Eyes opened in a flash.

Devoured in purple, thick and viscous, having its vicious hold on him. He tried to breathe, finding it impossible as his lungs were already filled to the brim. Struggling, he flailed around, eyes wide as he searched for salvation. Finding nothing but purple.

Then gravity pulled him down and he fell with the purple down onto softened ground. He coughed, he retched, and he puked.

Without delay, he stood up and unhurriedly scanned his dark surroundings. Blinking, grey illuminating the dark armoury.

/Going planetside in twenty minutes: Mission [Defend Outpost]. Time limit [24 hours]: Enemy armaments, everything, high possibility: Enemy heavy vehicles, high possibility: Calculating recommended loadout.

One part of the room illuminated in a light glow of red. His head turned to it and tilted just slightly. A tilt of the head rather unusual for him. He glanced around, searching for more red lights. Finding none, only the one.

He moved up to it, pressing the button for his general service rifle and, waited.

Not for long, never for long. Even so, he waited. Yet nothing else illuminated.

He took a step to the side, standing in front of the grenades. Finding the shelf empty. The anti-tank rifle, empty. Container, empty. All weaponry except the general service rifle was, empty.

In one smooth motion, he turned and walked to the second armoury. Into the corridor and glancing down each respective room. Searching and finding all of them, empty.

Steps faster than before, he walked back into the weapons armoury and headed for the dropship. Finding its doors closed.

/Eighteen minutes until planetside.

A new red light flooded the scene, this one bright and almost pink. He blinked, letting his normal sights search for the light’s source. Finding it by a metal door. A metal door rarely crossed, leading further inside a mothership he now could assume he’d already been on.

Walking to it, it automatically opened with a rusty crank and a slow, methodical movement. Not fully, as one of the two doors stuck out a fifth from its fully opened position. Rusted, he saw while he leaned forward to get a better look into the new room. Exposing a tiny room, tall in ceiling but tiny in width. Barely able to squeeze in. But squeeze in, he did.

The door closed behind him, and the room opened up. Opening up to expose a darker than dark room, lights flickering helplessly as they tried to burst into life, failing. He blinked, seeing through the dark. Seeing metal corroded from time, dust accumulated in corners uncleaned, insects and rodents scurrying off into corners riddled with unnatural holes.

Naked as he was, he felt the cold bombard him. A musky scent stuck to the air, tasting vile and filthy. Death and decay, blended with mold and rot, all mixing with metal rusted and unmaintained for a time he could not tell.

Taking a step on the cold metal floor, he looked around. Eyes glancing, stopping momentarily on each rodent that scattered away in freight. Small skeletons and spiderwebs clumped together haphazardly. Eyes still glancing. Stopping as he saw it.

An armour.

The very first type of armour he’d ever worn.

He stared at it, at its surface that shone so much brighter than the surrounding room. Web’s strung down it likes drapes, a dim and flickering red light shone on it. It was black with stripes of white down its face, bulky in places that were critical, yet lean enough that it did not hinder movement. On its chest there was a painted insignia, tattered from age, colours faded and lacking their once luster, but still looking as vibrant as the day it was painted. It wasn’t alone, hanging next to four other armours of the same make, though in different states of decay.

He looked over the armour, from head to toe, then stared for a time longer than the rest at the insignia on the armours chest. The insignia was a painting of two black axes crossed over top a painted purple circle. A silhouetted raven was in flight above the axes and was also painted in black, but had an eye that shone in bright white.

Closing the distance to the armour, he spotted the small terminal imprinted into the wall beside it. A filter of dust hid what it said, so he gently dusted it off and read what the dimly lit screen said.

“Status; maintenance needed; last check up – invalid time”

Followed by a 2D image of the armour with several parts highlighted in red, some in yellow, least in green. Below that was a list of expired items or things that needed replacement. A long list. What stood out the most were the drugs, expired. And the non-functional thrusters.

