desire a break," VEGA chimed, the false cheer in its voice almost comical. "You may find chilled beverages in the kitchen to your right."
He felt an eyelid twitch. Twisting around, he leapt up to the security camera's mounting, tearing the device off the wall and tossing it to the floor. Every part of his body was tensing up again, and it felt like the bloodlust from moments ago was rushing back into him. Not yet content, he stomped on the camera, relishing the sound of shattering plastic as he reduced it to a heap of smoking shards. If he had ammo to spare, he would've shot it to pieces. If this didn't get the message across, nothing would.
Whether the AI's sensors could actually tell how dry his throat was right now or not, he didn't care. He still felt thirst, but the constant stream of hell energy from his targets dulled the sensation. That alone had kept him going, campaign after campaign. He knew from experience that he could go weeks without drinking. Even longer, if his stay in the sarcophagus was anything to go by. He never questioned this, not when he had a war to fight. The divinity machine worked its wonders, and now he never needed to stop.
That was all that mattered in the end. He wouldn't give VEGA the validation of taking its advice. It managed this facility. It watched all of the workers die. He'd be damned if he gave it anything.
"Perhaps I can assist you in a different way, then."
Would you just shut up alre-
"There is an armory three-hundred meters to the east, directly adjacent to the airlock that will allow you access to the satellite array. I am unlocking it now - perhaps you will find something useful there?"
Impossible for VEGA to see, a single eyebrow lifted with interest.
He was still skeptical, of course. They weren't going to fool him with the promise of some new toys. This obviously wasn't altruism - nobody leading this facility was innocent - and at the end of the day, the AI answered to Hayden. The doctor was the only one to outrank the AI - presuming they had been smart enough to lock Pierce out of the system - so anything it did concerning the unstoppable killer they were trying to work with likely needed Hayden's approval. Right now, they needed to end the invasion if they had any hope of salvaging this place, and to do that, they needed him. So long as they had demons to worry about, they were willing to keep him armed and in fighting shape.
But when our common enemy is gone…?
He would deal with them when the time came for it. In the meantime, perhaps the AI could be worth listening to.
Launching into a sprint, he rushed out of the cafeteria and into the mechanical sectors once more.
"I believe in honesty."
The voice echoed through the deserted corridor. Seemingly deserted, anyway. The power had failed in this sector, and only the emergency lights, short little pulses that poked ineffectually at the darkness, were there to show the way. They were barely enough to navigate by, but he imagined it was just enough light for an unfortunate survivor to see a demon jumping out at them before the darkness was made permanent. Judging from the many shrouded, indistinct figures lying on the floor, periodically illuminated by the pulses, several of them had already befallen that fate.
He wouldn't be surprised if the demons had cut the power themselves and lured people in here. In the darkness, among the floor-to-ceiling crates and scattered industrial equipment, there was no shortage of places to hide. As much as he hated slowing down, getting mauled by another lucky imp was the last thing he wanted right now, so he proceeded cautiously, checking each corner with his shotgun at the ready. His slow, silent dance down the hall stirred deeply buried memories. Practice runs. Room clearing. He briefly wondered if a flashbang would be of any use here.
"...especially now, in what will be your final moments in this world." The idea was swiftly forgotten, her voice cutting off his train of thought. Pierce's announcement was playing on loop throughout much of the Res Ops facility. The screens didn't provide much light, either, so he dutifully tuned her out. He had already seen the recording once, and that was more than enough.
"All the rumors…" Arriving at a turn, he came to a halt and leaned against the corner, standing over a slumped body that was just visible enough to avoid tripping over. In the silence of the corridor, Pierce's voice boomed and he found her difficult to ignore. He was willing to bet the soldiers had something to do with that, too, as it was just loud enough to almost obscure the sounds coming from around the bend. Gnashing teeth and the drip-drip-drip of saliva or blood. Probably both.
"...the human sacrifices…" He carefully slid a foot around the corpse, its features thankfully lost to the shadows. He didn't want to commit another mangled face to memory.
"...the Hell portal…" In a burst of movement, he emerged from his cover and aimed the shotgun down the abyssal corridor. A well-timed pulse of crimson light revealed no demons, but the corridor was filled with just as much unused machinery as the last one. Whatever creature he heard was most certainly waiting in one of the nooks and crannies before him.
"...the demons…" He marched forward, eyeing each man-sized gap in the clutter as he went, finding nothing. It was as if the demon had vanished into thin air. His senses were keen, though, and he heard the slightest little rustling of clothing to his left. He jerked towards the source, the shotgun's barrel following in tandem.
