A lame story that I'm going to think up
I never did understand this life of us Kharaa. Before, all the Fat Ones would rebuke me should I ask for a Movement Chamber. Shortly after that, Defense became our choice. Nowadays, chuckling often was all the rage.
As one of the higher Biters, I have experienced much upon my birth. I pride myself in that through the fact that us Biters are spawned innumerably and shredded just as quickly within the presence of the dreaded Flying Metal, I remain.
I always followed my best friend, one of the Flyers, everywhere we went. We had wonderful times--ripping apart metal and flesh, yanking flying humans out of the air....
But then, one day, that all changed.
Chapter 1--Times of the dreams
"Commander, commander...where hast thou gone?
Skulks run amok, hindered nevermore.
Onos tears base, having devoured Ron,
Webs astrew, my cries are sore.
where hast thou gone, o faithful commander?"
"If you would stop reading poetry, Monk, perhaps you would see the jetpack behind you! Quickly, quickly, move!"
"Er, sorry, sir!"
The soldier scrambled for the jetpack which magically attached to him when he ran over it. He kicked his feet on the ground, creating enough kinetic energy for the jetpack to start itself. The skulks chomped their teeth in dissaproval before rearing on their hind legs to begin Leaping.
"FLY, SOLDIER! FLY AS YOU NEVER HAVE BEF-ASKD:"AJSGOUIOEYIHDHSHF:UOEUKHG!!!!!!111one"
He didn't have to glance back to know the fate of his commander. Descending only for a brief moment, he snatched up a Heavy Machine Gun out of the handof his former comrade. Snatching four packs of ammo out of the barely-distinguishable armory, he zoomed over towards Pipeline. That was where Mark said he would head. Perhaps, just perhaps....
Arriving at Pipeline, he scanned around for any sign of Mark. He notice the hive had multiple wounds and was severely bleeding, but he could not find any sign of his supposedly suriving partner. He quickly emptied half a round of bullets into the hive, which in response made a final scream before vanishing in green goo. The soldier knew there was no purpose in remaining, so he quickly boosted to Cargo.
Within a matter of half a minute, he flew into the area. Hearing a scuttle, he quickly readied his gun. Suddenly, his concentration was cut short by a familiar sound:
"Follow me!" A figure whispered from behind a pillar. The soldier grinned. So perhaps they still had a chance. He promptly moved to Mark's position, and waited patiently for him to reload. As soon as that was done, they quickly laid waste to the hive with the help of Mark's shotgun.
Mark whirled around and began to head for the last remaining hive, Sub-Sector. The other soldier followed suit, realizing that his partner did not have a Jetpack.
"We're almost there...oh..." Mark gasped. The footsteps...the pitter-patter...they had been discovered. The chuckling ritual began, signaling the oncoming attack. The two marines readied themselves.
It wasn't long before the Kharaa emerged. Mark raised his shotgun and shoved his partner away.
"Run!" he screamed. "I'll hold them off; you have the Jetpack, you have to kill the hive!" The marine hesitated but quickly flew off. He did not bother to look back.
"At last," the survivor muttered. The final hive. He quickly emptied a clip into it. He began reloading when he heard the familiar pitter-patter and stomps of the Kharaa.
"No, please...no..." he muttered, smacking his gun back closed after reloading it. He quickly emptied his last clip into the hive, which gurgled with pain. It was clearly bleeding profusely. The Onos and his company of skulks arrived just then. The soldier winced and clicked his empty gun. He whipped out his pistol and emptied it into the hive. It still hung.
"Just a little more...just a little more-!" He took hold of his knife and faced the hive, as the Kharaa charged him...