Second “part” of SG in draft stage. Pretty happy with the flow of this one. Not done with this yet, still reviewing and incorporating feedback. I think the short fight scene at the end is especially cool. Most likely going to change the opening from this convoluted mess of an excuse for the MC to come to the apartament for something simpler.
Ion Storm
The quietness of the apartament feels like it could suffocate me.
The blinds are drawn like that night.
In the hallway I spot a small black stain where I had been impaled almost a year ago.
For the first time in my life the phrase “knees of jelly” makes sense to me.
Get a hold of yourself, man.
Why did I even come here? I could have just stayed in the base and prepared for launch. But I arranged for someone to bring my armour and gun to this cursed apartament. I sit down on the couch. It’s just like that night. Instead of sadness, I feel in some way relieved that I don’t have to deal with any of this anymore. I will be off Earth in a few hours.
It’s so awfully hard to breathe. It feels like there should be so many people in this room. But there isn’t. It’s just my imagination. Open the window to get some fresh air in and quit imagining things.
I go over to the wardrobe, where my equipment was supposed to be. The bright green combat armour is made of some combination of plastic and kevlar. I’ve trained in it many times, it allows for as much mobility as a regular coat, but not only is it greatly bulletproof, it can also double as a space suit. It’s incredibly thin for something that can withstand the vast vacuum.
And on the bottom lies the standard issue Mk. II Rod assault rifle, black and elegant. There are two spare magazines in the armour and the gun is loaded.
A silver 9mm pistol and a tactical knife.
Why did they provide me with weaponry now? Arming me on Mars would have made more sense. Now I am expected to get back to the HQ with full combat gear and live ammunition? Why did they even insist I come here?
Focus, damn it, they told me. The gear was here all the time during my training. They expected me to prefer to stay here and they wanted me to have the equipment within arm’s reach at all times. For “classified reasons.”
I slide into the armour, as I will be using it for my flight. The smooth material can almost be forgotten about after a few hours in it. I suppose I don’t need the gun, though.
But something in an instant changes in the air… like a sudden molecular storm.
A human scream full of fright is heard out through the open window. And then crashes. And car alarms.
Outside a pileup and panic is emerging on the street. A monster looking like a pink hairless gorilla with a huge maw has torn off the arm off a woman. A man standing in the alley can’t stand upright and his flesh starts rotting quickly. Another just flat-out dies. A brown humanoid creature covered in spikes over its back gets hit by a blue sedan and smashed against the wall. The horrors are pouring in from a glowing gateway in the sidewalk. I run back to the closet to get my gun, place it on the windowsill. Pull back the bolt – the bullet is chambered. Safety’s off.
The rifle fires once with a pleasant cackle and kicks back into my shoulder. I split open the head of a brown humanoid with some white bone-like growth emerging from underneath its skin.
I pull the trigger again and destroy the face of that pink gorilla, but it’s still thrashing about. Another precise shot turns its head into a mangled mess of brains, blood and gore.
The street has been engulfed in chaos. The cars have created a pileup and the people are panicking.
I can’t do much to minimise casualties besides eliminate as many threats from my elevated position.
People are dying out there.
Something bangs on my door. And shrieks. I don’t turn away from the window yet.
It bangs again and roars.
Bang Bang Bang
Very loudly.
But for now, the people.
Crrrack
The door gives way to another one of these brown humanoids that lunges straight at me. I dodge over the couch and try to get out my pistol, but the creature is too fast and strikes again, so I whip out my knife and stab it straight into the face. The orangish arms with three claws each that were a fraction of a second away from tearing me to shreds go limp. The yellow eyes dim out and the ant-like pincers underneath its mouth hang down pitifully. Underneath this mouth of darkness; this mouth for war. The creature slides off the blade and onto the floor with a loud thud.
Incoming message on the suit’s shortwave radio…
This message is for marine Masterson. We are aware of your location and state. Squads 2-3-1 and 2-3-2 will arrive in T minus two minutes, pick you up and brief you. Wait for us on the street if you deem it safe. 2-3-1 leader out.
I never expected more bloodshed to happen in this home… The horrible parallelism between my and my brother is striking, but I need to stay certain that I was doing what was right. Protecting fellow human beings and myself. Yet this scary feeling lingers.
I
am
a murderer!
Jan. Summer 2019.