Saturday, September 4, 2010


By Tomara Armstrong

Smoke rises off the bodies on the floor, and the room is ripe with the smell of singed hair and skin. Your pistol begins to beep and you toss it to the floor--the battery is low.
Scavenging the fallen, you acquire new Martian pistols, a little larger than your NOSSA issue – you can’t help but smile at how light they are. You come across several small baubles each marked with a luminous green spade. Gas or grenade, you think as you stuff them into your pocket.

Either way, I win.

You hear the shuffling of feet outside the office. Crawling across the floor on your stomach you approach the door and crack it open.

The “King” is standing back as a small Martian army closes in on the door. From your crouched position, you have a clear shot of his royal highness. You think on it for a moment, and decide you have nothing to lose. You’re probably not going to make it out of here alive, so you might as well go all out.

Steady, aim, and fire…

You hit!

The King’s head explodes into the air and his body convulses. He doesn’t collapse. His arms flop erratically as his Martian innards gush skywards like a geyser back home.

You jump up from the floor and pump your guns in the air in victory. Maybe he was just a janitor, but who cares? That was cool as hell!

Your move has confused the Martian army, so you use this to your advantage. “I am an assassin!” You yell as you push open the office door, firing your pistols intermittently.

Ducking behind the Mars-A-Bon stand, you do a quick count between fires and are happily surprised that you’ve bagged a good eight to ten Martian toughs. Not too bad for flunking Firearms at Academy.

The sticky cinnamon buns are trying to break your focus, but you are on a winning streak. You slide the data cube across the concrete plaza. It sings as it soars to a stop fifty feet from you. You aim both pistols and fire.

They hit! You are on a roll, Assassin!

The shots ricochet and multiply--thanks to the prismatic components of the cube--and unleash sheer mayhem on the Martians. Body parts are disintegrating left and right as foreign-tongued screams of agony fill the air. You laugh hysterically, firing on the wounded to finish off the job.
Wearing the marks of war--Martian splatter on your boots and across your face-- you continue to fire at what is left of the Martian toughs. They are all down, but a few attempt to pull themselves behind garbage bins or try to shield themselves with their fallen comrades.

You are firing at everything, including the mannequins in shops outside of the hotel. You have accidentally maimed a few players from Team Earth in your killing spree, but you don’t care. You’re an animal. A weapon. A killing machine.

Bad Ass.


A timer dings at the Mars-A-Bon signaling a fresh batch of yummy goodness. You drop you pistols and make your way to the stand, wiping your hands on your pants. A celebratory Mars-A-Bon is in order. The only thing that would make this moment better is a frosted mug of 2 % milk.
A moan makes you jump and reach into your pockets. The baubles are cold to the touch. You crouch down and scan the area. The only movement is a bloody mess a few feet away. You realize that this is not a threat and walk casually over to examine it thoroughly.

The Martian is missing both legs and has a massive wound to its middle. What can only be its Martian guts writhed out of the hole that sneaks a peak at the pavement below.

“Sucks to be you.” You laugh, accidentally dropping the baubles you were holding in your hand.

“Uh oh…” You jump back, but your foot is tangled in Martian guts, and you fall to the ground.

A green liquid leaks from the broken bauble and snakes toward you on the ground. “Shit!”

You vaguely remember something about that spade symbol. “What is it? What is it?”
You try to pull away from the mangled Martian, but the more you tug the more you become entangled.

The liquid slides closer as if it senses your presence. “What is it?” you shout.

It reaches your foot and slides up over your boot, into your sock and up your pants. A burning sensation overcomes you and you begin to convulse. It’s coming to you now. The spade… the spade… Martian testicles!. Harmless to Martians, Martian semen is capable of altering the physical state of the human form... breaking down human DNA and rebuilding a Martian-human hybrid.

Another REALLY helpful Academy class, and you slept right through it. Way to go, dumbass!
Covered in spunk, you lose consciousness, melting and folding in on yourself. Your NOSSA uniform flattens as you slip out of your collar and form an undulating green blob. Your eyes roll to the surface and patches of hair move across the new you.

Way to go Freakshow.

Congrats on the makeover.




  1. This was by far my favorite of your chapters. It must be the Martian spunk. Hahaha.

    Told you it was bad ass!

  2. Psh. Whatevs. This is all you lady. ;-)