"...it's all true." There, at the end of the hall, behind a stack of crates, and just in front of the reinforced loading bay door that he'd been looking for. Even from this distance, he could see the angry red lights on its surface, signaling that his exit from this maze was locked. Any frustration he felt was pushed aside as his gaze shifted down, taking in the sight of a technician's remains at the foot of the door. The darkness failed to conceal its many missing chunks. He marched forwards, keeping the gun leveled on the demon's hiding spot as he closed in.
"My sisters and brothers, be thankful!" With a brief pulse of hellish scarlet light that was just as quickly swallowed by the dark, the zombie roared and lunged at him. With a well-practiced ease, he backhanded the deformed creature across the jaw, sending it crumpling against the door and leaving it powerless to stop his boot from slamming into its nose. It limply fell over, leaving a red smear against the door's surface.
It was good to know his reflexes were recovering. It would've been faster to shoot it, but a single zombie would've hardly been worth the shell.
"You will be the first." Threat vanquished, the door's lockdown promptly disengaged. When it still stubbornly refused to open, he almost expected a squad of soldiers to swarm in from the surrounding halls, as if he had fallen for an admittedly well-planned trap. He was actually disappointed to notice the very faint "POWER LOSS - CONTACT SERVICE PERSONNEL" text hovering just above the metallic surface, so dim that it was almost indiscernible in the darkness. With an impatient growl, he grasped the door's lower edge and violently wrenched it upwards, grimacing as the mechanisms produced sparks and awful metallic screeches.
"You will have a seat alongside them, as I will, in what will become the new world they create for us." In the room beyond, mangled bodies were strung up from the ceiling, a pool of blood coating the floor. Sigils within the murky fluid glowed with hateful, otherworldly power, bathing the room in an ominous light.
"Starting… now." The message ended just as he remembered, with the deafening sound of an opening hell portal and inhuman cries. Still staring at the gruesome scene before him, he tuned out the video, now corrupting into an incomprehensible jumble of pixels and artifacting. In seconds, the screens would go dark with only a "SIGNAL LOST" to explain the disturbance before looping back to the start.
Wading through the blood, he leaned away from one of the gently-swaying corpses as he passed, trying to avoid catching a glimpse of its face. It proved easier than expected, as the remains were hardly more than bones, having been picked clean except for a few small bits of gristle. He wasn't sure if he should be thankful for that or not. Without even a shred of their jumpsuit remaining, he had no way of knowing if this person had been one of Pierce's believers, or if they had been an ordinary Tier One, grinding away for their paycheck.
In the end, it didn't matter. This person was dead now, but Pierce was very much still alive, and he knew that this would happen to everyone, loyalist or otherwise, under her plans. She would never share her power voluntarily.
Her promises meant nothing.
He would enjoy killing her.
The armory was smaller than he imagined it would be.
That would've been his first impression of the place, were it not for the dead security guard. Slumped in plain view of the door against a stack of munitions crates, it was very much a distraction, ending his scan for supplies almost as soon as it began. Their body was still in one piece, something exceedingly rare among the many dead workers he had seen today. Blood seeped from every joint-gap in their armor, but it wasn't clear exactly how they died.
Resuming his search, it didn't take long before he found something of interest.
In the guard's cold, dead hands was a rifle. It was the only one in the room, he soon realized - the gun racks had all been picked clean, and there were only a few scattered boxes of ammunition left.
They don't need it anymore.
Quickly kneeling down at the guard's side, he put away the shotgun before grasping the rifle and pulling it close. Even in death, their grip was surprisingly tight, necessitating a sharp tug before it finally came loose. The body stiffly leaned over, slowly meeting the floor with a quiet thump.
Turning away from the grim sight, he did a quick once-over on the rifle. It was a fairly utilitarian design, blocky and bulky. Belt-fed from drums that snap onto the lower receiver, ambidextrous charging handle, and a pair of tiny folding sights in place of any optics. Seven-six-two, sixty rounds per belt.
Suitable, he thought, a smirk gracing his dour face. He tugged on the charging handle, chambering a round, and derived an almost sinful pleasure from how crisp it felt.
An ammunition crate in the corner called for him like a siren, and he quickly crossed the room and tore the lid off, not caring to check if it was unlocked. Inside, there were a few more of the drums - a word that seemed wrong, given how angular they were - as well as a box of shells and a new bandolier.
"I trust that everything is to your satisfaction." It might have just been his own contentment at having a new gun, but he could've sworn there was a smug tone in VEGA's voice. He gave a quick thumbs-up to the air, certain that there would be a security camera to see it somewhere in the room.
