The signal was sent. Help would come. It had to. Jackson breathed out slowly, listening to the piercing howls and screeches outside. Klisk... why, out of every planet in the universe, had he crashed on a planet with Klisk? On Jukkete, no less! Luckily, his hull was made of some sturdy stuff, nano-something. He wished he'd paid attention to Samantha.

Oh, Samantha... dead on impact. Horace, too. Leopold, William, Janice... all dead. He had nothing and no one, unless help came. God, he really hope that signal punched through whatever the Klisk did to planets. He'd be fine... Yeah, he'd be fine... All he needed to do was distract himself. Easy to do!

Jackson spun out of the pilot's chair, walked past the bodies of his friends with sheets thrown over them, and into the next room. The... fun area, he supposed. It had the fun things in there. The bar, the pinball machine, the video game system. Though, with the ship on emergency survival mode, Jackson supposed it was a bad idea to use the remaining power to play the latest shooter. The bar, though. That was something he could do!

He stood behind the bar, twirling bottles and practicing those wonderful tricks he'd learned, pouring from his shoulder and mixing the drink with the motion of the liquids alone. He put the bottles down, then sipped his newest creation.

'Hmm,' Jackson said, thoughtful. 'Could use some creme de violet.'

Jackson pulled another bottle from the shelf, then sighed. Empty, with a post-it from Horace. "Sorry, I drank the last of this. Get more".

'Even in death, you're screwing me over,' Jackson said with a grin. 'I'll buy more if I don't end up joining you, Horace.'

Jackson decided to just enjoy his drink, sitting on the sofa and breathing, listening to the scurrying on the metal above him ,the beating on the hull. They'd never get in... right? Well, they would eventually, but Jackson could wait them out. When they go in, he'd be full of alcohol and snack food from the cargo hold. Maybe some of that special cargo, too.

Spiced just right, Jackson thought.

This was boring! Simply waiting for death or rescue. Screw the emergency power rules! He grabbed the controller and pressed the power button, listening to the start-up jingle blare out of the speakers and anger the already angered hostile aliens outside.

'Yeah, yeah, keep talking,' Jackson said quietly, loading up his favourite oldie and going through the screens. 'You guys remind me of an enemy in this game. They like eating people too, though they're a bit smarter with their collective intelligence.'

There was a deep bang in the roof, and a dent. Jackson looked up at it carefully. Ah, maybe he had indeed miscalculated... It wasn't like he was the scientist of the ship. He wasn't even the captain. No, Jackson had been, until recently anyway, the ship's entertainer.

But they had no idea who he used to be.

Jackson had served the Alliance faithfully for years, since he had been resurrected from his former life as a conman on 20th century Earth. He's attempted to pull the ultimate con on a mob boss, gotten caught, and he was buried alive. No amount of love for Houdini would save him there. But then he had woken up in a glass pod, completely naked. A whole new life.

Another bang shook Jackson back to reality. He could hear the inhuman shrieks and slavering, acidic tongues licking at the hull to get inside. Jackson took a sip of his drink, looking up at the roof, trying to decide what to do. Remember your training. You're never out until you're out. What did the boss used to say?

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"If you're going to die, make them die too."

Helpful as always. Jackson walked towards the armoury, throwing his empty glass aside and blasting the music as loud as it could go, purely out of spite for his situation. He entered the armoury and pulled on the armour he used to wear at work; a nanolatticed-graphene plated vest and a leather jacket. For style. He closed the armoury door, just as the roof caved in outside, allowing the Klisk inside. They'd be distracted by the bodies of his friends for a moment, but not for long.

Jackson began arming himself, humming along to the song he could hear outside. One rifle, two handguns, a shotgun and a high-frequency sword. He wasn't the warrior of his team back then, but he could still hold his own. Alone against a horde of aliens eager to chomp on him, though?

'Alright then... Guess I'll be seeing you sooner than later..." Jackson muttered, his thoughts on a particular team member from the past. Then he thought about his current crew. 'Oh, and you guys, of course. Wish me luck.'

Just before Jackson opened the door, he heard gunfire outside. Gunfire! Someone had answered his call? Were they friendly? Jackson didn't mind being a prisoner if it meant surviving a little longer. The Klisk outside were all heading to the clearer sign of life outside, so Jackson waited for a moment, before opening the door, blasting the head off a straggler. He ran back to the cockpit, slicing through another Klisk and riddling another with lead, and he pulled out a thumb-drive from the console.

'Can't forget you, my sweet.'

Jackson put the drive in a small compartment under his vest, then sidestepped to dodge a crafty Klisk. It hit the console face first, whining a little, then Jackson pushed the barrel of the shotgun against it's head and fired. The acid burned at his jacket and he sighed.

Fifteen years he'd had this jacket... He shrugged it off and threw it over the pilot's chair, watching the leather melt with a tinge of heartbreak. Jackson moved to the entrance and opened the door to see a welcome and unwelcome sight.

Oh, he'd been rescued, but by people he really didn't want to see. Agency. Were they here to bring him back? Their black armour almost sent him into shock, but he'd never seen the blue lines on the edges. A new squad? He waved at the nearest one, a man holding a rifle, who barely glanced at him. Rude!

'I'm the one who left the message, pinhead!' Jackson called out. The insult got his attention. The agent turned, but seemed to be calmed by an unseen voice. Either an A.I or another agent, Jackson thought.

'We going or what!?'

Jackson was sitting in the medical bay, with a very attractive demon lady fussing over him. There were five agents just looking at him, trying to figure something out.

'Thank you for the rescue,' Jackson said, deciding to take the conversation's power. 'My name is Jackson Knox. May I know the names of my saviours?'

One of them, the leader, stood forward, extending his hand. Jackson visibly flinched, but took the hand, shaking it. 'My name is Ian. You're probably a little put off by our suits, yeah?'

Ian? He said his name!? Were they like him, Jackson thought? Getting those chips out was incredibly dangerous. Who else could do it?

'Yeah, sorry,' Jackson said. 'I'm used to being shot at by Agency. They don't take kindly to former agents, as I'm sure you know.'

Another agent, a European woman... Jackson couldn't place the accent, spoke. 'You're a former agent, too? Which squad?'

Jackson felt an iota of pride at this question. 'Liberty. Ages ago, way before-' Immediately, he felt three guns trained on him. '-WHOA! What did I do!?'

'Stand down, Olympus,' Ian said loudly. The three aiming at Jackson relented. 'Sorry, we've had... experiences with other former members of your squad. We work for one of them, but almost all others have been negative or followed with negatives. What was your handle?'

'Memphis.' Jackson said simply.

'And your role in the squad?'

'Look,' Jackson said, hands still raised. 'I'll answer everything, I promise, but as far as I knew, I was the last one of my squad. You've... surprised me.'

'Last one?' Ian said, sitting down across from Jackson on another bed. 'Sounds like a story.'

'Oh, it is,' Jackson said, a little sad now. 'Got any popcorn?'