Unknown

Chapters

Chapter One: Invincible
Chapter Two: Numb
Chapter Three: Vigilant
Chapter Four: Protective
Chapter Five: Stalwart
Chapter Six: Numbered
Chapter Seven: Deserving
Chapter Eight: Escorted
Chapter Nine: Discussed
Chapter Ten: Contacted
Chapter Eleven: Known

Chapter One: Invincible

Unknown

Chapter One: Invincible

I opened my eyes. With a sharp intake of breath, took in the frosted glass in front of my face. I didn’t know where I was, nor how I came to be here—wherever here was. The last thing I remembered was donning my armour. Where was my armour? I tried to move, to look, but I found my limbs imprisoned within the vice of steel cables that cut into my flesh.

It was freezing. I tried to scream, to voice my frustration and resent at being incarcerated in this container of ice, but the only sound that emerged from my parched throat was a strangled croak. My heavy breathing fogged up the glass, reducing my visibility of the outside world to nothing.

I hung my head, trying to conserve what little energy I had left. The cold created an all-encompassing numbness that was giving way to the radiating heat of hypothermia—it was frigid, yet I felt the tingling sensation of warmth.

This was it. This was how I died—locked in place as I slowly froze, unknowing of where I was or why I was here.

As I prepared for the end, with the last vestiges of my strength trickling into nothingness, I heard the sound of a violent hiss, and the glass covering slowly inched its way open, the steel cords that kept me still withdrawing like so many slithering snakes.

Freedom.

Weak and delirious from pain and cold, I tried to step out only to fall onto the steel, grated floor. I felt many incisions along my bare skin, each cut slicing through my numbness and bringing pain to the forefront of my mind.

Pain. I remembered pain. I embraced it, using it as a focal point to clear my thoughts. Pain never changed, and its familiarity was a comfort.

With a body that felt like I had just ran a marathon, I forced myself upright, balancing myself on unsteady feet. The metallic taste of blood mingled with the acidic tinge of my saliva. I placed an unsteady hand on my forehead and withdrew my appendage. It was now covered in a sticky, sickly, red fluid. Blood.

I remembered blood well. No matter where I went, no matter what I did, blood followed. It was as inevitable as the sun rising, or the tide shifting.

Taking in my surroundings, I saw frigid, condensed air congeal along the edges of the lonely, dull-grey room. I was alone. Cracked fluorescent lights flickered intermittently, illuminated by whatever electricity still worked. By the look of it, the entire complex would be shrouded in darkness soon, save for the infrequent, raised reflective markers that brightened small portions of the damp, seemingly endless hallway. The hallway made up the sole exit. My eyes tried to pierce the void, but to no avail.

All around me were cryogenic freezers, the majority of them opened, like mine. A few of them were cracked, while the rest were pristine. In a pile of broken glass, a mangled and bloody corpse looked at me with lifeless eyes, as naked as I was. I turned away.

I could hear the soft sound of empty static broadcasted through a speaker in the wall. I also heard the repetitive sound of a foul-smelling, viscous liquid that was drip-dripping from the ceiling and trickling along the segmented, skeletal section of the wall. There were dents and twisted metal everywhere, along with the occasional sparking wire.

A solitary porthole stood alone in the room, showcasing the vast, black unknown outside. Dark shapes begot other dark shapes, and I couldn't decipher one from the other. Beside the window, two deep dents in the metal wall and a large, curved, jagged line twisted upward in a grim impression of a smile. The invisible eyes stared at me. I shivered, and it wasn't from the cold seeping out from the cryo freezer.

What happened?

I wished I knew the answer to my own question. I should've known the answer. I could feel the answer, but it escaped me whenever I tried to seize it.

Then it hit me like bullet.

A battle. War. We were going to war, launched from flying fortresses, dropped onto the enemies in their most secure compounds. Death from above. Yet here I was, standing in the wreck of the Daedalus-class ship, having been woken up from cryosleep too late.

I felt my heartbeat steadily increase, revving like an engine that sputtered to life on a cold winter morning. I could feel the blood start to flow, taking my numbness with it.

A chill ran down my spine, this time from the cold. Goosebumps began to rise on my exposed flesh. Finding some apparel to wear would be my first step.

Exiting the room and following the staggered, orange lights, I carefully plodded along the lone hallway. No matter how far I went, it never seemed to end. I winced with every step as the metal floor dug into my bare feet.

Just when I thought I saw the onset of a turn approaching, the lights gave a last, dying flash before sputtering twice, then going dark.

I froze. I felt the darkness creeping towards me, a tangible thing that wanted nothing more than to siphon my soul from my body, leaving me no more than a withered husk. I gritted my teeth and kept going, using the wall as a guideline. The darkness could not harm me.

Then the entire complex exploded with noise and motion, throwing me off balance and causing me to slam my already bleeding head into a metal wall. As I sat there with my back to the support struts, groaning, the lights flickered back on, the sound died, and it stopped shaking.

It must have been the engine attempting to start, which meant that someone else must be nearby. We must have crash-landed somewhere: there was no other explanation. They survived the crash like I had. I didn't know where we were, or how bad it was, but I guessed we weren't under the ocean, as I likely would have never woken up from my induced sleep had that been the case.

I stood up and kept going. When I finally reached the end of the hallway, I stopped. Above me, on a plaque, was the word 'COCKPIT' with an arrow pointing to the right. The only problem was that the entire hallway leading to the cockpit had collapsed. Live wires swayed to and fro, small arcs of electricity zapping from them as if to taunt me with how easily plans could change.

Looking left, and seeing that the path was clear, I had no choice but to take it, as I couldn't remember how the ship was laid out even in the best of circumstances.

It's not like I hadn't tried to learn. But when all you do is eat, armour up, fight, and 'sleep' there was hardly any time or place to learn where the other sections of the ship were located. I was not allowed to explore unattended.

I bent down and picked up a bent plaque. I straightened it out. It read 'KITCHEN' with an arrow pointing to the left.

Good. There were jumpsuits there, as well as food.

My stomach gurgled, announcing its displeasure.

To the Kitchen, then.

\\\

It was a mess. The steel benches were no more than twisted metal, and cutlery and bowls were strewn about every which way. The actual kitchen itself was no better, with nothing recognizable among the stainless steel and wiring.

I managed to procure a jumpsuit one size too large. It hung uncomfortably loose, but at least it provided some protection from the cold. When my teeth had stopped chattering long enough for me to consume the remnants of a pot of stew that had miraculously kept most of the contents inside, I continued towards the Arming Room.

I walked slowly, in no rush. There was no rush, and why would there be? Everyone else was either dead, maimed, or captured. Whoever had started the engine had probably done so accidentally. An enemy combatant searching the remains of the once-great ship, and pressing the wrong button.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I had nowhere to be, and no orders to accomplish. Rescue wasn't going to happen: Daedalus-class vehicles never flew over friendly territory and when one was destroyed the resulting crash was catastrophic. My only chance of 'rescue' would be to surrender to the enemy, and that was out of the question.

So I walked.

I passed the body of a man wearing chef's apparel. Amazingly, he was still breathing, which was strange considering he had a solid titanium strut impaled through his right pectoral. There was nothing I could do: I had no medical training, and the man's mind was probably already gone as his body clung to life. I briefly considered cutting his throat with a piece of jagged metal, but I was unsure if that thought was merciful or cold dis-attachment. I kept walking.

Eventually, I came to the room that was most familiar to me: the Arming Room. Rows and rows of battle-hardened weapons and equipment, all made of the highest quality that the government could afford for us. And the armour. While the weapons may have shown some signs of degradation, the armour was always kept in pristine condition. We were as much a symbol to our people as we were a tool of destruction.

I walked over to the stand that held my own custom-made battle suit, and began the arduous process of putting it on.

\\\

As I locked the last piece into place, the ship shook again from the force of the engines starting, but this time, I remained standing. I grabbed my helmet and looked at my reflection before putting it on. A scarred, sunken face looked back. My hair was longer than I remembered—how long had I been in that cryogenic chamber? I remembered the last firefight I was in, but I had no way to determine the actual length of time that had passed since. It could have been a day or a month or a year ago, yet it still felt like yesterday.

I equipped a gas mask before turning the helmet around and putting it on. The padding was comfortable and familiar, and the reinforced Plexiglas visor was spotless. My breathing was shallow and controlled, and the reverberating sound of it was familiar.

Looking over at the arsenal of weaponry, I decided to forgo the typical combat shield in favour of carrying another light machine gun. In normal instances, the shield would be invaluable in the slow, methodical pushes towards the heart of the enemy encampment. Now, it would only be a burden.

I intended to go out with a bang, rather than a whimper.

I grabbed two identical machine guns, both with box clips, along with a number of spare ammunition boxes should the need arise for them. Old technology in a new form, but still as potent as the day they were conceived.

Armed and armoured, I plodded methodically towards the launching bay.

\\\

There were people outside.

I could hear them through the broken hangar doors, speaking in a language that I couldn't understand. Enemy, then. If the tone of their voices was anything to go by, they sounded confused and concerned.

I readied both guns, one in each hand. They weren't particularly heavy—the bulkiness was the biggest issue, and they weighed my arms down. I walked to the edge of the broken hangar door, my footsteps echoing obscenely, and kicked the weak point. The hole to the outside became wider, and I thought I saw light shining down.

I kicked again, and I was bathed in a beam of sunlight. The voices outside stopped.

I kicked a final time, and the hangar door crashed both inward and outward, falling into itself and flooding the hangar full of broken helicopters with noonday sun. I pointed my weapons outward, and waited for my eyes to adjust before I pulled the triggers.

For the first time in my life, I was glad that I didn't shoot.

The creatures outside weren't people—they weren't even human.

I didn't lower my weapons, but I took my fingers off of the triggers.

They looked at me like I them—confused and wary. Although, they most certainly had fear in their expressive eyes whereas mine did not. Fear was something that had no place in the battlefield.

We remained this way for a while, me and them, staring at each other, trying to decipher each other's secrets. I was outnumbered severely, almost a hundred to one, but they didn't press their advantage of numbers, so I didn't press my advantage of size and weaponry. They didn't appear to bring any weapons of their own.

The creatures themselves were very strange looking. I didn't know what to call them until an old memory surfaced, naming them as horses from a half-remembered story read to me as a child. But even then, I knew that they weren't horses—they were aliens, extra-terrestrials. I had seen nothing like them before. Their colours varied extensively, going from the darkest blue to the lightest red, and everything in-between. I couldn't name many of the colours I was presented with.

Where was I? As far as I knew, there were no horse-aliens on Earth, unless gene-splicing had truly gone out of hand. Was I on another planet? How? Why had the ship crashed here instead of Earth?

I had no answers, and many questions.

I thought some more on the subject of foreign planets, and my fingers subconsciously resumed their trigger-resting status.

What was I, a Juggernaut, a soldier of blood and steel, supposed to do in a situation like this? I was spliced and trained to kill, not confront an alien species. My country had enough enemies as it was.

One of the horse-creatures detached from the main group, making me focus on it. It plodded forward carefully, with controlled movements, almost like it was trying not to startle me. Strange behaviour.

I followed the creature with one barrel, making a mental effort to keep my finger off of the trigger. One slip, one twitch, and I would have a hundred small problems, but if I didn't keep a gun trained on it, the creature might cause me one very big problem.

Slowly and surely, the creature walked towards me, stepping around the various metal debris that had surrounded the area from the crash before climbing up the steel ramp that led to the hangar. When the creature was around a car-length away, it stopped and waited.

Its colour was a mixture of green and blue that I had no name for, and it had a strange protrusion atop its head. The thing looked at me, eyes wide with fright and curiosity. It didn't know where to look: it would glance at my machine guns, then at my torso, then at my head before repeating the process.

With a feeling that I would regret it later, I lowered my weapons. If the creature was surprised, it gave no heed. It looked back at the main group of onlooking creatures to seemingly gain their approval before it turned to me, took a deep breath, and spoke.

I didn't understand what it was trying to convey. The language was light and melodic, but the words were surprisingly complex and utterly incomprehensible to me.

When I made no motion that I heard or even acknowledged the speaker, it backed away slowly, much in the same way that it had approached, only in reverse. This time, I slowly followed it with the intention of at least discerning which terrain the ship had crashed in. If it was concerned that I was walking in its steps, it didn't show it. I walked down the sloped ramp that led into the hangar bay, which was mostly intact, and looked around, ignoring the herd of creatures.

The ship had fallen on a forest. Splintered and scorched wood surrounded the area and mixed with the shredded remains of the ship's exterior plating. Dirt was piled up high along the edge from the massive furrow that the ship must've caused. The ground appeared to not have much water in it according to the amount of dust in the air.

Information acquired, I turned around, walked up the ramp, and climbed back through the debris of the fallen hangar door without a backwards glance. When I was safely inside, I slung one machine gun over my shoulder. What I was about to do required a level of finesse that dual-wielding wasn't capable of providing.

