Gracie, in: Just Another Bug Hunt


Look who's a bad ass, and a Colonial Marine, no less. Not even a scratch. She said she hates those things, and I believe her; you can tell by the empty rounds.

The smoke was still hanging in the air when Gracie stepped over the last twitching tail, M45E rifle still smouldering casually against her hip. Her armour was a little splattered, her boots a bit muddy, but her expression? Cool as a winter morning in Dublin.

"Six, she muttered, tapping the counter on her rifle. "Should’ve been seven. One of them bugged out."

She kicked a dead bug in the head with the toe of her boot, wrinkling her nose. "I hate what those murdering ass-holes for what they do to people. Parasites. Cowards. Nothing noble in them."

A rookie Marine peeked around the corner, eyes wide. "Uh… Corporal Gracie? Should we… call for backup?"

She didn’t even turn. "Backup? For bugs?" She snapped a fresh magazine into place with a satisfying click. "Tell command the hill's clear. And tell them I’m going after the runner."

The rookie swallowed. "Alone?"

Gracie finally looked back, one eyebrow raised, that familiar sly smile tugging at her lips. "Man, if I wanted company, I’d have left one alive."

And with that, she strode into the forest, armour gleaming, M45E rifle humming, every inch the glamorous, deadly Marine who’d rather face a nest of bugs than a bad hair day.


Just another bug hunt… for Gracie.