Author's Note: Because Gnomes aren't taken seriously enough. They lost everything they've ever known in the fall of Gnomeregon. Sure, they make great light-hearted and whimsical characters, but they can also be devestatingly serious.

Disclaimer: Blizzard has all rights to Warcraft lore, this is just my cheap embezzlement of it.

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21:00

09.17.3456

Cog Alley Bunker

A low buzzing filled the dimly lit room, evidence that the single overhead light was in need of a change. Papers rustled, someone coughed. A lighter was flicked open, then shut, open, then shut. The flame inked on and off, illuminating tense, weary faces. With a muted sizzle, the overhead light spluttered out. A heavy darkness permeated the room. Someone cursed. Seconds later, backup generators hummed to life. Harsh light filled the room.

Renzlowe Wrenchcog, acting lieutenant of squad 51, looked down at the orders before him. Looking up, he gazed evenly at what remained of Sarge's –no, his- unit. A dozen G.I.'s out of a unit that was supposed to be twice that number. Peachy. Renzlowe cleared his throat, "Alright, boys and girls, I got orders from the brass right here."

Flipping open the folder in front of him, Renzlowe passed around several copies of the mission brief. The reactions on the faces around him were not encouraging. Renzlowe continued on anyway, "You all know what's happening. We're losing ground in this war. Troggs got us outnumbered. Someone's gotta slow 'em down, or they'll overrun the city in a few weeks. That's where we come in."

Snapping the folder shut, Renzlowe turned to a large map behind him. On the map was a zone-by-zone layout of Gnomeregon. He pointed at the junction of two large zones near the outskirts of the city.

"Grindgear Bridge. Spans a natural chasm that runs through the city. It's two-hundred tons of iron and steel, built rivet by rivet over half a decade, and it's the only way to get from the Sublevels to Wrench Row. It's one of Gnomeregon's iconic structures. We're gunna blow it up," Renzlowe turned back to face his squad, "Any questions?"

Several seconds of heavy silence passed. Finally, someone raised a hand. Renzlowe nodded, "Yeah, Sherri?"

The gnome in question nervously twirled a finger through her auburn hair, "Sir… what's the point of blowing the bridge? I mean, the Troggs will still get by…"

Renzlowe half agreed with her, "Orders say that if the bridge gets blown, it'll slow the trogg advance by 87%. The Sublevels are where the Troggs are all coming up from, and without the bridge to cross, they'll have to get pretty damn improvisational."

"Sounds like a load of bolts to me."

Renzlowe shifted his gaze to rest on the stocky gnome who had interjected. The gnome wiped his nose and continued, "Troggs have already crossed the bridge; the whole zone's hot. How are we supposed to even get to the bridge?"

Renzlowe scowled, "We're gunna solve that problem the same we we've solved every other problem. With gun. And if that doesn't work, we'll use more gun. Answer your question, Tork?"

Tork grumbled, "Yeah, well, we don't even have a demognome. How are we gunna blow a bridge that big without a demognome?"

Renzlowe glanced down at his gyromatic chronatom, "Actually, our demognome should be arriving any minute."

At just that moment, the door to the room slammed open. The pungent smell of burning cigars and blasting powder wafted inside. A haggard gnome with a scowl that seemed surgically attached to his face stomped into the room and cast an unsatisfied glare over the unit. He took a deep drag from his cigar before barking, "So, orders say that a washed up buncha wussies need a good demognome to blow a bridge. Are you that washed up buncha wussies?"

Renzlowe crossed his arms, "We're squad 51, and we're going to blow Grindgear Bridge sky-high. You a good demognome?"

The gnome's already impressive scowl darkened further, "Am I a good demognome?" he spat, "What the fel kinda question is that!? A' course I'm a good demognome! I'm still alive! One mischarged igniter, one stray pinch of potassium chloride, one errant twitch, and BOOM!" He slammed a fist into the table, scattering papers to the floor, "No more demognome!"

Taking another pull from his cigar, the gnome stormed up to Renzlowe, "M'name's Neblin, and I'll blow yer bridge to kingdom come," he snarled, blowing a cloud of smoke at Renzlowe's face.

Trying not to cough, Renzlowe waved the smoke away, "I'm Renzlowe. I'm your new commander. Don't blow smoke in my face." Stepping around Neblin, Renzlowe addressed his unit, "Alright, we're all set. Grab your weapons, suit up, and get to the transport trolleys. We gotta be at that bridge and ready to rumble five minutes ago. Now move!" The clicking of rifles being cocked and body armor being donned and tightened was his response.