After strapping as many drums and shells as he could to the bandolier, clipping the shotgun to it so he could smoothly snatch it up if- no, when he needed to, and making small fit adjustments for what felt like an eternity, he felt like he was finally ready to part ways his favorite room in the facility. Impatient to give his new toy a test run, he found the security terminal and removed the airlock's lockdown, and just outside, a positive-sounding chime rang out from around the corner. He was about to stroll through the door when a small workbench in the corner caught his eye. Amidst the monitors and clutter, there stood a small bottle. Its shape was familiar to him, and he found himself reversing his course to snatch it up from the table.
It was a canteen, the same grayish-white color as the security guards' armor. Judging from its weight, it was almost full.
He almost scoffed. The security guards wore full helmets, so the canteen would be useless unless they were allowed to take them off during their shift. Considering the management here, he doubted it.
For a moment, he remained motionless, silently debating if it was worth taking. He too wore a full helmet, so he'd have to expose his head when he wanted a drink, something that went against his every instinct and experience. He didn't even need it. It would just be a pointless luxury.
…his throat was really dry, though.
With a resigned sigh, he strapped it to the bandolier as quickly as he could. VEGA was silent, but he could practically feel the AI's smug, told-you-so grin hanging over him, and he wasn't about to make it worse by drinking in front of the cameras. Maybe he could wait for a really long elevator ride or something.
Leaving the armory and rounding the corner, he arrived at the airlock and swiped at the access panel. As the massive hydraulic door split apart, its halves rising and lowering, he gave one last look towards the security guard's unmoving form through the plexiglass.
He had no reason to believe that this person was an average Joe, rather than one of Pierce's cultists. Still, he hoped that they were.
He hoped that they fought well.
He hoped that their death wouldn't be in vain.
He shouldered the rifle, shifting it in his hands, and imagined the terror with which its previous owner had held it, pointing it at every inhuman noise echoing down the halls, desperately praying that they would get to see their buddies or their kids again.
They'll pay. I promise.
Finally tearing his eyes from the corpse, he stepped into the airlock and poked at the interior panel's screen, closing the doors behind him. It took only a few seconds for the room to depressurize, a difference he barely felt due to the suit's lovely stabilizers, before the doors parted, and he basked in the light of a martian noon. The eerie silence of the facility's interior was cast away by roaring winds, rushing in and shaking the crates and equipment around him. Outside, gusts of sandy regolith billowed this way and that across a mish-mash of machinery and support beams. Directly above him would be the misaligned satellite, the very thing he had been working to reach for hours now.
It would have to wait a bit longer. Waiting just outside was a squad of possessed soldiers, all of them training their blasters squarely on the airlock.
He beat them to it, opening fire and sprinting out into the chaos. Even while holding down the trigger, the rifle cycled much slower than he expected, but the rounds tore through the soldiers like paper, blowing away chunks of flesh the size of his gauntlets.
Rapidly switching targets, he made short work of the squad. Even through the gunfire and wind, the roars and screeching of demons further down the platform was unmistakable. Sparing a quick glance at the rifle, he gave it a feral grin - it would fit right into his collection. Unwilling to avoid the fray any longer, he raced to meet the demons, sprinting down the path and hurdling over a large gap in the walkway.
As he landed on the opposite side, the ground around him exploded in bursts of sand, bullets from more soldiers raining down and a lucky few slamming into the suit. None penetrated, but the suit's underpowered state meant that the force was enough to sting and to throw him off-balance. Gritting his teeth, he fought to steady himself through the impacts and continued the charge.
A cluster of massive pipes crossed his path, but they were high enough that the shallow trench beneath them let him run straight through. He emerged on the other side, right into a pack of imps who were gearing up to pitch a volley of fireballs. He didn't let up, his well-honed trigger finger puncturing each one with three-round bursts. Behind them, the path continued under a massive overhang, the satellite control building awkwardly jutting out above ground level. Above that short tunnel was the upper deck - control room's definitely up there somewhere - several imps jumping down from it to join their brethren. Next to them, crouched down by a pillar-
The muzzle flash was there and gone in an instant, but he ducked to the right just as fast, breaking his charge and avoiding the bullet. It zoomed past his head with a lightning-fast thwip, and a much louder snap rang out from whatever piece of expensive equipment it struck. He stared defiantly up at the sniper, another soldier, holding the same model of rifle that he was. Unlike the rest of them, its hands weren't melted into useless flesh blobs with plasma guns embedded in them, and it could actually shoot properly as a result.
