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 think we opened a portal to hell.”

            I almost laughed. This guy was kidding, right? Hell, the nether regions, limbo, it was all stuff just made up to keep little children from turning into ritualistic serial killers and psychopathic rampaging rapists. Still, demons, imps, and zombies… Could it be?

            I’ve never really been a religious guy. Hmmm, I suppose a trip to the very darkest depths of hell could change that.  Just maybe.

            Then again, hell could just stand for something unpleasant, thus Frederick had found a vivid way to describe what was coming through.

            I decided to find out if this was so.

            “You mean like hell. Like the devil and stuff?”

            He said nothing. His smug though fearful expression seemed strained, as if he wasn’t saying something. Well, at the moment he wasn’t saying anything. His bulging eyes strained to and fro, his nose twitched.

            Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tim fidget with my pistol while he eyed the guy mistrustfully.

            But then the man nodded his balding head.

            What took him so long? If the brain was anything like a sewage pipe, then maybe the guy had a blockage.

            I relaxed a bit. “You know, in Tibet nodding your head means ‘no’? So, let’s hope that you’re from somewhere over there.” Hmmm, one of my cheesier comments. Still, it did not disrupt my imposing and majestic radiance.

            Still, feeling my stupidity, I busied myself, wondering whether it wasn’t Tibet.

            Frederick said nothing.

            “Well,” Tim said. “What do we do? How can we stop this ‘hell’?” The variation in his tone while he spoke signified that he didn’t believe either.

            “Well,” said Frederick, mimicking Tim. “That is rather obvious, is it not? The portal remains open, allowing hell’s nightmarish creatures to seep through. It is only logical that these monstrosities spread their evil to Earth itself. And if they manage to open a portal there as well, humanity will have to endure eternal damnation.”

            Ah, well that’s a flowery thought.

            And then my heart froze. I had already wasted the first half of my life. If hell took over Earth, then I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the second. “Well,” I spoke defiantly. “Tim and I are gonna give hell a kick straight between the legs.”

            Despite the graveness of the situation, I could see Tim fight with a smile.

            “Alright,” said my fellow marine. “So the answer is obvious. What? We shut down the portal, right? But how do we do it? I think this is where you come in, Mr. Frederick.”

            “Take me there and I will do my best.”

            My mind had nearly completely formed a new, clever comment, but my mouth ran ahead. “If your best created this mess then, uh, we don’t need it. Yeah.”

            Tim looked at me somewhat patronisingly.

            “Alright, I’ll shut up now.”

My mouth has always preceded me. For once I let it trail behind; we walked in absolute silence. We left shortly after Tim took care of my chest wounds with the medikits. And now, walking quietly, my mind wandered. I don’t know where exactly the portal was, though judging by how things usually work out, it was far beneath the Martian surface. Fortunately, we had Mr. Frederick to guide us, though I didn’t trust him at all. I trailed back until I was walking alongside Tim and said this.

            “This type freaks me out. There’s something seriously wrong with him,” I whispered. “I don’t trust him.”

            Tim shrugged. “Maybe he’s just weird.”

            “You think?”

            “I don’t know. Most scientists these days are weird.”

            I nodded. “Still, while he carries that machine gun around, I won’t exactly tiptoe in happiness.”

            As we rounded a corner, we ran smack into two more zombies. They seemed busy, eating some indefinite glob of red on the ground. One of the zombies stood up and lunged towards Frederick.

            Frederick panicked and began firing the machine gun rather wildly. A few shots hit the zombie in the chest, though the guy would’ve gone up to meet Elvis if it wasn’t for Tim and my trusty pistol.

            That very pistol also dezombified the second zombie.

            Tim walked up to Frederick.

            “When we run into trouble, I want you to hang back. You are too important to loose.”

            Frederick said nothing.

            However, I did. “What about me? This party would be no fun if it wasn’t for me.” As an afterthought, I added, “That’s why you should give us the machine gun.”

            I stretched out my arm for it, though the guy greedily pulled it away. After that I had a strong urge to spread the joy of broken noses (mine still hurt from my first encounter), though a glare from Tim stopped me.

            Maybe I could use a Valium once in a while.

            As we were just about to set out again, my wandering eyes caught something shiny and metallic underneath one of the zombies that Tim had… neutralised. Curious, I bent down and moved the zombie to the side. And what did I see? Chocolate? A stack of money?

            Better: A shotgun big enough to… big enough to… Ummm… Its sheer size left me speechless. Big enough to do a lot of… damage. It was at least twice the size of the one I had given to Tim.

            My face struggled to express my emotions, and ended up in a broad grin.

            A double-barrel, heavy shotgun.

            Loaded with ammo as well. Does it get any better?

            Tim seemed taken aback at this new discovery. He also surveyed it with his glassy eyes, his face expressing awe.

            Man, it was nice. I almost looked forward to coming across some hell-spawned demon just so I could try it out.

            We set out again, and I walked forward, trying to be ahead as I could be; I had dibs on the next zombie we came across.

            Well, it wasn’t a zombie, but rather, an imp.

