5. Kira

5

Kira

I jolt awake, disoriented and gasping for breath, and the first thing I notice is the jarring, pounding headache in my skull.

It throbs from my eyes to the back of my head in jagged spikes that make my stomach roil.

The chamber I am lying in is bathed in an eerie gold, pulsing emergency light that flickers erratically, and beyond that, everything is silent.

Well, silent except for the ominous groaning of metal around me.

A cursory look at the information console that displayed my status when I stepped into the chamber confirms it.

The stasis chamber is offline.

So much for seeing if it would provide any useful information.

Such as where the hell I am right now. Or where Ree is.

I don't have the time to fully comprehend what the actual fuck is going on before the tremors hit, sending me bouncing against the padded interior. I slam my fist on the control panel, a futile gesture against the dead tech.

"Great," I mutter, the word thick with sarcasm. "Unhinged jarhead due for routine psych evaluation meets her end in tubes built by pink cum-covered aliens. Just peachy."

I have never been the superstitious sort, but if this little mess really ends in my death, I and whatever deity is in charge of fate are going to have a drawn-out talk.

They'll really need to explain whose parade I fucked up so badly in a past life to warrant having to go through this shit.

I turn my focus toward the glass see-through pane in front of me and feast my eyes on the chaos around me.

If the monumental quantities of red earth I can see is anything to go by, we crash landed.

Tremors start again as the view outside the chamber changes, and I realize it must be sliding down rocks. I have a ridiculous impulse to jump out of it before I remind myself that a metal can is better than nothing.

The slow slide turns into a roll.

The momentum increases within moments, and I bounce off the sides of the chamber like a ping-pong ball. Pain blooms in multiple locations, then the chamber comes to a sudden halt.

The glass slams into a rock, and a moment later, I slam into it.

When I come out of my daze, the first thing I notice is the new webbed pattern of breaks across the glass. The second thing is the burning pain on my forehead.

I lift a shaking hand up to it and it comes away covered in blood.

Must have rung my bell.

My gaze drifts down to my body, the bright pink hair clashing with the stark reality of the situation and I am quick to let a string of curses rip from my lips, a torrent of vitriol aimed at the slime-covered bastards who subjected me to this ridiculous modification.

Afterwards, I feel moderately better.

It's time to get out of this death trap and see where I am.

But not as a sex Barbie.

No way am I wandering around an alien planet with a head full of cotton candy and my ass bared to the fucking wind.

Reaching deep within myself, I focus on the tickling sensation of the band around my stomach.

I have a vague niggling thought about how the thing works, which was in my mind even before Ree brought it up. Strange, because I have no recollection of being awake between being captured and having her in front of me.

I let out a growl at the memory of getting the shit kicked out of me before being sold to aliens.

"Fuck you, Chet!" I yell, causing my head to hammer more, but something in my chest to loosen.

Life's a tradeoff that way.

I make myself focus back on the being-clothed plan.

Why does it feel like I know how to use it?

I guess if the slimes have the tech to modify a body to such drastic levels it isn't too much of a stretch that they might have found some way to insert usage instructions in our heads.

With a mental command, I will the small band of fabric to activate.

A cool sensation spreads across my skin as a sleek black suit materializes, expanding out from my navel to the rest of my body like a black, gooey, semi-solid before molding itself perfectly to my body and solidifying.

It's nowhere near as warm or as comfortable as the thick combat fatigues I am accustomed to, but it'll have to do.

Now to get out of here.

Frustration claws at me as I slam my fist against the chamber door one last time.

Dead. Useless. Good thing I'm well versed in taking care of myself.

Glancing around, I spot the emergency release, complete with a label, tucked away in a corner.

It's still a mind-fuck that I know what the alien writing means.

With a grunt, I rip the panel off, exposing the lever. I reach out with my left arm and pull on it until I hear a click.

I'm just about to push the glass away when I freeze.

My arm doesn't hurt. I rotate it around, then flex the muscle hard. That would have caused spikes of agony before.

I use my newfound control over my clothing to make the fabric recede and inspect it. The surgery scars are gone.

The surgeons were sure to point out all the pins and plates they had to use to get me even that limited amount of movement. The skin at the back of my head prickles as I absorb this new development.