Unwilling to give the clever demon another chance to fire, he raised the rifle, lining up the sight, just as the soldier did the same, and it was a race to pull the trigger first and the HUD says you've got one round left so you'd better make this shot-
The rifle bucked against his shoulder once more, and the soldier's head burst into mist just as its own shot rang out. He felt it clip him, low on the side - the demon's aim must have been thrown off right as it fired. It had to have been the closest of grazes, too, because he barely felt the impact. Another snap rang out, this one much closer, and he knew that if the soldier's aim held true, it would've hurt.
Satisfied, he tore the spent drum off the rifle and tossed it, eager to reload and keep up the momentum on this massacre. Reaching down for a fresh drum, he was met with-
…the sight of his canteen, blown apart and leaking what little of its water remained onto a sizable patch of muddy regolith beneath him.
They destroyed his canteen before he even had the chance to use it.
He left the fresh drum where it remained on the bandolier and shifted the rifle around, gripping the front with both hands and holding it like a baseball bat. The imps ahead of him briefly stalled their advance, staring warily as if puzzled by his behavior. Some of them had the initiative to start conjuring fireballs, but they barely had enough time before he launched forward again, snarling through clenched teeth. They'd have to hope that the rifle broke before they did.
Let's see how durable this thing is.
The rifle survived being used as a club. It survived so well, in fact, that even when he started using it as a gun again, he didn't experience a single malfunction. So far, he was thoroughly impressed by the UAC's gunsmiths and very disappointed that he didn't have more of their inventions to play with.
Day's just starting, give it time.
Guiding himself to the control room, he tried to swipe as much blood off it as he could, but eventually gave up when it became clear that there was only so much he could do with his hands. Maybe if he scrounged up some rags from one of the pump rooms…
…no, it would just be soaked again in ten minutes. And it wasn't like he was bothered by his stuff being coated in blood. The suit certainly didn't mind, holding up as well as it did.
If only he had a bulk supply of energy to power it with. Based on the rate at which he was killing demons, it would still take a few days, and he had no intention of letting the portal stay open that long. It might suck not having all the suit's bells and whistles, but he could make do. He always did.
It wasn't long until he arrived at the control room. The door parted into the walls, and he was met once again with the bright light of the outdoors, streaming in through panoramic windows. The landscape beyond the satellite sector was composed of barren wastelands, a smattering of facility structures nestled between ridgelines and linked together by the monorails. The room itself was occupied only by a few terminals, one of which was still being manned by a dead technician.
He walked into the room, scanning monitors for something that would allow him to align the satellite. Most were smashed beyond repair or displaying catastrophic error messages, and he quickly arrived at the dead man's workstation, one of the only ones still intact. Skimming the display, he quickly found the controls he was seeking.
POWER INTERRUPTION - SCAN SECURITY CLEARANCE TO RESUME SATELLITE ALIGNMENT SEQUENCE.
Instead of asking for a keycard, the screen displayed the outline of a hand. His own handprint definitely wasn't on file, and he doubted that Hayden would be willing to grant him a security clearance unless the situation worsened by a lot.
He glanced at the technician's body, slumped over in an office chair. This close, the many gashes in his back and sides were obvious. The blood staining his jumpsuit a dark red had long dried, and the pallor of his skin made it clear that he had lost far too much. If he had to guess, the man had been dead for at least half a day. The man's face was not only recognizable - this was one of the gentlest imp maulings he had ever seen - but downright peaceful, with glazed half-lidded eyes and a neutral expression instead of the looks of frozen terror he had seen on many of the man's friends throughout the satellite sector.
…those probably were his friends, he noted. They probably knew each other, met up after work for a cold drink, bonded over the shared stress of their jobs…
…and now they would never do that again. An unusual feeling stirred in his guts, and he realized with a sigh that he had distracted himself once more. Right, he needed a handprint.
This body's probably on file, he mused.
Hoisting it up by the arms, he steadied it against the desk before clutching its mangled wrist and pressing the stiff hand against the screen. With a happy chime, the error disappeared, and the display lit up with a new alert.
RESUMING ALIGNMENT.
No longer needing it, he let go of the body's wrist. The hand limply slid down the monitor before reaching the desk and becoming still once more. Catching movement at the edge of his vision, he turned to witness the satellite crawling along to the end of the track. As if waking up from a deep sleep, the dish slowly rotated upwards, staring into the sky. More alerts flashed up on the display, and his attention was immediately grabbed by the damage assessment. The entire day, he had fought for this, fought to learn where the portal was opened, where he had to go so he could cut off the invasion as its source.
BASE CASUALTIES: BLOCKED
FACILITY DAMAGE: BLOCKED
THREAT LEVEL: BLOCKED
ATTACK ORIGIN: BLOCKED
"I'm blocking your access to the facility scanner." Hayden's voice wormed its way into his ears. "Come to the VEGA terminal, and I'll give you what you need."
