The Saran sun was only a dim red disc shimmering in the distant horizon. In the clear evening sky, countless stars twinkled and shimmered, beckoning to explorers to come and discover their mysteries. A cool wind blew through some tall grass on a remote region on Chau Sara, swaying them to and frau. A small rodent poked its head out of the edge of the field, and then sensing no danger, scurried across a dirt road that cut through the vegetation. It picked up a thick and decaying scent emanating from the southwest, and followed its direction through the vegetation, hoping to scavenge on a corpse.
On the other side of the road, it found itself standing in a tiny clearing. In the middle of this clearing was a small, pulsating mushroom structure, rooted deeply into the ground. Purple veins bulged out of the leathery surface, and small dips on its otherwise relatively smooth surface formed as it contracted, then disappeared as soon as it expanded. The rodent was curious at the bubble, and sniffed at this strange growth. Suddenly and without warning, the structure bursted, and a thick, purple ooze blasted out of its expended shell. The ooze enveloped the rodent, and it managed to give out a feeble squeak before the lethal carpet ate away its skin, and absorbed its unprotected flesh and bones within seconds. The nightmarish goo expanded, devouring any organic material in its path. Tiny bubbles began to form, and enlarged to throbbing bulbs before bursting into various nightmarish growths, which further accelerated the expansion of the muck.
Finally, egg like structures the size of a man sprouted, and from within popped out wolf-sized creatures that had only previously dwelled in the darkest niches of imagination. Armed with scythe-like protrusions and protected with thick carapaces that put reinforced Terran plating to shame, these demonic creatures heralded the arrival of the Swarm.
Chapter 1:
Nigel Forrester was an orphan of 19 years old. His father was a Confederate marine that died when the first Arclite Siege Tank prototype exploded and blew him to bits. Nigel's mother, Karen Forrester, was a secretary who worked in the office of General Edmund Duke. She was killed when she unwittingly activated a Spider Mine while attempting to get to work faster by navigating through a "neutralized" mine field. The mine malfunctioned when it was first set during the Guild Wars, but during the neutralization process the EMP shockwaves produced by orbiting science vessels reactivated a series of components inside the mine, thus making it live. The Confederacy denied any wrongdoing on its part, and no compensation was given to the bastard child.
Nigel learned from the beginning that in order to live, he had to fight. He, however, had more of a peaceful disposition, and thus bullying children of higher classes often picked on him. Nigel survived his perpetual torment by promising himself that by hard work, he would one day live a better life than his bullies. Fate proved to be rather cruel fifteen years later, as the bullies of his childhood gained prestigious positions through their parents' influence on corrupt bureaucrats while fortune evaded him constantly, and he became so desperate that he joined the lowest ranks of society by becoming a prospector. That's the way of life, Nigel told himself, and still believes that one day, he will sell enough minerals on the black market that he will be able to form his own company.
With this in mind, Nigel stepped into his decade-old SCV suit as he did for the past four years and zipped himself up. The sun was just rising in the east, and through a hole in his shabby outpost rays of sunlight poured through like gold. The plains of Chau Sara was rich with adventure, danger, and valuable mineral clusters. It was the mineral clusters that first attracted Nigel to this desolately beautiful planet, not the abundant and diverse wildlife or the breathtaking natural scenery. Finding an unclaimed mineral cluster was hard enough, but holding it for any extended amount of time without being discovered and pushed out was near impossibility. Only the Confederacy and the Kel-Morian Combine had enough manpower to do so, and lone prospectors like Nigel had to hoard as much minerals as they could possibly transport, then leave immediately in fear of having to surrender their entire cache to a more powerful contender. Nigel hoped that Confederate patrols did not tag his mobile base, and decided to see if this "tourist" was really sightseeing or site digging. He slung a badly scarred Gauss rifle that he pilfered from a Combine ammunition dump over his shoulder, and set off to his nearby Phylon-covered cache of wealth.
