Re: Intense Struggle Season 2! (Round 2: Infinity Express)
12-20-2010, 11:01 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by GreyGabe.
Finally finding himself on the floor again (at least he was pretty sure it was the floor…) Marcus allowed himself nearly a full second of self pity before rolling to his side, narrowly avoiding a large, pincer-like claw which tore a furrow out of the rather plush carpet and some of the metal floor beneath. Marcus looked up at Charlie, as it prepared to bring down its other claw, knowing Marcus had nowhere else to roll. Later, he would never admit, but at that moment Marcus found himself on the verge of panic. He yanked up his shotgun and opened fire, without bothering to aim or really even look where he was shooting. Charlie jerked back, and Marcus took the opening. He scrambled away, grimacing as he used his bad leg to scoot himself along.
He had scored a hit, anyway. Charlie’s left claw and arm were damaged, the front tip of the claw torn off, and a furrow ripped down the arm. However, a burst of flame told Marcus that he hadn’t disabled the arm entirely. He ducked and rolled behind a seat, but not before being seared by the edge of the blast. After the flames died down, he rolled back into the aisle to find… nothing.
Ssssshhhhhhiiiiiiiit.
Marcus began moving towards the door, listening for any sign of movement. He couldn’t hear anything but a low hissing.
Wait. Hissing? He looked up. His shotgun had torn a group of ragged holes in the ceiling of the train, and air was escaping out into the strange void beyond. Well, now he knew that going outside was a bad idea, not that he had ever thought it was a good one. He began moving towards the door once again, when he saw a rippling motion sliding towards him high on one wall.
He opened fire, tearing another chunk out of the train’s hull. The hunter-bot dodged it easily though, coming down hard on the floor a few feet away. Marcus dropped his gun and grabbed two grenades from his belt, pitching them forward. Charlie smacked one aside, sending it crashing into a window, sending hairline cracks through it to the frame. The other grenade sailed past its pincer, landing on the floor next to it and bouncing.
Marcus turned and ran, scooping up his gun and throwing his arms protectively over his head. The two grenades went off in tandem, blowing out every window in the carriage and sending both inhabitants of the car flying. Marcus felt himself slam into the door, knocking it open and tumbling head over heel through it. He lay on the floor, his ears ringing, and hoped to hell that he had managed to kill that hunk of deadly junk, or at least space it.
Somehow, though, he doubted it. It might have pulled back to lick its wounds (judging by the fact that it hadn't already burst through the door and killed him), but Charlie was way too tough to be killed by those little concussive grenades.
Finding himself in some sort of storage room, he pulled himself behind a nearby wooden crate and applied the salve, splint, and bandages. He was almost too dazed to feel relieved. He also noticed, vaguely, that his head was bleeding a bit. Maybe a piece of shrapnel had skimmed his scalp. He bandaged it up, too, and stood, swaying a bit. He wished he had brought some trip-mines so that he could leave a few surprises for any horrible death machines that might follow him. He also wished he had a suit of heavy combat armor, a sturdy helmet, an anti-tank gun, and the rest of his merc team, preferably heavily armed and ready to call in air support.
Alas, alack, that such woe would betide etc.
Continuing on to the next car, past a frozen cargo-hauler he found, surprise! More storage. He glanced around for anything that looked useful, but didn’t see anything overly promising. On to the next car he went, this one a sleeper. The lights were out, and a few lumps under the blankets in a few beds told him that the car was occupied, but other than that there was no sign of life. He kept moving, ignoring the static forms. If at all possible, he wanted at least a few cars between him and Charlie from now on. Opening the next door, he stopped suddenly as he saw movement on the other side of the car. He snapped his gun up, surprised to see what looked like some sort of humanoid frog-thing with long, spindly legs and an round orange gut. It stood and regarded him impassively, as if he weren’t holding a high-powered weapon pointed in its direction. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the being seemed… off, somehow. Aside from the obvious reasons, of course.
More movement next to the creature caught his eye, and he saw a head of light brown hair peeking from around the thing’s leg, which after a second he realized was the little girl from before. What was her name… Livia? No… Lillian. That was it.
Great. ‘Cause Marcus was just wonderful with kids.
Ha.
Ha ha. Ha.
In point of fact, Marcus did not understand children in the slightest, and seldom enjoyed being around them for any length of time. They were small, and sticky, and asked annoying questions, and typically got in the way.
Buuuuuut… he couldn’t just leave the kid, especially not with frog-man, who might be some sort of little-kid eating space-alien or something. He found himself wondering once more why the girl was here, ghost-bracelet or no. Slowly, Marcus lowered his weapon.
“Hey, there, Lillian. Right? You remember me?”
The girl glared at him.
“My name’s Marcus. Uh… who’s your friend?”
“His name’s Burden,” she said, finally, still glaring at him distrustfully.
“Hi, Burden.”
“Hmmmmmmmm… Greetings. Were you the cause of the great clamor a few moments ago?” The frog-man spoke at a slow, steady pace.
“Uhh, yeah… we should probably keep moving. Else the other guy involved in the ‘clamor’ might catch up and that would be bad. But I’ve got a few questions first… hey, wait!”
Lillian had turned around and marched through the door without a backward glance. Burden nodded at him once and followed.
Marcus shook his head and walked after them, still limping slightly and glancing over his shoulder from time to time. “Best. Day. Ever. Woooooo.”
