A Fan Fic I'm working on, based around Doom 3. Story is kinda like the real novels, focusing on other people during the 'event'.
SO in this fan fiction piece, this follows the stories of several characters trying to survive the attack. This is the first chapter only. It takes place before the invasion begins.
RIght away, you are introduced to the two central characters, Ryan Stanton, a security guard, and David Cooper, a phsychatrist (Spelling?) who works at Mars City, and a few other characters, including an engineering team, a prisoner, and another security guard who's sole purpose in the story is let the reader know where they are in the game (As this is more game based).
So I hope you like it, and leave some comments please!
David Cooper looked up from the paper on his desk and fixed his gaze upon the man seated in front of his desk. The man sat there, jittery, jerking his head in different directions, looking around as if something was waiting for him to lower his guard. In the past few weeks, people like this have been visiting Cooper’s office daily, usually packing up his schedule. The man had come to see him, believing himself to be crazy, or something… The man wanted to be psychoanalyzed. He wanted to know if he was crazy or not.
“Mr. Wallace?” Cooper said. The man said nothing, did nothing, acting as if he didn’t hear the psychiatrist in front of him. Cooper cleared his throat, and repeated louder, “Mr. Wallace!” Still the man sat there, looking all around the room, eyes wide. A heavy hand plummeted down on the man’s shoulder, startling the man enough for him to squeak out a weak shout. The man looked up to owner of the hand, to only see the olive green helmet of a security officer.
“Mr. Wallace, I believe someone is trying to obtain your attention,” the guard said. The man nodded meekly, and turned to face the broad shouldered man at the desk. Cooper smiled and nodded to the guard, lipping the word ‘Thanks’. The guard removed his hand and slowly returned to his corner in the small gray room.
“Now Mr. Wallace,” Cooper began, “according to this report you filed, you claim to be hearing, ‘soft moans’, ‘groans’, ‘soft voices’, and, um… Screaming...” Cooper looked at the last apart again. Screaming? The man nodded.
“B-but,” the man stammered, “No one else seems to h-hear it, just me. I-I think I’m going crazy, or, or something,” the man began trembling again.
“So only you hear the sounds?”
“Yes, well, sort of.” The man took a nervous glance at the clock hanging on the wall behind Cooper. Cooper raised an eyebrow at the man’s comment.
“What do you mean exactly?” Cooper picked up his writing pad, preparing to take notes on the man’s next line of thought. The man looked at the pad, and then turned his head back to the guard behind him.
“I mean, some of the other workers down there, um… Just one I guess actually,” Cooper noticed the man was slurring his words a bit, “A crane operator named Joseph something, Joseph, um, Crawford maybe, yah that’s it… Um, he and some other guy, who I don’t know, they say that they sometimes here things too,” the slurring was becoming a bit more noticeable, the man’s voice slowly drifting away, “keep saying that they are hearing things too, but then again, I think they’re just trying to rile me up…”
“And these voices,” Cooper said, “Are they human? Or do they sound like something else?” The man stopped trembling at this. He sat there, looking at Cooper, in a bit of a strange way actually. The man’s usually trembling and upturned face was beginning to change… into a smile. Cooper sat back, looking back at the strange face, still silent and not answering the last question. The man’s mouth open, but rather than speaking English, he spoke, something else. It sounded deep and coarse, completely inhuman. The guard stepped up to the man, perhaps to place his heavy hand again on the man. The guard moved up, and placed it squarely on the man’s round left shoulder, and was then promptly thrown off! With a whack from the man’s arm, the guard went flying into the wall, landing in a pile on the ground. The enraged animal stood up and threw his chair out of the side window with amazing strength. Pulling up his shirt, he revealed a handgun stuffed in the front of his pants.
Cooper needed to act fast. Grabbing his desk lamp, he threw it at the raging former human, knocking it back a bit. Wallace snarled and pulled up the gun. Cooper was out of any real options. He could hide under the desk, but could the bullet pierce through the thin metal which made the desk up? Gun fire raged through the room, and red liquid splattered on to the walls. With a groan, the once snarling beast fell into a heap on the floor, joining the downed guard. Cooper stared dumbfounded. Who the hell just did that? Cooper looked for the room guard, but noticed he was still an unconscious heap on the floor along with dead technician. He heard glass shatter to the floor, and then the sound of glass under heavy boots.
Coming in through the window was another security guard like the last, wearing the same green body armor and somewhat similar helmet. The man had a muscular build, large arms bulging with muscle, and on his right shoulder pad Cooper could see the words ‘Semper Fi’ painted on it. Marine slang. Cooper recognized the armor customization and body build immediately. Lance Corporal Ryan Stanton, of the United Aerospace Corporation Space Marine Corps.
