Starshatter: “Payback - Prologue”
Iniciando a próxima série de AARs baseados no Starshatter, resolvi “abrir” a nova sequência com um prólogo que narra sucintamente os eventos entre o último AAR e o ponto atual. É mais ficção que um AAR propriamente dito, mas creio que ele cria o suspense e a antecipação necessárias para toda boa história, baseada em jogo ou não. Espero que gostem. Boa leitura!
There’s an old saying on Earth that goes like, “keep your friends close, but your enemies closer”. There’s also another one that says: “the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death”. It seems that whoever invented war combined those both ideas in one big mess - because in war, Death, our greatest enemy, is closer than ever. You can feel it, touch it, smell it. All around you. Even inside of you. Even if you are still alive.
The Death we come to know better in war, however, is not that philosofical concept, that incorporeal definition. It’s more of an entity, almost a living person, as paradoxal as it sounds; and a very sadistic one for that matter, for it not only delivers death to those who want to live, but also denies death to those who want to die, as if it needs to laugh at the fate of a few.
Two months ago, I heard that laughter. We faced an unexpected enemy flight when escorting a freighter. They killed Kenny. They left me for dead, in the emptiness of space. I could see Harmony Station at distance, but, in space, no one can hear you scream. Not even when your voice is gone and you can only scream in your mind. It seems Time is a good friend of Death, since you’ll normally find the latter as the former goes by. Time also seems to go both faster and slower as death approaches.
The twelve hours of oxygen passed like minutes, or like years. I’ll never know which. All I know is that I welcomed death as the last light in my oxygen meter turned off. As in quantum jumps, my conscience seemed to spread for a dozen nearby sectors, as life slowly tried to eject itself from my body, just like I ejected myself from my fighter a few hours earlier. I closed my eyes, to never open them again.
Or so I thought.
Light. Noise. Confusion. Voices.
“Will he make it?”
“I think so… he doesn’t look hurt”
“It’s a miracle!”
I closed my eyes. And then I heard the laughter. Deep inside in my mind, next to where I screamed for my life, I heard death laughing at me.
It’s been two months since then. From that day on, I chose always the most challenging and suicidal missions I could take. However, somehow, I would always come back alive. I ejected a couple times during that period. I destroyed countless enemy fighters, sometimes with the hull of my own ship. But Death evaded me, even though it was always there for my enemies, and sometimes for my friends. I won medals. I received two promotions since then. I could now command frigates and destroyers, even destroyer groups, in the safety of an armored and shielded bridge. To everyone’s surprise, however, I assumed command of the 22nd Tactical Fighter Wing, the elite squadron of our fleet. And I did that because I feel better in a cockpit than on a bridge. In a cockpit, I can see Death face to face. I can laugh at it as it laughs at me. I’ll have the last laugh, though.
For all that, I have become, to the eyes of most, the best fighter pilot in the fleet, a condecorated warrior, almost a living legend. And that brings to mind another old saying, by one of the most legendary warriors of all time: “the way of the warrior is resolute acceptance of death”.
Much more so if it evades you.