She awoke in a tube. Dark. Cold. Alone. The woman's eyes dragged open, and the sheer weight of fatigue smashed down upon her like a titan's foot. Months spent within the soundless void of this regenerator tank demanded a toll, and left bare of choice, the price was exacted from her.

Heartbeats passed as she gazed blankly into the void, unaware aside from faint memories that slipped away as she reached for them.

Who? Where? What? Why?

Hands reached out, slowed by the thick fluid that encompassed her in entirety. It touched the smooth, black surface that encompassed her here. Mind blank, she floated within the tube, suspended by a gentle upward current to counteract gravity.

So it continued, for what seemed eternity. Surrounded by the clear gel, breath supplied by tubes and the mask upon her face. Thoughts kept blank and woozy by the constant sedatives that allowed her to exist within the tank as the gel slowly knit her flesh, soothed burnt skin and mended snapped bones.

Glimpses of pain shone through the dull haze of sensory deprivation, brutal reminders of a time before. Memories that threatened to bubble up were quickly weighed back down into the darkness as the gel worked its slow, methodical repair of her body.

She hung within the tank, suspended and weak, what little motion she could muster rendered ineffective. Something had gone horribly wrong, she knew. What, was quickly pushed back down as the gel’s emergency functions served to repress memories that might otherwise interfere with the process of returning her to an optimal state. Its weightlessness enveloped her, almost solid liquidity that rubbed against her pale skin.

But its functions had been rent to imperfection, and hazy thoughts drifted through the void. A solid, bright memory of the star-storm that had spawned about her ship on a weapons run to the fringes. Instantaneous loss of the control and power, the long descent towards a quarantined world.

Darkness lay around her as she struggled to recall anything past where this shade of a memory ended. She fought the gel now, although  her weakened struggles to push it away had little effect.

A vague gleam entered her mind and flitted away. A massive, machine-clad form that had entered through her own portal stream as her powerless ship slipped into the world’s atmosphere. Dread and panic encompassed her even in memory at remembrance of the sight.

The panicked flight towards the arsenal as it plucked away members of her crew.

Pain flashed through her as the vivid recollection of the ship’s bottom layer simply breaking upon impact returned to her. Along with her inside it. The thing had remained unconcerned, the massive impact absorbed into an aura that flared to life around it. She had been left for dead, and not far from it.

The gel was pushed away harder now as she struggled with renewed vigor. More override functions were engaged as the gel, unable to suppress memories, instead increased speed at which her body was repaired. A process not without its dangers. How she had clawed her way through the rubble and dragged her broken body into this tank, she had only the foggiest memories of. But this would not be where she died. Fear, pain and dread enveloped a spark of emotion, yet even their heavy presence could not burn it away.

A flame of spite, hatred and determination crackled within her as more clarity returned to the darkened recesses of her mind.

Hands scrabbled against the tank’s interior now as she searched for a release switch, a thousand voices that all clamored for attention at once within her skull. An enraged cacophony that urged her to break free, lie back down, seek vengeance, fully heal herself, purge the unclean, flee the creature and never look back, explore and integrate, look for a way off this planet, conquer it with her superior technology, all at once. And she endured this for days.

Strength began to return to once sturdy limbs, breaths became deeper as she found greater capacity for intake. Her hands traced over the smooth surface of the tank and found the catch that would release the lid and let her spill free. With satisfaction on her mind, she settled back and forced the hurricane of whispers within her away. She could not stop them, but she could ignore the shrieks and flared emotions that came with every thought that passed.

Muscles were repaired, her skin mended and slowly, gently, she was eased back into her body. Only when she was satisfied with the blessed wholeness of herself did she reach over and trip the release switch.

There was no response.

Concern built within her as she flipped it once more. Nothing. Panic barged into her thoughts and presented all its ugly glory as the instrument that should have released her failed to respond.

The voices returned a hundredfold, a storm surge of mental sound that only fueled her desperation. And all the while, the gel worked away at her body. Sealed within the tight, dark tube, she suddenly became aware of how little space there was. Her elbows banged against the black walls as she began to twist and turn. No way out. No escape. She was fully conscious now, and horror set in as she realized the goo that had worked to save her was now transforming her body.

