Farewell

The battlefield was chaos. Serphinem's mech darted between the hulking Steel Knights, their monstrous forms towering over him. Each clash of metal rang out like thunder, the storm above mirroring the violence below.

"Crap, Samuellll!" Serphinem shouted into the comms, his voice cracking with frustration. His HUD blinked red, unable to locate Samuel's signal.

One of the Steel Knights lunged, claws slashing through the rain. Serphinem barely dodged, his mech skidding backward, sparks flying. The creature struck again, forcing him into a desperate scuffle, energy blade clashing with impenetrable steel.

"Hope you survive, old man," he muttered under his breath, gripping the controls tighter as the battle raged on.

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The battlefield raged on, but elsewhere...

Bep bep bep bep bep!

A harsh alarm blared.

"Warning. Warning. Proximity alert: 500 meters and approaching," the AI's voice droned.

"Ah, wa—!" Samuel jolted awake, dazed and disoriented.

"A crap!" he muttered as realization hit. His body was hurtling through the air, plummeting into a deep, jagged pit below. The walls of the abyss seemed to close in, sharp rocks ready to shred him apart.

"ACTIVATE: 60 PERCENT MUSCLE POWER!" he barked, gripping at anything to stabilize himself as the enhanced systems in his suit roared to life.

Samuel reached out, his hands latching onto the jagged walls of the pit. The reinforced gloves of his suit sparked and screeched as they clawed against the unrelenting rock. 

"Ahhh, for Christ's sake!" he growled through gritted teeth, the muscles in his arms straining under the force of the fall. 

The sound of metal grinding against stone echoed in the darkness, the friction barely enough to slow his descent. Sparks danced around him as his grip slipped and caught again, leaving deep gashes in the rock. Every attempt to stabilize felt like a gamble against gravity's pull. 

The pit seemed endless, each second stretching longer as he struggled to find a foothold—or any way to stop. 

As Samuel's descent slowed, the chaos of his fall ground to a surreal halt. Time itself seemed to stretch, and he found himself hanging in the void, his hands trembling from the strain. 

"Ah… I'm alive," he muttered, almost disbelieving. "Aye." 

He glanced down into the abyss, squinting into the darkness below. "Night vision, active." 

The world lit up in a ghostly green hue, revealing a faintly illuminated platform about 200 feet below him. He frowned, his mind racing. 

"There's an entrance here?" he murmured, stunned. The platform was carved into the wall like a forgotten gateway, hidden and out of place. It didn't match the schematics of the Thermus he knew. 

"This place… wasn't even supposed to exist."

Samuel steadied himself, his breaths shallow as he focused on the platform below.

"Alright," he muttered to himself, his voice low and resolute. "Loosen the grip on the gloves by one percent for every meter we descend. We'll take it slow."

The AI responded immediately. "Affirmative. Adjusting grip strength incrementally."

He felt the gloves gradually release their vice-like hold on the walls. Bit by bit, he began his controlled descent, the faint sound of grinding metal accompanying each movement.

The platform grew larger in his vision, its mysterious presence gnawing at the back of his mind. Whatever this was, it wasn't part of the Thermus he had prepared for.

As Samuel descended, his helmet sensors whirred to life with a low hum. He tapped the side of his helmet and muttered, "Scan area."

The HUD flickered, and a bold red text flashed before his eyes:ERROR: SCAN FAILED. DATA UNAVAILABLE.

"Ah, great," Samuel groaned, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Another glitch in the tech. Just perfect."

The faint grinding of his gloves against the wall echoed around him as he shook his head.

"I guess it's nothing new over in this hellhole of a planet."

He tried to brush off the unease creeping into his gut, but the unnerving silence below spoke louder than the malfunctioning tech.

Samuel reached the platform and cautiously stepped forward, the dim glow from his helmet's faint HUD barely illuminating the corridor ahead. His boots echoed against the metallic surface, and the air was heavy, tinged with rust and time. 

