The silver disk clicked as all hell broke loose, namely the blasted wall of the cargo hold. Laurel’s stabilization ended the moment Skull-face was pulled into the vacuum, the shield barely maintaining integrity as she slammed to the floor even as the sucking hole drug her inexorably toward the void. The sword was sheathed, fingers repurposed for scrambling for a hold of any kind. Her oxygen ran out almost immediately, her held breath little fuel for her frantic struggle.
Her fingers slipped away from the floor of the hold, her body lifted momentarily as it hurtled toward the vacancy in the wall. Suddenly the shutters fell and the hood was once again sealed off from the distant stars and their empty cradles. Laurel slammed into the shutter and gasped at the reaming oxygen, her head swimming. ”What the fuck!” Laurel slammed the base of her gun against the emergency shutters as she slumped on the floor. ”I did not pay to become space debris! Who the hell is attacking us?!”
She had seen the emblem, unfamiliar as it was the design screamed “pirates,” but she wanted names. She wanted to look them in the eyes and ask them why they would fuck with a broken piece of junk like the 604 out of all of the shitty Starskipper’s in the galaxy. She was just trying to get some work.
Situation assessment: the situation was definitely not safe. There was still gunfire going on, and if that weren't enough, there was a sudden thump that send Sun sprawling. Fortunately she'd already been crouched down, so she didn't have too far to fall, but that had felt like...
...well, it had felt like they had hit something, but surely that wasn't the case.
"Ow." Nothing actually hurt, but it seemed like the right thing to say at the time. Sun picked herself back up, shook her head in dismay at the corridor and all things out there, and cautiously moved back to the table, accepting Isre's invitation.
"I think you're right. Better to wait it out and then see what I can do." Maybe if they just stayed under the table, it would be all right - though Sun was fully aware that it wasn't nearly as much cover as she'd have liked to have. A moment later, a sudden rush of air quickly reminded her that this wasn't going to do anything about depressurization, either.
"Well... this wasn't covered in medical school. You doing okay?"
Isre had a knife hidden in her boot, but she hadn't said anything about it when boarding and most certainly wasn't going to say anything about it now.
"If I had one, do you think I'd be under here?" she hissed, cowering back a little further under the seat. She'd seen shit go through walls before and kill random people. Yeah the shooter wasn't in this room, but all these guys were still idiots. "And no, I'm not moving to better cover, I'm not gonna - stand up at like, the comically wrong moment or something!"
At least Trigger-Happy was ready to go down shooting, which meant less focus on everybody else in case the shooter did walk in.
Smiles listened to her, at least, moving back under the table. Isre watched the door through the gap in the table and seats. After a couple seconds, there was a distant crack and a hisss, a breeze pulling through the mess hall. Isre jumped back, simultaneously cracking her head into the table and bumping into Smiles.
"What - no? No, I'm doing fine right now. Never been happier! What the fuck was that? Is the ship leaking?"
Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away!
Heat turned to cold, which turned to frigid nothingness interspursed with the briefest kiss from an inferno. The warmth suffused over the front of his suit, turning the metal red-hot as he was torn head-over-heels-- not enough to scald the skin beneath, but enough for the briefest of high-pitched chimes to ring through his helm, notifying him of the extreme temperature. The sound was so disgustingly optimistic that it almost made him forget he was dying, thrown out into the expanse of space with enough force to nearly make him pass out. With the heat also came force-- overwhelming, quick, and as intense as the burst of warmth. He was a swimmer caught within a riptide-- shells along rocks, clothes in a dryer. It was disorienting, painful, though he held onto conscious thought long enough to realize that he'd just passed through the rear thrusters of the Starskipper. Somehow, he was alive. Thank God the fucking suit could eat spent rocket fuel to the face, even if it was only momentary.
Without anything to halt his spinning, Voraan was forced to orient himself the old-fashioned way. There were techniques they'd taught you while working on rigs, during situations like these. Any job that had you in zero-g environments, especially in places that ran the risk of being lost in space, gave the basic run-down on stopping rotational forces and altering angular momentum. If you didn't have any sort of propulsion, you were fucked-- hence why suits often had miniature thrusters to manipulate bodies in the absence of gravity. Useless in an atmosphere, but life-saving in a vacuum. In the absence of tech, you were up shit's creek unless you could grab something, which Voraan couldn't do-- which meant it'd be purely on the suit to redirect his body.
