I got really bored.

[Vitruvius]

What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck?

As if that little son of a bitch hadn't been enough to shit on his day, now he was abducted. Where in the holy fuck was he? One second his platoon is running a breach on that piece of shit cargo ship, the next they're deep in the shit and he was...attacked? Violated, definitely. Whatever that little fucker had been all he knew was that it had almost choked him to death until his C.O. pried the bastard off and filled it with a hundred rounds of FMJ.

After that they were inspecting the ship, looking for any signs of survivors and what did they find? Not a single fucking crew member. Not even the fucking bodies. What did these assholes do? Eject themselves into space to escape whatever those fucking mutated spiders were? High cost for something you could torch or shoot.

But now it made sense. They had to be abducted, right? I mean, sure, why the fuck not? Here he was. No fucking way he would be the only taken. Unless of course the universe just liked giving overt “fuck yous” out to certain Marines. Hoo. Fucking. Rah. Now he knew why his old battle axe bitched about him becoming a scientist instead of picking up a rifle. Scientists don't go to abandoned cargo ships. Scientists don't get mutated spiders trying to eat your face and strangle you at the same time. Scientists (hopefully) didn't get abducted to great white rooms.

And that's when the fucking anxiety attack set in. What a fucking beautiful day this was going to be.

Wait. No fuck that. This was not an anxiety attack. Sure his chest would tighten and his throat would close and the room would spin. But this was...different. Something was wrong. Something was seriously fucking wrong...

“Shit! FUCK!” His cries were reduced to gibberish as he clutched his chest, fumbling and striving to rip his tactical vest off. “F-fucking p-pieceash-shit!” One clasp. Two. Get the fucking third one you stupid fucking fingers! All he could hear in his head was the repeated loop of “whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck” as pain ruptured his chest cavity. He was bursting with agony. Third clasp. He tore the vest off his body, didn't even care where he threw it. He rolled onto his back, gritting his teeth until he felt like either his teeth were going to crack or his jaw ripped through his face. A momentary gasp resulted in an airbrush spray of blood all over his face.

“Oh shit...” were the last comprehensible words he uttered as he ripped the buttons off his BDO. He thought he was going to have to find a way to get his under shirt off, but as he looked down to inspect himself, he found out something was already working on that.

A fucking bloody mess was what he stared at. The crack of his sternum alerted him that as much as he wanted to get away from the pain, something wanted to get away from him. The screaming started anew as audible breaks of his ribs emerged from within his body. His diaphragm impacted, leaving him utterly breathless, gasping and bleeding from the mouth. His lungs weren't just collapsed, they were fucking shredded and crushed. That meant every death rattle caused globule spurts of blood that pooled around his head. His eyes closed and opened slowly. His vision blurred almost to nothingess.

His last vague form of an idea as all oxygen ceased flowing to his brain had been “Wish I didn't fucking see that” as finally his chest burst open, a small pinkish-yellow head peering out before clawing its way through the rest of his chest and scurrying off.