Fallen Angel (Story)

Joeyray's Bar
"My name is Corporal Greg Vadis. I was attached to the 15th 'Jackal' Mechanized Division upon the arrival planetside. Our orders were simple: Help put down a rebellion alongside the local militia. We flew to the ground, joking and laughing to one another, thinking that this rebellion would be snuffed in a few simple days.
We had no idea."

The man across from Greg, an interrogator from Korhal. He gives Greg a look, and then glances at the man in the corner of the room. Greg doesn't notice the Ghost standing in the corner, who was simply there to.....focus his mind in case Greg gets off-subject.

"No idea of what?" The interrogator asks.

"No idea of the monster that was there to meet us. No one knew what it really was. It looked like a machine, like a modified Predator-Class bot, but it was fast. It was deadly. It.....it cried." Greg says. The interrogator gives him a strange look, and asks "Cried?"

"Yes. It cried. The locals said it cried because it was forced from Heaven to be there on the planet. They had no idea how right they were. It was an Angel of Death on the battlefield. Even the Viking pilots I talked to, when they weren't busy, said they were afraid of It. I...."

Greg stops talking, and the interrogator glances at the Ghost, who shakes his head. The interrogator nods, and says "Start from the beginning. Start from when you arrived on the ground from the drop-ships. Leave nothing out."

Greg swallows, and nods. Opening his mouth, he tells the story....

.....Of the Fallen Angel of Death.
Interesting...

The spacing could use some work, but the story itself looks great!

I look forward to the next segment.
Chapter One: Arrival.

The drop-ship’s engines scream with the fury of a raging animal, fighting to get free of its cage. Inside, however, it was different from the outside.

Greg feels someone slap his knees, and winces. Even in armor, Private Helson, a notorious pyromaniac, could hurt someone just being friendly. He was a big guy, almost a walking slab of meat, with the veins showing on his arms and neck when he was out of armor. He needed to be quite a big guy, though, for he was a Firebat. Which, ironically, made him a good chef.

Greg looks around the cabin. Everyone was laughing, save for him and two others. The others were a Ghost, known simply as Maverick, and his Lieutenant. The Lieutenant, Alex Kalul (What the hell kind of last name is that, Greg wonders to himself for the fifteenth time), was good in Urban combat, even with the vehicles that were normally fielded with the company.

Alex turns her eyes to Greg, and behind visors, he could feel her gaze, and almost wanted to shrink away in fear. She had that affect on her troops, often making the choice of running into a Zerg Hive seem like a better option than pissing her off. She was a cold, calculating person, however, she was efficient, and that was something no one could deny.

Greg turns his attention to the Ghost, Maverick. He had a knife held at his hip, a wicked looking curved blade that looked as if it could be something straight from a person’s nightmare. There were twelve pouches on his suit, almost aligned perfectly with one another. Without warning, four of those pouches opened up, and handle-less knives flew out. They hover around the Ghost, waiting, silent as sentinels, waiting for the telekinetic order to begin to kill.

{Thirty seconds to landing.} The pilot says, his voice coming to their ears due to the radio in their suits.

{Roger that. All right, people, you know the drill. Go to Barracks Three and stow your !@#$.} Lt. Alex Kalul barks over the radio, her voice devoid of humor that the others were showing. They stop laughing, and after a brief wait, the drop-ship stops moving, and opens the ramp. The troops pile out, with Maverick and Lt. Kalul heading for the Command Center. The troops begin to file out toward the Barracks.

Someone sprints past Greg, and he stops the person. Greg realizes that the person he stopped was a Militia Trooper, and he asks “Woh, where’s the fire there, buddy?”
The Militia Trooper turns to him, the visor not blocking his face. Greg sees the Trooper’s eyes, and sees panic and fear. He hears the Trooper mumble something in a foreign language, then sprint off. Greg watches the trooper run, and hears someone talk behind him.
“He said that the Angel cried.” Greg turns to the speaker, another Marine.

“What did he mean by ‘Angel’?” The Marine shrugs, and continues on his way. Greg gives a final glance to where the Militia Trooper ran off to, then he too continues on his way.
0_0

Okay, seriously. Spacing please?
0_0

Okay, seriously. Spacing please?