Finally finding himself on the floor again (at least he was pretty sure it was the floor…) Marcus allowed himself nearly a full second of self pity before rolling to his side, narrowly avoiding a large, pincer-like claw which tore a furrow out of the rather plush carpet and some of the metal floor beneath. Marcus looked up at Charlie, as it prepared to bring down its other claw, knowing Marcus had nowhere else to roll. Later, he would never admit, but at that moment Marcus found himself on the verge of panic. He yanked up his shotgun and opened fire, without bothering to aim or really even look where he was shooting. Charlie jerked back, and Marcus took the opening. He scrambled away, grimacing as he used his bad leg to scoot himself along.
He had scored a hit, anyway. Charlie’s left claw and arm were damaged, the front tip of the claw torn off, and a furrow ripped down the arm. However, a burst of flame told Marcus that he hadn’t disabled the arm entirely. He ducked and rolled behind a seat, but not before being seared by the edge of the blast. After the flames died down, he rolled back into the aisle to find… nothing.
Ssssshhhhhhiiiiiiiit.
Marcus began moving towards the door, listening for any sign of movement. He couldn’t hear anything but a low hissing.
Wait. Hissing? He looked up. His shotgun had torn a group of ragged holes in the ceiling of the train, and air was escaping out into the strange void beyond. Well, now he knew that going outside was a bad idea, not that he had ever thought it was a good one. He began moving towards the door once again, when he saw a rippling motion sliding towards him high on one wall.
He opened fire, tearing another chunk out of the train’s hull. The hunter-bot dodged it easily though, coming down hard on the floor a few feet away. Marcus dropped his gun and grabbed two grenades from his belt, pitching them forward. Charlie smacked one aside, sending it crashing into a window, sending hairline cracks through it to the frame. The other grenade sailed past its pincer, landing on the floor next to it and bouncing.
Marcus turned and ran, scooping up his gun and throwing his arms protectively over his head. The two grenades went off in tandem, blowing out every window in the carriage and sending both inhabitants of the car flying. Marcus felt himself slam into the door, knocking it open and tumbling head over heel through it. He lay on the floor, his ears ringing, and hoped to hell that he had managed to kill that hunk of deadly junk, or at least space it.
Somehow, though, he doubted it. It might have pulled back to lick its wounds (judging by the fact that it hadn't already burst through the door and killed him), but Charlie was way too tough to be killed by those little concussive grenades.
Finding himself in some sort of storage room, he pulled himself behind a nearby wooden crate and applied the salve, splint, and bandages. He was almost too dazed to feel relieved. He also noticed, vaguely, that his head was bleeding a bit. Maybe a piece of shrapnel had skimmed his scalp. He bandaged it up, too, and stood, swaying a bit. He wished he had brought some trip-mines so that he could leave a few surprises for any horrible death machines that might follow him. He also wished he had a suit of heavy combat armor, a sturdy helmet, an anti-tank gun, and the rest of his merc team, preferably heavily armed and ready to call in air support.
Alas, alack, that such woe would betide etc.
Continuing on to the next car, past a frozen cargo-hauler he found, surprise! More storage. He glanced around for anything that looked useful, but didn’t see anything overly promising. On to the next car he went, this one a sleeper. The lights were out, and a few lumps under the blankets in a few beds told him that the car was occupied, but other than that there was no sign of life. He kept moving, ignoring the static forms. If at all possible, he wanted at least a few cars between him and Charlie from now on. Opening the next door, he stopped suddenly as he saw movement on the other side of the car. He snapped his gun up, surprised to see what looked like some sort of humanoid frog-thing with long, spindly legs and an round orange gut. It stood and regarded him impassively, as if he weren’t holding a high-powered weapon pointed in its direction. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the being seemed… off, somehow. Aside from the obvious reasons, of course.
More movement next to the creature caught his eye, and he saw a head of light brown hair peeking from around the thing’s leg, which after a second he realized was the little girl from before. What was her name… Livia? No… Lillian. That was it.
Great. ‘Cause Marcus was just wonderful with kids.
Ha.
Ha ha. Ha.
In point of fact, Marcus did not understand children in the slightest, and seldom enjoyed being around them for any length of time. They were small, and sticky, and asked annoying questions, and typically got in the way.
Buuuuuut… he couldn’t just leave the kid, especially not with frog-man, who might be some sort of little-kid eating space-alien or something. He found himself wondering once more why the girl was here, ghost-bracelet or no. Slowly, Marcus lowered his weapon.
“Hey, there, Lillian. Right? You remember me?”
The girl glared at him.
“My name’s Marcus. Uh… who’s your friend?”
“His name’s Burden,” she said, finally, still glaring at him distrustfully.
“Hi, Burden.”
“Hmmmmmmmm… Greetings. Were you the cause of the great clamor a few moments ago?” The frog-man spoke at a slow, steady pace.
“Uhh, yeah… we should probably keep moving. Else the other guy involved in the ‘clamor’ might catch up and that would be bad. But I’ve got a few questions first… hey, wait!”
Lillian had turned around and marched through the door without a backward glance. Burden nodded at him once and followed.
Marcus shook his head and walked after them, still limping slightly and glancing over his shoulder from time to time. “Best. Day. Ever. Woooooo.”