Welcome to Gaia! :: [Edel PRP] Area 51 (Finished!)

"Warning. Warning. Speeds have surpassed the recommended limit. Hull has been breached. Survival rate of crew is now less than three percent. Activating reverse thrusters now. ...Warning, critical brake system failure has extended to the whole of the vessel. Survival rate of crew is now less than three percent..."

The smooth and polished voice of the computer was lost within the furious howling of rushing space and relentless gravity that ripped them all down to their deaths. In eerie harmony to the chaos the symphony of dying and wounded men cried out in broken voices, some as rasping screams while others choked and gurgled feverish prayers to whatever gods they believed in. They had all been plunged into darkness, swallowed and smothered with a physical representation of blindness; they didn't know what would happen next, couldn't see it, afraid to think it. And yet, there was always that brief moment of clarity--the backup lights would tremble and weakly lift their eyes to illuminate the decimated interior of the ship for only a moment--the realization that they were going to die. The lights would then freeze, their incessant flickering stilled by sheer terror before they plunged the vessel again into a cloak of darkness, hiding the horrible truth from the few men that were still coherent enough to think.

Trapped underneath some godforsaken scrap of twisted, melting metal, he fought to free himself from its seething embrace, metal-clad fingers raking fruitlessly at the filthy floor. The air was thick with the stench of charred flesh--wounds made putrid by the toxins of Phazon that the Space Pirates deployed in their weaponry. Someone was rasping for breath, dragging in each lungful with such labor that he swore his own ribs ached in sympathy. Only when the chest cavity of his armor began to grow moist and sticky in the midst of the chaos did he realize the roughened sounds were escaping past his own gritted teeth. His breath was foul, washing up against the inner visor of his helmet before coating his own face with its warm desperation even as he summoned all the strength he could muster and heaved his body forward. The wreckage attempting to crush his armored legs groaned, reluctantly shifting to offer the man a futile inch--just enough to spark hope within his pain-clouded mind.

He'd been a fool, thinking he could face death without a tremor or a flicker of doubt. Arden Valkov, a fine Marine for almost ten whole years now. A trained warrior who'd stared death in the face without so much of a flinch... but this. What was this? Defeat? Beaten down and slaughtered by a much weaker enemy that had overwhelmed them by sheer force. He himself had been knocked unconscious when the first Space Pirate craft had rammed right through one of the Valkyrie's sides, sending him flying until an unyielding wall of steel had reared up to smack him to the ground. His comrades were dead or dying, and he had to wonder just how many times he'd heard the screams of his allies, of young, good men being dragged into the depths of Hell before their allotted time.

The Valkyrie quaked underneath his pinned frame, and the man struggled to twist his head. Streaks of fire danced down his spine even as he made to eye one of the gaping rends that had been torn into the hull, his attention seized by something that struck him as so bizarre that it overwhelmed his agony. Light. Piercing, bright, and beautiful. The belly of the holocaust-seized ship was skimming the horizon of the planet, and a new dawn would smile upon whatever carnage the Valkyrie left behind upon its unexpected arrival.

Muddy eyes rolled in frenzied panic for a moment, fingers scraping against the dented floor until they went lax. He would not allow fear to rule him in his last moments. His world went black then, blind to the blurred snatches of sky visible outside and chaos around him, deaf to the lamentations and the cool, female voice that gently reminded them that their chances of survival were grim.

Ironically, it was the crushing pressure of the debris still sprawled atop his prone body that would save him.

The impact of the ship smashing itself into the grassy fields sent a shockwave through the vessel that instantly killed whoever was not strapped down or otherwise secure onboard. Metal ripped through the earth who screamed and screamed until the horrendous bulk of the foreign beast came to an uneasy, shuddering stop. It wasn't long before one of the engines combusted, and the interior of the craft was choked with thick, stifling smoke.

Arden awoke in Hell.

His entire body had been consumed in greedy flames, fueled by spilled oil and electrical sparks that had blossomed to overtake the whole of the ship. Though the battle-scarred armor that covered him had warded off the worst of the heat, it wasn't enough to keep him from being slowly cooked alive. The energy reserves plugged back into the suit were draining--warning screens were crackling like lightning across his visor.

