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Space Trucker From Hell

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  The night was cold, as it should be. A pitch dark sky, stars smothered with dark clouds and smoke,snow trickling from the sky and gracefully floating into place. Infantry Hustled and bustled around a vehicle depot adorned by a UCF flag, a bunker at their backs.


  He sat with the picket line, near a smoldering corpse. Not human, but humanoid. A large, alien corpse known as a Progenitor. A neon glow stick fuckwad. Many soldiers wondered where exactly the progenitors had come from, what they wanted, if they were gods. He didn't. They were all the same to him. 


  He ponders, dragging his blade across whetstone. Getting ready to open a can of chili, he'd tell anyone who'd ask why he'd bother, but that was an even more ludicrous lie than being a plumber. Which he wasn't. He was a Pathfinder. A spook. OSW. Special Forces. He stood at 5'11. A little shorter now due to the augments. His eye on the left side covered by a simple black eyepatch, tracing interwoven scars down his face with a single black line. He was burly, and gruff. Almost 50 now, not that he'd noticed. 


 He takes notice to a few of the Troopers along the Pickett, tucked neatly behind sandbags, fiddling with a radio. Some voices are made through the static, and a general look of concern remains on the Troopers face behind a thick pair of glasses. The other, smokes a cigarette casually, trying to share one with his buddy. If only his buddy could stop trembling. 


 "Sounds like the glowies are hitting them hard... Plan ain't working out."  Says Glasses, as Cigarette exhales. Trembly pipes up slowly, " S-So they're not gonna make it..? W-What about u-us? If the-they c-can't"


 "--They will." Chimes in Cigarette, patting trembly on the back. "Those guys are from Omega. Hell, they even blew up some Fuck-Off glowie-fort on some fuckin' rock." And Trembly nods sheepishly. 


  Before he can respond, glasses shushes them both by smacking the radio as it once again fizzles out. As the noise dies down, a moment of silence is broken by Cigarette as he inquires; "Hey guys, wasn't there just a Trooper on that post?" And on cue, an engine starts up in the distance. 


The Pathfinder jerks the wheel, slamming on the gas, the truck bolts forward. Despite the protests of the gate guard, he plows through the toll-gate and peels out onto the road. He looks right, then lays his weapons out onto the seats, a Belcher automatic shotgun, a modified Morita Carbine, along with two peacemakers and four combat knives, all affectionately accentuated with a winking smiley face. He lays out ammunition, keeping his one good eye on the road. It was like laying a picnic. 


He took a moment to look to his right again, this time his vision captured by the sight of a newfound companion. She was beautiful, with fiery blue eyes dancing in the glow of the battlefield, flowing long blonde hair snapping in the wind, ruby red painted lips, golden diamond earrings and jewelry, topped off with a lithe but elegant black dress. She began loading his weaponry, one after the other. 


"I reckoned this wuz' where yew' wuz' wantin' me to scoot. Angel."



To be Continued....



(( As you might've guessed, this will be a series of short stories telling what my Pathfinder character has been up to since Terra.))

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