Here is a small sample based on a short story I heard on the discord.
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"New intel just came from down up: these things have little, uh, spiders, and they latch onto your face. Afterwards, they...lay an egg or something in your stomach," the Overwatch officer had a hard time sounding like he believed this story, but none of the marines in Delta were sassing him for once, so they must have believed him. "We've had reports of marines who've died from these things coming out of their chests, so I don't want you taking any chances. If you see one a small alien-looking spider, kill it. If it gets on your buddy's face; either rip it off or shake him up and get him to stab it himself -- understood?" The Overwatch officer leaned back in his chair with a smile; those were clear, concise instructions, and nobody could possibly misinterpret or mess them up.
"Understood," droned Corporal Pyle, who stood among a small squad of what could politely be defined as 'slow individuals'; they were the type of men with the vacant stares of the clueless and the temperament of an overeager fraternity. They were bald, too. Of course they were bald. Pyle was sure that someone had it out for him when command assigned him to Delta squad; they were considered the ass-end of the Almayer, the bumbling brigade of braindead bald bastards with the honorable title of "Deltard." As if that weren't bad enough, he was stuck with these winners on a colony filled to the brim with lizard- no, scorpion-like alien assholes that bled acid, ran faster than a friggin' Olympic runner, and had claws and a stinger capable of shredding through USCM-standard armored exosuits. Even as everyone else sounded off to their humble Overwatch officer, Pyle expected the information to float through one ear, then out the other.
"Alright Delta, we're to clear out the bar of those lizard bastards, and I don't want any of you dome-headed dumbasses drinking on the job or else I'll personally tie your ass down and use you as bait for the next assault," the squad leader growled, clearly fed up with the hand he'd been dealt. Like Pyle, he had a respectable head of hair, and thus they'd bonded rather quickly. "Pyle, set the charges on this wall. Everyone else? Back the fuck up."
Pyle nodded and approached the heavy steel wall of the bar; block of C4 and assorted wires in hand. Sticking it on and wiring it up was a simple affair, and once the timer was set, the green light on the display began to beep. "Back up!" Pyle shouted, kicking up dirt from his backwards advance. As he turned around, he briefly caught sight of a Delta squad member staring up close at the C4's light, because the explosion rendered him nothing more than a mist of blood, body parts, and shredded armor. Pyle stared in horror at this sudden loss of human life while the PFCs around him clutched their rifles in anticipation of the fight; the squad leader didn't look the least bit fazed, as he had already seen far too many bald men die to give a shit anymore.
As the dust began to clear, a hulking monstrosity tore its way through the breach. It was a massive behemoth, and covering its body were the sickly pale crab-like creatures that Pyle had seen latch onto countless marines. In the blink of an eye, the giant lizard tore one of those crabs from its body and threw it with its powerful arms. The last thing Pyle remembered seeing was its eight spindly legs rise out as its body met his face; for the crab soon choked him into unconsciousness as gunfire sounded off around him. As he slowly regained his senses, Pyle could feel two blinding sensations: the lingering feeling of something slithering down his throat, and a sharp burning pain in his face. The alien limply fell off, and Pyle tore it off to find himself staring straight up at a PFC with a grin on his face; a grin that could only come from Private First Class Gomer.
"Hey man so I tried to like, get that bug thing off your face. I did exactly what Overwatch said and threw my knife at it, so you're welcome. It's all stuck in your forehead though, so I want it back, man."
"Understood," droned Corporal Pyle, who stood among a small squad of what could politely be defined as 'slow individuals'; they were the type of men with the vacant stares of the clueless and the temperament of an overeager fraternity. They were bald, too. Of course they were bald. Pyle was sure that someone had it out for him when command assigned him to Delta squad; they were considered the ass-end of the Almayer, the bumbling brigade of braindead bald bastards with the honorable title of "Deltard." As if that weren't bad enough, he was stuck with these winners on a colony filled to the brim with lizard- no, scorpion-like alien assholes that bled acid, ran faster than a friggin' Olympic runner, and had claws and a stinger capable of shredding through USCM-standard armored exosuits. Even as everyone else sounded off to their humble Overwatch officer, Pyle expected the information to float through one ear, then out the other.
"Alright Delta, we're to clear out the bar of those lizard bastards, and I don't want any of you dome-headed dumbasses drinking on the job or else I'll personally tie your ass down and use you as bait for the next assault," the squad leader growled, clearly fed up with the hand he'd been dealt. Like Pyle, he had a respectable head of hair, and thus they'd bonded rather quickly. "Pyle, set the charges on this wall. Everyone else? Back the fuck up."
Pyle nodded and approached the heavy steel wall of the bar; block of C4 and assorted wires in hand. Sticking it on and wiring it up was a simple affair, and once the timer was set, the green light on the display began to beep. "Back up!" Pyle shouted, kicking up dirt from his backwards advance. As he turned around, he briefly caught sight of a Delta squad member staring up close at the C4's light, because the explosion rendered him nothing more than a mist of blood, body parts, and shredded armor. Pyle stared in horror at this sudden loss of human life while the PFCs around him clutched their rifles in anticipation of the fight; the squad leader didn't look the least bit fazed, as he had already seen far too many bald men die to give a shit anymore.
As the dust began to clear, a hulking monstrosity tore its way through the breach. It was a massive behemoth, and covering its body were the sickly pale crab-like creatures that Pyle had seen latch onto countless marines. In the blink of an eye, the giant lizard tore one of those crabs from its body and threw it with its powerful arms. The last thing Pyle remembered seeing was its eight spindly legs rise out as its body met his face; for the crab soon choked him into unconsciousness as gunfire sounded off around him. As he slowly regained his senses, Pyle could feel two blinding sensations: the lingering feeling of something slithering down his throat, and a sharp burning pain in his face. The alien limply fell off, and Pyle tore it off to find himself staring straight up at a PFC with a grin on his face; a grin that could only come from Private First Class Gomer.
"Hey man so I tried to like, get that bug thing off your face. I did exactly what Overwatch said and threw my knife at it, so you're welcome. It's all stuck in your forehead though, so I want it back, man."
