[SHORT] Every Time, We Die

CW: Death, Foul Language

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The dropship shivered, a skeletal groan rolling through its thin walls as we plunged deeper into Titan’s smog. The cabin rattled like it might come apart at the seams, each vibration settling into my bones and refusing to leave. Through the portholes, I saw the world outside—what little there was to see. An endless swirl of orange haze, choking and sour, its color bleeding through the glass and staining the shadows of the cabin.

Inside, the dropship was a coffin with seats. Cramped rows of fight-weary soldiers sat rigid in their harnesses, their heads bowed, their gazes hollow. Not praying. Not hoping. Just waiting. You could hear the hum of the engines if you concentrated, a low mechanical whine that sank into your bones, but no one spoke. The silence wasn’t reverent. It was the silence of inevitability.

I stared at my hands. Gauntleted fingers curled around a coin, flipping it over, again and again. I didn’t know where I’d gotten it. Maybe I’d always had it. Maybe it came from the first loop, or the hundredth, or… No. Don’t think about that.

The coin caught the dim cabin light, its surface worn smooth. Once, it had an inscription—a name, or a date, or maybe a promise. Now, it was a ghost. Like me. I rubbed my thumb over the blank face, trying to summon the memory it should’ve carried, but there was nothing. Not even a flicker. My past was a shadow eaten by the loops, chewed to fragments, then swallowed whole.

I couldn’t remember my name. I couldn’t remember where I’d come from, or if I’d ever been anything more than this. The coin didn’t answer. It never did.

The ration bar in my hand tasted like chalk, but I kept chewing anyway, because that’s what you did. You chewed. You stared. You waited to die. Again.

“Descent to surface in three minutes. Atmospheric integrity holding.”

The voice of Echo-Seven, my exosuit’s AI, crackled in my helmet. Its monotone lilt was clipped and clinical, each word precise and empty. “Weapon systems primed. Defensive shielding nominal.”

“Great,” I muttered, but the word barely left my lips. Echo-Seven wasn’t listening. It was a machine in a machine, endlessly spitting status updates into the void.

I flipped the coin again. The metal bit into the palm of my gauntlet, a cold, familiar ache. It was the only thing that felt real. Not the ship, not the war, not the air clogging my lungs. Just this coin, this stupid, worn-out piece of nothing.

Across the cabin, one of the soldiers muttered, his voice rasping like static. “Titan-fall… it’s here. You feel it, right? The hum?”

Another snorted, low and bitter. “Node’s rotting already. Entrope-fucked, all of us. Same as Pluto.”

The words passed over me, meaningless. I’d heard them before, loop after loop, the same phrases spat into the same stale air by the same dying men. Their faces blurred, names lost.

THUD.

The thrum of the engines deepened, a low, throbbing growl that shook the cabin. Someone cursed under their breath. Another soldier whispered a prayer.

I didn’t pray.

“Hold tight!” someone barked, but their voice didn’t matter.

The hum turned into a roar. As the dropship screeched to a halt, crashing through layers of Titan’s viscous haze before slamming into the surface with a bone-rattling impact. My stomach churned as the straps bit into my chest. The orange haze outside coiled like a living thing, twisting and thickening, almost sentient in its hostility.

A sharp, repetitive ping echoed in my helmet.

“Descent complete. Atmospheric integrity holding. Hazardous zone detected westward: trench instability,” Echo-Seven droned, its detached monotone unfazed. “Current probability of survival: 18%.”

My fingers tightened around the coin instinctively.

The squad leader’s voice cut through the static, rough but commanding. “All units, disembark! Stick to formation. No delays. We’ve got two klicks to Point Echo before the drones spot us.” His voice was unwavering, but I caught the sliver of tension beneath the practiced authority. This wasn’t his first drop. Hell, it wasn’t anyone’s first.

Except… this loop felt wrong. Different. The dissonance scratched at the edges of my skull. My boots hit the dirt as I stepped out, my breath fogging in the smoggy air. The west trench loomed like a jagged scar in the distance, far too close. Too familiar.

