The Underworld - Portal of Hades (parts 1-5)

PART I

Colonel McMillan leaned hard against the green stone wall, wincing slightly as pain lanced up his leg. 'You dumb bastard,' he thought to himself harshly. 'Trust you to go down on your bad foot while dodging zombies'.
Zombies. Former humans. Ex-colleagues. He shuddered at the thought, at the memory of the first of those things he'd seen over 5 years ago. Private Mahone had been top of his class three years before. Once the demons had finished with him, though, all that had remained was red eyes and bloodlust.
The harsh, raspy breathing was getting louder. Edging slowly round the stone columns that littered the room, he craned his neck to spot a single zombie standing guard, his back to him. Easy prey. Raising his pistol, McMillan blasted the subhuman square in the back of the head, watching with grim satisfaction as the head burst like an overripe melon, the corpse dropping to the floor.
The thundering blast of a shotgun rang suddenly through the room... McMillan was back on the game in seconds, dodging behind stone pillars until he saw his next target. A huge, bald soldier he'd known as Private Wilks. And in his gory hands, a shotgun...
The next blast from the zombie's weapon blew a chunk out of the masonry over the Colonel's head, sending him scurrying to the next pillar just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of Wilk's legs as he stomped awkwardly past. The two rounds from McMillan's 9mm shattered Wilk's kneecaps, sending him crashing to the ground and fumbling with his shotgun, his mouth opening and closing with animal sounds no human was designed to utter. A final bullet to the head ended his suffering.
McMillan wasted no time or sympathy on his fallen comrade. He was now the enemy, and that was that. Grabbing his shotgun, the Colonel hunted round what used to be the supply depot. Most of the supplies seemed to have been raided. No medikits, adrenaline boosters, light-amp goggles or shielding suits. The heavy weaponry lay in pieces scattered over the stone floor, beyond hope of repair.
Cursing under his breath, McMillan continued his sweep of the room, until he found a box of shells for his 12-guage. The demons, through laziness or ignorance, had given him a fighting chance.
The service lift up to the midlevels of the complex remained relatively undisturbed, as demon-modification went. Only the door to the main corridors had been altered, a massive wooden obstacle adorned with skulls standing in its place. Slapping the button marked 'OPEN', McMillan braced himself and glanced inside.
He almost wished he hadn't. Hell's denizens had done their work on this area. A long, cross-shaped river of blood pooled in the centre of the corridor, flame torches blazing at each point. The walls were red stone-bricks that screamed 'fire and brimstone' every time he stopped and stared. It was then that the next attack came.
Searing heat washed over his face as the first ball of fire flew past his shoulder, quickly followed by reptilian hissing. McMillan squinted down the dark corridor, his eyes narrowing further in recognition as he got his first good glimpse at the creatures illuminated in the torchlight.
Imps. Spinys. Brown, fire-shitting bastards.
Taking careful aim, he sent a volley of shells down the corridor, the sound of splattering fluid telling him he'd hit home, as the silhouetted shape fell clumsily into the blood. Advancing forward, he wasn't prepared for the next attack just through the doorway - raking claws tore down his forearm, causing him to scream out - in rage more than pain. Swinging the shotgun round like a club, McMillan bought the weapon's stock bearing down on the Imp's head, the dull 'crack' echoing through the red halls. Again and again, he continued to hammer the imp's skull into a bloody pulp. The rage grew unchecked, the blows impacting more and more forcefully. He felt like a zombie grasping desperately at the remaining shreds of his humanity.
Fifteen seconds later, the creature's limbs stopped twitching.

