Work Text:
Out of This Dimension
Staring out of the cockpit of his specialized fighter, the M-Scouter, Sergeant Desslar Coba patrolled through asteroid belt Meteo, searching for signs of any suspicious activity. A well-experienced pilot from the Cornerian Army's reconnaissance division, Desslar had been assigned to monitor the field due to an increase in threats, hostilities, and sightings of scouts from Venom. It was in the best interests of the Cornerian government to keep as many tabs on Venomian activity as possible, however as of recent times situations were growing more tense than ever before. Two scouts minimum were usually mobilized on reconnaissance missions, but due to various epicenters of conflict, Cornerian forces were spread thin. Due to his exemplary skills in reconnaissance and Meteo's relative short distance from Corneria, the risk assessment of a recon assignment was judged low enough by Command, and thereafter Desslar was deployed on a solo mission to Meteo.
Missions in Meteo were notorious for being dangerous due to the numerous treacherous obstacles and possible areas of ambush, but these hurdles were well within Desslar's skill set…however, the mouse recalled to himself about another veteran pilot who went missing in action in Sector Y. Nothing was found where the distress signal last pinged.
Desslar took it as a warning: take precautions and be ready for anything. Who knows what is out here.
And looking out there, the black expanse of space seemed to stretch to all directions infinitely, a blanket of stars and planets spread out before him. Looking to Lylat through his camera system, the star was imposing and shone with such an intensity that made looking through the camera tough; passing asteroids were almost like shadows dancing in the rays of the star, bouncing and floating to and fro in an aimless, undetermined direction, moving to anywhere they were willed to with no will of their own.
It was sobering to Desslar; this feeling of being so miniscule in comparison to the cosmos, but still being part of it…it felt beautiful in a way, but it also instilled a particular kind of anxiety, an anxiety that he has tried to whittle down over his career as a pilot. It was a necessity to face that fear.
A flash of something metallic registered in Desslar's peripheral vision; no coincidental debris or hallucination here, he was certain someone was nearby. It had retreated back behind the meteorites, was it perhaps monitoring him?
"Meteo Outpost, M-Scouter designation 024, this is Sergeant Coba reporting, unknown contact spotted. Maintaining distance and investigating. Sending coordinates."
"This is Meteo Outpost, roger. Coordinates received. Beginning satellite scan that area."
"Roger."
Desslar looked over to the map display on the console; he was quite a ways into Meteo, and there could be risk of interference in communication if he traversed into the absolute thickest portions of the belt. Hopefully he could gain full visual confirmation on the unknown craft.
As he flew the M-Scouter towards the unknown entity's last location, Desslar's mind began to wander again.
It had been a few years since he was drafted, put into and graduated from flight school, becoming a pilot in the Cornerian Army. His dad was "out of the picture" (as they say) from before Desslar could remember him, and his mother was always anxious about his safety; she would often try to call him every day to ensure he was doing OK.
For Desslar, while the draft was him being effectively forced into the military, he didn't take much umbrage with it; in fact, it gave him some direction in a life where he felt stagnant previously, with other jobs not working out and other opportunities that were missed. And to top it all off, he ended up being pretty good at piloting, and it paid reasonably well.
As a child he would often dream of being an ace pilot, a hero who saved Corneria from its destruction; perhaps someone like the legendary James McCloud. It was a childhood aspiration, and he probably would put it into more subtler, more mature terms nowadays, but that drive to be a hero, it still remains there, lying dormant.
At this moment, Desslar noted how it was a bit odd how often he was zoning out, drifting to thoughts unrelated to the current scenario. This mission had an air of uneasiness…uncertainty. He couldn't place why. Something was throwing him off, making him lose focus.
Just then, another sighting, the light of Lylat shining off the wing of the unknown craft…a wing which seemed to move in a waving motion, thereafter disappearing behind another planetoid.
Desslar furrowed his brow. Odd.
Desslar sends more coordinates to the Meteo Outpost indicating the vessel's direction and location. He followed it further, keeping a considerable distance between it and himself. This craft didn't seem normal. Was it an experimental Venomian creation? Some odd civilian mechanation? It didn't seem like anything Venom could come up with to his knowledge, and the latter explanation didn't suffice either; the way the craft seemed to move in space was unnatural and went against known physics.
"This is Meteo Outpost: Sergeant Coba, be advised, we do not read any other ship in locations provided on satellite scans. Confirm visual."
Desslar hesitated a moment; was he seeing things? No, he was sure. There was no doubt something was there.
"Meteo Outpost, this is Sergeant Coba. Confirming unidentified craft sighting. Please advise."
A delay in response from M.O. felt uncomfortably long for Desslar, subspace comm-link static being the only noise present for those long moments.
"Sergeant Coba, continue investigation and detail full visual description of unidentified craft. Do not engage."
"Roger."
The M-Scouter was deft at dodging asteroids, and as such was traversing the field quite quickly. Desslar was very attentive now, head almost at a constant swivel switching between his camera and immediate surroundings.
But nothing seems to be there. He continues to search and scan the perimeter, but is once again unable to locate what he saw. Was he wrong? Was it all hallucinations? No, it had to be real, it was too real to excuse as some figment of his imagination.
After some time later, Desslar begins to turn around the M-Scouter and head back to base. There isn't anything out of the ordinary anymore. The others back at the outpost are gonna give me way too much shit for this, Desslar thought, and just as he turns around, what he is looking for is right in front of his arwing.
Desslar would have jumped out of his seat if not for the straps and belts holding him in. Before him was a bird-like vessel, moving its wings just as wild birds of yore used to do. He had never seen anything like it before, well, not in this form anyway; it moved with unexpected grace in the vast of space, yet looked metallic and lifeless as it circled around. Desslar swore he could hear it…chirping?