I rested my finger on trigger, took aim briefly, then pulled the trigger and did not let go until I ran out of ammunition.

Empty now, I placed the weapon on the floor beside me and equipped the other.

I continued along from where I had left off, and only stopped shooting when I was certain that I had done all I could with bullets. Then I tossed that gun aside, smoking.

Gripping an exposed piece of metal as a handhold, I put all of my immense weight into a single stomp on the hangar ramp.

The metal groaned and wailed, and with a screech that rang my ears, the entire ramp that I had meticulously cut away from the ship with hot lead fell to the ground in a tremendous crash that shook the earth. Several of the closer aliens jumped backwards in surprise.

I hoped that the creatures realized that meant I didn't want company.

Author's Note

Click for a dramatic reading done by Applesaws. It is now slightly outdated as many sentences have been slightly altered.

Chapter Two: Numb

Unknown

Chapter Two: Numb

The rest of the day was devoted to dragging the eviscerated pieces of helicopters, tanks, and whatever else I was strong enough to move into place. I was building a wall where the hangar door once stood to prevent any creatures attempting to enter the ship. My ship. My home.

It felt strange to think of it that way. For what felt like the majority of my life, it had been my prison. Now, it was all I had left.

The majority of the creatures had left after I collapsed the ramp, but some stayed and watched me as I worked. It was slightly unnerving. They simply stood there and stared, but after I realized they were going nowhere, I pointedly ignored them and concentrated on my work. The seconds and minutes and hours melded until the sun set and I was dripping with perspiration.

By nightfall, I had erected a wall of metal twice as tall as myself and nearly as thick across the gaping entrance. It did not quite reach the roof of the Hangar, but I figured it would still effectively serve its purpose to keep the horde out. I left a few small gaps that acted as windows for me to look out, or if need be, shoot through.

Tired, I scavenged a dinner of tasteless rations from the Kitchen before returning to the Cryogenic Chamber Room. I laid down in front of my old chamber.

I wasn't sure why I chose there. Perhaps it was the familiarity. Regardless, I slept for the first time that night.

Or at least, what felt like the first time: I couldn't remember the last time I had honestly and truly slept. Cryosleep wasn't true sleep; it was more akin to controlled-unconsciousness. One did not dream or feel the time pass in cryosleep, but the rest one received was more concentrated than natural sleep.

I dreamt of killing and dying.

Unlike some of the others, I wasn't afraid of death. Death was inevitable, and it would happen to everyone, just some earlier than others. If someone wouldn't die for something they believed in, they weren't meant for life.

I wasn't afraid of killing, either. Killing was no more than an unpleasant chore, one that I took up to allow my people to remain safe and secure. I've killed thousands, possibly more, so it was no surprise that I would dream of the task I was most accomplished in.

What was surprising to me was dreaming of dying. And that, in my dream, I feared the Reaper's embrace.

After I crushed a screaming soldier's head between my hands, his scream echoing and distorted, I woke up in a cold sweat on the floor. I hadn't bothered to remove my armour, and my muscles and joints were sore because of it. I shrugged off my feelings of trepidation and stood up, moving my limbs to the extent of their reach to stretch them out.

I was glad to be awake and free of the nightmares, though I wondered why the scream had brought me back to reality. My eyes were still heavy, and there didn't seem to be any reason why I was conscious. Perhaps a noise had awoken me? The helmet muffled noise, but did not mute it.

Feeling an uneasy sensation in my chest, I walked out of the room on high alert, head swiveling and suspicious. I was hungry again, so I made my way back towards the kitchen. I stopped when I heard a growl.

Dogs didn't normally faze me; their teeth couldn't penetrate my armour, and they were more of a nuisance than anything, but that growl was much deeper than any canine's I had ever heard.

I stepped as quietly as possible with boots capable of crushing a man's skull like an egg. When I turned the last corner of the hallway and stepped into the Kitchen proper, I was presented with a dog-like creature the size of a large car, but coloured translucent brown and green underneath the still-active lights. It was tearing at something on the floor with its back to me, and the sounds I heard could be nothing else but meat being torn from bone.

I slowly reached over my shoulder to equip one of my guns, but stopped when I felt nothing but air. I had placed them back in the Arming Room before I started work on the wall.

The creature paused mid-tear and cocked its head in my direction. It sniffed the air a few times, then turned around, slowly at first, but quickly when it finally noticed me. It growled, sounding like two trees rubbing in a harsh wind. Its maw was dripping with crimson. I barely had time to jump out of the way before the giant dog's snapping teeth landed where I had been a second before.

I scrambled to my feet, arms raised in a defensive position: I'd have to deal with this creature the old-fashioned way.

When it pounced at me again, I dodged and threw a punch with all of my considerable strength into its lower throat. With a crunching sound akin to snapping a piece of wood, the beast let out a yip of pain and retreated a short distance away. It circled me, wary this time.

The giant dog did something that normal dogs didn't and couldn't: it lunged forward on all fours, then hit me on the side with a massive paw. Surprised by the speed and fierceness of the blow, I stumbled. The giant dog took advantage of my imbalance by swiping with its other paw, knocking me over. Then it bent down and picked me up in its mouth.

I could feel its teeth sawing, trying to pierce my armour, while its rough tongue tried to find some purchase. One arm was trapped inside its mouth while the other was free, so I began driving my elbow of the trapped arm into the floor of its mouth while pounding on its nose with my free hand. Letting out a howl that made my hair stand up, the giant dog spat me out and retreated once more.

I attempted to stand, but slipped on a combination of saliva and brown blood, landing face-down. I flipped myself over, expecting the giant dog to be assaulting me once more. I was not disappointed.

Out of pure reflex, I swung my arms up and clamped onto the upper portion of its jaw just as it was about to snap at me once more. I couldn't stop it from clamping down over my head and shoulders, but I made it pay for every second. As its tongue smeared my visor with blood and mucous, and its serrated teeth worked on splitting my armour, I squeezed the upper jaw, and felt it break and splinter beneath my hands.

The beast howled in pain and frustration, and flung me aside. I landed in a pile of shredded metal. Panting, I shook off my dizziness and returned to my feet. I tried to clean my visor, but that only smeared the blood and saliva. I removed my helmet and let it bounce off the floor: I would rather be able to see than benefit from its protection. My hands ached and it was likely that least one of my fingers was broken.

The giant dog had it worse than I. It had its head lowered to the ground, and brown, viscous blood was leaking from its ruined face. It made no move to defend itself as I walked closer, so I unceremoniously stomped on its head, repeatedly, until I was satisfied that it posed no more threat.

Even after all of that, it was still alive and letting out a high-pitched whine.

If there were bigger things possessing the same will to live, I was in serious peril. I retrieved my helmet, and walked back to the Arming Room, believing that it could not go very far in the state it was in. I placed my helmet on its stand and grabbed a submachine gun—anything heavier would be unnecessary.

Plodding back to the Kitchen, my gas mask sounding strangely quiet without the echoing effect of my helmet, I returned to see a trail of brown blood heading through the ruined remains of the Kitchen, but no giant dog creature. The body of the impaled chef was missing the entire right side of his body, his eyes staring up lifelessly and his mouth open in a silent scream. I regretted not putting the man out of his misery when I first saw him, though it was possible his death knell was what woke me up in the first place.

Gun in hand, I followed the trail through the Kitchen remains, wondering where the creature had gone.

The answer came in the form of a torn hole in the metal wall towards the end of the Kitchen, which was hidden from sight until I was almost directly in front of it. Had the blood trail not shown me, I might not have found it. I ducked my head and climbed through.

Following the path, the blood trail lead back to the Hangar, on the opposite side from where I entered from the Arming Room. If I so needed, I could use that path as an escape route should the need arise. More options were always welcome.

Around the middle of the area cleaned of helicopter bits, the trail ended and the giant dog could be seen. It was dragging itself away with a speed I hadn't expected. I aimed, and shot a couple bullets into both of its hind legs, earning more high-pitched squeals and spurts of blood. Now unmoving, I was free to walk in front of the beast and empty the rest of the clip into its head, neck, and torso. For good measure, I picked up a large, sharp chunk of metal and used it like a guillotine, severing the head from the neck.

After the echo of the clang had faded, I heard a loud, clonking noise in the direction of the hangar entrance. I was half-expecting some of the horse creatures to be knocking on my wall, but to my surprise, one of them had somehow entered and was currently standing a bus-length away. Even from that distance, I could see that it was frightened: their eyes were the size of saucers and very expressive.

Before I could act, two wings spread from the creatures back and it flew over my wall frantically without a backward glance.

I stood there for a moment, pondering the implications. Some of them could fly, which meant the wall would have to cover the entirety of the hangar entrance. I also had to search for any more entrances that had cropped up from the crash, as I wasn't entirely sure that the dog-creature had come from the nearby hole—it seemed too small for its large frame.

With a plan set, I returned to the Arming Room, cleaned and equipped my helmet, and grabbed a light machine gun. I didn't want to be caught off-guard again. I would think of some way to perform the dead chef's last rites when I had some spare time.

If I ever had spare time.

\\\

I found where the giant dog had come from, and I promptly plugged the hole with the remains of a small, two-seater helicopter. I briefly wondered if the horse-like aliens were the owners of the giant dogs, but I quickly dismissed the idea: larger animals were not normally submissive to smaller ones.

My mind kept going back to the flying horse creature, and why it had come inside. It had watched me kill the giant dog and was obviously fearful because of it. The only question was: Was it more afraid of the giant dog or me?

I kept that question in the back of my mind as I walked along the entirety of the hangar, searching for any more breaches. There weren't any that I could find, and I didn't know how I was supposed to block off the entire hangar doors, so I decided to start digging through the debris that blocked off the cockpit and the other half of the ship.

Several hours later, and drenched in sweat once again, I had cleared a pathway large enough for me to squeeze through. I kept my light machine gun at the ready and my finger directly behind the trigger.

I was glad I did, for I might've shot the three horse creatures that were exploring the shattered monitors and exposed wiring of the cockpit. Either I was quieter than I had previously thought, or they simply weren't paying attention, because they did not notice me approach and watch them from the shadows of the hallway.

One of them had a protrusion on its head, similar to the first creature that had approached me. Another had a small pair of wings that hugged its body tightly, which explained why I hadn't noticed them before. The last had neither, but it had what looked like a bow on its head. They were all significantly smaller than any others that I had seen. Perhaps they were children, or the child-equivalent of the horse aliens.

But if they were children, why were they in the remains of my ship, exploring? Curiosity?

I lowered my gun and stomped on the floor, startling the three creatures and making them jump. They quickly huddled together in an attempt at protection. They backed up until they hit a wall. I saw them glance to my right, and I followed their line of sight.

Another hole, this one only just large enough to fit the small creatures if they went one at a time. I could see a makeshift ramp of metal leading up to it. Clever.

I turned back to the three cowering creatures, and they all flinched when I did. I did the only thing I could do: I pointed at them, then at the hole.

They didn't move, so I repeated the gesture.

The final time, they seemed to understand. Faster than I thought them capable of, they nearly pushed each aside in their haste to escape, making high-pitched squeals as they ran away, getting fainter as they distanced themselves.

I shook my head. I'd have to work nonstop if I wanted to remove every entrance and prevent the giant dogs, curious horse creatures, and whatever else from investigating my home. Sighing, I ripped off a piece of titanium sheeting and laid it across the hole before pushing a heavy, metal desk overtop.

I had a lot of ship left to explore.

In the next several hours, I found and patched up four more holes, along with removing a strange creature that seemed to be a cross between a snake and a chicken. The oddest part was that it simply stared at me as I put a hand around it neck, and make no attempts to defend itself. I ended up throwing it out the hole that it had come in through, and it made an angry squawk when it landed.

When I finished, tired and hungry, I decided to detour along the hangar to make sure that nothing else was roaming the confines of my home.

Instead, I found a basket full of round, red fruit and an incredibly large, dull grey article of clothing that seemed like it was meant to fit over my Juggernaut suit. I stared at the gift for almost a full minute before mentally shrugging. I decided to carry it with me as I returned to the Cryogenic Chamber Room to sleep. The day-night cycle of this planet seemed to be nigh-identical to Earth's, for my sleep schedule was already attuned, and with the last vestiges of light disappearing, I was ready for sleep.

I heard the flutter of wings as an alien hiding in the criss-crossing support struts revealed itself as I picked up the basket. It was gone in a flash of vibrant colour. Sighing, and realizing there was nothing I could do, I began the long walk back, wondering the purpose of the basket and the alien that was waiting for me to pick it up. I needed to sleep. Perhaps my subconscious would figure it out by morning.

Chapter Three: Vigilant

Unknown

Chapter Three: Vigilant

Fire. Fire everywhere, with smoke clouding my vision and the flames licking my legs. I couldn't feel it yet, but I knew I would soon.