PART II

McMillan stared down at his bloody hands, watching with fascination as the gleaming scarlet liquid ran down the tips of his fingers. It dripped onto the fallen imp, making soft pattering sounds over the dull roar of the torches. Glaring back down the dark, crimson corridor, the Colonel gripped his shotgun tighter and continued his march. If he could get to the surface, find some survivors, he stood a chance of fighting the demons back. He slowed as he came to the corridor intersection, glancing over his shoulder at the imp's corpse before peering round the corner. Aside from the dropped stimpacks that littered the ground, the route was clear. The other two doors he could see were off limits to normal personnel - weapon depots that might still contain the firepower he'd need. Problem was, the security passes were locked in his quarters on the other side of the complex.
McMillan moved warily towards the door. Keeping his shotgun level in his right hand, he slapped the OPEN button. This time, he didn't bother trying to make out the shadowy objects moving towards him. He knew what they were. Three imps came charging at him as soon as the door shot open, hissing in anticipation as their claws unsheathed to deliver a killing blow. McMillan calmly unloaded round after round into the beasts, grinning like the Reaper himself as the final imp tried desperately to scramble over the bodies of his brethren. The Colonel kicked it to the floor, rested one booted foot on its face, and pressed the barrel of the shotgun against its eye. The imp managed one final snarl before the top of its head was blown clean off.
Satisfied, McMillan wiped his gory boot on the body of the first imp before continuing on. As he rounded the corner, though, his hopes dropped a notch. The entire mess hall was gone - as if the hand of God (or the Devil?) himself had wiped it of the face of the Earth. In its place was a sheer 200ft drop into white-hot magma. McMillan shielded his face from the heat, peering down the chasm and then across to the other side. Several giant hunks of rock, spaced from 3 to 6ft apart, created a convoluted path to the familiar shape he saw on the other side.
"What are you afraid of?" he muttered to himself.
"Heights, you dumb bastard" his mind answered nervously.
Shouldering the shotgun, McMillan took a few steps back, and made the first leap to the precarious stone column. He was far too pleased with himself as he made it to the third section of rock to notice the raspy hissing behind him. Halfway through his jump to the fourth column, McMillan happened to glance down. What he saw sent him slamming into the rock face, scrabbling for a handhold. About a quarter of the way down, his hand found a small outcropping, and he clung on for dear life. He chanced another glance down - and his eyes widened as he saw the immense red shape floating towards him, it's gaping mouth spread open in what the Colonel fancied as a malicious smile. He grasped for his shotgun, nearly dropping it into the flaming liquid that forced him to sweat from every pore. Pumping the weapon awkwardly, he slid his hand down to the trigger, and struggled to aim straight as the Cacodemon closed in, static bursts erupting from its mouth as it charged up its attack.
The first blast seemed to glance off the Cacodemon's body, leaving McMillan struggling to pump the shotgun for another volley. The hairs rising over his body told him he was in for a few thousand volts if he didn't get away from this thing in the next few seconds. Ignoring the pain shooting down his strained arm, he aimed down once more, and pulled the trigger without the benefit of an aim. The recoil nearly knocked him clear of the rock face, leaving him hanging by three trembling fingers. The Cacodemon wasn't nearly as lucky. The blast caught it square in it's single eye, sending blue fluid splattering over the furnace where it evaporated almost instantly. The deflating body spiralled ponderously downwards, until it was enveloped in a flash by the lava.
Swinging the shotgun onto the top of the column from which he hung, McMillan found the strength to pull himself wearily to the top, wishing desperately that he'd picked up one of those discarded stimpacks.

