FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

They say that space is the best reminder of one's own mortality. That by stopping and just looking, out into the vast nothingness broken up by stars, one is reminded of their own minusculity. And while they aren't necessarily wrong, one still can't help but look anyway, simply for the beauty and possibility that it holds at the same time. It's all a matter of how you look at it, I guess.

I was doing just that when the signal first picked up- staring out at the void. I had just finished a mission successfully-

_ -it wasn't intentional, I hadn't meant to shoot that tank, I didn't even realize it would blow up like that, it got the job done but I had been trying to avoid killing anyone why couldn't I have just completed the mission without killing why-_

-and was on my way back home. I had set my stasis pod to wake me up every few days so I could do an inventory of my supplies, replenish what was low, make sure the ship was still on course, and so on; so far things had been, for the most part, uneventful.

I was about to head back into stasis when one of my ship's terminals flickered to life, catching my eye. I leaned over to see what had brought it out of hibernation. On the screen simply read

FEED TRANSMISSION ACQUIRED

which meant that a message had been sent from somewhere and I must've unintentionally picked it up with my scanners (which I always kept running to ensure I could not, to the best of my ability, get caught off guard by rebels, slavers, or other mercs). The file was badly corrupted, but I managed to locate the source- a nearby moon.

According to my information, the sector I was in was uninhabited- which raised a red flag for me. I considered my options- I could ignore it and just return home, and not be any worse for wear. I could investigate and potentially help someone, or find supplies that could be used or sold back home. It could even be a trap set by slavers for anyone unlucky enough to end up in their clutches.

The last thought was enough to send shivers up my spine. I had not been a mercenary for long, but I already knew that slavers were bad news. Generally you only messed with them if you had the firepower or experience to back it up- and I had neither. Still, upon checking I knew I had more than enough fuel to allow for a small detour- and if I was cautious enough, I might be able to avoid any potential ambushes.

Several hours later, I found myself touching down on the surface of the unnamed moon. The moon was arid and covered in sandy wasteland, with sparse patches of brush and craggy outcroppings breaking up the otherwise empty landscape. I made sure my protective suit and helmet were secured, with blastgun and compresspack secured to my hips, and slowly lowered down out of my ship.

As my helmet's sensors analyzed the atmosphere, I stared up at the sky, the nearby planet tinted an odd shade of green from my point of view. I was sure the feed signal had originated from this moon- not the planet- but I still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. A soft chime sounded as my sensors finished their analysis, and soon text was scrolling across my faceshield:

Atmosphere comprised of: Perogyn, Solium, Hydroxyl, Hydrogen, Small traces of other elements ** BREATHABLE** ** (WARNING: LIMIT EXPOSURE IF POSSIBLE; MAINTAINED EXPOSURE MAY CAUSE UNSTABLE SIDE EFFECTS FOR THE DURATION OF THE EXPOSURE)**

So I would be able to breathe if need be, barely. I was thankful that Solium seemed to be in high abundance, which would make it easier for my hardened lungs to process the air, but I still planned to keep my helmet on as much as possible- I much rather prefer generated air over taking my chances with the air from an unknown moon.

I slowly began my trek away from my ship, keeping my eyes peeled for anything that would break up the landscape that spread out before me. A small sensor in the corner of my helmet's faceshield pointed me in the direction of the feed origin. The gravity on the surface was heavier than I was accustomed to, and thus my progress was slow at best. I had just been about to turn around and give up on whatever it was that had sent the message, when I saw it.

In the distance rose a small structure, far enough away that I could not discern what it was that I was looking at. It was not until I was much closer that I saw what it really was- a crashed spaceship. As I approached it, I could see that the wreck had been there for a while-

-grime and oil covering it, disgusting, just how long has this ship been here? doubt there were even any survivors-

-and that whatever it had once held was now strewn across the landscape. While the bulk of the ship seemed to still be intact, there were large jagged pieces of metal and various parts scattered all around. I suddenly became very aware of my breathing, measured but loud, as I walked around what appeared to have been a turbine at one time.

