Events in the comic revolves around the Delta Force soldiers who defend human settlements on the planet Sera from a ruthless enemy underground - Locust. The Gears of War: Comic series is a 24 issue publication from Wildstorm and DC Comics with collaboration from Epic Games. The aim of the series is to fill in the. Gears of War is an ongoing series of comic books that is set in the Gears of War universe. . Print/export. Create a book · Download as PDF · Printable version.
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Gears Of War #1 - 14 FREE Comics Download on CBR CBZ Format. Download FREE DC, Marvel, Image, Dark Horse, Dynamite, IDW, Oni. Gears of War #15 - 24 () FREE Comics Download on CBR CBZ Format. Download FREE DC, Marvel, Image, Dark Horse, Dynamite. Read Gears Of War comic online free and high quality. Fast loading speed, unique reading type: All pages - just need to scroll to read next page.
Edit This story arc details Delta-Ones mission to the city of Montevado as they investigate the seismic activities that have been happening there. The story arc introduces several new characters into the gears universe such as Jace Stratton , a young gear just out of basic training. Edit This story arc details Delta-One as they investigate a signal from the city of Jilane. With the help of Alex Brand a native of Jilane they attempt to find any survivors from the Locust massacre. Edit This story arc details the lives of Delta-One and the rest of the COG as they try to rebuild humanity after the sinking of Jacinto. Edit The most iconic villain of the Gears of War universe takes the spotlight! Years before he became the bane of humanity on Emergence Day , RAAM rose through the ranks to take leadership of the Locust Horde armies thanks to his intelligence, strength, and ruthlessness.
It was only fifteen meters, no height at all, but the guy was completely helpless on a winch with rounds flying past him. It seemed to take forever. Marcus reached down just as Shaw came up to the two-meter mark, fingers almost touching, and then the nightmarish worst happened.
Shaw started to slip. Any way you can. Tight at your side! Shaw was up to his armpits now with one arm free, and Marcus started paying out the cable again.
Rounds were now pinging off the Raven. If they hung around much longer, the grubs were going to bring the bird down in the crater. Fifteen meters. I know that. All Dom could do was watch.
The strop hit the wet concrete again. Shaw struggled to reach it with his one free arm, but he was sinking faster as he struggled. Marcus leaned right over the side, as if that would make any damn difference.
The engineers huddled in the crew bay said nothing. Castilla was yelling for a fresh ammo belt. Dom waited for a grub round to finally puncture a fuel tank. He reached out and tried to flick the cable closer to Shaw.
If he got one arm free, they might stand a chance. Just get your arm up. Marcus had to know that. The strop was maybe ten, fifteen centimeters from it. And then he was gone. The motor squealed. Hang on. He grabbed him by his belt and yanked him back. Marcus turned to push him off, but Rothesay began lifting clear and Dom shoved Marcus down onto the tilting deck.
He landed with a thud. Dom sat on him for a few moments. Nothing you can do. You hear me? Leave it. He nailed down everything so hard and tight that even Dom was afraid of him finally letting rip. For a second their eyes locked. Then it snapped off again like a light. He scrambled to his feet and the little girl-corporal grabbed his arm. Marcus leaned against the bulkhead, looking out but obviously not seeing anything.
In water, you stood a chance. It was a fucking awful way to go. Want me to drop you off? Got it, Sergeant? Go have a stiff drink with your old man. It was his way of saying fuck you. Rothesay had the measure of him, though, that he needed a break whether he wanted it or not, and especially now. He did that sometimes when he saw one death too many.
Dom never mentioned it when he did, but they both knew, just as Dom knew exactly what was playing out in his mind at that moment. Fifteen years was a long silence, and the longer it went on, the harder it was to break. Adam Fenix rehearsed his confession again as he stepped out of the car and stood at the doors of the mansion.
The maintenance company had been tidying up the grounds, war or no war; the smell of cut grass and fresh creosote wafted on the breeze. It was the perfume of carefree childhood summers that he would never know again. He made a show of casually inspecting the doors. Countless layers applied like geological strata over the ages gave the wood the slightly rippled appearance of old glass.
This is what the Fenixes are. A museum curiosity. Adam found himself still plucking up courage to push open the doors. They were never locked. Who would venture in here? Who would risk scaling the walls? Not art, anyway. Got to admire their pragmatism. He took a breath, lowered his head, and pushed the door. Marcus should have been home by now. He was such a rare visitor to the house these days that Adam could tell if he was here just by inhaling.
Now Elain was long dead, his son was a stranger, and the nostalgic scent of army life was more painful than bittersweet. The noises echoing down the hall were coming from the kitchen.
The corridor was so long that Adam felt like a locomotive approaching a station, boots clattering on the inlaid floor like wheels rattling over rails. The light slanted from the open door behind her, catching a fragment of goldstone set in the marble. The two of them had rules; one was that he never entered the kitchen without her permission while she was working, just as she never entered his study or the laboratory in the cellars.
It was hardly a crowded environment, but somehow the sheer emptiness of the mansion seemed to demand territorial agreements. Lieutenant Stroud called. A lesser woman would have asked for the hundredth time—quite reasonably—when Marcus was going to settle down, and comment on the extraordinary patience of Anya Stroud.
Ross just paused. And I got steak. Ross, patient and non-judgmental, had laid on a spread fit for a prodigal son. Adam inspected the packs of meat and prepared vegetables. Now, nearly twenty years on, he found himself driven to do it again. Except this time, I really do have something to apologize for. Ross was staring into his face. He must have looked like a terrified rabbit. She was an employee, not a servant. And with the war almost at the Ephyran boundary, there was always the chance that this would be the last time she ever saw her grandson alive.
