[FANFIC-WIP] Major Smith.

[ZenitYerkes]

Prologue - Falling from the sky

"God damn it"

Matt Smith was presumed since he enrolled in the Army to never achieve any relevant place at it, or to show any kind of medal on the left pocket of his dark jacket; not, with such a common surname. 10 Smiths in his platoon, 419 in the fort, and thousands in the US Air Forces. He was always someone else, as common as any other person that owed his last name, as vulgar as the pigeons that sh*tted on the roof of the buildings he had to clean every single week. And he knew that was a fact.

The only way he had to become someone important there was to be the best, at everything. He spent long time running from one side to the other from the fort, to the point of fainting; sometimes he could be found at 5AM, jumping over the tires over and over again; and always, always alone. He was quiet, never replied to an order, and was always as cold as a statue made of ice. And what's more: he was good.

When the Venezuelan War broke out, he was sent by special recommendation; and returned his old home in Nevada with seven golden medals. Hence why he was one of the first people who were contacted when the first missions for the odd moon called Pandora appeared. He, as always, answered back with a correct "Yessir!" and kept his mouth shut and his feelings locked in the deepest zone of his soul. "Pro Deo et Patria", he said: For God and Homeland, it meant.

Major of the Pandoran Air Squadrons: a large fleet of 150 Samsons with their respective loyal pilots that were the terror of any living thing that dared to move in a range of 500 yards. They never missed a target, they never got anyone injured and they never, ever, failed a mission.

Until this day.

Matthew, poor fellow, sat in front of the large window slightly covered by the panels to avoid the violent light get in the room; staring at the beautiful landscape he didn't give a damn. A bottle of some alcoholic beverage in his right hand, and an empty glass in his left; he was completely drunk. Unkempt, with a large white dressing covering his head and right eye; with blood stains all over it. That goddamned Leonosh*thead decided to have some fun with his copter.

He sighted.

As the sound of the door opening was made, he picked the ashtray full of extinguished cigarettes and threw it away against the person behind. Fortunately, he evaded it.

"Who the f*ck is there?!" he yelled
"Your superior, Major Smith"
"Colonel?"

As he heard the word "superior", he quickly stood up from the seat and saluted clumsily because of the hangover. He looked pathetic.

"As you were" replied the Colonel "I've heard about your accident"
"Who hasn't Quaritch, I'm finished here"
"Matt," he said in a friendly tone; something he shared with very few people "you are not. You are the best man the Army and this place would have ever received; a mistake won't ruin anything."
"If only; I'll be sent back home. I know the protocol. Serious injury, goodbye and f*ck you"

The Colonel knew he wouldn't change his mind: Smith could get into the space shuttle even if he was given all the permissions to stay here. He just gave up on the cheer-up; turned back and before he could shut the door he added:

"Remember you are still needed here, with or without your right eye"
"F*ck off" was the only reply he received. The door shut.

Once again, alone, quiet.

But this time he hadn't been the best.

--

Yup, this is a copypasta from the original post "Major Matt Smith". I posted this because I intend to make a fanfic from it.

Next chapter, next week (or sooner, who knows...)

PS: Mods and admins, if you could, please erase the original post mentioned before.