Na Pali, the celestial Bermuda triangle, a graveyard of ships, Terran and alien alike. A familliar sight graces the sky-a hurtling fireball of metal, heading for a blazing descent. The lucky ones die in the crash. The survivors are left to the cruel whims of the world and it's conquerors, the Skaarj. But then come the luckiest, those who escape the world, or find safety and sanctuary among the native Nali people. Across the verdant land, the peaceful Nali peoples villages and temples lie, in stark contrast to the sprawling mechanical facilities of the violent and sadistic Skaarj. In a screeching inferno of fire and steel, the screams of the fallen ships crew are drowned out, blocked by sheer noise, and the airlocked doors that protected them in the sky. On the side of the ship, a flickering Identification plate struggles to stay alight, to inform other Terran ships of the craft they are approaching was the UMS-Valkyrie. But there are no other ships within sight, although far away lies the wrecks of ships such as the ISV-Kran, UMS Prometheus and the infamous Vortex Rikers. Already the ship is approached by a small squadron of Skaarj Scouts, intent on exterminating any remaining life.
Scorching light. Fire. The groans of other crewmen lying wounded at their posts-those that survived, at least. Alarik woke painfully, a vicious bloody gash across his side where part of the Navigator's seat had broken and cut him with the jagged edges. He checked the charts. They had crashed at the infamous blackspot, Na Pali. There were several Terran Military regiments here, all here for the one reason-exterminate the Skaarj menace that made rescue of Terran crash victims nearly impossible. The ship was old, and understocked. Alarik stumbled across the Navigation Control room to a dead guard, and took an old-model Combat Assault Rifle from the mangled corpse. The clip was full, they always were-the ship was a patrol ship, and it never saw any combat. The Navigation Room doors opened as Alarik approached the sensor-at least that still worked. He wasn't going to starve to death-all though, if he didn't hurry to the Med Lab, he might bleed to death.
The journey to the Med Lab was insane, the corridors were shattered, in parts there were colossal holes which a healthy man would never jump across, let alone the wounded. After numerous U-turns and dead ends, Alarik finally reached the medical bay. He could see even before he arrived that the sensor above the door was shattered into pieces. Wishing he had access to the newer, grenade-launching CAR's, Alarik pumped round after round of explosive bullets into the door, until it caved inwards with a sickening crunch of bone, as the dead bodies behind it were crushed. Alarik retched as the foul stench of death penetrated the corridor from the room. In the corner, some miraculously clean bandages sat, and Alarik took them and dressed his wound. Next on the list, gather some food... The Mess Hall was near the med lab-so many accidents were caused by soldiers on idiotic dares involving alchahol and excessively spicey food, UMS had actually changed the layout of ships. As he staggered down the darkened corridor, Alarik heard a grinding sound, like claws on steel. He turned around, just in time to see a demonic creature with wicked claws and fangs leap out of the ceiling ducts, roaring and slashing. Alarik leapt backwards, away from the creature, and emptied what was left of the CAR clip into it's chest. Another one dropped through the vent, its back to Alarik. This one held a weapon-Alien in design, it was a form of assault rifle. Alarik grabbed a lump of mangled steel from the nearby ground, and lobbed it at the creatures head, stunning it. He wrenched the rifle from its hands, and pulled the trigger, discharging a barage of bullets into its head. Alarik ran onwards, in case more came. With a sickening lurch, the ship quaked on its axis, and hurled him across the hallway. The end of the hallway became the floor, and when he hit it all faded to black...
