Instead he had become a marine. Looking back on his foolish decision (it was the only one he hadn't thought over thoroughly), he wished he could go back in time and kick the shit out of himself. Sure, the pay was good--if one could pull the job off--and sure, the benefits were great. But the things that he and his squad had been put through... he didn't sleep well at night.

He was half-laying in the back of an escape pod, propped up against a crate of medical supplies, eyes glazed over as he mulled over what exactly had gone wrong.

Let's start from the beginning, he thought. 'Always start at the beginning,' his father had taught him, 'and you'll never miss a mistake.'

Hired by some Weyland-Yutani underdog (with lots of money), his squad had been hired to take down some competition. Chelsey had thought that he'd gotten all of the information he needed from the woman to pull off the operation properly: the man they were after, named Stephaniaq, was setting down on a colony world to check on the settlers, or more likely to check on the quality of the exports they were processing. Chelsey and his team would move in under cover of darkness, take out Stephaniaq's guards, and then kill the corporate bastard himself. Only his contact hadn't given him all of the information. Somehow news of the assault had leaked out, and his men were taken by surprise. They'd been held up as they set down; their ruse of a supply ship was discarded without a second thought. While he and his men had at first gone along with the charade, hoping to pull off a 'plan B' (Chelsey always had a 'plan B'), when the shooting began, it was a plain-site battle. Chelsey had fought viciously, even managed to pick off a great deal of their attackers, but already most of his squad had been injured or killed. So he and those remaining had been forced to sneak off like wounded dogs, and hope for another chance to attack.

Chelsey shuddered at the memory, and was interrupted by the synthetic's inquiry. "How's that bump, Chelsey? Need another painkiller yet?"

"No, no... I'm good." he muttered, partially from the glaring pain in the back of his head, partially from the buzz of what painkillers were still circulating in his system. He didn't like to take drugs unless he had to: he had grown up watching too many spacers die due to their addiction to 'escaping' for a while. He could handle the pain.

He looked over the synthetics--no, he was name was Tyler Kemp--broken, sometimes oozing body. It--he was a mess, probably ten times worse off than Chelsey. And here he was asking if the burly marine was doing alright. The universe was crazy.

The universe was also a piss hole. Chelsey sank back into his dark ruminations. So they hadn't been able to take down Stephaniaq: the man hadn't even set down on the planet, as far as Chelsey could tell. They had had to remain planet-side for a good two weeks before things began to cool off, and they could hitch a ride (more like take out the original pilots) on a supply ship, and get the hell out of there. Not really knowing where to go, but realizing that they were in a shit-load of trouble, Chelsey had taken their bird back to Carina. It was his home, and it was large enough to perhaps hide them for a while. It hadn't, he was sure of that now.

Two days ago... was it only two? Rumors started going around about a ship which had nearly crashed into the station. The pilot of the little scuttle boat had been in such a panic that he couldn't speak... and supposedly his crew mates were in some kind of critical medical state. And then something began to happen which Chelsey couldn't wrap his head around.

He was sure that it was Stephaniaq who sent the creatures after them, he was one hundred percent certain. Bugs, that was the closest thing that he thought they resembled, had begun wreaking havoc on the station. He and other able-bodied men and women had done what all miner-born had been brought up to do: contain the problem. Only the problem was a lot bigger than they anticipated. Waaaaay bigger.

Why do I keep underestimating these things? he wondered. Normally he could be considered a 'lucky' person, though luck didn't really exist... but lately things had just been going from bad to worse.

The last day had been a blur of death, and before he knew it, people were no longer working to stop the problem, but running around screaming and shouting and causing such a havoc, that it was no surprise when the station had begun to give way. And then as he had been trying to put some bullets through one of those insanely fast buggers, something has shaken loose from the roof of that level, conked him on the head, and he had passed out. He had no idea what happened after that, except that when he woke up he was in an escape pod with an android, going god knew where, with little hope of survival. At least they still had food--which the synthetic was currently playing with...

He frowned. He still didn't know what to do about everything, if there was anything he could do. "You think anyone will hear the beacon?" he asked, his voice a little rough. "Were there any other survivors?"

The synthetic, who had since collected the bars and stored them away again with perfect efficiency and was now rummaging through his own crate of supplies, glanced over his shoulder before replying. Jovially, "Well, sure! The Carina was sending out a mayday to every other ship and station within two thousand klicks. Someone heard that, and someone's gonna have to come investigate, so it's only a matter of time 'fore someone gets close enough to pick up our signal too." And then his voice lost its friendly tone. Chelsey watched as the android found the container he was looking for, leaned against the wall, and pondered for a minute. He didn't expect anything sugar-coated, and when Tyler replied that Chelsey was the only still living human he could find, the free-lance marine gave a little nod. He hadn't really expected anything otherwise: a synthetic couldn't under any circumstances allow a human to die, even if it was just by standing aside. If there'd been any chance of finding survivors, they'd have been in here too, or all of them would have been dead.

The pod suddenly lurched as something clamped on to the airlock, and Chelsey gave a curse even more colourful then the android's. Had they hit something? Had someone been shooting at them? No... there was the sound of air filling the vaccum. Chelsey was immediately trying to stand up as well, though Tyler had beaten him to it, and was now aiming his pistol at the lock.

"Now who the hell latches onto a pod without radioing in a warning first?" the synthetic exclaimed, his voice holding the slightly tinny ring of paranoia, maybe fear.

Chelsey knew who: people who wanted him dead. He also reached for his firearm, though it did little good. The gun had been thrown from his hand at the same time as he had been hit by falling debris. Instead he grunted and went back to a kneeling position, head swimming, reaching for the knife he kept strapped to his shin. He sure as hell wasn't going down without a fight--whatever pitiful fight was left in him, at any rate.