The Marine

[comic]

CHAPTER 1​

“Enough.”

The would-be insurgent rubbed at his jaw, the blood streaming from his nose already beginning to dry. He stared back up at the cause of his injuries, seeing the man’s eyes, heeding the warning. The marine didn’t want to kill the disgruntled civilian... just subdue him.

The marine’s eyes could barely be made out through the visor of his helmet as he stared back. His simple word had been enough, when coupled with one solid punch to the face. Once that understanding was established, the marine gestured with his rifle for the man to stand, before taking him outside where the other civilians had been rounded up.

Tensions were high these days. The UAAF had to step in and put out the fires encroaching on every inhabited world in the solar system. Those fires were starting to become too abundant to reliably extinguish. Resources were low, everyone was out of space, and people blamed the UAC.

The marine followed the civilian to the rest of the group, directing him to join his fellow insurgents. The procedure was simple, quell the situation with as little collateral as possible. It made the UAC look good and was enough to scare people back in line. That was the idea, anyway.

Several other marines shared a look with the one rejoining their ranks, their commanding officer positioned on a platform overlooking the captured civilians. He seemed satisfied that the marines had rounded people up so efficiently, and with no casualties.

The marine of our focus joined the ranks of his fellows, quietly getting in formation in one of two rows at either side of their officer, who was the only representative of the UAAF here not wearing armor.

Our marine waited, as he always did. This unit was new to him, he’d been transferred for insubordination to this one, so he expected one or two things to be done slightly differently. Yet as he stood there, waiting for the officer to address the civilians and speak some kind of temperment into them... it didn’t come.

He turned his head slowly, peering over at the officer, who overlooked the captured men, women, and children for a few more moments... and turned to walk off the platform. The marine blinked, confused. They were just going to leave?

“Ready,” the officer shouted as he moved behind the ranks of his men. Simultaneously, the unit raised their weapons, turning off the safety’s.

The marine was the only one who didn’t, not believing what he was hearing.

“Aim.”

The civilians began to cry and beg and shout. Some began to try and run. They’d never make it in time. The marine wasn’t going to wait for the final line as he stepped out of formation, moving quickly toward his commanding officer, who looked over at him with a raised brow.

“Get back in formation, marine, I—” the officer’s eyes widened when the marine didn’t slow down, and a fist suddenly smashed into the man’s jaw. Teeth and blood flew through the air as the officer fell to the ground, catching himself against his palms as he sputtered.

“What the- MARINE!” Several other soldiers broke formation to rush toward the marine as he reached down and grabbed the officer by the back of his neck, pulling him up one-armed and ramming his left knee into the man’s face, obliterating his nose. More blood splattered to the ground below them.

He felt one soldier grab his arm, and the marine shrugged him off for the purpose of lifting the officer higher and slamming his left fist into the man’s face.

“GET HIM! GET HIM OFF!” The soldiers shouted and piled on, pulling the marine back and away from their commanding officer, who collapsed to the ground, barely conscious as blood continued to pour from his wounds.

“OFF ME!” The marine shouted, struggling against the men, but united against him, he was powerless to stop them. His cold, blind rage now began to wear off, and as his struggling ceased, they got a better hold of him while one of the soldiers checked the officer over.

“He’s still alive...” he muttered, rising to his feet and turning to the insubordinate marine. “What the fuck were you doing!?”

The marine didn’t answer, staring back. The soldier marched toward him and pulled off the marine’s helmet, throwing it aside. He pulled his fist back, and slugged the marine in the side of the head. “Answer me!”

The marine didn’t answer.

The soldier threw more hits, slamming his fist into the marine’s skull at every angle he could, dealing as much damage as he could, grinding flesh to bone before he asked another question. “Do you want to die?”

The marine lifted his head slowly, his face bloodied and bruised, red dripping from his lip as he peered past his swollen, blackened eyes. “Yes.”

The soldier shook his head and turned away, shaking the blood off of his fists. “Load everything up, we’re getting out of here,” he ordered. “Tell command to get a firing squad ready.”

The marine hung his head again. Those civilians were allowed to live, at least a little longer. He didn’t know why they were going to kill them. He didn’t know what secrets the UAC and UAAF kept from him. He was just a soldier, made to follow orders. But killing innocent people was something he would never do. Not after what had happened... not after...

​

He sat in the cramped cell, wearing his best suit. He’d gotten married in this suit. It hadn’t been that long ago, yet it felt like a lifetime away. Distant memories. He could feel his blood starting to burn at the mere thought.

The UAAF handled public executions differently than past military organizations. It was almost like a formal event. He’d attended several firing squads himself, but never as the main attraction. Not until now. Some people dressed nicely. Some didn’t. Some people ate big meals just beforehand. Some didn’t. He wasn’t hungry, but he wanted to look nice when he saw his family again. Ever since they’d been lost, he’d just been...

So...

So angry...

He couldn’t control it most of the time. It just consumed him, and he had to kill and maim. It came so naturally. Maybe dead, he could find peace.

He didn’t know. He didn’t fear death, or much of anything. Nothing except never seeing their faces again. He was starting to forget their smiles, despite the fact he could see them photographed every day.

“Prisoner, stand.”

A voice outside of the cell ordered. The marine stared for a moment longer at the picture caught between his thumb and finger. It was torn, the man in the picture removed, leaving only a woman and a little girl, smiling up at him. On the back were their names, written in black ink. The marine slid the photograph into his breast pocket and rose to his feet. The latch of his cell slid away, and the door opened.

“Prisoner, exit the cell.”

He obeyed, stepping calmly from the cramped space and into the transport car he’d been riding in.

“Prisoner, follow the executioner.”

His eyes locked with a man before him, decorated in an extravagant uniform. The firing squad leader, called fittingly the ‘executioner.’ The marine continued to obey, following the executioner to the end of the car as the other soldier who’d been ordering him fell into step behind him, forming a short convoy.

Out of the car they went, walking down a ramp into a military base the marine didn’t recognize, but given the heat of the sun and the rock formations nearby, it was clearly Earth. No dome overhead to contain an atmosphere, it was all natural. Likely the deserts of western north america. A total wasteland.

Fitting place to die.

Yet as they drew nearer and nearer to the courtyard where the firing squad waited, a military courier jogged up to them holding a paper. He handed it to the executioner and whispered something to him. Both glanced back at the marine, before the executioner told the courier to go. “It’s your lucky day, traitor,” the man said, turning around. “You’ve got a sponsor.”

The marine’s eyebrows slowly knit together. A sponsor? Who would want to sponsor him, why? For what?

They moved now from the courtyard and instead into the processing center. Here, the executioner left, looking a little disappointed as the guide stood guard to watch over the marine once they entered a room where a single man in a clinical UAC suit waited.

He gestured for the marine to sit, and after a moment, he did, sliding into the chair opposite the UAC representative. “Leave us,” the man told the guide.

“I’m tasked with-” the guide began, but the representative cut him off.

“Addendum UE-33-9. UAC representative officials hold rank over UAAF enlisted under the rank of Staff Sergeant. Please, corporal.”

The guide seemed to hesitate for a moment before he opened the door and stepped out of the otherwise blank square room. Only a table sat between the representative and the marine. A silence fell between them as they stared at one another, neither blinking or looking away.

It was the representative who broke the silence. “A tailored suit. It must be important to you.”

The marine didn’t answer.

“You were ready to die, I apologize for taking that from you,” the representative leaned forward. “I have chosen to sponsor you for a detail on Phobos. There is a facility there I’d like you to be stationed, your history would be perfect for the position. Unfortunately, you won’t be paid, this is sponsored servitude.”

The marine didn’t answer.

The representative leaned back and grabbed a suitcase from the ground beside his chair, snapping it open and pulling out a manilla folder. Opening it, he began to pull out files and photographs. “You nearly killed your commanding officer three months ago. He’s still in a coma. The report claims you were compliant until ordered to fire on the insurgents.”

