about this place, so there’s no point making any assumptions
. This was
Starfire
for sure, but
Starfire
made real. The way home, the way out of whatever this was, could beto get on one of their ships. It might equally require battling through every level and defeating the final boss, but either
way, the primary step was to play nice with the space marines.
Initiating this was going to be problematic, as illustrated by what had just happened to Bob. It was kind of difficult to
get close enough to have a conversation without being shot first. If only there was some other way of demonstrating – non-verbally
and unequivocally – that he was on their side.
Then he heard a voice call out aggressively to him from amid the smoke ahead.
‘Recruit! Where in a swamp-slug’s suppurating ring-piece have
you
been?’ it demanded.
Ross stiffened to attention and saluted. He managed to prevent the spike from shooting out too, a feat that he found easier
than keeping the delight off his face as a plan formed in his mind.
‘Reporting for duty, Sergeant Gortoss, sir.’
‘About bloody time. Got just the job for you.’
Ross ascended to the rim of the next blast-crater, where this time he was considerably less appalled to see the same two space
marines quivering on their knees under the guard of Sergeant Zorlak and his unit. Now he knew why they alone were being held
captive while their shipmates were being gibbed left, right and centre. The inconsistency was to facilitate a scripted set-piece.
‘Get a bloody move on. These bastards aren’t going to kill
themselves
you know.’
‘Absolutely, sir,’ Ross replied, while Gortoss muttered to Zorlak about this thumb-sucking toddler having traded his rattle
for a blaster.
‘Would you like me to execute them for you, Sergeant Gortoss, sir?’ Ross asked brightly.
‘No, I’d like you to suck their cocks.’
‘That’s a very unorthodox last request, sir. I’m told it is Gaian tradition to permit condemned men merely a final cigarette.’
Gortoss turned to Zorlak with a despairing look, as if to say: See what I’m saddled with?
‘Just bloody execute them. I want to see if you’re worth a shit, because if you’re not made of the right stuff, I can’t afford
any baggage out here.’
‘It would be my pleasure, sir. Far more so than the suggested cock-sucking. But I have to inform you that my rifle has been
malfunctioning, and request that I may borrow yours.’
Gortoss handed over his weapon with impatient bad grace. He had enjoyed this more the last time when he suspected the recruit
didn’t have the stomach for the kill. It was going to end much the same way, though.
‘Thank you, sir. I will now show you what you are made of.’
‘I said what
you’re
ma—’ Gortoss began to correct him, only for Ross to correct Gortoss by disembowelling him with his spike while simultaneously
blowing Zorlak’s head off with the rifle.
The rest of Rapier and Cutlass squads didn’t fare any better than before, Ross taking them down far faster than the card collector
had managed, despite having less firepower. Clearly a noob, whoever he was. This was a Nineties shooter, for God’s sake: all
it took was a bit of circle-strafing.
He did take a hit in the midst of it though, which felt rather different from seeing a brief flash of white on the screen
and his health meter depleting. More like the searing agony he remembered when he’d electrocuted himself at uni attempting
to make a self-guiding vacuum-cleaner for the electronics club’s robotics competition. Then, as now, there was sudden, paralysing
pain, a noise in his head like somebody trying to drill their way out of it, and a horrible burning odour that became all
the more disgusting once he realised it was his own flesh.
As the last of the corpses melted into nothingness, he wondered why Bob (he hoped) kept respawning, while the Gralak NPCs
stayed dead unless the level was
. This was
Starfire
for sure, but
Starfire
made real. The way home, the way out of whatever this was, could beto get on one of their ships. It might equally require battling through every level and defeating the final boss, but either
way, the primary step was to play nice with the space marines.
Initiating this was going to be problematic, as illustrated by what had just happened to Bob. It was kind of difficult to
get close enough to have a conversation without being shot first. If only there was some other way of demonstrating – non-verbally
and unequivocally – that he was on their side.
Then he heard a voice call out aggressively to him from amid the smoke ahead.
‘Recruit! Where in a swamp-slug’s suppurating ring-piece have
you
been?’ it demanded.
Ross stiffened to attention and saluted. He managed to prevent the spike from shooting out too, a feat that he found easier
than keeping the delight off his face as a plan formed in his mind.
‘Reporting for duty, Sergeant Gortoss, sir.’
‘About bloody time. Got just the job for you.’
Ross ascended to the rim of the next blast-crater, where this time he was considerably less appalled to see the same two space
marines quivering on their knees under the guard of Sergeant Zorlak and his unit. Now he knew why they alone were being held
captive while their shipmates were being gibbed left, right and centre. The inconsistency was to facilitate a scripted set-piece.
‘Get a bloody move on. These bastards aren’t going to kill
themselves
you know.’
‘Absolutely, sir,’ Ross replied, while Gortoss muttered to Zorlak about this thumb-sucking toddler having traded his rattle
for a blaster.
‘Would you like me to execute them for you, Sergeant Gortoss, sir?’ Ross asked brightly.
‘No, I’d like you to suck their cocks.’
‘That’s a very unorthodox last request, sir. I’m told it is Gaian tradition to permit condemned men merely a final cigarette.’
Gortoss turned to Zorlak with a despairing look, as if to say: See what I’m saddled with?
‘Just bloody execute them. I want to see if you’re worth a shit, because if you’re not made of the right stuff, I can’t afford
any baggage out here.’
‘It would be my pleasure, sir. Far more so than the suggested cock-sucking. But I have to inform you that my rifle has been
malfunctioning, and request that I may borrow yours.’
Gortoss handed over his weapon with impatient bad grace. He had enjoyed this more the last time when he suspected the recruit
didn’t have the stomach for the kill. It was going to end much the same way, though.
‘Thank you, sir. I will now show you what you are made of.’
‘I said what
you’re
ma—’ Gortoss began to correct him, only for Ross to correct Gortoss by disembowelling him with his spike while simultaneously
blowing Zorlak’s head off with the rifle.
The rest of Rapier and Cutlass squads didn’t fare any better than before, Ross taking them down far faster than the card collector
had managed, despite having less firepower. Clearly a noob, whoever he was. This was a Nineties shooter, for God’s sake: all
it took was a bit of circle-strafing.
He did take a hit in the midst of it though, which felt rather different from seeing a brief flash of white on the screen
and his health meter depleting. More like the searing agony he remembered when he’d electrocuted himself at uni attempting
to make a self-guiding vacuum-cleaner for the electronics club’s robotics competition. Then, as now, there was sudden, paralysing
pain, a noise in his head like somebody trying to drill their way out of it, and a horrible burning odour that became all
the more disgusting once he realised it was his own flesh.
As the last of the corpses melted into nothingness, he wondered why Bob (he hoped) kept respawning, while the Gralak NPCs
stayed dead unless the level was
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