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Debates over Death
Posted By: Sabbat<easyas616@hotmail.com>
Date: 28 July 2007, 8:07 am
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Debates over Death
"The David" was the name that the other Marines had come to call Thomas Dunnham. He was a legend among the barracks for the incident that had earned him this nickname, and a scar that spanned his collar bone from shoulder to shoulder. He wore this scar with pride, and everyone saw it as a mark of honour and homage to his great skills as a Marine. He had earned this respect for the defeat of a single enemy, where as their Commanders had orchestrated the deaths of thousands, and were seen as nothing more then high ranking authority figures.
This is the origin of "The David"
Thomas was on a routine patrol with his three squad mates in a small industrial town on the outskirts of the now ruined New Mombasa. There was only a very small military presence here, and even so the only reason they occupied this ghost refinery is because this position "presents a tactical advantage we would rather not let the Covenant get a hold of"
No one had really bothered to explain this further. But even so they now trudged along the loose gravel of the street and tried not to repeat the monotony of complaining about the heat.
"Hey, it's been like this thousands of years. It certainly aint getting any fucking better anytime soon!" That was Dean, that mandatory frat boy that every four man team needed to be an amusing stereotype. His juxtapositioning character was Irving, the tech wiz that played way too many video games before enlisting.
"Actually Dean, it's been 'cooling' you noob... god, did you even go to school or were you too busy-" "Level up! Intelligence too high!" Dean interrupted. It was a habit of Irwin to give regular seminars, so his team had started to drown him out with random role-playing game stuff.
"Fuck you, you Neanderthal Dean! Go pick up some-" "Rage mode reached! Annoyingness buff!"
"Hey!" it was Thomas. His voice was always full of authority, an authority earned by respect. He checked his PDA, which wasn't too advanced, but his command and the slow wait to see what he had seen on his PDA was excruciating. What, an after attack? Couldn't be...
He intently scanned his PDA. "You hear that?" There was a moment of listening for whatever it was, everyone on edge. Then Thomas spoke again.
"That's the sound of you two not shutting the fuck up! Eyes up and mouths shut. Unless you can manage a friendly conversation, the only words I want to hear from you guys are a SitRep! Got it?"
"Yes Sir!" They replied as one.
"Noob..."
"Geek..."
"You both suck. Case closed" Muttered Shirley, the dark humoured Sharp Shooter.
They continued on, and the silence soon became good natured chatter.
Dean kept scratching his head feverishly, and soon had loosened his helmets buckles to get a better reach at his scalp.
"Damn freakin' titty fuck!" His hand was practically under his helmet now, scratching his irritated skin. His head always itched unbearably when he sweated excessively, and so he removed his helmet and attacked his hair with all ten of his finger nails.
"Uh... helmet man... its, like, 'protocol'" Irving jibed, but was answered with a very annoyed "FUCK YOU!"
However, Irving couldn't keep quiet when Dean started to use his Rifles muzzle to scratch his head.
"Uhg! Uhg dude! That's just stupid! Just, like... Uhg! Fuck man! What a noob!" Before the rest of the squad could reprimand his obvious error, there was a sound like a small torrent of air moving incredibly fast, like a gunshot, but without the actual bang of firing. Dean's head jerked back, a jet of blood spurting from his forehead and the back of his neck, as whatever had fired had gone completely through his head.
Before Deans corpse could hit the ground, Thomas had already given the order "Eyes down!" and his two remaining squad mates recovered from the sudden shock remarkably quickly and crouched to the ground, covering their eyes.
Thomas quickly figured out which direction the shot had come from, and hurled a tube shaped grenade in that direction, quickly assuming his team mates position.
There was a barely audible "Pssst!" sound, and unbeknown to them, a blindingly bright, intense light overwhelmed and blinded anyone look even remotely in its direction.
"Eyes up!" As one, Thomas, Irving and Shirley rose and readied they're weapons. Shirley quickly sighted out a Jackal on a roof top, shielding his eyes from the Flash Bang.
Shirley had a modified, now discontinued RIPPER-24, a very powerful, accurate rifle with a generous range. But it could only hold 9 bullets, but it usually took only 3 or 4 to take down an Elites shields and kill it.
He quickly sighted the blinded sniper, and fired, a single shot finding its mark in the Jackal's chest. The incredible force ripped through its torso and blasted its spine out through its back in a magnificent display of flesh and blood being brutally unsettled.
Before its ruined remains had had a chance to find a position to settled in, a second beam of white hot plasma course towards them, cutting away at Shirley's hair but thankfully missing his all important head, shooting past him and hitting the gravel, which sent molten rock a few inches into the air.
