The charred bark of the trees was still smoking. Inside the crater, surrounded by pieces of broken and incinerated wood, lay a reflective silvery capsule. Once elongated and smooth, it was now mangled beyond recognition, its silvery hull cracked from the force of the impact. Even though its surface was unbelievably hot, inside the capsule there was still a living being, its only passenger and pilot.
As the last kilowatts of power escaped through the destroyed systems, the onboard computer triggered the final safety measure, breaking up the shell and ejecting the pilot's seat before a cascading reactor malfunction destroys the pod. The pilot was unconscious, and could not hear the computer saying
"Fare well, Controller." as the reactor heated up to incredible temperatures and exploded, levelling the trees for a hundred meters around.
The pilot's seat gently descended on a gliding parawing, almost a kilometer away from the crater. The rushing wind upset the dark hair of the young man, and the shreds of his once-indestructible full body suit were hanging loosely from the sides of the seat.
Ten meters... five... two... one...
Small wheels extend from the bottom of the landing seat, keeping it straight as it coasts to a stop on the rough forest floor. The young man, strapped in, remained motionless.
Several hours pass. Finally, the man's head moves. He slowly opens his eyes and looks around. Suddenly, a long-forgotten, unfamiliar feeling stings him.
Pain.
The man carefully touches his head with his hand. A warm trickle runs down his left cheek. Looking at his hand, he sees the tips of his fingers covered in dark red liquid.
Blood.
For a moment the man panics. Then, skills hardened by years of war take over.
"Calm down." The man thinks to himself.
"It's just a flesh wound. Heh. Flesh wound...." Reaching down, the man unbuckles himself and stands up from the seat.
"What a mess." The comment wasn't directed at his own looks, though if he cared to look he'd probably say the same. He looked at the thick column of rising smoke in the distance and sadness filled his eyes, but he only managed to say
"Fare well." Then, getting a grip on himself, he turned away and clenched his fists.
"Back to the drawing board." Before continuing to any of the usual actions, the man first had to pay attention to his wound. Though small, it could still be dangerous. But the man was not concerned. He could restore far worse than this, though usually on others. And yet...
"Wha... what's happened to me?" For all his former power, he could not mend even this small injury. At first. Slowly, very slowly, it healed, but it wasn't how it used to be. Something was wrong. But this space-faring warrior knew better than to rely on any single source of power. Preferring to spend extra resources on preparations, he always had a backup plan.
"Interface! Reconfigure!" This simple command has been said uncountable times before, and usually his suit complied without fail. But this time, nothing happened. Gaping holes in the black scaly fabric did not disappear, neither did any of the power lines light up with the usual limegreen glow. Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
"Now this is just great. What am I supposed to do now?" Tired and in some pain, the man sat down into the ejection seat and started to think. He considered all possibilities and options, and finally conluded: Amnesia. Brain damage. Something happened to him in that explosion, the explosion that destroyed the flagship of the allied fleet. He remembered that at least. But his skills, and his power to control and manipulate the Interface were gone, or faded. Everything that made him the Avatar of Energy was now but an unreachable memory. Reaching down the side of the seat, he unfastened a small latch and unfolded a thin touchscreen. It had a few cracks, but lit up and displayed a welcome message.
"Huh. Old tech still works." He had to remember what happened. His only source of information was the massive databank hidden beneath the seat. "Crazy prepared" couldn't even
begin to describe him. Starting from the very beginning, the man sat back in the seat and looked on as the screen began to show everything there was to tell about him.
Name: Sean Mirrsen
Call sign: "Jaguar"
Rank: Admiral
Power rank: Controller, 3rd class
Specialty: Energy control. Energy conversion. Matter-energy conversion. Energy absorption.
Interface: Type P, Custom.
--xx=-x-x...
Information incomplete.
Database damaged. Restoring...
The man remained motionless, analyzing everything the computer had. There was a lot of data. Some of it was damaged. The faint green light of the screen could barely be seen amidst the foliage as the night slowly crept over the land...