Thread: The Land Where Monsters Come From

Incorporating elements of the alien technology into one of their own fighters had been the capstone of the victory. Moving past most of the fleet and striking at the Core Ship had been a great risk. Earth Command wasn't even sure if what it would do to the invaders, but they had been desperate and this was a last ditch plan, since the invaders were now able to threaten the homeworld, Earth itself. The fighter had made its way through the Core Ship, blasting numerous alien fighters and small anti-fighter ships of larger classes, and managed to the heart of it, the AI Core. It was a desperate battle that had taken all of Rafe's skill at flying and familiarity with his ship, even with the alien technology it was barely a victory. But without the AI Core to control the autonomous functions, the power source of the ship went critical, destroying a number of other alien ships, and the destruction of the Core Ship left the rest of the alien fleet disorganized and unable to coordinate actions. Rafe had made a mad dash to escape the blast. He had rocketed his ship through corridors, tight spaces, and simply plowed through any ships that tried to stop him. He used every ounce of energy in his ship to try and get clear of the blast, but he was caught in the wake of the blast, his ship dragged by it while withstanding pressures and friction that the ship wasn't supposed to take. Broken and battered, his ship was now adrift, the engines damaged beyond any possible repair. Rafe launched an external camera from the ship and slowly began to make a visual survey to match the diagnostics he had ran. The ship was trashed. Communications, engines, weapons, almost everything was gone, it was a wonder the ship was able to keep him alive. Rafe stared into a reflective surface, slowly taking his helmet off. Long silvery hair, bright green eyes, he was still young, with the beauty of young on his face. That youth gave him the reflexes necessary to do the task he had just done. He managed to use every bit of his knowledge of flight mechanics and engineering to slow his flight, since the blast had sent him careening away from Earth and all that he knew and all he could do was slow it. He was still drifting. But things were about to get much worse. Much worse. Micro stress fractures in the super-strong omni-glass that covered the front of his cockpit were growing. Clear cracks in the glass were growing visible and slowly making a spiderweb of fractures across the glass. Oh my God... He muttered out as it grew and that got louder and more visible. This is it. This was the end. A hero for his race and now this was the end of his short young life. The only thing that ran through his head was his Emergency Training. There was little one could do against the vacuum of space. The cosmic radiation, the micro particles traveling at hypersonic speeds, the raw lack of oxygen. Twelve seconds, that's how long he'd stay conscious. Then he'd sleep from lack of air and his brain would slowly shut down. There were certainly other effects on the body, unpleasant ones, but the brain death from lack of air is what killed you. He remembered the shattering of the glass and then the sound of the air being sucked out of the cockpit as he struggled for his helmet. He shut his eyes tightly as his training commanded. But after that, his consciousness faded. The only clear memory after that was the feeling of the air being sucked right out of his lungs, and the intense pain from exposure to raw, open, empty outer space.