@commander-holt
(continued from here)
Another day; another battle.
Cairis' cell of the Guns of Gamora had launched a raid on a supply base. That there were prisoners there - still free of the Hoktril - had been an unexpected surprise.
A nasty surprise: as it meant sacrificing lives that would have otherwise been saved if they'd been able to plan for them.
And yet: such an action sat terrible and poisonous in Cairis' soul. She'd issued the order to her troops to save as many as they could alongside their own lives while remaining committed to the mission objective.
And then: she had risked all to send out a mayday signal and hope that allies heard it and responded.
At the very least, she hoped that anti-Altean persons heard it and responded.
She found herself pinned down after having drawn the Altean sentries away from a decent exit. She was in the proper position to do it and so she issued the order to her second to escape and then led the sentries on a merry chase.
She was horribly outnumbered, outgunned; she was going to die--
--and then: she wasn't.
Explosions went off in systematic detonation. The sentries had no choice but to abandon her to put out fires.
A helmeted bipedal figure came in out of nowhere; helped her pick off the sentries.
Now, as the flames burned around them, they were safe for the moment and the newcomer told her that he was the friend of a friend.
When she heard a familiar name, her heart seized.
Her ears laid back, a ferocious scowl in place, she said, "That's not possible. Matthew Holt is no more."