One-sided conversation over, he was left again in peaceful silence. It was soon disturbed when his fist smashed through the monitor, a cacophony of shattering glass and hissing, sparking electronics filling the room. Ripping his arm from the ruined terminal, he took a few small steps back, forcing shallow breaths out through his mouthpiece as he imagined finding the doctor and tearing him limb from li-
Something hit the deck to his side with a dull thump, and he swiveled around in an instant, fully intent on pulverizing the intruder-
Immediately, he was knocked out of his fury. There were no demons in the room, no targets for his rage. The technician's body had fallen off the chair, probably knocked out of balance by his violent decommissioning of the workstation, and now lay in a heap on the floor.
Slowly, his fists relaxed and fell to his sides. For a few awkward seconds, he and the corpse stared at one another, before he finally stooped down to his knees.
I'm sorry.
With more care than he had given to anything this morning, he ran a hand over the man's face, closing his eyes. He looked far more peaceful now.
Increasingly uncomfortable with the sight, he turned away from the corpse and resolved to move on. There was nothing more he could do here, nothing he could do to numb the ache he hadn't felt so strongly in a long time. He could do nothing to make it better unless he kept moving.
Emerging into the corridors once more, it didn't take long before VEGA wordlessly uploaded the directions to his HUD. He set off with a furious sprint, tearing through the halls at a breakneck pace and looking forward to releasing the tension he felt on any demons that stood in his way.
If Hayden didn't have a good explanation for this, he would do well to find one. Every second he was delayed, more blood coated the doctor's hands.
I'll make you understand that.
He still hadn't fully worked off his anger upon reaching the VEGA terminal, despite tearing through most of the sector's computing division on the way. Clearing out the demons was a good outlet, but there hadn't been quite enough of them, and he left the area still on edge. It brought up bad memories, brief little glimpses of demons hiding in the shadows between server racks, claws sinking into flesh when he was just a hair too short on the draw…
He shook his head, knowing that he was spending far too much time thinking about the past. Focusing on the present, he took in the chamber before him and frowned with disdain. It didn't look promising. The walkway led to a claustrophobic-looking hatch - he couldn't call it a door with a straight face - that led into a suspended, drum-shaped room. The drum's exterior was plastered with the VEGA logo an obnoxious number of times, its stylized design reeking of an out-of-touch marketing team. The tiny window on the hatch, composed entirely of frosted glass, offered little hint of what was within.
If they were trying to lure him into some sort of trap, it was an entirely predictable one. No, they wouldn't dare, not with their entire security force either dead or possessed. He was their only chance of stopping the invasion, a fact he'd be happy to lord over them if he needed to.
And even if it was a trap, it hardly mattered. They wouldn't be able to stop him.
On his approach, the hatch raised and quickly scanned the drum's interior. It was a far cry from the mechanical room outside, lacking the pipes, exposed wires, and grime. The walkway was a pristine white, looking almost like plastic, and it ended at a circular platform where multiple computer terminals sat.
He was almost taken aback when he looked up and met the gaze of a giant blue eye staring back at him. It quickly became clear that it was merely a holographic projection of VEGA's insignia, flanked on both sides by a pair of similarly extravagant screens. From what he could make out, they both displayed constantly-refreshing readouts of automated status reports and emergency alerts. The amount of red text he saw didn't inspire confidence.
Walking into the circle, he noticed that the walkway was the only part of the room that was illuminated at all, and dimly at that. The walls were made of some dark material that he couldn't identify, and it was hard to tell where exactly they began. He imagined that it was because too much light would mess up the hologram projectors, but it didn't make the room look any less sinister.
As he arrived at the center of the circle, a rectangular hatch on the floor opened up, and he backpedaled to avoid stepping over the threshold. Beneath the hatch was a concealed compartment, out of which rose a not-quite-rectangular box, colored the same bright white as the walkway. It reached up to his waist, and was about as long as he was tall, prompting him to wonder what exactly it contained.
"It's a gift," Hayden said, as if hearing his cue. The box's top parted lengthwise, splitting open. Inside was what resembled a great amount of electrical equipment, adorned with stickers indicating concerningly high voltages. A pair of spinning mechanisms came next, splitting and moving apart in like fashion. When they came to a halt, he was left staring into a glass orb, slightly larger than a grenade, floating in place between two clusters of magnetic clamps. Inside of it was a swirling red vortex of energy, more dangerous than any grenade could ever be.