At this point, I had decided that what my ship picked up must've been nothing more than an automated system quietly doing its job with no one left to stop it. From the looks of this wreck- not to mention what appears to be an old, dried bloodstain of sorts on one of these pieces of metal- what happened here wasn't pretty, and the likelihood of any of those aboard the ship walking away from it were slim to none.

I paused when I reached the bulk, which I could see now was buried partially in the greenish sand. A series of rungs- a ladder?- were set into the metal, and when I tested one with a hand they showed to be firm still. However, what had caused my hesitation was not the ladder, but rather, what had been branded into the metal to the side of it:

** DYKSTRA**

I recognized the name, of course-

-it's bad luck, very bad luck, the mortal who discovered the emptiness of space, right? he ignored his father and used his technology to reach out to the stars, inevitably dying because he couldn't breathe-

-I'd been told the tales as a young whelp. They had, originally, been used to try and discourage us from ever leaving the planet (ah, how foolish that mindset turned out to be when our planet ended up colonized anyway) and despite losing their initial meaning, were still passed down; why they would name their ship that is beyond me, though. Only someone with a death wish would use a name from a grim legend like that. It raised another question, though:

Had one of the crewmembers of the ship been an Irargian, like myself? How else would they have known the name?

With a shiver, I look away and begin up the ladder, moving slowly to make sure each rung will support me. I can hear each clunk of my boots as I climb, grunting through gritted teeth. The gravity here becomes more problematic when I am actually trying to move upwards, but I am strong enough to pull myself up to the deck above.

I sit for a few minutes, catching my breath. I make a point of avoiding looking at the similar looking stain on the metal here. As I regain my energy, a morbid thought crosses my mind-

-what if the bodies are still inside, I don't want to see that, they've probably decomposed by now though, but still-

-and I consider just going back down and back to my ship once more. The longer I stay here, the more my unease grows. However, I eventually shake it off and get up to continue.

I've come this far and at the very least, I should disable the beacon so no one else comes to find a dead end like this. While I doubt there is anything of worth inside, it still couldn't hurt. My suit's breathing tanks are still plenty full, and the prospect of more credits in my pocket never hurts.

To my surprise, the door I come to slides open silently, the room beyond darkened but with glowing lights indicating power. I slowly reach a hand onto the hilt of my blastgun, just to be safe, and creep inside. The door shuts just as silently behind me, and with a low hum the room lights up, flickering now and then and casting everything in a pale, highly contrasting light.

I notice on my faceshield's screen that my sensors are processing the air inside- something must be generating a different type of air than what is outside. Most likely it will be, for the most part, comprised of an element breathable by most of the crew, for comfort and convenience. The results come back much quicker than the outside air:

STABLE, BREATHABLE, NO SIDE EFFECTS

So while I am inside, I do not have to rely on my breathing tanks. After a moment's pause, the faceshield on my helmet slowly raises, sliding into the helmet itself with a clicking noise. The air is heavy, hot, and I can smell- and taste- a slight metallic texture to it; familiar but not placeable. However, it is indeed breathable, and I let out a soft sigh of relief.

With that out of the way, I slowly examine my surroundings and come to the realization that it is what appears to be the ship's bridge. Several of the terminals are destroyed, but enough of them seem to simply be in hibernation. I reach over to the nearest one, its screen coming to life silently under my gloved claw.

The screen shows what appear to be diagnostics, but they are all frozen- unchanging from what I can only assume to be the moment of impact-

-wait, that date, that's several sectors ago! This ship didn't crash here that long after all! But why does it look like it's been here for several quads, that makes no sense-

-and then I freeze, my body going rigid with icy tendrils creeping down the spines on my back, hand still held against the terminal screen.

I have heard a noise coming from the next room.

I stay as silent as I can, standing very, very still, and listen- above the dull hum of the terminals and the barely controlled tempo of my breathing. My pulse is racing and the silence extends for what feels like a millennia.

There! A noise again, from the other room. What sounded like a cough of some kind. My blastgun is out of its strap and in my hand instinctively, and I hold it, trying my hardest not to let my arm tremble-

-a survivor? another person lured here by the wiles of the siren that was the ship's beacon? who is it oh god I should get out of here I wasn't prepared for this ja'she shek-

-and tentatively approach the door through which the source of the noise came from. As I do so, my faceshield lowers once more, masking my profile and preparing my visuals for combat.

