Frenemies

[Toaster]

The three marines trooped down a long, unlit corridor. A distant hum drew them towards the transport's engines.

"I really don't like this... where is everyone?" Verlent muttered quietly. Nervously he looked over his shoulder.

"I prefer this over a bunch of gun-wielding maniacs who think they need to die for their chancellor," O'Connor replied dryly.

A dim light flashed about twenty meters ahead.

O'Connor stopped in his tracks, raised his left hand, and formed a fist. Jones and Verlent stopped behind him, peeking over his shoulders.

The light flashed another time. The three men crouched down. Another flash. O'Conner aimed directly above the now dark source of the light. His right index finger hovered over his rifle's trigger. A fourth flash. He pulled the trigger and sent a single energy projectile on its way.

Ten meters ahead of them someone screamed in agony. A dull thump followed a second later.

"Nice shot," Verlent commented.

Cautiously, O'Connor advanced toward the target. Sprawled on the deck lay a young man, a smoking hole punched into his chest.

"Move up," he called back to his team mates. Suddenly, a small, glowing object whistled by his head.

"GET DOWN!" Jones cried out from behind. O'Connor let himself drop the the floor, firing his CQR ahead of him as fell. Behind him, Verlent and Jones opened fire, filling the corridor with blue energy. Sparks showered down over them as superheated metal projectiles impacted on the walls around them.

"Suppressing fire!" O'Connor barked. Then he got up and sprinted toward their yet invisible enemies.

A projectile impacted into his shoulder, but his light body armor deflected the round. In the cone of his helmet's light, the Sergeant could make out five figured in blue work-overalls crouching before him, firing heavy, rapid-fire projectile weapons. Two of the men turned toward him, aiming at his head. But O'Connor was quicker and two bursts from his rifle dropped the enemies to the deck.

The other three hostiles directed their attention at him. In the moment of distraction, Jones grabbed his AM14 precision rifle, shouldered it, and shot thrice. The three men dropped dead.

"Thanks," O'Connor called over his shoulder. Jones and Verlent jogged up to him.

"That was weird," Verlent stated. O'Connor snorted his approval. He knelt down beside one of the dead men, jabbing at his chest with his harpoon nailgun.

"They did their job," Jones said.

Suddenly, a gargling sound came from Verlent.

"What the-" As O'Connor spun around, a hot, two-inch nail seared through his head, exploding bits of brain and bones against the steel wall behind him.

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Olivia Sable