Slowly, he moved to each set of armour, checking each status and saw that all the armours were lacking drugs. Though one had a set of functioning thrusters.

With a few clicks of mechanical buttons below the terminal for the mostly intact armour, a hiss of air blew down from above. Something mechanical, something big, turned, churned, screamed as if its inaction had made this action unbearable for it. And as it turned, creaking ominously, the armour slowly lowered.

With a bang and a clunk, the armours feet hit the ground and stopped. He pressed another button, and a big mechanical crane drew up into a dusty door above, releasing its hold on the armour as it settled onto the ground.

Still, like the lake on a windless night, the armour stood tall in front of him, staring out at a battlefield the two had left behind long ago. He marched up to it, gently placing a hand in the middle of the armours purple symbol, a finger on the raven’s white eye. A click, and the armour spread open like a bird jumping up in flight.

He took a step back, waiting as the mechanisms opened up the armour, a far smoother process than those mechanical arms that had dropped it onto the ground. An armour built to last.

The armour opened up, revealing a spartan inside, wired and barren, like the nerves and skeleton beneath human flesh. Turning around, he took a step back into the armours embrace, a foot clicking into a tight fit in the armours right foot, the left quickly following.

And as the left took its rightful place, the armour shimmered slightly, whirred, and slowly closed its embrace around him. Starting with the legs, they pressed firmly around him, squeezing tight, but not uncomfortably so. Then his arms, tight, but leaving room for him to move dexterously, room for the biomechanical machines that strengthened him to work their magic. Next, his torso, tuckered in tightly. And last, the helmet, slowly making his sights darker and darker as the corners of the helmet closed in around his head.

Then they closed fully, and a screen flashed into life, quickly followed by a sharp stabbing pain in the back of his neck. And his other mind waking to life.

/All systems nominal. Armour needs maintenance.

It thought for the two of them before calculating. Calculating their new armour, their weaponry, and what was provided for them and what their mission entailed. Calculating their odds of survival and how best to increase those odds. Calculating in a time so short that a human would blink slower than the time it took for his other mind to have an answer.

One it said to him as if it was his own thoughts.

Taking a testing step forward, he took another, then another, and another. Slowly going forwards in circles around the room, flexing his arms and legs. They felt stiff, slightly taut, as if something was just slightly holding him back. Yet, his steps grew faster and faster. Turning his walk into a jog, into a run, running in circles around the small armoury.

Sounds bouncing around in loud bangs, the small skeletons scattering around from the vibrations, clouds of dust forming a small mist around the room. Then, and only then, did he stop. Not from the dust, but that his other mind had told him to.

The armour would hold. More than hold, it would protect him, even in its slightly damaged state. Though, lacking substances and a rifle was not something he could do without.

Walking back to the armoury containing his dropship, he walked up to where the rifles were on the wall and, instead of pressing a button, simply tugged the thing free. A warning flashed on the wall, but otherwise let him.

Next, he walked into the armor armoury, moving into the nearest pod. From it, with the help of his other mind, extracted drugs and grease for his armour to hold and fix itself up with.

Filled to the brim, and slightly smoother than before, he walked back to the desolate and murky armoury, looking around for his exit. His other mind pumping him with mind enhancing substances, painkillers and muscle strengtheners to make him, more.

/Ten minutes until planetside

His comms module spoke, and he turned to it, to the exit. A door that was smaller than those before, almost a head smaller, if not even slightly smaller. Ducking down, he reached for the console next to the door and pressed what his other mind said was the button to open it.

With a slow crank, the door withered open. Revealing a long, brightly illuminated, corridor with several doors leading to rooms that he nor his other mind had any idea where they led. A corridor of darkened metal, spotless yet obviously used and abused. The corridor was cramped for him as he had to duck his head down to fit, the corridor’s width luckily big enough for two humans to walk side by side, wide enough for him.