The door slides open with a hiss, and I cringe, failing to keep my gun hand from trembling. Holding it with both hands to keep it steady, I slink into the next room. It is dark in here, very dark, and unlike the last room the lights do not come up at my presence. I cannot see to the other end of the room- it seems longer, with a partial divider cutting the long room in half- but a quick sweep of my eyes show that whatever caused the noise was not in my half.

My eyes settle on an unfamiliar smear at my feet, but I do not reach down to touch it. It seems fresher than the stains I saw outside. I take a moment to mentally prepare myself and am about to walk forward towards the partition when-

"State your business at once. Take another step forward, and it will be your last."

The voice cuts through the air, shattering the silence. It is rough and masculine, without a trace of emotion to it at all. I cannot place the source, and while I keep my head level, my eyes- shielded by my helmet- dart around frantically. I mutter a hurried prayer to the powers that be, and attempt to not let my fear show in my voice.

"I came because of the feed signal- when I saw the ship I t-thought that no one s-survived."

So much for my attempts.

"So you thought you could just take what was left, is that it? Pick dry what remains there were? You're a scavenger, then?"

I shake my head automatically before realizing he probably cannot even see it. My gun is still raised, but trembling harder now, my heart racing.

"I-I didn't know what to expect and didn't have any plans until I saw what was here- I swear. L-Look, I'll just leave if you'd rather that, just...p-please don't kill me."

I slowly lower my weapon and slide it into the holster at my hip before raising my claws slowly-

-cowardly, I'm pathetic, it'd probably serve me right anyway, what the hell was I thinking coming here, I should've just not landed on this moon in the first place-

-and close my eyes, waiting for my inevitable end. My whole body flinches as a sharp, booming noise echoes around the room, startling me. It takes me a moment to realize what it is; laughter.

"Of all the things I thought you could be," the voice says, coughing again wetly before continuing, "I didn't expect to encounter someone so farking green! How old are you, kid? I'd have thought the first thing they taught you was to never lower your weapon until you know it's worth it!"

I stand still, stunned, shame slowly creeping over me as the voice continues to laugh before hacking and spiting.

"I guess you won't be any harm, then, but don't try anything- I've still got my eye on you. Come forward- slowly."

I take a deep breath and slowly, shakily walk forward, my footsteps echoing. I walk through whatever is smeared on the floor and find myself passing the partition. Once through that, I begin to make out what is in the other half of the room. In the dim light, a figure sits in a large, commanding chair.

I can make out snatches of features- curved ears, broad muzzle, bulky frame- but other details are lost to me. The figure slowly pulls off something that had been covering his eyes, and the room slowly brightens some. It is still dim, but I begin to make out more. Especially the large, threateningly visceral gun he has pointed straight at my chest- its jagged curves offset by a few glowing strips. I do not for a moment doubt its potency when it comes to maiming- or murdering.

"If you would be so kind, please place that tiny little weapon of yours on the ground in front of you, and then remove your helmet so I can see what I'm dealing with."

Nervously, I reach down, sliding my weapon out of its holster and crouching down to place it on the floor before me. Pausing, I slowly hit a button on my arm. A clicking noise echoes around the room, breaking the silence that had fallen. I reach up and slowly pull my helmet off completely.

The harsh, acrid taste of the air hits my nose like a bullet and I can't help but cover my nostrils, gagging softly. This place reeks of death and blood, and I feel my stomach turn. I place the helmet next to my gun and stand up, breathing inefficiently through my mouth as I glare at the figure.

"D-Did something die in here, or what?" I manage, cringing again as my voice still betrays my unease.

"The last person to find this ship, in fact," he responds, nonplussed. "Shot him right over there, in fact. You probably saw the blood. Don't think I'll hesitate to shoot you, either- you might be harmless, but don't think because I can't walk doesn't mean I can't fight back."

I notice the smeared bloodstain continues in here, leading over to a door in the wall to my right. However, a second color is more prominent on the floor here- and that's when I see it.

"He destroyed your leg?!" I ask in horror.