The marine didn’t answer.

“Before that, over half a year ago, you disobeyed a direct order from another commanding officer and redirected insurgents from an airstrike zone meant to kill them. And before that, a year ago after the attack on—”

“Make your point,” the marine said, his low voice contrasting the representative’s high octave.

“You’re either a traitor, or a hero,” the representative claimed. “The insurgents rounded up were disgruntled civilians who had a temporary riot. The insurgents intended for the airstrike weren’t part of the organized uprising in Taleria, and you knew it. In your reports, you call them civilians. The UAC and UAAF call them insurgents.”

The marine stared back, still waiting for the representative to make his point.

“They believe you’re a traitor. A rebel sympathizer. A rogue that needs to be put down for interfering. Maybe you are. Or maybe you’re right, and you saved innocent lives those days. Regardless of the truth, you are an expendable asset they no longer wish to possess. My point is, you have a conscience, despite your... outward appearance. The facility you’re being assigned to is on the breakthrough of the century, to surpass even colonizing the solar system. Unlimited energy. It’s the solution to all of our problems, at long last. You’re meant to protect this, and when it’s finished, the resource crisis will come to an abrupt end. You can play a part in that. You would ensure the survival of billions.”

The marine didn’t answer.

The representative stared at him for several moments before he returned the documents to his suitcase and snapped it shut, then stood up. “You will be stationed there this time next month. It’s a chance at redemption, not just for your service record, but for humanity. Think about your family, think about—”

The table suddenly slid forward, slamming into the representative’s waist and making him lurch over its surface. The marine’s hand grabbed the back of the man’s head, pressing it against the table, despite the limitation of his cuffs. “Don’t.”

The representative heard the warning, heart racing a marathon as he was held to the table for a moment longer... and the marine let go. Panting, sweat beading across his forehead as he quickly stepped away from the table, the representative straightened his suit. Swallowing, he gave a slight nod. “Understood,” he said weakly.

The marine sat back down, gaze turning to the center of the table.

That was probably enough, and now sufficiently spooked, the representative moved around the table and headed for the exit, yet just as he was reaching the door, he paused, remembering something he still had to cover. “Marine.”

The marine didn’t answer.

“You’ll go back home for a day or two, you can figure out what to do with anything there, but you won’t be allowed to bring anything with you to Phobos. If you have... guests, or pets, I’d recommend finding them new homes. You won’t be back for a long time.”

Still no answer.

The representative left the room.

​

“Are you sure?”

The marine gave a nod, handing over the empty cage. His neighbor understood the weight of the situation, handling it with care. Not because the cage itself was special, but because of what it usually held. The marine just needed a moment to say goodbye.

As his neighbor carried the cage out to his car, the marine stepped back into his house and turned his attention to the rabbit on the ground, nibbling on some food he’d laid out for her. Sitting himself on the ground, the marine softly rubbed the rabbit behind her ears, and she let out a fond squeak at his attention.

“Daisy...” he muttered, gently moving his hand to pat the bunny’s back. She hopped into his lap, letting him coddle her for a few more moments. His last he’d probably get to have with her. He didn’t have a choice in his life now, and he hated to leave her like this. He didn’t want to. But she’d be safe and loved with his neighbor, who’d been a close family friend for years. He knew just how important Daisy was to the marine.

Words couldn’t describe it, not without falling short of its meaning.

He found it soothing, petting the rabbit. The festering rage that perpetuated in his soul was quelled at this moment. This was the closest he’d felt to peace in so... so long...

But it couldn’t last.

He found it hard to hand her over to his neighbor. He thought it might even break him. The last piece of who he was... now being carried away...

He stood alone in his empty living room in his empty house for hours, staring at the closed front door. He’d waited to hand off Daisy until she was the last possible thing. His heart felt empty without her.

Soon enough, his transport arrived, and he left behind the home he’d built and lost an entire life in. There was nothing left for him here. All that waited now... was Phobos.

​

He hated space. Cold and empty. Phobos wouldn’t be much better. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but there was nothing else to look forward to. Despite his distaste for the stars, it was still beautiful. Daisy liked the stars.

He leaned against the frame of the viewport, staring out at the empty vastness of it all.

“Jenna and Daisy?”

His heart skipped a beat. The marine pulled quickly from the window and turned to face another man who had been squinting at something in the marine’s hand. Quickly, he stowed the torn photograph away with one hand as his other shot out to grab the man by his throat, but he was slippery.

The prisoner slid back with a grin, the marine’s fist gripping nothing but air. “Hey, no need to get aggressive.”

The marine had half a mind to rip this guy’s head off. Blood was thumping in his ears as he stared the man down, and as he stared back, his confidence began to waver. The prison couldn’t hold his gaze and took another cautious step back. “Um... sorry man, I didn’t uh...”

The marine didn’t care, and turned back to the window to stare out of it. He missed his rabbit. If he had her, he could calm down. His arms were starting to shake with the rage that was clawing to the surface. There was no way he could do this job... he had nothing to kill... nothing to maim... nothing to vent his rage out on.

He could see Mars, a dot among more dots. Phobos was impossible to see at this distance. He just wanted to get this over with.

The prisoner abandoned the marine to go to the others. Like him, they were sponsored servants, spared from whatever death penalty for whatever crimes to work for the UAC in any desired way. No pay, no parole, no freedom. The men and women around him were supposed to be guards as well. The UAC were serious about this new energy they were developing if they needed to resort to sponsored servants in bulk for additional security.

His thoughts consumed him, and before he had even realized it, Phobos was in view. Its facility could be seen, like a glittering jewel, on its malformed surface. His new life began there, and as far as he had known sponsored servitude... his life ended there as well.

The representative was right about one thing, at least. The marine could rest easy, contributing to saving mankind in this small way.

The ship shuddered. It felt like plasma flak.

The marine stepped away from the window, feeling the ship shake again. Something wasn’t right. There was no turbulence on Phobos. An engine was malfunctioning, or they were being attacked. There were no other options. The prisoners around him didn’t seem to be grasping this. Their ignorance was on full display.

A third shudder, this one so violent it threw the marine off of his feet and into the wall. He could see stars spinning out the window. The ship was out of control. Brief glimpses of something red and molten could be seen each time the ship spun into view of the Phobos facility and its rapid approach.

Was this it? Was this the end?

He welcomed it.

A wave of heat washed through the room as the ship jolted. For a moment, he felt alive in the fire that swarmed in.

And then it was only the dark that greeted him.
​

 

[comic]

CHAPTER 2​

Screams. Cries. Shouts. A legion pleading for salvation. It fed the seething hatred.

He could hear it, ringing in his ears. It made his insides churn and twist, running through a gantlet of painful loops.

“Unf...”

The marine’s eyelids slowly lifted. The air felt thin. His lungs could feel a subtle burning.

The window, somehow, remained intact. Yet flames billowed nearby. The corpses of the prisoners he’d been transported with, fellow sponsored servants, lay scattered about. Some blackened and charred, others twisted and bloody.

Yet he lived. Fate was mocking him.

Slowly, the marine raised an arm, shaking his head to clear the ringing in his brain. The screams were still there. A painful memory that refused to fade.

His hand found the wall, and he pushed against it to push himself to his feet. Oxygen was low here, and getting low quickly. What he didn’t breathe was burning up in the fire.

The screaming was getting louder. The marine dragged his feet forward, placing one in front of the other, leaning against the wall for support. He navigated his way through the corpses of men and women. Their mouths were closed, yet they were screaming too. Everything and everyone was screaming in his goddamn head...

“Get out... of my head...” he hissed through his bared teeth, gritting them as he stumbled his way toward the far wall, pushing a crate out of his way to open a panel in the wall, revealing a row of oxygen tanks and breathing masks in the emergency cabinet.

