1. Night. Yawn. Check monitor one...check. Monitor two? Check. Three? Checkity check. Four, five, six, seven, eight, ten... Check check check check check check check. Back to the game, eh? Better than nothing. Well, a little. Oh look. Cubs got beat again. Wouldn't've guessed. God, baseball's dull... Nothing else is on, though. Whaddya expect? Bloody three aa-eem, for Chrissake. Even the ballgame's on tape delay. See, watch...he gets a hit to deep left, I betcha, pulls out a double. Ball...ball...strike...and (here it comes, dammit) *CRAK!* it's goin', goin'...way back...and the guy drops it! The runner rounds first, sees the ball comin' towards him...slides into second. Safe! Sigh. Can't even drink until...what time is it, anyway? Where'd I put that clock...ah, there it is. Three aa-emm... Bloody hell. The clock's stopped, isn't it? Shit. Better call it in. Press the button. "Lenny, clock's dead. Whazzup down there?" "Clock's down, you say? Look at your goddamned watch, for Chrissake. Not that tough, Rax." Goddammned Lenny. "Look. I don't _have_ a bloody watch. Wife got that too. Just tell me what's goin' on, will ya?" "Whaddya think, Rax? You thinkin' we're getting fuckin' invaded or summin? Yeah, right. Time's three forty-seven, Rax. There are batteries for the piece o' shit clock in the drawer next to ya. Set it yourself. And figure this stuff out for yourself next time, right?" Lenny clicked off his radio. Yup. There really are batteries there. Fine. I'll fix it myself. Wait a second. The damned clock needs C's. These are D's. Click on the radio. "Lenny? These are the wrong batteries." "Wrong batteries...ah, shit, the man can't even figure out how to fix a fucking _clock_. Great. It's not that tough, ya know. Open the back of the case, take out the old batteries, put in the new ones; easier than jerkin' off, for Chrissakes. Jesus. Look, I'll be down there in a second, right?" Lenny clicked off again. Damn. Really pissed him off this time. Lenny's here in a minute. "Man works for the research department and he can't even get a little battery-powered clock working. Shit. Look. Drawer." Open the drawer. "Batteries." He pulls out a pair of D-cells. "Clock." He takes it, rips it open. "Batteries _in_ clock." Batteries go in. "Close clock." He does so. "Now get the fucking time right yourself, Rax. Not too tough. I gotta get back to my post; who knows what radioactive slime monster might've gotten out when I wasn't lookin' eh?" He grins. He then proceeds to leave. Never even got a chance to talk to him. Sigh. Fixing the clock is easy; only takes a few seconds. Click. Got it. Time to check the monitors again, isn't it? One...check. Two...yup. Three...check. Four... What the hell? Four's not working. Click on the radio. "Lenny? What happened to the camera near you?" Nothing. Click it off, then back on. "Lenny? You there? Lenny?" Nothing. #4...that _is_ the camera near Lenny, right? Should be. Yeah; it is. "Lenny?" Nothing. Hit the monitor. Maybe it'll help. Nope. It's just getting static. Time for the other radio. "Uh...Sergeant? I think something may be wrong." 2. It's an alarm situation. It's also four in the fucking _morning_. They always have to come that way. Sit up. Look around. There's the Sergeant -- Marsh, is it? Sounds right. "Sergeant...report." "Yes, sir. We have an alert situation." Sigh. "Yes, Sergeant, I _know_ we have an alert. The flashing red lights and the damned siren tipped me off. Now _report_." "Major, apparently one of the security cameras in the research wing went down, and the security guard on duty isn't reporting in. Could just be an electronic faliure, but we gotta check it out." "Why do you 'gotta check it out', Sergeant?" Damned incompetents. "Your orders, sir." "Ah, shit. Go away, Marsh. Go to bed. Get the hell out of my room until you find a real emergency. And turn off that damned siren." They couldn't figure this stuff out on themselves, could they? "But sir..." "Do it." The voice of authority always works. "Yes, Major Yates." The Sergeant walks off. Back to sleep. The sirens cut off. The red lights stop. Back to sleep. 