The Thing powered its attack, and time stood still. John saw his life laid out before him, his days as a boy on the swing set, junior prom, flight school, the birth of his daughter. He was an explorer, not a soldier. He cursed himself for ever landing on this loathsome planet. He glanced left, gunfire and death. He glanced right, more of the same. John gripped his gun and steeled himself, digging his feet into the ground before lunging forward. If he was to die here, he would not go down without a fight.