Heavy Metal Thunder by Kyle B. Stiff Read Free Book Online Page B

you see is a handful of brain matter
spilling out of the new cavity where your nose and jaw used to be. If you wish
to Regenerate , you may turn to section 312 to restart or, if you
want to go back even farther, turn back to section 179 .
    If you survive, then you manage to grab the dead
lawman’s Enforcer Automatic (Handgun, bulk 2) , which has 5 Handgun
Bullets (bulk 1) in its clip.
    “Payback,” you mutter to yourself. “And believe me, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it’s going to
hurt me.”
    Turn to section 568 .
     

58
    You fall in with the seven fanatics and march with
them toward the launch bay. “I’m Commander Uther,” says the leader. “You got a
name?”
    “SIR NO SIR!”
    Commander Uther glances to another fanatic, a
slender, tall man with pale skin, fair hair, and a massive bruise around one
eye. The man looks at you a moment, as if reading you, then says, “He has no
name, Commander. Not yet.”
    Commander Uther nods to you, says, “That’s Sybel,
our dream interpreter. He’ll determine the nature of your name, once you pull
it out of the void.”
    “SIR, THAT’S COOL BY ME, SIR !”
you shout.
    You enter the large launching bay where several
infantry units are gathered. Many clustered groups shuffle away as you and the
fanatics stroll toward the front, near the solid steel doors. One man lingers
too long and Sybel hisses at him like a wildcat, and the man averts his eyes
and shuffles away, lumbering under the weight of his jet pack.
    You can smell the fear in the room and see the looks
of desperation in the eyes of the fighters. Only the fanatics seem hard and
ready. You see your brother Kregus but he will not
look at you, only strokes the edge of his long black serrated sword, which is
bigger than any you have seen so far. His unit, the Geneva Scorpions, hum some
sort of old national anthem, most likely from a nation long-since destroyed by
the Invaders.
    You watch the infantrymen as you wait to launch. You
note that the human fanatics do not seem bigger or stronger than anyone else.
But their expressions lack both the cunning guile used by some to sneak through
life, as well as the sheepish look of many who depend on the mercy of their
masters to survive. You realize that most soldiers fight the Invader because
they are told to do so by those in authority, and would probably bow down to
their conquerors if they did not fear punishment from their immediate
supervisors. A full-scale alien invasion that, if done successfully, would end
in the eradication of the human species, is for most humans just one more inconvenient annoyance to avoid, to complain about… and to
eventually give in to.
    But the human fanatics, newly awakened and unified
by the presence of a common foe, would do anything to protect their species
from this alien menace. Their power stems from this, and this power is fearful
indeed.
    An announcement goes out that the chamber will be
depressurized, and so everyone dons their helms. Your com-link clicks on and
Commander Uther says, “ Grishnak , play us some music. Something in the key of heavy.”
    “SIR!” you shout. “YOU GUYS LISTEN TO MUSIC WHILE
YOU FIGHT?”
    “Better believe it,” says Uther.
    “BUT HOW DO YOU HEAR COMMANDS IF-” Immediately your
voice is drowned out by the most bone-crunching flesh-thrashing heavy metal
music you have ever heard in your life. It is impossible to feel anything
remotely resembling fear as the singer’s voice screams out gravelly war-cries.
Your ears writhe in agony but your blood pumps hard and pure... and you feel
ready to kill and die for your species!
    The music dims slightly and Commander Uther says, “ Grishnak , you tryin ’ to put us to
sleep around here? I said play something heavy!”
    With that, your com-link earphones are nearly blown
out as the metalest of the heavy- est of songs blasts out, drums throbbing like the skin of some god stretched out on
a rack and beaten, guitars thrashing like two planets