It was just never going to end, was it? One crisis after another, a new threat every time one fell. At this point, Vreta was not sure he [i]wanted[/i] to know anything more about the Cradle. His growing opinion now was that it was a nightmarish hellscape, and its processor should be glassed from orbit, but that sentiment was not going to make any progress towards his escape.

In the fog beyond the border, it was easy to panic. Several around Vreta were doing just that, and he understood why. He nearly fell into that trap himself, but again, it was his training that saved him. He tightened up his expression, closed his eyes for a moment, and took in a breath. The air was thinner here, though it was not all that different from the mountain air back on Rothia. Just breathe in. Breathe out. Focus. Enemies approached, he still had a gun turret in front of him, and he was reasonably sure it still worked. That was what he could control. That was his task. The monsters were not the true enemy here; panic was. Panic was what he had to push from his mind. 

Opening his eyes, Vreta traversed the turret left. It was more sluggish now, as the powered controls were not working quite correctly, but he had the strength to make up for it. He just focused his eyes on the sights, focused on firing when they lined up with the beasts in pursuit. They were quick and the trucks were moving, but that did not matter. Vreta’s steely-eyed visage carried an unusual calm as his only focus went to lining up the sights and firing his weapon.