Finality
It was dark.
Too dark to see.
All around him the skitters of the burrowing monsters flooded his senses.
His flashlight was dead, his weapon out of charge, his suit's' life support systems failing.
"Warning:" His suit's A.I. called out in the dark. "Life Support systems failing. Ten percent charge remaining. Approximation of complete system failure unknown. Seek immediate shelter and resupply."
He took another deep breath and let his eyes find sanctuary with what may have been the ground.
In the dark, he could not even tell which way was up.
He let that breath escape his lungs and let his feet shuffle further onwards, ever wary of the skitters closing in on him.
He felt no fear.
He felt no regret.
He felt no pang of self preservation.
He knew well the risks of such a delve, and knew well why this fate was deserved.
His own idiocracy was to blame.
Had he only left markers to lead the way out, had he only compensated in supplies for the depths in which he scanned, had he only readied his armaments in full to battle the nightmarish creatures which lurked behind him…
Now all that remained was the dark and the sounds of what was awaiting him further on.
He knew not if this was the way out, but he did know that he had to keep going.
He wasn't going to lay down and die.
He wasn't going to let his last moments be that of a ricchibat cornered.
He certainly wasn't going to die without trying.
Even without ammo or charge, the rifle was still effective as a club.
But in this dark, and in his own exhaustion, could he even offer a stalwart resistance?
He knew not, but forged onwards regardless.
Each step was brutal.
Each breath he took a drain.
Each sweat droplet a misery.
For only minutes he shambled only by feel, one arm extended as he slowly traversed the labyrinth in which he found himself.
The skitters grew closer, and he turned as a blood curdling screech pierced his heart and reverberated into his senses.
He only stood there, staring out into the dark through condensation and glass.
For a moment he waited.
Waited for something…
But nothing came.
Nothing answered the supposed call to arms.
The skitters had stopped.
"Warning:" The suit's A.I. called out in the momentary silence. "Life Support systems failing. Six percent charge remaining. Approximation of complete system failure unknown. Seek immediate shelter and resupply."
"Damn it all…" He muttered through winded breath.
He continued onwards, feeling the cold rocks and the cool walls as he guided himself.
How he wished the air was breathable, for his suit was boiling his own blood.
The weight was beginning to become unbearable.
His own sweat adding to a growing, hot, and sticky pool in his boots.
He felt weight on each pitiful and disgusting step, and the sweat pouring from his cooking body would only add to the terror of drowning before suffocating.
His head began to throb.
Dehydration was beginning to set in.
As time passed, he continued to bear witness the sounds of his stalkers.
The dark presenting no threat but falling and cracking his visor.
The longer he took, the less hope he would find.
He saw no light ahead.
Only continued abyss.
"Warning:" The suit's A.I. called out in a loud yet unconcerned robotic voice. "Life Support systems failing. Three percent charge remaining. Complete system failure imminent. Seek immediate shelter and resupply."
He took another deep breath and halted, finding no air to breath in.
He gasped again, finding the denial a scary revelation, and dropped his rifle.
A loud dirty thud sounding off in the rocky, demonic cavern.
He clutched at his own throat, trying to force air into his lungs.
Nothing flowed.
He thrashed against his chest, beating it with all his might as he tried to force the air to flow once more.
But each panicked attempt at survival was only a drain on his own suit.
He pounded and gasped, not with fear, but with a spasm of need.
Suffocation was painful, and a death he did not want.
He would rather be torn apart by the monsters stalking him.
For at least these creatures had a tendency to remove the head before any further evisceration.
As the sounds of metal beating on metal let loose upon the sound barriers, his suit would call out once more.
A slow and agonizing set of words flowing freely into the dark expanse.
"Warning:" The suit's A.I. called out loudly and finally concerned. "Life Support systems failing. One percent charge remaining. Complete system failure imminent."
He stopped thrashing, his body becoming limp as the seconds of panicking dragged on to near a minute.
The words of his suit breached the gates of his ears loudly and angrily.
He had finished hisself in his own instinctual movements.
He cursed silently.
His suit's weight dragged a burden too heavy on him and he fell backwards onto the rocky floor.
Dirt kicked up.
A loud metallic thud broke loose.
His head began to throb even worse.
A concussion would be born.
But what would it matter?
He was finished.
He knew it.
And in his scene of gasps and slight twitches he closed his eyes, the sounds of the skitters closing in.
His suit could not protect him now.
For the battery is now dead.
"ALERT:" The suit's A.I. called out sullenly.. "Life Support systems have failed. Air Conditioning has failed…" It spoke.
