He squeezed his G3's trigger, loosing a chain of explosions into the poorly lit wooden room. Hot lead embedded itself into the flesh of the ghouls shambling towards him.
Three fell to his assault, but five more stepped on and over the bodies of their fallen friends. Friends in life, friends in death. Ghouls were simple minded creatures.
Find humans. Eat them.
The soldier slowly retreated from the room, pulsing the mob with rounds from his rifle every so often. Missions like this weren't so much dangerous, as they were tedious. Don't kill too many, and anger the mob, don't waste ammo, and don't get overrun.
'I really wonder what Ombra did to deserve stuff like this,' He thought, turning his stock and ramming it into the head of a ghoul coming in from a side door.
The stale blood and flesh from the once-human spattered the soldiers mask, speckling his vision as well. He hastily ran an arm over his face succeeding in smearing most of it away.
He turned his head to face the rest of his squad, yelling, "OY MATES, WE GODDA PROBLEM IN 'ERE!"
One of the soldiers who was currently picking off some ghouls flanking another soldier, turned to yell back, "'EY BLACKER, I THINK WE ALL DO!"
At that moment in time, the roof decided to cave in, in the room the soldier nicknamed Blacker was shooting into. The reason for this, was a whole other horde of ghouls crashing down through to them. Before we get too much farther, let me explain how this situation happened.
These men, are mercenaries. They are also guards. For an organization called Hellsing. They hunt undead vampire-spawn.
Not your average mall cop.
These particular men, were the Ombra squad of the Hellsing organization. Ombra, was the fifteenth squad formed, and was the first-in, last-out, startup-cleanup squad. They were a shock team, and a cleanup crew for the vampire soldiers that went in before them. They, speci-alized in hordes of ghouls. They were sent to clean up a particularly nasty fight in an ancient hospital, where ghouls had been made of all staff and patients, and were all underground.
"WELL SHIT FIFTY, I THINK MINE'S WORSE!" Fifty turned and swore at the massive crowd of ghouls that had joined with the already massive flow of undead. He yelled to one of the men unloading an M204 light machine gun into a corridor, to focus fire on the horde in front of them. Two men in the back joined fire towards the sea of rotting flesh, while Blacker made for the makeshift barricade they had set up. He dove over it, narrowly avoiding a burst from the machine gun-wielding soldier as he spun to face the mob.
"BLACKER, GET ON THAT CORRIDOR!", The Captain roared. He was a stocky man, stubble, and an open helmet with goggles pulled up, and a vest with grenades stuck into pockets on it. He wielded a 9mm Tactical handgun, and MP5 sub-machine gun, vying for, 'Captain' as his call sign. Blacker rushed to a table they had on it's side, while the constant roar of gunfire behind him pressed against his ears. He panted heavily through his cloth, black-and-white skull mask he had on, dropping a knee and bracing the other against the table.
He ejected the clip, weighing it and stuffing it back in.
No sooner than he had made cover, then seven ghouls stepped out from different doors along the hallway shambling towards him. Blacker peered through his built in 0.70 scope at them, adjusting the focus.
His real name was Marcus Brandeur, a black haired, laid-back smoker. Right now all he was, was terrified. He could hear the sounds of retreating footsteps over the constant pulse of gunfire. He turned back to the task at hand, tightening his grip on the rifle. Ten yards. He aligned the dot of the scope with the head of the closest ghoul. Five yards. He pulled the trigger.
They always said something was wrong with him. When he was ten years old, he went deer hunting with his father. The first time he spotted a deer from his blind, he waited for the opportune moment, the blew away the deer's head before it even knew it had died. He spent almost two boxes every weekend, on target practice or hunting.
The psychiatrist said it was OSI, obsessive sensory input, but he didn't really care. All he knew, was the bliss when he saw that ghouls head explode from the shock wave of a 55.7 millimeter shell exiting it's skull. It also provided the bases for his nickname, him being the 'Black ops' specialist of the squad. He pivoted his rifle, repeating the action with three more ghouls. It was exhilarating. His dad had always said that if he didn't apply to the army, he'd have become a street criminal, or a gang banger.
He had also said a mercenary, but Marcus didn't like to be reminded.
"'EY BLACKER, SET UP ANOTHER TABLE, AN' COME THIN THE MOB!" He was jarred from his thoughts by the Captain, almost ramming the scope into his eye. He had learned the hard way, that that can end missions without a second chance. He stood, finishing his volley, sliding his gun to his back on it's leather strap, and pulling a table over to the barricade that was there. He stood it on the other table, testing it's sturdiness.
It would hold, but not for long. He took a grenade from a pouch on his vest, setting it on the table and tying the pin to a leg of the upper table with a bit of combat wire in his toolkit pouch on his belt.
'That'll give the buggers a nice surprise,' he thought darkly to himself, sliding his rifle back over his shoulder, and bolting for the rest of his squad.
They were holed up, to say the least. The bodies had piled up against the barricade, creating a hill for the other ghouls to climb over. He snapped off three rounds, kneeling behind the barricade next to his friend Fifty. He was named that, for his love of 50. guns. He was currently using an XM8 Assault rifle, vying for semi-auto. The squad had a joke, that he was called Fifty, because he'd never use more than fifty rounds on a job. He was picky about his shots, but he was good. A true marksman.
