- last post: 01.01.0001 12:00 AM PDT
It was 3 am, all nighter with my brother on co-op. First time through.
We were slowly approaching the now well known "first encounter." the eerie silence and shed blood literally bathed the green luminosity dungeon that the flood grew to know as their home.
Our equipment status was poor at best, a half empty needler and empty
Pistol for me, plasma rifle and plasma pistol for my brother, no grenades.
And after an easy victory assaulting the control room, our expectations were foolishly raised.
The ominous glowing red alien signs came as a subliminal warning, I could feel something wasn’t right; he could too but wouldn’t voice it. Previous boss fights from past gaming experiences burned through my mind like so many plasma bullets. But we pressed on, we had come too far now to stop though, we HAD to continue, and curiosity had gotten the better of us.
We eventually came upon Jenkins; pity that surged through my body was soon overcome by terror and remorse. I wondered what had fell them, and what had become of sarge, the lovable auto sniper.
I looked up, after somewhat admiring the tenacity of the new found enemy, to see the horrified look on my brothers face. I twisted to see what he was at.
Violently they lunged, what seemed like hundreds of tiny marauders surged forward in a hunger fuelled lust. Shields ignited as the tiny, crab like critters gnawed away at them. Plasma bolts blazed through the air, tearing through the scourge as if they were made of paper. But they continued to come, now more violently than before, and our ammo was rapidly draining.
"CRUD" pierced through my terrorized daze. My brother had fallen to a large, elite-esque zombie whack to the back of the head. I was alone now, against a swarm of my worst nightmares.
They turned to face me as I bored into them with my needler, but they were to numerous. The small ones threw off the needler's built in tracking. Soon the needler was expelled. And I had one last choice: flail.
All the combat training in the world couldn’t help me here. As I lashed out with the empty needler, splats and gurgled noises filled the air. A blow to the face, a chop to the neck, nothing seemed to quell their temper. I soon fell to their numbers, and went to sleep for the night.
I am older now, much wiser; I now know that the assault rifle kicks the flying snot out of the little buggers. And a good'ol shot gun to the face will make any zombie smile.