This is how I type stories. I don't know what you want from me, and there isn't a need for double-entering unless I do a time skip.
That's how I look at it, at least.
Here, this is what I mean:

The drop-ship’s engines scream with the fury of a raging animal, fighting to get free of its cage. Inside, however, it was different from the outside. Greg feels someone slap his knees, and winces. Even in armor, Private Helson, a notorious pyromaniac, could hurt someone just being friendly. He was a big guy, almost a walking slab of meat, with the veins showing on his arms and neck when he was out of armor. He needed to be quite a big guy, though, for he was a Firebat. Which, ironically, made him a good chef.

Greg looks around the cabin. Everyone was laughing, save for him and two others. The others were a Ghost, known simply as Maverick, and his Lieutenant. The Lieutenant, Alex Kalul (What the hell kind of last name is that, Greg wonders to himself for the fifteenth time), was good in Urban combat, even with the vehicles that were normally fielded with the company.

Alex turns her eyes to Greg, and behind visors, he could feel her gaze, and almost wanted to shrink away in fear. She had that affect on her troops, often making the choice of running into a Zerg Hive seem like a better option than pissing her off. She was a cold, calculating person, however, she was efficient, and that was something no one could deny.

Greg turns his attention to the Ghost, Maverick. He had a knife held at his hip, a wicked looking curved blade that looked as if it could be something straight from a person’s nightmare. There were twelve pouches on his suit, almost aligned perfectly with one another. Without warning, four of those pouches opened up, and handle-less knives flew out. They hover around the Ghost, waiting, silent as sentinels, waiting for the telekinetic order to begin to kill.

{Thirty seconds to landing.} The pilot says, his voice coming to their ears due to the radio in their suits.

{Roger that. All right, people, you know the drill. Go to Barracks Three and stow your !@#$.}
Lt. Alex Kalul barks over the radio, her voice devoid of humor that the others were showing. They stop laughing, and after a brief wait, the drop-ship stops moving, and opens the ramp. The troops pile out, with Maverick and Lt. Kalul heading for the Command Center. The troops begin to file out toward the Barracks.

Someone sprints past Greg, and he stops the person. Greg realizes that the person he stopped was a Militia Trooper, and he asks “Woh, where’s the fire there, buddy?”
The Militia Trooper turns to him, the visor not blocking his face. Greg sees the Trooper’s eyes, and sees panic and fear. He hears the Trooper mumble something in a foreign language, then sprint off. Greg watches the trooper run, and hears someone talk behind him.
“He said that the Angel cried.” Greg turns to the speaker, another Marine.

“What did he mean by ‘Angel’?” The Marine shrugs, and continues on his way. Greg gives a final glance to where the Militia Trooper ran off to, then he too continues on his way.
Again, I find it is only needed for time-skips. Most of the books I've read only do it for time-skips, where they do the same thing I've done for the story.
Reading a wall of text from a book is different from reading a wall of text in the internet. The former I have no problem with, the latter I do if it's not formatted as ThaneKrios has it. It is really strange how the mind perceive things.
02/28/2013 03:39 PMPosted by smylez
Reading a wall of text from a book is different from reading a wall of text in the internet. The former I have no problem with, the latter I do if it's not formatted as ThaneKrios has it. It is really strange how the mind perceive things.


Fine. Editted. Also, I really don't have that issue with the wall-of-text, my mind kinda just separates everything as I read it.
Ah, much better :) I'll actually read it now without my eyes bleeding out. :)

Thank you!
The reason why you MUST space on here is largely because you cannot tab. Therefore you cannot properly show the beginning and end of a paragraph unless you space, which you do in place of tabbing.
02/28/2013 04:11 PMPosted by Dacder
The reason why you MUST space on here is largely because you cannot tab. Therefore you cannot properly show the beginning and end of a paragraph unless you space, which you do in place of tabbing.


Yes, +1

I don't know WHY you can't indent though...
Looks interesting.

I personally don't care how many spaces you put between your paragraphs.

In any case, keep it up.
Yet it's OK for people to say things like this to Darkra?

While recognizing that there is a slight difference, it is better to simply let things pass. Nobody will be offended.
05:30

Greg looks out over the wall of the base. He looks across the endless sandy plains, across the vast hills of sand, across the very few plants that had managed to survive, and without a shadow of a doubt, he came across one conclusion:

Guard duty was as boring as hell. Which was ironic, considering the heat outside.

Greg sighed to himself, and his partner laughs. Greg looks at his partner, Corporal Jamie Lavis, and gives her the finger. Her laugh renews, almost falling out of her seat. She stands up, and her laughter reduces to a s.n.i.g.g.e.r. She walks over to where he is standing, and asks “Bored yet?”

