At the moment of death, a surge of power... and everything he think he knows changes. A spark of energy, a Jolt of energy runs through his suit and the cool, stale air of his suits air filtration system kicks back in. He knew he should be dead, and in too many pieces to put back together, but something prevented that.

Was it instinct or luck? He doesn't know. The big man groans softly and moves his hand, touching a button that lights up his helmets sights, and a quiet static fills his ears. "Corporal Blackbear to any AFS soldiers, does anyone copy?" he whispers horsely into his mic, the Tactical display showing red dots next to the names of his squad.

"Shit...." he growls quietly, his armored hand groping gently in the mud he lay in, searching for a rifle, or pistol, or anything that might be useful. Nothing. He listens quietly for a moment longer to the static, and sighs. Nothing.

There's something vaguely ironic about his survival, The huge, spider like Stalker that destroyed his squad had been targeting him. In the maelstrom of combat his squad-mates had taken hits as collateral damage. Most of them only wore motor assist, and the Sarge was in reflective. He finally stood and set out.

He walked across a field of green, but a roiling sky, set afire by the hidden moon, washed all to gray and shadow. Grey grass and shadowed stones.... they tell him nothing. Somewhere in the distance he hears tell tale howls, and shakes his head.

"Another Glorious day in the Corps."