The ground shakes with each blast, so much that I think the trench itself might collapse. These things, these otherworldly beings, are not like any enemy we've ever faced. Agile, nearly invincible, with biotech armor that makes our bullets look like toys.
"We can't hold them off any longer!" Thompson screams, his voice almost drowned out by the chaos. Just then, one of the creatures leaps in, cutting down two of my friends in a blink. Rage surges through me. I lunge forward, thrusting my bayonet into its abdomen and twisting. It howls and collapses, its weirdly glowing orange blood splattering all over me.
I stomp my foot onto its lifeless body and scream at the rest of them, challenging these monsters to come at me.
In a split second, they rush forward. Time slows. My adrenaline kicks in, and my training takes over. I dodge, parry, shoot—each movement a desperate dance of survival. They come at me from all sides, but I hold my ground, cutting them down one by one.
Finally, the last one falls, its glowing blood joining the rest on my uniform. I'm soaked in it, standing amidst a scene of utter carnage. A laughter wells up inside me, escaping into the air, filling the trench, filling the night.
For a moment, I feel my sanity teetering on the edge, my laughter a thin line between courage and madness. But I've survived, and for now, that's enough.
I ready my rifle again, staring down the dark horizon. The war isn't over, not by a long shot. But they know now, as do I, that we won't go quietly. We won't go down without a fight.
Just when I think I've seen it all, something even more grotesque and terrifying emerges from the shadows. A new form of enemy, a hybrid between human and them, bursts into another part of the trench, roaring with a rage that chills my very soul. It starts tearing through my comrades like they're made of paper.
Fueled by adrenaline and a newfound determination, I charge at it. In a split second, I'm airborne, flung through the air as if I weigh nothing. I crash into the mud, but I don't feel the pain. I scramble up and charge again, managing to stab it in the back. It roars and grabs my arm, snapping it like a twig. I scream in agony.
The hybrid creature pushes out blades from its body, piercing me. Slowly, it pulls me closer to its face and removes its helmet. "I'm going to enjoy drinking from your skull," it sneers.
On the brink of death, a manic laugh escapes my lips. "I'm not the idiot removing a helmet, giving the enemy the opportunity to kill me." I reach down with my good arm and pull my boot knife, jamming it up into the base of its skull.
I lock eyes with it and grin. "Now let me see you die!" I twist the knife. Its eyes glaze over, its grip loosens, and it collapses onto the trench floor, finally dead.
I stumble back, my vision blurring, my body on the verge of giving out. But I've done it. I've killed this new horror, this abomination of nature and technology. And as I slump against the muddy wall of the trench, my laughter echoes once again, a mixture of triumph and madness. Humanity still has fight left. And so do I.
With what strength I have left, I take my knife and sever the head of the hybrid creature. It's a gruesome task, but in this hell, it's a message that needs to be sent. Grasping the severed head by its tangled hair, I climb out of the trench and step into the madness of no man's land.
Bullets whiz by, missing me by inches. Artillery shells explode, shaking the earth beneath my feet. My vision starts to darken at the edges, but I don't care. My laughter fills the air, mingling with the sounds of war.
Reaching the halfway point, I kick the head toward the enemy lines, like a grotesque football sailing through the smoky air. "Fear me, you ugly motherfuckers!" I roar.
Just then, a bullet slams into my chest, a searing pain that knocks the wind out of me. I stumble back, my eyes drifting towards the sky, a patchwork of clouds and smoke. As I fall, I feel a warmth envelop me—a vision of my daughter's hand in mine, my wife on the other side, both lost when this nightmare began.
With a smile still on my face, I hit the ground. The warmth takes over, pulling me away from the carnage, the suffering, the endless fight. And for the first time since this war began, I feel at peace.
I blink, the room around me a sterile white, my body surprisingly whole. For a moment, I think I'm in heaven—until the mechanical sliding door opens and two gigantic hybrids step in. And then there's a woman, seemingly human, dressed in their armor.
Screens on the walls come to life, showing footage of me—slaughtering the enemy, killing the hybrid, walking through no man's land with a severed head. A best-of reel of my moments of defiance and violence.
"I have to say, Corporal David Harris, you're the most impressive human we've encountered," she says, clapping slowly. "What were you thinking in the end? What kept that smile on your face?"
"Fuck you," I retort, keeping my guard up. "You might look human, but I know a mutant when I see one."
She chuckles. "I admire the relentlessness in you. Unfortunately, it's misguided. Have a look."
