I could go on forever about what happened out there, but since life is short, I'll skip to the end. 142 and I fought side by side in many more battles in our perilous journey across the stars. He, my best friend, died horribly. We were fighting our way out of the digestive tract of a gigantic alien beast when he stumbled into a pool of its gastric juices. He was dissolved alive while I frantically tried to pull him to safety. When my mind told me he was dead and gone, I flew into a berserker rage and shot my way out of the monster's guts with my machine gun and a few warp grenades.
When I got back to the ship, I got a brain scan from the psychologist machine and was found to be unfit for further service. Thus, I was quickly discharged and unceremoniously dumped like a bag of trash at the interstellar spaceport from which I came.
At least my brother was there to pick me up. Since he was a military test pilot, our family agreed he should be the first human I met once I got back to earth.
We didn't say much as we drove home, but he read my mind. We stopped at a late-night diner. When I got out of the car, I couldn't help but look up at the stars. The sky will always be my favorite souvenir.
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