"Waa...rrnnnii-ii--ii--" The main computer whispered through the hissing of the fire. Arden filled his lungs, ignoring the spasms of pain that wracked his broad frame, and found that his filter was still working, letting him breathe in the asphyxiating environment. He lashed out with his legs to kick the greatly damaged wreckage off his form and bit off a scream when his left kneecap threatened to fail all together. Live. Live. Look towards the light. Gasping for breath while unbidden tears rolled down his cheeks, the man hauled himself through the flames, relying on the strength of his arms to let him reach one of the many rips in the ship's side. Survival motivated him now, and it was sheer, animalistic willpower that enabled him to haul himself through the jagged metal crevasse. He tumbled to the ruined soil below, the drop far enough to break whatever ribs were still somewhat whole.

Arden was dying.

The crash hadn't killed him, nor had the fire, but the extent of his injuries were draining what little life remained in his body. Yet, as the glazed brown of his eyes watched the sun lift its golden head to demurely peer at the destruction, there was hope. Hope. He had one last energy tank, still strapped to his back and in prime position to be activated. His bruised and battered arms began to shift, freezing when the pain that overtook him was great enough that he choked and watched the world go dim. He had to do this--there was no choice. It wasn't his turn to die yet... not when he'd been so clearly given a second chance.

Robbed of their armor-coated treat, relentless tongues of flame poked through the very hole from which the man had made his inelegant escape. Hissing and spitting hot ash, it prodded in seeming madness for the feebly twitching being still sprawled at the base of the blackened, twisted metal. The distance between them was still too great, and the frustrated fire twisted its many faces up towards the skies themselves, illuminating the early morning with an eruption of heat and fiery fury.

His breath was flecked with crimson now, obscuring what little view he had through the crackling flames and smoke. The combination of the crushing weight that had kept him pinned before and the fall from the destroyed vessel had done more than just injure his ribs, Arden realized with a strangely distant sort of jolt; it'd paralyzed him. Cracked lips moved without sound, a silent, furious protest to the inhumanity of his fate. The energy tank was right there, literally still strapped to his back, and he couldn't do a goddamn thing to save himself. After all that--after ten years of serving and fighting, he was going to die here on the soil of some unknown planet, his body likely to be consumed and devoured by native scavengers. No one would know his story, or the story of his crew. No one would understand how, unexplainably, their ship had began to malfunction only seconds before the Pirate attack, how each and every man on board had been gripped with gut-wrenching terror and agony. Hell, he didn't understand even now. It had to have been some new weapon those bastards had developed. The light his unfocused eyes had so desperately sought was beginning to fade as his conscious began to drift, and the sweet song of darkness welcomed him into its soothing arms.

Life form approaching.

It took him a moment to register the static-imbued words that crackled across his monitor, and even by the time he'd forced his mind to comprehend them, they were gone. A strangled wheeze caught in his chest, choking him until he coughed and coughed. The blood ran down his chin, and Arden felt the darkness rise up once more to take him. It descended, brushing gentle lips against the front of his visor--and he realized then that twin pinpricks of light had bloomed within the shadow, morphing into something purely alien and alive. He'd never seen a creature such as this before, sickly bubbles of blood still pushing at his lips while the dying soldier stared uncomprehendingly at the beast. Scavengers... Was this one of many who would squabble amongst themselves to breach his armor and gorge on his flesh?

Arden was surprised by the intelligence he could sense in the creature's gaze, and deluded desperation was enough to force his broken body into action. "T-Tank...s-strapped...strapped to my back..." The voice emulator of his suit had suffered, the choking gurgles of his speech underlined with a queer crackle of failing mechanics. "Push it," Came the ragged request before he was overwhelming by another coughing fit. If the energy tank could be properly connected to his suit's reserves, there was a chance that it was still functioning enough to save his life... But if this beast was nothing more than truly an animal in mind, his last efforts and energy reserves would have been wasted. He had no choice; he could not accept dying in miserable silence until he had exhausted all other options.

