The following story is a work of fiction. Apart from being based on Doom 3,
the work itself has no ties to id Software whatsoever.
No parts of the story should be used without consent.

by Nick P.

Special thanks to Tim Corwin for helping with the story and of course, Paul!

I remember the first time I fired a gun. The gun was my father’s classic Winchester rifle, and the target was our neighbour’s cat. It was such a fine piece of engineering, a treasure of human ingenuity. Its pure wooden handle, smooth and polished, flowed into the metallic trigger, which was curved just right. Man, did I wish that I could have it now. It would’ve made things so much easier. I drew upon these glassy memories as Tim and I headed further down the corridor and rounded a corner.

            We were drawing nearer to the energy processing facility. We had left our ‘cosy’ living quarters. No longer were there stained and torn carpets beneath our feet. No longer were there chairs and tables, having stood against time and feisty, hyperactive Marines. No longer. There were simply steel decks beneath us and Spartan walls around us. Walls where no one had bothered to cover all the tubing and wiring that ran through.

            Tim was in lead as we rounded yet another corner. And we ran smack into another damn zombie. Tim jumped back, surprised, and he would’ve gone bye-bye at the hand of the zombie’s shotgun if it weren’t for several well-placed bullets by Yours Truly.

            The zombie hit the ground first, then came the shotgun. Tim and I looked at each other, and then the shotgun. Who gets it? I had a burning desire to carry the gun. I would feel so much more secure if this was so. But I knew that Tim felt the same way. Now what?

            “Um, do you have a quarter?” I asked, despite the fact that I knew the answer.

            Tim thought for a while. “Rock, paper, scissors?” he suggested.

            “Or we could jump for it.” I added.

            Jumping for it was out of the question, so we thought some more. I put my hands in my pocket, when I felt something small, round, and metallic. It was my lucky coin! It would serve its purpose now. And since it was my lucky coin, it was bound to get me the shotgun.

            “Here,” I said. “I have a coin.” I took it out. The tiny thing had no heads or tails. One side had a picture of earth on it with rays coming out from one side. The other had a picture of Mars with a tiny probe hurtling towards its surface.

            “Mars or Earth?” I asked as I flipped the coin.

“Earth,” he called.

Damn, I thought as the coin landed Earth-side up. I still tried to bargain, though.

            “Mars,” I called.

            “What?” Said Tim, rather aggravated.

            “That’s Mars.”

            “No, it’s Earth.”

            “We flip again,” I suggested. Tim was still mad, though he agreed.

            I flipped the coin, though Tim never had a chance to call it. There was a sound to our left, and we both spun around. The coin landed on the railing below and fell through one of the holes. Below us, loud rings were issued as the coin bounced around.

            A hiss came from somewhere. Either there was some giant monstrosity ahead, a feline with an attitude, or someone thought it would be funny to release balloons over our heads. In each case, I would use my gun to blow them away.

            Seizing the opportunity of Tim’s distraction, I grabbed the shotgun and pointed it ahead. He saw this and made an angry gesture, followed by another one that isolated his central finger. I shrugged at this.

            And then, illuminated by the flashlight, a zombie stumbled around the corner up ahead. It was just another zombie, weapon-free, and in need of some serious weight-loss treatment. That, and some bullets to its head. Hmmm, I hoped that it wasn’t human meat that made that stomach jut out like that. It was probably the crappy military food, which I think I have very thoroughly described on several separate occasions.

            At that point I realised I was hungry, even for ‘meatloaf’ slop. I awoke from my dreamy state by Tim’s yell.

            Oh yeah, I thought. I almost forgot there was a zombie attacking us.

            BOOM! Click… I reloaded the gun with pleasure, surveying the zombie that was now wandering about without a head. Kinda like a chicken, I thought.

            “Another shot,” advised Tim, staring ahead. “To the chest, finish it off.”

            I raised my shoulders. “Looks pretty dead to me. Why waste ammo?”

