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acts_of_gordStaff Sergeant Robert McCloskey, USMC Hazardous Environment Combat Unit, swiped the back of his hand across his nose. What a day it'd been. What a day. "Hey, Kimble," he called. "Seen any aliens yet?"
"Nah," answered the other Marine, who was squinting into the fenced-off part of the room yet again. "Not since that. . . chicken-lookin' thing."
McCloskey grunted. "Shit," he said. "They promised us aliens. And what do we get instead?"
"Scientists," grumbled Kimble. "Nothin' but scientists."
"Tell me about it," McCloskey agreed. "I killed twelve dumb-ass scientists today, and not one of 'em fought back. This sucks."
Kimble shook his head. Then he froze, lifting his eyes to the ventilation duct in the ceiling. McCloskey hadn't made it to a staff sergeant's rank by being stupid; he readied his shotgun. The chicken things were just the right size to be crawling around in those ducts.
Unfortunately, the source of the sound had already passed their position and found another way down. The last thing either man heard was a half-growled, "This one's fighting back, gentlemen," just before the bullets.
"Nah," answered the other Marine, who was squinting into the fenced-off part of the room yet again. "Not since that. . . chicken-lookin' thing."
McCloskey grunted. "Shit," he said. "They promised us aliens. And what do we get instead?"
"Scientists," grumbled Kimble. "Nothin' but scientists."
"Tell me about it," McCloskey agreed. "I killed twelve dumb-ass scientists today, and not one of 'em fought back. This sucks."
Kimble shook his head. Then he froze, lifting his eyes to the ventilation duct in the ceiling. McCloskey hadn't made it to a staff sergeant's rank by being stupid; he readied his shotgun. The chicken things were just the right size to be crawling around in those ducts.
Unfortunately, the source of the sound had already passed their position and found another way down. The last thing either man heard was a half-growled, "This one's fighting back, gentlemen," just before the bullets.
