Why don't I have a custom title by now?!
Finally, the story which you've all been waiting for, and tells you the Truth and only the Truth about Doomguy and how he came to be.
SPOILER: This story may shake your world and reveal you secrets you never wished to learn, as well as unravel one of the greatest mysteries about Doomguy. Read at your own risk, for your life, in Doom and otherwise, will never be the same again.
Doomguy: wie er in die Welt kam.
The Man of Doom, also simply known as "Doomguy" after his fabulous combat (and not only) exploits, was now sitting uncomfortably in the sunken seat of a bumpy, rusty Class C troop transporter, a seat which had seen one too many farts in its time, and it sure showed all of them. Doomguy didn't forget to add some of his own for the occasion, but I'm digressing.
That old chunk of iron sent strong shocks and vibrations up his spine as it descended upon the Phobos base of the UAC. Those vibrations would be strong enough to hospitalize a normal individual, but Doomguy was no ordinary individual, plus, at that particular moment in time, he really didn't give a shit. Other things occupied his mind.
Like, for example, how he ended up demoted to Private First Class and got sent to this shithole in the first place. He was just fresh off a promotion to Staff Sergeant, during the time when the disorders had started. Due to his disobeying a direct order, assaulting a superior officer (and, as it was discovered later, having secretly being using the toilets reserved to Officers ever since he was stationed there), that was the fate and "career" the Space Marine Corps of the UAC had in store for him, at least for now.
"It even looks like a shithole" he thought "a poorly wiped one, at that, with tiny specks of shit all around the rim", as the bumpy transporter was descending through the force field which kept the thin terraforming clouds from escaping the weak Phobos gravity and into the Stickney crater, where the various UAC installations were located. It was a barren, reddish, rocky place, with some weak plants scattered round its periphery, in a pitiful attempt to make it "look like home", like the informative pamphlet he was handed by some "support psychologist" female officer while undergoing a series of psychological examinations.
"Dammit woman", he'd have liked to say, "I'd like to show you what it REALLY takes to make a Man feel 'at home', and that Shithole or Stickshit crater just ain't it!" but he refrained from getting himself labelled F-4 and dishonourably discharged and then imprisoned. At least by accepting this transfer, he didn't have to serve in the UAC jail, where his asshole's diameter would be in need of constant monitoring.
So, this was it. The transporter landed, he painfully picked up his stuff (not much, really. Just his standard issue UAC Marine kit bag) and walked outside (the half-assed terraformer air was safe to breathe for short periods, but too thin, so a concentrator-respirator helmet would be required for any serious task). He entered the closest building, where was immediately escorted by two grumpy guards to the Head of Staff's office without exchanging a word, where he was "greeted" by the bastard, Master Sgt Kelly.
"Well well, looks like we got ourselves a demoted, treacherous noob here! ATTEN-SHUN! ABOUT-FACE! ABOUT-FACE! ABOUT-FACE! ABOUT-FACE x 74!" (Doomguy actually executed those orders). "Now, let me tell you how we run things around here, in a way that even your underdeveloped, demoted brain can understand! Here where you are, is the Hen House, and I'm the fucking Rooster. Got it, hen?". Doomguy clicked his heels, and replied "Jawhol, mein Fuehrer!".
"Good! Or better....not so good for you. Give this monkey his gear!" he yelled, and ordered Doomguy out of his office. Instead of being taken to the armoury, he was taken to the janitor's closet. Instead of a harness and gun, he was issued a bunch of dirty fatigues and a broom, and ordered to report to Sgt. Kelly's office ASAP, which he did, trembling with a feeling of repressed anger and injustice.