She searched for something, anything to break free. If she was awake, that meant the oxygen tanks had run low and forced her out of hibernation. The drugs within the gel meant to keep her numb and mindless while the tank worked its machine magic on her body had been overruled and slowly withdrawn. The situation was, bluntly, fucked.

Bubbles of air escaped the suddenly slipping mask around her face as she began to thrash, fueled by the need to get out before her own expanded breath returned and killed her. She could taste the steel and rust from the oxytank’s bottom in her lungs now, and she knew the end drew near.

Tight and cramped, she curled into a ball and sank lower as the upwards push of fluid struggled to lift her condensed body weight. Feet and knees bumped against the tight walls of her prison as she struggled to leverage them into position. With a desperate gasp, she yanked her foot up and set herself. Back to one surface, she braced her feet against the other and began to push. Blood filled her vision and powerful leg muscles screamed at fresh pain as she expanded them against the tank’s lid. The steel buckled beneath her effort, but held. The shoddy hinges did not.

And suddenly she tumbled forward, cold and wet and slimy and gasping for air as she ripped off the mask. Amelie found herself within the sealed confines of the Starscream’s regenerator room, a freshly burst healing pod behind her and weak sunlight streaming through the viewports of the ship’s side.

She staggered up, muscles in fresh agony from their rapid regrowth and sudden usage. Stale air was intaken and exhaled like the sweetest ambrosia after months of bottled tank oxygen. Smells that returned all at once struck her like a slap to the brain and she staggered as food, sweat, animals, burnt metal, stenches of sex, brimstone, blood and more hit her all at once.

A glance outside showed naught but a sandy wasteland that stretched in all directions. Her mind snapped back as she returned upright, and realization struck her. Locals were on her ship. They had had months to find and enter the wrecked lower half. Her weapons, tools, enhancers, stimulants and food could all be gone. Or worse put to someone else’s use.

With a snarl, she hobbled upright and out the podbay’s door, the wall her only support. To the armory.

Faint sounds from the ship’s higher levels indicated life and activity. Dread somberly entered her once more as she realized the full extent of her weakened state. In an optimal world, she would have weeks to recover from the tanks and return to her full strength of body and mind before she would set out to explore the dangers of this brave new world.

This was not an optimal world.

Her armory was trashed. Crates were spilled everywhere, several cases had been busted open. Her plasma axe was most notably missing, as were the flame gauntlets. Shield generators sat untouched, if scattered. A breath of relief was exhaled as she noted the pulse rifles were untouched. One that turned to panic as the absence of her singular crate of gravity guns came to attention. Horror mounted it’s lonely steed as this was paired with her portal beacons and activators being nowhere to be found as well. Amelie hobbled through the darkened room for the one prize she could not afford to lose. A grav-belt slipped around her the remnants of her clothes and locked upon her waist. A simple toggle on and off brought some relief to her as it still worked.

With a grimace, she seized one of the loose pulse pistols, checked the mag, set it to low and fired into one of the lock cases. It took several bolts and far too much sound for the bonded titanglass to give way, and more precious time for her to wrest her Scatach Aranaments Mk3 shield generator free. More for her to maneuver the bulky pulse cannonrifle through the hole.

An ammunition belt was procured in short order as she hobbled towards the doorway at all speed. She would have liked to salvage some melta grenades, but whoever was in the ship was well alert as to her presence, and she was currently far too weak to perform a purge.

She needed out. Away, to rest, regain her bearings and attempt to salvage the situation.

Amelie rounded a corner and came face to face with a pale humanoid. Sharpened ears sat behind blank eyes, a race the other woman was wholly unfamiliar with. There was no hesitation within her as the spacer raised her rifle and fired. The humanoid disappeared as the pulse’s wave of force tore through the corridor. If there was anyone on board who wasn’t alert to her presence, they were now.

Noises rose throughout the ship as she hobbled up to an exterior wall, pressed the rifle against it and pulled the trigger. Steel tore outwards, and the gaping hole was her quickest route of escape. With one last look back at the Starscream, she stepped out into the void and activated her grav belt once more.

The ground, and her ship, vanished into the distance as she flew into the wasteland. She would return, and reclaim what was hers. One day.

Fearnaught

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