The first thought that crossed Blake's mind as he forced himself into a sitting position was I should be dead. He remembered everything. In fact, every detail was ingrained into his mind. Blake squinted, his eyes scanning the land around him. Large parts of the space shuttle Blake had been on now scattered on the dusty ground, still burning away.

As far as he could tell, Blake was the only person for as far as he could see. Blake gave a half-hearted whistle, but just as he had expected, there was no response, just the sound flames greedily locking away at whatever would burn. Blake was just about to force himself upwards when a small, distinctive sound froze him on the spot. A whistle.

“Hello? Is someone there?” when there was no apparent response, Blake heaved out a sigh. He was already hearing things.

Blake discovered that he was strangely coordinated for someone who had just been in an explosion as he got to his feet. Not that Blake was complaining. He needed to be as prepared as he could if he was going to get out of here. Wherever here was. Unfortunately, the Commander had never taught Blake how to build a space shuttle not had the Commander taught him how to communicate with Sector 12 while on a different planet.

To Blake's right was thousands and thousands of dead trees. Blake had never seen so many of one thing in the same place before. Despite the fact that the trees offered a small amount of cover which was more than the dusty wasteland in all other directions would give him, Blake had the strong urge to avoid the forest at all costs. It was silly of course, and he knew it, but even as Blake reminded himself that if there were ever a gun fight the forest would provide him with the most protection, he still hesitated before heading inside.

The moment that Blake turned around and could no longer see where the forest ended, he regretted walking into the forest. Blake could have sworn that he could hear footsteps other than his as he made his way forward, but every time he stopped to listen, the other footsteps stopped too.

When Blake finally reached a small clearing in the forest, he crouched down and partially leant on a thick trunk. It was after a few minutes of silence that heard it again. A whistle. Blake didn't dare whistle back. Surely he was going mad. Blake was too terrified to move. He'd spent his life preparing for war, for one on one fist fights to the death, for slowly being tortured for information by the enemy, but never in his life had Blake thought that he would have had to face such gut wrenching fear.

Blake clenched his eyes shut, just for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, Blake was met with the sight of white face right in front of his. Blake reeled back, his mouth agape. The bulging black veins that stretched underneath a thin layer of the person's skin seemed to tremble. Perhaps with the excitement of finding prey. The person, the enemy, opened its mouth revealing a small row of sharp teeth and let out a small, distinctive sound.

A whistle.