good times

quote:

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Stalwart Steve had this to say about Tron:
John Stalvern waited, insulated by the oppressive darkness. The lights above him blinked and sparked, cascading a sinister strobe down the empty corridor. There were demons in the base. Their guttural chants and charnel, wretched scent permeated every inch of the abandoned installation, and though John hadn't seen them, he had expected them now for years. Indeed, it was John who had warned the science team and Colonel Joson against their diabolical teleportation experiment.
"With all due respect, sir, this is a mistake!" he had pleaded.
"Don't be stupid, lieutenant," Joson retorted. "Humanity needs this technology. The marines need this technology. The UAC will be the ones to provide it. Besides, I'm not sure the suits back on Earth would be convinced of your fairy tales - they've got enough on their hands."
"My assignment is to protect this team, Colonel. That's what I'm doing."
"That'll be all, Lieutenant."
His warnings to Colonel Joson were not heeded, and now it was too late. The hour was dark, and the only remaining soul in the base was the one who sought to protect it.
John was a space marine for fourteen years. When he was young, he would visit the shipyard with his father. One day, a UAC transport with a team of UAC security personnel was booked to depart for Mars. From beyond the chain link fence, John gazed in wonder, and said to his father, "I wanna be on the ships, daddy."
He remembered his father's face vividly. It was a look of blind animalistic fear; a remnant of human instinct that frightened John to his core. Grabbing his son's shoulders firmly, he said, voice cracking, "No! You will be killed by demons!"
There was a time when he believed him. As he grew older and more skeptical, however, he stopped. How ironic, he thought. Now, in the UAC space station, he knew demons were real.
"This is Joson," the radio crackled. "You must fight the demons."
John spun his firearm around on its sling, shouldering it with practiced timing - a military-grade prototype UAC plasma rifle, the most lethally efficient weapon this side of Mars. Levelling the vacuum cleaner-sized barrel at the brick wall, he unleashed a volley of searing hot plasma that left the barrier decimated.
He was not ready for what he saw on the other side: a hulking hippopotamus-like creature, armed with massive weapons that seemed to be wired to its very flesh. Seeming to turn around in its vile skin, the beast saw him and it was his turn to recoil. Letting forth an eldritch howl, the fiend roared in a wickedly humanlike voice.
"He going to kill us!" it croaked, barely able to enunciate the speech with its sagging face and bovine tongue.
It was then that John noticed yet another creature in the room, formerly unseen due to the effect of adrenaline on his vision - or had he been looking at it all along? Even more titanic than the other, this monster reckoned of a minotaur, though horrendously twisted even beyond the classic description. Replacing its left forearm was a racked missile launcher, and at its right leg was exposed a kind of crude robotic leg. Muscle gave way to metal at the hip, and in his short assessment John was unable to tell whether the thing was living or robotic.
"I will shoot at him," said the cyberdemon, in a tunnelled, unnatural voice. The beast raised its arm and let loose a storm of UAC mobile rockets directly where John was previously standing. Not fully aware of himself, John let his instinct take over, and in an instant was firing a cloud of blue plasma into the cyberdemon's exposed midsection, attempting to blast it asunder. It had the expected effect. Bellowing, the giant hellspawn's upper torso slipped free of what seemed to be a mechanical chassis, spraying brown blood and motor oil forth through the room. Yet the thing was not defeated. Laughing horribly, it fired three rockets into the ceiling, totally collapsing the entire area. The otherworldly firefight had been doused; the combatants were trapped and unable to kill one another.
Struggling to free himself, John pressed feebly on the rubble encasing his body up to the chest. "No! I must kill the demons!" he shouted.
Vaguely aware, struggling to stay conscious, only the crackling of his radio kept him awake. Finally the noise stopped, and through the speaker came a sound of impossible, unnatural clarity.
"No, John. You are the demons."
The sun rose on a Phobos dawn. Cold desert sands blew in through the shattered windows. John's strength ebbed from his body, and his last memory was that of the sun glinting off his visor, and the reflection of that terrible animalistic fear he had witnessed so long ago.
And then John was a zombie.

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In bold is what I added