- zanforz270
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- Veteran Member
Warning, not canon
Jacob looked to his left to confirm what he thought he had seen. He let his head roll to his side as he leaned against the battered wall seperating him from an Elite Zealot and two Elite spec-ops. As he looked, he knew what he saw had been real; ten seconds ago, his friend, Thomas Raben, was attempting to deliver a spray of cover fire with his Assault Rifle, only to be reduced to nothing but a pair of legs as his entire upper body was melted and vaporized in a blazing hailstorm of plasma bolts as the Elites had opened fire. He groped for his pistol, hoping to god that he still had ammo left from the battle earlier with the drones. Beside him lay his shotgun, still hissing at the large hole in the middle delivered by a covenant sidearm, instantly melting through the first lay of metal, and slowly eating its way through. As his clumsy hands found the handle, he praised the counter-weight he felt as he lifted it up, confirming that there were in fact, some rounds left.
His uniform was tattered, burned, and covered in mud. His face was scarred from the dive he had to perform in order to dodge a Jackal sniper round, not knowing that he was diving into hole with an excess of scrap metal in it, cutting his face seeing as how it was the first thing to make contact, just his luck. The normally calm, brown eyes that sat in his head, always soft and hazy, were now piercing and fearsome, yet fearful and scared beyond belief, an odd combo he hated feeling, which he more often than not did. He had laid there for a couple of minutes until the jackals had gone, but the elites had now come.
He then heard dreaded "Wuk Wuk" of the Elite Zealot, ordering the Spec-ops under his control to attack. Jacob waited for the first one to round the corner. It flew past the turn without even checking its corners, not that it needed to. Its yellow-orange eyes probing the area for any sign of life. Now, I'm not sure if you've ever look straight into the eyes of an elite, but let me tell you something, you'll never find anything more frightening to look at in your life.
The bloodthirsty look in their eyes never ceases, its always there, searching, waiting for its next victim to fall prey to its paralyzing glare. The Aliens were surprisingly large on psychological warfare, and being naturally large and horrifying, they were quite good at it. Its prying eyes finally found Jacob, and the barrel of a .60 caliber non-standard issue magnum. The hierloom had saved his life more than once already, and it was about to do it again.
It truely was a shame how little time the Elite itself had to admire the weapon, it was a true work of art. The handgun itself was a homemade pistol hade from numerous parts of other weapons that had been converted or otherwise changed to fit the pistol. On the body and barrel and an inscription saying Jacob's favorite quote: "Violence is not the answer, It is the question" was written on either side of the body of the pistol while "the answer is yes" was on the barrel.
The elite had only enough time to let out a bone-rattling, deep roar of pride and anger before its hideous eyes were finally rendered useless by a very well-aimed shot. The round went into the Elites skull, ripping through the brain, and finally exiting the back of the helmet in a quite explosive manner. The body of the creature hit the ground, limp and lifeless as the hole blown in its head continued bleeding.
"Yeah!" Jacob screamed, boasting the kill. "Your stupid f***ing shields don't work there do they you goddamn demon!" His carelessness was his downfall. As he stood, bragging to a corpse, he forgot about the two other elites, each one now furious at the death of their comrade. One of the last things Jacob saw was a bright flash of white as the Elite's signiture weapon, a forward-facing sword made of contained, super-heated plasma tore through his stomach as it was still materializing.
The Elites growled at clicked over the body of the fallen marine, cursing his infidel blood and his kill of pure luck alone. As the elites walked away, leaving the sword behind in Jacob to finish him off since the initial strike had not yet killed him, they never saw the brilliant flash of Jacob's fragmentation grenade as it detonated immediatly beside their heads as he shot it in mid-air as it came to fall in between the two. In his last two seconds of life, Jacob had managed to pull off a shot that had killed an High ranking Zealot in charge of a large squad of fifteen plus other Spec-ops and his second-in-command and was awarded a medal of honor at his funeral.
And that's it. Tell me what you think of it as an ametuer short story. Was it Good, Bad, or Just Plain Terrible?
[Edited on 02.07.2010 7:40 PM PST]