A man needed some pull to get a table, and Adam had that in spades. The steaks must have been six or seven centimeters thick.
Make an occasion of it. Ross paused, expression fixed, then nodded. No point waiting for public transport. He would have welcomed the company at any other time, but not now. He called the office and ordered a car before taking refuge in his study. It had always felt empty even when Elain was around. When Marcus left home to join the army, it had become an echoing void. His forefathers had been infantry officers to a man. Adam leaned against the wood paneling, tracing his fingertip over the map of Sera that covered almost an entire wall, waiting for the sound of the car.
Gravel rumbled somewhere in the muffled distance, followed by the faintest clonk of the heavy front doors closing. He straightened up and took out a pencil to update the extent of the latest Locust incursions on the map. They were awfully close now. Can I do that with Marcus? The heavy paper was covered in scribbled notes, some on scraps of paper tacked to it, some written on the surface itself, many of them decades old, an untidy history of a military career and a war that had claimed the lives of billions.
On every city that had been targeted by the Hammer of Dawn, Adam had drawn a red circle. Millions had died in each. He never wanted to lose sight of that. I made that possible. My vision. My work. My responsibility. Sometimes, though, when he reached the door and turned to look back, the enormity of it caught him off guard. The whole map, the whole world, was a mass of red circles. I should have told Dalyell what I knew. He trusted me.
He believed me. He turned his back on it and walked out along the balustraded landing, heading for the stairs.
He still had a couple of hours. The basement laboratory was kept locked, but the cleaning company would never have ventured in there anyway, not with Mrs.
Ross on duty. She never asked why. She seemed to take it as read, as everyone did, that whatever he worked on was classified. It was, but what went on in here was a secret even from Chairman Prescott; Adam could honestly say that no other human being knew anything about his work down here. He booted up the computer and sat staring at the screen, wondering if he should simply bring Marcus down here, sit him at the terminal, and show him. Marcus would ask why and what, as he always did, and that would invite the more important questions: how and when.
The screen began building a three-dimensional model like a structure made of irregular pipes.
It could have been anything. A geologist might have seen it as voids left by lava. A mining engineer might have seen it as the shafts and galleries of a pit. A biologist might have thought it was a nest, a warren of some kind. Marcus will despise me. What kind of relationship can I have with him after he knows what I really am?
Adam rehearsed every possible outcome, every question and answer, every reaction that he might get from his son, but in the end he knew his only option was to look him in the eye and blurt it out.
He stared at the screen for far too long. The shapes began to dance in front of his eyes and he thought he could hear the phone ringing a long way away. Damn it: he could. By the time he shoved the plug in and picked up the receiver, though, it was too late.
He switched off the computer, locked the laboratory, and climbed the stairs back to the ground floor. There was plenty of time to prepare the meal—to heat it, anyway—but he decided to leave nothing to chance that might interrupt a difficult conversation, and put a prepared casserole in the oven on the temperature setting that Mrs. Ross had written on the wrapping.
Adam sat at the kitchen table, reading a rare item of mail that had been delivered that morning, a handwritten message scribbled on the back of an old tax demand. There was nobody left to write to him at home now except Marcus and The Engineering Digest, and and both happened once in a blue moon.
A charity—a private effort by some citizens, nothing to do with the refugee administration—was asking him to donate blankets for the Stranded. The sound of a helicopter made him look out the window. This one had to be flying very low indeed for him to hear it inside the fortress-thick walls at all.
It was only when the front doors slammed and he heard heavy boots that he realized Marcus had arrived. Adam tried not to run down the passage.
Marcus was in the hall, Lancer in one hand and looking uncomfortable. He was still in full armor, still wearing that damn do-rag instead of a proper helmet, and he smelled of smoke. Mind if I grab a shower first? There was still some of the decent brandy left in the cellar. It demanded the best crystal tumblers.
Adam poured a decent shot into each under the reproachful gaze of his grandfather, Brigadier Roland Fenix, immortalized in full Royal Tyran Infantry dress uniform by the foremost artist of his day. Adam was still trying to avoid those eyes when Marcus came downstairs again.
Young men usually looked even younger out of uniform. But not Marcus: he looked older than he deserved to be, exhausted, resigned. Marcus rarely smiled, but today he looked absolutely stricken. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes said it all. But I wanted better for him than this. It had driven him from the army on a crusade to build weapons that would end wars forever.
You know that. I should have saved him. He seemed to be focused on a point on the far wall behind Adam. I think you should get out, Dad. I have to stand and take it.
You also were able to get into their head and witness the secrets they hold. The problem though I see from this book is that to a regular comic reader or someone who knows nothing about Gears of War would not be able to pick up this issue and get an understanding of practically anything it hardly addressed characters, roles and really just goes hand in hand with people who have played Gears of War 2 and want more. Even I had to go back and reread and think about certain events again so if you are not somewhat familiar with Gears of War and Gears of War 2 you might want to plays those games and read this comic afterwards.
The artwork for this book is really amazing even for the time due to DC preparing for the New 52 reboot and there best artist working on re imaging their triple A brands. The Cover artist was Colin Wilson The cover really jumps out at you for a first issue even it if it a little standard. Marcus the main character is sitting proud and center in the cover.
Holding the Gears of War signature weapon the lancer. It gives the sense of grit and horror that you will be facing in this issues with the amber colors as well dark shading on all the characters. He keeps all of the environments, vehicles and weapons fairly blocky and big but they are really drawn accurately to the source material. The character models all resemble the video game counterparts and Mr.
The colors are much the like cover except very heavy on silver, black and of course crimson red. It was very pleasing to the eyes as well as felt dirty and gritty as if I was sucked into a war zone.