A strip of red suddenly grew from the ground like a long red snake. Following the snake from its tail, it continued down the corridor to then make a sharp left turn around a bend.

The snake glowed, growing bright, then dimming, and then back to bright, illuminating and darkening with the rhythm of a slow drum. Pulsating like blood flowing with the rhythm of a heart. He slowly followed the line, taking slow steps while his ducked down head looked ahead with a slight tilt.

The door closed behind him with a rustic and cramped whoosh. Looking behind at the door, he spotted two things. The first being a small sentence above the console that opened the door, reading.

“Authorized Personal Only.”

But next to it, painted on with bright red over-top the door, another sentence spelt out in a language he did not know. Not before his other mind combed their database and translated it for him.

“Hel’s chosen. Pray to those who cross his path.”

Still walking, he reread the words painted on the door. Painted with a thick brush that left small lines of red running down like lines of blood.

He turned forward as his other mind indicated to them that the bend in the corridor was coming up. Walking around it, still following the red line, he spotted two people, talking to each other as they stared down at the red line on the ground with obvious confusion on their faces.

They were clad in loose clothing, tattered with black stains of grease and oil, faces matted with the same grease and hair sticking sweatily to their faces. Tools stood in the opening of a door, forcefully holding it open as the two presumably worked on something within.

He neared, and one of the two looked up and grew white. The person gasped, then seemed to lose the ability to breathe as they took a step back, falling onto their behind. Their fellow grew confused, slightly alarmed, and turned to look at what had caused him such dismay. Expression mimicked as they saw him, walking with slow, methodical steps in the too small corridor.

Immediately, the still standing person saluted, their body heat growing as even more sweat dropped onto their glistening body.

He came upon the two and looked beyond them, looking inside the forcefully held open door. Spotting machines upon machines, chugging away loudly in a dance that would endlessly continue on. Then he walked past, and looked forward once more, following the red line glowing and dimming on the floor.

Another bend, more people, walking past without pause as they showed different emotions. Going from silent, to staring, to saluting to, something else. The further he walked, the more people he walked past. A few dared to speak when they thought him too far away to hear. Hear he did, translated for him, unimportant words such as “hel’s chosen” were said.

Not long, he came to yet another door, this one illuminated with a red light from above and guarded by two guards with rifles at hand. They froze at the sight of him, one immediately saluting as the other seemed frozen in place. He walked forward until he was by the door, standing flanked by the two guards as one of the two stared at him with big brown eyes.

The one holding the salute, dressed in what his other mind stated was this army’s equivalent of a modern military armor, continued staring forward, making no moves to speak or look at him. The other one, though, quickly seemed to gather themselves, and stammered out words that were quickly translated for him.

“S-s-state your b-business”

To which the saluting guard immediately turned to the other, practically screaming.

“Are you retarded?!”

Turning to face each other, they spoke hurriedly.

“W-wha?”

“It’s hels chosen, just let him in.”

“B-but, protocol?”

“Fuck the protocol, let him in!”

Turning to face him, the one saluting quickly twisted their body to press a small terminal next to the door, opening it with a smooth hiss.

“Sorry for the delay! Fare well, hel’s chosen!”

The guard practically shouted as they stepped aside with a salute, giving him room to pass. Still ducking, he crossed the threshold of the door, walking in and standing tall as he was able, gazing forward, then upwards. Staring out at an enormous hangar, filled to the brim with ships and people. Seemingly at random were large containers packed together, sidewalks alongside the walls were drawn around the entire hanger in differing levels like lights around a tree, rockets and ammunition were stacked atop each other and placed wherever they seemed to fit.

And the people, so many people. Walking back and forth, hither and dither, everywhere to nowhere.

The red line formed on the ground, and like the snake before, it pulsated and ran forwards, forward towards what he could now see was a big ship. A ship bigger than the rest, with an opening ramp that had a procession of several well armoured and faceless people. Faceless, for their helmets were black, almost like his, but, lesser.

