Scavengers

 “Listen up!” The entirety of the battalion instantly snapped to attention. The Taskmaster strode across the myriad of soldiers who stood shoulder-to-shoulder, cleft into rows based on their corps and rank. I stood amongst the constituents of the 99th ‘Misfits' Squad. “Members of the 12th Battalion, ye find yourself on an Imperial mining facility. Savour this moment ‘s long tis possible. This side o’ the planet ‘as the most pristine air.” The battalion was engulfed in a series of coughs and wheezes. I felt vulnerable. My right knee shuddered in impromptu anguish. I hastily rectified my blunder and stood upright again. The edges of the Taskmaster’s lips curved in delight. His expression would forever endure in my memory. “Welcome to Valinor-III. Welcome, to your nightmare.”

 

We were fortunate. As a decorated squad, we were assigned a rather innocuous task. We were stationed at the top of the Commandant’s tower. The Commandant ran the facility. The facility is safeguarded by 3 battalions, which are rotated based on a 180-day cycle. Each battalion consists of 3 corps and is commanded by a Taskmaster. Each corp maintains its own objective, but roughly consists of 30 soldiers, and is commanded by a Captain. Each corp consists of 5 squads, which are commanded by a Sergeant. Each soldier branches under a rank, thus manifesting a structured authoritative hierarchy for ‘organisation and order’, values embedded into each of us throughout the period of the Squad Preparation Course (SPT); the ambition of which was to implement several admirable qualities, i.e dedication & loyalty, into soldiers, and at the same time to physically condition them for what was to come. 

The entire facility was under our purview. Our squad served under the Scout Corps, and we were instructed to ring a bell at 0600 and 1800 hours. That was when the mining began and ended. I let go of a sigh. It had been a month since I deployed, and although I was gratified for the comfort of my job, this daily routine of waking up, ringing the bell, eating, and sleeping sang a melody of monotony. When I enlisted in the Army, I had envisioned deploying on the contrary of this bleak planet. I thought of probing around ominous mountains, dragging my feet through treacherous swamps, sustaining against a radiant sun. But over here, there was no sun. There was no moon. There was no day nor night. 

I squinted my eyes to observe the once exasperating view that I was now exhausted of. Today was a rare occasion. I could ever so slightly make out the horizon. Above lay the ochre sky, which resumed into an eternal trail of fog that enveloped the planet; hazardous fumes that were emitted from the decades of operations that the facility had undergone. 

And in this air, thrived the ‘Megaptera novaeangliae’. Locally termed as ‘creatures of the Resistencè’, they were enormous creatures of flight that had been denoted the latter for their distaste of the facility. They had the looks of a whale, the size of an elephant, and the prowess of a tiger hunting its prey. They picked on lone miners, diving down and sweeping them off the ground. To thwart these efforts, a new division was introduced to the Army, the Marksmen Corps, one that contained skilled snipers and commissioned bounty hunters. When a creature of the Resistencè was impaired, they wailed shrill cries that resembled a chorus of agonised pleading. I shook off that thought, as it was a source of great trauma. 

The ground was bare of life. It was a jagged surface of basalt rock that was covered with red sand. Occasionally, it broke into deep crevices which were restricted, for quite a few miners had met their end at the bottom of them. Scattered across the landscape were broken buildings, subject to an apocalypse. Valinor-III had once bore the insignia of a hub of intergalactic activity, however, after a brutal planetary storm, it was abandoned. The Commandant had convinced the Emperor that the planet harboured invaluable minerals. Thus ensued the construction of this facility, devised to extract the aforementioned. 

As per regulations, all personnel were mandated to sport an oxygen mask. The atmosphere of the planet was unbreathable. Ten minutes without your mask, and you’re dead. But the unbearable part was the heat. Sweat dribbled across my body, trickling down my spine. My tongue was dry, and it took a great deal of effort to churn up a handful of saliva to relieve my taste buds and ease my sore throat. Personnel were also mandated to carry three cartons of water alongside them, because of how quickly it was used up. 

I gazed into the distance, jaded about how many days remained until I left the planet for good. And then suddenly, amongst the mist, an eye snapped open. One that retained features of sheer terror. One that stared so deeply that one could hear the sluggish thumping of their heart. One that belonged to a beast. I jolted back and yelled, “Resistencè!” I remembered the day I arrived on this desolate planet. I remembered that feeling of sheer terror, quivering down my body. I remembered the Taskmaster’s sly grin. I gaped at the thought of my coming death, unable to render my emotions into words. It was then that I realised. On Valinor-III, the Army was not in control. The Resistencè were. They were scavengers, and we were prey.