PART III

The Colonel made it to the other side of the parapet without incident, nearly dropping to his knees through sheer exhaustion as he landed awkwardly on the cold stone of the cave. Wiping a blood-encrusted hand over his brow, he squinted up at the artifact before him. The gate, almost as familiar as it was alien, stood silently, the red glow pulsing in a slow, life-like rhythm. McMillan pulled himself to his feet, staring at the symbols that adorned the floor and ceiling of the teleporter. He had no idea where this was going to take him, nor of the condition he'd arrive in when he emerged.
"The way out is through", he muttered.
Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and stepped onto the pad.
The green light washed over him, numbing his skin and reducing his vision to swirling colours. The near-forgotten sensation of free-fall threatened to nauseate him, and he felt bile rising up his throat like the hand of a corpse reaching for his tongue.
He had to struggle to catch his breath as he came slamming onto the cold metal floor.
McMillan rolled onto his back, taking shallow gulps of air as he forced his brain to make a pattern of the dull brown shades drifting before his eyes. "You're lucky, asshole", he thought with a grin. "This sure don't smell like hell".
Dragging himself upright, he leaned against the cool wall of the surface access corridor, instinctively feeling for and finding the reassuring shape of the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He stumbled wearily towards the access hatch at the end of the hall, slapping the OPEN button as he reached it.
Nothing happened.
Irritated, he slapped it again. Still nothing. He squinted down at the button he'd been pressing, his agitation growing as he noticed the scorch marks that surrounded the controls like a dark aura. Ripping the front of the panel away, he hunted around the maze of fibre-optics that ran through the door column until his hand brushed against the familiar shape of a manual release. Grinning, he turned it.
Without warning, the wall to his right exploded outward in a shower of sparks and jagged debris. Throwing himself backwards, the Colonel snatched his shotgun from his shoulder, pumping a round into the weapon and aiming at the cloud of lethal steel that had begun to settle.
"Oh shit", we're the only words he could force out as the lumbering shapes began to emerge from the wreckage. Razor-sharp teeth flashed as the emerging creatures stormed towards McMillan, monstrously huge mouths opening and closing as if in anticipation of chewing on his flesh. He recognised them alright, and as the nearest demon lunged towards him, he managed to ram the barrel of his shotgun down its throat. The ensuing blast sent chunks of gore in all directions, decorating the otherwise dull walls like crimson paint.
To the demon's surprise, a hail of bullets began to sound from the other end of the corridor. The rearmost demon roared out in rage as the hail of gunfire slammed through its throat and chest, its blood spewing over the ground like a scarlet fountain. The third demon turned back down the corridor, bearing down on the human shape that stood in the now-open doorway. Back on his feet, McMillan sent a volley of shells down the hall. The demon managed one last anguished growl as it dropped to the floor.
"Name, rank", shouted McMillan, his weapon now trained on the figure down the hall. The soldier said nothing, simply stood there impassively. McMillan recognised the shape of an AD-75 minigun resting in his arms. Taking a few steps forward, the Colonel tried to get close enough to make out the other's features. As he came within a few feet of the soldier, the minigun snapped up to point at McMillan's chest, the stranger's finger tightening over the trigger.
"Name and rank soldier", he called again, trying desperately to keep his voice steady. It was then that he saw the red glow in his eyes.
Dropping onto his back a second ahead of the zombie's gunfire, he swung his right leg into the back of the ex-human's knees. It let out an animal groan as it toppled to the ground, fumbling at the bulky weapon in its hands. McMillan was back on his feet in a second, pumping round after round into the zombie's chest. Satisfied, the Colonel leaned down to wrench the minigun from the creature's grasp, inspecting the weapon with admiring eyes. The demons may have their numbers, he thought, but he'd make every last one of them taste his wrath. Taking one last look down at the zombie's nametag, he spat on its corpse and headed on towards the surface-bound lift shaft.

