It's hot. It's so goddamn hot. Yesterday was hot, today was hot, tomorrow - if he lived that long - would be hot. The nights were cold as balls, but he was just glad he got to live through them, because by all accounts now he should have been dead. The excavation crew certainly was, long since gone and slaughtered, and Tucker was the last, a stupid ambassador that had a responsibility to aliens and to humans both.
You know, since he was in between.
Tucker sat just inside the door of the desert alien temple, helmet hanging from his fingers. It was cooler to keep it on, but he wanted the fresh air even if it was stale here. On the wall, small little lines - four vertical and one diagonal cutting through them - were clustered in dozens, beside a Tucker was here, motherfuckers crudely sketched into the rock. He had been here a long, long time, long after the ration bars ran out, but good thing the assholes outside had enough to "share" before he had to resort to space rats or some shit.
Whatever, that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the echoing silence, the way he had pleaded over the goddamn airwaves for hours, for days, for weeks and no one got back to him. The way he had laughed a little at the beginning, made jokes, and those dwindled away to fear, to desperation.The way not one gave a shit. The way no one followed up, not even Church, or the reality that Caboose hadn't stumbled over him yet with that stupid fucking luck of his.
There was no one. It was pretty sad when the only people talking to you either threatened to blow your head off or was just yourself. And loneliness could break down the strongest of support beams.
He hated being alone, he realized. He fucking hated it, that people hadn't fucking cared enough to help him, hadn't even fucking thought of him--
Sand got into the worst places, too.
God, he was so fucking over the goddamn desert. It was bullshit, utter goddamn bullshit, and no one was coming. No one was fucking coming, no one was ever coming because they had all abandoned him. Assholes. Goddamn assholes, the government, the aliens, his teammates. The sword lit up in his hand as he shook it out, the helmet back on.
He was going to die in here anyway. Might as well go out like a bad ass and take as many of those assholes with their fancy ass turrets and big machines as he could, right?
The temple shook as he heard a round hit the door. Deep breath.
The Desert
You know, since he was in between.
Tucker sat just inside the door of the desert alien temple, helmet hanging from his fingers. It was cooler to keep it on, but he wanted the fresh air even if it was stale here. On the wall, small little lines - four vertical and one diagonal cutting through them - were clustered in dozens, beside a Tucker was here, motherfuckers crudely sketched into the rock. He had been here a long, long time, long after the ration bars ran out, but good thing the assholes outside had enough to "share" before he had to resort to space rats or some shit.
Whatever, that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the echoing silence, the way he had pleaded over the goddamn airwaves for hours, for days, for weeks and no one got back to him. The way he had laughed a little at the beginning, made jokes, and those dwindled away to fear, to desperation.The way not one gave a shit. The way no one followed up, not even Church, or the reality that Caboose hadn't stumbled over him yet with that stupid fucking luck of his.
There was no one. It was pretty sad when the only people talking to you either threatened to blow your head off or was just yourself. And loneliness could break down the strongest of support beams.
He hated being alone, he realized. He fucking hated it, that people hadn't fucking cared enough to help him, hadn't even fucking thought of him--
Sand got into the worst places, too.
God, he was so fucking over the goddamn desert. It was bullshit, utter goddamn bullshit, and no one was coming. No one was fucking coming, no one was ever coming because they had all abandoned him. Assholes. Goddamn assholes, the government, the aliens, his teammates. The sword lit up in his hand as he shook it out, the helmet back on.
He was going to die in here anyway. Might as well go out like a bad ass and take as many of those assholes with their fancy ass turrets and big machines as he could, right?
The temple shook as he heard a round hit the door. Deep breath.
Time to go to war.