Michael’s eyes slowly opened as light began to seep through the cloth curtain drawn across his bunk. Was it o’six hundred already? Felt like he didn’t get any sleep at all last night… just like every night since the day Michael got on this dang ol’ ship. The Sparrow was a fine vessel, but he was a marine… and he’d never been on a ship this long without experiencing any action. He had grown used to fighting the Final Kind both in space and planetside, but those had been frequent, one right after the other…

This constant waiting was driving him crazy. He almost always felt a tense sort of… wrongness nowadays. He felt wrong with all this standing around he was doing, when was he actually gonna be deployed against the enemy again? It wasn’t natural for Michael- no, for any marine to be cooped up for this long… not unless they were in cryo. Captain Stol had insisted that the entire crew stay unfrozen during this strategic withdrawal, just in case any boarding parties managed to breach the Sparrow.

Michael definitely understood, thawing safely took a long time if you weren’t a Hoplite. If the Eighth Arm was frozen when those Mosquitoes hit… Michael shuddered at the thought.

There had been encounters between the Final Kind and the Sparrow of course… but the ship jockeys that piloted this high-tech bucket of bolts were too good at dealing with them. Either the Final Kind ships would get melted to slag or the Sparrow would escape before any kind of on ground firefights could take place. The last alien Michael shot had been a pug, point blank right between its stupid bug eyes. That had been the last shot he had fired outside of the practice range, and fake-holo bullets and fake holo-aliens simply did not sate his urge to fight.

“Ay Michael, I hear ya movin’ down there. how long ya think we gonna be doin’ all this runnin’?” Nate asked from the bunk above Michael’s own.

He breathed a sigh, turning in his blankets as he scratched at the beard he had let grow on his face. Michael supposed that he should be grateful that he was capable of growing such magnificent facial hair at only nineteen years of age. Most fella’s onboard the Sparrow just went clean-shaven cause they couldn’t grow 'em right.

“Not sure man.” Michael replied after a moment “I’m gettin’ antsy though… How long are we supposed to be doin’ this? When are we gonna link back up with the fleet?”

He heard good ol’ Nasty Nate let out a huff, whether in agreement or annoyance, Michael was unsure.

“Yeah, ship jockey's are doin’ too good a job at keepin’ those freaks off our tail… but man, I don’t know if we ever gonna see the fleet again.” Nate said solemnly.

“Come on man, don't be doin’ that.” Michael chided lightly “The fleets out there somewhere, you go thinkin’ like that it’ll just bring ya down.”

“Yeah…” Nate replied after a moment of silence.

Normally the Conductors would have had them up and running about by now… but they had gotten just a tad bit lazy in the mornings recently. Maybe they were feeling it too… the gloom that had infected the crew. Michael knew that it had gotten into him… He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. All Michael had to do was keep from being alone and he’d be fine… and with how cramped the Sparrow was, that was relatively easy…

He just wished that he would stop thinking about taking a gun from the armory… sneaking into a bathroom and-

Michael shook himself, gritting his teeth and sitting up in his bed. He needed to stay occupied or those macabre thoughts would hold more sway. It was dangerous to be alone, but that’s what Nasty Nate was here for.

“Guess it's time to get up, how about we hit the gym and I beat your ass in the ring? What was the number again?” Michael asked with a forced grin, sitting up and pulling back his curtain.

Light temporarily blinded his vision as Nate replied “Sixty you to fifty-eight me, but that’s cause I let you win a couple of times, felt bad for ya.”

Michael laughed as he came out fully into the light, seeing a dozen other marines in the long chamber doing the same.

The barracks on board the Sparrow were quite comfy, with dozens of rows of double-stacked heated bunks. Michael had never had a heated bunk before, much less a privacy curtain for his bunk… a risky thing to give a marine. Privacy could be utilized in… less professional manners than what was intended.