22:19

09.17. 3456

Wrench Row

The rumbling of the monorail provided a sobering backdrop to the scene inside one of its cars. G.I.'s disassembled and then reassembled their rifles, checking scope alignment, oiling repeaters, stocking up on spare clips of ammunition. Vibroblades were unsheathed, then re-sheathed. Through it all, the acrid stench of cigar smoke was ever present, hanging like a shroud throughout the car. Tork looked over at Neblin, who sat next to him, arm around a large canister labeled, "NEVER TOUCH."

Tork grunted, "Hey, you really think that thing'll be enough to blow Grindgear Bridge?"

Neblin's only response was to pull out his cigar, throw back his head, and cackle loudly.

Tork grumbled and went back to inspecting his gun, "Guess that's a yes."

Clearing his throat, Renzlowe stood up, "Alright, if we do this right, it'll fast, clean, and over before we know it. I want battle-tinkerers in back, make sure the sentry turrets are armed and ready to be deployed, you got me?"

Geb and Gizmo, the two battle-tinkerers in question, nodded hurriedly, hoisting the undeployed turrets onto their backs.

"Good," Renzlowe continued, "As always, I want a line of blade-users up front and the marksmen in back. Form up around the turrets and keep up a spray of cover fire so Neblin here can do his job. Understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

Renzlowe nodded, "Alright, prepare for arrival."

With a hiss of brakes and a rush of steam, the monorail ground to a halt at the outskirts of Wrench Row. The squad formed up at the door. The only sound to be heard was shallow, nervous breathing. Renzlowe raised a hand. The squad tensed. He lowered his hand. With a muted whoosh, the car doors slid open and the squad exploded out into the city. Hitting the ground running, Renzlowe sprinted low towards an alley, his squad behind him. Their lightweight plasti-armor plating shifted and rustled as the G.I.'s rushed towards the bridge. Reaching a corner in the alley, Renzlowe immediately dropped into a defensive position, gun raised and ready. The squad formed up behind him, ducking to a knee or sliding behind an outcropping.

Renzlowe raised a hand, pointing at his eyes with two fingers, and then making a fist. Geb nodded and detached a small metallic sphere from his belt. Pressing a button, he tossed the sphere on the ground, where four small legs and a camera sprang out from within. Pulling out a small remote, Geb guided the camera-bot around the corner and towards the bridge, his eyes trained intensely on the view screen, while the rest of the squad trained their eyes on him. After a slight pause, he raised three fingers. Renzlowe thought quickly. Three Troggs weren't exactly a threat, but if they screeched, and the bastards always screeched, they'd bring down a whole horde of their brethren on the squad. They had to be taken out quickly.

He raised his left hand, holding up three fingers. Quickly he touched each finger to his head, and then pointed them forward. Sherri and two other gnomes rushed forward, hugging the corner of the wall. Three shots, three kills. Aim for the back left side of the head; it controls vocal processes. A second passed like an eternity. Simultaneously, the three gnomes whirled around the corner, each dropping to a knee and aiming swiftly. Three silenced shots rang out at once. The muted thump of three Troggs hitting the ground followed. Renzlowe held up all four fingers and motioned the squad forward. Rounding the corner, the unit rushed towards the end of the alley, Grindgear Bridge within sight.

Without warning, a Trogg crossed in front of the alley, facing the squad head on. Everyone jerked up their guns, but the volley of slugs that tore into the Trogg was only fast enough to cut its deafening screech short, not preempt it. Renzlowe held up a fist. The squad halted, listening intently over their own tense breath and pounding hearts. Suddenly, answering screeches echoed throughout the zone, to the west, to the east, behind them, all around them. With a muttered curse, Renzlowe took off at a sprint, motioning the squad to follow close behind. They tore through the alley; G.I.'s whirling around to pick off Troggs that had begun to emerge from abandoned buildings and sewers.

"Get to the bridge! Go! Go! Go!" Renzlowe screamed, all pretense of stealth lost. The squad raced across the street, the howls and screeches of the Troggs growing louder and closer. Renzlowe yelled again, above the din, "Take positions! Cut down the Troggs behind us! We're gunna need an escape path!"

Whirling around, G.I.'s raised their weapons, sending sprays of gunfire into the gathering horde of Troggs. Dozens of Troggs fell dead, but more advanced, bounding over the fallen bodies and loping towards the bridge. Pausing to lob a thermo-detonator grenade into an approaching pack of Troggs, Renzlowe yelled back at Geb and Gizmo, "The turrets! Set up the damn turrets!" The two nodded hurriedly, and shouldered their weapons to begin deploying the sentry turrets. Looking desperately around for Neblin, Renzlowe found him unloading a torrent of bullets into the swarm of Troggs, a crazed grin on his face. "What the fel are you doing!?" Renzlowe screamed, "Set up the bomb!"