Considering all the weird shit we started to see on deployments and all the rumors that circled around, the whole alien thing isn't exactly a surprise. I just never thought it would impact me, for good or ill.

Stupid thinking.

I mean, I guess a functioning arm is a pretty decent trade for this ridiculous hair.

Too bad it also included slavery and crash-landing.

"Fuck me sideways," I mumble out, tamping down the giddiness that bubbles out of me at the idea of having my fucking arm back.

I will have to save that for some other time when my life isn't in peril.

I eye up the glass cover and leave my mixed feelings about my arm for later. Right now, it'll be really damn useful. Throwing my weight against it, I feel a satisfying crack as the glass pushes out now that it's no longer held fast.

Before I can fully leverage it off, it shatters.

Shards rain down around me, some glancing off my suit. Others cut me as they bounce off.

I hiss at the sting and return to my grumbling. "All their tech and they don't make this shatter-proof? Fucking amateur hour in the universe."

Now that there's no glass to block me, I sit up, raising my head slowly as I look for threats.

I'm at the bottom of a small crater. Nothing but jagged red rocks and grit.

Good, that will give me time to get my shit together.

Ignoring the sting, I grab a shard, the sharp edge reflecting the gold-purple light with an unsettling glint. It's no scalpel, but it'll have to do.

Without so much as taking the time to appreciate not being stuck in an alien transport cell anymore, my fingers find the perfect balance on the shard, and then I go to town across my pink nightmare.

The hair falls away in satisfying chunks and within minutes, the obnoxious bubblegum mane is reduced to a short, curly pixie cut.

Leaving the rest of the hair on the chamber floor, I carefully gather a handful of the longer strands.

With nimble fingers, I braid them together, creating a lumpy handle for the glass shard. The rest I weave into a thick braid, securing it around my waist like a makeshift belt.

It is not ideal, but it will have to do.

As I tuck in the edges, the flickering emergency light dies. I don't need it to see or anything, but a powered pod might have been useful.

I glance around, briefly consider trying to cut out some of the fabric from the pod, but can't think of a good enough use for it to outweigh remaining in such an indefensible location.

Geared up like a post-apocalyptic Joan of Arc, I step out of the chamber.

I check my head wound again, pleased to note that it's no longer gushing blood, then make my protesting body climb out of the crater.

There are few worse places to be caught by an enemy than a glorified hole.

I finally scrabble my way up the side of the crater and come face to face with the gaping opening that must have been part of the larger ship.

The ship's interior is a mess—twisted metal, dangling wires, and scattered debris. My stomach lurches as I take in the sight.

Despite the force of the crash leaving an enormous wave of rocks and sand around it and further denting it, I can still see the jagged outline of warped metal forcibly separated from when it came apart from the main body.

Another chilling realization strikes me.

Somehow, the larger mass didn't crush my pod in the crash.

"Well, shit."

Small blessings, I guess.

I glance back down to my stasis chamber. There are dents and scars all over the admittedly tough pod, evidence of my being thrown around.

Last I remember, I was in a cell with multiple other pods. Plus Ree, of course.

I scan, looking for them as I look for threats.

Nothing.

I'm going to have to go into the broken piece of ship to look.

I chance a peek above to see the alien sky—a swirling mass of purple and green—stretches out above, offering no comfort.

Though, I realize I do feel... better.

Something in me feels more settled than it has in months. This is far more normal than civilian life could ever be. I was dying a slow death. I'm back in the field now, working on a goal, surviving, saving civilians.

I'm terrified and giddy all at once.

Suddenly, a guttural sound echoes through the wreckage, sending shivers down my spine. A pink cum guy—or whatever the hell they are called—lurches out of the debris pile, its bulbous body covered in slime and gray blood, bulging black eyes searching the wreckage.

I freeze, the shard of glass digging into my palm. The gray freak, thankfully, doesn't spot me.

I'm not exactly easy to miss, so it must be disoriented.

It lumbers toward the front of the wreckage, its movements slow and deliberate.

An opportunity.

Taking a deep breath, I stalk toward the creature, moving with the practiced stealth of a seasoned assassin.