My gut twisted as the memory snapped into place—an explosion, the trench collapsing, screams swallowed by the haze.

“West trench!” I blurted into the squad comms. My voice cracked like static, but I forced the words out. “Collapse imminent! Drones—flanking from the west! We need to move! Now!”

My squadmates froze mid-step. Heads turned.

“Who said that?” barked the squad leader, his tone sharp. His visor glinted as he glanced toward me. “Hold position! Stick to the plan. There’s no intel about—”

“They’re coming!” My voice rose, cutting him off. Panic tightened my chest as I gestured frantically toward the trench. “You don’t have time to argue! They’ll hit us in thirty seconds—no, twenty—damn it, MOVE!”

A split second of hesitation. My pulse thundered.

The squad leader cursed. “Alright, you heard him! Charlie Team, fall back fifty meters! Delta, cover the rear—”

BOOM.

The ground erupted. A blinding flash swallowed the west trench as a geyser of dirt and debris shot skyward, a monstrous roar drowning out all thought. The shockwave slammed into us, sending several soldiers sprawling. I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from my lungs.

Screams and static filled the comms.

“Shit—visual confirmation on drone cluster!” someone shouted. “West side—six o’clock!”

Through the haze, the glint of metallic forms appeared, skittering shapes slicing through the orange murk like predators. Echo-Seven chimed in with grim efficiency: “Hostile drones detected. Tactical advisement: relocate immediately.”

The squad scrambled. Our partial repositioning had spared us from the brunt of the trench collapse, but the drones were closing fast. My heart hammered as I pushed myself upright, my exosuit whining in protest.

The squad leader hauled himself to his feet, his voice snapping like a whip. “Everyone, regroup on me! Defensive formation! Cover fire—NOW!”

Gunfire erupted, bright flashes piercing the haze. The drones shrieked in unison, their forms darting erratically as they closed the distance. My hands moved on instinct, raising my rifle and squeezing the trigger. The recoil kicked against my shoulder as plasma bolts streaked through the air, slamming into the nearest drone.

A direct hit. The machine shuddered mid-flight, its sleek body rupturing in a burst of sparks before crashing to the ground. But there were too many—dozens, maybe more. Their high-pitched screeches drilled into my skull as they swarmed.

The squad was holding—for now. But I knew how this ended. I’d seen it, loop after loop. A slow, inevitable grind into annihilation.

Unless…

“Echo-Seven,” I hissed, ducking behind a jagged outcrop as plasma fire sizzled past. “Analyze drone patterns. I need a weak point. Now.”

The AI responded instantly. “Processing… Anomaly detected. Northwest quadrant shows reduced density. Probability of breakthrough: 42%.”

Northwest. My mind raced. That wasn’t part of the plan—Point Echo was southeast. But the plan hadn’t accounted for the trench collapse. Or the drones.

“Squad leader!” I shouted, ducking as a drone zipped overhead, its talons scraping against my armor. “Northwest quadrant—there’s an opening! We can break through!”

“Northwest?” He turned toward me, his visor reflecting the chaos. “That’s the opposite direction! You want us to run straight into—”

A drone slammed into the ground between us, its limbs thrashing as it struggled to right itself. Without thinking, I lunged forward, jamming the barrel of my rifle into its core and pulling the trigger. The drone exploded in a shower of sparks.

I turned back to the squad leader, my voice raw. “You don’t have to trust me. Just give me a chance. If I’m wrong, we die anyway—but if I’m right…”

For a heartbeat, he stared at me. Then, with a growl, he barked into the comms. “All units, redirect northwest! Double-time it! Move, move, MOVE!”

The haze churned in violent eddies as the squad sprinted toward the northwest quadrant. Behind us, the drones shrieked like a swarm of angry insects, their sharp metallic limbs clicking with mechanical hunger.