In deep space, without the presence of a star to orient yourself, getting your bearings was as useful as trying to walk with your eyes closed. Only the faint glimmer of whirling starship engines greeted his visor as he turned over himself, each passing moment letting those rockets get further and further away. Every second counted-- every moment wasted would only put himself further and further away from the ship. If he could even get back to it. Fuck. FUCK.
Don't panic. Never fucking panic. Not in a situation like this. Voraan needed to act fast, and he needed to act smart.
With a grunt, the marauder threw out his arms, extending his limbs out to decrease his rotational velocity as he tried to gain a sense for how fast he was turning over himself. Easier said than done-- being in empty space like this was practically like swimming in a womb, with how disorienting everything was. Still, he activated the small micro-thrusters in his arms and turned them away from his head, once he figured out that he was turning over himself forward rather than backward. Slowly but surely, the rotational force upon his body began to decrease-- and slowly but surely, he was able to place the Starskipper in the center of his vision. The singular lifeline that kept him from starvation, asphyxiation, and hypothermia was currently speeding away from him, yawning to one side as half of the ships' rear propulsion was rendered a fucked mess. The ramming had obviously succeeded. Ship was still on the run, though, even with the EMP burst. Fucking amateurs. Blew the cargo doors, too-- the shit they were probably trying to grab could've been thrown out three weeks to Sunday by now, and they wouldn't know until they boarded. Fucking amateurs.
That was rich coming from him, though, seeing as his own crew was all fucking dead and he was soon to follow. With his face turned to the Starskipper, his rear was unguarded and uncounted for-- and, in the vacuum of space, there was no sound to dictate the approach of another ship. So, it was with a very heavy SLAM that Voraan's shoulder met the passing ship of the pirates, his body rolling along the face as let out a very exasperated and very shocked roar of pain. No time to think. No time to get angry. Like a meteor slamming against a ship, the contact was short-lived and harmless to the hull; he was more an insect than anything else, at this point. Dull clangs rang out where the sound could find a medium, but it never lasted long, and the marauder was silently dragged along the exterior shell of the tailing vessel as he reached out both hands and tried to grab onto something, anything. Hulls were built smooth, though, and his fingers could hardly find purchase as he was thrown over himself. As quickly as he'd touched salvation, it left him once more in the void. He was fucked. Dead. Turned over himself and rendered a spinning corpse.
Well, those were his initial thoughts, at least, until he felt the U-299 slam into his chest.
Still close by, it seemed, as the tool had followed a similar trajectory. Voraan must've held onto it somehow, or the tether to his chest must've remained intact. Truthfully, he didn't fucking care, and grabbed at the thing wildly as the debris and runoff from the tailing ship's thrusters threw him back again like a building wave. His fingers touched at the handle once, twice-- and on the third time, he gripped the tool proper, bringing it close to his chest like the ungodly savior it would no doubt be.
RECOVERY AT 100%.
It was all he needed to see. Aiming the U-299 at the passing ship and attaching the on-board tether reel to the spike, Voraan prayed to God he was lucid enough to fire the thing correctly and squeezed the trigger. The terrain rail fired out, spiraling through empty space...
... and a moment later, the impact of steel upon steel traveled up the length of the now-taut tether, and Voraan Kell felt himself thrown forward. The U-299 was nearly pulled out of his hands, but he held fast as he was dragged along by the pirate ship, grunting as he cranked the motor on the gun and started to reel himself in, slowly but surely.
These fucking bastards would be in for a rude awakening, when he found their fucking airlock.
"I'm fine," John replied curtly, eyes scanning ahead as he lead Sienna.
He needed to be fine. He would be. The fight ahead would need him to be at his best.
Two people ahead. One running back through the hallway past them, the other remaining at the pilot's seat. As he neared, John's eyes quickly looked over the man who ran by them. One of the passengers. Only the color of the man's hair helped John distinguish him from the rest as pixels began to make colors and shapes nearly a incomprehensible mess. Diagnostics were nearly completing and a full reboot would be necessary if he had to guess.
