"There is an appointed time for everything.

And there is a time for every event under heaven--

A time to give birth and a time to die;

A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted.

A time to kill and a time to heal;

A time to tear down and a time to build up.

A time to weep and a time to laugh;

A time to mourn and a time to dance.

A time to throw stones and a time to gather stones;

A time to embrace and a time to shun embracing.

A time to search and a time to give up as lost;

A time to keep and a time to throw away.

A time to tear apart and a time to sew together;

A time to be silent and a time to speak.

A time to love and a time to hate;

A time for war and a time for peace."

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8

Prologue

The ship lurched as the near-miss blew the waves into a chaotic hell storm of icy cold water, drenching the few men brave enough to go topside. Another blast, this time a direct hit, and the

boat shuddered in response. A groan ran through the ship; the explosion set off a chain reaction as the flames reached an ammunition dump. Klaxons blared and already dim emergency

lights flickered, quivering as the ship absorbed blow after blow. Speakers relayed orders to gunnery crews, damage control, and medical teams. Crewman ran half-crouched through the

cramped spaces of the vessel, holding on to pipes or handholds whenever the ship pitched. An ethereal figure smoothed itself along the bulkhead whenever a crewman ran past, making its

way slowly but surely to the command center; deep in the middle of the armored craft where no shots could easily penetrate. Older, weaker designs had allowed a more aesthetically

pleasing view, though with it came more risk. Jutting out in the open, almost begging to be slagged. It heard a crewmember groaning, pinned, beneath a pipe and others lying ominously

silent around the miasma-filled room. It rushed onward to lend a hand, as did the two men behind it.

After an harrowing hour filled with helping the crew wherever possible, the deck tilting alarmingly, and other such things, the now drenched shade finally reached the hatch and threaded its

way through, making barely a whisper. Inside, the bridge crew scrambled about in the general bedlam of a combat situation. The ghostly figure slowly walked to the captain's chair, where he

sat, assessing damage reports and occasionally shouting out orders. One man, not paying attention, stumbled into the near ghost and staggered away, stuttering an apology while cringing

in fear. Everyone paused and gazed at the sight, feeling pity for him and gratefulness for not catching the attention of the dark figure. It fixed him with a bone-chilling glare before walking up

to the captain. The ensign walked away bewildered and thought 'if looks could kill...'

The captain, observing the scene, allowed himself a small grin before straightening out his face to address the wraithlike cadaver that stood before him. Before he could open his mouth to

utter a single word, however, the wall behind him erupted in flame and threw everyone to the floor and against walls. The lights flickered on and off, finally coming to a standstill. As the

survivors picked themselves up, put the fires out, and checked for wounded, the ghastly figure pulled itself onto a knee. Dusting itself off, it pulled off its corrugated mask, in which a piece of

shrapnel had lodged itself. Second Lieutenant Oros brushed a few bangs from her face while limping over to the captain's body. She held her left leg up, trying to keep pressure off it. She

turned him over only to find a fragmented piece of steel lodged in his head. Oros muttered a low curse and slowly limped to the next prone body.

End of Prologue