Hey guys this is in a way just a friendly response to Bioware's "challenge" to fans to write fan-fiction for them. The following is part of the first chapter that i just wrote up in about 30 minutes of a novel in the Mass Effect universe, based on the battle for Earth that will take place in ME3.
I just want my fellow Escapists opinion and ALSO: PLEASE FEEL FREE TO POST YOUR OWN LITERARY WORKS!!! (put in spoiler tags)
Edit: A link to the "challenge" http://www.escapistmagazine.com/news/view/115655-Dragon-Age-Lead-Writer-Offers-Fanfic-Tips
Edit: Part 2 of my entry:
I just want my fellow Escapists opinion and ALSO: PLEASE FEEL FREE TO POST YOUR OWN LITERARY WORKS!!! (put in spoiler tags)
Chapter 1: Hit the Ground
Cpl. Johrne always hated the dirt. That blackened, breaking, brackish foe never broke its focus, always staring, taunting him to battle back. He hit the ground running.
His sergeant called to him, followed by the back of his hand. Johrne never paid much attention to Sgt. Wihlmoon, and perhaps that is why after his service, Johrne was still a corporal.
?Johrne, you look at the enemy like that, they?ll hand you your ass on fine china??
Johrne stared past the fuzzy sergeant, focusing on the hissing, hacking, humming wires behind him of the UT-47 Kodiak. That old hum? that solemn hum? the hum of hubris. Jorhne focused his eyes on his sergeant. That old man had it the worst of them all in Breaker Company: missing ring finger, broken tooth, cauliflower ear, that demanding scar that broke across the skin just as it broke into the cracking pink of his lip.
??nothing of it. You hear me?!? Johrne!?
It seemed all just a haze of sweat, steam, and scaled glove meeting the side of Jorhne?s head.
?Loud and clear? sarge.? Wihlmoon hated that name. It remind him of his meager status, as did all things in his life, and perhaps that is why he is always miserable.
?We?re groundside in 30 seconds, Jorhy...? Jorhne loved that name. It reminded him of his worthy status, as did all things in his life, and perhaps that is why he is never miserable.
Gorjy yelled his signature knee-slapper at the remark made by Sarge and turned back to a wave of hacks from his fellow squad members.
Break-C, as it was dubbed by its members, composed of Wihlmoon- gunnery sergeant: N3, ?FN?Gorjy - serviceman 2nd class private explosive tech: N2, ?Eezo? Rokabek- serviceman 1st class corporal sniper: N2, Lokha ?Loki?- serviceman 2nd class/private corpsman and Gorjy?s brother: N2, Kosko- serviceman 1st class/corporal gunner: N2, Graven- serviceman 1st class/corporal heavy weapons: N2. Then, there is Jorhne ?Jorhy Spacer?- back-up: N1.
Still, after being surrounded by military presence since he was born, Jorhne never felt as though he needed to prove anything. He had had his Jormangund Pinnacle at his hip since he could hold up his arm. He knew the hidden slits behind the trigger guard. He knew the ½ inch dent in the grip where his forefinger went, the exact second that the mass-reducing field refunded another slug, and as of late, the number of shots that took to pull out for another thermal clip, became an unconscious flow of his hands. Even the?
Time?s up. The Kodiak?s shutter door lifted.
The orange in the sky bled like the new hole in Gorjy?s arm. The dust rolled like sickly tides. The ash fell like sickly rain. The wind only assisted this literal Hell-on-Earth. Lokha, busy patching his brother?s near-severed arm, struggled to heave the flung metal from his starved flesh. Gorjy?s exposed muscles groaned for the medi-gel that Lokha fumbled in his hands. Johrne didn?t look back. He kept his armor-clad combat boots in front of him. Leaping from the back of the burning Kodiak, he hit the ground running.
Cpl. Johrne always hated the dirt. That blackened, breaking, brackish foe never broke its focus, always staring, taunting him to battle back. He hit the ground running.
His sergeant called to him, followed by the back of his hand. Johrne never paid much attention to Sgt. Wihlmoon, and perhaps that is why after his service, Johrne was still a corporal.