Nigel began to hastily cut up chunks of minerals from the cluster, but the work was slow and tedious. Minerals of higher purity were also much tougher, and this cluster was ninety-three percent pure. Although the work was very hard, the profit that Nigel would make would be substantial if he successfully sells his batch. The routine was always the same: power up cutter, find appropriate spot, cut off a section, transport the mineral chunk back to base, then come back and repeat. After about forty minutes of exhausting work, Nigel settled for a brief respite. He sipped some water, and checked his scanners to make sure that nobody has detected him. A green dot pinpointed his exact location, while scans were continuously done on a twelve-kilometer radius. Nothing of interest came up, and just as he was about to put the device away, it beeped urgently. With alarm, Nigel whipped it out and studied it. Small red dots became visible on the edge of the display, and were closing in to his location rapidly. The scanner estimated that the bogies will be on top of him in less than eleven minutes, giving him almost no time to pack up and get the hell out of there.
"Shit! Oh man, if I get out of this one alive I'm giving up on this business for sure! God damn it, where's the...Shit!" Nigel screamed as he saw that the display displayed a correction: nine minutes until ETA.
Nigel knew he was in for it, and there was no way to move the harvested minerals without packing up, and that took a lot of time. Something I don't have, he thought. Leaving without a significant harvest will mean a huge loss of borrowed money, and so both staying or leaving meant a life-threatening hazard. After a brief period of consideration, Nigel opted to stay and fight it out. Although he did not receive official training, he knew how to operate the standard killing device known as the Gauss rifle effectively. He inflated a few false signal generators in case his opponents decide to go long range, and then dug a shallow pit in the middle of the mineral cluster to shield himself from gunfire.
Nigel sat and waited until his scanner displayed four minutes to ETA, and powered on his rifle. Rifle power packs were a valuable commodity, and he was in no position to waste anything except his unseen enemies. His hands shook as he knew that the odds did not favor him, and as the timer reached two minutes, he wet his pants.
"Aw shit! Maaannnn..." he sobbed. Nigel definitely did not want to die.
Then they came. The tall reed like grass bent to each side forming a V, with small specks rushing through each V.
"Fucking shit. Oh fucking shit. Of all things, it had to be Vultures."
Vultures, armored patrol bikes that are routinely used by the Combine and the Confederacy alike to patrol large distances. Although their small fragmentation grenade launchers were ineffective against buildings and plated vehicles, they are deadly as countless hypersonic shrapnel would impale an infantry target, effectively shredding anyone who was unlucky enough to stand in their way. However, as the specks got closer, the made small dust clouds behind them. Something hovering Vultures usually did not do. Then, as they got closer, Nigel could make out through his binoculars that the specks were hideous creatures the size of small boulders armed with spikes, claws, and rows of sharp fangs.
"What the fuck?! Looks like mutant dogs. Must be a pack of native beasts. Thank God for not throwing a squad of Vultures at me..." Nigel sighed.
When the pack entered range, Nigel blasted forth with armor-piercing spikes that spewed out of his rifle. All except one of the creatures were hit in one sweep, but instead of rolling over and dying, the bullet holes simply bled a little black ooze and sealed up. The little monsters did not slow, and instead speeded up even more. Nigel could clearly make out their features now; each little beast had neat rows of spikes running down its smooth, bony back, and two scrawny arms ended in menacing claws extended from its armored body. Muscular legs with bulging veins propelled the thing at an almost unbelievable pace, and tiny red eyes glowed with bloodlust and evil. Nigel was terrified as his weapon proved almost useless against the pack from hell. He took off running, ditching his gun and his gear. The fiends followed relentlessly, and the foremost one overtook Nigel in a few seconds. Nigel was knocked down, and screamed as sharp teeth and claws ripped apart his suit.
His last thought was about how unfair it was that both his mother and father suffered significantly more pleasant deaths than what he is currently experiencing.