PART IV

Slapping the 'RETURN' control next to the lift shaft, McMillan took a step back, keeping his mini-gun trained on the approaching elevator. With a strained, metallic lurch, the lift came to a rest and the rusting doors eased open to reveal... nothing. Satisfied the area was clear, he stepped inside, hammering the 'GROUND' button with his fist. He could feel his pulse quickening, his breath frosting before his eyes as he approached the cold night of the surface. Throwing the zombie's ammo belt over his shoulder, he brought the weapon back up to cover the elevator door. To his left, the red halo that surrounded the buttons continued its patient journey to the destination, and with another deep groan, the lift came to a halt. Footsteps just beyond the door caused McMillan to grip the mini-gun ever tighter as the door jerked its awkward way open.
He caught the glimmer of movement just in time to duck as a bony arm slammed through the opening and into the space that his head had so recently occupied. Raising his mini-gun, he squeezed the trigger and let loose a torrent of bullets that tore the attacking revenant off its feet, landing with a crack on a large rock. Struggling back to his feet, McMillan sprayed the skeletal body one last time before charging across the base grounds - right into the heart of battle.
A trio of fireballs flashed past him, blackening the grass where they came close to the ground. Behind him a pair of shotgun-wielding zombies were taking aim. With nowhere else to go, the Colonel side-stepped the fireballs and dropped to one knee, shredding the imps that skulked around the supply crates into bite-sized pieces with a hail of fire. Spinning back round on the offending ex-humans, he proceeded to lay them to waste, revelling in the enraged snarls that turned into liquid gargles as the heavy fire penetrated their thoraxes.
Turning round at the sound of rustling grass, his expression faltered as he stared at the next enemy moving sluggishly towards him. Trunk-like legs were barely visible beneath the overhang of flab that hung from the obese creature's torso, it's bloated face staring at him with piercing green eyes in an expression that could only be described as pure hatred. Worse of all were the arms, looking like they'd been torn off at the elbow and replaced by long, steel barrels. Pneumatic tubes ran from its arms into the large unit that seemed to have been wired directly into its back, pumping dark liquid as it lumbered forward. The ends of its arms began to flare with heat, as its shapeless mouth gaped open to utter a single, monstrous word.
"Mancubus!"
McMillan dived for the supply crates as searing heat washed over his legs, twin flames annihilating anything and everything in its path. Peering over the crates, he took aim at the hulking beast and pulled the trigger.
Click.
Click click.
Staring down at the weapon, he realised the obvious and awful truth. Empty.
Dropping the mini-gun, he pulled the shotgun from his shoulder and loaded the remaining shells he'd stored in his fatigues. Pumping the weapon once more, he took a deep breath and stood up.
The mancubus was a mere 6 feet away, the foul stench of it's breath hanging heavy in the air. Circling the creature, he began unloading his shotgun into the mancubus' torso, the scored hits heralded by the dull splattering as the pellets attempted to gouge their way into the flab. McMillan's desperation turned to pure panic as the shotgun clicked empty. There was nowhere else to go. Throwing the shotgun towards the creature, he broke into a run for the door to the containment area, almost reaching the entrance when he heard multiple gunshots behind him.
Spinning round, McMillan was just in time to see the mancubus drop to the ground, it's fuel tank leaking over the grass. One final gunshot sent the corpse up in flames, leaving the Colonel wary.
Survivor, or zombie?
"Get yer fuckin' hands where I can see 'em!" Came the thickly accented reply. "Name and rank".
Raising his hands, the Colonel peered through the rising smoke and flames for a better look at the stranger.
"Alexander McMillan, Colonel, veteran of the Demon War".
The other's face twisted in a malicious grin.
"Fuck the demonic shite, they were aliens and you know it. They never figured out where them ugly twats were from".
It was the Colonel's turn to grin at the ignorant statement as the stranger moved closer. He was about 6' tall, slim and muscular. His blonde hair was slicked back, a long, vertical scar reaching from his deep blue eyes down to his thin lips. The twin-barrelled combat shotgun in his hands pointed a little higher, zeroing in on the Colonel's face.
"Well well, Colonel McMillan himself" he muttered, coming close enough to snatch at the campaign ribbons on the others chest. "I figured you'd be the first one dead".
Lowering his arms slowly, McMillan nodded towards the flaming remains of the mancubus. "Did you see much action against these things?" he asked.
"I saw enough" the other said sharply. Sharply, and with a twinge of... fear? Guilt? The Colonel wasn't sure if he wanted to know, judging from the scarred face.
"Name and rank, soldier?" Colonel inquired, remembering that he was the superior, regardless of what the other had been through.
"Corporal Hendry," he bit out. "William Hendry. Been stationed here for six months, veteran of the invasion. And if you don't mind me saying so, sir" he continued, the venom in his voice growing with each word, "You're a fucking nut. Plenty of Colonels and Generals that could have done this job a shitload better, and they picked you".
McMillan met Hendry's angry gaze impassively, remembering the Corporal's file. Close combat specialist, invasion veteran. Family killed during the assimilation of the United Kingdom, nasty stuff. The lack of social ties left him an efficient killer, though not exactly the type of guy you'd want at a party.
"You got a problem with the way I run things, Corporal?" McMillan challenged, taking a step closer to the shotgun that Hendry held like a lifeline. "Then why don't you do something about it..."
The Colonel snatched the shotgun from Hendry's hands, swinging the stock down on the Corporal's shoulder. He went down with a shriek and stayed there, clutching his shoulder blade and breathing through clenched teeth.
"I'm gonna find out what happened here tonight, Corporal" McMillan stated, inspecting the shotgun. "and you're coming with me"...

PART V

Hendry nodded towards the burning remains of the mancubus.
"I saved your arse back there, McMillan, and this is how you thank me?"
The Colonel had moved away, hunting around the supply crates for ammunition.
"Insubordination doesn't rank very highly with me, Corporal."
Hendry got back on his feet, rubbing his bruised collarbone.
"Fuck insubordination!" he yelled, "Fuck the chain of command! In case you hadn't noticed Colonel, we just got fucked up the arse big time! Ain't no-one here gonna listen to you. What you gonna do?"
McMillan ignored the younger soldier, grinning to himself as he uncovered a crate-full of shells for both the SPAS and Hendry's combat shotgun. Loading the weapon, he turned back on the Corporal.
"Who else was with you when they attacked?"
Hendry averted his eyes from the Colonel's, spitting on the blackened grass.
"There were three of us" he answered, still not meeting MacMillan's gaze. "Galini, Harellson and me were on weapon cleanup duty. We heard a few reports about a power spike, somewhere on the newer levels where they'd been excavating. Next thing we knew the whole place went straight to..." He glanced momentarily at the Colonel, looked away just as fast. "Next thing we knew, they attacked."
McMillan nodded, walking back towards the Corporal.
"Where are Galini and Harellson now?"
Hendry continued to look at the burning mancubus.
"They were... they..." the sentence trailed off into a barely audible mumble as Hendry replayed events in his mind.

