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Naked Snake

Haunted Halls

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The scout walked into the pitch black room, fright caused his body to shake as he held his Sig-Cow with bayonet forward. The rifle had seen some action, not the person behind it however. The rifle was based off an older model, improved for accuracy, rate of fire and a larger magazine. The bayonet, flashlight and multi purpose scope were some of the additions that had been made to the formerly ancient weapon. Not a lot of advances had been made in weapon technology. Sure, they had plasma rifles, blasters and the newly developed BFG 9000 (and its virtually unknown prototype, the BFG 2704), but weapons such as shotguns, rocket launchers and chainguns still lingered about, though improved from the antiquted models of old. Private Andrew Robert Jackson was sent ahead to recon the halls ahead, though he had not wanted to, he did not voice his disdain with the mission. Rumor had it that the spirits of demons from Hell occupied these dark halls and rooms of the abandoned U.A.C. bases. The Doom wars had been over for over 100 years, since then there had been no attacks against humankind...but Hell was waiting, plotting...

Gunnery Sargeant Pickens chewed on his thumbnail feverishly. An old habit he had picked up when he quit smoking, he found it to be a annoying habit. Often he would chew down to far and make his thumb bleed. He removed his thumb from his mouth and looked at the radioman.
"Son, I wantcha ta get on that ther radia an' call that sonuvabitch and see what in the hell is takin' so gawddamn long." he commanded, his southern drawl had still not been lost after years of living in Brooklyn. The radioman nodded and got on the radio and asked Andrew where he was.
"Sir," the radioman spoke, after having a short conversation with the private "he says it is safe.".
"Good! Everyone, move the hell out!" the Gunnery barked. The troops fell in line and marched to their destination.

Andrew crept forth slowly, his mind chattering about with terrifying thoughts. What if the stories are true? What if the demons never left? Bullshit, they're long gone. his brain argued back and forth. Suddenly, Andrew heard a hiss, like a giant serpent had discovered the presence of an intruder.
"Wh-wh-whos there?" Andrew asked, jittery. He raised his rifle, clicked the scope to nightvision and scanned the room. Nothing. Another hiss sounded out, right behind Andrew. He turned to see a large shape. It was the last thing he saw .

"Private!?" the Gunnery yelled. The dark hall was foreboding, it touched the Gunnery down deep on some primal level of his brain. Something wasn't right. The room stank of decay. Shuffling caught the attention of everyone in the room, they all pointed their weapons and the source of the sound. The Gunnery turned on his flashlight and trained it on the shambling thing. It was Private Jackson. "Private, what in the hell is wrong with you?" the Gunnery asked. He got no reply. "PRIVATE, I FUCKIN' ASKED YOU A GAWDDAMN FUCKIN' QUESTION AND YOU BETTA FUCKIN' ANSWER ME RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!" Pickens yelled at the top of his lungs. The Private raised his rifle and fired, striking a trooper right in the face. Everyone opened fire on Andrew, tearing his flesh to shreds. The Sargeant looked angry and heard a grunt whisper "Good God!". Another noise caught the attention of the troopers. A thud. Then another, and another, but they were not steps, each sound was seperate. They were surrounded, in the darkness. The men fired and the things returned fire, with balls of hellfire, of plasma, of firebombs. The men finally were subdued, in the haunted halls, where they finally rest...until they were risen...

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Very nice story, BBG. Just one question though. Sargeant Pickens reminds me of Slim Pickens (Dr. Strangelove), what with the name and the southern drawl. Did you pick this name on purpose?

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Insomniac said:

Very nice story, BBG. Just one question though. Sargeant Pickens reminds me of Slim Pickens (Dr. Strangelove), what with the name and the southern drawl. Did you pick this name on purpose?

Nope, it just came to me.

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