"HA! So you thought that a treacherous scumbag like you would be issued a FIREARM, son? Guess what, idiot, you won't! THAT will be your 'gun' from now on, private, and I expect you to take good care of it, better than what you did with your superior officer, back to good ol' Earth! I only wish that the next mail transporter for UAC HQ in earth departed today, so that the paperwork with your new 'rank' and 'issued gear' would get officially filed....the next one is due in 3 months, that's how much they care for this here shithole! Damn bureaucracy! But don't be afraid...I'll keep those documents right here, in my drawer, packed with extra-special care, just waiting for that mail ship to arrive....and then you'll be officially a NOOB! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Doomguy was listening without even blinking. He couldn't believe what was happening to him. Yet, it was all before him, laid down in black on white, on the sheet of paper Sgt. Kelly was waving before his mug: Doomguy was now the officially appointed Phobos bases' janitor. He was sent millions miles away from home to handle a broom and sweep floors. "AND toilets!" yelled Master Sgt. Kelly. BTW, you ain't shitting in MY toilet, 'private'. If you do, I'll give you a Plutonium enema! BTW, I'll be watching you closely. If you slack about on the job, I'll propose you for another demotion, and they won't even ask why. And now, about-face and GTFO! "
The weeks passed slowly and painfully, scrubbing toilets, sweeping floors, collecting demerits from Sgt. Kelly, smoking bad cigarettes and watching soap operas in the unit's RR room. Even though that was pretty much an "undesirables' unit" where the Marine Corps of the UAC dumped their most troublesome personnel, the few other grunts just avoided him, not even telling him "hi" or at least "fuck you", SOMETHING dammit!
The only one who ever actually offered a cigarette to Doomguy one was a guy that made you wonder how he could have entered into the Marine Corps of the UAC in any function, and how he managed to ignore discipline so much: he was barely 5 feet tall when not hunching, just shy of the minimum accepted height, unshaven, with long dirty hair, with a ragged uniform, with a long Jewish nose, a Freemason, a Communist, with Nazi sympathies and presumably homosexual. Doomguy had never seen him assigned to any chore or performing any normal task. He simply appeared in the RR room once in a while, stared at Doomguy for some minutes with a serious look, then let out a nervous laughter and disappeared. Seriously, what was up with that.....
That Super Turbo Turkey Puncher 3000 arcade machine in the RR room also got old real quick, though he felt an inexplicable sympathy for the guy whose face was at the bottom of the screen, dreaming that he could be like him, instead of sweeping floors. Hey, at least he could still dream.
Other than the usual cleaning chores, Doomguy also had to perform armoury guard duty (nothing too fancy, just logging who gets which firearm from the ratchet). Like everything else, he did everything half-heartedly and with a grudge, with the demerits Sgt. Kelly handed to him really piling up. By this rate, he should have been demoted to sub-private, 2nd class anytime now. Sgt. Kelly just couldn't wait for this happen, and he added each demerit to his file, waiting in that damn locker for the next postal ship to earth...
His only escapades from this grim reality, were when he was sent to run some errand, which meant that he had to go to one of the other buildings in the UAC crater base. The first time he was sent to pick up a package at the base's PX, he was all set to just walking all the way to the PX under the cruel Phobos artificial sky, when Sgt. Kelly, somewhat reluctantly, showed him the BFG, the Balance Field Generator Scooter, or Bike For Goons, as the troops called it.
"As much as I'd prefer having you running from building to building without a respirator, regulations prescribe that you use the BFG Scooter for distances above a mile on rocky terrain. And unlike SOME, I actually ABIDE by regulations!" said Sgt. Kelly, as he clicked his heels, about-faced himself and left. Sgt. Kelly was so disciplined, that he had won several awards for the loudest standing into attention, the loudest heel-clicking, and the longest goose-stepping. Sgt. Kelly consumed AT LEAST 37 boot heels a year. His next aim was winning the next Pan-UAC about-facing award.
The BFG Scooter itself was a small wonder: it looked like an ordinary moped with some weird gizmos (the Balance Field Generators) in place of wheels, which hovered just above the ground, and was able to negotiate even heavily rocky terrain. It allowed cushioning even drops from great heights, and always landed upright. It allowed very precise movement in all directions, including pivoting around in-place. Its only drawback was that it couldn't move much faster than a moped, due to the way the fields worked, and it couldn't be made to hover or jump, though it would climb seemingly impossible terrain. Its top speed was always a fixed 25 mph, but there were ways to cause the field to accelerate it beyond this speed by driving it kind of sideways or in contact with a wall, as the weird guy in the RR room had told him. He had never tried it.
