Landscapes of red, the color of blood. The smell of brimstone, the heat of liquid magma, suffocating.
No air.
Claws slashed at his naked body, causing him to recoil in pain.
Teeth snapped and gnashed at him, nipping and tearing into soft flesh, toying with him.
He grunted, screamed, more in anger, and defiance rather than pain.
When he opened his eyes he saw a black form in front of him, large, imposing; in a fluid motion an appendage, resembling a savage spear jutted into his chest, where his heart was housed.
With a sharp inhale Wolfe sat up in his rack. He was sweating profusely and panting heavily, he clutched at his chest. The pain still very real in his mind. He sat there gritting his teeth in pain, and slowly, very slowly opened his eyes. The more they focused the more the pain went away. Within a minute Wolfe was aware of where he was. In his rack, in his quarters, at the secret base of M.E.R.C.Y\Trident.
He glanced at the clock: 0607. Taking a few deep breathes, he tried to slow his shaking. He swung his legs over and sat up, rubbing his face with his hands.
“Fuck it, not going back to sleep now…”
Getting up he put on a pair of sweats, and slipped on his flip flops, grabbed a towel, and his bag full of hygiene supplies and headed for the bathroom. Wolfe was glad the showers had good pressure and heat, all too often he gets stuck taking cold showers….or none at all for months on a time. After the shower he made sure to shave and then made his way back to his room. The room was sparse, a rack, a nightstand, a small desk and a chair, and his wall locker.
Wolfe put on pair of black BDU trousers, and a black T-shirt. He wanted to work out some, but the base doctor ordered him on light duty due to his hand injury he sustained last time in the field. His had was properly bandaged and was healing nice. Trident has some kind of gelatin that speeds up the healing process. A wound that would take weeks to recover from would simply take a matter of days…. Of course it has its limits. Hirsch was in the same boat.
After getting something to eat he decided to head over to the base Armory. He hadn’t had the proper time to clean his weapon from the last field op. Wolfe also wanted to get a good idea at what kind of hardware this place has. Always good to keep his options open.
He made his way down a level and through a large steel door. A man sat at a desk in a small room to his left. The window covered in chicken wire, standard armory procedure.
After getting cleared Wolfe walked in.
“Hey man!” It was Hirsch, looks like he had the same idea, he had his SAW already stripped and was cleaning the guide rod on the weapon.
“What’s up, you’re up early.”
“Yea, hand was hurting couldn’t sleep, doc gave me some of that special spooge and it feels better now.” He said with a shrug. Wolfe chuckled.
They made small talk, joked around, the normal things two marines do when conducting tedious work, though Wolfe didn’t mind cleaning his weapon, it was therapeutic to him. After a few hours their weapons were cleaned and put back. They then decided to inspect the other weapons in the armory.
“Look at this shit…” Hirsch said running his finger around the chamber of an assault rifle, black carbon stained his finger.
“Shits dirtier than the Army’s weapons…” he remarked.
For the next six hours the two marines cleaned all the weapons in the armory.
No air.
Claws slashed at his naked body, causing him to recoil in pain.
Teeth snapped and gnashed at him, nipping and tearing into soft flesh, toying with him.
He grunted, screamed, more in anger, and defiance rather than pain.
When he opened his eyes he saw a black form in front of him, large, imposing; in a fluid motion an appendage, resembling a savage spear jutted into his chest, where his heart was housed.
With a sharp inhale Wolfe sat up in his rack. He was sweating profusely and panting heavily, he clutched at his chest. The pain still very real in his mind. He sat there gritting his teeth in pain, and slowly, very slowly opened his eyes. The more they focused the more the pain went away. Within a minute Wolfe was aware of where he was. In his rack, in his quarters, at the secret base of M.E.R.C.Y\Trident.
He glanced at the clock: 0607. Taking a few deep breathes, he tried to slow his shaking. He swung his legs over and sat up, rubbing his face with his hands.
“Fuck it, not going back to sleep now…”
Getting up he put on a pair of sweats, and slipped on his flip flops, grabbed a towel, and his bag full of hygiene supplies and headed for the bathroom. Wolfe was glad the showers had good pressure and heat, all too often he gets stuck taking cold showers….or none at all for months on a time. After the shower he made sure to shave and then made his way back to his room. The room was sparse, a rack, a nightstand, a small desk and a chair, and his wall locker.
Wolfe put on pair of black BDU trousers, and a black T-shirt. He wanted to work out some, but the base doctor ordered him on light duty due to his hand injury he sustained last time in the field. His had was properly bandaged and was healing nice. Trident has some kind of gelatin that speeds up the healing process. A wound that would take weeks to recover from would simply take a matter of days…. Of course it has its limits. Hirsch was in the same boat.
After getting something to eat he decided to head over to the base Armory. He hadn’t had the proper time to clean his weapon from the last field op. Wolfe also wanted to get a good idea at what kind of hardware this place has. Always good to keep his options open.
He made his way down a level and through a large steel door. A man sat at a desk in a small room to his left. The window covered in chicken wire, standard armory procedure.
After getting cleared Wolfe walked in.
“Hey man!” It was Hirsch, looks like he had the same idea, he had his SAW already stripped and was cleaning the guide rod on the weapon.
“What’s up, you’re up early.”
“Yea, hand was hurting couldn’t sleep, doc gave me some of that special spooge and it feels better now.” He said with a shrug. Wolfe chuckled.
They made small talk, joked around, the normal things two marines do when conducting tedious work, though Wolfe didn’t mind cleaning his weapon, it was therapeutic to him. After a few hours their weapons were cleaned and put back. They then decided to inspect the other weapons in the armory.
“Look at this shit…” Hirsch said running his finger around the chamber of an assault rifle, black carbon stained his finger.
“Shits dirtier than the Army’s weapons…” he remarked.
For the next six hours the two marines cleaned all the weapons in the armory.