The source of the dark, blueish blood is the man himself. I can make out where one of his legs just simply ends, with a small piece of tech strapped to the end of it- a yellow light signifying how much power it has left. I vaguely recognize the machine-

-stops the blood flow, temporary fix, so much blood, used for when they have to amputate, if only I hadn't been in the infirmary when they'd cut him up-

-and at the foot of where he sits, I can see more of his blood.

"No...he didn't destroy it. You cut it off...didn't you?"

I look up at him again, and I can see his yellow eyes regarding me, their glow striking against his inverted sclera. His whiskers twitch as he coughs again before responding.

"That's right. That farking waste didn't go down as easily as I'd thought- he managed to get a shot in with this-" he lifts the gun he is holding, for emphasis- "before he finally went down for good. Which would've been treatable, if it weren't for the fact he'd cooked up a back of poisoned ammo beforehand."

He spit again, and I realized that what he was spitting was his own blood. A shudder ran through my body.

"So you...cut your own leg off? To keep the poison from killing you?"

He nodded solemnly, before slowly lowering the weapon and placing it at his side.

"I did. Didn't end up working, as I'm pretty sure some of it got into the rest of my system, but at least it didn't kill me outright. Managed to drag his corpse out of here and throw it off the ship before the fake leg they'd had in the med bay gave out on me.

"Now I just got to wait and see which kills me first- the poison or the blood loss." He let out a laugh at that, but was quickly overcome with coughing once more.

When he had regained his composure, he eyed me up and down once more. "From your appearance I'm going to take a shot and guess you're from Irarg, am I right?"

I nod, cautiously. Our appearance is rather striking, I will confess, but our planet- and species- has managed to return to being under the radar after the excitement of the initial discovery and colonization of our planet wore off. My hand still covers my nostrils, but I can slowly feel my senses adjusting to the heavy scent of blood in the air. "I am. Born and raised."

He nods, before sitting up painfully slowly. "You got a name or what? I can't exactly refer to ya' as 'you' or 'him', you know."

This makes me pause. "A minute ago you were ready to shoot me. Why should I give you my name?"

He grins, and I can see his yellowed teeth glint in the low light. "I can still shoot you, faster than you can pick up that little piece of crap you call a gun."

I mull it over before shrugging. "Dresdyn. Dresdyn Vondrasek. If I might ask, how do you know I'm from Irarg; have you seen one of us before?"

He pauses at this, before slowly smirking. "You could say that." He motions for me to come closer. "I won't bite, you know- why don't you come sit over here?" He motions at a chair nearby, much smaller than the one he's on.

I frown before slowly moving towards it, still giving him a berth. "You won't bite, but you'll shoot. I'd take a bite over a bullet any day."

He laughs at this, before coughing and spitting. I examine the chair, which seems harmless aside from a rather thick layer of dust.

"Never used it myself, sorry," he says, catching my look.

I gingerly sit, hoping none of the dust gets into my suit, and look at him. "Are you going to give me your name in return, or is that priveledged information?"

"Press Conine," he says, scowling. "That's no way to talk to a dying man, son." He holds the scowl for a second before breaking out into another gutteral laugh-

-maybe he's gone insane from the blood loss, or from the isolation, or both, should I even be here, I'm in danger, I should just run, but what if he shoots me-

-before shaking his head.

"So what are you, if I may ask, if you aren't a scavenger? You don't look more than a day past being a whelp, and since no one else seems to be around, I'm guessing you're on your own."

I frown, realizing by now I should have lied and said there was someone else back at the ship-

-but then he might force me to take him with me, and then he'd find I was lying, and maybe shoot me and steal my ship-

-but sigh and rub my arm instead.

"I'm a mercenary. Bounty hunting, excavation of items, odd jobs- whatever I'm given or asked to do."

He regards me with an unreadable look. "You? A merc? Not likely. A rookie is what you are, kid. How many missions have you even finished, anyway?"

"I-I've finished plenty!" I retort, glaring at him. "I'm even on my way back from one!" I did my best to look tough, but I knew my solid blue eyes just were not capable of looking 'fierce'.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "So you've finished one. I guess I can give you credit for not getting yourself killed yet. Trust me kid, it's clear as day how green you are. Just give up trying to fake it and focus on saving your own hide."

