Stories within stories

[Mikotoba]

Reviving because why not suggest stuff and I'll probably not write it if it's too stupid even for me.

[Sleepy Retard]

attack of shacktstotzka

back in shacktion

coming to you, whenever hamada writes it

[AmazinglyAmazing]

Well, if this is being revived, might as well have a story made if possible.

How about one about my man Jackson 'Stiggs' Hopper. The Almayer has been boarded and Command is doing all they can to contact help as the xenos make their way to CIC. Jackson is holding out in the hallway with his Smartgun, and quickly realises that he's the only defense between the xenos and CIC. His job: protect the CIC at all costs.

[Mikotoba]

Well, if this is being revived, might as well have a story made if possible.

How about one about my man Jackson 'Stiggs' Hopper. The Almayer has been boarded and Command is doing all they can to contact help as the xenos make their way to CIC. Jackson is holding out in the hallway with his Smartgun, and quickly realises that he's the only defense between the xenos and CIC. His job: protect the CIC at all costs.

► Show Spoiler

All combat personnel, form up at the CIC! A distress signal is being sent out, we need to hold this position!

The ship-wide announcement crackled over failing speakers, its message mostly lost in the crescendo of dying screams from the Almayer's crew and guttural roars from its abominable boarding party. Jackson Hopper, 'Stiggs' to his comrades, was barely able to rationalize it all as he sprinted down the darkened hallways of the second floor. They were United States Colonial Marines, the most advanced military body in the known universe, and their foes were lizard-aliens born on a backwater colony planet; so why had the operation ended in a desperate evacuation? Why had 90% of the ship's fighting force been slaughtered within the second hour? Why did those inhuman, merciless sons-of-bitches know how to crash their own damn dropship into medbay? Why did the USCM design their dropships to be locked down by ID-less lizards in the first place?

He was the last man of his squad; Hell, maybe he was the last combat-ready marine on the station, and that meant he was still beholden to the Commander's orders. Planting himself in front of the CIC's doors, Hopper could feel the floor rumbling under his feet, those growls were growing closer by the second. If anyone could hold this position, however, it was a smartgunner. Hopper reached back, pulling his enormous weapon free of his suit's magnetic harness. A red, eyeless head appeared from around a corner, hissing at the sight of fresh prey. The quadruped bounded towards him with alarming speed, and Hopper knew all too well what those beasts could do to the unprepared. I just...need...to ready...my weapon!

After what felt like an eternity, Hopper was grasping his gun with both hands, and a surge of confidence flushed over his body. "Eat lead you mini-mouthed motherfucker!" he roared, squeezing the trigger. BRRT! The muzzle flash lit up the hallway, a single bullet created a pea-sized puncture in the monster's head. The beast was not deterred, its gait continued without pause. Jackson squeezed the trigger again, but the smartgun beeped -- a sign that it wasn't ready to fire again. The last thing Hopper felt was his back hitting the floor before the creature was upon him, and his last thoughts were of the requisitions officer announcing the budget cuts to the smartgun division: Heavier guns, weaker bullets, firing delays to ensure ammo is preserved.

[AmazinglyAmazing]

► Show Spoiler

All combat personnel, form up at the CIC! A distress signal is being sent out, we need to hold this position!

The ship-wide announcement crackled over failing speakers, its message mostly lost in the crescendo of dying screams from the Almayer's crew and guttural roars from its abominable boarding party. Jackson Hopper, 'Stiggs' to his comrades, was barely able to rationalize it all as he sprinted down the darkened hallways of the second floor. They were United States Colonial Marines, the most advanced military body in the known universe, and their foes were lizard-aliens born on a backwater colony planet; so why had the operation ended in a desperate evacuation? Why had 90% of the ship's fighting force been slaughtered within the second hour? Why did those inhuman, merciless sons-of-bitches know how to crash their own damn dropship into medbay? Why did the USCM design their dropships to be locked down by ID-less lizards in the first place?

He was the last man of his squad; Hell, maybe he was the last combat-ready marine on the station, and that meant he was still beholden to the Commander's orders. Planting himself in front of the CIC's doors, Hopper could feel the floor rumbling under his feet, those growls were growing closer by the second. If anyone could hold this position, however, it was a smartgunner. Hopper reached back, pulling his enormous weapon free of his suit's magnetic harness. A red, eyeless head appeared from around a corner, hissing at the sight of fresh prey. The quadruped bounded towards him with alarming speed, and Hopper knew all too well what those beasts could do to the unprepared. I just...need...to ready...my weapon!

After what felt like an eternity, Hopper was grasping his gun with both hands, and a surge of confidence flushed over his body. "Eat lead you mini-mouthed motherfucker!" he roared, squeezing the trigger. BRRT! The muzzle flash lit up the hallway, a single bullet created a pea-sized puncture in the monster's head. The beast was not deterred, its gait continued without pause. Jackson squeezed the trigger again, but the smartgun beeped -- a sign that it wasn't ready to fire again. The last thing Hopper felt was his back hitting the floor before the creature was upon him, and his last thoughts were of the requisitions officer announcing the budget cuts to the smartgun division: Heavier guns, weaker bullets, firing delays to ensure ammo is preserved.

Beautiful

Edit: And oh God it's too real. Even the nerfs have even affected stories.

[David Stormwell]

► Show Spoiler

All combat personnel, form up at the CIC! A distress signal is being sent out, we need to hold this position!

The ship-wide announcement crackled over failing speakers, its message mostly lost in the crescendo of dying screams from the Almayer's crew and guttural roars from its abominable boarding party. Jackson Hopper, 'Stiggs' to his comrades, was barely able to rationalize it all as he sprinted down the darkened hallways of the second floor. They were United States Colonial Marines, the most advanced military body in the known universe, and their foes were lizard-aliens born on a backwater colony planet; so why had the operation ended in a desperate evacuation? Why had 90% of the ship's fighting force been slaughtered within the second hour? Why did those inhuman, merciless sons-of-bitches know how to crash their own damn dropship into medbay? Why did the USCM design their dropships to be locked down by ID-less lizards in the first place?

He was the last man of his squad; Hell, maybe he was the last combat-ready marine on the station, and that meant he was still beholden to the Commander's orders. Planting himself in front of the CIC's doors, Hopper could feel the floor rumbling under his feet, those growls were growing closer by the second. If anyone could hold this position, however, it was a smartgunner. Hopper reached back, pulling his enormous weapon free of his suit's magnetic harness. A red, eyeless head appeared from around a corner, hissing at the sight of fresh prey. The quadruped bounded towards him with alarming speed, and Hopper knew all too well what those beasts could do to the unprepared. I just...need...to ready...my weapon!

After what felt like an eternity, Hopper was grasping his gun with both hands, and a surge of confidence flushed over his body. "Eat lead you mini-mouthed motherfucker!" he roared, squeezing the trigger. BRRT! The muzzle flash lit up the hallway, a single bullet created a pea-sized puncture in the monster's head. The beast was not deterred, its gait continued without pause. Jackson squeezed the trigger again, but the smartgun beeped -- a sign that it wasn't ready to fire again. The last thing Hopper felt was his back hitting the floor before the creature was upon him, and his last thoughts were of the requisitions officer announcing the budget cuts to the smartgun division: Heavier guns, weaker bullets, firing delays to ensure ammo is preserved.

Oh God, Its Beautiful