Grayge grunted as his shoulder blades connected with the firm table. He snuck his head up for nothing more than a moment, when he heard the battle cries of his foes.
Panicking, he stumbled for his fragmentation grenades. Whirling one around like a sling, he let it go and hit the floor. Black soot strangled him as he struggled for oxygen. He had just come to his senses when he heard the most dreaded noise of all; the doorbell.
He rose to his stubby feet and sprinted to the mess of black on the kitchen floor. He leaped across the room to a small dishtowel, took it, and layed it out over the ashes. He ran to his room and picked up his copy of Drone Scout Weekly and pretended to read.
"Grayge! We're home!", his father bellowed.
"Oh, for Queen's sake!" he heard his mother out. "Grayge! What did you do to the table!?".
Grayge slapped himself on the forehead. He had forgotten to flip the kitchen table upright after he used it as ample cover against the imaginary COG soldiers.
He cautiously trudded down the brown steps.
"Grayge. Did you throw the coal from the fireplace in here?"
"I needed something to be grenades, Mom", he stammered.
His father stepped forward. "Son, how many times do we have to tell you? Your not a Locust soldier. You need to stop haveing these imaginary battles in our house!".
Grayge had heard all this many times before. It was not easy for him to do so. He was a typical 10-year old Locust boy, just wanting to escape the everyday dreary lifestyle of his everyday dreary suburban town. Soon will be the day... he thought to himself. Soon...I will break through the strait jacket of childhood and prove myself to be am ample threat our greatest enemies of all...a coalition of humans who call themselves 'Gears'.
So yeah, I was bored and decided to compose a short fanfic based on what we DON'T know about the Locust Horde. It's kinda strange; I know, but...try to enjoy it?
Oh and, if you want to see more of these with our friend Grayge all grown up, kicking some COG tail, just let me know.
Heres Chapter 2...
"HURRY YOUR SCALY WHITEBREAD A** UP PRIVATE!!" After a few seconds, the face-down rookie did not respond.
"I guess I have to kick your a** myself, seeing you'll never get out of this damn' Hollow!"
Drill Sergeant Hrug Tallirs walked over to the private. Grayge could not hear exactly what was being said, however it was obvious how absolutely boiling Tallirs was. He both envied and pitied his poor peer, as he had a strange desire to be called nothing more than E-grade Wretch meat by a superior. He knew it was not the most favorable experience, but he felt it was what he needed to get through to be a 'real' Locust soldier.
After the private was carried away on a rock slab, probably unconscious(or...), they were ordered to line up for weapons training. Yes, Grayge thought. This was the part of training he had looked forward to the most; apart from when the training was over.
Sarge led them over to a table with semi-automatic Hammerburst rifles layed out on top of it. After a feeding frenzy of sorts to get pick up the weapons, Grayge realized there wasn't one for him. "It's alright, Private. I got a spare".
Sarge Tallirs tossed Grayge a fully-automatic Lancer assualt rifle. A chill ran down the private's spine. Tallirs just shot Grayge a cold grin which layered atop the other troops' laughter.