Just get to the door. It would have to be hoped that man was running off to do something of importance.
Stopping close to the door and stepping to the side, Johnathan motioned with one hand and ushered Sienna through the door before him. He took a step before stopping.
About time. But this meant he would be a sitting duck if in these next few moments his system took rebooting were the same moments in which the intruders were shooting at him. No matter, he needed to get this done. Get Sienna to safety.
"Here. Take this."
And provide her a means to protect the pilot and herself. His hand unholstered the weapon at his side before outstretching the silenced handgun towards her, handle first. He sure hoped it was towards her. He could hear her heartbeat at least, and that it was right in front of him.
"The safety is off so don't put your finger on trigger until you need to use it."
Moving away from the doorway slightly, the man set the suitcase down before unlatching the locks. Opening the case, Johnathan kept speaking as he began to sift through the clothing, feeling his way and finding his way towards his equipment hidden under the clothes. An unloaded seven-cylinder revolver. He could feel the cool metal and the grip. Two speed loaders, full of ammo each. A health stim and an energy cell. An unloaded stun gun and a separate magazine. One smoke grenade. And a standard communication device, one meant to be used for emergency or as a spare in case the detective's own internal device became damaged or defect.
He offered the communicator to the light elf.
"Take this too. Only way you're going to be able to reach me or anyone else who may be friend."
Holstering the revolver and keeping the stun gun in hand, both fully-loaded and ready to fire, the detective closed his case but left the latches unlocked before kicking the suitcase into the pilot's room, leaving the rest of his supplies with the pair. His only warning for the Asteri was to motion for her to get out of the way.
"You lock this door, and you don't open it for anyone. Shoot anyone who tries to get in. And help Sevvi."
He shrugged as he could hear the frustration in Sevvi's voice and even more so in her heartbeat. Stress was a killer. "If she wants it. Sounds like she's busy. But, otherwise, keep that gun aimed at the door."
Last Edit: Mar 25, 2023 4:54:06 GMT by Paperbag Fill
He should’ve expected as much, the Bootstrap Lanes were rife with their type, but they never hassled small fries - especially anyone heading to the open jaws of Sargasso. These guys were either real stupid or real desperate.
Kaz gripped the seat hard as the blast shook the ship. Desperate or stupid didn’t matter, they still had the guns and hardware they needed to make their attack. On her word he spun out of the cockpit and rushed back to the cargo hold. “I’m on it, boss!” He called back at the pilot. As he made his way, he passed two others heading to the cockpit - smart move, the emergency door could prove a good defense if he couldn’t hold off the raiders.
“We’ve got pirates, folks! Either hunker down or grab a weapon, I’ve got a spare.” Kaz came into the cargo bay and opened the crate that held his duffle bag. His submachine gun would punch holes in armored combatants, but he’d need armor of his own - especially if the ship ended up vented. Reaching further back into the crate, he pulled out a secured case and began to unlock it. As his fingers pressed the touchpad, a heavy clunk echoed through the cargo bay.
~ ~ ~
Callum’s mag-boots locked in against the shuttle, Siobhan might’ve been slowing down the ships but taking a tumble off the edge was still a death-sentence.
He’d been hesitant when Siobhan had ordered him to fire upon the Starskipper, losing a mark this deep would’ve pissed her off worse than his disobedience, but his hand acted without his mind. Now his feet were firmly planted and she wasn’t leaking, good luck? Callum would call it luck.
He looked back to the airlock where his crew stood waiting anxiously for the go ahead. He banged his fists against one another, and slowly the umbilical tunnel began to extend towards him.
The magnetic locks of the tunnel drummed hard against the hull, taking shape around the hole he’d blasted already. Once they were in place and airflow was confirmed, Callum and his lieutenant sparked their torches and got to work.
~ ~ ~
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.
Already pulled in with vultures picking at the hull. Kaz wouldn’t have time for a full suit, he’d have to make due with his flak jacket and sharp wit. As he zipped up the olive drab vest and secured the buckles, he tried to track the footsteps across the hull - trying to gauge their numbers. Eight? A dozen maybe? He thought of their numbers versus his own. Holly and Six were packing and seemed pretty tough, the fella' in the hat seemed pretty dangerous in his own way. Kaz's main concern was the less dangerous members of the crew and what defenses they had.
