“HERE?! AGAIN? Why do they want this bunker so fucking bad? Did anyone do ANYTHING to even remotely piss them off?!” Shouted the general, who stood by the sealed door, which had been getting blasted constantly by powerful, heavy shots the previous few minutes.

Everyone shook their heads or looked around in response to the general, who generally had a calm temper.

An officer stormed into the room, pushing past some of the armed fighters. “General Tempeshte, we have received a word of offer, backup from the South-East Gartaste bunker. Should we accept?”

The general stared at the officer. “Does it look like we have a fuckin- does it look like we have a choice?”

“Is that a yes?” Replied the officer.

“THAT IS A YES! NOW GET THAT BACKUP ON THEIR WAY!”

“Yes, general.”

The officer made haste, leaving the room much faster than she had entered previously.

“Someday that idiot Croaker should get a S’vorum's education, I swear.” said the general, sounding rather annoyed at the officer. One or two fighters stifled a small laugh despite the tense situation.

The door sounded like it was loosening with every shot now, as if it was about to pop off it’s bolts with every next shot fired. All the fighters and their general were readying their weapons. Checking and double checking that they were ready for the hell that was about to unleash through the door.

“Are the other bolt-fire doors locked?” Asked the general.

“Yes, master Tempeshte.” Replied one fighter back in the crowd.

“Then are you all ready to sacrifice yourselves for your family, your friends? Are you ready to give up this life so your otherblood may live theirs?” A boastful roar came from the crowd.

“So that our resistance may not only continue their fight against our traitor blood, but also against the Vandals, who have decimated our planet and our family?!” Another roar emanated from the crowd.

“THEN WE WILL FIGHT, TODAY, FOR OUR LIVES, THAT EVEN IF WE MAY NOT SURVIVE, WE WILL LIVE ON IN MONBELLO’S GLORY! IN THEIR LEGENDS, THEIR TALES OF HOW WE FOUGHT FOR OUR PLANET! FOR THE PEACE IN OUR BUNKERS, SO WE MAY ONE DAY RISE AGAINST THE VANDALS!” The roar grew even louder now.

Conveniently, just as the general finished her speech, the door flew off, flying into a fighter, crippling his body instantly, rendering him lifeless. Blood splattering on the walls and a pool forming on the metal floor. Guts oozing from under the door. Some fighters looked on, completely distraught, almost traumatised, at the sudden death, while others shot blindly into the thick dust cloud that had formed on the other side of the door, presumably from the powerful blasts.

Screams formed from every corner of the room, from shock, from the warcries, the general shouting, leading the fighters through the door and down the hallway. Shooting aimlessly, before stopping after about half a minute of non-stop shooting.

They realised, there was no resistance. No fight, seemingly no opposing forces. The fighters moved forward, advancing through the fog in complete silence. Almost as if the walls absorbed the sound of their every move. It seemed like whole minutes before the fog cleared up. But they finally got to examine the scene.

About 40 men and women fighters, completely mutilated or decapitated. Spines ripped out clean, so many heads on the floor it was almost like a human ballpit. Blood covered almost every inch of the walls and floor. The scene was gruesome, most fighters either threw up or retreated back into their sacred bunker. But the general had seen worse.

Although, the bodies aren't what shook the general, it was the- person? Standing amongst them, most likely the perpetrator. It was almost as if they didn't even care about the horrendous scene that occupied the space. They slowly turned towards the general.

It seemed to be a young girl, a normal S'goran with the power mutation, as seen by the marks on her neck, unique to any person with the mutation. This took back the general as to how rare it was, especially in the post-war. She wore an unusual, green coat with a strange, brown, striped shirt. Her hair was plentiful, like a brown hedgehog, spiking to the right. Her weapon of choice seemed to be metal claws protruding from her a strange device on her hands, with a dagger sheathed by her side, and a sword of some sorts to her other side. Unsure of what to say, the girl finally piped up after total silence;

"Hey, I am Tamina of Gartaste. I seemed to have solved your little infestation problem."