3. The Major is easily irritated, isn't he? He's _supposed_ to be awake at all hours; that's his job. Check in with Private Raxan again, that's what procedure dictates. Press the button. "Private, any word yet from your superior?" From the radio comes more speech. "Lenny? Nothin'. Camera's still dead, too. What the hell's goin' on up there, Sarge?" Voice sounds worried. Probably is. "I'll keep you informed. Out." Shut off the radio. No need to tell the Private anything more. Right. What are the options? One: wait. Problems: if anything's wrong, we're letting it escalate. Helping the enemy isn't a great idea.. Two: go down there and figure out what the hell is going on. Problems: if there's a problem, one soldier isn't going to be able to do too much. Three: send down a repair crew to fix the camera. Problems: if something's wrong, a repair crew is going to be able to do less than one soldier. Four: send down a squad of soldiers. Let's try that. Click on the other radio. "Sergeant Sutton. Take your squad down to sector four. Only bring the stunners. Major's orders." Don't want to take any chances. The radio clicks to life. The voice -- sensuous voice that it is -- came back. "Roger. Be there in five minutes. Radios?" "Report in every minute. Get to it." Should've mentioned that before. Probably just lack of sleep kept it from happening. Click off that radio. Turn on the other. "Private, I'm sending down a squad of soldiers to make sure nothing's wrong. Let them through." Click off the radio. No need for a response. He heard. Turn the first radio back on. Start listening to reports. Minute one: nothing of interest. Minute two: nothing. Minute three: nothing. Minute four: nothing. Five. Six. Sutton's voice cuts through the silence, as it had several times. "Marsh, we don't see anything here. Can we just come in?" What a beautiful voice... "Keep looking, Sutton. And report in only on time. Out." Seven minutes: nothing of interesting. Eight minutes. Nine. Ten. Eleven? Check the watch: yes, it's been eleven minutes. And they haven't reported in. Oh _shit_. Red alert. Press the button. The Major is going to be _pissed_. 4. Six of them down by my hand. Eleven to go. Eleven to vengeance for her death. Eleven until vengeance is mine. Eleven until freedom I will be victorious. 5. The Major is more than pissed off this time. The station is officially screwed. Sector Four is down. Private Raxan just reported that Cameras Six and Seven just died. And one squad is missing. The Major is sitting at the war table. "Right. Alpha squad is missing. Private Leonard is missing. The base has been compromised. Does anyone have any suggestions?" The Major looks...disturbed. From the war table, Sergeant Jordan speaks up. "Sir, with all due respect, what the hell are you talking about?" Jordan's never been one for pleasentries. Might as well speak up. "Sergeant, something has escaped from one of the research laboratories. I don't have any idea what it is. We know this because it has apparently killed off six men." Neglect to mention that one of them was a woman, a beautiful woman... "Sounds sketchy to me." That was Sergeant Nora-Jordan. Sgt. Jordan's wife. "How do we know we haven't just lost contact due to some computer error?" Jordan again speaks. "Could be a computer virus...sirs." The Major clears his throat; all turn towards him. "Gentlemen, and lady, we don't have time for bickering. It has been verified by Private Raman that something broke out of one of the research labs; the only explanation for our mens' disappearance is that they were somehow hurt by this...project. I have my orders, and I thought you could have figured them out by now. We are to destroy it." Orders. Interesting. Didn't the Major give the orders around here? He has a boss...interesting, to say the least. He again speaks. "I thought that you men were going to figure out a tactical plan to take down this creature." The tone is...not quite insulting. "Since you did not, I'll go with my original plan." It's decided. Jordan again speaks up. "Sir, with...scratch that, I'm not giving you _any_ respect on this one. What is this shit? What the fuck do you expect us to do?" The man's got balls... Nora-Jordan: "If you want our input, sir, then tell us that first." Duty demands... "Sergeants. You are both out of line." "Yes, Marsh, they are." The