Invasion Wars 1: Crimes of War by Ray O'Neil Page B
Authors: Ray O'Neil
Tags: Science-Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, War & Military, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genetic engineering, alien invasion, Exploration, Space Exploration, first contact, Galactic Empire, Colonization
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an a female experiment running up to him, her long arms able to have her wingspan reach the doors on either side of the hallway. Ducking his head in and getting through the hole in time, he planted his body against the side of the door.
With a dull thud, the mutated female shoved an arm through the hole and grabbed the air, slicing everything her hand touched. Trapped into a corner, Emich stayed low, his head nearly being taken off by the experiment’s long claws. They scraped into the ceiling and floor, leaving long and deep slits into the metal. After hitting nothing but the area around her prey, the female stuck her shaved head through the hole. Aiming his pistol, Emich sent a bullet right through her skull, ending the relentless flailing of its arm.
The gunfire and inhuman screams continued in the other sector as Emich made his way through the new area, one that had less doors and less things trying to kill him. Staying close to the wall, he stood by the door to a side room and pressed the button next to him, opening the door with a woosh. Peeking around the corner, it was another hallway, filled with more gunfire and shouting. A mounted machine gunner unloaded rounds from a MGX-200 as they took cover behind a makeshift barrier made of tables and storage boxes. Bullets bounced off of its side shielding, the other ERA soldiers firing over cover and staying low.
The machine gun fire was abruptly silenced, its triple spinning barrels slowing down to a halt. Emich couldn’t see where the shots came from, but the gunner’s body was filled with holes and fell back; flames engulfing the dead body. More ERA reached their hellish demise as rounds came their way, a few hitting the wall near Emich’s face. Closing the door back up and looking for another route, he stayed low and kept to the corners, making sure to look at the area before continuing on. The next area was storage room, filled with metal containers stacked on top of each other, as well as blood stains.
He was near a cargo bay, an abandoned forklift covered with bullets and rendered useless. It was too quiet for comfort, especially with the smell of cooked meat and gunpowder being strong in the air. Charred skeletons lay on the floor in numerous areas, the guns that weren’t melted by intense flames still intact on the floor near them. Emich bent down and reached for a still functioning FN4X assault rifle. Feeling that he was able to protect himself better, that feeling was crushed when a hand took him by the shirt and smashed him into a stack of large crates.
A fist hit him in the face hard enough for him to feel sleepy, the back of his head slamming into the metal behind him from the blow. Through the blur in his eyes, he could recognize a familiar overgrown beard and mullet. The trash man gave him another punch to the ribs, Emich feeling something break inside of him. Pulling the inmate off of the crates to rev up and slam him back into the metal, the FN4X was knocked out of his hands, clattering to the floor and out of reach. Emich took out the baton and jabbed it into the man’s chest, aiming for the heart.
He seemed to have missed, the blade plunging into his flesh and having him grunt in pain, but still stay standing. Holding him by the neck, the huge man hurled Emich across the cargo bay. His body collided with the forklift, hitting hard enough to topple it on its side and nearly have it roll over on top of him. Everything hurt inside his body and out, parts of his skin torn open and exposing the bone underneath. He saw that his hand was already healed over, his knuckles back to normal.
Making him feel a little better, he struggled to get up, his body fighting him for it. Grabbing the baton, the giant pulled it out and tossed it to the side, blood dripping down his dirty undershirt. He was a result of genetic engineering that was for sure. Replacing the parts of his brain that controlled speech and learning to make room for survival and endurance.
With a dull thud, the mutated female shoved an arm through the hole and grabbed the air, slicing everything her hand touched. Trapped into a corner, Emich stayed low, his head nearly being taken off by the experiment’s long claws. They scraped into the ceiling and floor, leaving long and deep slits into the metal. After hitting nothing but the area around her prey, the female stuck her shaved head through the hole. Aiming his pistol, Emich sent a bullet right through her skull, ending the relentless flailing of its arm.
The gunfire and inhuman screams continued in the other sector as Emich made his way through the new area, one that had less doors and less things trying to kill him. Staying close to the wall, he stood by the door to a side room and pressed the button next to him, opening the door with a woosh. Peeking around the corner, it was another hallway, filled with more gunfire and shouting. A mounted machine gunner unloaded rounds from a MGX-200 as they took cover behind a makeshift barrier made of tables and storage boxes. Bullets bounced off of its side shielding, the other ERA soldiers firing over cover and staying low.
The machine gun fire was abruptly silenced, its triple spinning barrels slowing down to a halt. Emich couldn’t see where the shots came from, but the gunner’s body was filled with holes and fell back; flames engulfing the dead body. More ERA reached their hellish demise as rounds came their way, a few hitting the wall near Emich’s face. Closing the door back up and looking for another route, he stayed low and kept to the corners, making sure to look at the area before continuing on. The next area was storage room, filled with metal containers stacked on top of each other, as well as blood stains.
He was near a cargo bay, an abandoned forklift covered with bullets and rendered useless. It was too quiet for comfort, especially with the smell of cooked meat and gunpowder being strong in the air. Charred skeletons lay on the floor in numerous areas, the guns that weren’t melted by intense flames still intact on the floor near them. Emich bent down and reached for a still functioning FN4X assault rifle. Feeling that he was able to protect himself better, that feeling was crushed when a hand took him by the shirt and smashed him into a stack of large crates.
A fist hit him in the face hard enough for him to feel sleepy, the back of his head slamming into the metal behind him from the blow. Through the blur in his eyes, he could recognize a familiar overgrown beard and mullet. The trash man gave him another punch to the ribs, Emich feeling something break inside of him. Pulling the inmate off of the crates to rev up and slam him back into the metal, the FN4X was knocked out of his hands, clattering to the floor and out of reach. Emich took out the baton and jabbed it into the man’s chest, aiming for the heart.
He seemed to have missed, the blade plunging into his flesh and having him grunt in pain, but still stay standing. Holding him by the neck, the huge man hurled Emich across the cargo bay. His body collided with the forklift, hitting hard enough to topple it on its side and nearly have it roll over on top of him. Everything hurt inside his body and out, parts of his skin torn open and exposing the bone underneath. He saw that his hand was already healed over, his knuckles back to normal.
Making him feel a little better, he struggled to get up, his body fighting him for it. Grabbing the baton, the giant pulled it out and tossed it to the side, blood dripping down his dirty undershirt. He was a result of genetic engineering that was for sure. Replacing the parts of his brain that controlled speech and learning to make room for survival and endurance.
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