Futility

This is how most people die,’ Jazmynde thought. ‘They die badly.’

In her office, chairs were overturned and carbon scars on the paneling behind her desk showed the discharge where the invader tried to shoot through the portal, triggering an explosive decompression.

She crouched down next to the body. The woman was certainly dead. Her eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling and already drying out. She was dressed as a technician for the base – purple jumpsuit and comfortables shoes. On her hands, Jazmynde could see the faint outlines of tattoos. The woman’s face was bloodied and smashed. She lay there on her back, head pointed towards the open doorway, eyes staring off into eternity.

Jazmynde tutted quietly and started frisking the body.

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