Some stopped as their path would lead them over the red line, staring down at it in obvious confusion. Turning to their companions, they asked and talked. Speaking as they pondered what the red line could mean.

One noticed him, two, then three. More and more noticed as he walked past with unwavering steps. The sounds of activity and speaking, turning dim, quiet. Whispering and pointing. Stepping aside as he neared, some stepping closer to see.

An army of people stared at him as he walked. A hanger turning so quiet that each step echoed like the battle drums before war. foot in front of foot, towering over those he walked past, staring forward with eyes set on the ship that the red line led too. Soldiers armed in armour lesser than his were standing as if at parade, at ease, but perfectly lined up on each side of the ramp.

Closer, the parade of armoured soldiers stood taller and saluted, screaming out in unison.

“Glory to the Varangian guards! Saviors of humanity!”

They shouted as one, almost musically, as they held up small axes to their chests. Shouting in a language he knew, knowing that their pronunciation was just slightly off, for they spoke not with knowing, but as if rehearsing a play that they’ve done since childhood.

He continued past them without a response or reaction, and his first step fell upon the ramp, loud like a metal gong, continuing up into the belly of the beast without a single unfaltering step. The inside of the ship contained several chairs positioned on each side with weaponry above and a parachute below. In the middle of the room stood a lone human, wearing what his other mind stated was pilot gear. The pilot saluted, holding a hand over an emblem he did not see. As the pilot removed their hand, he spotted it, an emblem of white feathered wings striking outwards in each direction with a spear resting between the two wings.

“Glory to the Varangian guards! Saviors of humanity!”

The pilot shouted out with the same wrong pronunciation as the soldiers before, then moving aside, exposing a singular chair, bigger than the rest with space for a large weapon on top, and nothing beneath. The red line led up to it, and his steps followed suit.

At it, he placed his rifle on top and heard, rather than saw, as it locked into place before turning around and sitting down. Looking up, he spotted the rest of the armoured troops moving towards their seats. As one, they sat down. As one, they looked towards him, eyes hidden behind darkened visors.

/Going planetside in five minutes

His comms module spoke up within his head. Turning to the side, he glanced up at the pilot, spotting them holding a hand to the side of their head, nodding, then moving to the front of the ship.

Looking forward once more, he sat still, unmoving, and simply stared out from where he’d entered the ship. Spotting several people sneaking a glance within the ship as they walked past, some immediately looking away as they spotted him, some more daring, stood still and simply stared with opened jaws.

The ship lurched suddenly, sounds of machinery awakening followed by the engines blasting to life. Lights flooded the sides of the ship before quickly dimming, each respective seat with each respective soldier lightly illuminated. Everyone except him, still sitting in darkness as he stared forward, waiting.

Waiting. Even as the soldiers around him stopped looking at him, instead sitting straighter, locked into place by their chairs. He felt it, too, locked into place. But simply, waited.

Waited.

Grandfather clock, tick-tocking.

The ramp closed slowly with a loud ringing blare, warning those that hadn’t cleared space to move in, or away.

And he stared as the light from the mothership slowly, ever so slowly, dimmed, replaced by the lights inside of the ship.

And waited.

Soldiers moving unconsciously, fiddling with fingers, foot going up and down, eyes twitching to glance at him, not knowing he could see with his electrical vision. Yet, he simply sat still. Perfectly still. Waiting.

And waiting.

The speakers on the inside of the ship voiced in a language he didn’t speak.

“Going planetside.”

Translated for him as he suddenly felt the ship move. He did not see, rather felt as forces he could not control used power he did not posses to make a ship he hadn’t built to fly down to a planet he might or might not have been on. Down to kill those that stood no chance against him.

He looked down, twisting his hands around, palms up, staring at them.

Staring at hands that were no longer made of bone and flesh.

Hands no longer his.

He did not remember when they ever were.