Corruption and Change

[Kane]

The Phantoms' Powered Armor was not just armor. Using movement amplifiers and advanced servos, the suit had more strength then any human, modified or otherwise. It was also fast, and in the right hands could be fairly agile. It took quite a bit of practice to fully use the interface, but the Phantom Marines excelled at it.

So what did this all mean? It meant that the marines were incredibly strong and very fast; arguably the best shock-troopers in the world. Harrisson found this out himself, when the first Phantoms approached the bridge.

CLANG!

The first boot heel collided with the door to the bridge rather suddenly. It seemed that the marines forgot to pack cutters, and were forced to find other means of entry. What a pity.

CLA-CLANG!

Two heels now. The marines must have doubled up.

CLA-CLANG! CLA-CLANG! CLA-CLANG!

They continued to pound on the door mercilessly for thirty seconds. Each kick pushed the dent in a little further. The crew readied side-arms and laser rifles, one last attempt at an exercise in futility. Quite suddenly, they stopped. Silence reigned for a few moments.

"Are they gone?" One of the bridge crew asked timidly. Nobody could answer, and soon nobody had too. The sound of running grew louder and louder, and with a final crash the Phantoms broke in.

Under the weight and momentum of the armored Phantom, the bridge door was simply bashed in. It fell to the deck with a clatter, the Phantom who had rammed it rolling across the floor. The two behind it leaned in and leveled their Flechette cannons. Deadly bursts of razor sharp metal clouds took out the officers in quick succession, one by one. All except for Harrisson, whose vision was filled with the intimidating face-plate of a Phantom marine, and then turned to darkness.

****

The darkness passed all too quickly. A bright light stabbed Harrissons' eyes, quite nearly burning out his retinas.

"Awake at last, are we?" The cruel voice was like a slap. Harrison raked his eyes, searching the darkness for the owner of the voice. Instead of a person, a window opened. It was as if it had opened into a different world. Dark purple clouds drifted across the window, and hanging in the void was a black rock. Harrison had heard tales of this rock, dark tales. The smooth obsidian asteroid was immense, and the station inside supposedly darker then the rock around it. It was a beautiful sight to behold... as beautiful as it was terrible.

"Welcome to the Temple of the Revenant, Mr.Harrisson. You'll be staying here for quite some time."

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This is the real true story of rock and roll; it was not about anything more then, how to live your life, as a gangster, in sartorial splendor, and turning the world into a place where normality would never return again...- Malcolm McLaren