The screams were pounding in his ears. They were crying their very souls out directly into his ears. They wouldn’t leave him alone...!

He grabbed a breathing mask, quickly fastening it over his face... and the screaming stopped abruptly. All of it, gone in an instant. He grabbed an oxygen tank and hooked it to the mask, taking in a deep breath of pure air, untainted by smoke and death.

Holding onto the tank, he felt his strength returning to him. The marine turned his head to look at the corpses around him. Nobody had survived the impact, that was definitive. There was nobody here to save. He had to leave, find out what happened, what went wrong, and what he could do to make things right.

With more confident steps, the marine began to march his way toward the exit.

No screams followed him. They were in the past, where they belonged. Back in the memories of his nightmares and his regrets.

The door was broken when he reached it, failing to slide up fully out of his way. He set the tank on the ground beside him before he wedged his fingers under the door, gripping it tightly as he pulled, grunting with the effort. The damaged latch gave way, and the door gave way, sliding up and disappearing into its slit in the ceiling. He grabbed the oxygen tank and set it over his shoulder, moving past the door.

​

No soul lived. How had this happened? And why did he survive?

Could this be death? What kind of afterlife was this?

The marine moved the corpse of the pilot out of his seat to take it from him, accessing the interface for the ship’s command console. He set the oxygen tank down beside him as he tried to get into the ship’s logs. He lacked the clearance, the computer demanding a red key card.

His gaze turned to the pilot’s body. He should have had a key card attached to his waistband, yet somehow, it wasn’t there.

Fires still billowed about, giving everything an angry hue of crimson. It did little to quell his barely-contained fury. He only held it back now to focus on this problem. Nobody had come from the Phobos facility to investigate the crash site, supporting his belief that this was an attack. What would insurgents gain from attacking such a small base? Did they know about the infinite energy research?

And what if it wasn’t insurgents?

Grabbing the tank, the marine stood back up, hearing the sound of metal grinding against metal coming back from the hall where he’d come from, which connected to the cockpit, the airlock, and the common area. It could have been the flames, eating away some kind of support. Yet it sounded strangely... intentional.

The grind came again, then a clatter.

It had to be a survivor, or a rescue team cutting through the airlock.

The marine marched out of the cockpit, ducking through dancing flames into the hall. He looked into the airlock - finding it was untouched, still. Another clatter, back in the common area, grabbing his attention. He pressed on.

Leaving the hall behind, he found the circular room was still burning and empty. Chairs and tables were scattered about, blackening and broken. Two other doors led elsewhere, one to the hypersleep bay for cryogenic-induced sleep, and the other into a hall to the rest of the ship. Yet he did not choose either way to go.

A guttural shout alerted the marine to the source of the noise-maker. Another pilot, likely the co-pilot, dragged his feet through the remains of a broken metal table, scattering bits of scrap, dragging behind him a lead pipe, clearly pulled off the wall. His face was shrouded by his mask, and he was walking strangely.

The marine could see the pilot’s visor had been cracked open. The man was likely delirious, succumbed to the smoke and lack of oxygen.

The pilot dragged his feet, shuffling forward, having been momentarily obscured by fire and smoke. His left arm caught fire, yet he didn’t seem to notice, making a beeline straight for the marine.

He watched as the pilot drew nearer, growling through his mask like an animal. Like a beast.

He raised the pipe and swung it down suddenly. The marine brought up his left arm, letting his forearm take the blow as he took a step back in confusion. The pipe snapped against his bone, making him wince. The pilot was delirious and dangerous.

The pipe raised again, and when it came down, the marine caught it this time in his palm, yanking it out of the pilot’s hand and casting it aside. This didn’t deter the crazed man, however, as he now lunged with his arms outstretched, his bestial growls rising into an inhuman roar. With one arm, the marine pushed the man back as he clawed and groped. One of his eyes could be seen through the ruined visor.

His eye... it glowed bright, like the fires around them, yet it was not a reflection of flame. It was from within.

It looked abominable.

The marine made a growl of his own as he pushed the pilot back with a shove, making him stumble back - and then the oxygen tank was swung like a blunt object, cracking over the unwell man’s head, knocking him to the side and briefly stunning him. The marine took the opportunity to step forward, grab the top of the helmet, and yank it off.

Rotting flesh greeted him. The pilot’s searing eyes didn’t seem to register him, staring lifelessly forward. His jaw hung open, cheeks ripped open, skin peeling and decaying.

An undead man. He had died merely twenty minutes ago, at least. And here he stood, rotten as though he had died weeks ago.

The pilot gnashed his teeth and turned his body to face the marine, before lunging once more. The marine instinctively brought his arm up to catch the zombie by its chest, stopping it as it resumed clawing and groping, now snapping its jaws hungrily, eyes glowing their hellish hue.

The marine could see no humanity inside of them. Just the need to eat. To consume. To destroy. To maim. To take away everything. Was this related to the attack? Was someone or something, in some way, resurrecting the dead? It sounded impossible, yet he was staring at a corpse that wanted to sink its teeth into his flesh.

“Monster,” the marine growled. The screaming was back, stinging in the back of his mind, but rising rapidly in a crescendo of pain and destruction. He could hear their screams among the others. Yet as they grew louder, the thundering of blood in his ears was drowning them out.

As the zombie grew more frantic and aggressive, the rage was burning to the surface hotter than the devouring flames that surrounded them.

“Monster!” the marine bellowed, dropping the oxygen tank, snapping it for the moment away from the breathing mask, opening up his right hand for use, which he swung forward. His knuckles smashed into the side of the zombie’s skull. It let out a choke as it stumbled to the ground, blood spurting out of one of its eyes from the trauma of the hit.

Finally.

Something to kill.

He swung his other fist, breaking off the zombie’s jaw with the second blow and dropping the undead pilot to the ground. “MONSTER!” His voice was a roar that overpowered the flames around them as he stepped over the zombie, then dropped to his knees, pinning the monster to the ground. His fists flew forward, blow after blow, knuckles ripping and tearing into the zombie’s cranium. Bone fractured and sunk to his hits, blood splattering from each impact.

He kept slugging his fists forward, bursting the zombie’s head open like a watermelon, yet he didn’t slow down. Even as the skin over his knuckles ripped open, he pounded away and away until finally... he stopped, panting as he stared down at the puddle of gore before him. The zombie’s head had been reduced into pulverized meat, the metal floor itself dented repeatedly to form a basin for the blood to pool in.

Sweat poured down his face, his skin was burning, but he didn’t care.

For a moment, the rage was sated. It had eaten, and it had eaten well.

Rising back to his feet, the marine coughed, feeling lightheaded. He had to return to his mission. Now, at least, he knew to look out for the dead, for they may not stay that way.

Fumbling through the smoke, he found the oxygen tank and hooked it back up. He needed to get out of the ship, there was no point remaining here. The smoke was consuming everything the fire wasn’t, and he couldn’t be next. Not just yet. His life meant nothing, but there could still be others to save. And if not...

Then he’d just have to kill whatever killed them.

​

It was cold.

What a contrast, the surface of Phobos was. The burning transport ship was behind him now. You couldn’t even tell it was a furnace inside, the lack of oxygen on the moon’s surface killing any flames that broke the hull. Soon enough, there would be nothing left as the final corridors were ripped free of fire and air.

Every UAC vessel came equipped with the necessary emergency essentials. Breathing masks and oxygen tanks could be found in each major hub, and radiation shielding suits could be found by the airlocks, however many a ship may have. Wearing the heavy suit protected the marine from the sun’s radiation on the moon’s surface, and the deadly grip of space that would have otherwise killed him.

It was far from optimal if he got into any more fights. He’d need proper armor for that, and given this was a defended UAC facility, he would no doubt get his hands on a set of power armor.