I couldn't move: I was tied to something, my arms behind my back, and I could do nothing to free myself.

All around me people laughed and talked vigorously, paying no attention to me as I slowly burned.

The flames were growing larger. They looked like snakes as they began to wrap around my torso, waiting for the right moment to sink their teeth into my flesh.

One of the people separated themselves from the crowd and walked over to me, drink in hand. He spoke to me in an unfamiliar tongue, and when I didn't respond, he threw his drink in my face. It smelled and tasted like gasoline.

The flames began to grow. My suit began to melt, and the molten metal and Kevlar were burning holes right through my body. I looked up into his eyes, and saw my melting face reflected in his eyes. He smiled.

I smiled back, and waited for the end, silent except for the sound of sizzling flesh.

Juggernauts never screamed.

\\\

With a jolt, I woke up.

My heart was beating a mile a minute, and I could hear its echo within my skull. I sat up and removed my helmet, ripping the gas mask off as soon as I could. I rested my head in my hands.

If this was what normal people experienced on a daily basis upon going to sleep, I did not envy them. I wished that I could go back to my dreamless unconsciousness within the cryogenic chamber, but that was a feat I doubted I could accomplish.

Send me to war, and my heartbeat would only be slightly elevated; put me to sleep, and it was the loudest part of me. I eyed the discarded gas mask, then the gift basket beside me.

To eat, I had to remove my gas mask. I had already done this a few times without consequence, so I figured that if the air was poisonous, I would be dead already. Even if the effects took time to present themselves, I had been a dead man walking for most of my remembered days.

My hunger was the final push in my decision. I grabbed one of the fruits and sniffed it tentatively. I couldn't place it, but it smelled different. Fresh. I bit into it and was surprised by the crisp and coolness of the flesh and how much juice there was—the cold that continued to radiate from the chambers probably had something to do with it. Sweet, but also tart. The flavour burst on my tongue as juice dribbled down my chin.

It was the single greatest thing I could remember tasting.

I devoured almost the entire fruit. There were some small, black seeds within the center that I didn't bother with, instead choosing to spit them out. The center of the fruit was a bit nearly as delicious as the rest, but it was still a step above any of the food within the kitchen.

I grabbed another one. Then another one. And another one.

I forced myself to stop after the fourth one resided comfortably within my stomach. There was roughly twenty of the fruits still left in the basket, and I wanted to conserve them for as long as possible. I had to force myself away from them. I grabbed my helmet and put it on as an added layer of discouragement.

I thought about what the fruit and large article of clothing were meant to represent. It was obviously some sort of appeasement. Food and shelter perhaps? Was the fabric meant as a blanket?

I unfolded it. It was square and roughly twice my height in both directions. I couldn't feel the texture with my gloves on, but it was strong enough to resist my attempt to tear it. I could think of many future uses for it already.

Did the creatures know I was alone? Where I slept?

I stopped breathing and listened, suddenly paranoid. How much had they explored? What did they know?

To take my mind off of the possibilities, I walked through the kitchen, purposefully avoiding the blood trail that acted somewhat like a escape route embedded in the floor. I passed the body of the man wearing the chef's apparel, still impaled like a spit roast. A felt a small pang of guilt as I kept walking.

At some point, I'd have to start cleaning up the mess of blood and guts from the various people and creatures. They should've begun to decompose already, but the ship remained unnaturally cold, and preserved the tissue from rotting, so I felt in no rush to become the janitor. I was concerned about the lack of corpses, however: On a ship this size, the crew should've numbered in the hundreds, but I had only found half a dozen bodies at most.

That also brought up the question of where they all slept.

The left side of the ship, the parts of which I was most familiar with, consisted of the Cryogenic Chamber Room, the kitchen, the Arming Room, and one entrance to the hangar. On the right side, there was the Cockpit, the massive Engine Room, and the other avenue of access into the launching bay. Nowhere that I had seen was there sleeping accommodations for non-Juggernaut personnel.

After paranoia made me check the hangar, and I confirmed that no creatures were within, I returned to the Cockpit and started digging through the wreckage. There had to be some sort of entrance hidden from view; I could feel it, a nagging sensation that I was missing something in plain sight.

When I pushed aside a large piece of machinery that I was unfamiliar with, I saw an out-of-place, smooth piece of metal protruding from the wall. I stared at it for several seconds before realizing what it was.

A lever. Feeling a strange sense of trepidation, I grabbed it and pulled down.

The whir of machinery, loud within the dead ship, heralded a trap door's awakening beneath my feet. I quickly stepped backwards, crunching some now-worthless computer parts beneath my boots. The trap door raised with an ominous slowness, squeaking as it did. I waited until the whirring stopped before bending over and examining the depths.

I saw several stairs leading downward, but the floor and anything beyond was undecipherable. It was pitch black.

Submachine gun in hand, I ducked my head and descended into the darkness.

\\\

It was dark enough that I was forced to turn on the tiny light attached to the side of my helmet to be able to see where I was going. Once, an almost indistinguishable amount of years ago, I was aboard a submarine. The corridors that I was traversing were uncomfortably reminiscent of that time.

I barely fit in the passageway. Forced to bow my head and tuck my shoulders in, the process was slow-going. The fact that the lower level was laid out somewhat like a maze didn't make it any easier. I must have taken a dozen wrong turns before eventually wandering into the place I was searching for.

The Living Quarters.

There was nothing alive about them now. The amount of dried blood was tremendous. Bunk beds laid twisted and mangled, some with their occupants inside. Cracked open footlockers were strewn every which way, exposing people's clothes, journals, and other personal items. Somehow, people fit their entire lives into a metal container no longer than my leg and no wider than my arm. I supposed it was better than giving it up entirely.

I paced through the remains of the room, and started counting the bodies. The corpses that were still in one piece were the easiest to count, but not all had four limbs and a head to their name. After piecing together the more spread out ones, I counted roughly sixty fallen crew members, the majority of which were male. I was still missing about twenty or so personnel, but I assumed they would be found in time. Either that, or the local wildlife had taken them.

As I turned to leave, my curiosity sated and my nose twitching from the beginnings of tissue degradation, I heard a rustle behind me. I spun around, weapon outstretched, cocked, and ready. Another rustle. Slowly, I walked towards the source of the sound, kicking any detritus out of my way as I went.

I heard a whimper, and a softly spoken cry for help. I stopped, and looked down.

Below me was an outstretched hand, and behind that, a bloody, bruised, and very much alive face looking up at me. If they hadn't made a noise, I wouldn't have noticed, as there were other bodies nearly suffocating whomever still clung to life.

Someone else had survived.

The thought brought anxiousness. I considered turning around and walking away, but a wave of guilt stalled my motion. I had already failed to do my duty once: I didn't intend to do so again.

Glancing behind and making sure nothing had followed me, I clicked the safety on and stowed my submachine gun away. Hands now free, I reefed on a section of mangled bedding struts. With more area to work, I quickly went about picking up and moving the deceased to free the survivor. I gave the dead as much respect as I could under the circumstances.

When the last of the bodies were moved, I gingerly picked up the survivor and carried her in front of me, draped over my arms. A fireman's carry was not practical in such a situation.

I glanced down at the frail body that I held. The survivor was a woman, dressed in what looked like shredded pyjamas. She was missing her left arm from the bicep down. I heard mumbled whispers of thanks and prayers as I delved back into the catacombs towards the exit, the only light coming from my helmet.

As climbed up the steps that led into the cockpit, I heard several bangs in quick succession coming from the hole that I had covered the previous day.

Because curious horse creatures were exactly what I needed now.

Gritting my teeth and cradling the woman in a single arm, I kicked the metal desk that I had purposefully left as an added weight off of the metal sheeting, and pulled the sheet itself up with my free hand.

A wide-eyed head looked up at me. I stared at the creature for a few seconds before realizing it was the same horned, green-blue creature that had approached me before I collapsed the hangar ramp. It glanced between myself and the injured crew member, then licked its lips and spoke to me again.

I still didn't understand the point it was trying to convey, and I didn't have time to make sense of it. I pointed at it and made a shooing motion, similar to how I made the three smaller creatures understand.

It ignored me and kept chattering, this time pointing one of its limbs at the now-unconscious woman cradled in the crook of my arm.

I had no time for charades. For the first time since my awakening from the cryogenic freezer, I had a reason to rush. I let out a rumbling growl, and the creature seemed to understand that, for its head disappeared and I could hear it clonking down the makeshift ramp as it retreated. I replaced the metal sheet and desk before jogging down the hallway towards the Cryogenic Chamber Room.

I remembered that there should be first aid kits there. With any luck, they still would be.

Chapter Four: Protective

Unknown

Chapter Four: Protective

I jogged back to the Cryogenic Chamber Room with the patient still in my arms. She flitted in an out of consciousness, always muttering some form of thanks towards me or a prayer towards someone else before lapsing back into a fitful state I dared not call rest. I had no medical training, but I knew that wasn't a good sign.

Conveniently, the large article of cloth was exactly what I needed. I rolled the survivor up in it, for her muscles were spasming from the cold, and I had nothing else to use as a bed spread. I left her on a quickly cleared section of floor, and went to work on finding medical supplies.

I tore up the room, both metaphorically and literally, in my search. I did so with relish. Finally, I had a purpose, a job that didn't require abstract thought on matters I had never before considered.

There was an injured person. Find medical supplies. Fix injured person. A simple matter.

After overturning a chair, I found the first aid kit. Or what was left of it. The hard plastic box was shredded, but still seemingly functional. I popped open the clasp and was met with nothing but air. Tossing the kit aside, I removed my helmet and went on my hands and knees, rummaging through the overturned room to find whatever spilled supplies I could.

By the end of my scrounging session, I had procured two syringes of desomorphine, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a large role of bandages, some gauze, and a small box of needle and thread. It would have to do.

Upon glancing down at my bulky, gloved hands that held the items that would possibly save this woman's life, I realized that I couldn't hope to accomplish any form of medical treatment without the full use of my fingers. I could reload and press the buttons on a large keypad, but handling a needle and thread would be outside of my dexterity.

I placed the supplies in a pile and went to work, meticulously undoing the straps and buckles that would free me. My armour came together in sections, and I had to remove the armour from almost my entire torso upwards to do something as simple as take my gloves off.

I guess they never expected a Juggernaut to do anything other than kill. Maybe—just maybe—I could save someone's life.

Piece by piece, a pile of Kevlar, metal, graphene and whatever else my armour was made of grew beside me. The first things to come off were my shoulder pauldrons, followed by the heavy and incredibly sturdy chest piece. All three pieces clanged to the floor without bouncing. I shivered, unused to how exposed I was: I hadn't removed my suit since first equipping it, and I felt naked without it. After glancing at the survivor, I steeled myself and pushed my feelings aside.

Next came the half of the arm piece that went as far as the crook of my elbow, falling away easily; the large and easily manipulable clasps that connected my armour were very convenient for hands as large and unwieldy as mine. The lower portion quickly followed suit, and now left with only gloves, I removed those too.

My hands were clammy and moist, but my motor skills were decent enough, considering. I picked up one of the syringes full of desomorphine and crouched down beside the woman. She was awake, although she didn't seem fully lucid—her eyes flickered back and forth underneath her eyelids like she was reading an imaginary book.

I moved a section of the fabric aside, exposing her mostly undamaged, bare arm. I bit the protective covering off of the syringe and stuck it into her arm. Luckily, I managed to get the vein I was aiming for on the first try. She winced and parted her lips, but no sound came out. I pushed the plunger down and watched as the heavy painkiller exited the hard rubber tube, flowing into her bloodstream. Hopefully it would stabilize her long enough for me to wrap up the shredded remains of her other arm.

Working quietly and efficiently, I disinfected the stump with hydrogen peroxide. The survivor stirred and moaned but did not waken. A froth of white bubbles soon coated the area. After squinting and reading the bottle, I learned that meant an infection was present. I had expected that; being covered and crushed by corpses wasn't exactly sanitary. All I could do was disinfect the stub again, wrap it in bandages, and hope that the infection wouldn't spread.

I would've done exactly that had I not heard an echoing sound radiate down the corridor.

The roll of bandages was instantly replaced with my submachine gun. I stood and faced the doorway, listening as the echo died down. All I could hear was the soft, steady breathing from the other occupant of the room and the background noise of the humming cryogenic chambers. No further sounds bounced down the hallway.

I could almost pretend that I hadn't heard the noise.

Almost.

I looked over my shoulder at the slowly rising chest underneath the black cloth, then clicked the safety off and started off on my search for the source of the sound.

\\\

It was strange, walking with only my lower half protected. My movement was fine, but the fact that I was nearly ten centimetres wider on both sides from the waist down was rather disconcerting. I fervently hoped that the sound was one of the horse aliens trying to attract my attention rather than something new luring me into an ambush.

