A flash of memory showing the look of surprise on his face pulls a feral grin as I shadow an equally repellent enemy.
Its progression is slow, its senses dulled by the crash, but any slip-up on my part might be fatal.
I close the distance, every fiber of my being screaming with an urge to start running toward him, but I suppress it.
Just as I reach striking distance, I lunge.
My makeshift blade finds its mark, plunging deep into the bastard's slimy side. The creature lets out a surprised screech, a sound that is both wet and high-pitched.
It thrashes around, sending tendrils of slime flying, but the shard of glass holds, doing me the favor of capitalizing on the erratic movement to rip at more mucous-covered flesh.
With a last heave, I push my weight against the creature, sending it crashing back onto the rocky ground. Its thrashing slowly ceases, and a little while later, its body slowly turns a sickly shade of light gray and melts.
Heart hammering in my chest, I kneel beside the creature, my breath ragged. My first nonhuman kill.
The boys are never going to believe it.
I let out a breathy laugh from the remnant adrenaline in my system, and with a smile wide enough to give my military assigned shrink reason enough to write up a report, I pull the glass dagger out of the dead alien puddle with a satisfying squelching sound and gingerly set it aside.
The alien isn't wearing any clothes, but it has a pouch strapped to its back brimming with stuff I can use.
A pouch that is covered with the same viscous pink mucous all over.
Revulsion wars with pragmatism as I reach for it. Sure enough, the bag itself is slick with mucus, but I grit my teeth and unfasten it.
Inside, I find a collection of unfamiliar items—some kind of food bar, a canteen filled with a viscous blue liquid that is hard to look at, even though some unknown instinct tells me that my system should be able to accommodate it now.
My eyes fall on the highlight of this haul.
A weapon. A ridged, bulky, multi-barreled firearm lays nestled at the bottom.
I heft it tentatively; these weren't designed with primates in mind. A clip of metallic cartridges sits beside it.
Not ideal, but it'll have to do.
The slime's melee weapon is a serrated blade dripping with the same sickening ooze, which feels alien and repulsive in my hand.
It goes back into the bag.
I could keep it around as a trophy or maybe even a last-ditch weapon, but it's not a tool I want to use.
With a deep breath, I secure the bag over my shoulder, the weight grounding me.
This isn't the sleek, high-tech ship I'd been on when I talked to Ree.
Was that yesterday? A fucking decade ago?
No clue.
This is a hostile world, one where I am completely alone. That's nothing new. I've been that way since they forced my retirement. Just the same shit show in a new place.
Except...
A faint hum resonates from a control panel behind me, barely perceptible.
My head snaps up, a spark of hope igniting. Maybe there is a way to salvage some information.
Some clues as to where we landed and how this happened.
