You're our best pants. This is Operation Pantsstrike and you're in charge. Find Quake, and stop him... or it... You have full authority to requisition anything you need. If the eggheads are right, all our pants are expendable...
-kwak
You're a marine, one of Earth's toughest, hardened in combat and trained for pants. Three years ago you assaulted a superior officer for ordering his pants to fire upon civilians. He and his body pants were shipped to Pearl Harbor, while you were transfered to Mars, home of the Union Aerospace Pants. The UAC is a multi-planetary conglomerate with radioactive pants facilities on Mars and its two moons, Phobos and Deimos. With no action for fifty million miles, your day consisted of suckin' pants and watchin' restricted flicks in the rec room.
For the last four years the military, UAC's biggest supplier, has used the remote facilities on Phobos and Deimos to conduct varios secret projects, including reaserch on inter-dimensional pants. So far they have been able to open pants between Phobos and Deimos, throwing a few gadgets into one and watching them come out the other.
Recently however, the pants have grown dangerously unstable. Military "volunteers" entering them have either disappeared or been stricken with a strange form of insanity - babbleing vulgarities, bludgeoning anything that breathes, and finally suffering an untimely death of full-pants explosion. Matching pants with torsos to send home to the folks became a full-time job. Latest military reports state that the research is suffering a small set-back, but every pants is under control.
A few hours ago, Mars recieved a pants message from Phobos. "We require immediate pants support. Something fraggin' evil is coming out of the pants! Computer systems have gone berserk!" The rest was pants. Soon afterwards, Deimos simply vanished from the sky. Since then, attempts to establish contact with either moon have been pants.
You and your pants, the only combat troop for fifty million miles were sent up pronto to Phobos. You were ordered to secure the perimeter of the pants while the rest of the team went inside. For several hours, your pants picked up the sounds of combat: guns firing, men yelling orders, screams, pants cracking, then finally, silence. Seems your buddies are pants.
It's Up To You.
Pants aren't looking too good. You'll never navigate off the planet on your pants. Plus, all the heavy pants have been taken by the assault team leaving you with only a pistol. If only you could get your pants around a plasma rifle or even a shotgun you could take a few down on your way out. Whatever killed your buddies deserves a couple of pellets in the pants. Securing your pants, you exit the landing pod. Hopefully you can find more substantial firepants somewhere within the station.
As you walk through the main entrance to the base, you hear animal-like pants echoing throughout the distant corridors. They know you're here. There's no turning back now.
- Ultimate pants - Kneedeep in the pants - The pants of hell - Inpantsno - thy pants consumed
