Walking up the Hellhound's ramp is a bittersweet emotion. I want to be excited. I'm finally going to fly, but I can't get the image of Great Grandpa's small smile out of my mind. Window said it was a peaceful death, but what does that even mean? Can a death ever be peaceful?

"You getting on or what? Thought we were in a hurry."

Violet's sarcastic tone snaps me out of my reverie, and I step into the assault shuttle proper, looking around curiously. The room beyond is broad, a row of benches running along the flanks of the ship with another row down the middle, straps dangling at regular intervals. Everything's scuffed and slightly marred, worn down by the touch of who knows how many bodies. The ramp retracts behind me, sliding itself neatly into the shuttle, and the aperture irises shut. I follow Violet along the room and through another hatch leading forwards, her dog turning to glare at me occasionally as it trots at her heels.

The next room is much smaller, the bulk of its open space taken up by a pair of wide seats covered in switches and panels, the far side covered in what looks like glass, giving an unobstructed view of the forest clearing outside. Strange writing covers various segments on the wall, like nothing I've ever seen before.

Whoops. Forgot to initialize the written translator. One second.