Though all the top management of the UAC were dead, and
so were most of their personnel down to the janitors, the
corporation survived, now under strict government
supervision. The UAC still sought the secret to matter
apportation, and continued its experiments under vastly
increased safety measures.
The UAC's base was set up on one of the moons of
Jupiter, hoping that the increased distance would enhance
Earth's safety if something went wrong. Marines were
stationed at the base, ready for anything.
Soon after the UAC opened its first Gate, the minions of
Hell made their first attack. Suddenly, through the Gate
flowed spiked, fanged, dripping techno-terrors. Meat
machines flailed their armored limbs and slavered with
bloodlust, seeking soft bleeding manflesh to rend. But in
their seeking, they found only death. The United States
Space Marine Corps was prepared for such an event, and they
poured molten death into the hordes of Hell. More demons
massed, hoping to overwhelm the defenders by their endless
numbers. But mass alone was no match for the marines. Set
up in defensive positions around the gate, the marines were
able to slaughter the monsters by the hundreds, taking few
As suddenly as it had begun, the invasion ended. The
last flaming skull screamed through, was hit by twenty
simultaneous shotgun blasts, and the chamber was silent
once more, except for the dripping of blood. Hell had
The research went on, more boldly, and less cautiously.
All the marines received the Silver Star from a grateful
government, and the UAC made an enormous contribution to
the Veterans Fund. The defensive positions were
strengthened, and the marines watched closely for another
attempt, all their attention drawn inward toward the Gates.
They were looking in the wrong direction.
The Rain of Monsters
Hell knew more than one trick. Months after the Gate
incident, the yearly supply ship came ahead of time. On
radar, the ship looked far larger than usual. And it was
coming from the wrong direction. Strange, but not
inexplicable. The lax radar operators reported the ship's
approach, and personnel went out to the landing field to
meet it. But it never landed. Instead, it hovered over the
base, miles in the air. The men and women looked up at it
and saw that something was terribly wrong.
The ship could not have come from Earth. It was huge,
kilometers long, and was built of bone, steel, flesh,
corruption, and death. It was a bio-mechano-magical
construct from the depths of Hell, and it had come through
space for its vengeance. Enormous doors, large as football
fields, irised open and hideous demons poured out, plunging
to the ground and blanketing the entire base with their
throbbing, pulsing bodies. They were everywhere at once.
The marines' defenses, set up to prevent an attack from the
direction of the Gate, were worthless. The monsters poured
through the sewers, the air vents, the hallways,
everywhere, rampaging, corrupting, and feasting.
Once more, the surviving humans were left as zombified
brain-dead monstrosities. Existing only to kill and kill
It's Up To You
Only one man escaped death or zombification. The marine
commander. You. You weren't at the base when the skies
opened and devastation poured from the stars. You were
miles away, enjoying a walk across the moon's rough-hewn
landscape. Then you heard a snortling gurgle behind you and
whirled to face one of them. The beings that still haunted
your nightmares. Your reflexes weren't dulled by your
experiences, and you pulled out your pistol and blew the
imp to gory shreds.
Hot-footing it back to the base, you saw it all and
realized what had happened in a flash. The demon ship still
floated above the infested base. Your boys -- the men you'd
trained to fight and kill and die as no fighting man had
ever been trained before -- were dead. You were not there
when it happened, to die with them.
Unlike the ancient Samurai, who chose to die with their
men, you cocked your pistol. You were going to kill for
your men. And if you died trying, well, you were going
to die anyway, some day. Death at the fangs of demons
might be the very worst way to die, but if they did
manage to get you, Hell would know it had been in a