I huff and look away. After a silence falls for a few minutes, I turn back to face him. The feline has been watching me, unmoving.

"So how did this ship crash, anyway? This isn't exactly the most populated part of space, you know."

He sighs and looks away at that. "Engine failure or something, I dunno. I was just part of security, I wasn't in charge of keeping track of something. All I know is the ship crashed and I was the only one who survived because I'd been in stasis at the time." He waves a hand at that, and I get the impression he won't talk any further about what happened.

"So I guess you took the bodies out like you did the last guy, right?"

Press frowns and nods, staring away still. "Yeah...yeah I did. I gave them a proper burial too." He looks back and sighs, before smiling and tilting his head.

"So, tell me- why are you a merc? What's in it for you?"

It's obvious he's changing the subject now, but I concede instead of pressing the issue- after all, I'm pretty sure he lost people he cared about in the crash and it's probably a sore subject with him.

"I guess it's because of something my father said to me. He was the only one who raised me- mom died while giving birth- and he always told me growing up that he wanted me to do whatever I thought was best, as long as it would make me happy. I always wanted to leave Irarg and see the rest of the verse, even as a kid."

"He left when I was still in academy- no explanation, no left note. He just vanished. I still passed and made it in, but..." I look away, frowning as familiar doubts creep into the back of my head-

-he's probably dead anyway, what am I even doing out here? Was this the wrong choice after all? Why do I even bother, what's the point, I'm never going to find h-

"-but I mean...that's what doing this is about, right? Going to new places, seeing the sights, finding new things..." I say, realizing I'd paused for far too long. I look up at Press, who nods slowly.

"That's right. You're young, you've still got a whole life waiting for you. Just don't rush into things." He sighs and sits back in his chair, and I can hear his labored breathing from here.

"Tell me about Irarg. I've never been myself."

And so I tell him, of our planet and its mountains and crags; with clouded skies of red and sprawling savannahs. Of our villages where we lived, isolated from the rest of the verse. Of the city built by colonists, where the technology seemed almost like magic. The city where I was born and the village where I was raised. The spaceport I will always call home.

As I finish, I see he has closed his eyes, and were it not for the slow rise and fall of his chest, one would think he had already passed. A clicking noise catches my attention, and I look to see the light on the tech on his leg has turned red.

Danger. Your time is up- you're a goner.

I slowly get up from the dusty chair, brushing my suit off. I figure that while he's asleep I can explore the rest of the ship, see if there's anything worth salvaging after all. However, before I leave, I quickly reach over and pick up the gun he had laid to the side of his chair-

-I don't like him threatening me like that, I don't like being threatened, now with this I can just leave, why am I still here-

-and, with it attached to my holster, I walk over the bloodstained threshold and into the next room.

The door closes behind me with a whirr. I am in a hallway, the greenish blood smears leading to a door at the far end.

Yeah, I'm going to save that door for last, I think to myself, instead entering the room immediately to my left. I quickly find myself in a stairwell, but the stairs have been destroyed- the lower decks of the ship are not accessible. Hardly surprising. I turn away, doing my best to ignore the discomforting stains down below, and leave the room.

The rooms, for the most part, turn out to be ship-wide commodities like a mess hall (tables helter skelter, empty of any food), a lounge-like area (the sight of the stained furniture and heavy scent of bile and blood makes me retch, and I stagger out of that room as fast as I can), and even a holodeck room (destroyed completely).

Soon, there are only two doors left. I take the door set into the very end of the hallway, leaving the bloodstained door to my right for last. I soon realize I am in the captain's quarters.

The air here is much more breathable- probably preserved since this place seems completely untouched. A layer of dust covers the room, including the open stasis tube in the corner. His desk is empty, all the objects scattered about on the floor-

-probably from the wreck, looks like most are shattered, what even is some of this stuff?-

-but a glint catches my eye. Among the papers and wreckage of his desk lies what appears to be a pin of sorts. I reach down, picking it up and examining it. When I recognize what the symbol is, my veins run icy cold.