After all, there were male and female marines… all in the same barracks without any segregation. Michael had no doubt that the privilege of curtains hadn’t been abused for such a thing yet, especially with how lazy the Conductors had gotten lately… yet…

No one really seemed to be in the mood for that kind of thing… not even Michael was all that interested. His thoughts had been constantly drifting back to craving the smell of gunpowder after blowing out a pug’s brain… or worse, his own brain. Michael simply hadn’t been in the headspace for that kind of thing. No one else seemed to be either, based on the drawn down miserable faces surrounding him.

The marines in the barracks were all around Michael’s height or shorter; marines tended to scale on the larger side and usually were more rambunctious than this in the mornings… Yet most looked glum, their eyes shadowed by a dreary fog. Again, Michael related… he felt it too most days, but it was the worst for him during the nighttime hours.

Alone in his bunk, with only his grim thoughts for company.

Nate then slipped from his bunk, landing cleanly next to Michael and rolling his shoulders with audible pops. Like Michael, Nate was possessed of broad shoulders, indicative of the countless hours that had been spent at the gym. With the overly-long stay onboard the Sparrow, many marines had to find something to do while they waited for something- anything to happen. Luckily for Michael and Nate, the Sparrow had been outfitted with an awesome gymnasium…

One that was now constantly packed to full with dozens of soldiers at all hours of the day, save for when there was extra cleaning that needed to be done. Michael hated cleaning duty, there was only so many times one could mop the same patch of gunmetal-gray hallway without going crazy. The gym though… The gym was awesome, it helped keep his mind occupied.

That, and he was getting absolutely jacked. He and Nate were already pretty large before the evacuation, even for marines, but with nothing to do but exercise all day, they’d practically outgrown their uniforms. Michael felt like he could arm-wrestle a Yugoro and almost win. Nate then patted Michael on the back, drawing him from musing any further on his gains.

Michael turned to the man, Nate’s short dark hair and even darker skin a stark contrast to the bright white t-shirt and boxers he wore.

“Let's get outta our jammies before one of the Conductors come ‘round here and get us to do somethin’ stupid. You better know I don’t wanna be stuck moppin’.” Nate told him, his face and tone becoming deadly serious, his dark eyes focusing in on Michael’s blues.

Michael then huffed through his nose “Well hurry up then gramma!” Michael yelled, shoving Nate away as he began opening the drawer beneath his bunk “I’ll be done by time ya have grandkids at that rate.”

Nate muttered something under his breath as he opened his own drawer, and as Michael was pulling his shirt on, something whipped him right in the balls. He spat and fell to his knees, blue eyes bulging with pain and rage. When he finished pulling the shirt down, Nate was standing over him, laughing. Other marines paused in their misery to peak over at them, some snickering as they dressed themselves.

“It’s Tuesday, thought I might tap your brudders for ya.” Nate told him, practically wheezing with laughter.

“Don’t… ever…call em’ brudders again.” Michael wheezed before rising to his feet.

Michael then promptly delivered a precise jab to his comrades' own gonads, dropping Nate to his knees with a sputtering cough.

“It's a way to wake up, yeah?” Michael huffed, face growing red as he slowly stood, making sure to protect his… sensitive assets by turning away from Nate.

“Ima beat your ass, Mike.” Nate replied with a short glare “But hey… looked like it cheered folks up round’ here.”

Michael paused, turning to see that, as Nate had claimed, much of the glumness had lifted from his fellow marines eyes. Michael supposed it was hard to be depressed and despairing when you saw two guys nut-shot one another. Hopefully this won't be a common trend from now on… Michael hated Tapper-Tuesday’s.

After that was all sorted and their clothes donned, Michael and Nathan made way for the gym through the twisting hallways of gray metal. At first, Michael had needed a map to find his way around the Sparrow, but six months on board had given him more than enough time to become familiar with its design.

As the two passed into the gym, they were surprised to see that it was relatively clear… only about twelve other people were using any of the equipment, a stark difference from the normal two-hundred or so. Michael had grown used to long lines for certain exercise machines, so this was… pleasant.

“Happy times.” Nate said “Don’t gotta share the bench today… unless you hittin’ chest too?” He asked with a quirked brow.

