The Survivor

I was the survivor, the survivor who lived to tell the tale. My tale started when the sun dipped below the jagged peaks, casting long shadows over the barren landscape of Xalian. The first half of my training was complete. Now came the crucial test: surviving the night on this hostile planet. I was confident. I had navigated thousands of simulations, each one a trial by fire. I knew the scenarios, and I knew the stakes.

For the tenth time, I checked my inventory: sidearms, boxes of ammunition, rations, explosive charges, flares, and emergency medical kits. Everything was meticulously organized in the drop pod. I had crash-landed on Xalian twenty hours ago, a necessary part of the drop pod program. The onboard computers and the pod’s hull had adjusted the trajectory to ensure a safe landing. The final test was a real-life simulation of surviving in hostile terrain.

Xalian’s days stretched twenty hours long, followed by a ten-hour night. Under the twin suns, the temperature soared to 60°C, turning the planet into an oven. Nights, though chilly, were manageable. Xalian’s nocturnal life thrived in the cool darkness. The sunset was swift and unceremonious, but the planet’s full moon illuminated the land, casting eerie shadows. Adaptive plants emerged from beneath the red soil, swaying gently in the breeze, while the Xalian volcanoes erupted in a fiery display. It was a breathtaking sight, if not for the deadly creatures lurking in the volcanic caves.

I was not here to appreciate the scenery. My mission was survival, the final chapter of my rigorous training at the Argon Military Academy. Five months of intense preparation, combining classroom simulations with physical exercises, had led to this moment.

Xalian, like any planet, had its apex predators. I didn’t have to wait long to meet them. The ground trembled as the grenoksmassive, predatory beastscharged towards the pod. Their roars reverberated across the plains, a harbinger of the carnage to come. The grenoks hunted in packs, devouring anything in their path. On Damar One, they were notorious for leaving nothing behindno bones, no blood, not even hair.

I prepared for their arrival, knowing their hunting patterns. Grenoks surrounded their prey before launching a final assault. I wouldn’t give them that chance. As they drew closer, I flicked the switch, setting off the ring of explosives I had carefully placed around the pod.

Drop pods weren’t designed for comfort; they were built for survival. Constructed from ductilium mined from Demaros caves, the pod could withstand a direct nuclear hit. The shockwave from the explosives created a smokescreen that shielded me from the immediate aftermath.

When the smoke finally cleared, I switched on the headlights. The scene was grotesqueblood and charred limbs strewn across the ground. Thick, green grenok blood coated the portholes. Breathing without a mask would have been impossible outside, but I had no intention of stepping out. The stench of death, though repulsive, would serve as a deterrent for other predators.

I settled in for the night, intending to relax with my rations and catch up on some light reading. The pod was programmed to return home on autopilot at the end of the allotted time. With the headlights off and the porthole shutters secured, I prepared for a long, uneasy rest, embracing the first and final night of my survival training.