Neblin nodded reluctantly, backing up towards the middle of the bridge while still firing; only turning around to carry the bomb when he had run out of ammunition. Growling, Renzlowe turned back to face the oncoming waves of Troggs, eyes widening when he realized just how close they had advanced to the bridge. "Vibro-swords at the ready! Form a line!" Several G.I's abandoned their guns, their vibro-swords unsheathing with a whine that quickly rose in pitch until it was inaudible. Jerking up his own vibro-sword and electro-buckler, Renzlowe braced himself against the inevitable impact. The Troggs smashed into the gnomish line like a truck. For all the G.I's pushed back, the Troggs surged forward. Marksmen behind the line butchered dozens of them in a hail of gunfire, but more took their places, forcing the gnomish line backwards up the bridge. Glancing down at the voltometer on his buckler, Renzlowe yelled out to the rest of the line, "Just a few seconds more… they're almost done charging!" The line slid back a few more inches; then the electro-bucklers finished spinning up.

Ten thousand volts tore through the swarm of Troggs, sending the first several ranks to the ground in charred lumps and several ranks behind them jolting backwards. Pressing their advantage, the gnomes charged, vibro-swords at the ready. They met the Troggs head on, slashing deep as bullets whizzed overhead. Renzlowe ducked a clumsy swing, then removed the Trogg's arm from its body, vibrosword slicing cleanly through sinew and bone. Bashing the Trogg across the face with his shield, he whirled around, cleaving two Troggs across the stomach, spilling their entrails to the floor. A wave of stench plowed into his senses, and the two Troggs lurched forward, still desperate to crush and kill. Jumping back a step, Renzlowe dodged their dying grabs and smoothly decapitated one, smashing it with his shield to send its body toppling against its companion. Raising his eyes, from the slaughter, Renzlowe found himself looking up at a massive giant of a Trogg. The beast roared incoherently, spittle flying from its gaping maw. As Renzlowe dropped into a defensive stance, a loud blast sounded behind him. Simultaneously, the Trogg's head literally blew apart, splattering Renzlowe with gore as the body crashed to the ground. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Renzlowe saw Geb and Gizmo with their rifles once more, the sentry turrets deployed and operational. With loud blasts, the turrets fired hyperkinetic heat-seeking slugs into the fray, focusing on the largest heat-signatures.

Looking back to the fray, Renzlowe glanced out over the swarm of Troggs. More seemed to come from every direction to join the fight, the horde seemed to never end. "Fall back!" Renzlowe roared over the gunfire and screaming. Slowly, the gnomish line gave ground, forced backwards by the endless waves of Troggs. Ducking and slashing, severing and skewering, Renzlowe backed up step by step, buying that bastard Neblin time to set up the charge. Glancing quickly over his shoulder to see how close the demognome was to being complete, Renzlowe left himself open for a fraction of a second. It was a fraction of a second too much. A powerful blow to the head sent him spinning through the air, the world tumbling around him. He hit the bridge hard, blood rushing in his ears.

Raising his eyes, he saw his squad fighting a losing battle. One of the sentry turrets had been torn down and smashed, the second one was already under attack. Geb was being hoisted into the air by a screaming Trogg. With a heave of muscle, the beast hurled the gnome over the edge of the bridge. He seemed to hang suspended in midair for the briefest of seconds, mouth open in a wordless scream. Then, he fell away into the darkness, fading forever from view. Tork was surrounded by a gang of Troggs, shooting wildly. They grabbed him, by the arms, by the shoulders, by the feet, still shooting. They pulled, screaming and roaring. Tork's eyes widened as he screamed back, still shooting. With freakish strength, the Troggs continued to pull, until Tork ripped apart, organs spilling onto the ground, still screaming, still shooting. Then the Troggs fell upon him, and Renzlowe saw him no more. From what seemed like impossibly far away, a gruff voice called his name, and someone shook his shoulder. The blasting sound of his own heartbeat began to fade from his ears, replaced by the noise of battle and death.

"Renzlowe!" The voice at his ear and the hand on his shoulder again. Renzlowe looked over to see Neblin at his side, screaming his name. "Renzlowe! The charge is set! We got fifteen seconds till the bridge goes up in smoke!"

Renzlowe looked towards the other side of the bridge. The irony of the situation didn't escape his notice. They would have to retreat to the very side of the bridge they were trying to cut off from the rest of the city. Suddenly, movement from the Sublevel side of the bridge caught his attention. A Trogg raced across the street, heading towards the bridge. It was followed by another. And another. And dozens more. The horde that they had been sent there to slow down had finally shown up. Renzlowe looked back and forth at the two swarms of Troggs, each running up the bridge. He and his squad were surrounded. There was nowhere to go.

