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!

As I walked towards the corridor, I fingered my pistol. It was standard issue; all Marines were permitted to carry it wherever they pleased. Of course, because of the lack of action, few actually carried it around. Fortunately, I was one of those few. Why? Well, commanders, generals, among other things, can give very, very drawn out speeches. We all get bored. So, while everyone else is sitting there, bored out of their mind, wondering whether dulling the taste of cardboard with toothpaste will be effective, I sit there with my pistol. Nothing special, simply toying with it, wishing that I could land one of its virgin bullets straight between Briggs’ eyes.

            I loved the pistol. It was small, yet not silly in any way. It had a sleek body and a firm handle with a custom grip. It only fired if it sensed the contours of my hand enclosed around its handgrip, though it could be programmed otherwise. It wasn’t a very effective weapon, though when compared to the rather outdated 20^th century pistols, it was extremely powerful and efficient. A simple pull of the trigger, or two, could easily bring a man down.

            Hmmm, I pondered. What could have caused that scream? Maybe Briggs had walked out of the showers without a towel again. That image alone is sufficient to bring a man to his knees and to scream in utter terror. Last time it happened, there were shrieks as if hell itself was walking around on our steel decks. And perhaps Briggs is not far from that summary.

            I cleared my head. A Marine must not let his silly ramblings obscure his vision and slow his reflexes.

            I walked out of the mess hall and straight into some large mass. I jumped back and realised it was a human figure, oddly contorted, limping towards me. How its face looked, I didn’t know, but I had a feeling that I shouldn’t try to find out. Wearily, I edged backwards, careful not to slip on some banana peel, when the damned thing, human, whatever, spoke. And through its distorted voice, due to lack of breath, I realised that it was Tyler.

            “Help me,” he said simply. “Save me.”

            I straightened up and all fear left me. I was used to Tyler doing stuff to BS me, and I had a feeling this no different.

            “Can I help you with a kick to where it hurts most?” I asked sarcastically. With the lights, and all energy, out, and a few other strange circumstances, I felt annoyed that he would feel inclined to joke with me. See, the whole fireworks thing: it was his idea. And another time he got really curious just how flammable methane is. That was an unpleasant story that I do not wish to recall. Let’s just say that the end result was 3 burnt asses and a very pissed off Briggs.

            “No,” he croaked.

            “Yes,” I said angrily. “Don’t give me this crap, ok? Stop sounding all constipated already. What the hell is going on? And who screamed?”

            I don’t know why, but at that point I wondered why the emergency floodlights hadn’t come on. They were there for when there were outages, and they ran off of their own separate generators. And they had remained off. There was absolutely no power. I needed a flashlight. That, and a nice, strong cup of black Colombian coffee.

            Sadly the latter of which was not available at the moment. Flashlights, however, were available in many different places about the station. All I had to do was to find my way to—

            “Ah!”

            Tyler’s scream snapped me back into the depressing reality. His black silhouette had disappeared, apparently he had fallen to the ground. I could hear his groans coming from some vague area around my feet. At that point, I decided to see what was up. I don’t think Tyler was joking anymore. I prepared my fist just in case he was.

            “Tyler, what happened?”

            His breaths came in short gasps as he struggled to form words. “I don’t know, it was dark… Things came, inhuman sounds, like animals, squeals, someone screamed, but it was too late. I made it out just in time…”

            “What happened to you?” Ok, this was getting freaky, but I let the guy run his mouth off anyway. That’s how psychiatrists work. I’ll tell you, though, I don’t have the nerve to sit and listen to guy complain about how his toothbrush is always wet and how he thinks that his roommate might be using it to scrub the toilet.

            “I don’t know,” Tyler continued. “I had escaped, so I wandered around. I had to go back to my quarters to get my pistol, but I ran into Jones. I told him that I was glad to see him… But he… He attacked me, screaming like nothing I know… He had his pistol, and he shot me in the…” He coughed. “…In the ribs… I don’t know what the hell is happening.”

            I stood there for a while, then bent down. It was too dark to see anything, whether it be an oncoming freight train, a baboon’s hindquarters, or Tyler’s wounds. I knew I had to get a flashlight and then maybe a medikit. Fortunately, those two things were usually paired together.

            Moving slowly away from Tyler, I ran my fingers across the walls. To some bystander with night vision, I might’ve looked like a wall-obsessed pervasive person, but I knew that such emergency materials were stored in many planes in compartments built into the steel walls.

            Behind me, Tyler groaned, so I tried to speed up my pace. As I did, I wondered as to what happened to Lieutenant Jones and the others. Inhuman sounds and animalistic vocalisations? Right. As I said, freaky stuff.

            And then I realised that I had wandered off too far. Slowly, I retraced my steps back to Tyler.

            Damn. No flashlight, no medikit. No coffee.

            With his arm over my shoulder, I helped him up and we slowly got a move on. My target was the hospital wing, the one place where flashlights and medikits were insured.

            We walked in absolute darkness, but living for years confined in the same damn walls has taught me how everything is organised. Several days ago, I would’ve said that I could find my way around the place with my eyes blindfolded. Now this trite comment had become true.