As he moved further, his eyes caught sight of a dormant console embedded into the wall—a system that looked ancient. Its design was crude, a far cry from the sleek interfaces he was used to. Samuel ran his gloved fingers across the dusty surface, revealing engravings and markings from the era of the Great Migration. 

"Ah, geez," he muttered, tilting his head at the relic. "You're one piece of tech, aren't you?" 

He crouched, fumbling with the controls, hoping for some response. The screen crackled faintly, and Samuel gave it a sharp slap on the side. 

"Come on, don't die on me now," he grumbled. His hands worked instinctively, though the tech was so outdated it felt like trying to read hieroglyphs. 

As the console flickered weakly to life, Samuel sighed.

"Wish Harold was around. He'd have this thing purring in seconds." 

A rare softness crossed his scarred face as he leaned back, staring at the dim light of the console. "Wonder if he's alright..." he muttered under his breath, the weight of uncertainty gnawing at him before he forced himself to refocus. "Alright, let's see what secrets you've got." 

Samuel opened the door slowly, his movements steady yet cautious, as an uneasy sensation prickled at the back of his mind. Something was wrong—he could feel it in the silence, the stale air pressing in on him. 

He proceeded further, his boots crunching on debris scattered across the floor. The corridor led to a small chamber where an old terminal sat amidst the wreckage. Its design matched the ancient systems he'd seen earlier, but what caught his attention wasn't the terminal—it was the collapsed ceiling above it. 

"Wait a minute..." he muttered, his breath catching in his throat. 

His eyes widened as the pieces clicked together. The faint scorch marks on the walls, the disturbed rubble—it was fresh. 

"Harold?" Samuel's voice cracked, raw with both fear and hope. 

He stepped forward, scanning the area frantically. The terminal flickered faintly, but all he could focus on was the scene before him. 

"Harold!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the crumbled walls, desperation creeping in.

Then he saw it. 

"...Fuck." 

Samuel's legs moved on instinct as he rushed over, his heart pounding in his chest. It was Harold. 

"No, no, no, no, no..." 

He dropped to his knees, frantically pushing rubble off Harold's battered body. The sight of his bloodied form, crumpled under debris, made Samuel's breath hitch. 

"Harold… please wake up," he pleaded, pulling his friend into his arms. 

No answer. 

"Harold, come on, bud," Samuel said, his voice trembling. "You said you were gonna be a poet... You said you'd start a bar, remember? And we'd finally get that Old Earth Scotch." 

Still, no answer. 

"Don't leave me here, Harold..." Samuel's voice cracked, a tear escaping down his soot-streaked face. 

Then, a faint touch—a bloodied hand weakly gripping his arm. 

"Harold!" Samuel gasped, hope surging through him like a lightning bolt. 

Harold's eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain. His face was pale, smeared with dirt and blood, and his chest bore a gaping, bloody hole—a wound that no man should have survived. Yet here he was, alive, holding on by sheer will. 

"Sa... Samuel," Harold rasped, his voice barely audible.

Harold's grip tightened weakly on Samuel's arm as he spoke, his voice trembling with pain and finality. 

"I'm sorry, mate... I guess my luck... ran out... in the end." 

Samuel shook his head vehemently, trying to force back the lump in his throat. 

"Don't say that, Harold," he said, his voice firm but desperate. "I'll get you out of here, alright? Just hang on. We just need to find the exit." 

He tried to stand, cradling Harold to lift him, but Harold's other hand shot up, pressing against his chest to stop him. 

"It's too late for me, Captain," Harold whispered, coughing weakly as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "I'm... a lost cause." 

Samuel froze, his jaw tightening as he looked into Harold's pain-filled eyes. 

"No. I refuse to believe that. You're not dying here. Not like this," Samuel said, his voice shaking, his emotions threatening to break free. 

Harold gave a faint, pained chuckle. "Always... the stubborn one. That's why we followed you, Samuel. You never gave up." 

Samuel's hands trembled as he tried to apply pressure to Harold's chest wound, desperate for anything that could help. 