            But then both of us were caught off-guard as the zombie flew up into the air and its cumbersome body smacked against the ceiling with a loud, sickening version of a thud. It stood there for a while, seemingly hovering, and then with another sickening sound, this time a crunch, its torso was separated from its legs in a colourful spray of blood.

            I don’t know why, but I remembered my first fireworks show.

            Right.

            Tim, now the one controlling the flashlight, kept it up, and we soon understood what had happened. There was something on the ceiling, something that had picked up the zombie and had done whatever it had done to it.

            “What the hell—”

            Well, zombies were scary, sure. Yes, they did creep me out several times, but I don’t think they could anywhere near prepare me for what came next. The thing moved and the flashlight fell upon it more distinctly, making its lovely features stand out.

            It was humanoid, a very dark colour, almost black. It had somewhat insect-type plates, I suppose ‘exoskeleton’ is a nice way to put it. Beneath these plates was a muscular body, though strangely deformed and inhuman. Its muscles stretched to its arms that ended in a large hand with 5 fingers with 5 long nails. Perhaps 'claws' is a better term to use. Its feet were basically the same story.

            As if that didn’t make my day, the damned demon raised its head and hissed at me. And then I saw that it didn’t have 2 eyes. Nor 3, nor 4… How many there were, I don’t know. Maybe ten or so, sprayed across its face, each one glowing red in some malicious, hungry manner, examining me and Tim. Oh, and I think that you can figure out by yourself that its mouth was filled with fangs.

Charming as it was, I decided that it would be best if I just blew it away. I raised the shotgun, but the thing crawled forward, along the roof, like some damn gecko, its body twisting as that of some animal.

BOOM! Man, this shotgun made a very pleasant sound.

Unfortunately, I missed. And no, it’s not because I’m a bad shot. It’s just that this monstrosity jumped down from the ceiling to our surprise and looked up at us with the same empty, sly glare.

Click! I reloaded while Tim busied himself at emptying his pistol at the impish beast.

And then someone decided that this beastie wasn’t evil enough. It raised its hand and flexed its claws. And it grinned. It was the most satanic, evil grin I had ever seen, strangely human and intelligent, yet impossibly so.

And in its hand formed a light that grew into what was a ball of energy, a roaring fire.

Tim stopped shooting in awe. I stood there, as in a trance, as well.

And then with a wild, full upper-body swing, it threw this magical fire at us. Instinctively, we both jumped to the opposite sides as the indistinct glob of energy roared past us.

After that, something in my head clicked, and I knew that something was very, very wrong. And I knew that I was in for a long, unpleasant ride. Or was I? I had begged for action so many times for the last 3 years. And now I had it. Of course, this was not what I had in mind, but who cares. All I knew then was that I had to put some lead between those 10 insect eyes.

The imp seemed to be creating another ball of magical snot. It paid no attention to me or the gun that was pointed at its head. Just as sparks began to fly from its hand, I pulled the trigger.

Demon, alien, monster or whatever, I have to say that I was pleased that it still had red blood. Any other colour would’ve totally freaked me out.

It fell to the ground, but another such beast had come from under us. It couldn’t pass through the railing, but its balls of energy could.

            “Come on!” I yelled, and Tim and I took off running.

            We paused to catch our breath around a bend where there was no railing beneath us, just solid metal.

            “I think…” I said, puffing madly, “I think we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

            Tim shook his head. “What the hell was that?”

            “I don’t know, but it bleeds. And it dies. And for the moment, that’s what’s important.”

            “Alright,” said Tim, his face gaining back some of its colour. “My turn with the shotgun.”

            I pulled it away as he reached for it. Tim looked at the shotgun as if it was a stuffed chicken, still steaming, surrounded by steamed potatoes and seasoned white rice…

            “Alright,” I said. “We go to the power generators and try to bring them back up. But first, I say we find something to eat and drink.”

            Tim nodded, his stare still fixed on the shotgun. I could almost see him sink his teeth into the handle. Hell, I was so hungry, I probably could too!

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