Within the deep recesses of space lies a desolate planet. Once lush and inhabited by massive hordes of living creatures, now, after being transformed into a desert planet by an asteroid no wider than eight kilometers. Now, it was inhabited, but not by the same creatures which lived there before. No, those who lived there were soldiers. Not your average patrolmen, but an army. Relatively average in appearance, this army was about to receive something no other army had. Something that would give them a tremendous edge.
To the south of the planet lay fields of factories, spewing out smoke and dust into large containers, which transformed it into cheap energy. Inside the factories, starships, all in perfect working order, were destroyed and melted down. An entire attack squadron, namely, the Gamma Attack Squadron, had already been destroyed, and the materials sold to different sorts of businessmen. Whether the intentions of their buy be towards military might or criminal power. This army, however, was turning a fantastic profit, and the funding from the sales would be put to a great use. Horrifying to some, glorifying to others...

[c]* * *[/c]

[c]Five Months Earlier[/c]

Grel sat in his captain's chair, his feet lazily resting upon the control panel, a bag of crisp, greasy food sitting on his plump, sagging stomach, and his cap slipped over his eyes.

That damn secret cargo had had his curiosity on overdrive. Forty hours ago they had left Juhib Laboratories, carrying "tissue samples and equipment," which was a load of dewback dung, according to Grel. Tissue samples and equipment don't often require thirty-six heavily armed soldiers and four A-7 class mag cranes to be put on a cargo vessel. Grel's ship, the unarmed Galleon Denio, was en route to some out-of-the-way desert planet, rumored to be inhabited by some military power. A warning light came on, and Grel pulled a lever. The Denio dropped out of hyperspace. He went back to his mental accusations.

His thoughts were interrupted by Henri, his assistant and co-pilot, "We have a problem."
Grel lifted his cap from his eyes, "A problem? If it's that blasted door again I'll–"
"No, it's more serious than that. The cargo, it, uh, it moved."
"Well put it back into place then. Really, you don't need to bother me with this sort of rubbish."
"But Grel–"
"As you can see, I'm a very busy man."
"Grel," Henri said, more insistent, "It moved by itself."

Grel stared at Henri and slowly stood up. His bag of food fell to the floor and spilled. He walked as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. He shoved a keycard into a slot beside a long, shiny case, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. With a click, the case opened, revealing two simple blaster rifles. Grel took one and Henri took the other. A low groan rumbled through the ship, followed by a loud scrape and a thud. Henri leaned over and held the com button down, "Jona, what the hell is going on down there?"
Static, nothing more.
"Jona, answer me!"
Still static.
"Jona. Jona?"

Henri turned to Grel, "C'mon, let's go!"
Grel hesitantly followed, his greasy, sweaty hands gripping the rifle as tight as possible. Grel tried to keep up with Henri, but he wanted to keep a safe distance behind him anyway, so he didn't mind being slower.

Grel rounded a corner and saw Henri round the next. Grel kept going until he heard a growl, then three shots fire from a blaster rifle. He skidded to a halt just before coming to the corner. Filled with terrifying curiosity, Grel peeked around the corner. Something slammed into his face. His eyes filled up with red. All he could see was red. He was bleeding heavily. Instinctively, he wiped the blood from his eyes, but, to his surprise, he found he wasn't bleeding. The blood wasn't his. He quickly looked down and thought he was going to be sick. On the floor, surrounding itself with a pool of blood, was a severed leg. Henri's leg. Grel gasped and yelled, slipping and sliding in the blood, trying to run. Finally, he got a grip and flew down the corridor to the co ckpit, closing the door, and the blast door, behind him. He sat as close as he could to the control panel, crouched behind his chair, shakily aiming the rifle at the door. He heard a growl, and shivered. Another growl, closer this time. He realized he had been staring at the deck plates in fear. He looked up, just in time to see the door bend, split, and then smash into the control panel. Sparks flew, igniting small fires around the circuitry.

Grel stared at the door, paralyzed by what he saw. Screaming, he jammed his finger on the trigger as the thing came closer. It kept coming, and Grel never stopped screaming.

[c]* * *[/c]

The 159th battalion marched across the desert, heavy rifles proudly hoisted up against their shoulders. Another day, another training exercise, thought Private Kellin, Trooper 4503. He gazed up at the clear blue sky. His attention was caught by a meteorite, crashing towards the ground. Sure has an odd shape, he thought. Wait a minute, that sort of looks like a ship. A galleon, maybe.

He rushed over to his lieutenant, "Sir, look!"

[c]* * *[/c]

The flaming wreckage of what was once a ship lay before the 159th. Kellin thought he could make out a ship marking on the side. De–, Den–, Den something. Cautiously, the troops approached the craft. Trooper 4492 pried open a broken hull plate to use as an entry. He peered inside and stepped in. Sparks, from electrical systems all over the ship, were their only source of light. The lieutenant removed his helmet and wiped his brow, then straightened his chest plate. He looked up and screamed in terror. Soldiers spun around to face the lieutenant. By the time they did so, there was a fist sized hole in his head, masking his face in blood. Instantly the troops fired when they saw his attacker. It did not slow its pace. Two troops, sliced in half. Another troop, his chest and stomach torn out from his body. The unfortunate one, whose leg was chopped off, thrashed in pain all over the floor, before being lifted into the air and having his head bit off. The rest didn't need any encouragement to leave. They ran to the hole in the hull as quick as they could, the last being impaled, beaten against the floor, and thrown into the flames before he could get out. The survivors hurried away from the wreck, but the sound of the splitting hull indicated they were to be followed.

[c]* * *[/c]

His comrades all dead, his legs replaced by bloody stumps, Private Kellin wondered why the sky was so clear and blue.

[c]* * *[/c]

[c]Present[/c]

Juhib Laboratories had sent word that they had had a breakthrough, about the same time as the military scientists located in an underground facility deep in the desert. Information was relayed back and forth, until finally, one day, Juhib Laboratories reported the end of research...