I Wrote a Doom Fan-Fic (No, it's Not a Porno)

[SiMpLeToNiUm]

Hey. I wrote a Doom fan-fic of sorts a bit ago. It's about humanity's struggle against the demons before the events of Doom II. Enjoy!

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The sounds of gunfire and explosions come rushing back into your skull as the shellshock wears off. A blurry haze slowly begins to lift from your vision as you readjust to the scene before you. You see dark, unhealthy looking clouds above your head, fire and smoke shooting into the sky, and the towering corpses of scarred and abused skyscrapers. Somewhere in the spherical expanse, flak emplacements are bombarding unseen targets. It’s supposed to be the middle of the day, but the darkness is reminiscent of deep night. A few reports from automatic weapons ring out from behind you, tracer rounds in their wake. The bullets pass over with a sharp whizzing sound. You crane your neck and notice your commanding officer poised nearby. He drops to one knee, behind cover, and aims his rifle in the direction of the gunfire. After nestling the stock into his shoulder, he fires a few quick bursts. He gracefully sidesteps the retaliatory shots and begins moving in your direction. The brass ejecting from his weapon lands on your armored chest with a dull tap as he approaches. The cartridges are rather weighty, and have a stinging, incense-like odor. Each is enveloped in a cloak of light colored smoke, with each tendril dissipating as the round contacts your body armor. Apparently neutralizing the threat, your CO withdraws his weapon and extends his arm towards you. You roll to your side from your sprawled position and grasp his veiny forearm tightly. With a grunt, he helps you to your feet. After a quick nod, he scans the area and pulls away at a light jog, beckoning for you to follow. Slowly regaining your bearings, you retrieve your assault rifle from the muddy hole you were laying in and rush across the tortured cityscape.

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The brown, gut ridden ground bounces up and down with each stride, the charred remains of friend and foe alike silently screaming at you in protest of your very life. You turn your attention from them to the sky. There is a booming thunderclap followed by an ambient illumination of everything around you in unholy red light. Out of the sudden brightness, you find yourself breathless and insignificant as you make out the silhouettes of huge, flying demons and fighter jets tumbling and roaring overhead. At last, you reach your squad. They are all leaning single-file against a battered concrete wall, awaiting orders to breach the target building’s dented, bullet-ridden steel doors. As you form up, the CO gives the signal. The two marines closest to the door stack up on either side. One abruptly and precisely swings the door in and tosses a flashbang grenade while the other sends a canister of tear gas bouncing through the aperture. Along with the team, you toggle the gas-filter system through your spacesuit’s heads up display. A sharp pop and hiss spells the release of the gas, and as the flashbang detonates, you hear some alarmed screams from within as your unit floods the room. You are soon greeted by the cracks and pops of ballistics narrowly missing your head. You are able to identify the enemy position due to the muzzle flashes and reports, and take a few shots. Two figures fall from the shadows and smoke to the floor, signifying kills. After a brief shootout, your team mops up the rest of the enemy, leaving only the empty room. It is a high-tech research lab of sorts, with advanced machinery and computers populating the walls and floor space. At the far end is a large blast door. Some of your unit has already reached the door, and have begun to prepare breaching apparatus. They use some plasma welders to loosen the doorframe, and then they apply some advanced charges to the weakened areas. After stepping backwards a safe distance, they detonate them, thrusting the door and a large amount of debris into the adjoining corridor. After the dust settles, you move out with the rest of the squad, and begin searching for your primary mission objective: the main control room. Referencing a holographic auto-map of the building’s floor plan, you soon locate the room, and begin to move out. You pass strange laboratories and hear the beeping of computers all around you. The walls have a sheen to them that casts icy reflections on every surface. The clean, cool, advanced technology stands in sharp contrast to the horrors outside. After some staggered firefights and dead ends, you find your destination and stack up on the doorway.

