Editing The Faceless (section)

== Part Three - A Mysterious End (pt. 2) ==
Sorne lay against the snowdrift, shuddering. The cold was only half the reason for his violent shivers, although the biting chill of the snow that soaked through his coat was certainly unpleasant. The other half was fear. Memories of the sudden raid, of the snow suddenly churning as white-clad attackers sprang from it, of the high pitched shriek of plasma and dying men, raced across his mind. 

He heard the hiss and click of his rebreather as it released painkilling stimulants into his lungs. His goggles faintly flashed red words on the corner of their lenses, warning him of the wound in his side. Sorne glanced down at the wound, which had stopped bleeding. ''It’s just a scratch'', he thought to himself, ''nothing to be worried about''. Still, the plasma burn that ran just below his ribs looked substantial. Sorne found himself worrying about infection, or how agonizing it would be when his rebreather’s painkiller gasses ran out. He shook his head, trying to reassure himself. “Come on, Sorne,” he said, trying to put on his most optimistic voice, “There’s a friendly ship in orbit. Surely they’ll send help soon!” Even as he said these words to himself, he began to doubt whether or not help was actually coming. 

As the day dragged on, snow slowly began to fall. Sorne looked down at his uniform, grateful for the protection it provided against the cold. Unfortunately, the hole that had been ripped across the black uniform coat’s side still let in enough cold to be unpleasant, but at least it wasn’t enough to kill him. He hoped. Sorne felt his eyes grow heavy, the call of sleep urging him to shut his tired eyes and let him rest. In the back of his mind he felt a hint of concern, wondering if he would wake back up if he were to fall asleep. “I’ll be fine,” he assured himself, “It’s just a quick nap. What’s the worst that could happen?” 

<nowiki>***</nowiki>

Sorne blinked awake, feeling groggy. He felt an intense throb of pain in his side and let out a soft curse, realizing his painkillers must have worn off. Suddenly, he saw a humanoid shape in front of him, clouded by his still-adjusting eyes. He quickly scrambled for his pistol, before getting to his feet and slowly moving up behind the figure, stumbling slightly in pain, before pressing the barrel of the gun against the back of the figure’s head. “Don’t move,” he said, his voice soft due to his tiredness and pain, “I won’t let you take me too.” The figure stiffened, and its breath caught in surprise. 

Slowly, Sorne’s eyes came into focus, allowing him to identify the figure in front of him. It was a small human, it seemed, wearing a black coat and hat. Sorne identified the golden symbol of the Omen sewn into the coat’s shoulder and sighed in relief, lowering his weapon. “You’re friendly,” he sighed in relief, “Thank the Omen.” The person slowly turned to face him, revealing it to be a young man, with a clean shaven face and well-combed blonde hair. “Oh,” said the boy, looking rather intimidated, “Er, you’re one of the colony guards, I assume?”

Sorne nodded his head in confirmation, and the boy’s expression relaxed. “Thank goodness,” he said, smiling politely and extending his hand for a handshake, “My name is Secretary Kesh, with the investigation team that was sent here to learn why you went biosign-dark.” 

Sorne tentatively shook Kesh’s hand, before clearing his throat. “That would be the raiders’ fault. They just popped out of the snow and opened fire on us.” 

“Raiders?” said Kesh, raising an eyebrow, “We scanned Styros before establishing any colonies. The only life-forms it detected were Unusual Fauna and Snowbison, with the occasional insect or rodent. Certainly nothing sentient.” 

“Maybe the scans were wrong,” responded Sorne, “Maybe the raiders landed on the planet after you’d finished scanning. But look, can we discuss this after we’ve made it back to the ship? I’d like to get this wound fixed.” He gestured to his wounded side, wincing as another throb of pain coursed through it.

“Ah, of course,” Kesh said, slightly pale at the sight of the wound, clearly not having much experience with such things, “Lieutenant Haythe is just over the snowdrift, I’d be happy to lead you to-” and that was when the snow exploded.