Chapter 1: Mud Bug

A sensation of plunging in to deep, cold water. Darkness everywhere, like tumbling out an airlock into the void of space. Pok's body convulses, lungs burn, and chest tightens. No, not tightening. That sensation of cold water closes in, envelopes, then, constricts. Pok realizes that he is being crushed by the water around him. The numbing fingers of the cold claw their way into his body. His flesh begins to freeze while his lungs scream fire for air. In his desperation, he throws his arms blindly outward, as if to shove away the amalgam of sensations.

Pok launches off his chest with a violent push up, heaving himself off of his face, and there is a wet slap of muck on his back as he flops clumsily backwards. Vomiting immediately over his left shoulder, Pok retches up a black mixture of swamp water and mud. Pok's vision is filled with burnt out spots of black and colors his struggling mind cannot stitch together. The world spins around him uncontrollably, and his eyes rock in his head.

For a moment, Pok sits outside of time as his mind reels.

His tumbling and oxygen deprived mind finally begins to settle on the memories of his last living moments - falling to the ground from suspended Schneiders high above the planet, and being set upon by a troop of Apetu. He shudders as he recalls the tearing skewer of the spear hitting his gut, then his final dying thoughts filled with remorse and memories of his brother Wolfe. Looking downwards with a snap of his head, he sees that very spear laid on the ground beside him. How? His hands rush to his stomach. Through the hole in his shirt Pok spies a strangely faded scar, as if the injury was one from his childhood, and not of recent events. For a splinter of a second, he could swear to see a quicksilver sheen on the scar, but his eyes must still be focusing.

"MASKIN? MAC?" Pok cries out. Nothing but the buzzing of swamp world insects reply, and dread begins to descend upon the rust rat.

"Ok Pok, settle down, we both know we are too smart to panic" he says aloud, while also wondering if talking to himself is going to be an unfortunate new hobby.

"Step one - master yourself." Pok focuses his mind, and thinks, "This is no big deal. You are alive somehow, and the spear that should've been your end is beside you and not inside you."

Pok immediately sets to work, and surveys his surroundings. Clearly the Ironclads got away, there are far too many assault rifle shredded Apetu laying around to question that, not to mention he doesn't see any of his friends bodies laying about. He checks his load out - his gear is intact. He attempts to stand, leaning heavily on the Apetu spear. His legs feel like they are miles away, and he falls dizzily into the mud yet again.

"Oh this is great, Pok," Pok muses aloud. "Of course, now that you’re alone, in the middle oof bum fuck Neptune, why not just skip away on your magic legs…"

Pok grimaces.

Through the pain, he sets to work, dragging himself onto a small rise that is above the water level, and looks for dead and dry material to burn. There isn't much to be had, but over the course of a couple hours, he manages to pile up enough for a maintainable beacon. He fumbles with his knife and a shell from his rifle, and manages to access the powder within the round with only a few nicks of blood on his fingertips. Applying the powder to the tinder, he is able to get a meager flame to leap up.

It wasn't until the heat of the flame reflected on his face that Pok realized how cold he actually was on this humid, swampy world. He laid out as much clothing as he could to dry by the fire, and sat close to warm his goose flesh covered body.

After his warmth returned, Pok took a chance on the water. He looked for a section that looked like it wasn't still and stagnant. The water was pleasantly cool, though it had some sort of unpleasant texture as it rolled down his throat. Water would not be a problem, he hoped, but his fuel for his fire was going to be limited. Food...well, perhaps Apetu would be food enough? He crawled over to one of the corpses. He pressed his knife hard into the meat of its arm, near the elbow, hoping to slice off a chunk of muscle to roast.

"Shit..."

The knife, which was remarkably sharp, could not press through the leathery thick skin of the creature. Either their hide was remarkably thick and resilient, or he had lost too much strength. Ok, Pok thought to himself, let's throw a fresh pile of wood on my fire, and try to get some shut eye. Maybe tomorrow I can figure out a way to make some use out of these Apetu remains.

As Pok slowly faded to sleep watching the smoke and embers climb over head, it never occured to him that he'd never see an Apetu, be it alive or dead, again.