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The portal has an inscription to the side on either wall, “Central Control and Operations”. Your CO gazes through a small rectangular window at the top of the door. A few moments pass before he nods, looking again towards your unit. “This is the target room. Remember, we need the lead scientists alive. Everyone else is a threat. Shoot first, ask questions later.” Beckoning for a soldier to come forward, he says, “Taggart, take a peek.” A special tactics operative privy to bleeding edge tech, Taggart approaches the door and produces a book-sized X-Ray pad and holds it against the shiny metal. The device emits a faint doop. “I can’t sir, the door’s a lead alloy.” says Taggart, replacing the pad in his backpack and retreating back to position. Your CO looks again through the window and grunts, “Damn, we’re going in blind.” After pausing for a micro-second, he orders, “Perform a wide-area genetic sweep. We need to know if it’s them or not.” Taggart interjects mid-sentence while furiously tapping on a wrist attached tactical computer, “Already on it sir, initializing.” Taggart had also been kitted with friend-or-foe genetic monitoring equipment. It scans in a 500 yard radius, regardless of obstructions. “Confirmed, targets are inside the control room.” says Taggart, who adjusts himself and cocks his weapon. You already know exactly what to do. Command briefed everyone on the ship before deployment. You remember the newscasts and spy drone pictures: strong leaders and bureaucrats of the government signing over humanity’s rights to the Union Aerospace Corporation’s insane brand of demonic research. Mega-bases constructed for secret projects. Nobody but the highest powers could have known what they were up to. The UAC’s head honchos were always attending conferences and speeches, shaking hands and kissing babies. You never thought then that it would get this bad. You were wrong. The demons had actually managed to invade Earth, and were wreaking havoc. Your orders are simple: capture the lead scientists under any circumstances. All other contacts are expendable. You must close the hell-portals. You are operating under international authority. Inside the remnants of the United Nations’ combined military forces, this is your last operation and stand. This building holds the devices necessary for ending the Hell on Earth invasion once and for all. After detonating more specially designed disorientation breaching charges, your squad storms the room. Several armed guards attempt to react, but barely draw their weapons before they are gunned down. Before the smoke and bullet casings settle, you are expertly training your barrel on every lab coat in the room. Nobody moves yet. The tension is heavy and overbearing. Your head is fuzzy and swimming, the craze of warfare likely lines your nose and eyes. “Nobody fucking move!” Your CO barks at the top of his gravelly voice. “You are all guilty of crimes against humanity and you will be tried in international tribunals. As of right now, the only rights you have are those allowed by my endearing patience. If one of you so much as blinks, I’ll put one between your eyes!” You scan the room. Elevated above a flight of ornate tiled stairs and seated in uniform swivel chairs are a few nervous looking scientists dressed in black with the sigil of UAC high command emblazoned on their long sleeved shoulders; they are your primary objectives. The remaining scientists seem to be taking the warning seriously. They haven’t moved a muscle. You direct your gaze to the CO, who strides over to them. He forcefully grips a man by the collar, bringing him inches away from his weathered face. He begins demanding information from him. The man blubbers something inaudible, receiving a prompt backhand slap. This elicits a more tempered response. Seeming satisfied, your CO throws him aside and begins typing on a nearby computer terminal. Everyone recoils as a loud klaxon alarm starts to wail, err-oooooa!...err-oooooa! The CO steps back from the console and turns to the scientist. “What is this?!” he yells, with a wild look on his face, “What have you done?!” a disturbing calm creeps across the UAC scientists’ visage as he croaks, “We’ve just opened the gates of hell…our bases on Mars’ moons were only a testing ground for humanity’s final ascension…the demons, they’ve set up a force field. You could have never hoped to win…” As the last word breaks from his throat, an ominous and intense orange glow begins to bathe the room. The ground beneath your feet begins to tremor and quake. The floor tiles start to split, with large chunks falling down to the birthing abyss. There is a tremendous blast of sound, and the tremors become more violent. The orange glow starts to strobe and flicker. Electrical systems in the building start to fail. Florescent bulbs glow white hot before bursting. All of the computers start to malfunction and bleep uncontrollably. Secondary alarms join the klaxon. A garbled voice-over intercom buzzes, “Unstable dimensional rift detected.” and “Emergency systems offline, facility integrity compromised.” Regardless of your suit’s filtration systems, the air quickly becomes hot and cumbersome to breathe. The entire world seems to explode as your helmet optics are overcome by a brilliant and terrifying flash of white light.


You and the rest of the exhausted war-room staff shake off your headsets in pain.

---

The audio feedback was devastating, and the roar of hell itself is still fresh in your eardrums. The giant monitor at the center of the underground installation is lifeless and black with only the message, “Connection lost” displayed across it. “We’re doomed, then…” says a young man to your side. He was an intern in the months before the war. He was fresh-faced and had a slick haircut. Now his hair was long, coarse and hung in his eyes. His collared dress shirt was as mussed as his hair, with deep wrinkles and armpit stains. His tie barely clung to his neck. Limp and unknotted, it completed the pitiful scene. The remaining political leaders and military generals of the world stand behind you, anxiously pacing or gripping the railings of a steel catwalk. In differing languages, they all swear, pray, or stay completely silent. Auto translation chips installed in your brain easily turn their expletives into words you understand. Humanity seems to have lost hope. There is no one left to fight. Just then, as everyone’s heads hang low and they contemplate their last hours, a woman monitoring communication channels and translating static speaks up, “We’re getting a faint energy reading from…what is this? Performing diagnostics… there’s a marine, a single marine…he’s on Earth. He isn’t too far from the objective…establishing contact…”

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[Naniyue]

Could you make this a downloadable rtf or pdf? Great to add to my ebook collection!

[SiMpLeToNiUm]

Sure!

BackStory.pdf

[R4L]

"(Not a Porno)"

Lost interest.

Just kidding. I'll take a look later. Need some reading material.

[Naniyue]

Thanks! More DooM for me!

[Cherno]

And then John was a Zombie.

[CWolf]

And the Zombie impse.jpeg.

[SiMpLeToNiUm]

And then John was a Zombie.

And the Zombie impse.jpeg.

Are these criticisms? I truly can't tell.

I think the John was a Zombie is relating to a narrative trope, but the impse comment throws me for a loop. Unless this refers to me titling the thread as (not a porno)...am I reading too far into it?

[SouthernLion]

Is this entire thing in first person...? I don't think I've ever read a first person book before.

Oh, I guess the CYOA ones from GooseBumps and stuff were.

[SiMpLeToNiUm]

Is this entire thing in first person...?

Yep. I tried to follow the format of the text screens during Doom & Doom 2's campaigns. I always liked how they made you feel like the hero. I did my best to capture that.