?Johrne, you look at the enemy like that, they?ll hand you your ass on fine china??
Johrne stared past the fuzzy sergeant, focusing on the hissing, hacking, humming wires behind him of the UT-47 Kodiak. That old hum? that solemn hum? the hum of hubris. Jorhne focused his eyes on his sergeant. That old man had it the worst of them all in Breaker Company: missing ring finger, broken tooth, cauliflower ear, that demanding scar that broke across the skin just as it broke into the cracking pink of his lip.
??nothing of it. You hear me?!? Johrne!?
It seemed all just a haze of sweat, steam, and scaled glove meeting the side of Jorhne?s head.
?Loud and clear? sarge.? Wihlmoon hated that name. It remind him of his meager status, as did all things in his life, and perhaps that is why he is always miserable.
?We?re groundside in 30 seconds, Jorhy...? Jorhne loved that name. It reminded him of his worthy status, as did all things in his life, and perhaps that is why he is never miserable.
Gorjy yelled his signature knee-slapper at the remark made by Sarge and turned back to a wave of hacks from his fellow squad members.
Break-C, as it was dubbed by its members, composed of Wihlmoon- gunnery sergeant: N3, ?FN?Gorjy - serviceman 2nd class private explosive tech: N2, ?Eezo? Rokabek- serviceman 1st class corporal sniper: N2, Lokha ?Loki?- serviceman 2nd class/private corpsman and Gorjy?s brother: N2, Kosko- serviceman 1st class/corporal gunner: N2, Graven- serviceman 1st class/corporal heavy weapons: N2. Then, there is Jorhne ?Jorhy Spacer?- back-up: N1.
Still, after being surrounded by military presence since he was born, Jorhne never felt as though he needed to prove anything. He had had his Jormangund Pinnacle at his hip since he could hold up his arm. He knew the hidden slits behind the trigger guard. He knew the ½ inch dent in the grip where his forefinger went, the exact second that the mass-reducing field refunded another slug, and as of late, the number of shots that took to pull out for another thermal clip, became an unconscious flow of his hands. Even the?
Time?s up. The Kodiak?s shutter door lifted.
The orange in the sky bled like the new hole in Gorjy?s arm. The dust rolled like sickly tides. The ash fell like sickly rain. The wind only assisted this literal Hell-on-Earth. Lokha, busy patching his brother?s near-severed arm, struggled to heave the flung metal from his starved flesh. Gorjy?s exposed muscles groaned for the medi-gel that Lokha fumbled in his hands. Johrne didn?t look back. He kept his armor-clad combat boots in front of him. Leaping from the back of the burning Kodiak, he hit the ground running.
Edit: A link to the "challenge" http://www.escapistmagazine.com/news/view/115655-Dragon-Age-Lead-Writer-Offers-Fanfic-Tips
Edit: Part 2 of my entry:
?Eezo! Hit the tower! Graven get the damn ML-77 out here! Kosko! 3 o?clock!?
Jorhne was still staring at that sky. He never forgot it. The hemorrhaging of blaring yellow and red splattered across a roaring storm of ashy clouds. This storm?s lightning struck as seething red beams, evaporating all matter it touched, and the rain came down as a torrent of the smoking remains, wafting through the air; a foul smell of reaping. This storm was dotted by hail in its darkest form. Fear in its prime. Reaping? in its eternal cycle. These Reapers were the quaking force, the thunder. They shattered the spectacle in a force as final as death itself, their desired outcome, inevitable.
The Reapers had come.
His admiration was cut short. Jorhne?s attention was called by a hoarse and raucous order from Wihlmoon?s scratching throat. Johrne only heard a muffled whine.
??the damn ground!?
A scaled glove erupted past Jorhne?s shoulder and pulled him down to the rubble floor. The explosion of the missile launcher exploded just then against the side of a nearby crumbled building.
Graven yelled out in shock ?What the hell?!? The ML-77 never misses!?