The glowing orbs flickered for a moment, the bold spheres reflecting the dancing flames all around them, and withdrew without warning, leaving the dying man alone once more. He wasn't sure if it was the sound of his voice that had frightened the creature away, or even if perhaps it'd gone to gather its fellows for the kill. Something popped faintly, and the flames hissed with greedy--he merely assumed they'd found something like timber to consume. It didn't matter much anymore. His time was up. The hoarse rattles in his throat slowly quieted as the satin curtain of darkness returned again to drape itself lovingly across his face, dimming the harsh glare of the flames and swallowing up the pale light of the morning.

Damaged armor groaned as he was gripped and shifted backwards, managing only a choked sigh to express the way his bones and nerves screamed. There was pressure then against his back, sending raw waves of agony ripping down his spine as the tank clicked cheerfully into place. The results were nearly instantaneous; the entire canister hummed low and rich while the liquid contents within lit like they were radioactive. The azure substance began to drain, pumping furiously through specially made valves within the man's suit to access his vitals, enveloping them in the rich, healing fluid and forcing their bleeding to stop. Torn and crushed nerves were next, firmly flattened out and forced to reconnect with their brothers and sisters to channel proper signals to his limbs. But one tank could only do so much--and by the time it began to mend the marine's bones, it had drained itself dry.

Arden, rigid as any corpse gripped in the throes of death, suddenly sank back into the earth as though praying it would swallow him whole. Armored fingers clawed to give him purchase before he hauled himself to a sitting position and exhaustedly pulled his damaged helm from his head. A mess of shortly cut auburn was plastered to his skull, and the man angled his bruised jaw before spitting blood, hoping to rid his mouth of the irony tang. "Thanks." He intoned in a hoarse, accented tone, finally shifting brown eyes over to where he thought the beast might have gone to. There was no creature there--but a man, stark-naked and completely unashamed of himself. For a moment, the man looked surprised, but the inevitable exhaustion and hurt from his pains soon settled across his masculine features.

"Federation Marine, Arden Valkov at your service, sir." He kept his eyes on the other's face, shifting his legs faintly as though wondering if they'd hold his weight. Somehow, he doubted it. They were throbbing like that goddamn pile of wreckage had fallen on them all over again. With an almost guilty start, the man hauled himself to his feet to stare at the burning Valkyrie, quickly yanking his helmet back on. Switching to Visor Mode, he sought to scan the ship, hunting for any vital signs of his comrades... but the blips remained dark, indicating that his fellow men were dead. Arden slanted his eyes away and back to his unknown savior, knowing that there'd be time later to grieve. He couldn't lose his head yet--not with Space Pirates still circling the stars above. They might follow to see the end product their destruction had wrought.

"...What planet is this?" The man questioned softly through garbled mechanics, twisting to fully face the other with his hands free and relaxed at his sides. He'd lost his assault rifle... but whether his gauntlets still functioned, he wasn't quite sure. If anything, he was secure in the fact that his armor was in relatively decent condition, and would last him until he could find a safe place before he began taking steps into attempting to contact the Federation.

The crouched, somehow menacing display of both body language and vocalization struck him as odd, though he assumed it was merely native custom. Who knew all what resided on this alien planet? Besides, if this was the worst thrown at him, he could shoulder the brunt of reality like it wasn't even there. A shiver rippled through the form of the wolfish man and he caught it with cool, if careful scrutiny. A mere observation at best, for he had no idea of the cause and reason for its unexpected appearance. The rough words were taken in with the same measure of evaluation, and Arden nodded slowly to the slow response to his introduction--perhaps the man was still wary of him, afraid to hand out titles so easily. His next statement confirmed it, and the marine had to wonder exhaustedly if perhaps a war or feud of some sort was gripping this planet. It wasn't uncommon.

"What's happening?" He made to question, and instead fell into silence as the man roughly announced his departure and was off. Arden gave a slight jerk of surprise, balking immediately at the thought of discarding his armor. Without it... Well, it was the only source of protection he had, the last scrap of home and his life, still clinging to his body. The armor-clad warrior tilted his head downward for a brief moment, never one to brood, and whittled down his options. His armor--and the armor of his comrades--might still be here when he returned. As injured as he was (and his swollen kneecaps were beginning to throb from standing), Arden knew he wouldn't last the night if he was set upon by predators.