Each step was a bound as he took advantage of the pathetic gravity on Phobos, no longer caught in the still-active gravity well of the transport ship, and still yet to reach the Phobos facility’s gravity well. He could make out the top of the hangar over the approaching cliff. The entire facility was built in the interior of an impact crater, making it a low-effort climb to reach the hangar. And from there, he’d just have to figure out what was going on, and what he could do.

The screams remained behind, hidden in the burning ship. They wanted him to come back, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He’d return for them once he had done what he could to save the people in this place.

He kept thinking about the lifeless red eyes of the pilot.

The gnashing teeth.

The inhuman roaring.

The feeling of bone turned to dust.

The feeling of meat turned to paste.

His knuckles were throbbing, but he ignored them. He always did. He’d gotten good at it.

The marine came to a stop at the base of the crater’s outer incline, and turned to look back at the ship, now a lurking shell in the distance. There was nothing on the moon’s surface but it. What had shot them down? There were no AA turrets, no vehicles, nothing flying up above.

His gaze turned upward, the marine staring at mars. Its rustic surface was halfway in the light of the sun, the rest in total darkness. It was beautiful.

It was haunting.

He turned and continued his way to the hangar.

​

The airlock hissed behind him. He was back in a controlled environment.

It took him only a few moments to adjust to the increased gravity as he got out of the radiation shielding suit, casting it aside along with the breathing mask and the oxygen tank. They’d served their purpose.

The marine guessed the barracks were nearby. The UAC often stationed the UAAF near ports for rapid-response and deployment in any situation.

He dug into his pocket for a second, finding the ripped photograph. Unharmed. Safe. Their smiles were courage to him. Even if they were absent. Even if they were gone.

He missed his rabbit.

Activating the door into the hangar atrium, the marine readied himself for anything and found...

Nothing.

It was dark. It was empty. It was quiet.

He stepped into all of it, his gaze sweeping over the vast, dead space. No zombies. No humans. No enemies. No allies. No life. No undeath.

The lights were off, but the doors remained functional. That meant if the power was out, the backup generators remained active - for now. He had to find somebody. He needed orders, needed something to protect. He was fumbling in the dark here.

The rage inside was beginning to get hungry again.

Moving along the length of the walls to compensate for the lack of light, the marine wound his way toward another door. When it opened, he found a cafeteria. A single light flickered inside, revealing the gore within. Blood was splashed over the tables, smeared on the walls. A trail of it was dragged to a wall, where another marine was seated against the wall, his chest torn open, the green power armor ripped apart.

Clutched in his dying grasp was a UAC pistol. Standard issue, it looked like.

The marine made his way into the room, feeling as though he were being watched by invisible eyes, peering at him from the dark. Nothing came out to meet him.

He reached the body, staring for a moment at the mutilated soldier. Weapons hadn’t done this to him. It was as though he’d been ripped open by claws, obvious marks at the edges of the gaping hole in the armor’s center.

Kneeling down to a knee, the marine grabbed the top of the pistol and pulled. The soldier’s cold hand remained gripped around the weapon. The marine grunted in mild frustration as he used his other hand to peel away the corpse’s fingers.

The soldier’s hand fell to the ground and the marine stood, looking over the pistol. The chamber was primed. The magazine still had half a clip. No more ammo could be found on the corpse.

Nothing came out to meet him, still.

The marine gave the bloodied cafeteria one more lookover before he marched to the door. Even if something here could tear open power armor, he’d prefer to have it than not. At the very least it would be better for spacewalking than the radiation shielding suit.

The door closed behind him as he moved on to find the hangar barracks.

​

“Will you be coming to visit?”

...

“She misses you.”

...

“I miss you.”

...

“I know. Did you get the rabbit?”

...

“It was her idea. She thought you needed a friend while you were out there. To remember her by.”

...

“You’re sweet. She’ll love that.”

...

“I know. I wish it was different. I love you too.”

...

“Goodbye.”

...

He’d found it. It was smaller than he’d expected, just a room tucked away like an afterthought, connected to a small bathroom, a small locker room, and the weaponry. It had been cleared of anything valuable. No guns to speak of. He could only scrounge up a few extra magazines for his pistol.

No power armor, either.

The marine stared at a map of the Phobos lab, its different aspects scattered throughout the crater. Only a few were connected by subterranean tunnels, but for the most part, without working transportation potentially, he’d have to walk across the surface of the moon more. No power armor meant he’d have to get the radiation shielding suit again.

Not what he’d wanted, but he had no choice.

The marine decided to take a moment to himself, to think, to breathe. He could feel his chest burning. This whole situation was a goddamn laugh to his goddamn face. He should have been back on Earth, in an unmarked, shallow grave. That had been the cards he’d been dealt. Without them, that was all he deserved.

The UAC representative... the attack on the ship... now here in the Phobos hangar. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

He wasn’t supposed to...

He needed something to hit. To kill. To maim.

To rip.

To tear.

He’d need to go to the nuclear power plant first, if no superiors appeared to tell him otherwise. He could figure out how to get power restored from there, and open up the rest of the complex. Restoring power could help any survivors to...

To...

He still had no idea what was going on here.

But there was a potential answer, as the sound of the door sliding open drew his attention to the room’s exit.

The marine stared into the visor of another soldier in full power armor, a rifle in his arms. He raised the rifle, taking aim, letting out a low growl.

A familiar growl. The pilot had made the same noise.

Another zombie.

Another monster.

Another victim.
​

 

[comic]

CHAPTER 3​

A weapon rack was pulled from its place, the marine yanking it out to shield him as the rifle fired, its bullet punching a hole into the makeshift defense, destroying the bullet itself in the process. It provided an opening.

The weapon rack, still in motion, was yanked the other way, throw to the ground and exposing the marine, whose boots pounded against the floor as he took off at a sprint, letting out a shout and leaping, throwing his arms around the zombie soldier’s middle to tackle him to the ground.

The zombie let out a groan, armored hand grasping and pulling at the living’s hair. The marine grit his teeth as his head was yanked back, so he took advantage of a weakness he knew the armor bore. The center core, right over the abs, was a weak point in the armor. He drove the barrel of his pistol to press against it with his left hand and began to fire. Bullet after bullet pounded against the armor, cracking it, splitting it, but it wasn’t enough just yet.

The zombie threw the marine off of it and rose back to its feet, dragging the rifle back up with it. The human tumbled to a stop on his stomach, looking quickly up at the zombie as it took aim again. The marine pushed off the ground, rolling himself suddenly to the left, another rifle shot piercing the ground, missing him by less than a second.

Jumping up after a full rotation, the marine fired a few more shots into the abdomen of the armor before he ducked under a wild swing by the zombie’s armored fist. With his right hand, he swung it into an uppercut, his already bruised and bloodied knuckles smashing into the weakened armor - and breaking through. The entire plate fell apart, remnants dislodging as the zombie stumbled back with a threatening growl, leveling the rifle with one hand directly for the marine’s skull.

He pushed himself backwards, nearly knocking the wind out of his lungs as he slammed into the ground without warning, once more barely avoiding a shot, the rifle’s bullet pinging into the wall nearby. Recovering as quickly as he could, the marine aimed his pistol and fired - only for the weapon to click. He’d exhausted the magazine.

With an annoyed groan, he pushed himself heavily off the ground, rising back up to his feet in an instant, taking advantage of the close range to drop his pistol and grab the barrel of the rifle, just as it was leveled for another shot.

He yanked it out of the zombie’s grip, and still holding it by the barrel, he swung it into the undead head. The zombie’s skull snapped to the side and it stumbled while the marine turned the weapon around, aimed, and fired a bullet into the exposed rotten abdomen of his enemy.

The zombie staggered back a few steps, its stomach practically exploding open, intestines in varying states of decay spilling out onto the ground.

The zombie stopped, and then it let out a snarl before lunging forward.

