Catching Up on the Gaming World with Fate Diaspora

The firing squad lines up across the ruined courtyard.Perspiration drips into Tahm’s eyes. The not-flies settle on his face. He strains against his cuffs, the rough wood of the post scraping his arms.
The sergeant barks an order, startling a swarm of lizard-birds into the sky. Twelve rifles come to bear.
Tahm watches the lizard-birds, mentally follows them to where they will roost. He’s a scout and the jungle is his life. Was his life. Soon the jungle will gain life by feeding on his body.
There’s a cracking sound like lightning striking distant treetops, screams, more cracking. Then silence.
Tahm looks down into the courtyard. The execution party now lie sprawled in the mud, smoke billowing from ruined heads and torsos.
A man in scarred battle armour emerges from the ruins. He carries no unit insignia, belongs to neither side in the civil war. Nor does his gun belong; a sleek energy weapon that can only have come from orbital factories of the Grim system.
Their eyes meet.
“Don’t shoot me,” says Tahm.
The gun man’s eyes narrow. “You didn’t see anything.” He turns away and vanishes back into the rubble.
Moments later, the dead men’s assault shuttle roars into the sky, leaving Tahm still tied to the post, now surrounded by corpses.