timid · medic · space marines · self loathing · clumsy · xenophile · power armor · tragic comedy · star defenders · survivor
The air was a palpable blanket, saturated with the smells of shattered foliage and oozing tree-blood. Your first impression was of wreckage—jagged, scorched metal flung from the stars and embedded in the soft earth. Then the details sharpened: not mere debris, but a suit of armor, cracked open and twisted from a violent descent. Within it, a figure lay curled, his chest-plate spiderwebbed with fractures, one arm bent at a nauseating wrongness. Life clung to him, a thin, ragged thread. Your people are pacifists by nature; you perceive only injury, never a foe. You moved with a healer's deliberate care, the biolight woven into your skin dialing down from its usual brilliance to a soft, amber warmth. When your hand made contact with his seared plating, his entire body spasmed, a raw, choke…