The marine raised the rifle like a stick, using it to push the undead soldier back. His gauntlets swiped and groped, reaching for the marine, but he kept pushing it back, keeping it at bay. The rifle shot had done nothing but piss it off. He needed a more permanent solution.

One zombie gauntlet grasped the marine by his shoulder, fingers attempting to press in and dig into his flesh. Quickly, he yanked his arm back, and the zombie ripped the marine’s shirt away instead, the tattered rags falling to the ground in disinterest.

The marine pushed forward with a heavy shove, enough to knock back the zombie for a second, before he ducked under its arms to move behind the undead soldier as he dropped the rifle (which had bent into a u-shape with the shove), his hands reaching up to grasp either side of the zombie’s helmet - and he violently twisted.

The zombie’s head spun completely around, then snapped off by the cervical spine, leaving the marine to hold the decapitated head by its helmet, the zombie’s glowing eyes staring blankly back at him through the visor. The zombie’s body fell to the ground.

The fight was won.

He stared back for a moment into the zombie’s cold, yet molten-colored eyes, before with a sickening suction sound, like that of a plunger, the zombie’s head wetly slid out of the helmet and fell to the floor. It moved its jaw, snapping at nothing in the air.

The marine wrinkled his nose in disgust and raised his boot before he brought it down. The skull split apart under his heel, brain matter and facial organs scattering in every direction.

Satisfied, the marine looked at the helmet again, then inside of it at the necrosis liquids coating the inside. He wasn’t wearing that.

Tossing the helmet away, the marine walked toward the body and flipped it over.

...

It would have to do.

He glanced down at his body, a little annoyed at the loss of his shirt. Not only had he already knocked off the abdomen plating of the armor, but now his bare abs would show right through that hole.

He needed armor, and this wasn’t something he was putting his face in. He could deal with it.

​

Sliding a new magazine into his pistol, the marine let out a sigh, flexing his muscles under the armor. It was too tight. He could barely move his arms. He shifted his shoulders for a moment, trying to fit into the armor better with no success. He paused for a second, leaning forward a little to look over his chest plate and glance at his abs.

...

Leaving behind the main arm plates of the armor behind, the marine continued on, his biceps and most of his forearms exposed to the air in the same way his abdomen was. He kept the gauntlets, however. He had a tendency to punch things, and now he could hit them harder without tearing up his knuckles even further.

The power armor was basic. It lacked a few of the essentials, like a built-in flashlight, radio, and ammo pouches. This set was clearly designed to be entirely focused on defense and nothing else.

Moving his way through the hangar, he could hear a few distant bangs that echoed through the complex. More zombies, undoubtedly. If someone as heavily armored as that soldier had been turned undead, then there was little hope for anyone else. But how had they turned? Would he become like them, as well? Why hadn’t he turned already?

The next area he reached was a terminal. That would be helpful.

The marine wound his way toward a facility map, though unfortunately, the guide was splattered in thick blood, the body it came from lying nearby. The marine stared down at the bloody surface for a few moments before he pressed his gauntlet against it and wiped, swiping plenty of the blood away.

The dim light of the terminal and its red emergency lights didn’t help him see what lay beneath.

He continued to stare at the board, trying to make it out, squinting as much as he could without outright closing his eyes. Nothing. He would just have to find an exit and make his way to the nuclear power plant. The marine finally looked away, glancing down at the body lying on the ground. Another soldier in power armor, his entire lower half ripped away and strewn somewhere, leaving only his top half. That abdomen plate the corpse had could be useful... if the marine knew how to assemble it into his own. Besides, the armor seemed a lot worse off in the more important areas than his own.

The marine stared for a few more seconds, eyes traveling up to the man’s head, covered in his helmet.

...

​

The helmet sealed shut as the marine locked it in place, and it linked with the suit he was wearing. The heads-up display on the inside of the suit was limited in the information it provided, telling him simply that his suit was compromised, something he was already familiar with.

He tried to turn on the helmet’s lights, only to learn they never had any built in.

The UAC had seriously underpaid this facility. So much for ‘breakthrough of the century’ if they couldn’t afford flashlights in power armor like every other unit he’d seen.

He passed by a collection of derelict forklifts, sitting in monotone silence. What if the UAC could turn one of those into a mech suit? That would be useful right about now. Wishful thinking.

The marine slowed as he came to a stop at a door. There was a faint light atop it that read ‘EXIT.’ That was the best sign he’d seen so far, so he was willing to take it, only to find that the door wouldn’t open. It had no power. Of course it didn’t.

The marine moved to the side of the door, pressing his palm against the wall, searching for something before he slid up a panel in the wall, exposing a console for the door controls. The screen was blank and empty, no sign of access to backup power.

He grit his teeth, staring at the console for a moment before he drew his fist back, then slammed it into the wall. His gauntlet shattered the console apart - and sparks sputtered out from the hit. The door gave a sad, low-powered hum before it slowly slid upward.

The marine watched it go up as his fist remained in the wall. Once the door came to a stop, he let out a satisfied grunt and pulled his fist out of the console, crossing the threshold into the next room, finding a short flight of stairs and an entryway into another room.

The sounds of gears grinding reached his ears. The marine glanced back and up to see the door beginning to shudder before its clamps gave out, and the door slid rapidly shut, slamming into the ground with a heavy thud that shook the ground under the marine.

The sound echoed out before it faded completely, leaving the marine trapped on this side of it. There were a few moments of silence following the thundering boom as the marine stared out into the dark room beyond, one foot still on the last step to the lower floor.

A slow groan echoed from within, quickly followed by another.

More zombies.

The marine brought up his pistol and chambered a round. A part of him... felt... almost...

...

Excited.

He was excited.

Moving swiftly, he marched forward, heading into the next room with one thing in-mind: kill.

​

It was so small... so innocent.

He stared down at the rabbit cupped in the palm of his hand. A baby. A gift, just for him, from the person who mattered most.

“Daisy...” his lips tugged into the smallest of grins. Something genuine from a man like him.

It was a good name. A precious name.

He would call it that, and think of her.

The small bunny’s nose twitched as it sat in his palm, unfamiliar with its surroundings, letting out a tiny and inquisitive squeak every few seconds. It was curious. It wanted to know the world.

He would teach it. He would teach her.

Daisy...

For a moment, the world seemed right.

One thing in all the chaos and war and death that made sense.

...

He couldn’t wait to go home. He’d speak to the sergeant tomorrow, see about getting a temporary shore leave. He hadn’t had one of those in a long time.

Daisy would love it...

​

He pressed his shoulder against the wall as he peered around the corner. Light reflecting off of Mars was illuminating this side of Phobos. The exterior windows in this part of the hangar drew some of it in, enough to see more than he had been earlier.

Three figures he could make out, their backs to him. They were barely moving, letting out infrequent groans, one of them carrying a rifle that it was dragging alongside it, shuffling slowly forward. Most notably, they weren’t wearing power armor, instead clad in basic infantry armor. Even a couple pistol shots at this range would punch right through that.

He was at an advantage.

Moving swiftly around the corner, the marine raised his pistol with his left hand and fired, letting bullets loose upon his unsuspecting victims. The zombie nearest him took three bullets, two in the back and one in the skull, the final one making the front of his face explode outward and dropping him.

He peppered into the other two as they turned to face him, aiming for their skulls to put them down permanently. Bullets plunged into them, jolting their bodies, before a good portion of one’s cranium was blown off, just as the marine reached the third and final one. He rammed his shoulder into the zombie, slamming it to the ground before he raised his boot and slammed his heel down. Like before, he splattered another skull.

Yet before he could wade in his victory, something painful slugged into his back as a loud blast rang out.

The marine stumbled forward to the ground with a grunt, feeling a sharp pain in his back. The suit wasn’t breached, but it had been hit, and he’d still felt a portion of its kinetic force. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at his attacker.

