A/N Yeah, this fic was inspired by CleverDucky's Sanctum! It's an awesome Prototype fic, I highly recommend it, that piece of work most definitely has my official Youkai stamp of approval. It's SLASH, much like this one, just a heads up for those who don't do that kind of thing. Yes, Ducky I did just shamelessly advertise your fic XD It is one of the few fics that I've read, that I will read more than once. Ok, I'll move on before everyone gets bored, or the more likely happenstance of me getting bored, which will result in this fic not getting written to completion, like so many others of mine –face palms- I do apologise for that by the way…

I do not own Prototype, no it belongs to the assholes known as Activision, whom I am not happy with at the moment. I do however own my OC's Marcus, Twitch, Murphy, Tank, Golfer, Adams, Rigsby and Scotty.

IMPORTANT

(This note has SPOILERS for Prototype 2)

This fic completely disregards the sequel, it takes place a little after the first game. Consider it a kind of A.U. I'm in the process of owning Prototype 2, and I can't say I like the plot line for it, I hate James Heller, like his attitude, but hate his reasons and mission. I also hate the writers for their plot-fuckery. I am aware he was never really the GOOD guy, but he was never really the BAD guy either. Middle-Ground Alex is cool, Out-To-Destroy-The-World-Because-He-Hates-Humans Alex is even better, but the writers can still suck my metaphorical dick for killing him off –flips Activision the bird-

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC! Lots of swearing, lots of violence, lots and lots and LOTS of bloodshed and gore, monsters, zombies, human experimentation, drug use, disturbing/horrific scenes, mild weirdness, a smidgen of humour, eventual SLASH with lemons, (I've never actually done a fic with more than one lemon in it, kinda weird of me O.o) and possibly a few more that I can't name now…because I don't know what my brain is going to put in this thing.

. . .
. . .

We were the ones who weren't afraid, we were the broken hearted, we were the scars that wouldn't fade away…

Chapter One;

I honestly don't know what inspired such obvious dislike from whatever Gods happened to be tuning into the events of my life. I was a good kid, I ate all of my green vegetables, I helped my mother with the dishes after dinner, I went to church with my mother every Sunday. I was even a good man, I joined the U.S Military to fight for my Country, to save lives and help those that couldn't help themselves. I sent the majority of my pay back home to pay for my little sister's education, since I was the only one who could after our parent's deaths.

I'm a good man, really.

So why the fucking hell did this happen to me?

I am Captain Marcus S. Jane, U.S Special Ops, this is my story;

This is how my life went from average to FUBAR, this is how I became what I am today, this is how I inadvertently saved a whole shit heap of lives, this is how I met the man behind the Virus. This is how I died.

"You have your orders gentlemen, now move it!"

Marcus sighed as he stood from his bench, exiting the Black Hawk with the rest of his squad. He couldn't help but grimace as he was hit with a blast of warm air carrying the stench of death and decay. He and his squad had been deployed down to Base 76, a military compound located directly in the middle of the largest Red Zone in all of Manhattan. Large, reinforced concrete walls boxed the compound in, each of the walls four corners bearing massive anti-air craft torrents specially rigged to take out even the largest of Infected that dared try to encroach onto their territory. There was a large perimeter fenced off outside the walls, keeping most of the Infected citizens away from the compound proper.

Heavily armed Sentries patrolled the compounds walls and outer perimeter, further securing those within.

Marcus was starting to wish he'd said no to that damned pay check. But alas, he'd taken the offer to set his adorable little sister up for a comfy life back in Arizona.

"The trick will be surviving this fucking hell on Earth." Marcus thought moodily as he shouldered his rifle, trooping after his squad mates. When they entered the main entrance of the compound Marcus had to wonder just why it had to be Base 76 of all Bases, 76 was rapidly becoming famous for its constant fluctuations in personnel counts. One week there would be exactly one hundred Military personnel and fifty squints. The next week the compounds population count was less than half that.