In an instant, Shirley had sighted the new shooter, and fired his weapon twice. The first destroyed his shoulder, which exploded outwards in a sickenly copious amount of blood and bone fragments.
As it tried to comprehend the loss of its arm, the second bullet entered its left eye, and upon exiting, the side of its head was shredded apart.
"Hostiles on our six-bleugghhh!"
They turned a quick 180 and were met by three Elites, two in low ranking blue, and the third, bulkier one a shining gold, indicating he was a respected Warrior. This one was holding Irving by his throat, his feet dangling a few feet from the ground. It's oddly expressive face tilted as it studied its captive. Its mandibles curled in what could have been a smirk.
"Let 'em go, you Elites!" Even though there was obvious fear in his voice, he reloaded his gun, which was an impressively quick sequence of ejecting his clip, attaching it to a device at his knee that would replace the used up ammunition, and then locking it back into his RIPPER-24.
In a measure of barely three seconds, his gun was loaded, and he fired 3 quick shots at the blue Elite to his left, which caused its shielding to flare up, but a the third round broke the shield and had enough force remaining to smash the aliens helmet and embed itself between his eyes.
As it fell to its knees, its partner quickly raised a medium sized, egg shaped gun resembling the Needler, but it only had 9 crystals protruding from its back.
It fired with a sound reminiscent of electricity crackling and the thunk of a crossbow, and instead of slowly honing in on its target, it impaled Shirley's chest as fast as any bullet, and a second later, it detonated, causing a flower of flesh to bloom suddenly on his chest and release its bloody, red and black pollen.
Now, there were two Elites, and two Marines, if you counted the gasping Irving who fought for freedom from the long, deadly black fingers that crushed his windpipe.
Thomas trained his firearm on the blue Elite, as he did like wise, but his superior held up his hand, ordering to hold his fire. The "Commander" as Thomas assumed his role would be, watched him with interested. It seemed to be struggling to remember something, and a moment later, it spoke in English, though it was understandably not very good at it.
"Human... you referred to us... 'Elites'... meaning?"
It vocal systems were not made to produce the sounds that humans do so easily, so even though it had enough understanding of human language, its pronunciations were often very off, and so it took Thomas a few seconds to decipher his question.
"Elites... it is our word for you. We do not know your real titles, so we use our own"
It tilted its head, obviously trying to understand Thomas' sentence. It was then that Thomas noticed it... the intelligence in its eyes. It was remarkable seeing it for the first time. It was the same realization that dawns on you when you watch a seemingly simple animal go about its business, and then it suddenly locks eyes with you and you see the intelligence behind them.
It spoke again. "We... not... "Elites"... our titles... are given... Gods did... "Elite" insults that gift... why you... mock... Gods? Why you fight?"
Thomas considered a while, but he understood his speech quicker now that he had heard some of his unusual pronunciations.
"I fight because my species is facing danger. It is a natural urge in all creatures to survive. Is it not?"
The Elite performed what must have been a raising of his eyebrow. It seemed surprised but pleasantly impressed.
"Words... true... but the will... the Gods... and... human... eradication... one, and the same..."
The will of the Gods and Humankinds eradication are one and the same.
It continued to speak.
"Your words have... intrigued... but as well speaking... as you... you must... cease"
It gripped Irving's neck so tightly his neck bone splintered and he was dead before he could draw breath to scream. The Elite tossed him away as if he weighed no more then a small child, and tossed a grenade ablaze with blue fire.
It made contact with Thomas' Rifle, and he quickly threw the gun towards his enemies. It detonated in a powerful release of white energy that shook every bone in Thomas' body, before the shock wave hit him, and his mind was sent into disarray as he he went airborne. He was weightless for a few seconds, and then the hard, unpaved road slammed into him or him into it rather.
It knocked the breath out of him, and he could feel the hot, dry air of Africa attack the flesh exposed by several areas where the skin had been obliterated. It tasted as though he had been chewing on a piece of copper, but it was actually blood in his mouth.
He was in a state of neither consciousness nor unconsciousness, so when he used his shaking arms to push up a little after some of his strength had returned, it took a moment or two for him to really see what was there.
As he rose to his feet, he noticed a charred crater in the road, where some uncontrolled plasma fire had found something to hold on to. There was a purple splattering, almost mist like, with chunks of flesh, spread out a good distance from the crater, but he then noticed the gold Elite was getting to his feet as well. Several parts of his armour had been stripped from him, including his helmet, and his head and exposed skin was bleeding.