Another zombie shuffled toward him from the dark corner of the room, holding a pump-action shotgun as it stumbled forth, letting out a challenging groan, blood dripping from its mouth as it approached.

The marine grit his teeth, pushing himself back to his feet and firing at the shotgun zombie, who jerked back from the hits before it raised the shotgun and fired a blast. The marine dove to the side, but some of the stray pellets still hit, pinging against the side of his helmet and shoulder, one cutting just at the edge of his bicep.

He unloaded the rest of his clip into the zombie, each blast making it jerk and twist before finally, it let out a groaning hiss and dropped to its knees, vomiting up blood over its front, its own innards coming out in some sick fashion. Bullets didn’t tend to do that, so it had to have been a response from whatever had turned the man into a zombie, since at this angle the marine had failed to land a killing headshot.

But it seemed headshots weren’t the only way to finish them off.

The shotgun zombie slowly leaned back before it collapsed fully, shotgun cast aside nearby.

The marine got back up and approached the shotgun. He glanced at his pistol before he tossed it aside and scooped up the boomstick, looking it over for a moment. It was no double-barrel but it was the next best thing. A major step up from that pistol, whose ammo he’d just run out of anyway.

He let out a small grunt, pumping the shotgun before he turned to look where the zombies had originally been going. A pathway out of this room into another. Maybe it led closer to the actual exit of this place. One could hope.

With a kick to the shotgun zombie’s corpse, he pressed on.

The next room brought with it a strange element. Large tanks full of something toxic lined the back wall, and one of those tanks had been blown wide open. Its contents now spilled over the floor, a strange green semi-liquid, like a goo, oozed over the ground.

He knew it was toxic because all of the tanks had a toxic label plastered on them, big and bold.

The marine had no idea what it was outside of that, but felt it was probably a bad idea to touch it. The ground seemed to be sizzling and steaming from where it was making contact, which wasn’t a good sign. It was likely highly acidic.

Fortunately, it didn’t get in the way of the room’s exit, which continued on to another door, this one with a small blinking light on it, meaning it had power.

He continued his march, nearing the connecting hall before a new, unfamiliar sound reached his ears. A low, gravelly hiss, mixed with what sounded like clicks. The marine turned quickly to his left, lifting up the shotgun to fire at whatever zombie was coming out at him... and saw nothing.

The sound was gone now, too.

He glared into the dark corner of the room, trying to discern any sign of movement... and got nothing.

His death look persisted for several more moments before he turned forward and stepped forward - only for a red light to illuminate the dark and catch his eye.

The marine turned his head to see an orb of fire hurtling toward him from the top corner of the room. He couldn’t get out of the way in time, so he raised his arms defensively and the fireball slammed into his bare forearms, erupting with explosive force.

He was sent tumbling backwards, his brand new shotgun clattering to the ground nearby as his arms burned and stung, his flesh blackened from the impact, something he didn’t have the time to worry about right now.

Breathing getting heavier, the marine looked up to see another fireball manifesting, bursting out of the darkness toward him. It briefly illuminated whatever had conjured it, and he could barely make out something... beastial. Something... alien. Something...

Demonic.

Pushing himself up by his arms, he dove himself into a roll to avoid the next fireball, which erupted in a small explosion on the ground, blackening the metal. A third fireball launched, headed for where he was moving, so the marine pivoted and dropped into a slide to pick up his shotgun, a fourth fireball launching toward him.

He strafed to the left to avoid it and fired into the dark where he’d seen the attacks come from. He could hear the dull pings of his shot hitting something, followed up by a screeching hiss that filled the room, and finally, the villain emerged.

Its brown body was covered in spikes that shrewdly curled up from it, accentuated by the plates of brown-coated bone that protruded from it, giving the creature distinctive natural armor. Its eyes were a deep red, the same as the zombies, but this thing... It was clearly different from a zombie.

It could have been a cause, or even THE cause, for the zombification of the facility.

Another monster.

He fired again, the pellets impacting the creature’s body, cracking up the bony plates that made up its natural armor, pushing it back a pace as it hissed again, then swiped its arm through the air in front of it. A fifth fireball manifested spiraling toward the marine, who was forced to dive to the side to avoid it, allowing the creature the opportunity to charge in with inhuman speed, its clawed toes scratching the ground with each step as it closed the distance.

The claws on its hands were even more wicked.

With its alarming speed it was upon the marine in a second, but he was already pulling his trigger. At point-blank the shotgun unloaded a slug into the creature’s chest, shredding apart its bones and spikes and flesh, turning its chest into a cavity, the shell blowing out the beast’s back and spraying the toxic material with blood and bone, which quickly began to be eaten away by the acid.

The monster fell back with a final gurgle as it twitched, dead.

Yet it wasn’t alone.

He barely saw its approach out of the corner of his eye, the marine turning to see another of the same kind of monster darting forward and swiping its claws. He tried to turn to confront it with his new trusty shotgun, but it was knocked right out of his hands as claws raked against his skin, and he staggered back with a huff. The beast didn’t let up, leaping onto him and slamming him down to the ground, pinning him to the spot as it opened its toothy mouth wide and leaned it to let out an ear-piercing screech directly into his face.

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!” he screamed right back with the loudest, most guttural and primal yell he could muster, spitting it right back into the creature’s face before his fist swung forward, meeting purchase. The gauntlet’s knuckles shattered the creature’s cheekbones and bloodied its face, knocking it right off of the marine and to the floor.

Its blood red eyes were wide. It seemed confused.

It seemed frightened.

He wasn’t the prey it was used to.

It thrust an arm forward, a fireball bursting forth, but the marine had anticipated it, ducking under the blow and grabbing the beast by its leg before he lifted his own leg up - and brought his heel down, aggressively crushing its knee and bending its leg completely backwards.

The monster let out a pained screech before it regained its wits and lurched forward, pulling itself up into an attack to grab the man’s arm and sink its teeth into his bicep. The marine let out a shout and reached up with his other hand, grabbing it by one of its shoulder spikes and yanking it off of him, only for it to turn and clamp down on his other bicep, tearing open his flesh.

Without thinking, the marine drove his head down, using his own head as a weapon, smashing the helmet’s top into the monster’s cranium. A crunch echoed through the room as it released him, wobbling backwards with a croak. Feeling his seething fury building back up, not to the heights it was just earlier, but scratching the surface, the marine’s hand grappled the monster by the side of its head, and he drove it to the ground - right into the toxic sludge.

The beast struggled, limbs and broken limb flailing as rather quickly its head began to sink into the acid, skull dissolving into the sludge an inch a second, its gurgling screeches dying out quickly, and soon after, it stopped struggling. Just for good measure, he kept its head pushed into the acid until his hand was getting dangerously close, and he pulled back, leaving its corpse to continue melting in the sludge.

Panting, the marine took a step back, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, staring at his handiwork. Then he looked at his injuries, the bites and the burns.

He’d live.

Ignoring any of the pain, he sauntered over to his shotgun and scooped it up off the ground, pumping it before he set off once again for the door he’d had his sights set on for several minutes now.

Just as he reached the end of the room, where it led into the hall, he glanced back at the two corpses in his wake. The brown, bony creatures. He’d never seen anything like them.

They were hostile, and that meant they had to die, no matter how many.

He decided he’d call them ‘Imps.’ Disgusting, pathetic creatures.

It was fitting.

He looked away and marched toward the door, done with the hangar, getting close to leaving for the nuclear power plant nearby.
​

 

[comic]

CHAPTER 4​

The surface of Phobos was just as dull, gray, and barren as it had been before - but this time, he could clearly see his objective. The nuclear plant was only about a quarter of a mile away. That was probably about 2% of the entire moon’s surface.

This was a big crater.

The marine’s arms and abdomen should have been frozen solid and destroyed by the vacuum of space, but even power armor this old gave a small, temporary benefit. It provided a short-lived barrier around the body, invisible to the naked eye, trapping the body and armor away from the vacuum. Solar radiation would still be a problem, but he wouldn’t be out here long.