Every step I took sounded like a procession, and I realized that I'd have to tie something to the bottom of my boots if I wanted to walk any quieter. Perhaps the grey fabric.

I walked into the kitchen. It was still, and everything was in the same place that I remembered. There wasn't a soul in the Arming Room, either. Pausing only to grab a light machine gun from the wall, I continued through the Arming Room to the most likely place: the Hangar. If it was indeed the horse creatures that made the noise, then I could only assume they would be waiting there.

The setting sun blinded me as I turned the corner. Normally my helmet would reflect the light. I winced and blocked the light with the hand not gripping my gun. Blinking to restore my vision, I pressed onwards, gun outstretched and hand steady.

I breathed a small sigh of relief when I saw two of the wide-eyed horse aliens—sitting? Their hindquarters were lowered and their back legs were half on the floor while their front legs were straight, which looked about as close as they could get to sitting. I immediately recognized the one on the right—the same one that first approached me, and more recently, tried to communicate with me through the hole in the Cockpit. The fact that it was back meant that it hadn't given up.

To the right of the familiar creature was a winged one that was unknown. Its body colour was yellow, but light red—

No. Not light red—pink. Pink like a cloud of poisonous gas. That's what the name of the colour was.

Pink 'hair' flowed from its head, ending in a styled curl. Looking back at the blue-green creature—I couldn't remember what that colour's name was—I realized that it too had hair, only it was roughly the same colour as its body, which explained why I didn't notice it before. It was also messy and haphazard compared to the other's.

I noticed that the yellow creature had wings, and was also visibly shaking—whether that was from the cold or from being in my presence, I didn't know. I was a step from shivering myself; even from the proximity of the hangar door, it was still cold enough to make my breath visible to the naked eye. A carrying device of some sort was slung over the yellow one's back. It looked nearly bursting.

I lowered my gun, and both creatures sighed in unison. Or at least, they did whatever their equivalent of sighing was. That meant that they knew what my weapons were capable of—what I was capable of—yet they still chose to... greet me, as it were. Were they confident that I wouldn't shoot them? Or were they confident that they could stop me if I tried?

A wave of caution ran down my spine, and although my gun was lowered, my finger crept towards the trigger surreptitiously.

The blue-green alien waved its front limb to get my attention. When I gave it, the horse creature opened its mouth to speak, but no sound came out. I heard it gulp as wide, curious, and bright gold eyes looked up at me. I could see the intelligence in them. Had they been a different colour and a smaller size, I could've mistaken them for a human's. The same spark was there.

I relaxed slightly, taking my fingers completely away from the trigger guard. Either the curious creature noticed, or it received a burst of confidence from somewhere else, because it started chatting nonstop. I understood that it was trying to communicate with me, but it may has well have said nothing at all. I shook my head, showing that I didn't understand.

If anything, that made it try harder.

Wobbling, it stood on its hind legs, using the yellow creature for support. It then bent its front left leg behind, hiding it from view. It took me a second to realize that it was pantomiming the crew member. Specifically, the fact that she was missing the lower portion of her left arm. A few quickly spoken words between the two creatures later, the ever-shivering one made the motion of wrapping something around the pretend-stump, still shaking as it did so.

After the performance, they both looked at me, their eyes asking a question I now understood: Can we help?

I didn't answer immediately. How could I? Even though I needed all the help I could get, the two aliens in front of me were exactly that: alien. Not human. I could barely relate to other people of my own race. I couldn't verify the authenticity of their support. For all I knew, they would attack me the moment my back was turned. The gift I received the previous night might've been a decoy.

The alternative was to rely on my less than up-to-snuff medical abilities. But what if she died because I refused the creatures' help? What then? What purpose would I have as a walking tank on a dead ship?

I made a decision. Trust had to start somewhere. I would take the risk. What did I have to lose, anyway? I should've been dead a hundred times over. Every second that I was alive and conscious was extra.

I nodded to myself and slung the light machine gun over my shoulder. I turned around, motioned for the creatures to follow me, then started back towards the Cryogenic Chamber Room at a fast jog.

There was no time to waste.

I didn't need to turn around to know that the creatures were following me: their hooves clonking on the floor behind me were more than enough confirmation. I glanced over my shoulder a couple of times just to be sure. They were always just a couple of steps behind me. Only the largest pieces of debris gave them any pause, but they managed to find a way around quickly enough to still keep close. Before long, I was back in the Cryogenic Chamber Room with the two creatures in tow.

Thankfully, the crew member hadn't moved, and her breathing was steady and even. The yellow creature removed the bag from its back and took out several bottles filled with strangely coloured liquids. It went to touch the unconscious woman, but stopped with its limb hovering a few centimetres above, looking at me for permission.

I bent my head and took a step back. I didn't know how to help, so I relegated myself to simply watching. Standing and watching. The yellow one was busy looking over the crew member's stump, but the green-blue one was 'sitting' a metre-and-a-half away, watching as well. Our eyes met for a second. It looked away first.

If I saw any suspicious behaviour, then may God have mercy on them.

Chapter Five: Stalwart

Unknown

Chapter Five: Stalwart

I was surprised at how resolute the previously-shaking creature became while it worked: not only were its motions steady, but it seemed unfazed by the seriousness of the injury. In tandem, those two facts led me to believe that the yellow creature was some sort of healer, or even their equivalent of a doctor.

The other creature, though... I had no idea what the purpose of its presence was. I knew that it watched me far more than it watched the operating procedure, even though it tried to look away whenever I glanced at it. Even when it wasn't attempting to sneakily observe me, its head was on a swivel, trying to look at everything else at once.

I gave the blue-green creature the benefit of the doubt that it wasn't on some sort of intelligence-gathering mission, and was just excessively curious. Its jaw remained slack for an extended period of time as it stared at the cryogenic chambers. I think it might've drooled a little, too.

By my estimates, it took a little under an hour for the yellow creature to finish its task. In that time, it used three different bottles of what had to be medicine, two of which were coaxed down the woman's throat, and the last spread over the stump of her left arm before having bandages wrapped around it. The third salve was also rubbed into the lesser injuries around her neck and on her face.

After the yellow one finished coating the last incision and packed up the bottles of medicine, the two creatures were quick to take their leave. I didn't bother escorting them back to the Hangar: there was nothing for them to break that wasn't already broken, and I didn't want to leave the crew member alone again. They knew the way now: I didn't believe they would get lost.

I would find some way to thank them for their services in the future, for unless they inexplicably enjoyed broken machine parts, I had nothing to offer them presently. I watched the two—if not friendly, then at least helpful—aliens until they disappeared out of my sight around a corner. Crouching down beside the unconscious woman, I looked her over.

There was an air of peace surrounding her, but not the kind that some people acquired post-death: she looked relaxed, and a lively glow had replaced her ghostly visage. Ignoring the numerous cuts and bruises, and the missing portion of her left arm, she looked almost healthy. A shiver ran through her body, so I pulled the makeshift blanket up to her neck.

Whatever concoctions the yellow one used, they definitely worked.

With practiced movements, I put my armour back on piece-by-piece. The padding on the inside was the closest thing I had to a bed, and despite its bulkiness, sleeping in the armour would be easier than sleeping on the frigid floor.

Both myself and the aliens had done everything we could. The woman's life now squarely rested in her own hands. It was up to her whether she woke up or not.

I closed my eyes, and hoped I wouldn't wake up next to another corpse.

\\\

I felt something on my face. Something warm. Opening my eyes, I winced and looked away when sunlight came to greet me. I sat up and looked around, one hand shading my eyes from the brightness.

I was outside, in the middle of a grassy plain. There wasn't a landmark in sight: the grass rolled endlessly in all directions.

I blinked, and two rounded slabs of stone jutted from the ground in front of me, rising like the dead. Tombstones. Swallowing my dread, I stood up and walked closer.

One headstone was unmarked, but had a musical instrument leaning against it—some sort of harp?

The other had a number engraved in a large, simple font. My number. There was also a Juggernaut helmet half-buried in the dirt. My helmet.

I looked at my hands. They were nothing but bones. I felt the wind on my back, and piece-by-piece, I turned into dust and was carried away by the breeze.

\\\

I woke up with a bitter taste in my mouth and the feeling that I had swallowed a bucket of dust. Propping myself up with an elbow, I wiped away the cold sweat from my brow.

These nightmares were getting out of hand. There was still a syringe of desomorphine remaining. Maybe it would work as a sleeping aid.

I glanced at the woman beside me. She looked like she hadn't moved a muscle, and her breathing was still steady. I sighed. At least one of us was sleeping soundly.

I had no idea what time it was, and my throat felt like sandpaper, so I decided to briefly foray into the Kitchen for water and peek into the Hangar to see the position of the sun. I doubted that the crew member would wake: she slept like a rock, and did not stir even with me clanking around.

The water was easy enough to acquire. There were numerous barrels of it strewn around the wreckage that was the Kitchen, with convenient, easy-access stoppers included. I took several swigs. The ache in my throat slowly subsided. Thirst quenched, I replaced the stopper and tucked the barrel underneath my arm. As I started walking towards the Hangar, my eye caught a flash of colour among the endless grey. Wondering what it could be, I dug it out of the surrounding rubble and held it in my hand.

It was a Rubik's cube. I rotated it a few times. The colours were as mixed as could be, and there were chips on quite a few of the squares, but it was otherwise intact. It must've belonged to one of the many crew members before the crash. I briefly wondered how I failed to notice it before. Maybe the horse aliens unearthed it by accident. Seeing as how I had nothing else to go by, that explanation was the one I chose.

After a moment of indecision, I placed the Rubik's cube in an empty pouch on my chest. Perhaps they would find the difficulty in the cube's simplicity amusing, if they were even capable of twisting it on their own. It wasn't the most thoughtful or elaborate gift, but it was something. Hopefully they didn't think it was harmful.

Continuing through the Arming Room and into the Hangar, I saw that the sun was almost set. Sighing, I returned to the Cryogenic Chamber Room. I wasn't eager to return to sleep's dark embrace considering the nightmares I had the last three times I slept. My continued sanity was worth the price of ruining my sleep schedule.

I placed the water barrel down as gently as I could manage. I spotted a metal cup on the floor. If she was half as thirsty as I was after wakening, she would want water immediately, and the barrel would be too cumbersome for her. A cup to hold it would be a necessity. I grabbed it and placed it beside the barrel before checking on the sleeping woman. She looked like she had twisted and turned since I had left, but she was still asleep, albeit not soundly. Scanning the room, I wondered what I could do to kill the time before she woke up.

My eyes froze at a cryo chamber on the far right.

Amidst a pile of broken glass laid the naked corpse that I had first set eyes on after waking from cryosleep. The face was shredded, and the features unrecognizable, but two dead eyes burned a hole into me. Crouching down, I grabbed the right arm and twisted it to see the underside of the forearm. Sure enough, there was the number nine stamped into the flesh with black ink. He had no dog tag. None of us did.

I felt my own stamp burn emphatically underneath my armour. I remembered Nine. Even for a Juggernaut, he had been quiet. Solemn, even. I bowed my head and placed a hand over my heart. I had nothing to say.

Placing a hand underneath Nine's armpits, I dragged him out of broken glass and shredded metal towards the non-functioning, empty cryogenic chamber beside his. Straining, I heaved the husk of Nine into the chamber. After repositioning his limbs, I was able to seal the door. Out of sight, but not out of mind.

I wondered what happened to the rest of my kin, the other Juggernauts. There were ten of us on the ship, but I had only found Nine. Where were the rest?

Before I could think more on the topic, I heard a sputtering cough followed by a single word.

"Hello?"

She was waking up. Swallowing my nervousness, I walked over and kneeled beside her makeshift bed, in reach of the water. I took off my helmet, but did not speak.

The woman looked at me first with confusion, but it was quickly swept aside by recognition. Her right hand quested out of the cloth and gingerly touched my forearm before withdrawing. "You're real," she whispered. She sounded surprised.

I nodded.

"I'm not dead."

I nodded again.

"You saved me."

I hesitated before nodding. I figured it was best to keep the circumstances of her recovery to myself for the time being.

"Thank you." Her brown eyes were bright and expecting an answer.

I didn't know how to respond. Breaking eye-contact, I undid the stopper on the barrel and poured some water into the cup. I spilled a little, but I didn't care. The crew member was alive; there was no sense lamenting over spilled water.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she struggled to sit up. She managed it on the second try.

Instead of answering, I offered her the cup. She reached out to grab it—and stopped dead with her right hand almost touching the proffered metal handle. Her eyes were locked onto the stump of her left arm which was also pointing towards the cup.

"Oh," she breathed. "Right. That." After taking a deep breath, she exhaled, grasped the cup with her right hand, and drank.

I didn't expect a reaction like that. She took in the information that her arm was severed better than most soldiers. I silently applauded her mental fortitude.

When she finished drinking, she sighed contentedly and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "My name is Catherine. What's yours? I'd like to know the name of the person responsible for saving my life."