It pained him as he pulled his helmet again from his face and dropped it carelessly on the charred soil, nimble fingers quickly activating the releases for the rest. The sleek metal sighed softly as it loosened its hold upon the man, and, though with difficulty and the occasional twitch of pain, he managed to pull himself free. Though the heat of the flames was uncomfortable now against his skin-hugging under suit, Arden also felt a brief twinge of pleasure from his unburdened muscles. Still, he was unhappy and set his bottom jaw as though to better stifle his emotion. At least, he briefly reassured himself, he still had his fists.

The first step he took, unaided by the embrace of metal, nearly made him stumble before the man pulled himself upright. Tension gripped him like a vice, a temporarily impenetrable shield to pain that allowed him to function, regardless of damage wrought to his injuries. He asked no questions though his mind burned with them--a silent soldier awaiting commands from one who knew the land much better than he. He could only pray this Gideon wasn't leading him into something worse.

His pain-laced stride was forced into a jagged and uneasy halt as Gideon seemed to fall to his knees, gripped with the sudden awareness that the man might have injured himself as well. Did he inhale too much smoke? Ringing ears barely caught the moist rip that signaled the start of a transformation he would not soon forget. Arden watched in a mixture of horrified awe as bones cracked and hair sprouted, as flat facial structure thrust itself outward into an unmistakable snout and the two-legged biped morphed into a four-legged beast. The creature he saw from before--they were one in the same. The thing cracked its powerful maw together, the sound not unlike a gunshot, and the armor less soldier tensed in preparation. Men that could turn themselves into beasts... He could only see the gleam of the creature's eyes as it watched him, taking a slow and purposefully predatory step in his direction. Had the man merely wanted him stripped of his armor to make an easier kill? Arden quelled the urge to glance at where he'd discarded the body suit, knowing the beast would be on him in an instant if it truly wanted to.

He was circled like some dying prey animal, only twisting his head as far as he could to follow and feebly track the other's movements. With legs too crippled to pivot as quickly as he would like, Arden feared any sudden movements that would send him toppling, therefore exposing his throat to the teeth that the beast seemed more than happy to display. It was clearly thinking, though he couldn't hope to fathom just what about. And what sounds it was making... Fine hairs on the back of his neck, already slathered with sweat, prickled with not only unease, but the sense of a potential fight that brewed within the heat of the still-roaring flames behind them. The creature's nose was pressed against his hamstring, and from the growls that flowed thick and furious from its throat, Arden was ready to feel the excruciating pain of teeth ripping through tendon and muscle alike.

It seemed his mental preparation would be wasted; nimble steps brought the beast directly in front of him, unscathed and with no new wounds to bear. Pain flared, hot and without restraint in his bumped kneecaps and the marine choked back a curse. One hand unconsciously gripped the animal's fur to steady himself, though the snarl that erupted soon after from that razor-lined maw was enough to make the appendage drop back to his side. His brow creased faintly and the man looked politely puzzled, aching fingers flexing unconsciously into a fist and back as he sought to understand just what it was that Gideon wanted.

"I don't understand what you want." He said simply and allowed his hand to again reach for the lupine, palm pressing faintly against one shoulder. A second snarl would be more than enough to let him know that such was the wrong decision, and his line of thinking was incorrect. Otherwise... Well, from before, it almost looked as though the beast had been ready to bodily haul him to wherever it was they were going. It--he--certainly looked big enough.

Whether it was his radiating unease or the words from his lips that caught Gideon's attention, he didn't know. The beast's shaggy head shifted faintly to lock eyes with him, and a sigh so unmistakably human heaved itself from a pair of enormous lungs that Arden unconsciously felt himself relaxing a little. Though the other now wore the face of a predator, he could still see the man inside. The rigidness faded from the mammal too, spine and limbs notably growing lax as though to help further reassure him. The hand that connected them shifted upward, more towards the back of Gideon's neck. His fingers, though separated by fabric, could detect the thick coarseness of the animal's pelt, suggesting that the beast was able to travel through some of the colder weather that might grip this planet. He knew his analysis would need to wait until; Gideon suddenly shifted closer, and Arden realized how easily the other would dwarf him if he were to rear up on his hinds.