It is a small bird-like creature- a picacys. Named after the father, Picacys, in the Dystrata legend, and symbolic of the father's loss of his son. I have never seen this symbol off-planet- not once. Which must mean...

"...the captain was an Irargian," I finish aloud, frowning. Which would explain why Press knew I was from the planet. I slowly bow my head in reverence, saying a prayer under my breath that the captain found peace in his passing.

When I raise my head, I examine the room in a different light. I begin to collect anything recoverable, including papers and books. On Irarg, when one of our own passes, we archive their posessions and knowledge- so that their memory may live on; that their death would not be in vain.

I do not know this man, nor do I know which village he is from, but it would be a disgrace to leave his essence behind on this abandoned moon. I do not process what I pack, as there will be time for that on the trip back home. Soon I have collected all that I could, and, with one more blessing, I leave his quarters respectfully.

I pause before the final door, which has smears of blood on the door itself in addition to the trails leading under it. I find myself tempted to just leave this alone- it is probably nothing more than another way out, where he threw the bodies out of the ship- and should not be worth my time. But something inside of me will not let me leave, especially now that I know the captain of this ship was one of my own. I must honor his passing with a prayer- it would be only right.

Nothing could've prepared me for what I found beyond.

The smell was the first thing to hit me- I recoiled at once and turned away, retching once again. I muttered a quick blessing that I had already emptied my stomach in a previous room, and covered my nostrils as best I could. The room reeked of death and gore, and it took all I had to turn around and look inside once more.

I had been wrong about it being another way out of the ship. It had, in fact, at one time served as a medbay, according to the words on the shattered glass to my left. But it seemed to have become something else- a graveyard.

Resting in most of the stasis tubes were corpses. Most of them were in various levels of decay and disembowelment- Internal organs and flesh poured out of their gaping wounds and limbs were missing completely; their poor bodies destroyed beyond any level of recognition.

Despite most being...stored, almost, in the stasis tubes, the smell was enough to put me off looking at them for longer than need be. I knew I would never be able to unsee the horrific viscera before me.

The first thing that struck me as odd was the lack of actual blood in the room- while there was plenty inside the stasis tubes, of course, the room itself was surprisingly clean. In fact, the only blood I could see outside of the stasis tubes came from the only corpse atop a gurney- the person who'd tried to kill Press, judging from the blood leading up to the gurney.

I shakily stepped closer to get a look at who he had been. I could not recognize the species, but judging by the mandibles on his face and the bulk of his body, I would not have wanted to. That was when I noticed the second odd thing- one of his limbs was missing as well. The other bodies could've been mangled in the crash, sure-

-but why put them in the stasis tubes why not just throw them off the ship like he'd said, why did he mutilate these bodies, ja'peth ma don't tell me-

-it seemed like this had been done recently- and intentionally. I dared not get too close- my head was already swimming from the smell of the room- but I could see that the wound had leaked greenish blood matching the smears leading to the room. So he'd brought the body in here and then cut one of its' arms off...why?

I grimly turned to leave the room, my mind burning with questions, when I saw something I'd missed on first inspection of the room. A stasis tube holding a corpse that, at first glance, seemed unharmed. I frowned, walking slowly over to it, prepared to leave if I was wrong. However, I turned out to be both right and wrong.

This corpse was unharmed in that he had not been mutilated or, in fact, damaged at all. I could tell he was dead, however, from a wound in his upper torso- where he had been shot, I guessed- that didn't seem fresh at all. The rest of his body mirrored one I had seen myself on a regular basis- for it was the body of the Irargian captain himself, his dark solid body a similar shade to my own.

I bowed my head in reverence, and recited my village's passing rites I had memorized as a child (like all children did)- and hoped that his spirit would find peace in the after. I opened my eyes when I had finished. When I looked at his face, however, my stomach dropped-

-no no no no i'm wrong i have to be wrong no-

-and I bolted. Through the door, slamming my shoulder against it in my rush to get out, my footsteps clattering as I ran down the hall, the weapon I had grabbed already in my hands and primed.

" PRESS!!!" I roared as I burst through the final door, the wicked rifle raised and pointed directly at the dying spacer. He had awakened while I was gone, and gingerly stat up in his chair, a smirk on his face.