He lay on the ground, his chest riddled with bullet wounds. His arms had been opened up by animal tears, the lacerations so deep that the blood ran black, glistening bone protruding awkardly from the paling flesh. White spots danced before his eyes, as if mocking him in his own death throes. Somehow, he found the strength to turn his head. He felt the heat before he saw the creature. It's golden skin shimmering as if it were the essence of fire itself. And as the final ebbs of consciousness seeped from his body, his fading vision noted the creatures hands, how they seemed to glow red, offering to him the blood of life even as his own life was leaving him.
"You shall never know death" the creature spoke softly into his mind. "You shall never know death".

Hendry felt his entire body jerk awake, his limbs thrashing outward as he desperately tried to escape the image of the creatures face. When he opened his eyes, he saw only the black sky.
"Well, where are they?" Came McMillan's voice once more.
"They're dead" was Hendry's agitated reply as he hefted himself back up. How long had he been out for? The Colonel seemed indifferent. Maybe it'd been no time at all...
"So," Hendry continued. "What do I have to do to get a fuckin' gun?"
MacMillan regarded the Corporal silently for a moment, resting the barrels of the shotgun over his shoulder.
"That depends" he spoke up finally. "You gonna play nice?"
The Corporal nodded, a look of silent defeat evident in his posture.
"I've had enough of fighting these things alone, Hendry" He continued. "I'd rather have some backup this time round". He began to turn towards the containment area door. "There's an empty mini-gun behind those crates, and a shotgun over there..." He said, nodding towards the now-blackened husk of the mancubus. "Load up some ammo, and follow me in".
Hendry found the multiple-barrelled weapon, hefted it up and checked its gauges.
"This'll take a few minutes" he said wearily. "D'ya wanna wait for me?"
MacMillan slapped the door release, lifting his combat shotgun to cover the entrance.
"No," he replied. "I owe these things some pain. Get yourself loaded up, and you'll soon get yours."
Nodding imperceptibly, Hendry got back to work on the ammo crates. MacMillan stepped into the containment area.
Crates of all sizes littered the expansive storage space, containing everything from clothes to heavy artillery. Half of them had been torn open by razor-sharp claws, their contents strewn across the grey-metal floor. Easing himself slowly past a huge container marked 'AA-MISSILES', MacMillan kept his senses alert for any sign of attack. The soft pattering of leathery feet caught his attention. Leaping round the corner, the Colonel swung his shotgun to cover the intersection created by the maze of crates. Nothing. Taking a cautious step back, he bought his weapon to bear on the far end of the containment area. Distant, shadowy movement caught his eye. He advanced forward silently, careful not to tread on the pieces of smashed munitions and shredded fatigues, desperate to mask his approach. The familiar smell of decay hung in the air, and MacMillan had to force himself to ignore the occasional sight of spilled blood.
The crates thinned out somewhat as he reached the far end of the storehouse, the eerie silence rattling the Colonel's nerves. Silently edging round the last crate, he chanced a glance to his right. And stopped short. Another wooden door decorated with skulls blocked his path - only this time, marble carvings flanked them. McMillan recognised the creature in the each of the images all too well. The Baphomet looked just as menacing as it had when he'd shredded its brain with rockets all those years ago. Luckily, the open/close panel remained untainted. The communication centre lay just beyond that barrier - the key to bringing down an air raid on the installation and ending the madness just as quickly as it had begun. Padding stealthily towards it, McMillan shouldered his weapon, glancing around one last time before slapping the OPEN button.
A high-pitched alarm sounded from the panel, followed by a hollow, synthetic voice.
"High security area. Authorisation required."
Cursing, the Colonel squinted down at the panel, this time noticing the key-card slot outlined in red.
"Why can't anything be easy?" he muttered under his breath. It was then that he heard the snuffling. A low, liquid sound that was somewhere between dripping blood and raspy breathing. Easing his combat shotgun back down from his shoulder, checking that both barrels were loaded, he advanced slowly back into the maze of crates. When the attack came, it was as if all of hell had descended on that single room.