"M…Meteo Outpost. Sergeant C-Coba here, unidentified vessel located, sending camera data now. P-please advise."
Desslar attempted to maintain composure but this unnaturally natural movement of the vessel was throwing him off.
"M-Meteo Outpost?" he repeated. The coordinates read as being successfully sent.
No response.
Desslar moved the M-Scouter away in an attempt to move out of the foreign vessel's way, but it was now attempting to match his movements. And the chirping, it was growing louder. What was this? Is this a dream of some kind? An attempt to feint to the left was unsuccessful; it moved there at the same speed.
Then to Desslar's horror the vessel charged directly at him.
He jammed on the boost and threw the controls to the far right to avoid it to no avail. The front of the M-Scouter passed into its "eyes". Desslar braced for death.
Then, he felt his body and his arwing being pulled forward, static and chirps increasing alongside the g-forces on his body. Space twisted and folded before him, dizzying lights flashed constantly. Desslar closed his eyes as tight as he could, afraid to see what was transpiring in front of him.
As suddenly as the chaotic movement began, it ended. Desslar opened his eyes: there was a group of Cornerian supply ships under siege by Venomian forces in front of him, and they were being absolutely decimated. He had to jump in to help defend, otherwise they wouldn't have any chance at all. Despite his limited armaments, Desslar slammed on the boost drive and began firing the M-Scouter's laser cannons at the enemy fighters in his range; there was room for only two smart bombs on his vessel, so he was saving those for a last resort.
Weaving in and out of multiple fighters and frigates, Desslar attempted to contact the Cornerian mothership, but no response was received. The comms must be jammed. He cursed under his breath; he didn't know if he would be able to survive, let alone repel this many Venomian fighters. But damned if he didn't try.
Desslar engaged in constant dogfights, with enemy pilots constantly and consistently behind him, as if assessing him as the main threat. Using the barrel roll technique ended up deflecting most of the laser fire that went his way; he then tried a somersault to get behind his pursuers and began blasting the trigger as fast as he could, downing several of the fighters.
After taking care of numerous assailants, Desslar turned his attention to the Venomian siege ship; two smart bombs in the right place might do some serious damage at the very least, he reasoned. Thankfully the M-Scouter was quite fast in comparison to these other fighter ships.
Desslar aimed his arwing at the bridge of the freighter and began a volley of lasers to soften the target up, but then a turret on the freighter blew off one of the M-Scouter's wings, causing it to lose handling and the right laser cannon.
Wrestling with the controls and down a cannon, he engaged his boost thrusters and launched a smart bomb right into the bridge, and thereafter one into the freighter's midsection; the chain reaction caused a tremendous explosion, taking not only the freighter down but several fighters in its range. Desslar swung the controls up violently, barely dodging the blast.
Shaking, Desslar began to hear voices of the Cornerian crew in his comm-link. They were alive, he had saved them all, all thanking him for his bravery. Not knowing if he'd rather cry or celebrate, Desslar just laughed softly as more and more responses came in. That dream he had so long ago, of saving lives of his friends and comrades, it seemed implausible he could rise to that level; what was initially terrifying was bested by his skill, by him alone. He really was a hero now. Desslar could scarcely believe it.
Then he heard a chirp.
The colors suddenly bleached and all of his elation drained. The comm-link full of adulation ceased. The speed of the M-Scouter increased beyond comprehension. Desslar's laughs of happiness transitioned into screams of sheer terror, his pupils reduced to pinpricks. Everything blurred and his vision turned white. He could see the static, he could feel space itself tear at him as he descended into whatever hell this could be. Hallucinations sprang up and remained in his vision. Comrades and fellow pilots standing around him turned to grave stones, and eventually all dissipated into the maelstrom. Desslar's body began to morph and peel away, growing further and furthermore unrecognizable every second. Everything he ever said, did, or saw played on repeat in his mind in a deafening uproar. Every synapse in his brain snapped, leaving chaos in their wake. Thoughts flowed to and fro like a torrent, unpredictable and aimless shadows of the past rushed past him and saturated his vision. As the cacophonous noise reached its peak, the only coherent conscious thought Desslar had was an image of his mother, her form nearly indistinguishable from the shadows, just to see her consumed by the storm. Desslar tried to scream but he no longer had a head anymore.
Then, nothingness.
Desslar jumped up with a yell and hit the ceiling of the M-Scouter's interior, dazing him and causing him to recoil back into the seat. A headache the likes he had never experienced before threatened to split his head open.
Regaining his composure and fighting off waves of pain, he reasoned he just woke up from a supremely bad dream.
"I dozed off in the Scouter again, huh?"
Nervous laughter. All that was a dream, no, a damned nightmare. The boys will get a kick of this once I tell them this story, he mused. A pain in his nose distracted his train of thought.
Raising a hand to his face, he felt trails of coagulated blood running down his mouth and noticed that they spilled onto his uniform. He slowly looked down and winced. Back to the window, he peered to see what bay he was in at the M.O., but he wasn't in the M.O.
He was in space.
He didn't recognize any stars. He didn't recognize any planets. Nothing seemed familiar.
Breathing shakily, Desslar slowly looked in the direction of the map display. His eyes felt heavy. The need to vomit was overwhelming. And as his eyes landed on the console, Desslar saw he was "out of region", saw that the engines were completely FUBAR, and saw that the G-Diffuser had been ripped from the chassis of the M-Scouter.
He choked up. All processing of the situation ceased. He didn't want to accept it but there it was. His mind said to scream, to cry, to emote in some way, but he couldn't.
There was nothing to be done, no one to contact, nothing but nothingness and empty space.
Desslar closed his eyes and listened to his breath. The husk of the dilapidated arwing floated in an aimless, undetermined direction, moving to anywhere it was willed to, with no will of its own.