#Nerb OCs - Briggs

[nerbs-the-word]

OC Intro - Eights + Briggs

Hey y'all, haven't written anything in a few days (Been enjoying my long weekend), but glad to see I've been kinda growing. Likes and follows make the Nerb brain chug like the machine I am.

So anyway, new OCs, new short story. Once again, asks are open for questions/comments or constructive criticism if you have any. Just one last FYI, their full names are Sgt. Ashley "Eights" Pierce and Col. Sandra Briggs. Eights is they/them, and Briggs is she/her. Sorry for any confusion!

This story does take place in my worldbuilding project! Pixies be upon thee!

This does feature military themes, guns, blades, violence, gore, drug use and some 'colorful' language, so if any of those things upset you, please don't continue reading for your own mental health. And if you're not sure, please feel free to stop reading at any time if you feel uncomfortable.

STRIKE AT ZERO HOUR

WITH OVERWHEALMING FIREPOWER

THEY'RE FUELED BY THE FEAR

IN THEIR ENEMIES' EYES

ITS A SHOCK TROOP INFILTRATION

A FAST AND VIOLENT ESCALATION

OUT OF THE TRENCHES...

"The stormtroopers rise." the voice finishes as the intense metal music in the background blares, bass thumping in their ears. Emitting a muffled grunt under the several pounds of metal atop their head, the hefty marine slams their breaching axe down, sending a spray of blood the color of moldy bread across their Mythbreaker armour.

Eights slams their boot into the chest of the Other, and using their mechanically augmented hands, pulls free their axe. Their metallic hands, themselves the size of dinner plates, make the bladed weapon in their hands look tiny; even if it is a bulky tool for the average foot soldier. An average man would require two hands to deal any damage with it; Eights can use it in one, and a shotgun in the other.

"Welcome to the 25th century, dumbass" They sarcastically mutter under their breath with a seething rage in their voice. A quick slam of their metal boot and a crunch of bone confirms that the alien isn't getting back up off the floor.

Hunting remnants of these stupid extraterrestrials has been getting old to the young marine. It's been five months since the end of the war, and here they were, being dragged around Known Space to every hulk, ship or station suspected to have an Other aboard. But yet again, after Operation Ragnarök, they didn't have much else to do other than tune the suit's motors and clean their guns. These battles weren't even exciting anyway, the Others always fell back on melee weapons; meaning they were perfect fuel for-

"Sergeant!" Exclaims a familiar authoritative voice from the doorway behind them.

As if by muscle memory, Eights turns to face the figure, their hand pressed against their forehead in a neat and orderly salute. Their posture was as perfect as a marine could get in the bulky armour they wore.

"Yes, ma'am!" They aggressively yell back, every fiber of their voice screaming respect and a sense of duty.

The colonel looks across the room, their diminutive frame being held in the hand of some poor private. While she had a stoic look on her face, the private's face went pale.

The room was stained in blood. Every wall was covered in some sort of bodily fluid in some unnatural, inhuman color. Extraterrestrial corpses littered the room, many with massive tears across their bodies, others riddled with bullet holes. Some still flickered with fire, smoldering silently in the room. It reeked of death, blood, ash, and gunpowder.

"At ease, sergeant." Briggs responds, and as if by command, the hulking, ten foot tall figure before her relaxed their stiffened frame, using the opportunity to pick up a large rotary cannon on the floor. The chest cavity of one of the targets gives resistance, but with a whir of the trigger, the barrel cluster is able to mutilate the innards enough to rip it out with a disgusting squelch.

"Ship's clear." The marine responds as they affix the cannon to their back.

"I noticed. Private, pass me off to the sergeant, please. Then report to your lieutenant."

The still-shaken private nods swiftly, quickly passing the tiny colonel into the metallic gauntlet of the heavily-armed stormtrooper, like a bug into the mouth of a waiting lion. And while pulling their hand back towards their chest, they swiftly leave the room, as silently as they walked in.

It did dawn previously on the colonel that Eights could easily turn her to mincemeat like they do so easily and so willingly to anything the Republic deems dangerous. Pirates, terrorists, Blue Angel cultists, and now the Others. The difference is that Eights respects authority.

"Ma'am, 34 dead, 5 captured. The survivors have locked themselves in what I assume to be the armoury." The sergeant replies, lifting the tiny colonel to be at eye level. Their helmet was menacing; more machine than person. Covered in valves, with a hose running from the mouthpiece to the chest, every breath was accompanied by a whir, and every word echoed inside the hermetically sealed suit.

"Good." The colonel responds with a nod.

"And I'm ready to-" The sergeant begins, before being cut off.

"No. You're dismissed. Rest up, and meet me in my office tomorrow morning at 0600. We need to talk.

_

"Pierce, I'm worried for your health." The colonel continues, pacing back and forth behind her desk. With the sergeant looming over her, it looked like she wasn't in command here. But she, and Eights, both knew the truth. She outranked them.

Eights crossed their pale arms across their chest. They felt naked, missing the second skin the mechanized armour served as.

"So what?" They exclaim dismissively, their emerald green eyes staring downwards at their commanding officer.

"So what?!" Briggs yells back, the sudden aggressiveness catching the battle-hardened and grizzled marine off guard. "That shit, that fucking concoction, that *Flux*-"

Flux. She spat the word like it was a curse. Some combat drug brewed up by the battalion stranded on Taurus-4 during their deployment. Before Eights was placed under her command.

"You're smart enough to know what it'll do to you." She finishes with a disappointed sigh.

"What I put in my body is my business. It helps me get work done, ma'am." They finally reply after a moment of silence.

A moment of silence that returned to the air, deafening, blinding, choking. Horribe in every regard.

But finally, with a deep breath, Briggs spoke again, her commanding voice easily heard despite her small size.

"I didn't want to, Pierce. But I'm ordering you. You will report to the ship's medical team, and you will seek treatment for your addiction. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am..."

_

#g/t #giant/tiny #Nerb OCs #Nerb OCs - Eights #Nerb OCs - Briggs