Immediately, he could feel the pull between it and himself, like it was reaching out to him. The little wisps of energy he got from the average demon would never inspire such a feeling, being just enough to heal him and usually being consumed in the process. The concentration of the energy within the orb must have been enormous. Belatedly, he realized that the box was meant to be some kind of stabilizer; without it, this entire wing of the building would've been flattened by now. That kind of power could be used for many things, and almost never for good, but as he stared into the vortex, he thought of his suit and how much energy it had lost. Hayden wasn't actually trying to help him, was he…?
"Take it. It will give you strength, help you on your journey…" The doctor, even with a modulated voice, couldn't conceal his almost reverent tone. He wondered if Hayden was even aware of it. Slowly, he slung the rifle over his shoulder. Grasping the orb tightly, he attempted to pull it out from its enclosure, but the magnetic force held solidly in place. Doubling his efforts, the orb finally came free, and the clamps snapped back as if they had been under immense strain trying to hold it in. Without missing a beat, the box closed itself up and sank back into the compartment, as if it were running in fear from the ticking bomb it had just given him.
"...if you can withstand the power surge." He caught the challenge hiding in the doctor's words. Even if the energy was concentrated so intensely as to need containment safeguards, the prospect of his suit being restored to its former glory was too great to pass up. He'd absorbed a lot of the essence during his campaigns, more than he could even quantify. It might sting a bit, but he'd manage. Staring into VEGA's 'eye', he held out the orb so that it was clearly visible to both of the UAC executives.
Without even blinking, he crushed it in his grip. Shards of the orb's glass rained down on the floor, and the energy flooded into him. A white-hot sensation scorched his outstretched arm, red lightning coalescing around the limb. Loud, erratic crackling assaulted his ears. He was being electrocuted, muscles tensing without his input. The energy flowed up, up past the elbow, through the shoulder, down into his core, up into his brain, into his soul-
-and you alone will bear the title of Praetor, you alone will bear the great honor of the Sentinel crown, for you alone stir fear in Hell's rotten heart-
The voice he heard was lost among his agony. He had overestimated himself - the sarcophagus must have dulled him in ways he didn't even realize yet. His flesh was on fire. It took every bit of his willpower to remain standing. Breathing was laborious, nearly impossible. He was trapped, trapped in the suit, being squeezed and crushed. The energy coursed through him without end, as if the little orb contained an entire legion's worth of the cursed essence. The suit's receptors were flooded, overwhelmed, and so it flowed directly into him with no regard for his tolerance. Great chains held him, pinning him down, and he willed himself to move, but the chains had him trapped, trapped in the coffin while Mars burns and Earth's next and the Argenta burned because they trusted you they worshiped you and you failed them and the energy poured through every last crack in his soul, looking for way in, looking for a way to enslave him-
-for you alone cut them down with terrible wrath, you alone have carved a path through their inexhaustible legions-
Visualizing the chains, steadying himself, he finally registered whose voice he heard. Novik always had great oratory talent. Even he found his spirit stirred and his morale bolstered when the king spoke. A fine leader of men like him.
you alone are the incorruptible-
He didn't feel alone anymore. He started to believe he never was. The energy would not claim him it never could, not like the others, not like Earth-
-you alone are the unyielding-
They needed him. He had to move. If he moved, they could be saved. A single prolonged life would make it worth something. He reached towards the chains, reaching out and gripping, the metal was burning hot-
-for you alone are the Great Slayer.
He tore the chains apart. The links snapped and shattered. A million glimmering shards swirled around him, like the embers of hellfire. He would extinguish it, snuff it all out.
With herculean effort, he forced the energy to stabilize within him. His eyes shot open, and he released his fist, dispelling what energy remained there into the receptors. Releasing a tightly held breath and staring into VEGA's 'eye' once more, he attempted to compose himself and downplay how much of a fight the energy gave him. Before he could even inhale again, the HUD lit up with a series of alerts that covered the entire visor.
WARNING - ENERGY OVERLOAD
ROUTING POWER TO DORMANT SUBSYSTEMS
REACTIVE ARMOR - ACTIVATED
ARMOR SELF-REPAIR - ACTIVATED
STRENGTH AUGMENTATION - ACTIVATED
…this gift was far more generous than he would've expected from Hayden. The various pockmarks and dents in the suit's plating, collected from his various fights this morning, began repairing themselves, metal shifting like sand back into proper alignment. Flexing his zapped arm, he observed the scorch marks, some still smoking, fading away and returning to drab green. The suit's muscle substructure solidified, harder than steel. With no effort at all, he released the flex, and it went back to normal. Alerts continued appearing on his visor, the final two nearly stopping his heart.
