Hello. This is a short story written by myself. It's based on Cortex Command and I would say is a little bit of a tribute to my favourite side-scrolling blow 'em up ever. :)
Constructive (but not OTT) criticism is appreciated.
The story is called 'Bunker'.
It is a story of two lost souls, trying to get back home. One of these souls is a lone Coalition soldier, his squad horribley killed. The other soul (if robots have souls. Do clones even have souls? What the hell is a soul?) is a helpful robot with a tendancy to be snarky and sarcastic at times.
Occasional harsh language is used. Violent themes, too. (But you all like that good stuff. ;). )
[[CURRENTLY UNFINISHED, WILL CONTINUE EDITING PERIODICALLY.]]
--
-Prologue-
The rocket's passenger room shook violently as Corporal Talon and his squad of Coalition soldiers entered orbit. A red light shone dimly down onto the cramped room, illuminating the hidden faces of the clones. The low rumble of the engines and the piercing of the atmosphere could just be heard through the impact resistant walls.
"Touch down in 20..." A robotic voice announced through Talon's earpiece.
"You all know the drill." The clone sergeant sat across from him began.
"18..."
"We're here to provide security for a small-time mining operation."
"16..."
"The base is still under contruction and a brain hasn't been implemented yet."
"14..."
"That means don't mess up, or you'll make all Coalition clones look like a bunch of idiots. Understood?"
"12... ERROR! ERROR!"
Talon's squadmates all began to look around frantically at eachother as their rocket began to shake more violently than it was supposed to.
"What? What's wrong?" One of them shouted in panic.
"Coordinates are incorrect." The robotic voice continued. "Mayday, mayday. This is drop rocket Sierra Foxtrot One Eight, broadcasting to tradesta-"
An extremely brutal smash sounded from outside the ship and a sharp alarm began to ring loudly inside the craft. The sounds of the engine going into overdrive and the exterior stabalization jets, along with the screams of panic going on inside the ship, were almost deafening.
Before Talon could realise what was happening an extremely bright, white light shone into his eyes for just the slightest moment.
And then...
Blackness.
-Chapter 1-
Talon awoke to the feel of concrete beneath him and the sound of a large fire nearby. The smell of smoke and burning flesh soon entered his nose.
Talon tried to lift him self off the ground but he quickly realised he couldn't even move his legs. Wondering if he had lost them he glanced down his body. An enormous pile of burning wreckage had just spilled over onto him. He was trapped. As he examined the wreck further he soon realised it was the remains of his drop rocket. Bits of the rest of his squad could be seen in and around it.
"Oh crap." Talon wheezed.
He tried to pull himself out from under the wreckage once again but to no avail. Talon collapsed limply to the ground. He lay there for several minutes, totally still, gathering his strength.
Just as he was about to pull himself away once more he spotted something. A robot was standing mere inches away from his head, glancing curiously at him.
"Do you require some assistance, sir?" The robot asked, offering Talon his hand.
"Clear this wreckage off of me, will you?"
The robot walked slowly over to the wreckage on top of Talon's legs and began to clear it off piece by piece until Talon eventually slipped free.
"Glad to have been of service, sir. May I help you with anything else." The robot chimed.
"Yeah. Where are we?" Talon asked, wiping the blood and oil off of his trousers.
"Unknown." The robot replied.
"Oh, well that's certainly helpful. Thanks for that."
"You are welcome, sir!" The robot chimed happily once more.
"Are you the pilot drone for the rocket?" Talon asked, looking gravely at the wreck next to them.
"Affirmative, sir."
"Not a very good one, are you?"
The robot did not reply.
"Yeeeah." Talon looked away and examined his surroundings. "We need to get out of this hangar. It stinks."
"Sir, I suggest that we locate an operational computer terminal and send our coordinates to the tradestar." The robot suggested, pointing down the corridoor.
"Well that's a good plan and everything, but we're unarmed. There could be anything in this facility." Talon explained. "This planet is dangerous."
"Oh no! Crabs are so terrifying!" The robot said quietly, waving his arms in a sarcastic manner.
"What?"
"Nothing, sir! I have a sidearm here. Emergencies only." The robot said in it's usual monotone voice, extending the pistol to Talon.
Talon took the gun, shook the oil off of it and cocked it.
"Alright then. I suppose we should get moving."
The two ventured out of the hangar, into the unknown tunnels. The building's dim tunnels were cool and dank. Small puddles and odd plants dotted the ground and walls.
"This place hasn't been set foot in for a long time." Talon mumbled.
-Chapter 2-
The clone and the robot walked warily through the progressively darker tunnels. Talon held his pistol close at hand and his companion followed noisily, his robotic joints creaking and buzzing.
"By the way. What do I call you?"
"Serial Number 1055657845 dash 255965." The robot replied as if it had recited those numbers.
"How about I just call you robot?" Talon suggested, shaking his head.
"Onboard the tradestar I was referred to as Pilot Drone 116. You could call me PD 116, if you like." The robot replied.
"Alright." Talon grinned. "PD 116 it is."
Talon and PD continued through the corridoor until they hit a junction. A large, moss covered sign was stuck delicately to the wall. An arrow pointing left read control station. The arrow pointing right read Clone Tubes.
"The control station should have a terminal we can use." PD stated joyfully.
"What even makes you think that this terminal will be powered, let alone working?"
"It's something called hope. Maybe you should get some." PD mumbled.
"What did you say?" Talon asked, glancing at the robot.
"I said my rocket's scanners picked up functioning power outputs shortly before we crashed."
"Oh, right. Well that's good. Lets get a move on then."
Talon set off to the left at a brisk pace, running steadily through yet more long, dark tunnels. PD kept pace but soon after Talon suddenly stopped.
"What is it?" PD asked as he approached.
Talon was staring at the remnants of an odd looking robot. A four-legged machine with a small gun mounted on the front lay totally still on it's side in a puddle. It's legs hung limply downward. Behind it a large, yellow metal shell was resting on the ground. It was badly charred and severely dented.
"Looks like bullet impacts."
"The device is an Dummy class Dreadnaught anti-infantry robot. It is inoperable." PD explained. "They are heavily armoured. Nothing insignificant could have destroyed this."
"Looks pretty old now. Probably got left behind when they left this facility. Lets keep going."
After climbing past the remains of the old dreadnaught Talon and PD 116 continued on. It wasn't long before they found yet more wreckage of yellow robots. Heads, arms, legs and other bits of robotics were strewn all through the hallway. The small puddles that once only dotted the corridoor now made large pools.
"Oil." said PD.
"Oil? What?"
"The puddles. It's oil."
"So you're saying some robots bled out all over these hallways?"
"Yes. I would assume that either this once was a dummy installation or that dummies attacked it."
"I suppose we'll find out when we reach the command room." Talon replied, pointing to a sign which said 'Control Station' inside a big, downwards facing arrow.
Talon immediately jumped down the open hatch in the floor. PD followed behind and peered down the hole.
"Is it safe?" PD shouted.
"Yeah." A voice replied up from the hole. "Shine a light down here would you?"
PD crouched and leant further over the edge. A small torch mounted into his head turned on, revealing Talon standing in a deep puddle of oil and bits of robotics.
"Come on down!"
-Chapter 3-
[[OTW.]]