It Begins

"Dammit!"

He stormed.

He paced.

He kicked the stony dirt and sent a shower of loose earth and pebbles scattering across the scrubby, sloping landscape. He punched a nearby stone cairn, but immediately regretted it as his hand howled at him for his lack of self control.

It hurt.

A lot.

He inspected his throbbing fist critically before turning his aquiline nose away in a haughty sneer. Not broken, at least. Not worth his worry.

The dark haired man stomped off a good twenty paces and glared into the fading light. The sunshine was growing dim, and fast. He could feel the temperature dip with every encroaching moment.

"Dammit." He muttered again, though just as vehement as the first time. In fact, he was nearing the end of a stream of invectives and very imaginative epithets. He'd been at it for more than twenty minutes. Some of the more original ones would have made Cyclonis blush.

It was only when he found himself repeating himself that he started winding down to a close. After all, without anyone here to witness his fury, it didn't really do him much good to indulge himself. He was a coldly logical man, most times, but giving in to the occasional fit of anger was a good tool in his arsenal of keeping his underlings jumping and on their toes.

Besides, throwing a tantrum could be very stress relieving at times. And, well, this was most definitely one of those times. In fact, he couldn't remember any other time in recent memory that he had been this upset without having someone else to blame for it.

He turned and glared at the reason for his ire.

Rocks littered the landscape. In fact, the terra was one giant mountain, carved into puzzle pieces by ancient rivers and dotted here and there with tenacious bushes disguised as trees. However, the stony beauty of the place couldn't hide the one eyesore that was laid out over a good sized radius. In one particularly rocky outcropping was the most aggravating…and possibly the most depressing sight that he had ever had the chance to witness in the course of his life thus far…

His switchblade. Dashed upon the stones like an ill used toy. The formerly gleaming chrome and steel was twisted into an unrecognizable mess. The tires had shredded, leaving bits of gluey rubber all over the scenery. It reeked of oil and fuel. Hydraulic fluid formed a purple stain on the grey rock that comprised about seventy percent of the terra. Wings were a mangled wreck, and it was doubtless impossible for the ailerons to ever regain any semblance of a working order again. The engine was totaled. It wasn't even recognizable as anything that had ever had individual moving parts. The slag that was once part of the afterburners still flickered every now and then with a crystal fueled fire that refused to go out.

Hell, he couldn't even identify where the seat was anymore, let alone any control surfaces.

As if that wasn't bad enough, his radio had been thrown in the crash. He'd found it, of course. And normally, that would have thrilled him. At this point, all the Dark Ace wanted was to be able to contact the forces of Cyclonia and arrange for a discreet rescue. After all, it wouldn't do for word to get around the subordinates that he had been in any situation that necessitated a recon. The idea that he actually required a rescue galled him. And what was even more infuriating was the fact that even if he did manage to contact his allies, the person or persons most likely to perform the operation would be the damned archer and her stupid brother.

Being brought low by an enemy combatant was one thing. He could stomach that. After all, it wasn't as though anyone else had been able to take out Master Cyclonis' number one targets. Out of anyone, he'd been the closest to achieving that.

So… it was almost a relief when he had found the radio in about four different pieces, strewn about the place like some demented decoration.

The Talon sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, as he was wont to do in times of frustration. It helped him calm down for some reason.

If he were more of a philosophical sort, he might have reasoned that getting out of such a nasty crash with his life was a good thing. He'd been thrown clear of the wreck when he first hit, but he was pretty banged up. He'd been tossed like a rag doll, and only because of his self imposed training was he able to stand. As soon as he was about to impact, he had thrown himself clear of the skimmer and forced his entire body to go limp and slack. He'd taken some nasty bumps, a couple of which had given him a lump or two on his head, but he'd managed to endure.

He had been knocked out, but not for long. Several minutes, he surmised, but the skimmer was still smoldering when he opened his eyes.

There were rips in his armor and even the metal pieces were bent and dented. His prized headpiece had been lost somewhere in the scrub brush and he didn't even fool himself into thinking it could be retrieved. Not practical at all, really.