“Thought I was gonna show ya yer place in the ring first?” Michael asked, quirking his brow back in the same manner.

“We’ll do it after, I know that you’ll need me to be tired to stand a chance.” Nate replied with a smirk.

Michael rolled his eyes “Like I wouldn’t be gettin’ tired either dingletard.”

“You don’t work as hard as me, it's always lift and talk with you bud, lift and talk. I stay…” Right then, a short woman passed by them, likely a diver and wearing clothing that was… not exactly appropriate, what with how short those shorts were “Focused.” Nate finished after approximately ten seconds of being focused on something that was most definitely not lifting.

Well, he was called ‘Nasty Nate’ for a reason. Michael didn’t blame him, he had been focused on her too. Sure, Michael wasn’t as in the mood for chasing girls as Nasty Nate was… but who knew, maybe that could help distract him until it was finally time to fight again? For Michael, such distractions could save his life…

“Yeah yeah,” Michael replied “Then how about less talk, and more work ya dumba-”

“Final Kind cruiser inbound!” A voice that sounded like the ensign shouted,“Dragon-class cruiser inbound! Prepare for combat!”

Michael’s eyes goggled at the intercom for a full second before he turned to Nate, who ran a hand across a suddenly sweaty brow, dark eyes bulging.

“We gotta get to the armory!” Nate shouted, grabbing Michael and shoving him back the way they had come.

“Dragon-class!” Michael shouted, cursing as they pounded feet on metal toward the armory “Damn damn damn!” Michael repeated through clenched teeth.

“We gonna fight now man!” Nate shouted as they sprinted through the halls, seemingly every member of the Eighth Arm beginning to converge in the cramped halls as they all headed for the same place “We gonna fight now!” He repeated, slapping himself as they continued to run.

Michael almost got knocked over a time or two by wide-eyed men, fear and excitement clear on their faces. It seemed everyone was antsy to begin fighting again… would they be able to get away again without the Mosquitoes making contact? It was a Dragon-class after all… maybe there was no escape?

Well, if there was no escape… then at least Michael wouldn’t have to think about being alone with a gun anymore. It was better to die fighting right?

A flurry of motion and further orders from the intercom made the armory a whirlwind of noise and limbs. The all-encompassing cacophonous chorus of metal plates clanking, auto-assemblers whirring, and guns being loaded made it almost impossible for Michael to hear his own thoughts. His hands trembled lightly as he began donning his combat plate, but he felt no shame for it. He could see that he was not the only one who felt nervous… men and women both were shaking, some even hyperventilating at the news of the Dragon’s arrival. By the time he slipped on his black tungsteel helmet, the armory had suddenly gone silent. Michael’s head shot up as a legend passed right by his locker, a massive naked man made of nothing but scars and pale muscle. The gargantuan super-soldier strode right up to a locked door at the end of the armory, leaning down to scan his retinas.

That was the Hoplite thirty-seven! Out of cryo and ready to crush ass and masticate chew-gum! If they were waking him up for this… it meant that Mosquitoes were definitely inbound. Ya didn’t wake up a Hoplite unless ya needed em’ to fight. Michael took a deep breath as the thick blast doors shut behind thirty-seven, the previous dark mood of the armory all but evaporated by the waves of awe they all collectively felt.

Would Michael get to fight side-by-side with thirty-seven? That had been a dream of his ever since he had decided to become a marine… and now that dream was potentially going to become reality. Would Hoplite be enough to turn the tide of the coming battle? Michael shook his head. It was time to focus, he needed to fight better than he ever had in his life. If Michael fought poorly in front of thirty-seven then he might actually die.

Both metaphorically and quite literally.

He then felt something begin tugging at his shoulder, and he turned to see Nate staring at him with a smile “Come on, we gotta get to the hull halls before the uglies do!” He urged as he began physically pulling Michael along.

Marines, exo-troops, and divers all began forming squads with available Conductors. The Conductors all wore the standard tungsteel battle-plate a marine did, but their faces were completely closed off, with only two round eye-holes for sight. Even then, the Conductor's eyes were concealed behind thick glowing red glass, their helmets specialized for delivering orders silently to the troops under their command, as well as marking objectives for their squads to accomplish.

