Marathon: The Quasar Program
Welcome to hell. No, seriously. Imagine if you will a place where people are sent when they are deemed too crazy for the military. A place where they undergo torture unlike anything else seen on earth. A place where they are made into an army of disfigured creatures that have only one thought left in their deranged heads: kill all humans. They are the H'won, and they are on the prowl. The only thing that stands between them and humanity is one man: me. My name is Jupiter Scepter, the "Minotaur," and I am humanity's last hope, the final bastion against the tide of evil. And I need your, yes YOUR, help. I need you to do three things:
2.) Forget all that you know about science and extra-terrestrial life.
3.) Keep reading.
Chapter 1: Shotgun or Rifle?
I whistled softly as I walked down the winding dull, gray hallway. Anything to ward off the boredom of half my life. The half spent walking through countless rooms and hallways, searching for ammo, specially designed energy drinks that shut down the pain centers in my brain for various amounts of time, or something much, much worse.
H'won. The deformed alien-slash-mental people who the Frankensteins of the world had experimented on and then "sent to a specially designed hospital to recover". Yeah, right.
I sighed to myself as I came to a four-way split in the hallway, turned right, and nearly kicked something when I saw it was another hallway.
Those failures where surreptitiously blasted into space on pre-programmed shuttles to a secret base orbiting Jupiter. This place was huge. I mean, it literally eclipsed the flippin' planet from view once every ten years or so.
That's where I am. They called me Jupiter Scepter for that very reason. The ruler of this god-forsaken hell-hole, that's me. I was supposed to be the "Prototype" for an army of super-soldiers They called Lode-runners.
As such, they code-named me "The Minotaur," and that is what I do. I run through tunnels and hallways, killing anything that comes into my sights.
In case you're wondering who this "They" is that I'm talking about, it's the same scientists that created the H'won. After failing to turn the crazies and Section-eight discharges of the world into an army, they tried it out on high school kids. So yeah, in human years I'm only about seventeen. But for some reason the scientists thought this seventeen-year-old was man enough to turn into a king of the largest man-made satellite ever, and hunt down a horde of crazed, bloodthirsty alien-zombies. Speaking of which, I just found some.
I found one of those one-way doors these maze designers loved so much. I could see and walk through it from my side, but those poor deformed saps on the other side had no idea I was about to snuff their pathetic lights out.
"Hmm..." I thought out loud. "What should I use to kill these guys, shotguns, or a rifle?"
Of course this drove the H'won on the other side of the wall completely nuts, trying to find where the voice was coming from. I counted three of them, three-eyed creatures with long skinny bodies and wicked staves that fired energy bolts from the end. The easy guys. After a minute of indecision, I pulled out my two shotguns. If you thought the H'won's energy staves were kick-ass, wait till you see my weapons. Here's a rundown for ya, 'cus I'm nice that way.
Two .44 Pistols with scopes, an Zeus-class matter fusion pistol (basically a taser that fired balls of electricity), two double-barreled handheld shotguns (my personal favorite), an assault rifle/grenade launcher combo, a pumped up and pimped out Tommy gun, a flame-thrower (complete with backpack unit), and, get this, a SSM (surface to surface missile) launcher.
How do I carry all this you ask? Well, good question. The answer is, I have no idea. Whenever I need a gun, I just picture it in my mind, and there it is. Neat, right?
Well, anyway, I easily dispatched that group of deformed human/aliens (I'll spare you the extremely gory details). Now, I bet you're wondering why I call these failed experiments aliens as well as humans.
As the facts stand, they are both and neither. Human scientists have been gathering alien technology and materials for hundreds of years now. But it's only in the past fifty that those... humans have been able to reverse engineer it enough to work with it.
The H'won? The prototypes made from crossing humans with alien regeneration machines created by a race I know only as the P'for. They also make frequent visits to my abode, and they pay me well as a sword (or in this case, shotgun) for hire. They hate the H'won as much as I do. Which is a whole heck of a lot.
As I was thinking all of this, a sudden tremor came over the station, nearly knocking me over. A siren began to sound, making a constant wheep-wheep-wheep sound. That could mean only one thing: Durandal's hounds have come back.