"I don't have a name," I replied. My voice was rough with disuse.

Catherine frowned. "How can you not have a name?"

"Do you know what I am?" I asked quietly.

Her eyes fluttered over my armoured form. She nodded. "Yes. You're a Juggernaut. So what?"

"Juggernauts don't have names. We have numbers."

Catherine was silent for almost a minute. "Then what do I call you?" she finally asked.

I glanced at the number that was engraved into my shoulder pauldron. It was the same number that was stamped into my forearm all those years ago.

"You can call me Six."

Chapter Six: Numbered

Unknown

Chapter Six: Numbered

"Six..."

Catherine's face scrunched up like she tasted something sour. "I guess I could... call you that." She exhaled softly and made eye-contact with me. I didn't look away. "Thank you for saving me, Six."

I remained silent. Catherine's mental faculties were stronger than I anticipated, but would she believe me if I explained that aliens had saved her?

Deciding to take a gamble, I told her the truth.

"I had help. I found you, but I didn't save you."

"Then who did?" she asked, her eyes suddenly going wide. "Are there others who survived?"

I shook my head. "No. At least, I don't think so. Besides you, every person I've seen has been a corpse."

Catherine shivered. I doubted it was from the cold. "Then who?" she repeated.

"Not who—what." I took a deep breath. "The... inhabitants dressed your wound and gave you medicine. I don't know what they are. They look like aliens to me." I watched her eyes narrow, and I could feel her suspicion of me grow, almost as if it was a palpable thing.

"I don't believe you. You're lying. I don't know why, but you're lying. You have to be. There's no such thing as aliens: everyone knows that. Even someone like you."

The words stung, but they weren't unexpected. I knew it sounded preposterous: a Juggernaut citing aliens as the source of her well-being was a hard pill to swallow. I would've probably said the same thing, had our positions been reversed. Still, I spoke the truth, but that was meaningless if I couldn't convince Catherine.

An idea popped into my head. What better way to convince her than to show her first hand?

"I can prove it."

She thought about it for a short while before nodding. "Okay. At the very least, I owe you a chance to explain. What did you have in mind, Six?"

I answered her question with a question. "Can you walk?"

"I—I'm not sure. Let me try."

Using my arm as a brace, Catherine attempted to pull herself to her feet. For a moment, it appeared that she was successful; although unsteady on wobbling legs, she was standing. The moment she let go of me, however, her legs collapsed and she fell with a surprised yelp. I only barely managed to grab her.

Letting out a nervous chuckle, Catherine said, "I guess that's a no—hey! What are you doing?!"

I picked her up as gently as I could and transferred her into my outstretched arms, grey makeshift blanket and all. I figured her question was rhetorical, but I answered anyway. "Carrying you."

"I didn't notice that," she replied sarcastically from the crook of my right elbow. Her legs from the knee down hung over my left arm. "Where are we going?"

"We're going to take a tour," I replied, and began walking. Catherine didn't respond. Thinking of my passenger, I asked, "Are you comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I can be while being carried." She shifted a small amount. "Actually, if you moved your right arm a little—"

I shifted my arm slightly.

"That's better," she sighed. "Thank you." Catherine's weight was almost negligible, but I wasn't sure whether that spoke of my strength or her frailness. She looked like a child, bundled up as she was. My arms acting as a cradle only heightened the illusion.

As we approached the kitchen, I asked, "Are you hungry?" I was starting to feel peckish myself.

I heard a rumble emanate from Catherine's midsection. "I was," she began, "but I'm not anymore." I followed her line of sight.

She was looking at the impaled chef, the one that was missing half his body due to the oversized, dog-like predator. I didn't blame her for losing her appetite, and made sure to quickly put the bloody corpse behind us.

"If it makes you feel any better, the creature that... did that... is dead."

Catherine twisted her head to look at me. "Creature? As in, you don't know?"

I shook my head.

She had a faraway look in her eye. "Where are we?" she muttered.

"I don't know. I don't think it's Earth." I could see the gears start to turn in her head.

When I turned down the hallway that would take me through the Arming Room and into the Hangar, one of the many lights overhead flickered and faded away. Curious, I asked, "How are these still functioning?"

"The back-up generator. It must still be intact even after the crash."

"How long until it runs out of power?"

Catherine thought for a moment before answering. "If the only things being powered are the lights, then it should run for a couple weeks, minimum. If we're lucky—and the more I look around, the more I'm sure that we are very lucky—then it might last a month, maybe two."

"Good to know." That meant we still had time. I didn't want to wake up one night shrouded in darkness, and have no means of finding my way around.

Turning to the side so as to not bash Catherine's head against the steel frame, I entered the Arming Room, which elicited a gasp from the woman in my arms.

"There are a lot of weapons here, Six," she commented. "I knew we had a lot, but I didn't know we had this many."

"You didn't?"

"No, I didn't," she replied. "I haven't been on this side of the ship before."

I stopped momentarily to count how many sets of armour were left, something I had neglected to do until now. There were only five, not including my own. That meant four suits were out there, somewhere, possibly with alive Juggernauts still inside. Chances were that my kin were already dead, but after glancing at Catherine, I felt a small amount of hope rekindle in my chest.

If we could beat the odds, then so could they.

From my elbow, Catherine murmured, "Four missing. Where could they have gone to?"

The ghost of a smile appeared on my lips in direct relation to her astuteness. "I was wondering the same thing." Realizing that dawdling wouldn't do us any good, I continued walking. Thinking about her previous comment, I asked, "Why haven't you been on this side of the ship?"

"Orders."

"Orders?"

Catherine cleared her throat and spoke in a drab, monotone, almost robotic voice. "'Unless a class-five emergency should occur, all crew members not actively involved in combat or overseeing heavy combat personnel are to refrain from using the port-side passageways.'" She coughed. In her normal voice, she said, "Seeing as how I worked in Navigation and not with you Juggernauts..."

I nodded, understanding. One thing bothered me, however.

"Is that what they called us? 'Heavy combat personnel?'"

Catherine shifted to look at me. I saw the lights reflected in her eyes. "Yeah. That was the politically correct term for—"

She froze mid-sentence, her eyes wide, her mouth partially parted. Before I could ask what was wrong, she violently sneezed several times in quick succession.

"—Juggernauts," she finished, blinking back tears. "Sorry about that. I didn't startle you, did I?"

"No."

Before long, I had crossed the threshold of the Hangar. I took a quick look around. Night had fallen, but besides that, everything else was the same, and there didn't seem to be any surprises waiting for us.

"Uh.. Six?"

I turned my attention to Catherine.

"I want to try walking again. Can you, uh, put me down, please?"

"Sure."

I carefully tilted Catherine so her feet made contact with the cold, steel floor. Using me once again for support, she wobbled a bit, but regained her equilibrium before I needed to intervene. After adjusting the fabric so it functioned as some sort of shawl, she let go of me and started inching forward on her own. She looked like a child playing dress-up.

"Watch your step," I cautioned.

Catherine looked down at her feet, which were only protected by the thin layer of her one-piece jumpsuit and would be easily shredded by the sharp debris strewn about. She smiled and replied, "I'll be careful."

While Catherine was occupied with her shuffling, I approached the old hangar entrance. The wall I built out of broken helicopters and metal plating was still standing, although several things had shifted since I last visited. I tested the stability by pulling on a protruding support beam. The barrier groaned and shifted a millimetre or two, but did not collapse. Now certain that I wouldn't be crushed if I brushed against the wrong portion, I peered through what used to be a helicopter's windshield.

There was a flickering light outside, and the silhouettes of several horse aliens were sitting around it, with the exception of one, which appeared to be sleeping. After noticing some oddly proportioned bulges on some of them, I squinted and tried to get a better look. As my eyes adjusted, the bulges soon formed into armour plating, plumed helmets, and spears, while the flickering light became a fire.

Interesting. Since the aliens were civilized to the point that they could perform first aid, I supposed that it only made sense for them to have some sort of military. But what were they doing, camped out in front of the ship? Were they trying to keep us in, or were they trying to keep other members of their race out?

"I knew the crash was bad, but I didn't know it was this bad. It doesn't look like anything is still in one piece," Catherine said. "Wait... what's that?"

I turned and looked where she was pointing. In the middle of an area cleared of large detritus laid the body of the car-sized predator—only it had changed. "That," I began as I regrouped with Catherine, "is the creature that I told you about earlier. The one I killed."

"Did you pour sulphuric acid on it?"

I shook my head, although it certainly looked like I did. It was still lying in a pool of its own brown, viscous blood, but the corpse was in the process of dissolving, which gave it a half-melted appearance. I nudged the outside edge of the disintegrating creature with my boot, and was rewarded with a squelching noise.

"...Six?"

"Yes?"

"I believe you." Catherine was looking at the corpse. She gulped, then looked up at me. She didn't need to say anything else.

I could tell that she believed me now—I could see it in her eyes. "There are some outside," I said. "The same kind that saved you."

"I—I'd like to see them."

"Follow me."

I returned to the barrier with Catherine following in my footsteps. Her walking had significantly improved: I could only assume her impediment was from her muscles being unused. She was too short to look through the provisional window, so I cupped my hands together and gave her a boost.

A stunned silence followed.

"Those are—?"

"Yes," I answered, knowing what she was asking.

"They kind of look like... ponies. Alien ponies."

"What are ponies?"

"Smaller horses, essentially." Catherine stepped down while shaking her head. "I can't believe it. I do believe it, it's just..."

"A shock?"

Catherine nodded. "Yeah. A shock." She gestured around her with palms facing upward. "So this is it, then? Just the t-two of us, stranded on an alien world in a c-crashed ship?"

I shrugged. "There might be other survivors. For all we know, they might've already made contact with the aliens."

"Maybe," she sighed. "M-Maybe." She was shivering. The fabric, while large and tough, wasn't very thick.

"Do you have any other clothes?"

Catherine jerkily nodded. "Y-Yeah. Back in the living qu-quarters." She didn't sound overly enthusiastic about returning to where I found her. I didn't blame her.

"Then that's where we're going. Let's go."

Chapter Seven: Deserving

Unknown

Chapter Seven: Deserving

"I'm—I'm sorry."

The words caught me off guard. I looked down at Catherine, who was once again in my arms after our progress became stifled due to her frigidity. "Sorry for what?"

When Catherine turned to face me, I saw tears rolling down her pale cheeks. Through chattering teeth, she said, "For... for everything. My behaviour, especially. They told us that you aren't p-people, that you're nothing more than kill—" she swallowed, "—killing machines, and that you... deserve what's been d-done to you. But you don't. You don't."

I almost stopped to say something. Almost. Catherine obviously didn't know the truth about Juggernauts—the truth about me—if she said we weren't deserving. If anything, we deserved far worse. I kept my mouth shut and continued mechanically plodding forward. We were almost at the Cockpit; I wasn't about to stop now.

Unabated, Catherine continued. "I'm sorry for t-treating you like you're less than human, S-Six." Her nose winkled in disgust. "Six," she muttered. "They don't even let you have n-names. Real names, not numbers."

"I don't need a name—"

"Don't you dare say that," Catherine interrupted, knocking on my torso with the back of her hand. "You saved my life. If it wasn't for you, I'd b-be dead. If that doesn't make you worthy of having a name—having humanity—then I don't know what does. You're a good man: let nobody, not even yourself, tell you any different."

I ducked underneath part of a fallen doorframe and stepped into the ruined mess of the Cockpit. "If you want to believe that, I won't stop you," I sighed. I paused for a moment before continuing. "'There are three things necessary for the salvation of man: to know what he ought to believe; to know what he ought to desire; and to know what he ought to do.'" I paused again. "I believe in my reality, in the situation I am in. I know what I need to survive. For now, I know what I have to do. Having a name is unnecessary."

Catherine was silent as I placed her on her feet. "Where did you hear that from?" she finally asked. "The quote, I mean."

I shrugged. "Sometime before I became a Juggernaut. It's stuck with me ever since." I padded down my numerous pockets until I found a flashlight, as my helmet was sitting on the floor back in the Cryogenic Chamber Room.

I motioned towards the steps that descended into the hull. "Can you lead the way? I had trouble last time."

"Y-Yeah. Sure," she replied as I handed her the flashlight.

We walked along the mazelike corridors, the flashlight illuminating the airborne dust the we stirred. I still had difficulty moving along due to my bulk, but at least Catherine had it easy going. Thanks to her, we found the living quarters in less than half the time it took me to find it originally.

Catherine stopped suddenly, almost as if there was an invisible threshold blocking the room. I nearly walked into her. "Oh God," she breathed, and slowly sank to her knees. She started coughing, which quickly turned into dry-heaving. After her minor episode, Catherine covered her mouth with the fabric and mumbled, "You found me here?!"

"Yes."

Catherine stared at the mangled bodies. She started shivering. "How?" she finally asked after a silence. "How am I s-still alive?"