As soon as Michael and Nate linked their helmets with a Conductor, the tall menacing man immediately began shouting orders, his voice completely unheard by outsiders but coming in clear through the earphones installed on Michael’s helmet. The Conductor then urged the various soldiers linked to him towards a specific point in one of the hull-halls, a likely point for a boarding party to hit.

Michael briefly wondered what it was like to live like a Conductor… to have his perception of time slowed to a snail's-pace. He had heard that Conductors all had a bionic installed in their brain that would slow down time from their perspective, allowing them to make complex tactical decisions in milliseconds. It also served to keep them alive in actual combat, after all, it was easier to avoid a barrage of plasma-fire if you could see it coming.

That was an edge the Eighth Arm had over the Final-Kind in infantry engagements… plasma bolts were slow compared to good ol’ bullets. Michael had avoided plasma bolts himself, it was a lot like dodging a baseball, assuming it was just one bolt you were ducking. It was a lot harder when there were dozens of plasma guns sending tidal waves of green at ya. After all, dodging one baseball was easy… but to dodge hundreds of baseballs flying at you at the same time? Not possible. Conductors though… maybe they could be able to do just that.

When they finally arrived at the destination the Conductor had marked on their huds, Michael felt himself beginning to get shaky again. It had been so long since he’d fought anything… so long since he’d fired a real gun. He could almost smell the gunpowder, almost see the alien blood that would soon paint the walls.

And soon, that was exactly what happened. A Mosquito impacted, punching through the Sparrow’s hull cleanly with a needle tip puncture. Six rotating sharp blades of metal whirred and spun together as a drill at the needle tip, coming to a stop quickly after the Mosquito successfully breached the hull. The squad pulled back, aiming their rifles at the tip as the blades hissed, splaying out like a flower to latch onto the walls of the hallway and revealing a hidden sleek black-metal door. When those doors finally opened, it began depositing the first aliens Michael had seen in months… and of course, they were pugs. Michael knew that they’d be the first in after the narrow needletip’s door opened, pugs were always the first to die.

“Fire at will.” Michael heard the Conductor say over the comms “Remember your designations.”

Michael was seven, he could read it on his hud in the upper left corner after the Conductor assigned it to him upon linking… pretty hard to forget when it was in his face, but Conductors were cautious.

Michael gave a toothy grin as he and the other troops stationed around the breach opened fire, the bullets shredding through the plastic armor and gray flesh with ease as the wails of the pugs echoed down the tube. Oh, how he had missed that sound…

Gunpowder in his nostrils and gray blood painting the walls and floor filled him with a sense of satisfaction… it almost did, anyway. He killed more, gunning down pugs as they poured through the Mosquito tube like lemmings. They hadn’t opened fire yet, pugs never did when they were all crammed together like that-

“Seven, grenade in the Mosquito tube.” Michael heard the conductor order over his comms “Squad pull back to the left and right of the tube and flank it at an angle to avoid crossfire.”

Without a second thought, Michael grabbed a frag at his belt, pulling out the pin with his teeth and hucking it down the hallway in a pitch that would have made ancient baseball stars weep with envy. Immediately everyone ducked away from the tube, the Conductor staring intently for half a second before he issued a new order.

“Fire on sight, controlled bursts, pug pod.”

That was fine, a pug pod was a good way to shake the rust off, they could work up to the bigger aliens later. The squad of seven marines all knelt to either side of the pod, taking systematic shots every time a pug showed its big-eyed head. The conductor made entire pug heads and torso’s disappear in clouds of gray mist with his heavy-magnum, a black-metal brace attached to his elbow helping to absorb the shock of the oversized pistol. By Jyn the barrel was as long as Michael’s forearm… it was no wonder why the brace was a necessity. It was almost as large as the legendary Fortis magnum that Hoplites utilized, a true beauty.