"If I get Infected here, I am so fucking eating Rigsby's face, the asshole." Marcus thought, shooting silent laser beams at his CO, who walked calmly in front of his squad, leading them to their quarters. Sergeant Sean Rigsby, Marcus' commanding officer, the man who had offered him the reassignment to Base 76, generally a great guy, easy to get along with, makes good conversation, became a sadistic and hell vindictive mother fucker when so much as a drop of blood landed on his favourite boots. Which was completely crazy, considering he walked through the shit every day. The man made no sense what so ever whenever he was in one of his moods and no one was ever game enough to question it, especially not Marcus, not after he'd been ordered to strip naked and perform ten sets of drills on line up, in front of his squad mates… while singing the National Anthem.

That incident was on Youtube, courtesy of Twitch, he was sure.

He trailed behind his squad, who were led through a set of double doors and into what appeared to be a decent sized Mess Hall.

"This, ladies, is where you will be eating for the remainder of your stay here on Base 76, Base wide briefings will also take place here should one be needed. This way to the sleeping quarters, Jane! Stop your lollygagging and get those feet moving!" Rigsby shouted as his squad obediently trooped ahead. Marcus cursed himself for letting his thoughts distract him and quickly moved forward, catching up with his squad.

"And this is where you will be sleeping. The beds are yours to squabble over, I don't care. Showers are through that door, there is nothing even remotely like hot water in the entirety of this compound, and I don't want to hear a single peep out of you about it! Now, foods served in 30, lights are off at 1900 hours. Behave yourselves. Or the Infected will be the least of your worries." Rigsby finished, settling them with a promising glare, with that, he turned on his heel and headed for the hall, at the doors he paused, turning to face them once more. "And remember, ladies!" All eyes went back to Rigsby. "I'll be watching you." He demonstrated his point my pointing at his eyes, then to them, and Marcus felt a snort escape his lips as the questionably sane Sergeant about faced once more and left.

"Well…that was fun." Twitch said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he tossed his duffle bag onto his chosen bunk. Marcus glanced at his squad mate, who was now fending off Golfer as the smaller man tried to weasel his way onto his bunk.

"Dun' start Twitch, s'been eh long day eh?" Murphy groaned, his thick Irish accent causing Twitch to snicker as he shoved Golfer onto the floor. Marcus ignored his bickering squad mates in favour of claiming his own bunk next to the largest of his squad. Tank was a heavily built African American with a completely contradictory personality. The larger male was named Tank for a reason, on the battlefield the man was a one man army in hand to hand, and walked around with a shoulder mounted machine gun most of the time. But when there was no fighting to be done, Tank was content to sit back wherever he could to read his cheesy romance novels without ever saying a word.

Marcus preferred Tank's company over anyone else's, because he didn't inspire the urge to strangle like the others did most of the time, Twitch especially.

"I don't like this place guys. Did any of you even ask why we were brought here?" Adams asked from his place on his own bunk by the door. Marcus snorted as he rolled onto his back.

"You aren't paid to ask questions Marine!" He shouted in a mockery of Sergeant Rigsby's 'drill voice', earning a spattering of snorts all over the quarters. Golfer, who had pulled himself off the floor and onto his own bunk scrubbed a hand over his head.

"This place has its own ghost story man, if the pay wasn't so damned good I'd be kicking back on a beach watching me some babes. But fuck is the pay good!" Golfer laughed, earning himself a few annoyed stares from the room. Twitch threw his boot at Golfer, earning a squawk of displeasure from the brunette Coms. Expert.

"Shut your hole Golfer, it's bad enough we're stuck here in this fucking cereal bowl, we don't need your trap flapping the whole time, you damn perv." The red headed Vehicle Specialist growled.

"Oh both of yeh shut yer traps!" Murphy groaned from his place buried under his pillow. Adams grinned and shared a wink with Twitch.

"What's the matter Murph, miss out on your morning bake?" Adams teased. Everyone laughed as Murphy threw his pillow aside and tackled the dark haired Techy.

Marcus snorted and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow.

"This is going to be fan-fucking-tastic." He mumbled in his head before dozing off.

