An astronaut lay still in the massive underground bunker, propped up against the dormant rocket as moss and lichen overtook the concrete. Red white and blue was slowly being covered by green. Staring down at the astronaut was a mockery of his form. Its body grown from wood, flowers, and vines, it struggled to understand why the man in the space-suit had forced its hand. Now the human was dead, and the Stratonaut was left to wonder about the state of nature on this savage planet. Its work was far from done, and it prayed to the Homeworld that no more blood would spill.