Heavy silence weighed down on them both, but the marine would accept it as a favorable sign to his presence. His other hand slowly ghosted to grip the matted ruff presented to him, and with a low and pain-seeped grunt, he swung a leg over the beast's side. He nearly slipped off entirely at first, the slickness of his under suit and Gideon's current build informing him that not only was he poorly dressed for such a maneuver, but that the other wasn't exactly meant to be ridden. Arden had never owned any pets as a child, nor been in friendly situations with animals as a whole--he simply didn't know how to treat them. The fact that this monster was also a man who'd saved his life... well, it enabled him to gingerly lean forward, not-quite vertical against the withers of the wolf. His hands still sought to retain their hold on shoulders and ruff without yanking fur anymore than he had to, and he was careful to stay away from Gideon's throat to avoid accidental choking. This, he realized with a faint, deepening sort of gloom, wasn't going to much fun for either of them.

He hauled his knees up so his feet would no longer touch the ground, hissing a curse into one furry shoulder from the resulting throb. The ride would be brutal, and he knew it. Better than staying here as easy pickings near the wreckage, still burning like some great signal fire to announce his untimely arrival. "As you will." Arden managed after a moment, resisting the urge to bunch up his muscles to better prepare himself.

Coiled muscle trembled against his aching thighs, every inch of it emerging from the lean, raw power of the beast underneath him and Arden could fully appreciate evolution’s ingenious design. How those sides heaved underneath his weight… The marine gritted his teeth to better bite back the unexpected wave of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. Little more than a sack of bruised flesh and broken bone, he was helpless to ease the burden that—to him—Gideon had selflessly taken upon himself. He would do what he could, but there was no doubt in his mind that this journey would strain them both to the point of further injury. The best he could hope for was that it would be a short one.

The other lunged forward a mere instant after his softly spoken speech, all bristling fur and heaving strength. Such propulsion practically unseated him, slick fingers clawing for a better handhold while the danger of falling off became very real to the young soldier. Pain was a mere, trifling obstacle; he was worried that the creature, so driven in his desire to go, wouldn’t bother to come fetch him. Every jolt that twitched through the body of the beast seemed to knock the wind out of him, forcing him to huddle more firmly against protruding shoulder blades even as they pounded against his chest.

He didn’t know how long they kept up their awkward pace, his body so wracked with pain atop the tiring creature’s back that the looming city seemed some god-blessed miracle sent in disguise. Arden kept his gaze skirted low, ignoring the wind slapping plaintively at his eyes as they pushed closer and closer to the outskirts. Gideon soon swept them through mounds of ruined stone and choking smoke, leaving the marine to wonder if his assumption of a war had really been so far off. This place had looked beautiful once, or so he detected from what whipped by at the edges of his periphery. But now… what had happened?

The effort that gripped the creature as it hauled both their weight could be felt through his exhausted limbs, and Arden winced with each rasping cough that shuddered through its frame. Attention soon snagged by the looming behemoth of a building before them, his dark eyes quickly strained to take in the magnificent whole of their apparent arrival point. Despite its grandeur, his guts were writhing with unease at the silent sight, and, so caught up in his misgivings, the man realized with a jolt that they had finally stopped. Arden forced himself to slip from the ruffled back of the wolf to better relieve him as soon as possible, only to teeter on weakened limbs that collapsed when he offered them his full weight. He hit the cold stone hard, feeling the grit scrape mercilessly against his chin and scrape open a raw, shallow wound for the acrid air to bite. With a grunt, the man gave himself a feeble shake and let his palms take the brunt of his bulk as he pushed himself slowly up; pressed a beaten shoulder against the door that Gideon was so furiously seeking entrance too and sought the handle. A throaty sound slipped past his lips as it slowly gave way to his efforts, and, though ashamed of his weakness, Arden stood firm despite his trembling form. He would wait for the other to lead the way, not trusting the darkness or his own unstable feet in this unknown environment.

Gideon plunged into the darkness, seemingly indifferent to the notable stench that drifted gently forth to stroke at his comparably feeble sense of smell. The soldier, in the meantime, resisted the urge to take a step back, squaring broad shoulders and slipping silently inside. Every sense was tingling, and even without the much-needed aid of his visor, Arden carefully scanned what he could of the gloom and listened with ringing ears for any sound that might give way to someone lurking in th