            As we were skipping along the silver-tiled road, one of the panels beneath us popped up and flew in the air. Then, out from beneath popped the 10-eyed beauty that’s an imp’s face. It hissed and jumped up in the air and came towards us.

            I had no time to aim properly. Quickly, pointing vaguely in the beast’s direction, I fired.

            The imp wanted meat. Instead, it got a face-full of lead.

            The gun kicked at my shoulder more forcefully then I had anticipated; I had forgotten this characteristic limited to the larger guns.

            But my brain never registered this pain; It was entirely focused on the pair of imp legs wandering about while the nearly-severed torso hung down, attached by only a few muscles on the left side.

            I imagine that hurt.

            Needless to say the imp, which had now been transformed into something bearing resemblance to a Picasso painting, did not last much longer. It fell to the ground.

            We skipped over its twitching body.

            For Frederick’s weathered self, this was quite a hurdle. Soon, we were underway.

            And though blowing an imp to pieces may not be the best way to prepare for a meal, we soon found ourselves seeking something to eat. In fact, my mind was just rummaging through some delicacies I had once saw on a culinary TV show, when ahead I sighted 2 vending machines.

            Perhaps a Snickers bar fell short of a gourmet duck prepared with mushrooms and onions in a thick simmering gravy sauce… though maybe better. The chocolate bar was loaded with carbohydrates and sugar, stuff to give us energy.

            As we headed forwards, I noticed that Frederick seemed to be scouring his pockets for a spare quarter. I snickered and jabbed Tim in the ribs so he would see as well.

            Tim and I are fun people, so we waited a few minutes until Frederick finally gathered up his change and walked towards the vending machine. As he did, Tim raised my pistol and fired.

            The glass shattered.

            “Keep your money,” I told him. “You can buy me a beer when we get back to Earth.”

            The second vending machine, loaded with Cola and other carbonated goodies, was more of a challenge. There was no glass; all of the cans were safely huddled inside. After knocking the whole thing over, carefully discussing and weakening the crucial and frail points of the machine’s back, and Tim using the butt of his shotgun to finally knock the back open, we succeeded. Our accomplishment was announced in a torrent of cans that went rolling across the metallic floor.

            We backed into a corner and began to feverishly eat.

            “Hmmm, nothing alcoholic,” I noted.

            “Well, what do you—” Tim and I laughed as Frederick’s face was sprayed with an obviously stirred up sprite. “What do you expect? This is a research building.”

            “They could’ve at least had beer. I mean, what, beer’s 5-10 % at most alcohol. That’s why you’re supposed to drink it in large amounts.”

            Tim ensued in a thoughtful pose-bearing semblance to my intellectual visage. “That’s true.”

            “Yeah. Still, I stopped drinking beer ages ago.”

            “Oh?” said Tim, mild surprise in his tone.

            “Yeah,” I said. “It’s beer that landed me in the marines.” On a side note, I’d say that some other forms of fermented beverages might’ve been involved as well…

            “I don’t drink alcohol, strong alcohol, at least. I could still go for a beer,” Tim spoke. “But that stronger stuff, it just burns through your throat… It’s a nasty feeling.”

            “What about wine?” I inquired. “After all, when we get back to Earth, we need something appropriate to celebrate with.”

            Tim smiled. “Ok. I could go for that.”

            I was just about to retaliate at Frederick, who had whispered under his breath ‘drunkards’, when there was a loud bang. I peeked from around the bend; the sound was coming from the heavy pair of steel doors positioned to the left of the vending machines.

            With each bang, the doors deformed, depressions were etched into their surface; the corners curled as more bangs came.

            Stuck in hell, I thought, and the best our military pals can do is send us a drumline?

            Well, a couple of cheerleaders wouldn’t hurt.

            I readied my double-barrel shotgun.

            Finally, the doors fell to the ground with a metallic clang that wasn’t too kind to one’s eardrums. However, we were not greeted by cheerleaders. Two imps squeezed through; their grotesque forms clearly visible in the bright light.

            For the moment we were hidden in our dark corner. I pushed Tim and that other guy back further along the wall. The two imps rushed by us; we had escaped.

            “Where are they hurrying off to?” asked Tim.

            I shrugged. “Hell’s strip bar, two rooms down,” I said, jerking to the right with my thumb.

            Tim laughed. “Thanks for planting that wonderful thought in my head.”

            “Any time.”

            We couldn’t remain in that corner forever, so we took off again.

            The imps had opened the doors that would’ve otherwise hindered us. Well, Tim, the butt of his gun, and I could pry through just about anything, though I felt that squeezing through the gigantic two-ton solid metal doors would’ve been slightly more difficult than the coke vending machine.

            The doors led us to a rather large storage facility. I suppose warehouse is an appropriate term. The roof was high, and along the sides of our path were many boxes, stacked high.

            “Should we see what’s inside?” I asked, motioning at the boxes.

            Tim stopped to think. “We could find some firepower in there.”

            “Yeah,” I agreed. “I mean, all we need is a gigantic pine tree from hell, and it’ll be like a little Christmas.”

