easily ten feet tall, its entire body rippling with raw muscle, a patchwork of pallid flesh and crimson lines. It was essentially a massive version of a Mutant...except for the fact that each thick arm ended in a huge, bony scythe-like appendage.
“Holy shit, you one ugly motherfucker,” Enzo said, raising the rifle.
He opened fire right as the massive beast loosed a roar and began charging for him. He sliced off one arm, then brought the beam up and across its head, parsing off a piece of its skull. He then brought the beam straight down through its torso at a slant, the down in the opposite direction, moving through its waist and right leg.
The creature collapsed into pieces while still running, the result being that its several body parts rolled in all different directions. Enzo would have appreciated the sight if not for the fact that the Burner was now doing exactly that: burning his real hand. It was heating up and, he realized, not cooling down. Something was wrong. He heard a loud whining sound somewhere within the device. The metal was singeing his flesh now.
Realizing that something must have gone wrong inside the device, he tossed it back into the lab he'd grabbed it from and closed the door. A second later, there was a muffled explosion. Enzo groaned at the sudden development.
“Oh, come on !” he cried, lamenting the loss of the Burner.
Frustrated, but knowing he had to move on, Enzo stomped across the bay towards the pile of Dark Ops troopers he'd carved up and began rifling through their bodies for weapons and ammo. As he did this, it occurred to him that he didn't run into any weapons lying around in the same way he hadn't found any body parts. At first he'd assumed that they'd been scavenged by the survivors, but now he wondered about that.
He hadn't seen anything , as though whole sections of the base had been picked clean. Were these mutations that smart? He didn't want to believe it, but there did seem to be an underlying intelligence to them. It was a chilling thought. Enzo managed to scavenge a tactical rifle. It was standard issue for the military, a very sturdy piece of hardware. He was glad to have it. He also grabbed a pair of pistols and holsters. Putting one on each hip, he slipped the pistols in and gathered up a surplus of ammo.
For once, he felt a little better about his predicament.
Once more, he lamented the loss of the Burner.
As Enzo stood, wondering what, exactly, to do next, he heard a noise above him. Snapping the rifle up, he saw a familiar face looking down at him from a ventilation grate. The face was clearer now, the woman who had saved him from a no doubt wretched death.
“Don't shoot,” she said.
“Fine,” Enzo replied, lowering the weapon.
She dropped into the room, landing with a grunt. He sized her up. She was another one of the Marines. She was of average height but looked small due to the fact that she was made up of tight, lean muscle. Her black hair was cut short, her features Asian. She had a compact SMG slung over her shoulder and was loaded down with ammo, grenades and knives.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Why were you with Ramirez?”
Enzo spent a moment catching her up on everything that had happened to him so far. While he talked, he led her over to a terminal and began booting it up.
“So who are you?” he asked.
“Lance Corporal Lee.” She stopped and sighed. “God, Ramirez...there's so few of us left now. He was one of the good ones. He was young, hardly into the service. He was so nervous, before all this shit went down, worried he was going to freeze up at the first sign of real trouble. Turned out he couldn't be farther from the truth. When the shit went down, he did just fine...” she trailed off, lost in her cold memories, frowning deeply.
After a moment, she seemed to come back to herself. “Listen, I need to get back up top. I came down here looking for Ramirez, originally. But now he's dead. I need to get back up to Stern
“Holy shit, you one ugly motherfucker,” Enzo said, raising the rifle.
He opened fire right as the massive beast loosed a roar and began charging for him. He sliced off one arm, then brought the beam up and across its head, parsing off a piece of its skull. He then brought the beam straight down through its torso at a slant, the down in the opposite direction, moving through its waist and right leg.
The creature collapsed into pieces while still running, the result being that its several body parts rolled in all different directions. Enzo would have appreciated the sight if not for the fact that the Burner was now doing exactly that: burning his real hand. It was heating up and, he realized, not cooling down. Something was wrong. He heard a loud whining sound somewhere within the device. The metal was singeing his flesh now.
Realizing that something must have gone wrong inside the device, he tossed it back into the lab he'd grabbed it from and closed the door. A second later, there was a muffled explosion. Enzo groaned at the sudden development.
“Oh, come on !” he cried, lamenting the loss of the Burner.
Frustrated, but knowing he had to move on, Enzo stomped across the bay towards the pile of Dark Ops troopers he'd carved up and began rifling through their bodies for weapons and ammo. As he did this, it occurred to him that he didn't run into any weapons lying around in the same way he hadn't found any body parts. At first he'd assumed that they'd been scavenged by the survivors, but now he wondered about that.
He hadn't seen anything , as though whole sections of the base had been picked clean. Were these mutations that smart? He didn't want to believe it, but there did seem to be an underlying intelligence to them. It was a chilling thought. Enzo managed to scavenge a tactical rifle. It was standard issue for the military, a very sturdy piece of hardware. He was glad to have it. He also grabbed a pair of pistols and holsters. Putting one on each hip, he slipped the pistols in and gathered up a surplus of ammo.
For once, he felt a little better about his predicament.
Once more, he lamented the loss of the Burner.
As Enzo stood, wondering what, exactly, to do next, he heard a noise above him. Snapping the rifle up, he saw a familiar face looking down at him from a ventilation grate. The face was clearer now, the woman who had saved him from a no doubt wretched death.
“Don't shoot,” she said.
“Fine,” Enzo replied, lowering the weapon.
She dropped into the room, landing with a grunt. He sized her up. She was another one of the Marines. She was of average height but looked small due to the fact that she was made up of tight, lean muscle. Her black hair was cut short, her features Asian. She had a compact SMG slung over her shoulder and was loaded down with ammo, grenades and knives.
“Who are you?” she asked. “Why were you with Ramirez?”
Enzo spent a moment catching her up on everything that had happened to him so far. While he talked, he led her over to a terminal and began booting it up.
“So who are you?” he asked.
“Lance Corporal Lee.” She stopped and sighed. “God, Ramirez...there's so few of us left now. He was one of the good ones. He was young, hardly into the service. He was so nervous, before all this shit went down, worried he was going to freeze up at the first sign of real trouble. Turned out he couldn't be farther from the truth. When the shit went down, he did just fine...” she trailed off, lost in her cold memories, frowning deeply.
After a moment, she seemed to come back to herself. “Listen, I need to get back up top. I came down here looking for Ramirez, originally. But now he's dead. I need to get back up to Stern
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