The five snuffling imps came charging around a medical supply crate, their hands glowing hellishly as they prepared to launch a volley of scorching projectiles towards McMillan. At the same time, a trio of demons crashed through one of the nearest ammo crates, their lumbering bodies and razor-sharp claws shredding anything in their path. Worst of all were the pair of mancubus that were slowly making their way into the firing zone for a clear shot. The Colonel didn't have many options...
He dove past the demons, executing the best roll he could in the light of his bad ankle, bringing himself back up just in time to see one of the demons take a pair of fireballs in its face. The creature's face seemed to dissolve; it's leathery skin raising and splitting like bad pastry. The rest of its head was a blackened mess, but it continued on... straight towards the offending imps. Launching itself forward on spring-like legs, its gaping mouth snared one of the brown bastards around its abdomen, crushing it like paper. The imp let out an anguished snarl, tearing at the demon's head desperately as the life (or death?) began to leave it. With a final crack of snapped vertebrae, the imp fell silent, hanging from the demon's maw like a prize. McMillan's morbid fascination with the whole scene nearly got the better of him, and he had his shotgun up just in time for the second demon as it came tearing towards him. The single blast from the twin barrels opened up a hole the size of a human head in it's chest, and it fell silent the instant it hit the floor, leaving the Colonel retreating back to the cover that the crates offered as he fumbled to reload the shotgun. His breath was coming more heavily now, the last hour of strain showing in his slowing reflexes. How could he have let the demon get that close? He shook his head, putting aside personal admonishments until he had the time. Snapping the shotgun closed, McMillan took a deep breath before taking a step back around the corner. He froze...
The demons had been reinforced. A total of three mancubus, ten imps and several demons were advancing through the containment area, as if following his scent like dogs on the hunt. It was the mancubus that saw him first. McMillan's gaze met the piercing green stares of the bloated creatures, and his whole regrouping idea was fucked. The slurring accent of the voice from behind, however, was like the voice of god.
"McMillan, get down on the fucking floor NOW!"
The Colonel acted on the order in a heartbeat - and in the split second after hitting the ground, a hail of fire pierced the air above him. The mancubus' were the first to fall under the sweep of Hendry's mini-gun; their bloated bodies bursting like pinátas filled with gore. Next were the imps, caught flat-footed as they rounded a crate full of fatigues. The impact of the bullets tore limbs from their sockets, the grey-metal floor being enveloped by an ever-expanding pool of crimson. The demons came last, struggling over the mancubus' corpses to meet a torrent of fire that shattered their ribcages, the gore from the exit wounds adding to the heavily sodden ground.
Barely 30 seconds had passed.
Hendry extended a gloved hand to the Colonel.
"On your feet, you old fart"
McMillan waved away the hand, pulling himself up on the shattered husk of a munitions crate.
"You took your sweet time, Corporal".
Hendry grinned, running his eyes over the ammo gauges of the mini-gun.
"They're dead, you're not. What the fuck are you complaining about?" Readjusting the shoulder strap on his shotgun, he nodded down towards the far end of the containment area.
"So, we goin' that way?"
McMillan shook his head. "Door's locked. We need the security pass from my quarters downstairs."
Hendry nodded, walking towards the exit corridor.
"So we go down there and get the pass. Then we get in there," he motioned towards the door to the communication centre, "call for help, and we're all happy."
McMillan looked back down the maze of crates at the corpse-ridden floor.
"I hope it's that easy", he muttered.
"Piece o' piss" Hendry grinned. "No problem".
Together, the marines headed towards the access lift down to the troop's quarters...

It would be kinda nice if you marked each part with a headline or the like, so that those of us who have already read the first four parts can find part five quickly instead of having to search for the beginning of the stuff we haven't read before.
I assume that the first four parts are revised/improved versions since you took the time to repost them? I'll read them through some time, when I feel like reading it.

And to the newest part: good work - just as interesting as the other parts, and I like the way you describe things (I've probably said that before sometime, heh).

Good idea - consider it done :)
Cheers dude, speak to ya later (the conversation about the doom novels, no doubt :))