I am might, armor, and iron.
I am dying.
I see the wreckage of my alliances fleet around me. See the burning wrecks, allied and enemy alike, watch as they spew atmosphere and flames into space. I see a few of the dead ships slowly fall into the moon's gravity well, watch as they're slowly torn apart.
Enemy drones swarm around me, biting, burning, clawing, a death by a thousand cuts as they relentlessly seek any hole for which to chew into. The enemy's gunfire hammers into my armor, burning, cutting, tearing.
Inside my pod, a score of tragic and heartbreaking scenes play out within the damage reports. Dozens trapped behind bulkheads to burn to death, so that scores more may live. Gun crews refusing to begin to evacuate to the escape pods, wanting to buy their companions time. Engineering crews suffering sever radiation burns as I overheat every system within me.
Casualty reports stream by, naming off crewmen Ive never met, and never will meet.
Ivar Crenshen, age 32, First Class Petty Officer
Jiren VanDorn age 20, Third Class Petty Officer
Brentol Orix, age 29, Ensign
Hundreds more. Names and faces and histories all gone.
I watch as one more enemy battleship begins to leak atmosphere and explode, one last act of defiance on behalf of my dying crew. I hear the reports flooding into my capsule. The electronic panic of the abandon ship automated response.
"Damage has reached superstructure....catastrophic failure eminent, abandon ship, repeat, abado--"
I have the sound of a ship dying in my ears. Cries for help answered by static, the sound of vacuum draining air and life, the metallic groan of a ship's superstructure folding.
Finally my senses leave the Abaddon, and Im no longer a ship, just a small pod in a massive burning mausoleum.
I leave a burning wreck filled with the bodies of thousands of people who trusted me, depended on me, followed me without question.
I try not to think about it. This is what we do.
I am a capsuleer.
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