In any case, at least it made going from building to building a breeze, and allowed Doomguy some time alone, even as short as 2 minutes at a time, and it saved him from the chore of crossing the rough terrain on foot. The BFG Scooter also had a convenient storage stash at the back, where Doomguy could put his "gear" (mops, brooms etc.) when going from place to place. "Yeah", he thought as he was driving to yet another "mission impossible" (somebody had blown a chocolate shotgun in a far-off toilet of the base), "my mother would be proud. If I ever had one".
One day, while returning from one of those "missions", he noticed something weird happening inside some of the buildings, which were scattered like toys from a toybox all over the crater, with mile-wide gaps between them. He thought he saw flashes of light -muzzle flashes?- inside some of those, but the thin air of the crater didn't help transmit sound very far, even if the buildings weren't sealed for the most part. He was too far to really tell anyway, as he was travelling straight to the Hangar, where Sgt. Kelly's office and the Marines' bunks were. Damn, how he hated those bunks. Sgt. Kelly inspected them everyday, and he almost always got a demerit because one of the edges was not perfectly straight.
However, as he closed in to the Hangar, and parked the BFG Scooter in its walled alcove near the airlock, he could now hear -and feel!- the vibrations of gunfire and explosions that were coming from the inside through the wall, while from the outside everything appeared eerily quiet and motionless!. Now in range of the intercom, he also picked up screams and voices of agony from the inside. What was going on? He wished he had a weapon so he could join in...but alas, that broom still sticking from the trunk of the BFG Scooter was his "gun" now, and the airlock was sealed from the inside, he was cut off and nobody would answer his pleas to let him in.
There he was, sitting helpless outside of the airlock, disarmed, breathing processed air from his concentrating respirator, wearing the dirty overalls of a janitor, while his comrades were fighting! He never felt so low in his life. The only thing that could've brought him some joy at this point in his life, seeing some combat action, was now being denied to him.
Suddenly, the airlock opened, and a wounded Space Marine, with a gun in his hand, drag his last steps and left his last breath on an alien soil, under a weak, artificial sky, beyond which there was only death and cold. He managed to turn his face to Doomguy before expiring, his eyes full of meaning. "Avenge us" or "where the fuck had you been while we were getting our assed kicked" seemed to be their message. Doomguy chose option #1.
Suddenly, everything became clear. He knew what he had to do. He pried the gun from the dead hands of the Space Marine. It had still some ammo in it. The dead marine had exactly 50 bullets on him. He quickly removed his janitor's overalls, and swapped them for the dead marine's uniform. "My dream was to die fighting in a soldier's uniform, not a janitor's" he thought, as he was feeling someone else's grime on his body. He was going to bust in there and fight to the bitter end, even if it was the last thing he did. He would die fighting in his -well, almost- boots!
Suddenly, before entering, he had an intuition. Whatever killed his comrades -and, hopefully, Sgt. Kelly- must be numerous and everywhere. He would need a way to carry a lot of ammo and weapons quickly, in order to stand a chance. With that in mind, he rode on the BFG Scooter once again. He entered into the airlock and cycled it. Meanwhile, he thought "Hmm....I think I'll pay Sgt. Kelly's office up that control tower a visit. I recall the bastard had an armoured vest and some shotguns up there...I'll toss them at the back just in case".
The airlock finished cycling and, before him, the hexagon tile floor of the hangar's lobby, with its blue carpet appeared. He could smell the gunpowder and guts in the air. Confidently, for the first time in a long while, he let out a grin, as he caressed the throttle of the BFG Scooter and started moving towards the con tower area. The rest, as they say, is legend.
And who knows he thought...if certain documents in a certain drawer of a certain desk were lost in all of this confusion and certain reports were changed slightly...
Last edited by Maes on May 16 2012 at 10:46