“Bored to death and back.” Greg replies, and sighs. He takes his binoculars, and looks in them. He stands scanning the nearby hills, and sighs. “Really hate this assignment. I hope they deploy us into the city soon.” He says.

“Hell-raiser to the end, huh?” Jamie asks, and Greg chuckles.

“Always will be. I don’t like sitting around, much more preferring to….” Greg trails off, seeing something in the distance. He hands off his binoculars to Jamie, and points to something in the distance. “You see that?”

She accepts the binoculars, and looks through them at where he was pointing. “Yeah…..What is that? It looks like a Predator, but it-“She was interrupted by the sound of a howl, like that of a Wolf. She zooms in, and turns on the radio.

{All teams, be advised, we have a Predator to the east, facing our direction. I don’t know whose it is, but it’s watching us.} She says, and zooms back out.

{This is Command. We see it, doesn’t look like its doing anything. We’re going to scare it off with an artillery shot. Stand by, all teams.} A voice replies to her. Someone else joins the duo at the wall.

“A Predator? Well, let’s see what happens.” The person who joined the wall says, and pulls up binoculars, and zooms in. A few seconds later, the unmistakable sound of an Artillery Gun going off is heard, and the round screams down from the sky, landing near the Predator, but not close enough to damage it.

“Anything?” Greg asks, and Jamie shakes her head.

“No, nothing….Wait, its moving. Where is it….Oh, -*!@.” She says, and turns the radio back on.

{Predator is advancing on our position, moving fast. I think we can say it is hostile.} Jamie radios, picking up her Gauss Rifle in her off-hand. The other two do the same, and Greg aims in the direction he remembers seeing it.

{All teams, target is confirmed hostile. Firing Artillery rounds, Siege Tanks, incoming target is confirmed hostile. Let it rip.} Command radios back. The other man at the wall, hands his binoculars off to Greg as he reloads his Gauss Rifle. Greg takes the binoculars and looks through them, spotting the Predator. It was pitch-black, and sprinting toward the base. The Artillery and Deployed Siege Tanks fire, their guns nearly deafening Greg. He watches, zooming out, as the rounds come down like a furious bolts from the sky. The rounds apparently go too far, and the second barrage is fired, giving the same results.

{You guys are either too far or it’s moving too fast.} Greg radios, and he is given a gruff reply almost instantly.

{Shut up, we know} A voice says to him, possibly one of the Tank pilots. Another roar of cannons is heard, and this time a curse follows as they miss yet again. {How the #$%^ is it outpacing us?}

Command cuts in. {All wall teams, be advised, at its current speed, it’ll be here in less than thirty seconds. Get ready to fire.}

Greg turns the safety off, and looks up just in time to see the Predator jump over the wall, and land in the middle of the compound. The Tanks hold fire, as does the Artillery, and Greg gets his first close look on it.

It was pitch-black, almost such a way that is absorbs all the light that touches its plating. Its face was not of a cat, but a single glowing red eye. The machine was smooth in design, almost as if it had been made by an expert smith rather than some factory machine. Its shoulders were not elongated, but its front right shoulder ended in a ball with a gun extending out of it. It was a powerful rifle of some kind, almost as elegant as the rest of its body. It had a tail, which lashed out, almost with a mind of its own.

Greg turns his rifle to the machine, and, along with almost 30 other Marines, 15 Marauders, 3 Ghosts and 18 Reapers, open fire on the machine. It was almost a whole minute before they finally stopped firing to let the sand and smoke clear up. As it does, every single person looks at the Machine, their jaw wide open (Save for the Ghosts, who look at it in surprise) as they see the Machine with almost no damage to its armor.

The Machine lifts its head, and howls loudly. The man beside Greg begins to fire again. Greg almost joins him, but the Machine’s next move made him hold his fire.

The Machine turned and sprinted in the direction of the wall. It seemed to almost be getting faster, and as it jumps, it rams into the person shooting, who is sent off the wall. The Machine sprints away from the base, and the Artillery attempt yet again to hit it, only yet still to miss every time.

Greg walks over to the wall, and glances over. He looks down, and sees the man that was rammed, and knows he was dead. A team of Medics walk out and grab the body, and brought him back in. Word came out that the Machine had rammed the trooper so hard that the suit broke, and broke every bone his body.

Join the Conversation

Return to Forum