LATEST CHATTY HEADER

Zorlag tilted his head in disbelief. “A contaminator ? Really, is that what they tell them ?” I could tell through the visor of my friend’s helmet that his face contorted into an expression of mischievous disbelief.

I shook my head. “It is what the GDF says it is.”

”Haven’t they noticed that we speak English to one another ?”

I laughed. “Yeah, but we sound SCARY. So, how long you gonna be tinkering with those turrets ?”

“As long as it takes, man. As long as it takes.”

“Let’s face it”, I said. “Even if they knew that we’re their great-great-great-great-grandchildren….”

“You’re right”, retorted Zorlag, “They would’ve bashed our skulls in anyway. I mean, just look at us !”

“A contaminator, though”, I sighed. “That’s inventive”.

“They could’ve come up with something more plausible” Zorlag chimed. “Something like a “death star” or a “photon cannon””. He clunked at the turret in frustration and dropped the wrench, which went bouncing down the side of the hill.

I folded my railgun. “Hold on, I’ll get it”.

As I traversed down the hill, I could feel the ground shake with the hits of artillery at a distance. A black cloud appeared on the horizon. Less than a mile away, other Strogg soldiers were dying to keep our last line of defense - all for the greater good… one that got lost in translation.

This was the very definition of a pointless war, I philosophized, bending down to get the wrench. As Zorlag says, I always get my head into the clouds….

Zorlag.

I spun around.

Zorlag was talking to another Strogg. That other Strogg was me.

…

“ZORLAG !!!!!!” I hit the ground running.

They both turned to look at me. Then Zorlag slowly turned toward the OTHER ME.

I WILL NOT MAKE IT IN TIME.
Unholstering the railgun took what seemed like an eternity.

Through the scope, I saw Zorlag on the ground, grasping his eye. The marine was aiming at his head. The railgun shook violently as I pulled the trigger. Then I ran. I ran as fast as I could. Through the smoke, I could see the marine limping away to the nearby tank.

Smoke was coming out of bullet holes on Zorlag’s helmet. I remember the blood stains on the knife sticking out of his eyesocket. I think I yelled for a technician. It all became a blur at that point. It was all so redundant and pointlessly cruel. I remember getting into a Cyclops. I remember the auxiliary generator flying off and bruising my face as the missiles hit. I remember the screaming followed by the cracking, squishing sound that human bodies made under the chassis. The sporadic beeping of depleted shields. And the thing that I remember the most is the red crosshairs and the long beep as I locked on to THAT TANK.

Makron will hear of this. I am done with this war.