Three weeks, three fucking weeks.

Marcus didn't know whether to fist pump in victory or shoot himself in the head out of sheer dismay. He and his squad mates had survived three hellish weeks on Base 76, it was a new record according to the higher ups. With only one more week left on their assignment, they'd be the first squad to live through their posting before getting sent home for a well-deserved vacation. Again, he didn't know whether to be excited or annoyed.

One more week.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

He hated this shit hole.

To make matters even more interesting, they'd been forcefully assigned a seventh squad mate. A complete stranger to the close knit Squad, a complete fucking noob of all things. Fresh out of basic, as green as grass, and soon to be as dead as a damn door nail if he didn't stop dropping his equipment.

Jim, he introduced himself as, Scotty he was dubbed. Cannon fodder Scotty, who somehow managed to weasel his way into Murphy's good graces. Maybe it was the accent? An Irishmen and a Scotsman, what was this world coming to? The jokes between them were enough to make him want to walk out onto a mine field. Two peas in a pod, those two, yeesh.

Noobs aside, Marcus was beginning to think Base 76 was indeed its own ghost story, he swore the shit hole was haunted. When he asked Rigsby about the eyes he felt watching him all the time, he was brushed aside and told to stop being so God damned paranoid.

Adams, the ass, started whispering conspiracy theories into the dark of night while they all listened with half an annoyed ear from their bunks. Twitch started the 'Big Brother' theme, which seemed to bloody stick after the higher ups neither confirmed nor denied it. So, with gleeful enthusiasm Twitch set himself the task of creeping everyone the fuck out, 'big brother is watching you…in the showers.' Yeah, no one blamed him when he jammed a bar of soap into the idiot's mouth.

One more outside job, one more trip out into the red, zombie infested streets before they could spend the rest of their week patrolling the compound walls. One more briefing, one more job. Nothing too flash, just a quick and easy sweep around the block so they could widen their perimeter and slowly retake the city. .Job.

Easy as basic.

"Alright, listen up Marines. You are about to be sent out into the jaws of hell, and yes, I am aware you've all heard this speech before, but you are going to hear it again whether you like it or not!" Rigsby shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls of the mess hall. "Alpha Squad! You will be conducting a sweep of area 9, there's been reports of minor infected activity there so look sharp and clean em out."

"Sir!"

Rigsby flipped a page on his clipboard. "Beta Squad, you will be cleaning out area 3. Get it done." Another page. "Gamma! Sweep and clean area 5."

"Sir!"

Marcus zoned out as Rigsby continued, sending out other squads for their final sweep. The next rotations would continue the job by expanding the fences, thank god he wouldn't be here for that short straw. He was jolted out of his thoughts when his squad was called.

"Delta! You will be sweeping area 8, there have been reports of Hunter activity there. Tank, I want you loaded up for this one. Zeta will be joining you as backup as soon as they're done with area 7, all within the hour. Stay frosty gentlemen."

Marcus sighed as a feeling of dread overtook him.

"Good thing I wrote to Stacy last night." He thought, fingering the photo of his baby sister that he kept in his breast pocket.

"Alright ladies, move it out!"

"UH-RA!"

One more trip.

Just one.

He could do this.

"This is so fucking creepy." Twitch said, voice bouncing off the alley walls on either side of them. They'd been in area 8 for twenty minutes, and they hadn't seen hide nor hair of any infected since they entered. It was all just too quiet for a hotspot. The streets were completely deserted.

"Keep it down Twitch." Tank murmured quietly from behind the group, his heavy machine gun resting easily on his large shoulder. The group of seven continued on in silence, three paces apart in single file, weapons held ready, safeties off. Marcus was in the lead with Murphy and Scotty directly behind him, Golfer and Twitch in the middle with Adams and finally Tank pulling up the rear.

Marcus resisted the urge to pull at his uniform as he continued out onto the deserted road, rust coloured sunlight streaming in through the red haze clouding the sky. His black uniform was doing its best to cook him, Marcus decided as he tossed a glare up at the sun through his not quite standard issue ray-bans.