Major, through it all, has kept a straight face. Strong man. A pleasure to serve under him. "And, because you're following procedures, you're now in charge of the squad I'm sending down." "Sir?" It came from all three Sergeants in the room. "Marsh, you are to lead a squad to go find the creature that has escaped and destroy it. Your squad will be equipped with medium machine guns, grenades, and heavy body armor. You will..." The voice begins to drone after a while, actually. Lead a squad? What? He hasn't done that for years. Does the Major know that? No, of course not. Gotta follow orders, though. Minutes later, they are all dismissed. Head to the armory. Grab the weapons. Put on the armor. The plan's easy, but...lead a squad? Time begins to speed up. Meet the squad -- haven't done that yet. This is going to be bad. Load up. Armor's heavy. Lock and load. Head for the Sector. Adrenaline. Lots of adrenaline. Not used to this. Into the microphone on the armor: "Entering the sector." 6. Is a squad enough defence? Five men, plus that woman...is it enough to keep me alive? Marsh is radioing in. "The sector seems secure...wait. No. It's a body. It's...it's two bodies. Randall and...it's Sutton, sir. They're dead. Very dead." It got out. The voice continues. "There's the rest of them. Plus Private Leonard. All dead. Shit. So much blood." Gotta make sure they'll do it. "Sergeant. If you do this, you'll get a promotion. Just find it! Kill it!" Is six men enough protection? Another radio clicks on. "Uh...Sergeant?" It's that...that stupid Private that started it. "Sergeant? Are you there?" Into that radio. "This is Major Yates. What seems to be the trouble, Private?" The radio again speaks. "Sir, I wanted to tell you that all the cameras except one and ten are now out. All of the fuckin' things are dyin' on me sir! What the hell do you expect me to do? Goddammit, what am..." Click. Turn that radio off. That Private is _annoying_. Back to the first one. "Sergeant Marsh?" No answer. _None_. Oh shit. Gunfire. It's his squad. They've spotted it. More gunfire. Gunfire and screams. Just screams. Nothing. Grab a gun of his own. It's a big one. Maybe it's already hurt enough to let it be taken down. Turn. The door...was closed, now open. Turn again. Nothing. Then pain. Just pain. Scream. A word? Is that a word? Didn't say it... "Vengeance." More pain. Another scream. Even more pain. Almost unbearable. Correction: unbearable. 7. Camera #10 goes dead. The image that's been on the camera every now and then...black, like a panther, but definitely not a panther. What _is_ it? Why did it just kill everyone in the building? Don't know. Doesn't matter. One camera left. Does it matter? Everyone else is dead. Camera #1. It goes into the entrance hall. The door out opens... Oh shit. That's it. The thing wants out. And the door out only opens in the morning. Oh _shit_. The security room...this room...is right next to the exit, too. It's not safe. Thought it was...obviously, it's not. Dammit! Now...now where? Where to? Where's safer? What to do? Guns won't help. Right? They didn't yet. No access to flamethrowers, or grenade launchers... Grenades. Where is there a grenade? The armory. Run for the armory. Run. The creature isn't out there. Not yet. Not for ten minutes yet. Run for the armory. Gotta hope. Maybe making it isn't impossible. Run. Run. Almost there. A black stripe ahead. Run. Keep running. Ignore it. The black stripe...following? No. Can't be following. Can't think that. Keep running. Two doors ahead... Pain. Keep running. Ignore pain. Get to grenades. Only chance. Only fucking chance. Gotta keep moving... More pain. The black stripe must have struck. No time to see what it really is, gotta find the grenades, only chance. One door... Another strike. More pain. Feels like a wound in the back. Got it! Grab a grenade... More pain! Grab a grenade... Got it! More pain! Leg...can't feel it. Is it there? No. Leg's gone. Leg stump is bleeding. Pull pin. Drop grenade. Run... Can't run. No leg. Too much pain. _More_ pain. Doesn't matter any more, does it? The pain's too bad. The leg's gone. Death is going to happen. Odd. Death wasn't supposed to feel like that. The grenade exploded. Briefly, more pain.