Ceaseless arctic winds and harmful radiation made the planet Yvyr categorically inhospitable. Twil, a watchwarden at a facility safeguarding Imperial secrets, was equally terrified that the planet could scour her away in seconds and proud that Queil engineering kept her shielded from the elements.
There wasn’t much to watch for on Yvyr amidst the constant blizzard, so she initially dismissed the eerie glow breaking through the storm as her imagination. As the light resolved into a humanoid figure, however, Twil felt terror paralyse her. Who could even stand out there, as though nuclear winds were a summer breeze?
Twil keyed the comm to broadcast, but was pre-empted by a serene voice stating, “Greetings. I am Centurion Sixty-Seven. I come seeking knowledge.” Her finger leapt from the comm as though it were a hot stove. She ventured a glance outside. Though the figure was far below and some distance away, she knew it was looking at her.
Gulping back fear, Twil returned to the comm. “Uh, hey there Centurion. This is a restricted area; no entry. Please move along.” A ridiculous suggestion, but what was the alternative?
“Regrettably,” the voice replied calmly, “my mission requires that I enter.”
Twil gasped as the figure single-handedly tore away the outpost gates, metal squealing as it bent and was taken the winds. Instantly, the climate seal ruptured and the radioactive blizzard flooded the base, atomising everything. Twil knew it would soon claim her, too.
The Centurion looked on, inscrutable, as the storm closed in.
Comments