GoblinCreepypastaShop - Two
25 Apr 2023GoblinCoffeeShop
*Just some bullshit I wrote from a silly convo we had in the squad. Nothing to do with my character. One shot. Language and nonsense. Enjoy?*Goblin Creepypasta Shop - Two
Kit Fowler’s a creep. I don’t even care, I said it. If he tracks me down for this shit… you know what I shouldn’t even be surprised.
That dude got so close to me I could smell his breath. It smelled like kale and cigarettes, kinda like a hippie bumming quarters on the beach for doing tricks with a hula hoop, except he was more like a retired army mechanic who woke up convinced his molars were transmitting secrets to the feds or that he had alien implants in his intestinal villi stealing his thoughts to feed to the fish god Mehethemek.
So, basically, I got a magazine upgrade and left. I’d been holding onto a shiny new C-44 SMG, and the first thing I wanted was to cap that sucker out at 90 rounds a mag. Just for the shits and giggles.
Of course, it was a few days before I had the occasion to use it. Boy it was sweet. Jumped all over the place, but who cares. The holes I smashed into that HAB room only made the firefight more exciting. Shattering glass, sparking monitors, zinging ricochets… I think something caught fire? I don’t know, it was awesome.
Well, as with any weapon one enjoys too much, you run out of bullets. I glanced at my combat map, squeezed off a few plasma rounds to delete the last few blips, and made a break for where I saw the ammo icon.
Now, usually, you just run over there and see a few orange crates… they have *everything.* I don’t know how they do it, they just do. And you do what you always do.. You just kinda… slap the thing. (That’s how most things work, right?) You slap it, and then you have magazines. Doesn’t matter what weapon. Could be rocket launchers. Doesn’t matter! Slap it and go!
Except this time… well, I didn’t really mean to do this but for some reason I just started…. Opening the box! Yeah I know, but it gets worse. Because inside there were these cardboard boxes, right? Kinda rattly. I found myself grabbing a few of the blue ones, and inside are these plastic cases full of bullets. Just individual fucking bullets. You know like the kind you see poking out of the top of a magazine?
What, you mean you never looked at those? Okay well…
Look it’s like an egg crate but smaller with like a hundred little brassy bullets inside. What the fuck was I doing with this? I was outside an airlock… guys dropping in on the horizon… and there’s no way to slam this little cargo rack of lead into the gun! I don’t have time for this, I just need a mag!
Here’s where it gets insane. I start, like, taking the bullets out of the fucking box. And my fingers start pushing them, ONE AT A FUCKING TIME, into the magazine hole.
YES there’s a hole in the magazine, where the fuck do you think the bullets go??
NO I don’t… look I have no idea what possessed me to do this. I literally saw my hands moving like this right, I stick this giant magazine between my knees and start smooshing the shit one at a time into the fucking hole. And I’m thinking, what am I doing? I can’t do this to all 90 bullets!
There’s voices coming closer, orders to spread out, shit, what the fuck, that’s only been like 12? I still got 80 more to go! Just drop the magazine and get something else!
Lights pointed my way, shouting.
JUST PUT THE SHIT DOWN AND GO!
And I can’t stop. Click. Click. Click. Click.
This motherfucker walks right up to me and just starts punching me in the head. He shoulda used the butt of his rifle but no, just straight clocking me in the head. And I’m like, on one knee. Click click click, my hands just moving of their own will. So I think, fuck, I’m gonna die here! But my legs still work!
I run into the airlock. Pass some guys holding a check point. Probably like “..click click click click click CLICK CLICK click click click click…” HOW MANY GODDAM BULLETS ARE LEFT!? Dude is chasing me, all hell breaks loose, my guys are yelling at me to shoot and I’m like “I’m fucking loading a magazine and I can’t do anything else!” Actually how the fuck am I still holding bullets? I feel the metal starting to cut a groove into my thumb, tears stinging my eyes, please God just let it stop!
And that’s when everything went black. I couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t see anything, just… silence. Nothing. Then visions of myself… underground? Like a lattice work of planetary terrain overhead?
Suddenly I’m back in my ship. Parked outside the settlement. Nothing. No guards. No lights. Just the dim light of the gas giant overhead, the swirls of the galaxy. I tear off my gloves to see… no, actually, no cuts on my thumb. I feel my face… no bruises from the beating I had taken. What time was it? Wasn’t there a mercenary waypoint here for the hot zone?
I lurched in my seat as the BLEEP of an incoming message cracked through the silence. Kit Fowler. That motherfucker.
“There’s someone you should meet, CMDR Goblin. Not many people in this galaxy that I trust. But I trust her….”
Shit, man… I’m not sure I even trust myself.