I shrugged. "Luck? Coincidence? Divine intervention?" After she failed to respond, I asked, "Do the how's and why's of your survival mean that much to you? You're alive: that's all that matters."

"I—I guess not." Catherine shuddered and forcibly looked away. "Let's just get what we need and leave. If I never see this place again, it'll be t-too soon."

Catherine squeezed past me and retreated a short distance up the hallway. I stepped into the room and stretched my neck, as the ceiling was a few centimetres higher. A summary glance over the area told me that Catherine's footlocker could feasibly be anywhere. With a sigh, I bent down and dragged the closest one towards me.

This was going to take a while.

\\\

After nearly an hour of searching, I finally found a locker with Catherine Belova engraved in small print right above the buckle. I carefully extricated the metal box out from underneath a less fortunate person's torso. There were dents and dried blood along the exterior of the footlocker, but it was in otherwise functional condition. I popped the clasp and, with a little pressure, forced it open.

Inside were several articles of clothing and some personal memorabilia that I skimmed over until a particular picture caught my eye. I picked it up and looked at it. It showed a younger Catherine standing with a tall, skinny man on a grassy hill with the sun high in the sky behind them. A young girl with pigtails stood between them. They were all smiling.

I placed the picture back into the container and closed it. There was a time and place for everything, and now didn't seem like the time nor the place to bring up her past. I brought the footlocker into the hallway where Catherine was sitting with her back against the wall and her arm around her knees, eyes staring at nothing.

"I found your lockbox," I stated, my voice breaking the thick silence and causing her head to jerk up in surprise. "The contents are a bit shuffled, but intact."

Catherine shifted her sitting position to one where she was on her knees. Slowly, she reached out and traced the engraving of her name with pale fingertips, lingering on her surname. She looked up at me, eyes red-rimmed from crying. "You wouldn't happen to have a knife, would you? I need to do something." Her tone was bleak.

I mechanically reached down and felt for the short, sharp blade that was attached to my right thigh. While not practical in a typical fight, it was certainly useful in cutting rope, small cables, and necks if the situation presented itself. After a small amount of hesitation, I offered the knife to Catherine, handle-first. She grabbed it carefully, her fingers barely wrapping fully around the grip.

A part of me wondered if she meant to take her own life—and I had just provided her the method. Although Catherine hadn't shown any self-harming or fatalistic tendencies, and I doubted that either had manifested in the time it had taken me to find her locker, there was always a chance...

My muscles twinged when Catherine pointed the knife down, but relaxed slightly when she began to gouge out the surname portion of her machine-engraved name. The swipes grew more and more vicious. When a particularly vicious stab pierced the footlocker fully, I decided that enough was enough and interfered. Catherine, who was now breathing heavily from her exertions, didn't say a word as I carefully uncurled her fingers from the handle and put the blade back where it belonged.

After nearly a full minute of staring, unblinking, at the scrawled and shredded remains of her name, Catherine blinked as a bead of sweat fell into her eyes. This simple act seemed to shatter the spell she had fallen under. Immediately, wracking sobs engulfed her in waves and she seemed to shrink into herself.

I crouched down and did my best to comfort her—that is, I repeatedly told her that everything was fine while gently rubbing her back. I'm not sure whether that had any effect or not, but Catherine's breathing soon regulated enough for her to speak.

"I'm sorry... I don't know what came over me," she mumbled. "It had to happened eventually, but... I'm sorry... It was too much..." A fit of hiccups soon made her murmuring unintelligible. Beside the quickly-drying tears and sweat droplets, I noticed that her lips had turned a pale shade of blue.

"Save your apologies for when they actually matter," I ordered as I opened the container and procured a thermal jacket, thermal pants, and a pair of boots. "Right now, we need to get you into some warmer clothes before you freeze. Sit up."

Dressing Catherine in her dual states of borderline hypothermia and shock was, as far as I knew, akin to dressing a toddler. Despite her best intentions of trying to help, more often than not she would interfere with the process rather than accelerate it. When I finally managed to get Catherine's uncooperative feet into her boots, I picked her up with one arm and the footlocker with the other, then began the long march back to the Cryogenic Chamber Room, the flashlight held between my teeth.

All was quiet on the ship except for the omnipresent hum of the lights overhead and my own clanking footsteps. By the time we returned to the Cryogenic Chamber, Catherine's lips were pale red once more. She must have fallen asleep sometime during the trip, so I unfolded the fabric as a makeshift bedspread once more and placed her on it, then used some extra articles of clothing as a headrest.

Temporary goal complete, I sat down and allowed myself a few minutes of respite to gather my thoughts.

I had an inkling as to what caused Catherine's minor breakdown, but I decided it was irrelevant to the situation at hand. I was sure that she'd bring it up herself at a later time—Catherine didn't seem to be the type to run away from a confrontation.

I glanced at her peaceful, sleeping form. A few more hours of sleep certainly wouldn't hinder her recovery. I briefly debated attempting to sleep as well, but the feeling of exhaustion hadn't set in quite yet, so I didn't bother. That left me with time to kill, as remaining idle was out of the question. I scanned the room and noticed two things in quick succession: my helmet on the floor and the Rubik's cube jutting from a chest pocket.

A small smile spread on my lips as a new goal began to formulate in my mind.

I hoped the alien ponies wouldn't mind a visitor.

Chapter Eight: Escorted

Unknown

Chapter Eight: Escorted

I left Catherine a note detailing where I was going, what I hoped to accomplish, and that I would be back before sundown, no matter what. My writing was certainly not the best, but given the fact that I could not remember the last time I used my calligraphy skills, I was pleasantly surprised by my wrists' muscle memory. The basket of apples along with the water barrel and cup were left beside her should she require them. For protection, I left a submachine gun, which also doubled as the paperweight that pinned the note down. I knew she could operate the firearm: all military personal aboard Daedalus-class transports were competent in handling weaponry up to and including assault rifles.

I wanted to provide every possible need that might appear in the time I was gone, but I knew that wouldn't be possible, no matter how hard I tried. I constantly thought that I could do more, when in reality I couldn't—it was strange. I suppose my conditioning was working as intended.

After ensuring that Catherine was as supplied as possible during my absence, I performed a full-perimeter sweep of the entire ship. My paranoia paid off: the hole in the Control Room had been reopened somehow, with the sheet of metal and filing cabinet used to block the gap having mysteriously disappeared. The hole seemed to have increased in size as well. The strangest part, however, was that the Control Room seemed to be... cleaner than it should've been. Metal plating, support struts, and even some of the electronics were missing.

Upon peering out of the breach, I could see through the pre-dawn light a slightly raised pit large enough to comfortably fit my physique jutting out of the ground only a few metres away. Some metallic debris including a stapler and several stainless steel pens led a trail into it.

I stood up, slightly perturbed. Giant dogs, snake-chicken hybrids, and alien ponies weren't the only things lurking just beyond the ship. One thing was certain: whatever did that could not be allowed any further access into the ship.

There was nothing large enough to block the enlarged aperture in my immediate vicinity, nor was anything big enough able to brought in from the Hangar. After scanning the room, wondering what I could do, my eyes rested on the doorway—more specifically, the emergency lockdown doors that the entrance to the Control Room would certainly have.

I looked inside the frame and found exactly what I was looking for. I reached into the gap that was barely large enough to accommodate my glove and began searching for a purchase by which to pull from with both hands, one on either side. Having found a small handhold on each side, probably created for such a purpose, I began pulling with all my might.

The inner doors were incredibly heavy; I had pulled pieces of tanks that were lighter. My muscles jerked and spasmed, my vision became tinged with red, and I could feel sweat run down my forehead and drip off of my nose. The doors refused to move.

A second before I gave up, I felt an imperceptible amount give way. Redoubling my efforts, and feeling a sharp pain in my eye because of it, the doors slowly slid together until they hit a certain point, then slammed together with a profound, echoing boom. I was immensely thankful that I had taken the precaution to move my feet and head out of the way beforehand.

Panting and sore, I drove my shoulder into the emergency doors. They didn't budge. Satisfied, I began the trek to the barricade I built in the Hangar knowing that whatever was stealing pieces of the ship would be confined to the Control Room for the time being.

On the way back, I noticed that the giant dog's decomposition had taken a strange turn: namely, that it had turned into what appeared to be dirt. No traces of the creature or the viscous liquid which it had first become remained. I ignored it for the time being and kept walking to the barricade.

Upon arriving, I peered out of a porthole, looking for any signs of the aliens. The sun had risen enough to be called dawn, and I quickly spotted the possible-military forces that had camped outside overnight. Two were sound asleep, but a third was drowsily keeping watch. If they didn't flee at the sight of me, this small group would be the perfect test to see how they'd otherwise react.

Taking a deep breath, I began tearing at a section of the barricade that I had meticulously created several nights before.

\\\

The alien ponies had obviously heard my clangs and the grinding of metal, so when I removed the last sheet of metal that blocked my path, I wasn't surprised to see the three on top of the fallen ramp, fully alert and waiting. I jumped down the metre-and-a-half gap without delay, eliciting a thunderous crash from the ramp and causing the aliens to jump back in surprise. I landed in a crouch.

When I looked up, I could see the fear in the closest one's eyes. Beads of sweat ran down the exposed portions of its face not covered in a plumed helmet, and it shivered with nervousness. The other two weren't visibly afraid, but I could see the tenseness in their bodies.

I sighed. This was going about as well as I expected it to. Now came the difficult part: convincing them of my peaceful intentions.

I slowly stood up and raised my hands to shoulder-height, showing that both were empty. Of course, I would never leave completely unarmed—I had two submachine guns holstered at my sides and a grenade hidden in one of my chest pouches—but I had left any heavier weaponry back on the ship. If the behaviour of the horned and winged aliens that saved Catherine told me anything, it was that they knew what my light machine gun did, and hopefully, that knowledge was prevalent among them.

It worked better than I thought. An instant look of relief appeared on the three aliens' faces when they saw me empty-handed, and their tension, while not completely disappearing, at least lessened. One of them, grey in colour and the only one with a horn, stepped forward and tilted its head, something I roughly translated to, "What do you want?" I pointed at a collection of dwellings behind them, perhaps a kilometre away, and made the motion of walking with two fingers. The horned one nodded and through a combination of leg movements and pantomimes, I determined that they wished to accompany me.

I nodded and began walking, the aliens immediately following, creating an entourage in front, to the left, and to the right of me—some sort of honour guard. At first, I thought it strange that the aliens sent to guard the ship from intruders would know what to do in the situation I presented them with; then I realized that these three must have been purposefully placed for this very purpose.

I thought deeper.

Whoever their superior was, they knew—or guessed with such precision that they might as well have known—what I'd do ahead of time. I ground my teeth. Was I that predictable? Or were the aliens more clever than I? I wouldn't know until a complex means of communication was obtained. Playing charades had worked somewhat so far, but if a deeper knowledge of their motives were to be known, a greater form of discourse was required.

As we walked towards the buildings, I felt the sensation of being watched; a tingle at the nape of my neck. My intuition was normally correct, yet nothing seemed out of place: the sky was clear, and no other beings seemed to be awake at this hour, save for myself and my escort. Only the occasional moving shadow originating from the wreckage of the forest gave me any pause, but those could just as easily be a trick of the light or a swaying branch as a potential threat. Regardless of whether I was watched, nothing came of it, and the entrance to the collection of buildings approached quicker than I had anticipated.

It was a very strange place. There had obviously been no organization or development plan when the buildings were constructed: they were placed haphazardly, and lacked cohesion with each other. Each was a myriad of different colours and shades that an artist would have difficulty naming, and no two buildings were the same. Pathways winded and twisted in every conceivable direction, so much so that it gave the illusion of a never-ending maze of structures stretching as far as the eye could see. I didn't like my odds of escape if I was forced to navigate the alleyways myself.

It reminded me of the slums in a large city. Unlike the slums, however, the buildings were clean and graffiti free, although a little dusty. Nothing was made of discarded metal, either.

There were only a few of them up and about in what I now knew to be some sort of village, but the ones that were awake froze when we walked past, no matter what they were doing. The expressions varied wildly: abject terror was a common one; shock another. What was surprising to me were the ones that only displayed curiosity, like I was some sort of exotic animal being escorted. I didn't know how to feel about that.

After about five minutes of traversing along the winding paths, it led us to a wide-open, market-like area where strange and colourful items were displayed on carts and wagons of varying sizes. When my entourage and I stepped into the area, a profound and sudden silence followed. The vendors stopped stacking their goods, and all eyes turned to me. My escorts kept walking as if nothing had happened, so I followed suit—that is, until I recognized an item aboard one of the wagons that I walked by: the juicy and delicious red fruit that was given to me along with the grey fabric. I stopped walking.

