CAUTION: This was written a while ago late at night with serious writers block and some of the least mature points in the past few months. This is about a group of idiotic or smart-alec Terran soldiers. BOB THE DOMINION MARINE January 14th, 2502 The Zerg Swarm is attacking a hapless Dominion fortress protecting billions of people on the throne world of Korhal. Our intrepid hero, Bob the Dominion Marine, is nowhere to be found while the two garrisoned marines and six SCVs protect a command post, supply depots, and a barracks. “Hey, you! We finally have the minerals for a big-ass destruction machine, like a Thor or Battlecruiser...maybe a few Banshees.” An SCV pulled over next to the Marine Sergeant with a cargo manifest. “Heck, we’re not getting one of those. If this invasion continues, we’ll need a main character!” the Marine in command spat out his cigar in disgust as he peppered a zergling with enough ammo to fill up a flatbed truck, instead of the ultralisk behind it. “Tell those chumps at the command center we need a main character! NOW!” A short while later, the SCV returned with the good news. “We’re bringing in a main character and supporting character. Jim the Dominion Firebat, he’s...uh...the secondary character, and Bob the Dominion Marine.” The SCV looked uncertain, then looked up. The SCV’s gaze was followed by that of the second marine, ignoring the fact that zerglings were closing in at less than 10 meters away. A battlecruiser had come to save the Dominion capital and its badly-made defense fortress! Two more glints as drop pods rocketed into the atmosphere, and the battlecruiser disappeared. “REINFORCEMENTS!” The marine private bellowed, before a zerg drone moved behind him at a poky speed and started hitting him with “lethal” force. The first drop pod, containing Jim the Dominion Fire-bat, was coming in towards the bay where the fighting was ensuing. Instead of coming in softly near the battlefield, however, it plummeted past a cliff face and hit the water like a skipping stone. The second, was on a more controlled and direct course, for this contained the plot device of Bob the Dominion Marine. Unfortunately, it also missed the battlefield and rocketed into the Orbital Command Center, shearing off its satellite dishes, destroying its adjutant inside, and three of its command staff. He bailed out in a parachute about fifteen seconds before impact, instead of steering it clear and then landing safely. The marine sergeant still standing was amazed that such idiocy could appear in the protagonist. “WHAT NEEDS KILLING, PIPSQUEAK?!” roared the half-sober marine at the sergeant. He was a massive form, at least three feet taller, one foot wider, and probably twice as strong in firepower than his counterparts. He carried six sidearms, his standard Gauss rifle, five bandoliers of ammo strapped over his chest, and a reaper jet-pack hastily nailed to the back of his marine suit. However, “pipsqueak” was a bad term for addressing a sergeant while Bob was a mere private. “We have zerglings closing in on our base everywhere! The Dominion is busy at a pool party on some fringe world and we’re stuck fighting a bunch of zerglings. There are formations of ultralisks that put us on the edge! Please help!” Bob, however, was busy running through the battlefield so he could see the invasion on Korhal. Despite any misgivings about Bob, namely being a courageous hero, he was more of a trigger-high pebble-brain that killed over 5,000 of his comrades and only 200 zerg. He unlatched his gargantuan rifle and began spraying bullets. It was a bad start, because the zerg grossly outnumbered Bob 750-1. Half an hour later... “Woohoo, this job is the BEST!” yelled Bob at the brutally murdered marine sergeant next to him, riddled with three hydralisk spines and over 25 .50 caliber bullets. There were two SCVs out of eight still alive, who were busy hiding behind a cliff to avoid the friendly fire spray. Bob was gunning down anything in sight. Barracks? Over 250 rounds peppered in it and its tech lab. Supply depots? Not one packet of munitions or food was left untouched by the depleted uranium rounds. Dirt? Enough craters to look like a big brown slice of Gruyere Cheese. Zerg? 767 kills so far, 750 of the zerg dead, and an extra 17 from friendly fire on his units, his accidental destruction of buildings, other reinforcements, and the protoss fleet trying to help him. Bob was not having much trouble keeping Zerg at bay, not because of his shooting spree, but because it was frightening to see a trigger-happy bald rubbernecker with a pistol in his mouth, his specially-modified four-barrel C14 rifle, and the bullet-and-blood covered gun of the dead marine sergeant. Instead, the Zerg decided it was prudent just to go away and come back when the bald human was gone.