"Just shut up and save your strength," Samuel muttered, his voice cracking. "You're not done yet." 

But Harold's hand found his again, squeezing it weakly. 

"Listen... to me," Harold rasped. "You've got a bigger fight ahead. Don't... waste it on me."

"Harold, come on, mate. Don't leave me like this," Samuel pleaded, his voice trembling with raw emotion. 

Harold, barely able to move, reached into his collar and pulled out his dog tags, the metallic clink echoing faintly in the hollow chamber. With a shaky hand, he pressed the tags into Samuel's palm, his grip weak but filled with determination. 

Then, with all the strength he could muster, Harold grabbed Samuel's hand, forcing him to meet his gaze. 

"Captain... Samuel," Harold whispered, his voice barely audible, "thank you... for leading me. For giving me... something worth fighting for." 

Samuel's throat tightened as he held the tags, feeling the weight of his friend's words and the inevitability of what was happening. 

"Harold, no... you're not done yet. Stay with me," Samuel begged, his voice breaking. 

Harold smiled faintly, his eyes glassy but still holding a spark of warmth. "Keep it close... and keep going. For all of us. Don't... let it end here." 

With those final words, Harold's grip on Samuel's hand loosened, and the light in his eyes dimmed. 

"Harold..." Samuel's voice was barely a whisper now, the crushing silence of the chamber swallowing his words. 

He clutched the dog tags tightly, pressing them against his chest as the weight of loss settled over him like an unyielding storm. For a long moment, he simply knelt there, his head bowed, the world around him fading into a blur of grief. 

Samuel sat there, motionless, Harold's lifeless body cradled in his arms. The cold metal of the dog tags pressed against his palm, a cruel reminder of another promise broken, another friend gone. His thoughts spiraled as he stared blankly at the ruins around him. 

"What am I supposed to do now..." he muttered, his voice barely audible over the hum of distant machinery. 

He ran a trembling hand through his hair, gripping his head tightly. "I can't keep anyone... everyone around me ends up..." His voice cracked, and he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. 

Images of the past flooded his mind—faces of the men and women who had stood by his side, faces that were now only memories. Laughter, camaraderie, shared dreams—all gone, leaving behind only echoes in the hollow corridors of his heart. 

"You said we'd make it," he whispered, his gaze fixed on Harold's still face. "You said we'd open that bar, drink that Scotch, talk about poetry and the stars..." He clenched his teeth, his chest heaving. 

The silence pressed down on him, suffocating. He wanted to scream, to rage at the universe, but all he could do was sit there, his body weighed down by grief and exhaustion. 

For a long moment, Samuel simply stared at the tags in his hand, their surface glinting faintly in the dim light. "What am I fighting for anymore?" he asked aloud, his voice hollow. 

But no answer came, only the cold, unyielding void of the room.

Samuel's eyes dropped to the dog tags in his hand. The engraved letters caught the faint light, their clarity cutting through the haze of his thoughts: 

"HAROLD CAMPBELL"

He traced the name with his thumb, his grip tightening. "Harold Campbell," he whispered, his voice trembling. The weight of the name felt unbearable, a constant reminder of the friend he'd lost. 

"You were more than just a grunt on a tag," Samuel muttered, his voice breaking. "You were a brother... a dreamer... a poet." 

He swallowed hard, his chest heaving with suppressed emotion. The tags jingled softly as he let his hand fall to his side, their metallic clink echoing in the desolate chamber. 

Forcing himself to his feet, Samuel looked down at Harold one last time, his gaze lingering on his friend's face. "I'll keep your name alive," he said softly. "Your dreams, your stories, all of it... I won't let them die here." 

He carefully placed the tags around his neck, letting them rest against his chest. The cold metal seemed to sear into his skin, a permanent mark of guilt, loss, and responsibility. 

Turning toward the dark corridor ahead, Samuel squared his shoulders. "Goodbye, Harold," he whispered, his voice heavy with finality. 

With a deep breath, he moved forward, the faint jingle of Harold's dog tags the only sound accompanying him into the unknown