"Hey hey, guys listen to this. A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel attached to the front of his pants. The bartender asks 'What's with the wheel mate?' and the pirate answ-"

"Twitch, shut the fuck up." Golfer groaned from behind Scotty, who snorted as he checked his sights. Twitch glared before continuing anyway.

"The pirate answers. 'Argh, its driving me nuts!" He finished, and let loose a stream of guffaws that had Marcus grinding his teeth.

"Twitch!" Adams and Tank hissed at the same time. Twitch threw his hands into the air, M16 and all.

"What? You guys need to lighten up some." The red head tossed over his shoulder as he continued on. Marcus felt sweat drip down the back of his neck as he checked the rooftops, the lack of any enemies was putting him on edge.

"Seriously though, where the fuck is everyone? No people, no infected, fuck there ain't even any birds and those things are usually fucking everywh-"

"Twitch, I'm not telling you again." Adams growled as Tank rubbed his face. Murphy and Scotty snorted between themselves behind Marcus, who was sure he'd worn his teeth down he was grinding them so hard.

"Fine fine, bunch of fucking stiffs, the lot of you." Twitch grumbled as he looked around.

"You know Twitch, you really need to-" Marcus tuned Scotty out as the noob lectured Twitch, not at all interested in the argument that was going to cause as he again checked the rooftops. This just wasn't right, nothing about this situation was right at all. Zeta Squad was supposed to meet up with them in half an hour, but at this rate it didn't look like that'd be necessary, because there just wasn't anything here.

Where were the Walkers that usually inhabited these areas? Where were the Hunters that were reported to be here? Fuck, there weren't even any new bodies lying around. And Twitch was right, there were usually crows all over red zones, yet there was nothing and it was making Marcus very, very nervous.

"-Oh shut the fuck up Scotty, you don't even know what the ass end of a-"

Marcus whipped the sweat from his face onto his shoulder, trying his best to ignore his squabbling squad mates. The sound of movement reached his straining ears, and Marcus' body went as tense as a bowstring, weapon raised as a bright blue eye stared down the sights, instantly zeroing in on the innocent plastic bag that floated down the sidewalk. A shaky breath rattled past his cracked lips.

"Jeez Marcus, what tha hell's wrong with yeh?" Murphy suddenly pipped up from behind him, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin.

"Nothing." He hissed back, leading the group onward up the road. Murphy snorted.

"Yer full'a shit ain't ya? Yer as jumpy as a freakin' bunny." The Irishmen stated. Marcus glowered at him over his shoulder, the effect lost on account of his blue eyes being hidden behind his ray-bans.

"Am I the only one whose fucking noticed this shit?" He asked, tone disbelieving. He stopped walking, and his squad followed his example, everyone leaning out of line slightly to stare at him.

"Noticed what man?" Golfer asked. Marcus snarled silently.

"There's nothing here." He hissed venomously. Twitch snorted.

"I pointed that shit out ages ago man." He said. Marcus raised a slender blond brow.

"I don't mean infected, I don't mean your freaking birds Twitch, I mean there is nothing." He stressed. "Has anyone noticed the peculiar lack of gunfire?" He asked suddenly, casually. Everyone paused. He continued "There are at least ten squads out there, sweeping the streets. Cleaning out the infected. I haven't heard a single fucking gunshot since we got here, we'd be able to hear them if they were cleaning out!" He thundered, causing Scotty to jump nearly six feet in the air. Twitch raised a finger to speak, but paused.

"Shit man, he's right." Twitch muttered, dropping his hand. Marcus threw his arms into the air.

"Thank you!" He crowed, finally someone gets it. "Alright." He started whipping his face. "We'll continue the sweep, Golfer, radio in, tell them the situation." He said, turning back to the road to continue the sweep. Golfer saluted behind his back and unclipped his radio to begin relaying the lack of anything in the area.

