You’re a marine, one of Earth’s toughest, hardened in
combat and trained for action. Three years ago, you
assaulted a superior officer for ordering his soldiers to
fire upon civilians. He and his body cast were shipped to
Pearl Harbor, while you were 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,
your 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 set-back, but everything is under control.
A few hours ago, Mars received a garbled message from
Phobos. “We require immediate military support. Something
fraggin’ 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.
You and your buddies, the only combat troop for fifty
million miles were sent up pronto to Phobos. You were
ordered to secure the perimeter of the base while the rest
of the team went inside. For several hours, your radio
picked up the sounds of combat: guns firing, men yelling
orders, screams, bones cracking, then finally, silence.
Seems your buddies are dead.
IT’S UP TO YOU
Things aren’t looking too good. You’ll never navigate
off the planet on your own. Plus, all the heavy weapons
have been taken by the assault team leaving you with only a
pistol. If only you could get your hands around a plasma
rifle or even a shotgun you could take a few down on your
way out. Whatever killed your buddies deserves a couple of
pellets in the forehead. Securing your helmet, you exit the
landing pod. Hopefully you can find more substantial
firepower somewhere within the station.
As you walk through the main entrance of the base, you
hear animal-like growls echoing throughout the distant
corridors. They know you’re here. There’s no turning back
now.
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