Nate seemed to be reveling in putting these things down as much as Michael did, maybe more based on that near-crazed laugh he let out.

“Five cease. Take the operation seriously.” The Conductor ordered.

Suddenly Nate’s face became stony, that previous expression of mad joy completely evaporated in an instant. It didn’t take long for the Mosquito to completely empty out, its contents turned to ground lead-laden mush. Well, that was one Mosquito down… how many more to go?

The answer came once another long sharp beam stabbed through the metal wall at an angle toward the floor, impaling a marine next to Michael to the ground. Blood spattered Michael’s beard and coated his visor, and he cursed, scrambling away from his impaled comrade.The needle tip had easily punched through the soldier’s battle-plate, essentially erasing the marines entire torso with an explosion of metal shards and entrails. The drill continued puncturing past the mutilated corpse, the thicker beam crushing the arms, legs and head with it as it passed deeper into the Sparrow’s bowels.

Soon, the body was completely gone with the beam as it continued to sink deeper into the depths. Deep impact Mosquitos… that wasn’t good… he wiped the blood off his visor, coughing as he backed away from the still-sinking beam of alien metal.

“Calm. Next objective.” The Conductor ordered, marking their huds right as another needle tip punched through the hull, right where he was standing.

In a display of inhuman reflexes, the Conductor side-stepped sure death, the needle tip driving deeper into the Sparrow’s depths past the floor. Then another came, and another, the sound of screeching metal drowning out the Conductor’s orders and sending Michael into a panic. He picked a direction and ran, uncaring that he was not following the Conductor’s orders. It looked as if the other marines were doing the same.

Nate wasn’t with him though… maybe he had stuck with the Conductor? Michael would need to regroup with them after he got out of this death hallway. A couple of marines had pulled ahead of him in the hall, the sound of puncturing metal seeming to chase them as they went. They had dropped their rifles in their panic, thankfully Michael hadn’t done the same… it wouldn’t be easy to fight off all these freaks with just his sidearm. He turned his head for an instant, seeing that the hall behind him had been almost completely blocked off by dozens of thick metal beams.

By Jyn how many Mosquitoes had the Dragon sent!? There must have been hundreds of-

A needle tip then punched through ahead of him, pinning one of the other two marines to the wall and shredding the poor fellow's insides. It then pulled back, the dead marine still stuck to the drill tip before it split, wrenching the body apart and crushing the gory pieces between its moving parts and the wall before finally latching to the hull. Michael’s breathing quickened, his head light and eyes wide as he rolled in front of the shallow-impact mosquito.

He came up kneeling in a puddle of blood before the mutilated corpse of his comrade, aiming at the door with his trigger already pulled to the wall. He had to make a stand here, if he kept running through the hall blindly he’d be drilled to pieces. Michael clenched his teeth, checking his flanks to see that there were other shallow impacts as well, their doors already beginning to open.

By Jyn, Michael was all alone against the odds! He could almost feel the tungsteel armor being melted to his flesh by hot plasma, he was gonna die! He was gonna-

Air filled his lungs as he slowly breathed in, reigning in his terror as he took the time to observe his surroundings. There was still a few seconds before the doors opened… and there was actually a door right behind him. Relief flooded him, but Michael knew that door wouldn’t be able to stop a raging Yugoro… it would soak in a few plasma bolts though… but where did it lead? He had been to this part of the ship before, where did it go-

Shafts, airways, a way out! He reigned himself in again, keeping cool as he backed toward the door, grabbing another grenade from his belt. Teeth gripping the pin in preparation, he pressed the button to the door, the metal sliding open and allowing him to back into the open room. Red lights flooded through behind him, underlighting his face as he continued to back away from the white light of the hall.

As soon as the Mosquito’s door opened, Michael pulled the pin and threw the grenade-

A massive hairy ape-like hand caught the grenade, a towering four-armed yugoro glaring down at him from the open needle tip before it threw the grenade right back at Michael’s feet. Without thinking, Michael kicked it back toward the yugoro, backpedaling and pressing the button to seal the door. An explosion rocked the chamber Michael stood in, and he scrambled away to one of the nearest vents.