A shadow suddenly passed over Marcus' head, causing him to snap his face and gun up to the rooftops. "Eyes up, eyes up!" He hissed, drawing everyone's attention to the rooftops. A solid thud sounded behind them and Marcus span on his heel quicker than his squad could lower their weapons to face the alley they had come out of a few minutes ago. Dirt and leaves swirled around the air near the entrance. Marcus grit his teeth again.

"This is fucking creepy." Twitch muttered, his voice slightly muffled as he pressed his cheek into the side of his gun.

"No shit." Murphy agreed, checking the rooftops again. A few seconds later Marcus got the sudden instinctual urge to look up. He did, and promptly screeched as a crow swooped into his face, knocking him on his ass. The black bird cawed its annoyance as it flew off, leaving Marcus on his ass with a few new scratches on his cheek while his squad laughed at him.

"There's your bird Twitch." Golfer said, grinning. Twitch fist pumped while Murphy shook his head. Scotty lowered a hand to help him up, and Marcus snorted before grabbing the offered hand to be hauled to his feet.

"I fucking hate birds." Marcus sulked as he dusted off his ass. Adams snorted.

"And it looks like the feelings mutual." He said, pointing to the cuts on his cheek. Marcus grimaced as he rubbed the blood off his face.

"Tank, where are we at?" He asked as he picked his ray-bans up off the road, where they had fallen when the crow attacked his face. Silence answered him and he frowned. "Tank?" He looked back to the end of the group, and froze when he didn't see the large man. "Tank?" He called again, louder. The others turned as well, each one of them expressing their shock and concern at not finding their largest squad mate where they'd left him.

"Fucking shit, man." Twitch growled, holding his weapon tighter between his hands. Marcus inwardly seethed as he trudged past his team and back to the alley where the dust still floated around the air.

"Tank!" He called, pointing his M16 into the alley. His breath stopped in his throat as he spotted splashes of red littering the alleys walls. They hadn't been there when they'd passed through it. "Look lively men." He ground out, entering the alley. Murphy followed up close behind him with Scotty practically in the man's back pocket. Twitch and Golfer glanced at each other before following after them.

"Where the hell is Zeta?" Adams asked from behind them all. "They should have fucking met up with us by now." The Tech hissed. Marcus ignored him in favour of laying his sights on the corner of the alley, where he'd glimpsed a flash of claw. He rounded the corner quickly, finger ready to squeeze the trigger as he scanned the street. He frowned at not finding anything, and he inwardly cursed his bad luck.

"Hey hey! Come quick!" Everyone jumped at Scotty's shout and all turned, trying to find the kid. "Over here!" He called, and Marcus turned around and stared in shock at the noob that was on the other side of the street, pointing at something behind an over turned car.

"Scotty, get back here!" Adams hissed at the same time Twitch laughed about his 'freaky ninja skills'. Marcus motioned for his squad to cross the street, but before they could take a single step a large, mutated claw appeared from around the corner, right behind Scotty who was too busy looking at them to see it coming.

"Scotty duck!" Marcus roared as he and the others charged across the street. The kid, unlike so many other green grasses didn't even question it, dropping to the ground before the words had even finished leaving his mouth. It saved his life. The claw swooped though the air where Scotty's head had been, and the kid was scuttling forward on all fours before it had finished its attack. Murphy all but bear hugged the kid when he came within reach, swooping the other male off the ground and depositing him behind the squad as Adams and Golfer charged around the corner with Marcus hot on their heels, leaving Twitch and Murphy to guard the hyperventilating Scotty.

When Marcus swung around the corner he expected to be met with a sneaky Hunter. But when he swung around the corner he was instead met with a face full of Golfer as the man flew back into him, sending them both to the ground as the sound of gunfire echoed eerily off the deserted street walls.

"Ger'off!" Marcus snarled, struggling under Golfer's winded body as the smaller male groaned and rolled off of him. Marcus shoved him the rest of the way off and ordered him back to Murphy. With that he grabbed up his fallen M16 and sped back around the corner to once again be surprised. He cursed colourfully as he opened fire on the Hunter pinning Twitch to the ground, gaining its attention as a second Hunter landed hard a few yards ahead of him.

