A quick story that involved around ~1 hour of actual work. Thanks go to DeathSkull for proof reading and help on the final line.
Gravity's pull
Snow fell slowly to the ground, unable to resist the pull of gravity. Gradually covering it, the snow lay softly as a blanket would. Up in the air, the dusty grey smoke of a jetpack blew slowly amongst the falling snow. The user, number Seventy-Three, was one of the many clones stationed around the base. His designated patrol was the outside of the base, watching the air with three other clones. Only days before, news had come through that Karith Station 1 had fallen to the enemy, and that the clones should expect to be fighting aliens any minute now. Seventy-Three gripped his weapon tightly, knowing should anyone make just one mistake, Station 2 would fall as well. The human base was quiet, defended by twenty clones, while the other sixteen were sent out on patrols that were rotated periodically. This was Seventy-Three's fourth shift in the air, the powerful gusts of his jetpack keeping him awake and alert.
Air patrols were given basic equipment, consisting of a jetpack, light armour, a helmet and anything up to a Mass Driver. Seventy-Three chose to use a Lasgun, preferring not to reload in combat while appreciating its damage output. The other three were armed with rifles and a Mass Driver. While they found safe resting spots with a good view of the surrounding area, Seventy-Three chose to stay in the air, the gush of his jetpack was somewhat soothing to him. The outside of the station was motionless, save for the snow. It was another half hour before Seventy-Three would be rotated back into the main base.
Around twenty minutes later, a strong gust had blown the clouds and snow away into the mountains, leaving only freezing cold air. Seventy-Three yawned slowly. He longed for the warmth of the base, the safety of the turrets and a place to just get some long overdue sleep. Suddenly, he spotted movement in the vent. Something orange had poked out for just a split second.
“A Dretch's leg perhaps?” Seventy-Three thought, before moving for a closer look. The other clones looked the other way, inattentive to Seventy-Three's newfound interest. As he hovered to the vent, his suspicions had rung true. Looking into the vent, he found an orange spider, a Dretch, which looked right back at him. The empty eyes, staring blankly into him, the body shivering slowly in the cold. It charged.
“This is clone Seventy-Three, I've made contact with the enemy and engaging!" bellowed Seventy-Three, shooting the Dretch down. Alarms rang in the base, an the other three clones activated their jetpacks. Before they could make it to Seventy-Three, the doors opened and a monstrous horde erupted from the entrances. Seventy-Three watched in horror as the other three clones were quickly taken down by Dragoons, Marauders and Dretches, their bodies disappearing under the horde.
“Seventy-Three to base! Contact with the aliens, air patrol has been neutralized, I'm the only one left!” relayed Seventy-Three,all the while dodging and shooting into the horde. His mind was racing, there was no way back to the base without being hit by a pouncing Dragoon, and not enough ammo to eliminate the horde. There was only one thing to do. As efficiently as he could, Seventy-Three shot down many aliens. Dragoons thudded heavily into the ground after failing pounces, Marauders screamed in pain as they were shot in the back, and Dretches clicked softly as the lasers burned them. Eventually a hard click indicated there was no more ammo left, and Seventy-Three resorted to using his blaster.
“This is base to all patrols, we are under attack! Need you to come back and reinforce the... Oh God! They're taking out our-” Seventy-Three's ear communicators hissed before going static. The sudden loss in communications was very clear to Seventy-Three. The Reactor powering the base, communications and his jetpack, had been destroyed. He turned slowly, looking down into the horde. Time seemed to slow down as he fell, unable to resist the pull of gravity. Seventy-Three grabbed his grenade, muttering "At last, I have peace" as he pulled the pin and began his descent into the snarling jaws of the abominations.