Michael had no idea where the vents themselves would lead, but he could not stay here, that was for sure. Hopefully Nate was alright, but with all this opposition… Michael shook his head, gripping the vent’s steel grate and pulling with all his might. The sound of metal being torn echoed loudly in his ears, and he turned his head to see that same Yugoro peering in at him, its ugly gorilla-face contorted in a sneer.

Oh of course it survived the grenade! Its hyper-dense bones must have absorbed the blast while its armor reflected the shrapnel. Just great!

Michael quickly brought his gun to bear as the Yugoro aimed a sleek white plasma rifle through the gap it had created in the door. Both rifles fired, the bullet impacting with the Yugoro’s skull and knocking its snarling head back into the hallway. At the same time, the plasma bolt passed right by Michael, the plasma impacting with the vents grate and melting it down to slag.

Well, at least now he didn’t have to rip it off… but now, he had to crawl over molten metal-

A roar pierced Michael’s ears, and he fled into the vent, uncaring of the white melted steel that burned through his gloves. Scrambling over it as quickly as he could, Michael began pounding elbow’s to metal as the raging yugoro tore into the room, the sound of metal being crushed alongside the furious roars helping to urge him forward into the darkness.

Hopefully, it was way too hoppin’ mad to realize that Michael had escaped into the vent… if it had, this metal tube would become molten slag real soon. Based on the echoing roar that now followed him… it was likely that the yugoro had figured it out. There was nowhere to turn to, nowhere… but down.

The vent ended in a shaft that went down, but how far Michael couldn’t say. Without pausing to think, Michael gripped the edge of the vent-pit of the unknown, pulling himself into its murky abyss and praying that gravity would be kind to him today. There had been no time to turn himself around to fall feet first unfortunately… but he could at least slow his fall by splaying out his limbs.

The metal pads of his elbows dug into the vent as he fell, sparks lighting up the blackness for a few seconds before he could see another light at the end of the tunnel. The top of his helmet impacted with the steel grate, the sound of snapping metal the last thing he heard before the darkness of unconsciousness claimed him.

…

…

…

“Hey, you up man?” Michael heard a voice say from overhead.

He blinked, white light being the only thing he could see for a long while before four faces came into view.

“We’re gonna land soon man, gotta get ya strapped into yer seat.” An older marine told him, hefting Michael up with the aide of the other three soldiers.

Michael then became aware of the motion beneath his feet, and he realized where he was. An escape pod, fit with plenty of rations and water to last long enough for rescue… a rescue that would never come. He blinked again as they strapped him in, pulling the impact bars over his shoulders as Michael shook his head.

“Wait a min… ya said we were gonna land?” Michael asked slowly, mind still foggy “Land where? What happened,” Michael paused to take a deep breath “To the Sparrow?

The three marines standing around him then began shaking their heads “We lost man… we found ya knocked out near the pods, figured ya didn’t wanna get left behind.” Another marine replied, pinching his brow with a sigh “We did a jump somehow or somethin’, there’s a planet we can get down to, hopin’ we can link back up with command once we hit planetside.”

“...Why weren’t ya strapped in yet?” Michael asked groggily “Why wasn’t I?”

“We’d show ya but… we’re about to hit the atmosphere,” Another man replied, sitting down in a seat next to Michaels and drawing his own bars down across his shoulders “The planet we’re gonna be hitting… looks like a friggin’ eyeball.”

“What?” Michael asked again, squinting.

“No really,” The older marine replied, sitting in his own seat across from Michael’s “It looks exactly like a giant space eyeball, unnaturally so.”

Michael blinked again, his head still foggy “I uh… just gimme a moment man.” Michael told them “I hit my head real hard.”

“Told ya he fell outta that vent.” The older marine said to the others “Don’t know why ya were crawling around in there, but I get it. When things get fubar ya can end up in weird places.”