"Ah, fuck." Marcus huffed as he turned tail and ran, both Hunters howling in glee as they chased after him. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!" Was the mantra running through his head as Marcus stumbled around another street corner, sprinting with everything he had, leading the Hunters away from his squad. He barrelled around another corner and threw himself through a window into a small takeout shop, rolling along the floor in a shower of glass. He sprang to his feet and hurtled through the small shop, hearing the heavy thud of a Hunter impacting the tiled floor behind him. He hurtled up three steps and ran straight into a door. He cursed and shoved at it, gripping and turning the handle repeatedly as he frantically smashed his body into its solid surface. Instincts screamed at him and threw himself to the side as the Hunter slammed into the door, breaking right through it to roll out onto the main street with a roar.

Marcus jumped out of the hole the Hunter had thoughtfully made for him and jumped over its downed form, dodging its claws as it swiped at him. "Too slow mother fucker!" He cackled hysterically as he pegged it up the sidewalk, only to shriek in alarm as the second Hunter landed solidly in front of him, having taken the rooftops over the small takeout shop. He unloaded an entire clip into the beasts face, causing it to howl in pain, effectively distracting it. He turned on his heel and booked it for the nearest alley way, reloading his M16 as he ran, cursing frantically as his radio screamed at him to double back for cover fire.

Just as the Hunter slammed into the wall behind him his weapon jammed, letting him know that running and reloading was never a good idea. "Fucking fuck!" He howled, throwing his weapon aside to better dodge and run as the Hunter tried its very best to smack him into the pavement.

He hurtled around yet another corner and continued up the street at full speed, jumping onto the hood of a car, then its roof as he went, throwing himself forward and onto the roof of another close by car, finding it quicker than trying to navigate around the sudden influx of tightly packed cars with the Hunter hot on his ass.

He had just tripped over the coloured lights of a police car when he realised the street behind him was oddly silent. Sprawled on the hot surface of the road, Marcus scuttled backwards and parked himself under the police car, clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle his violent panting. A few seconds ticked by in silence before a Hunter suddenly slammed into the ground not twenty feet away from his hiding place, sniffing the air and grunting as it looked around with its massive, eyeless head. It let loose an enraged howl after a moment, before jumping back onto the rooftops, where it was joined by its buddy. Marcus watched, blue eyes wide with fright as the two Hunters disappeared from sight entirely. He remained under the police car until the only sound he could hear was his heart hammering in his ears.

Another few minutes ticked by, and finally Marcus allowed himself to breath in the air he so desperately needed to calm his burning lungs. "Holy shit." He panted, rubbing his face. After he had regained his breath, Marcus wiggled around under the car, reaching for the radio attached to his hip. A second ticked by when his hand grabbed air, and Marcus felt another hysteric cackle bubbling in his throat when he realised that yes, his radio was gone, and he had tossed his only decent weapon back in the alley, leaving him with his pissy little magnum, a grenade, a flashlight and a packet of skittles. "Damn it." He muttered after a moment spent reigning in his hysteria. "Pull yourself together Jane." He growled, before worming his way out from under the car. He climbed to his feet, dusting himself off as he did so before reaching behind him and drawing his own personal silver magnum. "Keep it frosty." He told himself before slowly walking forward, ears and eyes straining for any sign of those Hunters.

He groaned pitifully when he heard the shrieking of Walkers behind him. "Why now, why me?" He asked the red sky as he gripped his gun. Without even turning to see how far away the infected people were, he heaved in a breath and broke into another dead sprint. Working his way back to where he had left his squad mates.

A moment later, after jumping over many cars, setting off many alarms and almost running into corners as he rounded them, Marcus could finally hear the loud and obnoxious voice of Twitch, who was currently moaning about 'boss man getting himself lost'.

He grinned as he ran, and rounded one final corner at full tilt, desperate to get back to his squad so he could drag them back to the relative safety of Base 76. He rounded the corner and promptly exhaled any and all air in his lungs as he ran smack into something that felt suspiciously like a padded brick wall.