A floor or two collapsed. The 20 or so Husks turned to meet their new challenge, and they sprinted to meet it.
The skin of the Husks was that of the overwhelming fog of ash that cluttered the air. Their skin was bulged and erupted with throbbing blue veins and the eyes? those eyes; haunting baubles of lifeless pale. The screams of these monsters were the first to meet Break-C, soon followed by clawing hands and shattered bones. Kosko broke into a roll to his right, breaking against the tsunami of raving Husks. His gun came out before he did, the darting slugs tearing one, two, three gray skulls. Kosko?s leg was clipped by a frenzied hand, breaking his stride and forcing him to turn in midflight and take out the imminent foe.
Graven was loaded and more than ready. He looked to his 4, and seeing his brother-in-arms being drowned by pulsing blue and gray, shot a round off into the crowd: direct hit. A shower of gushing stone colored limbs and bits flew high into the sky.
?Damn.? Rokabek muttered. The round threw off his aim. He dropped his M-92 Mantis and pulled out his waist-attached M-4 Shuriken, followed by a spray of slugs. One?two? He counted as the bodies dropped.
Wihlmoon was covering Lokha as he was just finishing Gorjy?s field treatment. Wihlmoon himself was a decent shot at least. His kills racked up to 6 by the time his clip game hissing out.
?Cease fire!? Wihlmoon shouted. The cracking of slugs bursting from mass accelerators died down. Jorhne stood from his prone position and he brought his hands out from behind his head. He was laying down and staring at the spectacle of the sky. Wihlmoon didn?t notice anyway.
Jorhne was still staring at that sky. He never forgot it. The hemorrhaging of blaring yellow and red splattered across a roaring storm of ashy clouds. This storm?s lightning struck as seething red beams, evaporating all matter it touched, and the rain came down as a torrent of the smoking remains, wafting through the air; a foul smell of reaping. This storm was dotted by hail in its darkest form. Fear in its prime. Reaping? in its eternal cycle. These Reapers were the quaking force, the thunder. They shattered the spectacle in a force as final as death itself, their desired outcome, inevitable.
The Reapers had come.
His admiration was cut short. Jorhne?s attention was called by a hoarse and raucous order from Wihlmoon?s scratching throat. Johrne only heard a muffled whine.
??the damn ground!?
A scaled glove erupted past Jorhne?s shoulder and pulled him down to the rubble floor. The explosion of the missile launcher exploded just then against the side of a nearby crumbled building.
Graven yelled out in shock ?What the hell?!? The ML-77 never misses!?
A floor or two collapsed. The 20 or so Husks turned to meet their new challenge, and they sprinted to meet it.
The skin of the Husks was that of the overwhelming fog of ash that cluttered the air. Their skin was bulged and erupted with throbbing blue veins and the eyes? those eyes; haunting baubles of lifeless pale. The screams of these monsters were the first to meet Break-C, soon followed by clawing hands and shattered bones. Kosko broke into a roll to his right, breaking against the tsunami of raving Husks. His gun came out before he did, the darting slugs tearing one, two, three gray skulls. Kosko?s leg was clipped by a frenzied hand, breaking his stride and forcing him to turn in midflight and take out the imminent foe.
Graven was loaded and more than ready. He looked to his 4, and seeing his brother-in-arms being drowned by pulsing blue and gray, shot a round off into the crowd: direct hit. A shower of gushing stone colored limbs and bits flew high into the sky.
?Damn.? Rokabek muttered. The round threw off his aim. He dropped his M-92 Mantis and pulled out his waist-attached M-4 Shuriken, followed by a spray of slugs. One?two? He counted as the bodies dropped.
Wihlmoon was covering Lokha as he was just finishing Gorjy?s field treatment. Wihlmoon himself was a decent shot at least. His kills racked up to 6 by the time his clip game hissing out.
?Cease fire!? Wihlmoon shouted. The cracking of slugs bursting from mass accelerators died down. Jorhne stood from his prone position and he brought his hands out from behind his head. He was laying down and staring at the spectacle of the sky. Wihlmoon didn?t notice anyway.