The armored space soldier glanced down at the bloody mess caused by his machine gun, whose bullets had cut through the man’s body like simple butter. Stanton then walked over to the slumped body of the guard. Bending down, Stanton pressed his index and middle fingers against the guard’s neck, checking for a pulse. A few seconds passed before Stanton removed his hand, shaking his head. The guard was undoubtedly dead. Cooper sagged his shoulders, for some reason saddened by the guard’s demise. The guard had never expected that the man would just so effortlessly throw him against a wall like that – hell – no one did. Cooper sat back down in his chair, still trying to figure out what just the hell happened.
Stanton strode around the room a bit more, viewing the damage. Finally Stanton walked up in front of Cooper’s desk, and putting his hands on the table and leaning forward, he said: “Wanna get lunch?”
Cooper poked at the plate of artificial food sitting on the lunch table in front of him. He didn’t feel like eating much. He peered over at Stanton, hungrily wolfing down the strange material labeled as meat loaf by the cooks. It didn’t look much like meat loaf, or at least not the type of loaf his wife used to cook for him on Earth… Earth… Such a distant place Cooper thought.
Cooper and Stanton were both employed by the United Aerospace Corporation, the largest private corporate entity in existence. With the facilities stationed on the far away red planet of Mars, the UAC’s scientists were free to work outside of moral and legal boundaries, which is thus responsible for the UAC’s massive collection of some of the most advanced pieces of technology ever conceived. However, in recent times, it seemed that the science teams were greatly abusing their power. Reports and stories were filtering out of the Delta Labs about AWOL scientists and experiments. Some of the more recent stories were about strange animals or the Delta Labs project leader Doctor Malcolm Betruger. Yet so far, with all the rumors, no real proof of anything out of the ordinary has surfaced. Still, the fact about more discrepancy in the labs and more reports of rather odd orders coming from Betruger were still coming through.
“So,” Stanton said, stuffing another fork full of food down his mouth, “Who was the guy I just pasted?” Cooper was slightly taken aback. Stanton had asked the question in a rather dull way, seemingly not caring about he had just ‘pasted’ someone across Cooper’s office walls. Cooper shook his head.
“He was someone down from Alpha security,” Cooper replied. “His name was Thomas Wallace. Jeez, just why he flipped out like that I’ll never know.” Cooper pushed his food tray off to the side. He didn’t feel like eating. “They way he suddenly acted, was just so weird, off… I don’t know. Maybe I’m going mad now.” Stanton coughed out a short laugh. Last time he swallows and tries to laugh at somber remark.
“Well, hey, stop bitchin’ about it so much and you’ll be fine. I stopped bitching a long time ago, and look at me! I pelleted some asshole that was about blow a big red hole through your head.” Stanton laughed again, rather short. He ate the last bite of food on his plate and set it aside. He took one American dollar from his pants pocket. “Here,” he said, “Take this, and play some Turbo Puncher.” Stanton smiled, snickering.
He was referring to a video game called Super Turbo Turkey Puncher 3. Cooper didn’t care much for games, especially arcade games. Cooper though has found this one to be the worst though from what he has seen or played. The game machine had a joystick, and six buttons; three red, and three blue. Only one button was actually needed. The object of the game was apparently to continuously punch a gobbling turkey until it exploded. The faster you hit the bird, the more points you get. Cooper found the game irritatingly stupid and pointless. He remembered looking through some old books displaying magnificent arcade games, ranging from Light Gun games with great addicting play, to rather insignificant yet still surprisingly good games like Pac-Man, a game from the old 1990’s or so.
Cooper pushed the money giving hand back. “No thanks.” Stanton shrugged. He gulped down what was left in his water cup, and stood up to dispose of the trash on his tray.
“Well,” Stanton said, “I gotta get back on patrol. Kelly doesn’t like it too much when we have too long a lunch break.” Stanton smiled and headed towards the recycle bins. Cooper still sat there though, running the earlier events through his head again and again. He doubted that he’d ever forget that.
Randy Thorne leaned against the inside of the cell door, looking out through the thick glass windows which primarily made the door up. Behind him on a bench was his new cell mate, Gabe Collins. Both of them were locked away in detention cell 11-DC08 in Prison Hall 11 of Mars City, somewhere close by to Alpha Labs. Thorne lightly tapped his finger on the glass, staring out at the guards on the other side. Outside the cell there were three people in all: Two machine gun toting Security Guards, and the prison blocks assigned warden, some guy by the name of Edgar who always sat at his computer console.