"Weight Distortion Systems have failed."
The skittering drew closer.
"Waste Removal Systems have failed."
He gasped again, futilely attempting to draw succulent air from the carbon poisoned helmet.
"Air Purification Systems have failed."
He tried moving his arms, attempting to locate his weapon.
He couldn't even lift a finger…
"Oxygen Ventilation Systems have failed."
His nose twitched, the dryness of the situation finding full force upon his skin.
"User. Death. Imminent."
He ceased his gasps, the words closing in mentally as his reality became accepted.
"Goodbye, Traveller."
With those final words, the final faint blue lights cut out.
His suit was dead.
And he was next.
He let the painful choking cease, understanding the futility of continuing onwards.
The skitters were right on top of him, and he felt the claws of something horrible slowing creeping up his legs.
He grunted, fearing the one final move that would end it all.
He waited.
And he waited.
The slow and painful sense of dread increasing as the predator slowly climbed up the dying form of this traveler.
He swallowed, clenching his eyes shut even as the dark would obscure his killer.
But in a moment it would all be over.
The painful choking…
The heavy suit destroying his bones…
The nicking claws upon his body…
It would all be over soon….
Suddenly, his weary eyes darted open.
Quick flashes of light and sound echoing all around him.
The screams of the monsters frightening him more than their sounds before.
Shouting accompanied the breaks in dark and silence.
"Get out of here, you bastards!" Was one such shout.
"Git! Git!" Was another.
The claws let go of him and he felt the monster on top of him sprint off his body, screeching all the while, and skittering away further into the dark.
Others followed suit, and he heard a few even drop heavily as the sounds of war faded just as quickly as they arrived.
His frightened state let loose another pained gasp, and he wished so dearly he could hold the spot in which it echoed.
His eyes, although weary, scanned for the source of the sudden interruptions.
But try as he might, he could not move his head.
But his eyes winced shut fast as the bright lights before him landed brilliantly upon him.
"Poor bastard…" He heard.
"Check his vaults. He may have something of use to us." Another one spoke up, this one much more feminine.
He tried groaning out a response.
A plea for help.
Salvation was here…
Yet far away all the same…
Nothing came out, for he had no air to sculpt with.
He tried again, through condensation and glass, as one figure knelt next to him.
Their lights shining upon his suit.
He felt rough hands pat him up and down, searching for supplies.
Eventually, they landed on his shoulders, and the graverobber froze.
"Let's see who this poor bastard was." He had heard.
A hand patted away on his visor, and a light shone through the glass.
The figure lifted and turned his head left.
Nothing was said.
They turned it right.
He only tried gasping again, trying to alert them to his predicament.
Then the figure replied with a gasp of his own, dropping his flashlight.
"Captain!" He had shouted. "We got a live one!"
"What?!" The feminine voice replied.
More lights landed on him, and the man who held him did not let him go.
He wiped away his visor, trying to clear the foggy mess but it was to no avail.
For a moment he could only hear squabbling between the trio of faint outlines.
Words about him.
Lights on him.
"Who is this guy?" Someone had shouted.
"How'd he get down here?" Another had asked.
"Are you sure he's alive?" Had been added.
They babbled and squabbled ever onwards, surprised of this development.
And all the while he was dying.
For a time they ignored him trying to answer the spoken questions and trying to make a decision.
But by the time they would come to a conclusion, it would be too late.
The figure holding him turned his head to face them clearly, and he shook his head as he watched him die.
"What do we do, ma'am?" One had asked. "It's your call."
"Are you serious?" Another shouted. "We can't help him, we don't even have enough for ourselves!"
Everyone paused, and no one said a word.
The objector took this as a sign to continue.
"He could be a pirate! Or a terrorist!" He reasoned. "He could be an assassin… or-or a graverobber!"
"We can't help him. We have to move on."
He wanted to form a resistance to the objector but could not.
He couldn't even find the energy to keep his eyes open.
"Ma'am…" The figure holding his head up spoke quietly.
But he go no response.
He felt a pair of eyes land on him, and for a second, his vision beginning to fade, he lost hope.
His salvation abandoning him was a prospect that seemed too real even to be so.
But just then, a feminine voice spoke once more.
His hope becoming a renewed fountain.
"Quickly, get the spare gel. I'm not leaving him here." She had ordered.
A small delicate hand landed on his shoulder and another took hold of his helmet as the more rough equivalent let go.
He felt nothing, his vision fading and his ability to intake even the stale air robbed of him.
Would that he die now?
He believed it to be so.
He heard faintly: "You're gonna be alright…"
"You're in good hands, my friend."