           I allowed myself to lead the way. That way, I was the one whose head took all of the battering from walls and doors. Walking in darkness is not my favourite pastime.

            My mind wandering, I continued to manoeuvre my friend and I about the halls.

            BAM!

            Shit, I didn’t remember a wall there. Oh well.

            I think I broke my nose with that hit. But I continued onward.

            And then, another loud bang rang out. Did I run into something else? I was probably so numb from all this battering, that I must not have felt it…

            But then Tyler’s body slumped, and I was forced to pull at all his weight. And I realised: someone, or something, had shot him. And if I didn’t do something of remote intelligence, it could shoot me.

            And I felt my friend’s body grow cold, and I knew nothing could be done. Call me egoistic, but I knew that what mattered at the moment was me. And only me. I had to get out alive, no matter what. I had to find a flashlight, that was my priority. What I was to do from then onward I had no idea.

            I allowed Tyler’s body to fall to the ground, and looked up. And there, at the end of the corridor, I could’ve sworn that I saw two dots of light, very pale, ellipsoid. Shaped like eyes, they were, a pale green, staring at me. For a few moments I sank my gaze into the cold unblinking eyes, and then I turned and ran.

            As I said earlier, since I joined the military, my IQ had an exponential downturn, but I still had enough brain cells to know when to run. And 2 inhuman glowing eyes + unusual power outage + scream + someone killing my friend = sufficient material for fear, which allows to engage in the act of… running for dear life!

            Hmmm, I would’ve made a good mathematician.

I took off.

I ran like a bat out of hell. Or like a cat out of the dog kennel. Or like a fish out of the desert. Or like a… alright, I’ll stop now. Did I mention my rambling imagination?

As I was sprinting down the corridor, shots echoed behind me. I guess someone doesn’t like me very much.

BAM!

I ran into another wall. Well, that meant that there was a junction. I took the left corridor, and felt pleased that, at least for the moment, I was out of shooting range from that… thing, whatever it was. Only now could I feel the pain rushing to my broken nose. Note: never hit a nose that has already been broken.

And there, I paused. I tried to figure out where I was, as well as to catch my breath. Of course, in the near darkness, this was not possible. Alright, I really, really needed a flashlight. I hadn’t wanted something this bad since I had seen that Muller T100 aircar parked behind the glass panes of the dealership…

I had taken a left. Good, I was somewhere near the hospital wing. At least, I hoped so. I continued down the corridor. After a little while, I would have to take a sub-corridor that led to the hospital. So I ran my hands along the wall as I walked, waiting to feel the hall. I felt something wet instead.

Hmmm. I brought the finger to my nose to sniff it, but accidentally poked my eye instead. And damn, it stung. After mouthing several words you wouldn’t say in front of your mom, I finally got to smell the liquid. As expected, it smelled like urine.

Bright sunshine and daisies! I think I had used this expression before I entered Briggs’ office. And now I used it again. Yes, a puddle of urine is still one step above the sad excuse for a gibbon to whom we refer to as Commander Briggs.

Wiping my fingers on my shirt, I continued forward. And then my hand gave way. I had found the corridor that I sought. I went inside.

Alright. The hospital wing.

I hit my knee. That’s how I found the operating table in the centre. I felt something soft and wet there, but decided to examine it as soon as I got a flashlight.

And get one, I did! I had the urge to sing some 70s freedom song, but sadly I wasn’t a hippie.

            But then I heard the unmistakable sound of an engine, a rev. What the hell? The scary part was that it was in the same room as I, the tiny hospital wing. Another rev came, louder, more consistent.

            My hands shaking, I struggled to turn the flashlight on. After pushing several of the buttons on its handle, I smacked it against the wall. That did the trick, and a beam of light illuminated the ceiling. Feeling as if a tiny Haiti person was doing a spiritual dance in my large intestine, I brought the flashlight to bear on the source of the revving sounds.

            Then there was a final rev and the sound of an engine working, emitting a low guttural rumble.

            And I saw what was making the sound, among other things.

            I wished I hadn’t.

            There are people who can’t stand the sight of blood. It makes them weak, queasy, and usually the final result is an indistinct blob of green and brown stuff spewing from their mouth. And I will tell you, I am not one of those people.

            And after seeing the room, I was pretty damn happy this was so. I didn’t know if there was enough stuff in my stomach to represent the level of disgust that I felt.

            There was blood everywhere, still fresh, flowing from the walls, blood dripping from the ceiling, and wrapping around my boots. On the operating table in front of me were the remains of some poor human being, but I didn’t have time to examine this. And on the other side was a human. Or what was once human, standing, looking at me hungrily.

            My eyes travelled from its grey, hairless head and empty eyes, glowing a dull green, down to its tattered clothes. Its teeth were bared into a sly smile was about as nice and friendly as a pentagram scrawled in blood. And speaking of which, there was red goo covering its mouth, and I was sure that it wasn’t ketchup. And then my eyes came to a stop at its hands. The thing, call it a zombie, was holding a chainsaw.

            It looked at me and roared. And the sound of the roar could not have been created by human vocal cords. It was animalistic, demonic, but certainly not human.

            And it revved the chainsaw again. The bloodied teeth spun and flecks of blood fell upon my uniform.

            Jesus save me.

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