User Profile

I'm space marine, one of Earth's toughest, hardened in combat and trained for action. Three years ago I assaulted a superior officer for ordering his soldiers to fire upon civilians. He and his body cast were shipped to Pearl Harbor, while I was transferred to Mars, home of the Union Aerospace Corporation.

The UAC is a multi-planetary conglomerate with radioactive waste facilities on Mars and its two moons, Phobos and Deimos. With no action for fifty million miles, my day consisted of suckin' dust and watchin' restricted flicks in the rec room.

For the last four years the military, UAC's biggest supplier, has used the remote facilities on Phobos and Deimos to conduct various secret projects, including research on inter-dimensional space travel. So far they have been able to open gateways between Phobos and Deimos, throwing a few gadgets into one and watching them come out the other. Recently however, the gateways have grown dangerously unstable. Military "volunteers" entering them have either disappeared or been stricken with a strange form of insanity--babbling vulgarities, bludgeoning anything that breathes, and finally suffering an untimely death of full-body explosion. Matching heads with torsos to send home to the folks became a full-time job. Latest military reports state that the research is suffering a small setback, but everything is under control.

A few hours ago, Mars received a garbled message from Phobos. "We require immediate military support. Something fuckin' evil is coming out of the gateways! Computer systems have gone berserk!" The rest was incoherent. Soon afterwards, Deimos simply vanished from the sky. Since then, attempts to establish contact with either moon have been unsuccessful.

My buddies and I, the only combat troop for fifty million miles, were sent up pronto to Phobos. I was ordered to secure the perimeter of the base while the rest of the team went inside. For several hours, my radio picked up the sounds of combat: guns firing, men yelling orders, screams, bones cracking, then finally silence. Seems my buddies are dead.

Things aren't looking too good. I'll never navigate off the planet on my own. Plus, all the heavy weapons have been taken by the assault team leaving me only with a pistol. If only I could get my hands around a plasma rifle or even a shotgun I could take a few down on my way out. Whatever killed my buddies deserves a couple of pellets in the forehead. Securing my helmet, I exit the landing pod. Hopefully I can find more substantial firepower somewhere within the station. As I walk through the main entrance of the base, I hear animal-like growls echoing throughout the distant corridors. They know I'm here. There's no turning back now.