EXTRADIMENSIONAL INVENTORY - ACTIVATED
WEAPON AUTOLOADING - ACTIVATED
With an almost childish glee, he tore the rifle from his back and swiftly unloaded it, leaving the belt dangling loosely from the drum in his hand. Focusing, he felt his mental link to the suit's systems flare to life, a connection he had honed over countless battles. In an instant, the rifle and drum vanished from his hands, the only clue as to their disappearance being the faint golden glow around his palms. Reaching around to his back, he thought of the rifle, imagined its weight and the texture of the pistol grip in his hand, and pulled-!
To his observers, it would appear as if he conjured the gun from thin air, and they wouldn't exactly be wrong. The drum was once again attached to the rifle, belt once again loaded and a round chambered.
He grinned. The sadism in his expression alone could probably kill something.
"That is pure argent energy you've just taken into your system," Hayden said, sounding like he was trying to hide his awe. The pupil of VEGA's 'eye' dilated, a camera feed opening in its center. Before he could even decide what to do next, he was immediately thrust into a video call with the facility's leader.
He wasn't sure what he had expected, but the robotic construct staring back at him wasn't it. Not that he was surprised - Hayden's voice wasn't exactly organic-sounding, and it couldn't have just been radio interference. That, and if the doctor was a flesh-and-blood human, he'd be dead by now. Instead, there wasn't even a speck of dirt visible on his sleek chassis. Its humanoid shape afforded him a fair amount of body language, and even when trying to be civil, it was obvious from Hayden's posture that he was looking down on him. Running down the middle of his face was a blue slit, which struck him as a strange design for an eye. Just like VEGA's, it stared through him, and there was something deeply familiar about it that he couldn't place…
"It seems to agree with you," Hayden observed, gesturing vaguely towards the rifle. "I will unlock the remaining argent cells within the facility for you." A map on the right display showed the entire facility, marked with a smattering of red dots. If he cracked open more of them, he'd be unstoppable, with or without his guns. As long as the portal was open, though, he wasn't about to go on a sightseeing tour of the facility just to get them. Only after the invasion was stopped would he think about them.
Glaring at the feed, he cocked a thumb in the direction of the satellite, and then an accusatory finger at Hayden. Thankfully, the doctor understood him.
"VEGA, give him what he wants," he muttered, tone betraying that he was very unhappy about having to keep up his end of the bargain.
"61,337 UAC personnel deceased," VEGA chimed, chipper as ever. Any joy he felt over the restored suit was forced away by the simmering rage, bubbling up to the surface again. As the AI prattled on about ongoing sector lockdowns and critical infestation levels, he zoned out, clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth. On the left display, a list of names scrolled without end. So many people, so many lives and stories ended prematurely, listed like they were just an afterthought. Just data points on a spreadsheet.
Finally, VEGA divulged that the invasion began in the Lazarus labs, when Pierce opened the portal and released captured specimens from their holding cells. A photo of her, framed like a mugshot, unceremoniously appeared on the display. She wore a vile expression, staring directly at him. He glared daggers at her in return.
"I feel I should… apologize…" Hayden said, as if such an action was beneath him, "...for what's happened here. Some of my employees took things too far."
He broke eye contact with Pierce, redirecting his pointed look at Hayden.
"Olivia was the cause of all this, and I believe you will have to deal with her in time." The doctor didn't miss the contempt in his gaze, and leaned closer to the camera. His face, unmoving, somehow took on a venomous look.
"You may not agree with our research, but know this - we exploited Hell and its resources because it was in mankind's best interest to do so."
Whatever helps you sleep at night, he thought, cocking a thumb at the still-scrolling list of names. In the minutes since it began, it had now only reached the ones starting with 'E'.
"What you now see in this facility is the cost of progress," the doctor practically spat at him, a defensive edge bolstering into his voice. There was a brief pause, and Hayden scoffed.
"...but none of that matters now." His voice had softened somewhat, and there was the slightest hint of profound disappointment somewhere in it. He was sure that the doctor would prefer to keep such feelings hidden under a cool, calculated demeanor.
Before he could offer another retort, a number of red warning alerts appeared on the displays, dimming the room even more and casting an ominous crimson shroud upon it. An alarm blared to life in the corridor outside.
"There is an emergency in the foundry," VEGA announced, its upbeat tone replaced with a firm, matter-of-fact one. It was the only emotional change he had witnessed in the AI's speech thus far. "The regulators have been destroyed, and the core temperatures are now destabilizing."
"They've overrun the adjacent facility," Hayden added, turning back to look at him from whatever displays he was seeing in his own room.
