M-41A Pulse Rifle

The pulse rifle fires armor piercing caseless shells and has an under-slung grenade launcher. It is the main weapon of the colonial marines and can be seen throughout the film.

Help is needed, chaos has broken out and aliens are destroying everything in their path.

++++ Victory class Cruiser Barrack II, 19:00 hours ++++

30 Minutes before worm hole opening.


Connor threw an eye up at Kiel, a dirty look that failed to achieve the intended.

"Thirty more minutes, man, and we're in the history books!" Kiel said excitedly, slapping his thigh with his palm, grinning stupidly. "Half an hour."

Connor didn't answer straight away, his eyes still cast upon his book, but the words no longer registered in his mind, rather, to correct an underestimate comment; he had no idea what he was reading anymore. He couldn't even remember what the previous sentence had contained.

"Look, man," he said, exasperated, "We're aren't going anywhere near those history books. We'd be fucking lucky to even read one of them."

Kiel snorted, and looked him over with distaste. "You're just talking bullshit," he retorted, shaking his head, before letting out a quiet yowl. He stood up, the stupid grin spreading even further across his face. "I'm going out, granddad," he said quickly, reaching out in a quick movement to slap Connor sharply across the face. Connor jumped back instinctively, glaring at Kiel.

"Hey, mother fucker, that hurt!" he exclaimed, sitting upright.

Kiel stood up to his full height, and took a deep breath in an exaggerated fashion. He looked comically at Connor.

"What a pussy you are, man."

"Where the hell do you think you're going anyway? Bridge orders were to stay put until the jump."

Kiel looked at him doubtfully.

"Fuck that, man," he snorted, opening the door. "What a lame ass you are, anyway." He opened the door and backed out, raising his arms in question, before flashing another stupid grin. The door slid shut.

"Yeah," Connor shouted, suddenly inspired, "Fuck you!"

He stared absently at the closed door for a few moments, before jolting back to attention as something small rolled suddenly off the bunk-side locker, hitting the smooth, metallic floor with a quiet ping.

He glanced down at his wristwatch.

Just over twenty five minutes to go.

++++ Victory class Cruiser Barrack II, 19:42 hours ++++.

11 Minutes after worm hole opening.

The darkness was pierced rhythmically by the swirling red lights, the path ahead fading into threatening black every two seconds. The howling wail of the alarms drowned out all perceptions, until there was nothing but the flashing red, and its accompanying piercing screams.

Several sectors away, behind numerous sealed blast doors, there was a dry, spitting rattle of a pulse rifle, followed by the metallic drone of a smart gun. There was a distant hiss, comparable to dry top gassing, them silence.

Cronor staggered around the corner, followed closely by Kiel, and several other rag tag marines. He ran unsteadily, pulse rifle shaking involuntarily in bloodied hands. He glanced nervously around. The walls seemed to run with blood, dry whispers, closing in on him. He could hear the motion scanner working like crazy, echoing blips resounding heavily beyond counting, each one representing a threat potential enough to kill them all.

"Getting closer!" someone shouted nervously, and they all stopped, pulse rifles raised, travelling across the dark wall, finally resting on the level six shield door that separated them from the canteen. Connor looked around slowly, seeing each marine's face flashing in and out of focus, bathed in the red glow of the alarms, eyes level with the handle piece of their rifles, trained on the unseen enemy.

"Thirty meters!"

He snapped his neck back around, rolling back his shoulders, somewhat comforted in the knowledge that he was sharing his fate with so many comrades. They were all expieriencing the same as the next.

"Twenty meters!"

He streched out his finger slowly, letting it slip back gently onto the trigger. His legs began to shake, and his thighs felt like liquid. He took a shallow breath.

"Ten meters!"

His finger tightened on the trigger, nearly an involuntary clench: in a few seconds he felt he would let loose without restraint.


The words didn't register at first. If it was possible, his finger tightened a fraction more on the already pressured trigger. He let up, exhaling heavily. He clenched and unclenched his left hand, letting it drop down to his side, Pulse rifle pointing slightly up into the air.

Something hit the barrel with a gentle ping, bouncing off it onto the floor where it rolled around softly. Connor studied it curiously. It looked like- like a screw.

Time suddenly seemed to stand still. He looked around, amazed at how slowly the marines where bringing their weapons to bear, as if in slow motion, frozen in the drift of time. Their mouths opened and shut in a comical fashion, unheard words, in a goldfish like state. He looked up hesitantly. The Ceiling tile above him rattled slowly, gently, slowly, as another screw fell past him and hit the floor. He wanted to pull up his rifle, but he felt helpless, unable to establish command over his own body. It began to rise, albeit slowly and clumsily.

The effect ended. Several more screws dropped past his face, and he raised his rifle finally, letting loose, spraying the tile with rifle fire, the confined area lit up in the rapid flashes, in sync with his panicked shouts. The area suddenly errupted in gunfire, multiple, rymthical flashes creating the effect of a flickering light bulb, case marks peppering the dark ceiling.

"One meter!"

The ceiling tile suddenly popped loose, and hurled down towards Connor, spinning wildly. He automatically raised his hands in defence, flying backwards as he was knocked backwards by the heavy projectile.

He lay dazed, realising too late, unable to bring his rifle to bear as it dropped onto him, hideous form illuminated in flashes of gunfire, clear liquid dripping from its domed head, vicious teeth twisted in a permanent snarl.

There was only a fading blackness, piercing by the fading sound of realism, gunfire, and the eternal vision, the agile, twisted body, whipping tail and the dripping set of double jaws, into the very depths of his eyes.