Assignments were handed out by the Colonel who was wearing a cooking pot on his head and repeatedly muttering “time for soup” as he went down the line.
The haphazard strapping, jiggling pouches, and Velcro of the tactical gear made their already fat bodies appear like loaded, fertile beetles awkwardly crawling forward to some ceremonial insemination.
Pulling it straight out seemed to be most effective, despite the flashing interface and the tear gas.
The craft was handed around for inspection. Through the tiny windows passengers could be seen relaxing, occasionally making their way up and down the aisles.
Electricity flooded the research station, causing expensive, delicate machinery to pop and forcing various spots of fungus on the staff members to grow sentient.
When the squad was ejected from the facility they were thrown down the hill with a sickly, watery, popping sound.
The bark on the trees illuminated as waves of sound pummeled the camp. The brutal orchestration of the sonic weapon was garish and out of touch.
He heard a scratching in his helmet. Either something trying to get in, or trying to get out.
Standing on the lip of the crevice, Wafnyr considered in great detail the multitude of ways he would slay the dark forces and become king.
The battleship was turned into a senior center for retired generals and admirals who constantly tried to take over and declare war.
The dripping never stopped and several of the men exacerbated the situation by constantly mimicking the sound.
At the end of The War the equipment needed a thorough scrubbing and a little bit of personal time.
The creatures swarmed and fought over the soldiers as they fell from the tree.
They grabbed it by the tail and were greeted with a shriek that cracked their face plates.
“It’s remarkable, they have a lifespan of centuries, but sleep for most of it.”