“..He had the letters ‘LCDR’ emblazoned across the left shoulder plate of his armour, white against black. There was more print below, a clear hierarchy of vital statistics; but that’s what I noticed first. I don’t know why.
But he was, he was sat atop the stairs that led to the primary structure; in this temple we’d occupied at [N13 24.76295 E103 51.96809]. And uh, he was taking swigs from a bottle of what might have been whisky, in between the verses of some love song or other.
Intermittently, man he would laugh, this, chilling, ironic sort of laugh. Then all of a sudden he drew his sidearm in one fluid motion, like sheet lightning, and just opened fire. Letting rounds off at the night sky, to a very specific rhythm and pattern as well; perhaps it had something to do with the song.
But man it got to a point where I couldn’t take it any more, this odd combination of panic and concern gripped me and I implored; ‘Sir, what the hell are you doing?!’
He turned to me grinning like the devil himself, cocked his head once at the weapon he was absentmindedly waving at the cosmos, and matter of factly said to me:
‘Motherfucker. We are, shooting stars; her and I.’
There was something both terrifying and simultaneously endearing about the whole thing. The scene clutched at me in a way I find difficult to put into words. I felt like my chest was going to cave in. I’ll never forget it."