Thorne has been detained for three days now after killing an engineer down in the Mars City Underground. Thorne had pleaded not guilty, on the fact that the engineer attacked him with a wrench first, but was thrown in jail anyways. The engineer had jumped him. It was quite un-expected and rather strange too. Thorne remembered the savagery of the man. It seemed primal, unintelligent, evil…
“So what are you in here for?” A voice broke the silence of the cell. Thorne turned around to the man on the bench behind him, someone named Gabe. He had been in the cell now for a whopping five fucking hours, and had been silent for most of the time, but now found the need to talk. Thorne stepped closer the fat man, raising his shoulders up, and trying to push his muscles out. Thorne was a marine, sent on patrol in the underground. In his off time, he was usually in what the others called the ‘Muscle Room’.
“I killed a man,” said Thorne in a rather bland, irritated, and uncaring way. “What about you?” Thorne could see the man shrink back a bit, perhaps a bit startled at the reply. He stuttered as he spoke.
“I-I just, was, um, caught stealing some stuff, some guns I guess,” he said. The man slouched forward a bit. “I was smuggling actually, trying to get some of those cool new MG-88 Enforcers back to earth.” The man shook his head. “The stupid things I do for money even surprise me.” Thorne looked the man over. Smuggling machine guns? Probably true. He just wants whatever money he can get in order to pay for his delivery of twinkies to stuff his fat face with. Thorne turned away and leaned back up against the door. He really didn’t care for the man’s story. He just wanted out of his cell. Three more years to go until he was out. Then Sergeant Kelly could throw him back on duty.
Second Class Private Tom Carmack picked up his patrol shotgun from the rack, and then picked up his security helmet up from the table. His patrol would start soon, so he wanted to be ready. He put on his helmet, checked his comlink, and looked over at the man in the guard station for approval. With a push of a button, the door to the Mars Underground opened.
“Best put your safety on Carmack,” the guard said. “There are civilians working down here, and they can be jumpy.”
“Yessir,” Carmack replied. He was about to continue when the guard began to say something else.
“Oh and there is another marine down here too, looking for some scientist guy. If you see him, tell him to call up. I need him to report his whereabouts. Standard issue stuff, you know about that.” Carmack nodded to the guard, and then stepped through the doorway.
Jay Wheeler removed the fuel hose from the open hole on the star shuttle Romania. For four hours now, Wheeler and his team of mechanics have been prepping the ship for take-off to Earth, where it could unload its cargo, whatever that happened to be. He had never been told what was being loaded onto the ship, nor did he ever see anyone load something on it anyways. Of course, it wasn’t his place or job to know what the UAC would be shipping out, but it was the dock manager’s job, and the dock manager was Geoff Samus, a good friend of Wheelers.
Jay gave the thumbs up to a woman driving a large fuel loader truck, giving her the signal to pull back and move off, taking the now empty fuel tank away from the ship. With the ship fully fueled now, Wheeler’s job was over. Now the engine mechanics could do their final analysis on the ship before it took off. Samus was standing over by the docks door, doing something on his PDA.
“God damn the UAC now,” Samus said as Wheeler came near. “They don’t tell me a damn thing anymore.” Samus dropped his arms to his sides and sighed.
“What’s wrong now?” Wheeler asked. It was rare for Samus to be angry like this.
“The UAC. That’s what’s wrong, those damn faggots,” Samus said, making a fist with his left hand. “I have no idea what the hell has been loaded on that ship, or what is on it already, and I’m being denied the right to ask what it is. It’s my fucking job to know what goes on and comes off the ships that dock here.”
“Did you file a complaint?” Wheeler asked. “They usually cave in after a few hundred.” Wheeler smiled. Perhaps a small joke would lighten up his usually contempt friend.
“No shit,” Samus fired back.
“Well, then why don’t you just go and manually check them yourself?” Samus sneered.
“Check out this email from Administration,” Samus said, pulling up his PDA. He tapped the screen a few times, before reading out loud: “Dear Geoff Samus at Docking 492, we ask that you do not question or inspect the contents for shuttle Romania. The contents must be left confidential, no exceptions. Thank you, Administration.” Samus shook his head. “It’s a pretty half-assed request. The UAC has been acting weird lately.”
“Well, they did ask,” Wheeler shrugged. “Why are so worked up over one package?”
“Because I doubt it’s anything that needs to go to Earth.”