It saw him, and, religious fanaticism endowed in every movement, he took out two small devices, which then crackled to life and projected a diamond shaped shield, and the feared Covenant energy sword. Both devices seemed damaged by the plasma from the grenade however, so while the sword only flickered momentarily, the shield blinked out, and the device shorted out in a small shower of blue sparks.
Thomas' quickly found the remains of a Rifle that, if held right, made a very crude set of combat knuckles. It would have to do.
The alien strode toward him, its biased hatred of Thomas' and his kind, and his 'God given quest' giving him the strength to shut out the pain his body was assaulted by.
He quickly closed the gap, and swung his sword, which only barely missed a dodging Thomas, but this manuevor was elegantly and flawlessly linked to a second that required Thomas to jump backwards to avoid. Still, it came close enough for the skin between his eyes to prickle from the energy.
Thomas tried to kick the flat of the blade, but he was sent recoiling back with an uncomfortable tingling in his body. Then, the sword flickered again, and for a few seconds it lingered dangerously close to dying out, but eventually flared back to life, and took a horizontal slash at Thomas' neck.
Once again, he tried to evade, and while he saved his head from being taken from his body, the sword cut its way across his flesh, starting from one shoulder and ending at the other. It was not an overly painful sensation as he imagined it would be. It was a numbing, twitching annoyance that only stung a little. Still, even though the wound was mostly seared closed, blood still managed to well in large amounts, and his chest was soon sticky with it.
The sword had continued its path and contacted with a stone wall. An explosion of dust and stone chips rang out, and the sword flickered and died for good.
Using this chance, Thomas' reared back his fist, still holding the makeshift combat knuckle, and brought it directly at the Elites face. It connected with satisfying force, and the aliens head snapped back and it began to stumble back.
Instead of another jab, which was only to gain an opening like this one, he chose a more powerful hook, which was met with the sickening grinding of a jaw being bent in ways it was not meant to.
The Elite staggered sideways and fell on his side. Thomas leapt onto him and attempted to hold him down, but slowly the Elite rose to his knee, and threw his body out in a cry of battle induce rage and adrenaline, sending Thomas into the air and hitting the ground at enough velocity to bring him airborne once again, hitting the ground a second time and rolling to a stop.
He shakily got to his feet, but the sound of thundering hooves coming his way and a brief, motion blurred image was all he was able to get before the aliens vastly superior strength sent him airborne for the fourth time. The world rushed away from him, then stopped its movement when he hit a stone wall. It was frail, because when he slipped to the ground, glass from higher windows came down like razor sharp frozen rain, giving him numerous infuriating cuts.
He gasped in pain, on hands and knees like an abused dog. He saw the gold clad hoof in front of him, and he looked to see that it was flexing its long, slender, yet powerful fingers; it spoke to him with no sense of pity, hatred, or even mock. It addressed him as if he were nothing with enough significance that deserves such emotions from a being such as he.
He spoke in his own language. It was like a damning farewell.
*Fuck that...* He thought
He took a piece of glass and gripped it as a knife, even though it cut into his skin and made his palm slippery with blood, to the point that its deep cutting was locking it in place. With a surge of energy that did not exist a moment ago, he got up and rushed him in a single fluid motion, slashing as a madman who had lost the restraints on the animal in all of us, the Beast that lay dormant in humanity, making it evil, but also making it successful.
The Beast had taken Thomas, and a dance of two very different bloods commenced, the deep crimson ribbon trailing the insane attack, and the thick globules of purple that burst forth with every passing of the knife through its flesh.
Thomas' eyes were emblazoned with the ancient fire that his kind had suppressed through philosophy and the pursuit of knowledge... and now, it was here again, if only briefly, to wreak its terrible destruction once more on the enemies that seek to take away its existence.
Thomas drove the glass shard up into the alien's neck, and the tip protruded through his head, stained so deep a purple, it was almost black.
As the intelligence in his enemies eyes slowly died away, Thomas saw something... was it respect? Respect for a inferior warrior that had bested one such as he? Perhaps. The Elite collapsed to the ground, and Thomas dropped to his knees, unable to speak or even think. He was too far gone, his mind had suffered badly, and the insanity that came from that was consuming him, and he forgot his humanity
He did not hear his intercom asking of his progress, or feel the men lift him to the stretcher, even though one of them was his own brother.
He remembered nothing of the weeks that led to his recovery, but he had quickly become a local legend.
One Marine had quoted "he's like David, from David and the Goliath" while another had added "Dude... he aint David... he's "The David!"
This name stuck, and although the future had an early death planned for him, none of the survivors would forget "The David"
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