[kconan]

The slaughter continued. Eight WRB soldiers were visible at this point (I assumed the other two were just of out sight rather than out of commission), and roughly twenty defenders. I saw one aim and fire an RPG at a group of 4 WRBs fast-walking towards him. After the smoke cleared, one was on the ground and the other three were still advancing despite now having large smokey holes that peppered their bodies.

The WRBs now looked like monstrosities from a B horror flick due to their armor having been mostly shot away and the fact that several were carrying various body parts. I looked at the Boss. He had been smiling...until he saw a handful of the enemy attempt to retreat into a wooded area near the North side of the base. He radioed our squad, and all fleeing defenders were shot before any came anywhere close to the treeline.

I saw WRBs entering buildings within the base. Though I couldn't see what was going on inside since it was blocked from view, I was sure the action was as bloody and brutal as what was going on outside where one last agile base defender was blazing away with a large handgun while trying to avoid getting near the unstoppable invaders. He emptied a clip into a helmet-less WRB soldier, and managed to stagger and eventually drop it for good. I saw the Boss raise his MP5/40 and aim at the lone defender, who ran out of sight into a building just as he was in crosshairs.

There was a brief period of quiet. And then I noticed that the top of the concrete structure in the base housed a large .50 caliber machine gun. It wouldn't have been visible at the start of the battle, but too little too late...especially as the gun roared to life and began tearing into a WRB and actually beheaded it. The gun swiveled towards my position and began firing just as I dropped to the ground. I looked up to see the Boss lying dead with half his face blown off, and then I blacked out.


I wake up groggy, correctly guessing that one of the explosives my former captain had on him was set off by a .50 caliber round. As I sat up replaying the days events in my head in fast-forward, five gore-splattered WRB monster-soldiers are looking at me like I'm a five-course meal. It smells like rotten death. Their teeth are chattering, and one of them is clutching a spinal cord. I feel for my radio, which I'm now guessing doubles as a sort of sounding device to identify me as a "friendly" to the inhuman abominations my government has unleased onto the World. Knowing my MP5/40 had been sent flying in the blast, I reach for my sidearm as they all dive headfirst at my torso.