A Presence

Thought this one up when i was about to go to bed' so.. eh. Tell me how it is!

Space is a beautiful, beautiful place. Glittering stars of far away galaxies comment the seemingly infinite darkness surrounding the beholder of the universe's beauty. If someone were to be able to explore it all, it would be several million millennia from now.

The universe however is not empty. Remember those "morons" all sitting on the curb holding up signs and screaming about "Aliens?" The travelers all remember. They now wish they listened the first time they heard it.

Now only remains is an "Alfred", standing on the deck of a shuttle. He wears a NASA

T-shirt underneath a heavy suit of armor. The faded US flag patch on his shoulder is slightly ripped, alongside the midriff of his shirt and a chunk of his jeans are missing as well on the left leg, burnt to a crisp. These sights however are obscured by his armor.. the engineer had designed it himself, with the help of a shipmate, Ludwig.

The armor held Alfred at 8 feet tall, his shoulders appearing massive with large steel shoulder plates, the height and width of which resulted in the plates obscuring the view of Alfred's head from the sides, reaching down to about his elbows as well. The chest piece was painted a now flaked and dented red, a plate surrounding his neck to protect it as well. It ended at the abdomen, that connecting through thick steel cables to a pair of metal leggings connected finally to weighted, steel boots, Alfred's face and head finally being completely hidden by a large, "stormtrooper-like" helmet with a rebreather on it.

This was all powered by a titanic power-pack, and hydraulics. Alfred wouldn't take all the credit, his shipmate Ludwig was a great help. The "power armor" was largely designed by Alfred, but put together by the hard working, superior engineer Ludwig. Alfred spared his friend a moment,.. a tear slides down his face behind the helmet.

He'd not heard from Ludwig's radio on the lower deck for two days now. He assumed the good man dead.. perhaps he succumbed to them..

Alfred was tracking the days... it was December 10th.. 4278.

Alfred sighed. He ran over the events of the last few days in his head, trying to console himself, a voice in his head punching him, egging him to go search for Ludwig. He can't be far. He would never abandon his radio.

The ship Alfred was on was large, looking like a small town was floating through space with rockets on the bottom. It wasn't, of course, but it looked like it if you had a imagination as good as Alfred's.

Alfred had lost Ludwig on the lower deck four days ago, the latter demanding that he leave himself there to work out the problems with the engines. The headstrong and annoyingly self-imposed independent syndrome German had said he'd be fine. He had a gun after all! But he only had so many rounds. A sob almost racked Alfred at the thought. The man looked sick and malnourished. He wasn't going to work on the engines, he just wanted to die in a quiet environment, because Alfred would never shut up..

Alfred shook his head. No time for that. Recap!

A few days before, the ship had started experiencing problems with her engine deck. The ship Aurora was an independent freighter.. as in she could defend herself of pirates without an escort. But the ship had been experiencing problems a day since the launch. It started with thumps in the walls, noises, and then the food made everyone sick. Everything from there was a blur of yells, green claws and crimson blood. The things were short but fast, and clearly deadly. They had a single eye, and a body designed for leaping.

Alfred sighed, recounting that several good men died in their quarters because one self righteous and wannabe honorable douchebag had pulled the pin on a grenade because the quarters were infested. Yes, the situation was bad, but not "suicide via explosion" bad. At the end of the week, there was now Alfred and Ludwig and an undetermined number of other personnel still on, and the things were also assumed to be more than eight. The personnel were international. He wanted to know where they were.

The American wasn't going down without a fight. Not now, not ever. He had to go find Ludwig. That German could damn his privacy.

Alfred finally moved from his position.. the armor heavy and tough, loud clunks every time as the boots hit the deck. When he shifted his arms in step the shoulders whirred with movement, softly. Well oiled and prepared. He took a deep breath to steady himself, clipping his radio onto the holster on the side of the armor. He began his long, long march to the underdeck

Author's note!

Tell me if this is any good, please