He sat chewing on the tender flesh of a chicken then wiped the grease from his chin as he threw the leg bone to land amongst the others lying amongst the rubbish, the Tiggertykes trainers and the broken doobrie. Damn how those chickens squealed and struggled when he grabbed them , it was enough to bring an enemy patrol down on him. But one quick snap of the neck put paid to that.
As he licked the last of the taste from his fingers he heard the first explosion, followed immediately by the second. Just as he planned it, the first trap was easy to spot if you knew what you were looking for. And any intelligent foe would spot where to dive to avoid the blast, and that landed right on the second grenade. So two blasts meant more than pigs or locals, it meant soldiers, and that meant an enemy patrol. He dragged on his gauntlets and helm, then shouldered his gun. It complained about being carried out of the way but the supplies of ammo he managed to salvage from the wreck were running low. So the inferior weaponry he stripped from the last scouting party would have to do. His gun would still be close enough to guide him, close enough to enjoy the slaughter.
He loped along the factory floor past the clanking machinery, reaching his vantage point he could make out a body lying in a bloody heap. They had taken human form again to try to confuse him but he could tell, if you opened one up and looked close enough you could find something that wasn't right. He moved between a few more spots he had chosen to get a good look around the site, all was quiet. Just a spotter, maybe for an artillery barrage, a Hellstorm. Remembering basic training he sat motionless watching the body for a half hour or so, after a rat appeared and took a few nibbles he made a move.
As he turned the body over to look for ammunition he knew something was wrong. He saw the tripwire attached to the arm a split second before the blast. Whilst he had managed to turn away it still packed quite a punch and he stumbled. Ignoring the pain lancing down the right side he hurried away, what few Combat Drugs he had managed to salvage on the shuttle had long since been used up and he didn't trust the stuff carried by the enemy. Who knew what it was designed to do? Just bite down the pain and stay sharp, they were out there somewhere and they had claimed first blood, but he would claim the rest. He ran through the access doors keeping to the left to avoid his jury-rigged security precautions. The blast that collapsed his ankle in on itself came as a surprise, his own trap, rearranged, they had gotten close whilst he ate. Perhaps they saw him take the chicken and followed him.
As he tried to stand, leaning again the pockmarked wall for support a shape rose from the dust and shadows before him. He laughed. Did they think that taking the form of a child would stop him? As his gauntlets crackled into life he saw other, taller shapes appear. This was more like it. His gun would like this.
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