What Comes As Expected Is Unexpected

2558 - Sanghelios
A host of lights danced across the dashboard. A mix of reds and oranges, all indicating a system-wide failure; the thrusters were blown to bits, a significant portion of the hull was about to collapse, and most gravely, life support was about to go out. If a Condor were in freefall in any atmosphere, it would probably survive, but not after it had been attacked by a squadron of Banshees. This was definitely not a good situation for the dropship and its pilot.
Despite being strapped in and wearing a pilot's helmet, Omar Wright very much doubted he would survive the impact. His hands travelled up and down the dashboard, pushing buttons, pulling levers, and swiping or tapping at several holographic interfaces. He was attempting his best to keep the thing from veering off course. This worked for several minutes, watching clouds come by out the cockpit window, eventually seeing land manifest. A long stretch of desert that spread as far as the eye could see.
Oh, fuck, if I don't die upon impact, the heat's definitely going to.
He decided to close his eyes and simply wait for the end. He removed his hands, tucking his arms against his chest in an X shape. He felt the shaking of the Condor gradually intensify. He could even hear the cargo in the aft section, which was just strapped to the floor, smacking against the walls and ceiling. To add to the cacophony, a multitude of more alarms started blaring all around him. He couldn't tell where, and he didn't care. Personally, he believed it would be a long time before anyone found out he was missing, which meant he would be a corpse baking in the sun.
It reached the point of no return when the Condor started veering off in a random direction. Omar felt the ship gradually spin, and the freefall was so intense that he felt his body beginning to float, if ever so slightly. He was still strapped to the seat, for the most part. Regardless, this was a first.
He knew this part of the alien homeworld. Qivro, if his memory served him correctly. He decided to open his eyes just to confirm. When he did, the land had become much more detailed. He could make out a vast mountain range, and, well, that was it. He was quite close to hitting the ground, prompting him to immediately shut his eyes.
The shaking, the noise, the anticipation—he couldn't take it anymore.
Suddenly and all at once, his body shuddered, he felt himself be ripped from his seat, and he heard the cockpit window shattering.
Then there was darkness.
For a moment, Omar was nothing. He could neither think nor feel anything. He was in a state of non-existence. Yet somehow, he possessed some kind of awareness of his state. Or some kind of self-perception. Whatever it is, it was just strange. And before he knew it, he was back to reality.
The pilot's eyes slowly cracked open, an assortment of new sensations assaulting his senses: a dull headache, pain in his limbs, and, when he finally realised it, an impending sense of dread. He could hear movement outside and what sounded like chatter. Non-human voices.
The sudden rush of fear enabled Omar to ignore the pain and slowly rise up into a sitting position, blinking away the dizziness. There was no time to be surprised that he had survived a crash landing, but he was thankful. First, he examined himself, his eyes darting up and down his form. His uniform appeared rough and tattered in some places; a piece of his helmet lied on the floor; and the only injury he had sustained was, well, fuck, a twisted elbow. He tried moving it, only to realise that it was trapped in twisted safety straps. Somehow, it got caught.
Proceeding to check his surroundings, he realised his chair had been ripped off from the ground. At this angle, he could tell the Condor was on its side, as was the chair. He managed to flip it over onto its back, grunting as metal met metal. He was quick to fumble with the straps and, surprisingly, free himself. The voices he heard outside were now inside, and they were close. He could hear muffled footsteps beyond the cockpit door, which was thankfully closed. He scrambled onto his feet, his weak knees forcing him to semi-crouch. He sauntered his way to the only item he knew that hadn't been jostled around like a handful of dice in the shaking hand of a gambler eager to win.
Just as he reached it, the door was forced open. The metal frames screeched until they were wide open, allowing for more than one stranger to enter the cockpit. Omar panicked and whipped around, his presumed assailants meeting the barrel of an M9 Sidekick. Of course, it paled in comparison to the several plasma carbines carried by the half-dozen Elite warriors spread out before him.
Immediately, the alien warriors all raised their carbines in unison, faster enough that Omar's finger didn't reach the trigger in time. He let out a sigh, slowly lowering his good arm, which he held the pistol in. And then he dropped it onto the floor, the arm returning upward in a half-gesture of surrender.
I'm certain I look pathetic to these guys.
The Sangheili kept their weapons drawn, their aim unwavering. They started talking among each other, indiscernible words and worts flying back and forth. Things had quickly gotten heated. While they argued, the pilot noticed they weren't Swords as he had initially thought. They were armed and were wearing armour, yes, but it didn't look military-grade.
He also noticed that one of the Elites was silent. He was staring at Omar, his carbine pointed at the floor. The others gradually calmed down and began filing out of the room, apparently getting the message. Well, whatever that message was.
"Follow, human. You will not be harmed." The alien said simply, being the last to exit the cockpit.
Omar, after a moment's hesitation, decided to follow suit. He sauntered out of the cockpit, through a ruined aft with a massive hole in its left wall, along with seeing scattered debris and cargo, and finally he was outside. The blistering heat practically stung his skin. He raised his good arm to shield his eyes from the sun, taking in his surroundings. The first thing that stood out to him was the small crowd of Elites. They appeared to be peasants of sorts, dressed in a variety of garb. They all looked at him as though he were an alien, which was true.
"Our village is not too far. Come, human, it is clear you need somewhere to stay... and to hide, it seems." The Elite from before approached from the side, drawing Omar's attention.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
To be continued...
Category:The Weekly