The food in question was being stacked by an orange alien wearing some sort of hat, its blond hair tied together and down. A large red one wearing some kind of harness around its neck looked at me. The orange one hadn't yet noticed my presence, and was oblivious to the fact that I was only a few metres away, so intent it was on unloading the fruit. Only after being nudged by the red one, which happened to be the same colour as fruit, did the orange one stop what it was doing and turn around.

When it did, its eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. It glanced to the left. I followed its line of sight. To my surprise, one of the three small aliens that had investigated the Control Room had appeared, half hiding behind the orange one. I recognized the bow in its hair.

I heard a sound akin to a cough from one of my escorts. They must have been growing impatient. Deciding to take the initiative, I pointed at the fruit, patted my stomach a few times, then gave a quick thumbs up. I hoped they would take that as a sign of my approval.

The horned escort whistled and stomped the ground twice. I followed them once more.

Nothing else eventful happened until my 'honour guard' stopped at an innocuous building a little ways past the market, one that had no outstanding characteristics that differentiated it from its neighbours. The horned escort knocked on the door a few times and waited. Not long after, it was opened by the familiar blue-green one that I had been hoping to see.

It yawned and rubbed at one eye with one of its front legs. It chirped something at my guards, then looked when they tilted their heads toward me. Surprise was evident in its eyes when it saw me, but it was not frightened. I reached into my chest pocket and offered the Rubik's Cube in an outstretched hand.

Chapter Nine: Discussed

Unknown

Chapter Nine: Discussed

The blue-green alien looked up at me, past my outstretched hand, golden eyes wide with curiosity, shock, and... wonder? It surreptitiously reached for the Rubik's Cube with spasmodic bursts of speed and abrupt stops, its line of sight alternating between the multicoloured block and my helmet. A few centimetres before making contact, the alien stopped as if blocked by an invisible barrier. It glanced at me once more. I adjusted the cube in my hand, holding it with only a few fingers. I brought it a bit closer, trying to instill the message that it was a gift.

After taking a deep breath, the alien grabbed the Rubik's Cube out of my hand, meaning that my point must have translated. It sat and held the cube carefully, almost like it might explode, studying it intently. Upon closer inspection, the alien seemed to realize that the block was meant to be turned, and proceeded to do just that, rotating the sides at an alarming speed. I wondered at this.

This was the second time I have witnessed one of them using their appendages to manipulate objects with finesse—the first was when they gave Catherine medical attention—yet how they managed to do this was a complete mystery to me. Their legs all ended in a simple hoof that had no outstanding characteristics, which implied that they could not use them as graspers; the rapid twists and turns that the alien was performing, however, nullified that implication. It seemed that nothing could be taken at face value. All of my questions brought more questions.

When the grey, horned escort spoke up and made a subtle motion towards me—one that I wasn't supposed to have noticed—the blue-green one stopped fiddling with the Rubik's cube and disappeared briefly, returning with a bag slung over one side. They shared a few more words, glanced at me, then the blue one nodded and stepped outside, closing the door behind it.

Almost immediately, the escorts began walking back the way we came, the blue-green one walking between them. I followed in their footsteps a few paces back, glad that they were all in front me now, but wary of where we were going; I had no idea where they were leading me if the last stop wasn't our final destination.

I expected us to return through the market area, but as we approached, the three aliens took a turn down a cramped, compact alleyway amid several small buildings. I inwardly sighed and followed them down the path.

After a particularly tight squeeze through the jutting, unsymmetrical dwellings where my shoulder ground against a wall, I heard a echoing squeak just behind me. A sharp intake of breath followed soon afterward. I twisted my neck to get a better look, but all I saw was a flash of colour as a window was shut and the curtains drawn hastily across. I kept walking.

The terminus was revealed when the three aliens came to a stop in front of a medium-sized building that was slightly apart from the others. The overall design was different than much of the village: an aura of venerability surrounded it, making it seem older, somehow, even though I could see no degradation of the materials used to construct it. When the aliens walked up the steps leading to a wooden double-door and knocked, I followed.

Just as I climbed up the last step, the doors were opened from within. The opener was tan in colour and had steel-grey hair. A pair of glasses rested on its snout, and age crinkles were visible around its eyes. The alien smiled when it saw its kin, but the smile vanished when it saw me. After taking a deep breath, it nodded and motioned for us to enter.

I had some trouble fitting through the doorway, but after ducking underneath the doorframe, I was rewarded with a ceiling high enough that I could stand straight and not have my head scrape against it.

I quickly glanced around. The room was large and vaguely dome-shaped with aliens of varying colours milling about. Most were carrying either papers or books with unfamiliar characters, although one was carrying a tray with various types of food piled high. To their credit, although most glanced over, very few stopped and stared when they saw me. All of the aliens—

Aliens. Aliens, aliens, aliens—I was getting very tired of using that word. They were extraterrestrial to me, but did I have any right to call them aliens if I was the visitor? What else could I call them? I thought about what Catherine had called them. Ponies, she had said they looked like. Alien ponies, though distinguishing them from the ones on Earth seemed moot. Ponies it was.

My vision drifted to the long, low-lying table situated in the centre of the room. Some strange-looking chairs were placed systematically along it, and a single... pony sat in the middle with heaps of paper surrounding it. It was a deep, vibrant purple and its eyes were glued to a page directly in front of it. I noticed that it had both wings and a horn—something none of the others that I had seen possessed—as well as a crown-like ornament resting on its head. Royalty? There was something special about this one: I could feel it. There were questions to be had, and answers to be provided. Finally.

I walked forward, my boots thundering on the creaking, wooden floor. All other noise ceased; the aliens scrambling about moved like ghosts. I felt their eyes boring holes into my back as I stopped directly across from the purple pony. After I stood there for a few seconds, unmoving, it finally looked up from its all-important paper. A look of surprise was wiped away by a cheerful, ecstatic grin. It looked down at the piece of paper once more, then closed its eyes and furrowed its brow, as if in deep thought. What happened next can only be described as fantastical.

A small sphere of translucent light began to grow from the aliens' horn, which expanded until it fully covered its head, much like my own helmet. But it didn't stop there. The sphere kept increasing in size until the edge of it made contact with my armour. I felt a strange tingle when it touched, yet nothing when it passed harmlessly through my body, doing so as if it was immaterial. Before long, a large area around the table was encompassed within the dome of light.

"Hello? Can you understand me?"

My head twisted so quickly towards the source of the words that I felt my neck crack. The voice that spoke in my native tongue, unfamiliar and feminine, came from the purple pony sitting across from me.

"I'll take that as a yes," the pony—a she, if the voice was anything to go by—continued. "My deepest apologies in regards to the delay of this meeting, Visitor. It's certainly been a process setting up a proper location here in Ponyville, but, well, here we are. Oh—I almost forgot to introduce myself!"

She jumped to her feet and bowed formally, raising a leg to her chest. "My name is Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Equestria. It is with great honour that I bid you a proper welcome, and extend the hoof of friendship." Her leg remained outstretched towards me. Numbly, I grabbed the hoof as gently as I could manage and shook it.

All of this information suddenly thrust upon me after such a long drought made my brain go into overdrive, neurons firing like automatic weapons. This 'Twilight Sparkle' was speaking to me as if I was a revered guest, a dignitary, an ambassador. Did they truly think that the crash was our landing sequence? No, they couldn't—they've seen the mess of the interior. What did they think my purpose here was, then—an emissary of my entire race? How could I explain that Catherine and I were trapped here without escape, and if I could, what would they think of their revered Visitor when they knew he was stranded?

I shook my head to dispel my rapid-fire thoughts. Despite the goldmine of knowledge I had been bestowed with, there was still more to acquire. I would process this later. Reaching towards the base of my neck, I unclasped the base of my helmet and removed it slowly. I placed it on the table and took a deep breath before speaking.

"You can call me Six," I replied, making eye-contact with Twilight Sparkle. To her credit, she didn't look away, even after she revealed another important piece of information.

"I must ask for forgiveness, but unfortunately, our conversations are relegated to being one-way for the time being. The spell that you see around you—" She motioned towards the purple dome. "—Doesn't have the capability to translate your language. Yet. It'll take some more time until we find the correct iteration, which is why we have a large amount of staff working on solving this conundrum as quickly as possible. Again, we're very sorry about this, Visitor. Please don't be offended."

I quickly shook my head in answer. After seeing that it was still only Twilight Sparkle and I alone at the table, I motioned towards the empty seats. Thankfully, my question was interpreted correctly.

"The members of the council should be arriving here shortly." Twilight Sparkle sighed with equal amounts of relief and anxiousness. "You came earlier than we intended, Visitor. We didn't expect you to be the one initiating contact, and we're thrown for a little bit of a loop." She smiled nervously. "I'm sorry, I'm talking too much, aren't I? I know it's supposed to be my job and all, but still: I'm acting more nervous than when I received my wings."

I didn't understand, so I shook my head again. After deciding that I could use a break from standing, I looked at the chair across from the purple pony. It was many sizes too small, even if I could figure out how I was supposed to sit in it. I slid it out of the way and kneeled in front of the table instead. Even kneeling, I was still looking over Twilight Sparkle. I folded my arms and settled in to wait.

\\\

When the members of the council had all arrived, the introductions began immediately. I was familiar with a couple of them already. The council consisted of: Applejack, who was the orange pony that ran the fruit stand and, I learned, a nearby farm which produced the delicious fruits; Rainbow Dash, a blue pony with wings who I didn't recognize—although her multicoloured 'hair' was strangely familiar—was in charge of something called the 'Weather Patrol'; Filthy Rich, a dirt coloured pony whose ancestors were apparently one of the founding families of the town I was in; Cheerilee, who was a teacher of the younger ponies and a slightly brighter purple than Twilight Sparkle; and finally, Lyra Heartstrings, who was the blue-green pony responsible for actively trying to understand and welcome me since the crash. She repeatedly thanked me for my gift, saying that she didn't deserve it. All I could do was shake my head, trying to insist otherwise.

While not difficult names to remember, they were certainly strange, and I was glad they provided a few pieces of paper and a writing utensil. A reference sheet was exactly what I needed, so I wrote down every scrap of information I acquired.

Strangely, there was only one male, this 'Filthy Rich', amongst the seated ponies. Maybe they had a matriarchal society; I'd have to ask when I could. Even odder was that they referred to themselves as 'ponies'—their own word, not mine—which was exactly what Catherine thought they were at first. Was that a coincidence, or was this 'spell' simply translating words that made sense to me? What was this spell, anyway? This sphere of light was completely foreign—I had never seen anything like it previously. Instead of raw strength and technology, which were both quite lacking from what I had seen, it seemed they had these spells to compensate. I pondered how many they had access to, and the specifications of what each did. Perhaps they weren't as vulnerable as I previously thought.

My musings were interrupted when Twilight Sparkle cleared her throat. Immediately, all of the ponies who were not sitting at the table began filing out every which way. In less than fifteen seconds, they had all dispersed.

"Now that everypony has made their introductions, we can get started with the discussion. I'd like to thank you again, Visitor, for choosing to participate and humbling us with your presence."

I snorted. Others being humbled in my presence? I never thought I'd see the day. Twilight Sparkle took no notice of the noise I made, however. After consulting a clipboard in front of her, she continued.

"Lyra, would you like to start? I know your question has been bothering you ever since you set foot into the star-traveler."

All eyes turned, including mine, turned towards Lyra Heartstrings, who had been idly fiddling with the Rubik's Cube. She swallowed nervously before nodding.

"I-I was wondering, V-Visitor, if your friend has recovered from their grievous wounds. Both myself and Fluttershy have been worried sick that we didn't do enough. They are okay, right?"

I nodded. After thinking for a second, I used two of my fingers and 'walked' them along the table.

"They have recovered enough to walk?"

I nodded again.

Lyra sighed with relief. "That is... very good to hear. I'll let Fluttershy know as soon as the meeting is over. And if there's anything else..."

I met her gaze and nodded slowly, once.

"Good! Great!" Lyra paused for a moment with her mouth open, then closed it. "I have a hundred questions, but they can wait until the important stuff—"

"Important stuff like the dust cloud hanging over our heads?" interrupted Rainbow Dash. "Or the things in the Everfree going crazy 'cause something fell out of the sky on top of them? How about those for a start?"

"Dash!" exclaimed Twilight Sparkle, a look approaching horror on her face.

Rainbow Dash grunted. "Sorry, Twilight. Been a stressful couple of days, that's all." She hadn't yet looked me in the eye, even during her earlier outburst. "There's a storm coming," she began, staring at the table. "Big one. Big enough that the whole patrol can't steer it away, and when it gets here, it'll rain mud for a week. All the crops will be ruined. Some roofs might collapse. Everypony is going to be miserable, dirty, and brown."

Filthy Rich coughed.

"Uh, no offense, Rich."

"None taken. How long until the storm reaches Ponyville?"

Rainbow Dash tapped the table a few times with a hoof. "A few days. A week at the most." She turned towards me, her eyes hard but cautious. "I'm sure you didn't mean to cause us problems, Visitor, but you've given us one heck of a big mess to clean up. There are a bunch of ponies, me included, who would've preferred it if you never showed up in the first place."