THOOM!
Without warning, a hollow blast came from the bunks followed by waves of smoke that billowed out the door and vents to the room. Kaz drew his sidearm and moved to take cover by the doorway. Through the smoke he could see figures moving. Taking a shot was too risky, there was no way to know who he’d be hitting until they were out in the open.
~ ~ ~
Callum was first through the breach. He frowned at the empty bunks - did he expect to catch them napping? Not really, but now he’d have to play hide and go seek with a dozen bums on their way to Sargasso. What a lucky fucking day.
Jupiter followed behind the quartermaster, her hands alright with blue flame even through the gloves of her EVA suit. “Gonna stand around all fucking day, boss?” She spat her words at him. She hated him, and he liked that.
Callum shot her a smirk back. “If you’re so eager, why don’t you take point, Jup? Put those mutations to good use.” He spun his pistol around his finger and pointed her way with its barrel.
The girl’s lips curled into a scowl as she stepped past, pressing down her boot on his toes as she did. “Get shot, fuckface.” She said before disappearing into the smoke.
With her out of the way, Callum stepped out of the bunkroom and down towards cargo. They expected some iron, but nothing too hot to handle - these bozos were flying Starskipper, how stacked could they be?
Their silhouettes came through first, then blasts of energy into the cargo bay. Gypsum fired first, but it went wide and flew past Grim's head, scorching the shutters behind him. Undeterred he fired again, this time at Laurel - a pair of blue energy bursts flying her way. The pirates pressed this advantage, and moved into the open, looking to press their prey back. Callum took the lead, an energy bayonet in one hand and hand cannon in the other. Gypsum went left, while Foster - still clad in full armor went right, trying to find cover behind the workout equipment.
~ ~ ~
From beneath the smoky tables in the mess hall, Sunny and Isre could see a pair of large, canine-like feet step through the door. "Anyone hiding here? You could make it easy for me, but where's the fun in that?" His voice was smooth as oil, with a predatory bite behind the words. He stepped in, and began searching.
~ ~ ~
As the pirates found their way in, so did Voraan. An airlock located on the port side. Waste Disposal, the writing on the doors said. Still, a door was a door and Voraan was running out of air.
Too wrapped up in the various displays in front of her, Sevvi didn't quite understand what John was saying, or who was with him, until he was gone, after Kaz. She blinked twice, as the realization of two things came down to her; they were stuck, and likely being boarded, and that borged up moron had just given someone he did not know at all a gun. She spoke up as her arms jumped into motion, pulling back on the throttle to slow the ship, beginning to bring it to a stop, saying, "Only half of what he just told you is good. Prolly check who you're shootin' at. 'N also open it from the folks we know."
She was frustrated, but there was nothing to be done now. The Dokka had a handgun available to her, but she hadn't used it often, and especially in a situation like this. A missed shot could kill her, either from ricochet or... Well, it wasn't gonna punch through the hull, so ricochet it would be. As the engines began winding down, taking stress off the damaged thruster, she turned in her seat to see who had been dumped in the room with her and given a gun.
"Oh! Uh, sorry, ma'am."
'What the hell why is she wearing that in here wh-'
"Your, uh, stars" 'Stop.' "are very nice." 'Dumbass.'
The same thought always occurred to Voraan as he was tethered in space, like this. Using the U-299 was a lot like fishing, in his experience-- find the catch, lay the bait, start the reel-- though the major difference was that it was him being reeled, and not the catch. The sentiment had always been humorous, when he'd done it with the Freebooters. The fisherman pulling himself to the fish, and not the other way around, diving into the deep open ocean for some Godforsaken reason. Now, as he was currently dragged through open space without a single lifeline beyond his iron grip on the tethergun-- towards a hostile vessel that he'd most certainly have to deal with alone, at least on his side of things-- the situation had thoroughly lost its comedic effect.
Voraan couldn't help but shake the feeling that he was the fish, now.