Huh. Maybe I should have taken up that profession. Then I could have been killing off the Chets of the world instead of trying to save their traitor asses.

A flash of memory showing the look of surprise on his face pulls a feral grin as I shadow an equally repellent enemy.

Its progression is slow, its senses dulled by the crash, but any slip-up on my part might be fatal.

I close the distance, every fiber of my being screaming with an urge to start running toward him, but I suppress it.

Just as I reach striking distance, I lunge.

My makeshift blade finds its mark, plunging deep into the bastard's slimy side. The creature lets out a surprised screech, a sound that is both wet and high-pitched.

It thrashes around, sending tendrils of slime flying, but the shard of glass holds, doing me the favor of capitalizing on the erratic movement to rip at more mucous-covered flesh.

With a last heave, I push my weight against the creature, sending it crashing back onto the rocky ground. Its thrashing slowly ceases, and a little while later, its body slowly turns a sickly shade of light gray and melts.

Heart hammering in my chest, I kneel beside the creature, my breath ragged. My first nonhuman kill.

The boys are never going to believe it.

I let out a breathy laugh from the remnant adrenaline in my system, and with a smile wide enough to give my military assigned shrink reason enough to write up a report, I pull the glass dagger out of the dead alien puddle with a satisfying squelching sound and gingerly set it aside.

The alien isn't wearing any clothes, but it has a pouch strapped to its back brimming with stuff I can use.

A pouch that is covered with the same viscous pink mucous all over.

Revulsion wars with pragmatism as I reach for it. Sure enough, the bag itself is slick with mucus, but I grit my teeth and unfasten it.

Inside, I find a collection of unfamiliar items—some kind of food bar, a canteen filled with a viscous blue liquid that is hard to look at, even though some unknown instinct tells me that my system should be able to accommodate it now.

My eyes fall on the highlight of this haul.

A weapon. A ridged, bulky, multi-barreled firearm lays nestled at the bottom.

I heft it tentatively; these weren't designed with primates in mind. A clip of metallic cartridges sits beside it.

Not ideal, but it'll have to do.

The slime's melee weapon is a serrated blade dripping with the same sickening ooze, which feels alien and repulsive in my hand.

It goes back into the bag.

I could keep it around as a trophy or maybe even a last-ditch weapon, but it's not a tool I want to use.

With a deep breath, I secure the bag over my shoulder, the weight grounding me.

This isn't the sleek, high-tech ship I'd been on when I talked to Ree.

Was that yesterday? A fucking decade ago?

No clue.

This is a hostile world, one where I am completely alone. That's nothing new. I've been that way since they forced my retirement. Just the same shit show in a new place.

Except...

A faint hum resonates from a control panel behind me, barely perceptible.

My head snaps up, a spark of hope igniting. Maybe there is a way to salvage some information.

Some clues as to where we landed and how this happened.

My heart sinks when the hum dies, but I keep moving through the battered section of the ship, hoping to find something useful.

Rations, maybe? Or more water.

With renewed purpose, I sift through the mangled mess, also searching for any salvageable circuits or data storage devices.

The lack of other pods in the wreck further cements the reality at hand.

We were separated in the crash.

My stomach rumbles, a reminder of my basic needs. The strange ration bar tastes like moldy cardboard, but it does its job of filling the void.

Taking a swig of the blue liquid, I wince at the metallic tang, forcing it down.

With a final, defeated glance at the mangled control panel, I turn my back on the wreckage. The alien landscape stretches out before me, a daunting canvas of red and orange.

In the distance, I see the desert bleed away into lush greenery. The stark coexistence between plenty and drought stuns me for a bit, making me drink in the sight with wonder.

To be fair, such a location wouldn't look out of place on the brochure of an exotic travel destination, but that was civvy talk.

I'd seen enough combat scenarios to know that even the most beautiful locations can hide the deadliest pitfalls.

Taking a deep breath, I adjust the bag on my shoulder, then I bend back to retrieve the makeshift glass shard and flex my digits on its handle.

There's no point in dwelling on what ifs.

I have to get moving, find shelter, and figure out a way to survive.

Plus, find a bunch of civilian women. Who are probably freaking the hell out right now.

Perfect.