I raised my rifle, the HUD overlaying bright red targeting brackets onto a darting drone. My finger squeezed the trigger, the rifle bucking against my shoulder. The shot connected—a perfect strike to its core. The drone erupted in a phosphorescent explosion, ichor and chitin fragments scattering across the cracked terrain. Another target blinked into view. I shifted my aim, barely registering the recoil as I fired again. Another kill. Another threat neutralized.

Recoil jolted through the exosuit. Heat vents whirred as they bled excess energy. Impact alarms flashed in the corner of my HUD, warning me of incoming fire. The sensory feedback washed over me like a tide, distant and muted, as though it were happening to someone else. My mind wasn’t here, not entirely. I watched a drone drop from the sky, its limbs twitching grotesquely as it hit the ground. There was no adrenaline, no satisfaction. Just task completion.

Eliminate threat. Move to next target.

A voice crackled in my comms, sharp and urgent. “Delta Team, watch your flank! They're swarming left—cut them off!”

For a fleeting, beautiful moment, humanity held.

Coordinated volleys of pulse fire tore through the oncoming swarm. Drones disintegrated in flashes of energy, their metal husks clattering uselessly to the ground. Heavy cannons thundered as Brutes—hulking, insectoid machines—were torn apart by sustained fire.

The squad moved like a single, seamless entity, firing, reloading, covering, advancing. Each step forward pushed the enemy back, carving a fragile pocket of safety into the chaos.

Across the comms, fragments of optimistic chatter began to filter through the static. “Pushing them back!” someone shouted, their voice cracking with exhilaration. “We’ve got them on the ropes!” Another soldier, crouched behind a jagged piece of debris, let out a ragged laugh. “Holy shit, we’re holding! We’re actually—”

“Keep your focus!” the squad leader barked.

I said nothing. My rifle hissed as it vented heat, the barrel glowing faintly. I kept firing, each shot measured and precise. My gauntleted hand clenched the coin tighter.

It wouldn’t last.

The shift came abruptly.

The drones shifted suddenly, their movements becoming faster, sharper, and unnervingly erratic. They zigzagged unpredictably, evading fire that should have struck true. My HUD flickered with warnings, the chaos overwhelming its predictive algorithms. Entropy’s Kiss had taken hold of the swarm, their hivemind adapting with terrifying speed. Shots that once found their mark now whiffed past, the drones learning to close every gap in their defenses with surgical precision.

“Don’t go Node-blind!” The squad leader barkedover the comms. “Report movement—all of it. They’re going kinetic!”

And then the Brutes came.

Larger than before, their chitinous armor gleamed darkly in the haze, thick and impenetrable. They barreled through barricades like paper, their massive limbs swatting soldiers aside like insects. A heavy cannon roared nearby, its explosive rounds slamming into one of the Brutes—but it kept coming, its form glowing faintly with some kind of adaptive shielding. It tore through the gunner before anyone could react, scattering blood and metal across the ground.

“Echo-Seven!” I snapped, my voice sharp. “What the hell is this? They weren’t like this before!”

The AI’s monotone faltered for the first time, a rare hesitation creeping into its response. “System integrity compromised… Node network activity spiking… Adaptive countermeasures detected… Threat level escalating.”

My heart sank.

The comms, so alive with optimism just moments ago, descended into chaos. Voices overlapped in a cacophony of panic and desperation.

“They’re flanking us!”

“Where’s Delta?! We’ve lost contact with—”

“I’m out of ammo! Someone—”

“Fall back! FALL BACK!”

The world burned around me, drowning in chaos. The haze had thickened to a choking soup, bright flashes of energy weapons illuminating the swirling orange as drones screamed through the air. My exosuit’s alarms blared—an overwhelming cacophony of system failures, heat warnings, and armor breaches. I barely heard them anymore.