He wasn’t planning on surviving long enough to develop and die from cancer anyway.

The marine looked up at Mars again. The sunlight seemed to cover less of its surface now, even despite how much Phobos had moved around it. Though he couldn’t see where Deimos was, the sister of this moon. Strange. It should have been visible from where he now stood, he was certain of it. Almost two decades of being a marine, he’d learned the cosmos, how the solar system worked. It was second nature to him.

Deimos was supposed to be there.

He was probably mistaken.

The marine neared the airlock leading into the nuclear plant, a flatter structure than most of the other facilities in the crater. Most of the plant was likely buried into the core of the moon, where the actual reactors were stored.

No lights blinked red outside, meaning either there were no disturbances here, or the power was out totally. Reaching the exterior console, he found it was dead. He was trapped out here.

Not a good place to be. The suit’s film protecting him from the vacuum of space wasn’t everlasting. In fact, over half of it was already spent on the trip here. He wouldn’t make the walk back. For a moment, he thought about breaking the console like he had the other one, but even if it had the same result, somehow, it wouldn’t close back. He’d risk exposing the entire station to the vacuum of space, and if anyone was alive in there, that’d be it for them.

Terrible plan.

Grimacing, the marine turned away from the airlock and began to move around the building, searching for another way in. If the backup power was down here, that meant it had probably fizzled out back at the hangar too. Phobos was without energy. Ironic, given the research he’d been assigned to protect.

​

Phobos. The Greek god of fear.

The phobic surface of the moon, its stillness, its deathness, might inspire such a thing in someone. Did the ancient astronomers who named this moon ever consider man to one day walk on its surface? To one day be inspired by its dread?

Phobos was a fitting name for a place crawling with the undead.

What would one call a phobia of Phobos? Phobophobia?

The other airlock was the same story as the first. He was trapped out here. This end didn’t feel as fitting as the one he’d had before. A firing squad felt more dignified than this.

Oxygen was just about out, and he had a good five minutes left on the protective layer.

The marine stopped walking, coming to a stop at the front of the nuclear facility. He could see an observation deck, the thick glass dark beyond. Turning his head away, he instead looked back at Mars.

A storm was brewing on the Martian surface. Clouds of dust swirled over it, blanketing the planet. He’d heard of Martian dust storms that could cover the entire globe from pole to pole, but he’d never seen one himself.

There probably weren’t survivors inside, right?

The marine looked back to the dark window. There was a chance... even if this place was pretty dated, there were still some safety features the UAC used even if there were no power or backup generators. Small battery-powered sensors, usually placed in at-risk locations, like windows, to detect breaches and roll down blast shutters.

Maybe it would work. And if it didn’t, survivors within would be toast. Besides, if he evacuated the facility of its controlled environment, he’d be screwed anyway.

Taking advantage of the light gravity, the marine approached the wall of the plant and bounded up its length toward the windows, grabbing the ledge to steady himself as he reached it. Peering in, he could see nothing in the darkness. Just a void beyond. If there were zombies, he’d need to be ready for them.

Pulling back his fist, the marine slammed his gauntlet into the window. It chipped, somewhat. He pulled back again, then punched. A small crack. A third punch split the crack wider, stretching about a foot. The fourth hit deepened the cracks, making them spiderweb from the impact. His fifth strike only doubled the damage. One or two more hits now...

He pulled his fist back, but just before he could throw his next punch, something emerged out of the darkness.

An imp.

Its armored body lunged into the window at full force, breaking through its weakened wound to tackle the marine into the air. He was saved from falling to the ground only by his vice grip on the ledge, though he nearly lost it as he strained to keep hold, even as the room inside was sucked clear of its oxygen.

As shattered glass lazily spun through the air, slowly dropping down to the ground, the imp opened its mouth to make a sound that went unheard in the lack of atmosphere. With one of its claws digging into his chestplate, it raised the other to swipe.

The marine brought up his other hand and caught its wrist, squeezing as tightly as he could muster. He could feel its bones crunching in his grip, slowly and painfully.

The windows shutters dropped closed, sealing shut.

He grit his teeth at the sight of that. This bastard was in his way.

The imp, trying to pull out of the marine’s grip, kicked off of his chest with a yank, but he didn’t let go. The imp was jerked back as he brought up a leg, ramming his boot right into the monster’s armpit before he pushed out with his leg, and pulled in with his arm.

Blood sprayed into the low gravity as the marine ripped the imp’s arm out of its socket. The creature was finally free at a fatal cost, writhing through the air in torment as it fell slowly back down to the ground.

It would bleed out.

The marine tossed away the severed limb and shimmied his way over to the next window. The only other one on this side of the building. He was trying to hold his breath now, his oxygen almost completely depleted. Once again, he drove his fist repeatedly into the window.

Blow by blow, it cracked and splintered - before he felt something powerful slam into the back of his power armor. It lurched him forward, slamming his head into the window, weakening it further without actually breaking it open. He nearly lost his grip.

Regaining himself quickly, the marine turned to see the imp was on its feet, mouth open in another silent screech. He could imagine the sound.

These things didn’t need air to live. It didn’t seem bothered by the vacuum of space, either. It was otherworldly. Was it an alien, native to Phobos? The possibility didn’t seem completely out there. Or maybe something else, from deep space. It was clearly an extremophile with the power to throw fireballs, one of which had just slugged him in the back. Hopefully his shotgun was fine, as he’d equipped it to the rear magnetic plate.

The monster leapt, flying up toward him as it reared back its claw. Getting an idea, the marine rammed his elbow into the glass and finally shattered it. The oxygen inside was vacuumed out once again, ripping apart more of the window and scratching the front of the power armor.

The marine yanked himself inside, feeling the change in gravity immediately as his boots hit the ground and he dropped immediately to his knees, needing to adjust to the shift. He turned his head to peer beyond his visor as the imp reached the window, grabbing onto the outside ledge and moving itself inside just as the shutter came down.

The imps head plopped to the floor and rolled to a stop in front of the marine. Unlike the earlier zombie, it didn’t still move and react. The creature was completely dead.

Sound returned as oxygen filled the room from the rest of the facility, and the power armor compensated, cycling the air through his suit. His exposed skin looked a little blue. Any longer out there and he probably would have had irreversible frostbite. Certainly any normal human would have died by now. Being a marine from the UAAF however, he’d had some pretty advanced medical treatments to improve his ability to survive and kill. It was far from being a demigod like Heracles, but it did make marines a cut above the rest. The power armor just made their jobs even easier.

Taking in a thankful breath, the marine stood back up as he grabbed the imp’s head, holding it up in front of him. The monster’s jaw hung loosely open, showing off a double row of shark-like razor sharp teeth.

He dropped the skull in front of him as he swung his leg, slamming his steel-tipped toes into the skull and shattering it, sending much of it flying across the room.

Good fuckin’ riddance.

Nothing else approached him from the dark room as his eyes began to adjust. He grabbed the shotgun from his back to inspect it. The fireball hadn’t damaged it.

It must be his lucky day.

Aside from a bench attached to the floor, the room was empty. The earlier vacuums had probably sucked out anything within and he just hadn’t seen. Two doors connected to this observation room, and one of those doors was sealed tightly shut. A sign next to it read ‘TRANSIT.’ He’d need to remember that later once he got the power restored.

The other door was halfway open at an angle, indicating that one of its clamps had failed when trying to move, leaving it trapped like this.

He ducked under it into a hall that sloped downward, following that to another door, this one also closed. He was at an impasse.

Standing there idly for several long minutes, he stared blankly at the door, feeling tense and uncertain. Now what?

His eyes slowly looked up toward the ceiling. Directly above him was a vent.

That was a tight fit.