            “Don’t get your hopes up,” spoke Frederick.

            Tim and I looked away from the tempting wooden crates.

            “Keep in mind this is a research facility,” he continued. “Not a military base. You’re more likely to find heavy metals and materials used for experimentation in large quantities—”

            “Or duck tape?” I said. “Duck tape fixes everything from malfunctioning monitors to overly-functional mouths.”

            “You’ve had first-had experience, I trust.” spoke Frederick to our surprise.

            “Ooooh,” said Tim. “Man scientist-guy here threw you in the dirt. Face-forward, man.” He slapped me on the shoulder with a broad smile. “Let’s go.”

            Unfortunately we never really got around to deciding whether opening the crates was worthwhile; As I was just about to voice my opinion, a gigantic figure lumbered ahead of us.

            We all stopped, dead in our tracks.

            And from the shadows emerged the biggest damn monster yet.

            It’s skin was a shiny grey, stretched over its body that must’ve been at least twice my height. Its large head was placed low, on the same latitude as its massive shoulders, joined by a short but prominent neck. The head was a joy to behold; large, giving a look of remote intelligence, with a distant outline of a monstrous, inhuman skull, within which lay two small, black, hungry eyes. Between and above the two eyes were two nostrils that joined at the top. And to finish off this beauty’s face was a mouth big enough chew up all of Asia. No, it didn’t have any fangs, though that didn’t ease the tension; its mouth was like that of a human, though raised to the fifth power in dimensions.

            Beneath this was a massive chest, two thick arms ending in three equally massive claws. Underneath were its legs, oddly joined like those of a goat or some other hoofed mammal.

            It edged forward and stuck out its repulsively comely features in a roar. The soudwaves reverberated about the cavernous warehouse.

            I glanced back at Frederick and rushed at him. I said a certain four-letter word in its verb form, followed by the word ‘this’. As I did, I snatched the machine gun from Frederick’s hands. He jumped forward to protest to me, though was forced to do so to Mr. Elbow.

            “Tim,” I shouted as I tossed him the machine gun. I had a feeling that his measly shotgun and my pistol weren’t gonna do much good.

            Tim caught it and began firing. Meanwhile, I took aim with my double barrel shotgun; its gigantic head didn’t require a whole lot of skill to hit. I fired and surveyed the results.

            Up till now, I was used to blowing the tops off the monsters. The pistol was sufficient at severing a zombie’s head, let alone a double-barrel shotgun. And yet, the gigantic beast before us kept its head. All I did was to bloody its mug.

            For the readers who lack a sense of deduction, this was not good.

            While I was staring horrified, the beast was still lumbering towards me; Tim had made a pretty mess of the thing’s chest, though this was not slowing it down.

            Well, I thought, at least it might bleed to death. Problem is, that could take a while.

            And then I realised how close to me the thing had come; I jumped out of the way as it swung one of its massive arms towards me.

            Phew, I felt the wind on that one.

            Now all that lay in front of the monster was Frederick, who was staring up, cowering at it.

            I started firing at the monster, though I didn’t enjoy any success.

            The beast lunged forward and caught Frederick with its claws in a massive upper-body swing. Frederick’s body, diminutive in contrast to that of the monster, was flung across the room like a rag until it smashed through several boxes and came to a stop.

            Unsure of what to do, I kept on firing.

            And then a light shone upon me and a chorus of angels sang in the background as I fired a shot at its back. And it paused. Well, ok, maybe there was no light and angels, but there might as well’ve been; the monster swayed to and fro, seeking balance, though found none.

            It tried to turn around to retaliate, though it fell on the ground.

            “What the hell happened?” I asked.

            “I think,” Tim said, running up to me, “I think you hit its backbone.”

            Oh, I thought. “So I paralysed it?”

            Tim nodded.

            I took yet another yellow stickpad from my mind and wrote with the pen of experience: Big hulking monster things- shoot ‘em in the back! As I recited this, I realised how cowardly it sounds, ‘shoot ‘em in the back!’ Then again, I’d say that those monsters had a slight advantage over us in size and strength, among other things.

            We ran up to where Frederick was lying amidst the boxes. Tim checked for a pulse, and luckily found one. However, Frederick was seriously injured and seemed to be in his own little place at the moment.

            “Damn, now what? I mean, we don’t know where the hell to go! That, and we have to drag him around hell and stuff. This sucks.”

            I reached down and pulled Frederick’s security clearance card out of his pocket. “I don’t know, but I have a feeling this might help.”

            Tim shook his head side to side, then turned to the monstrosity lying on the ground. It was feebly groaning and stretching its bloodied limbs.

            “Should I?” he said, raising his gun.

            “Nah, leave Mr. Universe here. He’s not going anywhere.”

            Tim nodded. “Well, I guess we better leave.”

            “Yes.” I looked ahead. There was one door at the end of the warehouse. “Well, there’s only one way to go now. Let’s not think about what to do later until we actually get there.”

            Tim nodded as he flung Frederick over his shoulder (somewhat carelessly, might I add) and we took off, with guns considerably lighter though struggling with a heavier burden.

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