Fallen Planet

[Soul Reaper]

>Chapter Two
>Finding A Way


Water. So much water. The jungle was packed with small streams of water all around the jungle floor. He was thirsty, very thirsty yet could not drink at all, his suit showed the water to by heavily polluted, he didn't have the necessary medicine to keep him alive if he tried drinking it. He had been walking for hours, the web of leaves above the jungle floor wasn't as thick, and it let rain pour down on him. He had been grateful that whoever put him on this damned planet had at least put him in good survival gear. The suit was water and air-proof, the air that he breathed was let through filters and a complex mechanism that let him breathe air that wouldn't kill him. Even though the rain would leave some room to breathe openly, washing away the pollution and radiation. Yes, radiation, there was a constant level of radiation no matter how much it was raining.

Why? It's a jungle..
Nuclear fallout, thermonuclear bomb, high yield, multiple warheads.
What?

Did he just think that? How did he even know that? Although it made sense, it would take several nuclear weapons to have this sort of fallout radiation in a jungle. A jungle, a jungle should have had many species of animals, there were many types of plants or insects, but he had yet to see a mammal of any sorts. There was only the sound of rain.

What was that?

Croaking sounds, many. Frogs croaking in the rain in a jungle landscape, he suddenly felt..light, as if he were in air, it was as if he was hangover. Then he remembered, the memories raced through his head, past memories of his training in a jungle like this, the croaking of frogs and the yelling of his drill instructor in his ears.

Is that how your mother jumped on top of your dad's c*** you little f***!? Your mother didn't have an army of cannibals firing at her now did she?

A marine doesn't crawl on his knees like a slaving prostitute, get in the mud marine, keep your head down or you'll lose it, the Republic won't benefit from your deaths you bastards, you'll just have them pay your god damned families compensations. Now stick your face in the mud marine!

People would have thought that the CMC's most elite units would have a more humane training program compared to regular marines, yet primary front line was always the same, no matter how perfect you did everything, the drill instructors always found a reason to punch you to the ground, even if they had to kick you upright in the first place. He hadn't thought of who he was except his name, rank and ID number, yet the memories kept filling in. He was Hispanic, born to a pure outcast family and taken as prisoner by the Colonials when he was too small to even remember anything, then trained to become what he was, a perfect killer. Then a thought smote upon his mind like thunder, he had been without it for hours.

Cardamine!

No..he doubted there was a place where he can scavenge for Cardamine in this desolate place, nor could he order any in. His own family had been Outcasts for many generations as well as his psychological training allowed him to endure the need for Cardamine longer than an average user, yet it wouldn't matter in the end. He had seen Cardamine Withdrawal and even felt it himself on occasion due to his training, it wasn't pretty.

How am I going to survive?
Nano genetic engineering, somatotroph cells replaced, cell control via neuro-electrical manipulation of passive hormones.
...what?

How did he know that, he -knew- it, it wasn't told to him, he just knew it for sure. More memories -more like instruction manuals and guides- filled into his mind, his addiction was supposedly cured, he knew how yet could not explain it. He thought back to his training and surgical enhancements...no, nothing about curing the addiction; his last mission perhaps? He couldn't remember his last mission, just the one before yet at that time he was positive he had used Cardamine. What was happening to him?

What the hell is happening to me, how do I know all this..

His reflexes suddenly kicked in, there was a disturbance in the natural sounds..the croaking had slowed down, the frogs' voices were difference, growling? His eyes searched the floor level, there they were, under the bushes, red eyed frogs...with three pairs of legs each, some with four or even five. Thinking of his experience with the bunny before, the frogs would probably pose as a threat as well. He was going to level his rifle, his training and common sense told him otherwise; shouldering the rifle and taking out his pistol. The frogs had stopped croaking and were silently getting closer. Six meters.

My knife...but I don't have one!
Knife, waist, lower equipment belt, specialized thermal electronic combat knife.

His hand went to his back as his reflexes demanded of him, taking out the long knife, it's cold steel color immediately changed to a glowing hot red, rain drops sizzled as they touched the hot blade. The movement alerted the frogs, they suddenly charged towards him, leaping. About twenty frogs -more like giant toads- as large as his gloved hands were leaping towards him, their mouths open with trios of bright red tongues hanging out. Two of the frogs were a bit ahead of the other, his initial strike was spinning forward, the knife cutting through both of them mid air, slicing them in half with no problem at all. He was about to take the others on when he stopped and stepped backward.

Why am I even trying? Screw this.

He turned back north and ran away from the brigade of frogs, not even looking back to see if they were following, yet he doubted it. He couldn't believe his speed, it was like he was driving an off-road vehicle, his strength combing with his speed, not even caring about the low branches or thick mud, he was practically flying. Then he looked back, and saw it. Some king of predator, black with two pairs of bright blue eyes, four limbs and chasing him, it was was taller than a human being. Troy sheathed his knife, still running he took out his sidearm and shot backwards twice. He heard a thump and a the silent sound of a body sliding in mud. He didn't even look back and didn't stop running for the next ten minutes. He had seen a large rock formation ahead, a small area without trees, he stopped to catch his breath, surprised that he actually didn't have to. He felt as if he could run forever, perhaps it was the adrenaline? Doubtful.

What kind of planet am I on? Is this real? What the hell is happening to me?

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