The screens change. It's Earth, unscarred, beautiful, peaceful—the world as it was before the war. She continues, "Everything you experienced was virtual reality, a test to see if we could win a war against humanity. While we would likely win, your actions suggest the losses would be too severe for our mission to dominate as the most intelligent species. So we'll continue to test you—for our entertainment."
My body surges with adrenaline and rage. I lunge at her, and then—
I'm back in the trench, rifle in hand, comrades beside me. The loop starts anew, and I have no memory of what transpired. Yet somewhere deep within me, a stubborn fire still burns, preparing to face whatever comes next, again and again.
For what feels like years, I'm stuck in an endless loop of warfare and death. The trench, the enemy, the screams of my comrades—especially Thomas—it all becomes a sickeningly familiar rhythm. Yet, each time I relive it, I get better, more efficient. My movements become fluid, my aim deadly accurate. Killing these alien creatures becomes second nature, almost like breathing.
But despite my increasing skill, despite the adrenaline that courses through my veins each time, I can't escape the loop. Every time I die, every time a bullet, a blade, or an explosion takes me down, I find myself back in the trench. Gun in hand, mud underfoot, Thomas's voice filling the air with the same words I've heard countless times.
It's like I'm stuck in a twisted game, a violent cycle with no end in sight. My body doesn't tire, but somewhere deep within, my spirit feels the weight of this unending war. Still, I fight on, because that's all I know how to do. And each time I rise again, I'm ready, waiting for whatever comes next.
I find myself in the familiar white room, but it's not as I remember it. The walls are crumbling, the screens flicker and then go black. I look down at my body, now a gaunt shell of what it once was, skin stretched taut over bones. My beard is a tangled mess, as if years have passed.
I force the metal door open and step into a tunnel that seems to stretch endlessly. I walk, my footsteps echoing in the emptiness, until I see it—a window revealing the debris of what was once a ship, scattered aimlessly through the vast expanse of space.
Pushing forward, I find the control room. The corpses of the aliens are here, long decayed, the stench of rot filling the air. Among them is the woman, her body slumped over the console. Tentatively, I touch the table in front of her, and it flickers to life.
A playback starts, grainy and skipping like an old film. It shows the ship under attack, but not from any external force. The crew members, the hybrids, even the woman—they're fighting among themselves, destroying each other in what appears to be a frenzied civil war. The playback ends with the ship's systems failing, life support shutting down.
I stand there, taking in the gravity of what I've just seen. Whatever their original mission, it seems they fell victim to their own infighting, their own flaws. The ship, the experiments, the endless loop of warfare—they've all been abandoned, forgotten.
I'm alone in a derelict ship floating through space, far from Earth, far from the war-torn reality—or virtual reality—that had been my entire existence. The control room is silent except for the distant hum of the dying ship.
I might be alone, and my body may be worn, but I've survived. It's a cold comfort, yet a comfort nonetheless. Now, I just need to figure out what to do next in this aimless void.
I spot a recording function on the console. My fingers, skeletal and trembling, navigate the interface. If this ship has kept records of its own history, it might as well keep a record of mine. Besides, with the ship drifting toward an unfamiliar planet that appeared out of nowhere, I have a sinking feeling I won't survive the impending crash.
"I'm Corporal David Harris," I start, my voice hoarse, "and if you're hearing this, then I'm probably long gone. I was a soldier in a war that might have never really happened, a pawn in a twisted experiment to test the mettle of humankind against a superior alien race. I don't know how long I've been caught in that virtual loop, how many years have actually passed, or if anyone from my original world is even alive."
As I talk, I glance out the window. The planet looms larger and larger, its gravitational pull dragging us into a collision course.
"In this dead ship, surrounded by the corpses of my enemies, I've discovered a peculiar peace. They destroyed themselves, undone by their own inner chaos. And me? I endured. If my endless cycles of death and rebirth served any purpose, perhaps it was to make me resilient, adaptable—a survivor."
The ship shudders, the pull of the planet growing stronger. Alarms that haven't sounded in what must be years suddenly blare, the noise grating and discordant.
"So, if this is to be my final moment, let it be known that I fought until the end. If there's a lesson in my story, it's that the human spirit can endure more than we can ever imagine."
The ship trembles violently now, the control room bathed in the red glow of emergency lights. I hit the "save" button on the console, preserving my tale in whatever archive this dying ship possesses.
As the vessel spirals uncontrollably toward the planet's surface, I brace myself for the impact, closing my eyes. Whether it's another loop or the final end, I face it head-on, ready for whatever comes next.