Michael simply nodded, his head sagging forward while his eyes became heavy. It was then that he became aware of the pounding of his skull, like nails being driven into his forehead… The marines continued speaking, but Michael couldn’t make out their words, his mind focused on managing his suffering.

Just as the agony was just starting to become bearable, they hit the atmosphere, the entire pod jerking violently and sending Michael’s skull crashing into one of the shoulder bars. The agony returned in full-force, and he groaned, hands reaching up to press into his forehead.

“It's gonna get worse on landin’” One marine said.

Michael didn’t reply… he was still confused and in too much pain to think properly. A good thing maybe… thinking about losing the Sparrow might be a bad idea in his current state. A few minutes of blissful peace passed until the pilot began speaking from the intercom, his voice panicked.

“I got no steering!” He shouted “Someone’s outside the pod!”

Michael’s head shot up at that, the pain overwhelmed by further confusion. Was he dreaming or had the pilot actually said that? No one could just be clinging to an escape pod like some kinda dingle-berry, especially when they were breaking through the atmosphere… unless… well, maybe Hoplite thirty-seven could, he was a living legend after all…

But the pilot didn’t say thirty-seven, he just said ‘someone’. The sound of tearing metal then reached his ears and Michael’s breath caught. The other marines all began staring at one another, eyes wide with fear and confusion as the tearing continued.

“I think he’s trying to get in!” The pilot screamed “Oh Jyn, oh Jyn stay seated! We’re on a collision course with some kind of structure!”

Michael then sat up in his seat, making sure his tongue was set firmly behind his teeth. The horrible sound of tearing metal finally ceased, and the pilot shouted again.

“Brace!”

Then again… the darkness claimed Michael, his head whipping forward and back before sweet oblivion took him.

…

…

…

It was cold down here, besides the stink of rotting flesh and waste nearby, that was pretty much all he knew. The doors to the escape shuttle weren’t opening and he was stuck in here with a buncha corpses of fellas he didn’t really know. The flashlight on his helmet had gone dead and he was stuck in pure blackness and cold.

And the stink of rot.

Michael wretched, hunching over in his seat and spitting out absolutely nothing from his guts. He hadn’t ate or drank very much since the crash, he wanted to ration whatever he could after all. He needed to keep himself alive for the rescue team. If only he could stop from barfin' it all up...

Rescue was a comin’, that much was for sure. The first thing he'd done upon regaining consciousness was activating the emergency beacon. That had been a while ago though… but surely the Eighth Arm wouldn’t just leave a squad of marines to die buried beneath some rubble would they? They had heard the signal before the pod went dark, right? Right? The pilot had said to brace for collision with some kind of structure, and they all had…

But Michael had been the only one to survive, albeit heavily bruised and with a constant debilitating headache to show for it. There had been one other guy out of the six of them that had been breathing, but he died within a couple a’ hours of the crash. Maybe if Michael could have gotten him some help he woulda lived… but he couldn’t blame himself, after all, he wasn't a medic.

Michael sat up in his seat, wiping foaming spittle from his lips as he did so. He didn’t want to die like this… he would not die like this. He’d killed so many aliens that it’d be some kinda cosmic joke for him to just die here in the dark, Alone. Nah, for his death, he’d be fighting four yugoros bare-handed at once, maybe then his death would be acceptable.

He shook his head. Hyping himself up wasn’t working to distract him from the crushing dread he felt. Trapped in the dark, alone with nothing but his thoughts as company? This was his worst nightmare… and that wasn’t counting the corpses rotting in here along with his psyche.

No one to talk to, alone with his despairing thoughts. A true nightmare scenario for him, talking to people had always helped distract him from the hopelessness of this life, so he always sought company to keep from being alone… So he wouldn’t be…

So he wouldn’t be alone with his gun.

He took a deep shaky breath and heaved again, coming up with nothing. He couldn’t afford to think about that now, help was coming… it had to be. Nasty Nate would show up any second now with thirty-seven… He just needed to deal with being alone for a bit longer, he could bear with it, he’d gone through worse hadn’t he? How long had be been alone in here now? In the dark?