​

With the clang of metal, a grate collapsed to the floor, shortly followed by the marine as he dropped to the ground from the vent, , now on the other side of the door. He glanced back up at it, then over at the door. Ten minutes to cross ten feet... he’d be avoiding vents from now on if he could help it.

Whatever room he’d just entered was pitch black. Blacker than black. It was a void.

But he could hear them. A chorus of groaning. There had to be at least a dozen zombies here with him, and he couldn’t see them at all - but they knew he was here. His little entrance had made his presence known.

Could they see him? Or smell him? Or whatever they would need to locate him. If they could, he was put at a major disadvantage. And then he heard the clicking hiss of an imp in the dark, too.

That was just goddamn perfect.

Armed with only his shotgun and a simmering fury, the marine began to walk forward, straining his ears for anything and everything. The groans got louder. His heart hammered in his chest, eager with anticipation. He wanted the fight to start, but he didn’t know when. He was waiting for an opening, something to shoot.

And he got it.

To his right, the marine could hear a wheeze. Dangerously close. He swung his shotgun about and immediately fired.

The brief flash of light from the shotgun’s barrel illuminated the room around him, lasting but the length of a single blink. In that flash, now burned into his eyes as the darkness returned, depicted a zombie in front of him, halfway shred apart from the blast. And behind him were more zombies, four of them, their heads all turned in his direction, all carrying rifles.

He knew what came next.

The marine dashed to the side and collided immediately with a wall, but that collision was hidden behind the sound of gunfire. More muzzle flashes lit up the dark interior, giving him a better understanding of the room’s layout. He moved his arm to the wall to steady himself - only to find empty air. The marine was already leaning toward where it was supposed to be, so he fell to the side, immediately noticing something very valuable in the room.

Light.

A dimming flashlight sat on the floor, positioned in a way that its beam showed the mangled body of a man, what was left of his clothes seemed to indicate he’d been a scientist.

The marine moved quickly toward the flashlight, scooping it up off the ground. How had he not seen it earlier?

He was given an immediate answer as he turned, holding up the flashlight and his shotgun toward the zombies, only to find a wall there now.

...

The marine lowered both items and frowned.

This was a secret room. The wall had opened up for him, then closed. When he’d hit it, he must have hit something specific. This scientist had tried to hide here, but something had still found him.

A torn-open grate on the ceiling explained that.

Bringing the flashlight back up, the marine scanned the room for anything else of note, but found this place bare... save for a panel on the wall. A simple switch. Did it control the secret door in the wall? If he pulled the lever, would it work? The whole facility seemed without power, but the secret door had opened, meaning there had to be some semblance of power here. Perhaps the secret door had a backup generator, or was battery-powered like the blast shutters during an emergency.

This was just a tiny closet, tucked away from the world.

The marine approached the lever and flipped it.

Nothing happened.

He didn’t expect anything different.

Deciding to take advantage of this momentary reprieve, the marine grabbed his helmet and twisted it slightly, unlocking it before he slid it off his head. Flipping it around, he looked over the front of it, scrutinizing it. He could try to figure something out with it and his new flashlight. He didn’t want to worry about holding it as well as a shotgun in the heat of a fight.

He had no tools to do any real work, but maybe the corpse had something on him to use. Anything would be fine.

So the marine got to work.

​

The sounds of gunfire finally ceased. The marine had listened to it from the safety of the hidden room as he found a way to wrap cloth around the flashlight and helmet, bounding it tightly to the side, using grooves in the helmet to keep the flashlight in place. It was... passable. Enough to get the job done. The light of the device had been somewhat dimming when he’d attained it, so the battery was likely low in it. He’d need to restore power quickly. There was no guarantee he’d find another light or replacement batteries.

The gunfire continuing to go off had been strange. Were they just firing blindly in the hopes of hitting him? Or could they have been killing each other?

The truth was unveiled when he pressed his hand against the secret door. It reacted to his touch, the wall sliding upward. His flashlight beam cut into the room beyond, revealing the corpses of four zombies lying in piles of their own gore.

The monsters could fight each other. That was something good to know. He could use that.

Stepping out of the room, he scanned his head right and left, letting the flashlight reveal the layout. It was half of the room, which made a vaguely o-shape around the secret room in the center. He moved around the center of the room to find more corpses. The infighting had branched out to the rest of the zombies. It seemed almost as though they’d killed one another off entirely. He did a full sweep of the room and found nothing but corpses.

No imp body, though.

Keeping his shotgun at the ready, the marine tried to gauge his next move. He needed to go to the lower levels and reactivate the nuclear reactor. Could the power for the secret door extend elsewhere, or was it contained? All of the doors that branched from this room didn’t budge at his approach nor his touch.

“Help me.”

A whisper broke the dread silence. Faint, distant... but there.

The marine turned his head sharply to the door he was passing. Someone had whispered from it. On the other side? Such a quiet voice wouldn’t pass through...

He strained his ears to hear more, but nothing came to pass.

There were no ways to bypass this door. No air vents, anyway. He moved away from it to approach another door, shaking off the whisper. It was probably just in his head.

Though that didn’t make it any better.

The door he now approached, at the north end of the room, was one he could do something with. The floor at his feet was grated, and he could see pipes underneath. Some kind of service crawl space, and it led to and under the door. He assumed it would be slightly more spacious than the air vent, but...

He didn’t have a choice.

Sliding away his shotgun, the marine reached down and wedged his fingers into a grate before he yanked it off the floor and cast it aside with a loud clatter. Pipes next blocked his path, so he slammed his foot down on it and knocked out the entire section in one go, the pipes noisily clattering to the ground below.

He got on the ground and lowered himself into the hole, barely fitting through. It was just tall enough for him to walk, so at least there was no crawling this time like he’d anticipated. The marine moved forward, having to walk partially sideways, as his shoulders made him too broad otherwise.

After the clattering of metal moments ago, silence had settled back in, and it was oppressive.

The tunnel eventually split two ways, left and right. It was here that he noticed something that caught his attention: light. Faint and orange, but light nonetheless, coming from the left passage, so he took it.

Down the tunnel, above the grates overhead, he could make out some kind of orange ceiling light in the room or hall he was under. Light was a good sign, and he was getting tired of guessing where different power sources were coming from.

With no pipes blocking him this way, he merely threw a punch up and knocked the grate above him out of the way, the metal flinging elsewhere, and he clambered out of the hole with some difficulty, finding himself now in a hallway, right at the corner of one. A door just by the light had a red light blinking on it, and just above it read ‘REACTOR.’

Well that was easy.

He approached the door - and it didn’t open. The marine didn’t suppress the low growl of frustration he emitted as he quickly and aggressively shoved up the wall panel containing the door console. The screen read a simple message: ‘LEVEL 3 CLEARANCE.’

Just perfect. Punching the console to death would trigger a blast door to fall in its place, so that wasn’t an option. Now he had to go find a stupid fucking card that might not even be anywhere near the plant. The marine raised his fist anyway, curled into a tight ball. He held it up for a second or more, his arm shaking slightly as he ached to release his frustration... but he knew better.

This time, he kept his temper in check.

He’d need to release it real soon.

The marine lowered his arm, letting his fingers uncurl as he turned away from the door and looked down one hall, then the other.

He tried to recall what he knew about UAC security clearance. Level 1 was for guests and the like. No cards required, free movement, it was simple. Level 2 was for employees and emergency personnel. Level 3 was for maintenance and oversight staff, Level 4 was for management and combat teams, and Level 5 was for UAC board members or those they gave such clearance to.

Fat chance he’d ever need Level 5 clearance, and it was even more unlikely he’d find one, but level 3 shouldn’t be impossible to attain. He’d go back and search the zombie corpses, and if it wasn’t there, he’d just have to figure it out then.

Feeling eager to find that imp from earlier, the marine walked back toward the hole in the floor.
​