I'm not your errand boy. Standing firmly in place, he pointed to himself before gesturing at the Lazarus facility's position on the map.
"If the venting turbines aren't re-engaged, neither of us will survive the meltdown," the doctor hissed. On the facility map, a red circle began spreading out from the foundry's core, stopping only when it covered most of the facility. It was helpfully labeled, too.
PROJECTED BEST-CASE CORE FAILURE SCENARIO
Sighing, he met Hayden's eye once more. While the doctor hadn't exactly ordered him to go, he still had to follow the instructions, something he was loath to do.
Not that there was any choice. He gave Hayden the slightest possible nod. Without a word, the doctor ended the call, and VEGA's 'eye' returned to normal. The hatch opened, and he took the hint, eager to leave the terminal behind.
Sprinting to the airlock, he put the rifle away, perking up somewhat when it vanished from hands again. Despite the circumstances, and encountering yet another roadblock on his way to the portal, things could still be worse. With the autoloader, he was stronger, faster, and deadlier. He could fight so much harder now.
Arriving at the foundry's open airlock amidst a cacophony of blaring alarms and pulsing emergency lights, he roughly swiped a hand across the control panel, wanting to get the decontamination cycle over with immediately. While he waited for it to finish, he drew the shotgun from his back, skillfully disconnecting it from the bandolier and sending the spare shells to join the rifle in superliminal space. Slipping the final shell out of its pocket, he threw the empty belt aside, happy to no longer need it.
Almost sending the shell to join its brethren, he stopped himself at the last moment. While the autoloader was convenient and enabled his great speed in combat, there was a tactile joy in reloading manually that the day's fighting made him realize he kind of missed. Pressing his thumb to the loading gate and seeing it fold inward, he noted that the shotgun hadn't been topped off. In his haste at the armory, he must have been too focused on the rifle to reload the other gun properly. At any other time, he would've harshly reprimanded himself for such negligence.
Ah, what the hell.
For the final time, he slammed a shell into the loading gate and racked the pump.
Shhk-shhk!
It felt good. As if spurred on by it, the airlock door opened at last, revealing a vast multi-story chamber bathed in the orange glow of molten metal. The distant cries of demons rang out in the immense space, and he was already plotting a route right to them.
Ready to get back to work, the Doom Slayer rushed once again into the fray.
Author's Note:
Well, it's been a while since the last time I published anything, hasn't it?
I meant to get this one-shot out back in the summer, but the scope of it just kept expanding and my perfectionism kept me rewriting entire pages of it for a long time. Returning to college a few months ago didn't help. It's unfortunate that this took so long, because I have many ideas for stories and never enough time to write them. Shells actually started as a warm-up exercise to get me in shape for a much larger, more complicated project that's unrelated to Doom. Because this took so long, I'm currently running up on the deadline for the first chapter of that to be finished, as well. You can expect to see that sometime later this month! :)
As for Shells, I thought it would be a fun idea to explain why Doomguy never has to reload. Considering the lore that goes into the modern Doom games, I'm surprised there isn't a more direct reference to it in-game - they could easily make it work! Maybe we'll learn the real reason why in Doom: The Dark Ages. I might just have to write a story when that comes out, too.
I always thought it was weird that in Doom (2016), we only really see industrial or scientific parts of the Mars base, and never any of the staff's living quarters. It makes wonder what the day-to-day life of the workers was like, especially when they get closer to Olivia Pierce's cult. That's part of why this story opens in a cafeteria - we never see any in game that I know of.
In the first drafts, Doomguy didn't act nearly as traumatized as he does in the final product. I was struggling to end the cafeteria fight in a satisfying way, but then I thought of how he might respond to actually taking damage and I couldn't stop. Months after writing it, I'm more neutral on that scene now, and I actually think my favorite ones are the ones that involve interactions with VEGA or Samuel. It's really fun having Doomguy gesture his way through conversations. A little trivia: since this takes place in the first modern game, where Doomguy doesn't trust or respect VEGA as much as in Eternal, and my previous Doom fic, Phobos, he refers to VEGA with "it" rather than "he". I also thought it would be fun to avoid using the name "Doom Slayer" until the very end.
Lastly, in Phobos, I complained that it felt really difficult to translate the speed of Doom's combat to text, and I still think that, but I'm a bit happier with the results here, and I hope you are, too!
As promised, I'll next see you with a new, much, much, much different story. Whatever could it be about...?
(DISCLAIMER: All dialogue starting with Olivia Pierce's "I believe in honesty" is from the original game, and is not my original creation. The Doom franchise is the property of Bethesda and iD Software, and I do not claim otherwise.)