This work is fiction. The work has no (intentional) relationship with any person existing at any time anywhere whether real or imaginary or copy written.
Feedback will be read, processed, and if it’s a flame it will be given the finger, then I will burst into hysterical laughter. Constructive feedback, be it criticism or praise, will be read, processed, given a smile, and filed away. To contact me, please send an email to socom.seal@(SPAM)yahoo.com. Remove (SPAM) for a valid email.
You should not read this if you are not of legal age where you reside. This work can contain rape, BDSM, cannibalism, and probably anything else my sick, twisted mind can come up with.
Note: All times are in a mix of military and standard times. For example, 1AM = 0100 hours = 1:00, while 1PM = 1300 hours = 13:00. I hope this will make it easier on readers to understand the timeline while leaving me in a format that I understand better. If it causes too much of a problem I will switch to standard.
<22:00, Operative Firearms>
“Take me down, to the paradise city… Where the grass is green and the girls are pretty… hmm hm hmmm, hm hm-hmhm hmhm… da da dadada, dada da da da-da…” could be heard from a back room. The humming and snatches of singing turned to whistling as a humanoid form emerged into the main part of the shop. It walked over to a workbench and dropped something on it with a pronounced clunk. Still whistling, it ambled off to another part of the workshop and began cutting another piece with an acetylene torch. With the flickering of the torch and the mask covering its eyes, the worker never even noticed the flaring blue light from the back room it had so recently abandoned. Neither was the much smaller, less distinct form detected, which detached itself from the back shadows to sneak behind the worker. A soft grunt, followed by a hiss of air marked the worker’s awareness of the creature behind it; but as the past few seconds were immediately wiped from its mind, nothing out of the ordinary was noticed. The dark shape, satisfied, detached itself and slunk back to the backroom, which immediately stopped pulsing and went dark.
Andrew groaned and arched his back, looking down at the piece of equipment that had plagued him for weeks. Measuring a scant 6 inches long and 4 inches tall was a tiny pistol; usually the type that women carried for self-defense. But it was stockier than a usual .22 – it had a full 50 caliber bore and loaded two magazines simultaneously. Besides the increased firepower was a hidden spring mechanism that reduced the recoil to the point that the shooter may as well be shooting a .22. It was his pride and joy, his brainchild, and had cost him more than sleep to finish. He had lost his wife, his house, and now all he had was the shop and his car. And now, his big ticket. If he could patent and sell enough of the guns before it was classified as dangerous as a machine gun, which it was, he could get it all back. But it was a big if. Groaning again, he slipped the pistol into his pocket along with 2 magazines and 2 spares, as well as a box of ammo, and headed out to his truck. He still had the firing range to visit.
Andrew pulled in front of his favorite range. He had always been friends with the owner, and hade his spare key right next to his truck key. But as he reached for the ignition, he froze. Something wasn’t right. It was the little things that always tipped off a professional soldier, and he was one of the best at feeling those little things. Whenever something was out of the ordinary, he always got a little shock up his spine, as if someone had taken a cold wire and laid it against his back and then quickly pulled it away. Gave him a case of goose bumps. The first time he had felt the “little thrill”, as he called it, had been when he was 19. He was out driving, and had slowed down to check what appeared to be a wrecked car on the side of the road. It was night, and he should have known better when someone began waving with only one hand. Just as he was slowing to about 15 mph, he got a thrill and the man in front of him suddenly glanced at something just behind Andrew’s truck. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a man sneaking up on him with what looked like a desert eagle. He hit the gas, ran over the decoy, and was up to 45 when the first shots rang out. They put a hole in his windshield and almost a hole in his head. And it wasn’t the last time either. While deployed he was usually picked as gunner because of his icy veins. While driving down one of the friendliest suburbs in his AO, some civilians walked up and began talking to the driver. Somehow they managed to get him out of the Humvee, and Andrew felt himself jump out of his seat. He had no idea what he was doing when he reached forward and smashed the vehicle into reverse while simultaneously dragging his patrol mate back in. But he knew exactly what the multiple plumes of smoke were coming in over the buildings: RPG trails. The “civilians” jumped behind a wall where they had stashed AK-47s and began peppering the driver’s door, which still lay half open. Andrew grabbed the driver, who had now been shot twice in the leg, and jumped into the front, simultaneously jamming the gas while locking the door closed. The most severe injury from that ambush was an AK-47 round shattering the driver’s femur- without Andrew’s action, there wouldn’t have been anyone left to talk about it.
It was this same feeling that kept Andrew from getting out of the relative safety of his truck into the exposed parking lot. Then he realized what was wrong. Although his headlights illuminated the storefront as if it was day, the windows remained pitch black. No reflection, no penetration. It was if the light was going into the windows… but not coming back out…
Then he saw the unmistakable silhouette of a gun in his mirror.
Swearing Andrew peeled out of the spot he had just parked in, glancing in his mirror as he went… Right as the store exploded. Pieces of masonry flew everywhere as he watched. But the worst was the nightmarish figure that emerged from the store. It was covered in spikes, stood almost 13 feet tall and was on four legs. Hell, if Andrew hadn’t known better, he would have said it was a bloody centaur. He had almost made it to the road when another figure appeared in front of him. Andrew swerved hard left into what he hoped was a route through to the other side of the plaza, but it was a dead end. Andrew watched helplessly as the creature stepped into view at the entrance to the alley and leveled a weapon at him. Then Andrew remembered the 22/50 in his pocket. But before he could pull it out and fire, the walls around him seemed to bulge inwards, the outwards, and the entire contents of the alley disappeared. The nightmarish figure holstered the strange device, and then spoke into the air.
"Package sent. Objective complete. Awaiting teleport."
There was a shimmer and the only proof anything had occurred was the destroyed firing range. Another shimmer, and that was erased, too.