Jerrin is 5 days old.
His life expectancy, is about a week.
He has not dealt with this internally.
He will not deal with this, internally.

40 - Jerrin Gut

The crystal falls of Yint are always in the consideration for "8 wonders of the galaxy" lists, normally at around 5, and they're there, because they're astonishingly beautiful,
almost silvery water, flowing down azure blue stone into a pool that embodied peace.

At the top, two figures stand, one is next to a barrel.

"Please don't."
"I'm gonna"
"Look, please, Colt please do not do this."
"Look just make sure you get it on film, we're gonna be stars!"
'Insane Holovision Clips' is a major brand, and like a lot of amateur stuntwork, something terrible is going to happen, because it's a major brand.

"Come on Farn, don't be like that"
Farn isn't dropping the Camera.
Farn trains it on the barrel, and follows it all the way down.

41 - Colt Folx, Insane Holovision Clips Episode 486, Clip #35

The lights are off, bar one, flickering, distress signal.
Nobody's coming.
The standard small ship distress signal went in phases, correlated with remaining power, each denoting urgency:

"SOS, POWER LOW, IMMEDIATE ASSITANCE REQUIRED" had bleated for 2 days

"The lights are going out, and i need help"

Nobody's coming.

42 - Piffen Dart, Recreational Spacer.

Look at the wall.
Look at it.
Stare forward.
Don't let them beat you further, you have lost, you will die, you will do so with dignity.
You will die a good soldier.

The charge feels like it has hollowed his torso, he smells burning flesh.
Look at the wall.
You will die a good soldier.

"Give me the names."
Look at the wall.
You will die a good soldier.

He feels the charge again, but nerves have burned away, it feels wet, and the smell is still there, getting worse.

43- Kaffen Mort, Lance Corporal of the Royal Tellgein Army, Good Soldier.

Molt is happy, and he is dying.
Around him, his family are crying, but he remains serene, with a quieting voice he comforts his daughter Jerli like he used to.
"Sh sh sh sh sh shhhhhhhhh"
"It'll be alright."
He attempts to move his 3rd arm to pat her, it fails him.

Oh dear, he really does have to go, last stop.

His Son, Molt II places his arm over his crying sister, tears still in eyes, but holding.
"Thatta boy."

He wants to say something, to the people in the room, but it's getting harder now, "love" escapes.

44- Molt Tashin - Husband, Father.

The syringe finishes draining, and Rikel is fucking ready, he stands with speed, eyes dilating to pinpricks, and he wanders outside into the screaming crowd.
"RIKEL" is emblazoned on the screen, complete with annonucer roaring his name, 14 Kills, 14 Victories.

His brain is laser focused on making this exhibition number 15.

He looks onto the screaming crowd, in the cacophony he yells "MAKE SOME FUCKING NOISE", and feels like undifferential loudness, thinks he has encouraged the beast.

"MEAT" shone on the screen, 0 Kills, 0 Victories, the owner of the name looked wiry, dazed, and scared.

A wry smile curled on Rikel, as he lunged forward.

It takes seconds, and Rikel has made 15.
He will die, pointlessly, 2 months later, 17 Kills, 17 Victories, 1 Loss.

He will go unmourned.

45 Rikel Yast - "RIKEL"

"You don't go home." The driver said, in a poor aproximation of Galv's toungue.
20 years on the penal colony.
20 years and the shuttle is full, and it was for nothing, and he hates the drivers fat, stupid face, and he hates everyone on the shuttle, and he hates.
And he hates, nothing in particular, everything in specifc, fuck this putrid, stupid tiling scheme, fuck this disgusting aesthetic of pretty statues of historical figures he could never fathom giving a solitary shit about.
Fuck this entire thing.

He hates his stupid fucking lungs, traitors to home, racking him with these fucking coughing fits, he couldn't hide it, blurted out in front of a medical examiner, Tiflin Syndrome, from
the mines, fatal, almost certainly, so now he's here, stuck in these fancy fucking halls filled to the top with fancy fucking nothing that he'd sourced, gave his life to source.

"You don't go home." he repeats to himself.

He's alone now, and it's dark, and cold, and it's always fucking cold here, and he misses the suns, and he misses being warm, and he misses the little tree at the bottom
of his grandparents garden that no arboreal abomination on this dead fucking rock could compare to.

He wants to grab a rifle and charge something.
He doesn't know where to get a rifle, what to charge, or what he'd do knowing he'd taken innocent lives.
A devil on his shoulder tells him "Someone did that to you"
He stops for a moment, and reflects.
No, he concludes.
And eventually, not to long after, he concludes again.

46 -Galv Torrix - Penal Labourer.