Renzlowe looked out over the chasm: nowhere to go but down. "G.I.'s! Fall back to me! Ziplines at the ready!" Several gnomes broke and ran, sprinting back towards him. Some were to slow, dragged down and beaten to bloody smears by the horde of howling Troggs. Gathering at the edge of the bridge, the gnomes fired their ziplines into the rails, latching themselves firmly against the bridge. "On my mark, go over the top!" Renzlowe screamed. Turning to Neblin, he asked, "How much time!?"

"Eight seconds!"

"Get ready!"

The Troggs raced ever closer, engulfing both sides of the bridge.

"Five seconds!"

The Troggs were close enough to smell.

"Two seconds!"

"Now now now!"

The gnomes vaulted over the edge of the bridge, plunging down into the inky black chasm, ziplines whirring. Above them, Troggs roared in outrage, desperately reaching for their lost prey. Neblin cackled loudly as he plummeted with them, "One!"

A deafening explosion cut short the roars from above. Looking up, Renzlowe saw a massive ball of fire consume half the bridge. The iron struts shrieked and groaned, buckling under the impact. Burning debris and massive hunks of steel fell down around them. Troggs, both alive and dead, in pieces and whole, rained down from the ruined bridge. The bridge had broken into two halves, the half they were tethered to lurching dangerously, sending the dangling gnomes jerking back and forth. Renzlowe looked to the gnome hanging next to him. Suddenly a red-hot slab of iron fell from above, and in a flash, the gnome's line was severed, the gnome himself plummeting into the blackness. Groaning loudly, the bridge lurched and buckled again, jerking the gnomes downward towards the abyss. With a loud snap, a zipline went slack, and Neblin plunged cackling downward. Looking around desperately, Renzlowe's gaze fell on Sherri, still alive, still clinging to her zipline. Following the zipline up, it was apparent that it would break any second. With a desperate heave, Renzlowe jerked himself towards her, holding out a hand. At that moment, her line snapped.

She hung, suspended in space, her eyes wide and terrified. Renzlowe's line swung him closer, reaching desperately for her outstretched hand. With a sudden jerk, his hand caught hers. Renzlowe looked around desperately, searching for a means of escape as the bridge began to fall lower and lower. The last thing he saw was the chasm wall rushing towards him. Then everything went black.

01:09

09.18.3456

Perpetual Chasm

The tiny fire before him crackled and glowed, spreading meager warmth from his hands to the rest of his body. He shifted briefly, sending a small shower of pebbles clattering off the edge of the small ledge he sat on and into the abyss below. Settling down, he cast a cautious glance at Sherri, who sat staring at the fire, her back against the chasm wall.

"Sherri?" He ventured, "You okay?"

She didn't answer for a long time. When she did, it was in the softest of whispers, "They're all dead, aren't they?"

Renzlowe let out a breath, "… Yeah. They're dead."

She gave the barest of nods, "… Oh."

The two faded into silence once more. Soon, however, Renzlowe began realizing the small noises he was hearing weren't coming from the fire. Looking over at Sherri once more, he saw that she had curled up, and was crying, sobbing into her hands.

"Sherri? Hey, don't cry, we're okay," He offered, scooting a bit closer.

"I'm not okay!" She screamed back at him, her face stained with tears and eyes red from grief, "They're dead! They're all dead! I should be dead! We were so close, why aren't we dead!? Geb got thrown off a cliffandTorkgotgotohmygodTorkhegottornapartan-" she hiccupped, "And now we're all alone andwe'reonacliffand we'vegotnofoodandwe-"

Renzlowe cut her off with a sharp smack to the side of the head. She stared at him in confusion and fear. "We're not alone," he breathed, "We took out the bridge. Without the reinforcements from the Sublevel, the Troggs on this side are vulnerable. The brass'll send in napalm squads to clear 'em out in two days tops. We've both got flares in our packs, when they come, we can signal them. We'll get out of this, okay?" He put a hand on her shoulder, trying to sound more convinced than he felt; trying to sound less shaken than he was.

Sherri nodded with a strangled sob, burying her head in his shoulder. Swallowing hard, Renzlowe patted her on the back. "'Eeeeyyy," he sighed, "You can't let this get to you, okay? Sometimes your own brain can kill you just as good as a Trogg." He looked down at the flickering fire next to them, Sherri's sobs mixing with the crackling of the tinder, "You gotta keep your head. Just chill. Be cool, kid. Be cool."

-End.