Somewhere in the distance, the squad leader’s voice was still barking orders, but it didn’t matter. The lines were broken. The Brutes were pushing through, their armored limbs smashing aside every feeble defense we’d managed to cobble together. Soldiers screamed, their voices cut short in bursts of static and gore. The coin was still in my hand, though. Somehow, I hadn’t dropped it. A cruel joke. A useless talisman.

And then I saw it.

A panel on my exosuit arm had been torn open, the inner circuitry exposed. The wires glowed faintly, humming with energy, and for a moment, something inside me stirred—a memory, or maybe just the echo of one. It looked… familiar. Like I’d seen it before, like it mattered. Like it was the answer. Was this it? Was this the thing keeping me trapped, dragging me through loop after loop?

My hand moved on its own. I gripped the exposed panel, my gauntleted fingers fumbling with the delicate wiring. “Stop it…” The words spilled out in a rasp, my voice raw and cracking. “Have to stop… no more loops… no more this…” My breaths came in ragged gasps as I tore at the wires, ripping them free, sparks dancing across my visor. “End it… please…”

The exosuit’s systems screamed in protest. Echo-Seven’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and detached. “Warning: Catastrophic damage to vital systems. Structural integrity failing.”

“Shut up!” I snarled, tearing harder, desperate. My hands moved with clumsy panic, yanking wires, smashing components, flipping switches at random. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter if I survived this. None of it mattered—just as long as it stopped. Just as long as I could break free.

The exosuit finally gave out, its systems sputtering and dying. The heads-up display blinked off, plunging me into darkness. I dropped to my knees, clutching the mangled panel as the world around me blurred into chaos.

The drones came for me. I didn’t even raise my head to meet them.

When my eyes opened again, I was back in the dropship.

The hum of the engines was a dull roar in my ears, vibrating through my body like it always did. The recycled air burned in my lungs, tinged with the faint smell of metal and sweat. Outside the porthole, the orange haze of Titan churned, indifferent and eternal.

Echo-Seven’s voice greeted me, as clinical as ever. “Descent to surface in three minutes. Atmospheric integrity holding.”

The cabin was the same as always. Rows of soldiers sat strapped into their seats. They didn’t know. They didn’t remember. They still had hope, still believed in the mission, in survival, in victory. I looked at them, one by one, trying to remember their names, but I couldn’t. They were ghosts to me—shadows of countless loops, walking the same path to the same meaningless deaths. Just like me.

My hands trembled. The coin slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the floor. No one noticed. No one cared.

“Another loop,” I muttered to myself, my voice cracked, raw with despair, the words barely audible over the hum of the engines.

“Another failure.” My voice cracked, raw with despair. “And I’m… less. Each time, less.”

I raised my hand, staring at it, trying to feel something—anything. The gauntlet felt foreign, the flesh beneath it numb. “Is there anything left of me to lose?”

I couldn’t remember what I used to be. I couldn’t remember my name, or my home, or if I even had one. The loops had taken it all, grinding me down, loop after loop, piece by piece, until there was almost nothing left. A ghost. That’s all I was now. A ghost of myself, trapped in this endless nightmare, fading with every reset.

The engines whined as the dropship began its final descent. Outside, the haze thickened, its sickly orange glow swallowing the cabin in shadow. The soldiers around me braced for impact, their expressions grim and resolute. They still believed this time would be different. They didn’t know.

I reached for the coin again, my fingers closing around its familiar shape. My thumb traced its worn surface, searching for the inscription that was no longer there. Was there ever a way out? A way to end the loops? To break free? The question hung in my mind, heavy and unanswered.

No. There never was. And there never would be.

A single tear traced a path down my dust-streaked visor, cold and silent. I didn’t even know if it was real.

The dropship shuddered as it touched down. The doors hissed open, revealing the swirling chaos of Titan’s surface. The soldiers stood, their weapons ready, their movements sharp and purposeful. I followed them, stepping into the storm, the coin still clutched in my hand.

The loops would go on. I would die. And I would wake up here again, in this coffin with seats, staring out at the orange smog of Titan, less than I was before.

Forever.