[h2][sup]Reclaimer[/sup][sub]Corsica[/sub][/h2]

Strange.

Were sect ships supposed to land this way?

As the molten metal and viscera flew through the cabin, Corsica watched as the red text appeared in front of the dead man's body. Likely not, she thought to herself. She did little to brace herself from the impact. If her death would come, it would come. There would be nothing she could do to stop it. If she lived, then she lived. That's all there was to surviving catastrophic crashes.

The impact shook her to the ground. Her armour prevented any serious damage. Not that she would be able to tell. Even if her bones were broken and joints dislocated, she would only be able to feel an injury if a limb gave out as she tried to walk.

The ship came to a halt. Miraculously, she hadn't been thrown off. It wasn't her time after all. Quickly, she picked herself up and walked off the broken shuttle. As the mortars detonated far, she gave her arms a quick stretch. Nothing seemed to be dislocated, nor did anything seem broken. She was no worse for wear than the day before.

Well, now was no time to be slacking. The high prophet gave her a mission. She'd see it though to the end. At least, unless the prophet gave her a new order. With rifle in hand, she watched as the one in the keyed armour venture into the jungle. Then she looked at the one hunkering behind the wreckage of the shuttle. After that, she looked at the distant energy mortars that slowly encroached on their location.

She knew which side she'd be on. She reached for one of her solar tablets--a peculiar device that was triangular in shape and was as large as the palm of one's hand. She tossed it at his feet, with the intent that he could use it for whatever purpose he needed while hunkered down.

"Good luck in the fire, brother."

And she was off into the forest with one in keyed armour.