He'd lost some blood and no small amount of skin, but in the end, had walked away from a nasty looking crash more or less intact. Not many people would have survived, and even fewer would have nothing but scrapes to show for it.

He took stock of himself. He had a small bag with several days worth of rations attached to his belt. He had his energy blade, a sack of fuel crystals, and three flares. One or two fire crystals for making camp, a small ax that he had managed to salvage from the storage compartment on his skimmer, and a change of uniform that was torn, but still serviceable. Along with that was a fresh first aid kit, replete with bandages, salve, duct tape, and for some reason, industrial strength glue.

He raised an eyebrow at that.

To his satisfaction, he also found a few razors in the first aid kit. He hated the scratchy, itchy feeling of new beard growth.

"Damn the day I volunteer for a secret recon.." he muttered as he stowed his supplies on his person. "Never gonna do that again."

If Snipe had undertaken this mission, Dark Ace reasoned, he would have one less headache to worry about. The dumb bastard would probably not even last an hour on his own.

The Dark Ace was no stranger to roughing it. As a rule, he had made sure that he was able to operate at peak efficiency at all times, under any circumstance. He had made sure that in the event of his being stranded, he would be able to fend for himself until he either found a way out of the mess or he could be rescued. So really, he wasn't worried about himself. He could take anything the elements could throw at him, he could hunt for his own food, as barbaric as that was, and he knew that his adaptability was sure to see him through. Not to mention he was confident that eventually a scout detail would come near the terra during normal operation.

If so, then he could easily muscle his way back home without giving any sort of explanation as to why he was there in the area in the first place. Although his presence on an uninhabited, uncharted terra with no real strategic value would raise a few eyebrows, he enjoyed a level of command and privacy rivaled only by Master Cyclonis herself.

Secret mission. Secret orders. Even without that excuse, he'd slip by without an explanation to anyone but his master.

Too bad the fact that the recon he had been engaged in was discrete also meant that the chance of a scouting party coming near this particular terra was less than ideal. It wasn't technically Cyclonia territory, but it wasn't owned by Atmosia, either. It was one of the rare places that had no claim on it, mainly because it was lacking in strategic value and there were no resources to be gained from it…

At first glance, that is.

He'd come to the hurdle of explaining his presence later, though. It didn't pay to jump the gun, and he wasn't even missed back at Cyclonia yet. Right now, he knew he had to tend to the more immediate dangers.

Survival.

For one, now that the sun was gone, the temperature had dropped drastically. That made sense, though. This terra was dangerously close to being a desert. The fact that there were actually rivers crossing it was a blessing. That meant that somewhere beneath the rock, there was a source of water that kept the rivers hydrated throughout the day. As long as he had a source of water, his ability to survive for more than a few days leapt up a few percentage points. Unfortunately, now that it was chill and cold, that meant that he had to keep moving until he found a place to hole up for the night.

Secondly, he knew he'd have to judge whether or not the risk of moving by daylight was worth taking. It wasn't likely that anyone, Cyclonia or not, would be around here in the coming days, but those annoying sky knights had a nasty habit of following him around.

It was almost like they were stalking him…

With little more than a hate filled sneer at the mangled excuse for a skimmer, the Dark Ace turned on his heel and stalked off. In the still, quiet air of the desolate terra, his boot steps echoed like a pair of spark stones cracking against one another.

OOO

Oh yeah, I'm back. And this looks to be fun!

If anyone is interested, please go vote on my poll to decide where this one is going! Remember, I have a few more obligations in my life at the moment so updates wont be daily, like they were before. However, I am committed to updating at least once weekly, possibly more on the weekends if I can scrounge up the time. This whole thing came as an inspiration while I was heading to bed tonight and I knew I had to write it down! The poll I had up in my profile had pretty much demanded that I do another Wager-like fic, so here ya go.

Also, the next chapters will likely be done in first person, much like The Wager, because I am more comfortable writing in that style. And hopefully the next installments will be longer than a mere 1600 words.

Tell me what you think, and as always, I will take suggestions in the reviews to account for the next chapter!