"Well, this is... certainly inspired..." he choked out, grinning as a trickle of blood leaked out of his muzzle and down his chin.

"What did you do to the bodies?!" I barked out at him, gun still raised, pointed directly at his head. "What kind of sick kas'yk are you?"

He chuckled, closing his eyes and weakly shaking his head. "The kind that survives, kid."

I jabbed the gun, my teeth gritted painfully. "That doesn't explain anything! Why the hell would you...why?!"

Press looked at me, his yellow eyes glowing and his smirk gone. "Because this wasn't supposed to happen- I wasn't supposed to be stranded like this. And let me tell you, having most of your ship's storage destroyed in the crash doesn't make survival any easier."

His words make no sense until something clicks in my head and my stomach lurches. "Y-You...d-don't...tell me-"

"-Yeah, I'm a monster, go ahead and crucify me. You know nothing of what it takes to survive. You're just some snot-nosed farking kid whose pants are too big for his body who hasn't even had a taste of what it's like out in the real world."

He spits, almost for emphasis, his words snarled and slurred slightly. "I bet you didn't even mean to complete your mission, did you? You probably just got lucky- what, did they just surrender or commit suicide or something instead? Wouldn't surprise me."

I scream at him, hands trembling and gun shakily still pointed, "Shut up! That doesn't excuse the fact you butchered these people! What kind of sick person does that to his own crewmates?! What kind of person...y-you..!"

He scoffs. "What kind of person? The person that survives. Course, it looks like even that didn't work out, but it was a good try." He glares at me, almost daringly. "So ahead, shoot me. See if I care."

I stare at him in disbelief, eyes widening-

-is this guy really insane? What the hell, why is he, no no no stop it he's just trying to get in my head, non no nono-

-but then he moves, faster than I thought possible, reaching at his side for something and before I know it I've pulled the trigger-

-no no no no nonon ononon no I don't want to die here-

-and the first round hits him in the face, tearing a gash through his cheek, his blood spraying-

-the next one hits his shoulder and he grunts in pain, flinching and dropping the gun I'd put on the floor earlier-

-no no no no how'd he get that no nonono he lied to me no-

-and I'm screaming, firing again and again and again and I don't even know if I'm hitting him, eyes clenched shut and tears streaming down my face, and I can feel blood dripping in my mouth where I have bitten one of my tongues-

-and then silence, ringing in my ears, my finger clicking the trigger pointlessly. The gun is empty. I continue to pull it again and again, choking on my own blood and spit and tears, until my legs give out on me and I slump to my knees, shaking.

I cannot even look at his body for more than a second before I retch, vomiting dryly. I bolt once more, once my legs are working again, and I do not even register picking up my helmet from the floor before I am out, out of that room, out of the ship, out out out out out

I nearly go over the edge but catch myself, climb down, slipping and falling when a rung gives out but picking myself up and then I'm running, running as fast as I can over the sand, not seeing what's in front of me, just getting as far as I can away from his body and that yellowed grin he had on his face as he died as I shot him as I killed him as I murdered as I survived

My vision is blurring and it's getting harder to breathe and I can hear, seemingly off in the distance, my suit alarms going off and an automated voice telling me to limit exposure to the moon's air but I keep running, running, running until I find myself at my ship

And it is here that I collapse, barely pulling my helmet on as I scream until my voice gives out, as I cry for myself and for the crewmates of the ship, lost to an early grave at the hands of him, as I cry for my father, now lost twice to me, for my weakness, for my fear, for my failure, for my survival. For my future.

I do not remember pulling myself into my ship. I do not remember starting the ship up. I do not remember sliding into my stasis tube. I remember continuing to cry, the pin gripped tightly in my claw, thankful briefly for the dreamless sleep that stasis will bring me. I know, deep down, that I will always see that grin the mad, disturbed spacer gave me as I killed him, and that I left a part of myself back on that ship, in that room where his corpse will lay.

I will read the journals and study the papers and items later, after I awake once more, properly processing the last few things of my prodigal father- laid to rest at last on an uninhabited planet. Mementos of the ending of his life...and the beginning of my own.