[ IP ] Stranded

Something on his cheek stirred him from his unconsciousness. Something wet. Something cold. 
 
 And then there was the pain. His whole body radiated a dull, but persistent, pain. He tried moving an arm, but immediately regretted his decision - his effort was rewarded with a jolt of elevated anguish. He considered the possibility that something in that arm was broken. 
 
 Despite the discomfort it brought, the fresh pain stirred his wits; at least enough that he could begin to take thought to how he had ended up in this precarious state. He opened his eyes, and ever so gently raised himself into a sitting position. His joints protested heartily. Disorientation dazed him, but only for a few seconds; as soon as the spell passed, he lifted his head to view his surroundings. 
 
 He was in a tiny chamber that was mostly dark, save for a few blinking lights on a large panel just a few feet in front of where he lay. A large chair was situated just to his left; at least, he assumed it was a chair. It was so badly twisted that its original shape was hardly distinguishable. The cold, wet feeling that had roused him turned out to be large, white snowflakes that drifted through a small tear in the wall. 
 
 Wait. A tear in the wall? 
 
 Suddenly, his memory rushed back to him, an oppressive wave of events that crashed over his mind all at once. Gathering his thoughts, he was able to piece together his present situation. He was a pilot, one of a number that worked for OBSERVER, the military Deep-Science division. Sent on a highly classified mission to scout a planet deemed fit for colonization, he had been provided with an Icarus deep-space scout vessel, rations for his journey, and a briefing on the rock in question. And his mission had gone smoothly. He had encountered no trouble, allowing him to reach the target solar system just over one month. 
 
 His head suddenly ached terribly, and he was forced to take a moment to cope with pain. After a moment of shivering in the cold, the sharp throbbing faded, and he was left to his recollections once more. 
 
 As he had approached the planet, he had been struck by its familiar beauty. It was the spitting image the homeworld, covered mostly in bright blue oceans, with several large landmasses scattered on the watery expanse. This new world was slightly larger than his home, though, and the Icarus's atmospheric sensors indicated that its atmosphere was somewhat denser as well. Further testing would be necessary upon arrival. 
 
 What he had not counted on, however, was the effect that denser atmosphere would have on his descent toward the planet. His entry into the upper atmosphere was extremely turbulent, and the heat shields were pushed to the limit. And then he had felt it. A terrible explosion had rocked the ship, a result of part of the heat shields tearing away from the ship, and exposing the oxygen cells to the extreme temperature. The Icarus had spiraled out of control; he had ripped at controls, battling the momentum of the ship. But his descent had been far too steep... 
 
 And now he was here. Panic gripped him as he looked at what he now knew to be wreckage. He jolted to his feet, hobbled over to the panel, and began flicking switches and pressing levers. No response. He tried his emergency comm system. 
 
 Nothing. 
 
 Dread gripped him; his stomach knotted. 
 
 He was stranded.