He flew backwards and hit the pavement hard, effectively bruising his back and more than likely giving himself a concussion as his head connected solidly with the ground. He lay there for a few beats, then groaned. "Ow." He slowly peeled himself off the sidewalk, shaking hand rubbing the back of his throbbing head. He forced himself to look up, head swimming, to see what the hell he had ran into.

Any breath he had regained promptly left him in an airy whoosh as he locked eyes with someone entirely out of place in this shit hole. His concussed brain tried to pull together a coherent thought at the tingle of recognition that tickled the back of his mind at the sight of the black leather jacket and blue jeans.

"W-where have I seen this mother fucker before?" He thought dazedly, staring up into eyes more silver than blue, set into a pale face that more than likely belonged in some sort of women's magazine. He stared almost drunkenly as his head throbbed and warmth trickled down the back of his neck. "Come here often?" He said, not even realising the words had actually come from him until a slender brunette brow disappeared behind a raised hood. Another second ticked by, and suddenly movement drew Marcus' gaze from pools of liquid silver to a swirl of black and red, and suddenly he was staring at a massive sword that decidedly looked awesome to his concussed brain. "…Wait a minute." The black dots finally disappeared from his memory, and he stared at the sword with dawning horror and slight disappointment. "Sorry Stacy." He thought as the blade rose. His brain throbbed dangerously as the back of his jacket turned red and he snorted dazedly as he glanced back up into liquid silver. "Why is it always the good looking ones." He thought sardonically as he clenched his eyes shut, waiting for death.

A second ticked by, and he cracked open his right eye to stare at the silver, black and red sword a hairs breadth away from his nose. "Huh?" He thought in shock, before the sudden bark of gun fire knocked his brain back online just in time to see the blade and its wielder disappear with a whoosh of displaced air.

"Yer yeh better run ya fuhckin oveh grown germ!" The thick Irish accent drew his dazed eyes to find none other than Murphy, brandishing Tanks massive machine gun of all things.

"Murph?" He asked dreamily. Murphy blinked at him in shock.

"Marcus? Shi' man, yeh realise wha' jus' nearly 'appened?" The Irishmen asked, accent thicker in his shock. Marcus shrugged slowly and Murphy dropped the massive machine gun to kneel by his side. Marcus blinked when he felt hands brushing over his head, before settling on the base of his skull. "Eh shi'." The Irishmen cursed as his hand came away bloody. Marcus started numbly at the blood coating his friends hand.

"I heard shots, was it those Hunters again!" Twitch suddenly appeared behind Murphy. "Oh shit, Marcus? Damn man, we thought you were Hunter chow." The red head said, grinning. Murphy turned around and shoved the man.

"Get Golfer, tell 'im to radio in. We got'a Zeus sightin' in area 8." Twitch froze, brown eyes wide.

"Zeus? Seriously? Shit man, is that why he looks so out of it?"

Marcus blinked dazedly, then scowled. "That fuckers got pecs of steel." He drawled, before promptly passing out.

A/N Done, thats the first chapter. Please review and let me know what you think! I haven't really been writing in a while so please forgive any errors. Murphy's speech is no mispelled, its just my take on an irish accent XD Any questions? Review or P.M, ideas? Do the same. Looking forward to feedback folks!

What did you think Ducky?

My OC's are just that, MINE!

Marcus S. Jane; An OC of mine from years ago. Appearance is based on Cloud Strife, minus the hair style. Personality is actually based on mine XD

Sergeat Sean Rigsby; Based sort of on my take of a stereo typical drill sergeant XD

Golfer; Inspired by Portman from Doom.

Tank; Half inspired by Destroyer from Doom, half inspired by Teal'c from Star Trek.

Twitch; Based on an old friend of mine named Jack.

Adams; Named after my brother, but inspired by Patrick Jane from The Mentalist.

Scotty; Based on Carmen from Gears Of War. Noobs all around.

Again, questions? Just ask me. Ideas? Tell me, always glad for help!