Crushing Defeat

TW: Guns and gore.

Wet explosions of bullets hitting piled bodies covered the former detective Arthas Jacques with blood and viscera. Warriors of Earth and Mars, every government and major company were exchanging gunfire in Garrett Xander Neilson Station’s domed garden. Beyond multiple layers of glass and clear plastic the void waited hungrily for a chance to join them all.

Mercenaries garbed in the heraldry of their band converged on the Martian fireteams. Some used grappling hooks and retractable cable to haul themselves into the air, all the better to fire over the walls of the dead keeping Arthas and his comrades safe. Arthas, his droid, and his father, Admiral Randal Jacques headshotted every soldier that rose above their shelter.

The protective triangle of Martian combat droids became a duo. A shower of shrapnel from the combat droid bounced off the black metal of Arthas’ spectrum droid. The amethyst glow of Purple’s eyes reassured the former detective that everything would be alright. He just had to keep his head down and shoot anything that came into view.

Animalistic growls and roars brought to mind big cats Arthas had seen in documentaries. From his low vantage point he saw bodies flying, some screaming with their dying breaths. Vicious titans seemed at loose against the mere mortals of Earth’s diaspora.

Knowing Lord Mark Ignatius Banks had set his Deus ex Sapiens goons loose, Arthas switched his pistol out for the assault rifle, hoping it packed the same punch as the Ashikov RGP Alpha. The little rail-gun was a hard act to follow.

The ammunition counter read sixty as he flipped the mode switch from safety to manual fire mode, past semi-automatic to automatic. Finger hovering over the trigger, he relished the familiar cocktail of adrenaline and die-at-any-moment adrenaline. His heartbeat began to drown out the mayhem. Targeting drilling into him in military school, honed on a tour of duty, put him on autopilot.

“Fireteam Beta, this is Alpha, SitRep.” Randal called on his communicator.

“Alpha, this is Gamma, Beta are KIA (killed in action). Repeat, Beta are KIA. Man down here, sir. Orders?” The desperation in the voice begged for the order to retreat, to run.

“Hunker down, Gamma. Dust off (medical evacuation) and cavalry are incoming.”

“Aye, sir,” came a resentful voice.

Something once human raised its head in the distance. Eyes bulging, the post-human nightmare ripped the leg from a soldier in an Earthly uniform as if the man was cooked chicken falling off the bone. Veins were unearthed tree roots on the monster’s swollen neck. Wide eyes filled with madness complemented the raging roar on the man’s face.

Arthas aimed and gently squeezed his trigger. Three projectiles ignited the air with a sound barrier breaking thunderclap. One nicked the ear of the beast. It ducked the other two in a split second, disappearing from Arthas’ field of vision.

“It’s coming,” said Purple. The words seemed to leave the droids speakers in slow motion. A body soared into their midst with the grace of a rag doll.

That hideous face appeared again in a blur of brutal glee. Sailing in an arc over Purple, the mutated trans-human landed cat-like, siezing Arthas by his bulletproof vest.

Purple was upon the monster as it lifted the disgraced detective into the air, its arm muscles bulging to throw. Above the broken bodies which had blinded him to the chaos beyond, Arthas saw the slaughter. A slice of hell itself had come to GXN Station.

“Delta, SitRep,” Randal had been saying as the beast leapt over the remaining duo of Martian Assault Droids. He turned his gun on the leaping thing as it landed. The Admiral’s shots passed through air between Arthas and the enemy as it used him to counterbalance ducking backwards out of the bullet’s path.

“Alpha, this is Delta. I’m all that’s left. Orders? Alpha?” The response cut off with a scream. Across the chamber Arthas saw a rattle of gunfire die out as another beast grabbed the fireteam Delta survivor’s helmet and crushed it like a used jelly cup. Out came the jelly, turning Arthas’ stomach.

Kicking with his prosthetic leg did nothing for the dangling detective. Randal’s bullets tore through the chest of the thing that was drawing back its arm to hurl Arthas to his death. Purple plunged a blade from its elbow deep into the monster’s back and twisted.

A gurgled roar, praying blood between its teeth covered Arthas’ chest with red mist. He closed his eyes and mouth to the nanite invaders in that blood.

If Lord Banks was the architect of Deus ex Sapiens, the nanites were the builders bringing his vision to life.

Purple’s blade in its back stalled the beast for a moment, giving Arthas time to raise his rifle, jam it into the creature’s mouth and pull on the trigger with force that hurt every muscle fiber in his forefinger. With unreal speed, the nanites flowing through the post-human’s veins tried to stitch it back together as bullets cut it apart.

Why do I have to go toe to toe with Wolverine? Arthas thought. A hail of bullets smashed into it from the side, outpacing the healing power of the grey goo.

Thanks dad. Wait, did I just think that? Things must be bad.

Arthas turned to consider thanking Randal in time to see the pepper haired version of himself thrown away by another beast wearing the armour of the Bullet Donor mercenary band.

“No!” Cried the cloned son of the Admiral, falling from the limp fingers of the beheaded beast.

On his back in blood and guts, he aimed the rifle with his right hand and reached for the gun holster holding his Ashikov miniature rail-gun. He fired both at the man who had been a steroid enthusiast before taking psychopath Hulk serum with a built in remote control. Bullets punched holes in a wavering line up the blue and white uniform of the soldier of fortune. Adrenaline fuelled perception showed Arthas the wounds spitting out the bullets and healing over in slow motion.

With a look of pained concentration, the enslaved man leapt towards the mere mortal. Not even the hail of bullets tearing through its chin and out of the back of its neck could stop it.

Purple’s blade severed the head in a single slice. Grateful to have been saved from that impending death, Arthas wished ungratefully that the body of the thing had lost its momentum.

It hit him, a sack of potatoes and bricks moving with the momentum of a car. Landing first on the uneven forms of the dead, he was then crushed beneath it and lost sight of everything.

Here I am, dying like a soldier again, he thought as the air was driven from his lungs. An amethyst glow bathed him as his consciousness fled.

“I’m here, Arthas. I’ve got you. Hold on,” said Purple.