"Well Blacker, i think it's my shit too, now!!" He was slightly built, a solid metal mouth guard on the bottom half of his face, that connected to the synthetic jaw that he had. He was around 6', German-French. 'Blue eyed daydream', he said the ladies call him. More likely something along the lines of, 'Blue eyed bastard', but, who am i to judge?
He squeezed off two more rounds, blowing a hole in one, and knocking the leg off of another through the first hole. He never failed to impress, except when he was pissin' ya off.
"Stop showin' off, an' kill the bloody bastards!", Eight yelled at him, shoving an clip into his SOCOM 10mm, after ramming a ghoul with a twin in his left hand.
He was an ambidextrous chinese assassin turned mercenary, with all the gear for a 3rd century battle, and all the skill for a street fight. He had earned his nickname through completing house clearing with nothing but an Eight round Markirov pistol.
He leaned back, shoving a leg into the stomach of a ghoul, sending it flying into the crowd, as he plugged two other ghouls climbing over the hill. "TH' HELL 'R THERE SO MANY O' THESE BASTARDS!?" The Captain turned from reloading his MP5 to pulse a growing group on the right side, answering, "This was supposedly a morgue as well! The vamp got to the bodies, and woke em' up!!"
Eight sneered, blasting into a group rising above the hill.
"SO THAT'S WHY THEY SENT US, EH?!" The soldier wielding the machine gun spoke up. "EY, FOLLOW YOUR OWN ADVICE, SHUDDUP AND BLAST THE BASTARDS!" His name, was Blur. Not for his speed. But his bullet's. He liked big guns. Big fast guns. He was extremely muscly, pushing 6' 6", with nothing but a buzz-cut on his head, and belt bandeleros on his body. He was currently standing on top of the barricade, firing directly into the mob, and cutting a gore riddled swath through the crowd, all the while chew-ing on a cheap cigar.
Captain spoke up over the roar of gunfire, pulsing his own MP into the horde. "HEY MATES! IT'S CURTAINS IF WE DON'T HAVE AN EXIT, SO IF ANY OF YOU SUDDENLY GROW BRAINS, I'D BE OBLIGED!"
Black grinned, yelling back, "DON'T WORRY SIR, I HAVE SOMETHING IN MIND!" Captain looked at Blacker with an expression to match that of a deer in the headlights. "BLACKER!? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING!?" He turned back to the horde, knocking a few more ghouls off, listening to to shuffle of wood against wood. "I THINK YOU'LL ENJOY THIS ONE, 'CAP!"
"YOU BETTER NOT HAVE DONE WHAT I-" He was cut off by the thunderous detonation of a thermal grenade going off to their right. Both Captain and Blacker were on the ground, staring and the smoking crater where the entrance to the corridor once stood. "Blacker, i'm gonna kill you one day." Blacker stood, offering his hand to Captain.
"Not if i do it first. Cap grabbed his arm, hoisting himself to his feet. "OY MATES, WE GOT A NEW EXIT! I NEED A GRAPPLE ON THAT HOLE, NOW! EIGHT, GET UP THERE AND CLEAR THE AREA!" Eight nodded, holstering his guns, jumping from his stand, sprinting the hole in the ceiling, and jumping off of the wall, into the second floor.
Seconds later, gunshots echoed down from the hole. Fifty whistled. "F'i ever get off work, i'm definitely posting that to YouTube." Both Cap and Blur rolled their eyes while Blacker chuckled. They jogged to the opening, Blur and Fifty back peddling and knocking off any ghouls pursuing them. Blacker produced a rope, tossing it up the hole and yelling, "EY EIGHT! NOT ALL OF US ARE NINJAS! TIE 'AT TO SOMETHING STURDIER THAN YOUR ALIBI ON THE WEEKEND!" He could almost hear Eights eyes rolling in their sockets. The rope grew taught and Blacker gave it a few experimental tugs.
"HEY BLACKER!", Fifty yelled, "WE AIN'T GAININ' ROUNDS!! HOW'S IT GOIN'?!" Blacker drew his own 9mm, picking off a stray ghoul. "ALL SET, COME ON, BOYS!" Blacker holstered his pistol, climbing the rope, and pulling himself up over the edge. "Ya coulda helped, ya know? Eight?" Eight was off a few feet, staring slack jawed at a mirror on the wall, pistols hanging loosely from his hands.
"Blacker...? Come see this." Blacker walked over to Eight, muttering. "Not like we're on a mission, or an..."
Once he reached the mirror, he could see why Eight was so transfixed. Green and black smoke swirled around inside the reflection, undulating on non-existent winds.
"Bla.....b......what the hell is it?" Blacker stared with him, wondering the exact same thing. He was transfixed to it, repulsed, but not able to look away. "It looks...like an artifact...." By this time, the rest of the squad had climbed into the second floor.
"What the hell are you bastards do...?" Cap started, spotting the same thing they were transfixed by. Blur and Fifty followed, like lemmings, staring into the mist.
"It's so....beautiful," Blur said, eyes softening at some unseen fantasy. "I see....a tree....theres a house in it. Theres horses walking around.." Blacker was listening to Blur, when he noticed a strange protrusion from the mist. He leaned forwards and squinted at it, just as a claw jutted out, grabbing him and pulling him into oblivion.
