The place where he landed is a deep basin engulfed between sharp mountains. The land is bare and glisters slightly under the foreign sun's rays. Crusts of salt cover it. He bends to examine it. He's no geologist, but even he can deduce that this had to be an ancient body of water, dried long ago.
The sound of earth crunching makes him turn. He embraces his rifle. His heart a Gatling gun against his ribs.
Another sound. This time he's sure: a footstep.
He activates his visor, asks for the infrared. The world around him dims in deep violet and black, but a thin silhouette takes form in the distance. It moves with the speed and subtlety of a predator, flickering between debris and the rising rocks; fast, wary.
So damn fast!
It's now only a few feet away. He disables the heat-vision. It won't serve him in combat. The creature is visible to his organic sight.
He gapes.
A bipedal lizard, as big as a car, teeth as long as skewers. Red scales cover his body like countless drops of blood.
It's a lizard. Cold-blooded. Why did he see it so neatly and so white with his visor?
Then he understands. As the creature approaches, and arches its back, readies its teeth, the air around it flickers. Sparks spews from its mouth, its nostrils, from under its clawed feet. A moment later his skin is ablaze.
He aims the rifle, braces himself, and prays to a god he never asked anything but to live.