They had no idea I wished for the same thing, and I had no way to tell them, so I did the only thing I could.

I nodded.

It was going to be a long meeting.

Chapter Ten: Contacted

Unknown

Chapter Ten: Contacted

After hours of kneeling and either nodding or shaking my head, I finally reached the limit of my patience. Cheerilee was in the middle of relaying a story about a group of children that called themselves the 'Cutie Mark Crusaders' when something inside me snapped. I stood up with such a speed that I smashed the ornate table with a knee, spilling several drinks that had been served earlier and making the ponies jump in surprise.

There was only so much turn-taking discussion that I could bear. I would rather assault an enemy base unarmed than hear one more word about cultural differences, crop cultivation numbers, or upcoming weather predictions. I was provided with enough information regarding the effects of my arrival than I would realistically be able to use, and yet they still kept talking.

I folded my note-taking papers that now numbered in the dozens and stuffed them in a pocket on my chest, then grabbed my helmet and headed for the exit.

I heard several exclamations, most beginning with 'where' and ending with 'going'. The words turned into meaningless gibberish as soon as I stepped through the purple sphere that Twilight Sparkle had created. I shoved the doors open without looking back.

A thousand eyes were trained on me the second my form appeared outside. I stopped like I had just been shot at. There were hundreds held back by a loose ring of the military ponies that I now knew were called the Royal Guard. I stared at the crowd, and they stared back. I felt like I was being judged in some way, and I didn't like it. I started to walk forward and they stepped back as if I repelled them by magnetism. My expression must not have been pleasant. I put my helmet on as I kept walking, the reflective surface giving me no small comfort, and the sea of ponies parted like I was some sort of messianic figure.

Nothing stood in my way as I retraced my journey and returned to the ship. I took a couple of wrong turns through the narrower portions of the town, but I did not get lost. The morning had bled into the afternoon while I was stuck listening to the problems my arrival had caused. After ensuring that I was not followed, I relieved myself at the edge of the furrow the ship had created. My stream narrowly missed a rabbit that was camouflaged in the dirt. It stopped and watched me until I was finished, then bounded into the forest.

After pulling myself up and into the hangar, I estimated there to be only four or five hours of daylight left. I dragged the scrap I had moved to exit the ship back into its place. I knew it would not stop the ponies if they truly desired entrance, but it gave me a small piece of mind regardless. I walked quickly in the direction of the Cryogenic Chamber Room, and was met in the hallway by a huffing Catherine, who had obviously heard the clanging of my boots. She looked a little pale, but she was not shivering. The thermal clothing from her footlocker evidently provided enough protection from the cold. The submachine gun I left for her was strapped to her hip, as was some sort of radio.

I took my helmet off as she approached.

"Next time you do something that will undoubtedly have lasting effects, can you at least wait for me to wake up first?" Her voice was angry, but her expression was relieved. "I nearly panicked when I woke up and you weren't there. I know you're probably used to acting alone, but your decisions affect me, too."

"Sorry," I replied. "I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I left. I regret not taking you with me."

"You've been gone almost all day, Six. A lot's happened since then. I'd love to know what exactly you got yourself into, but it can wait." Catherine took a deep breath before continuing. "I found a bunch of radios in the Armory. Most of them were busted, but this one was only turned off. I turned it on and got nothing but static, so I went to the edge of the Hangar to get better reception. I got a response on the third broadcast signal. There are other survivors."

I felt eerily calm. "Where?"

"Deep in the forest from what they've told me. They're camped along the edge of a large river, and they've been assaulted every night by... God knows what. Some of the descriptions... I don't know how they're still alive." Catherine handed me the radio from her hip. "I told them everything I knew. The leader of the survivors wanted to speak with you as soon as possible."

I looked at the radio, then back at Catherine. "Did they give a name?"

She swallowed and nodded.

"The leader said his name was One."

/////

I ran to the wall I built.

Some of my brothers-in-arms were still alive. I had almost given up hope. Almost. I was already speaking into the radio while Catherine followed in my wake, struggling to keep pace.

"Unit One, this is Unit Six. Over."

I heard no response, so I repeated myself. A moment of empty silence passed before the radio crackled to life.

"Unit Six, this is Unit One. What is your status? Over."

I inadvertently sighed and leaned my head against the cold steel of the Hangar wall.

"Mental and physical capabilities fully operational. Armour and weaponry fully operational. Over."

"Good to hear you speak, soldier," said the gravelly voice of One. His tone sounded bleak. "We tried breaking Nine out of his chamber, but it didn't go well. The shock killed him. We had to leave you behind. There was no other choice. Over."

Catherine looked at me with wide, concerned eyes. When she opened her mouth to say something, I put a finger over my lips, and she remained silent.

"I understand," I replied. "Who is left? Over."

"Units Two through Five, Nine, and Ten are terminated. Unit Seven is near breaking point. He will crack tonight. Unit Eight has a broken leg. Femur. Not life threatening, but combat effectiveness is reduced." One paused for a few seconds. "Is the woman around? Over."

"No," I said as I looked at Catherine. "Over."

"Tonight is probably our last stand. We ran out of food yesterday. Ammo is nearly depleted. Every night there are more beasts. Wood wolves, great bears, monsters of the dark that cannot be named. It feels like the forest itself is assaulting us with nightmares. We fought valiantly, but we will die here. Wherever here is." He chuckled coldly before adding, "Over."

I glanced at Catherine. Her face was one of shock. Evidently, she had not heard the truth of the situation until I had. There was only one thing to do.

"It's still several hours before nightfall. All vehicles on board are destroyed, but I have access to food and ammunition. Possibly first aid. If you describe the location, I might be able to get directions and provide assistance. What are your orders? Over."

"Leave the dead to their deaths, Six. Over."

I stared at the radio as if it had tried to bite me. "Repeat order. Over."

"I said leave. The dead. To. Their. Deaths. Over."

"Sir—" I began before my finger slipped off the transmitter button. One's voice echoed out.

"I told you never to call me that, Six. All of us are guilty of heinous crimes, and we are numbered to remind us that we are merely tools to be used. We are numbed by the drugs they slip into our food and made to feel invincible by the armour they make us wear and the steroids they inject us with. They take away what makes us human piece by piece. They turn us into unfeeling machines that carry out tasks considered too repulsive for normal soldiers, and we do it without batting an eye. We are the vigilant protectors of our people, dauntless in our willingness to commit the atrocities we are ordered to perform. They say we deserve this, that we brought it upon ourselves, but the truth is... we don't.

"Nobody deserves what we've been through. All of us could have taken the easy way out and chosen death, but we didn't. We chose sacrifice over surrender. We were promised amnesty for our crimes after five years of service, but of course it was never given. They made us forget who we were and why we made the choices we did."

One took a deep breath before continuing.

"She told me about the inhabitants. Alien ponies, she called them. Not hostile. No advanced weaponry. Bandaged her up good as new and didn't ask for anything in return. And you visited them, and came back."

There was a lengthy pause. When he didn't continue, I took it as my turn to speak.

"I did. They created something that allowed me to understand them, but they could not understand me. They said it was only a matter of time before it worked both ways." I pulled out some of my crumpled notes. "They talk like us, have the same basic needs as us. Food, water, shelter. Clean air. Their technology is primitive, but they have ways to compensate. They're concerned about what our arrival means for their civilization. They're frightened of the forest the ship crashed on and the things within it. They only live on the outskirts. They call it the Everfree.

"Over."

"The Everfree. An apt name. When we die, we will be forever free." He sighed. "Six, your orders are as follows.

"Remain where you are and establish good relations with the natives. Do not tell them who you were, what you did, and above all, do not tell them why you did it. Keep them innocent. Do not expose them to our world. Give the dead the respect they deserve.

"Make the woman happy. Make a life for yourselves.

"This is your exoneration, Six. It's been a long time coming. Don't waste it. There is no going back. Live your life to its fullest potential.

"Leave the dead to their deaths. Over and out."

The radio static went dead.

"Come in, Unit One. I repeat, come in, Unit One."

No reply.

I slumped against the wall and slid slowly down until I hit the floor. Catherine sat down beside me, and I felt her head against my shoulder. She was quietly sobbing.

I bowed my head, and for the first time I could remember, I felt tears flow freely.

Chapter Eleven: Known

Unknown

Chapter Eleven: Known

I stood at the edge of the Hangar, looking off into the distance at nothing in particular. The sun was setting in a myriad of colours and provided a stunning backdrop no matter where I stared. I found myself returning to the same spot whenever I needed to gather my wits and appreciate the moment. My commander's words echoed in my thoughts frequently. I did my best to heed them, but there were some aspects of my character that still refused to change. Even being released from duty directly from One's mouth, I had to constantly fight the urge to grab all the weapons I could carry and march blindly into the forest until I found the remains of the Juggernauts, ran out of bullets, or died. There was plenty to do, however.

There were a lot of bodies to burn.

I wanted to perform the rite on the ship; burning them on alien soil felt wrong, but spreading their ashes inside of the ship felt more wrong. I left Nine in his cryo chamber. It was as good as a coffin for the time being. The decimated pieces of the crew inhabiting the Living Quarters were carried out in garbage bags from the cafeteria.

The ponies kept their distance from my earlier outburst -- or the pieces of meat I had been arranging outside for the better part of the day. I only saw the occasional flyer.

Catherine finally gave the all clear as the sun was beginning to set, meaning she couldn't find any more bodies for me to bag up and drag out. Like Rainbow Dash had said, the weather was beginning to turn and the sky was full of clouds, although rain had not come yet. There were a few barrels of cooking oil left intact and I poured them over the remains to ensure they would burn thoroughly. An emergency flare would provide the spark to start the pyre.

We stood in silence for a few minutes. Tears were running down Catherine's cheek, though she wasn't crying.

"Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good," she whispered. "His love... endures forever.” She crossed herself and bowed her head.

More silence.

I ignited the flare and brought it to a small pooling of oil at the base of the funeral pyre.

The pile caught quickly, and soon the remains were ablaze. When the flames reached twenty feet high, I briefly wondered if I used too much oil, but any worry was wiped away by cleansing aura of the fire.

At some point, I realized that Catherine and I were no longer alone.

The farmer Applejack, Lyra, Fluttershy, and Twilight Sparkle were sitting a short distance away from us, also sharing in the fire's mesmerizing presence.

I cleared my throat loud enough for only Catherine to hear me. Her eyes widened when she noticed the ponies.

"Would you like to meet them?"

/////
|
*****
|
/////

"Son... I love you. I love you more than anything else in the world. You are the world... and the world is yours if you want it. You can do anything you have the capacity to conceive. You have the means. You have her support, forever and always. I left you with her because she will always hold your best interests at heart. She will be the only mother you will ever know. It's better that way.

"We are not from this world. This is not our world and we do not belong here, and should never have been brought. The atrocities our race has committed cannot be fully comprehended, even by us. Whatever marks we leave here will never become unmarked. We must remove our presence but this can only happen over time. Memories fade and trees will regrow. The ship will be reclaimed by the earth. The munitions were destroyed with chemicals and magic."

He sighed.

"I'm not asking you to make the same sacrifice that I have. I can't ask you to do that as my son. I'm asking you... to find another way. For their sake. We don't deserve them.

"Do not follow the left path or the right path; make your own.

"I love you son. Be well. Do the right thing."

The recording clicked to a stop. His mother's voice called to him from down the hall.

"Soloman, breakfast!"

He came to the dining room adjacent the kitchen, recording device still in hand, and an uncertain expression on his face.

"Mother?"

She folded the newspaper that she had been reading. "Yes dear?" She glanced at the device, looked away, and then did a double take. The teal fur around her face changed to a deathly white. "Where did you get that?"

"Our doorstep. It was in a wrapped box, like a gift."

"That was no gift," she muttered under her breath. With a sigh, she looked Soloman in the eye. He had never seen such a fierce look.

"How long have you been listening to it?"

"Hours. All of it. I repeated some parts. But I still don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

"How did this happen? Why... why am I here?"

His mother looked at him with a sad smile.

"It all started when I wished upon a star..."

Author's Note

Well.
Here you go.

What am I supposed to write here again?

This was inspired by and written for U||K||OW||. I know that's not your handle anymore but y'know, nostalgia and rose-tint.

Did I rush the ending?

I tried not to. Believe it or not, this was the direction I intended for this story since 2013. Could I do better? Certainly. Will I? Probably not.

Who am I talking to again?

I'm sure most people that started reading this story when it first came out are no longer part of this fandom. I don't know how that makes me feel. Sad, I suppose. Nostalgic.

Oh well. You've read this far.

Now I bid you good day, and good luck with your future endevours.

If you really want to talk, PM me. I may respond via email though.

And yeah, I'm well aware it's been over a year, thanks.