The sheer loneliness and isolation of the shuttle was terrible... Of course, the stink was another factor that added to the misery… piling the bodies into the cockpit had only slowed the reek from spreading, and that was only made worse when he had to inevitably use the non-functioning lavatory. The shuttle had crashed at an angle with the nose of the pod tilted downward, so his waste had all ended up piling down there with the rotting corpses as soon as the toilet filled up... He had been using his helmet at first, pouring the contents into the tilted toilet until eventually it had begun leaking out... seeping down the pod in a line of sewage. The damn thing wouldn't flush without power... and even if it could, the backsplash of the toilet flushing would spit most of it back out anyway... Back out onto his dead comrades below.

The guilt of imposing such a dishonor on fellow marines sickened him, though not nearly as much as the smell. He’d get 'em buried good and proper as soon as he got the hell out of here. Only problem was that he couldn’t, the pod door was sealed shut and the power had gone out a while ago. Michael couldn’t remember when it had, but it did, which meant life support was out now too. Michael hadn't run out of oxygen yet thankfully, that was due to him twisting the valve on the emergency tank next to the cockpit, but that thing couldn't last forever.

He had to try something to get out of here or he’d end up like one of the bodies in the black abyss below. Question was, what had he not tried? There were guns a’ plenty in the shuttle, good amount of food and water too, but there wasn’t anything like a welders torch that he could cut the metal with…

The emergency lever to open the door manually was a no go as well, damn thing wouldn’t budge. There were the guns… but they couldn’t bust through that door and the glass down below was stronger than any caliber the squad had packed for evac.

Still strong enough to put a hole through my skull…

Michael took a deep, steadying breath. He wouldn’t give in… not yet. There was still plenty of water to live off of, he just needed to keep it down until help showed up. He’d been vomiting constantly from the stench of rot, so he mainly had been drinking the water and barely touching the food as a result. Michael tried at the emergency latch again to no avail, tugging at it with all his strength before he lost his grip on the handle and fell back into the rotting abyss.

A wet plop greeted his ears and he felt the filth creep between his armor plates and soak into the flesh of his back. The half-sealed cockpit door was the only thing separating him from the packed-together corpses of his fellow soldiers. A few seconds passed of him just laying there, hopeless, cold, and afraid before he began weeping, the hot tears carving a trail through the dried blood staining his cheeks. What would he do even if he got the door open? More than likely that would just get him killed, rubble would pour down on him and crush him to death.

Was his only option really to just wait?

…No

He didn’t have to wait.

He didn’t have to endure this agonizing isolation any longer.

All it took was one bullet to not deal with it anymore.

How many hours had it been? Or had it been days? He couldn’t tell anymore… Time didn’t matter to him when he was all alone in the darkness. He waited, not moving from his place atop the cracked cockpit door. He couldn’t know for sure, but he was certain that the bodies were staring at him, right at the back of his head.

Urine shifted off the door and spilled into the cockpit below, further defiling the corpses of proud Ternan soldiers with Michael’s waste. A day? Maybe two? No… it had been a week, a month even. How much longer would it be? How much longer-

He took his pistol from its holster with a quivering hand and pressed the barrel of the gun to the roof of his mouth. The great Michael Harrison, could only be killed by himself. Hopefully that’d be etched into his gravestone… as if he’d even have a gravestone after they lost the war with those damn aliens. This place would be his grave, that was all there was to it.

No more bars to drink at… no more hanging out with Nasty Nate or picking up hot officer chicks, this was it. Hopefully, Nate would understand why Michael did this… if he had even gotten off the Sparrow that was.

He put his finger to the trigger and squeezed.

*click*

No… It must have gotten jammed somehow... Michael’s eyes widened, and he dropped the pistol weeping at the realization of what he had just tried to do. It hadn’t taken that long for him to give up after all… he really was as weak as grandad always said, may the old bastard rot in heaven.

“Please.” Michael rasped “Someone get me the hell out of here!” He screamed.

A moment of silence passed before he continued silently “Please…” He wept “Before I try again…”