Still, the ride in was fine enough. An undamaged raiding vessel meant there wasn't any debris to dodge; still, he preferred the stillness of subspace when he did these sorts of things. Yeah, the risk of horrific death was much higher when he did the same thing down there, but the uncertainty of death had always been far more binary for him. Either he was alive, or he was dead; falling out of a subspace route usually meant disintegration, body displacement, gravitational compression... all sorts of horrible shit that was unquantifiably lethal. Now? Realspace was unforgiving, but it was a slow killer. If he lost his grip, it'd be a good few hours before hypothermia set in, and days would pass before he starved... and he still had a decent amount of oxygen left in his reserves.
... fuckin' nevermind, then. At least it'd only be minutes, not hours, if he fucked up. Still plenty of time to let the existential dread really settle in, though, before his brain went starved of O2 and his last thoughts were of the fact that he couldn't breathe.
Good fuckin' God, man. Give it a rest.
Thinking about it only made it liable to come true. Pushing the panicked thoughts of death away, Voraan cranked the reel a few more times to hasten the motor and hooked his elbow around the handle, giving both forearms a break while he covered the rest of the distance. When he was only a few hundred meters out from the two ships-- they'd both pulled alongside one another, now, and the raiding vessel was already drilling a boarding tunnel into the Starskipper-- the marauder curled his body up and kept his boots facing the hull, slamming feet-first into the metal with enough force to make his knees ache. With a grunt, Voraan steadied himself and secured the reel to his suit by taking the U-299 and placing it upon his back. Useless without a spike, now, but he wasn't about to throw the thing into empty space. If-- when-- he made it to port, he'd pick up a few more from a broker or a key market. It'd have to act as a glorified fishing pole in the meantime.
For now, though, his worries were about getting inside this fuckin' ship. Airlock was probably locked and guarded-- pirates were paranoid fucks, and he'd do the same thing if he were raiding-- and trying to hop over to the Starskipper was a no-go, as it was getting lit the fuck up and was liable to be a massacre as soon as he made his way in. That, and the tether wouldn't reach. So, with those considerations in mind, Voraan set about combing the outside of the vessel as the two parties were undoubtedly killing each other inside; with the kill-bot on the Starskipper, his money was honestly on the batch of travelling shitheads. Didn't matter to him, in the end. All he needed was a ship, and the pirates' would have to suffice. Still, there was a matter of getting in.
The opportunity presented itself, eventually. It was the last route Voraan wanted to go in through, but it was unorthodox and disgusting enough that they wouldn't be expecting it. The waste vent would take him to a trash outlet, which would be wide enough for him to get into the ship proper. For a moment, he debated trying to find an alternate route-- or just facing the guarded airlock-- but the oxygen reserves in the U-77 forced his hand. Taking out his plasma blade, Voraan directed the blade to the border of the chute's covering, peeling the thing away from the ship like a can of rations. Minutes ago, he'd done the same thing aboard the Starskipper, and he silently thanked God he'd spent all those years as an underpaid HVAC maintenance operator on Toi. The hiss of depressurization meant he'd successfully broken in, and once the hatch was pulled off--
-- Voraan launched himself through as the emergency shutters clamped down after a second of rapid air loss. He nearly lost a leg in the process-- the shutter came down on his boot and almost took it off, even with his armor-- but he was alive.
Alive, and about to be covered in shit.
"Fucking hate my life." The marauder breathed, thankful for the fact that his suit was pressurized-- which meant no outside air would be creeping in. The helmet light on his U-77 flickered to life at his command, illuminating the claustrophic catacomb of refuse that he'd begun to trudge through. Even with a sealed rig, he was quick to watch his hands and knees, muttering a batch of curses under his breath every few meters. Oxygen reserves were at 30%, now, which meant he'd really need to hurry this the fuck up if he didn't want to pass out. Dying in a pile of shit and trash was just about the last way he wanted to go.
After crawling for what felt like an eternity, Voraan inevitably reached the main chute, and pushed forward at random through the labyrinth. Thankfully, the path he took had a disinfectant checkpoint; a ring of nozzles sprayed sporicide over his rig as he crawled through it, the acrid compound washing down in droplets across his visor and smudging the world from view for a few moments. A few meters beyond that, a large chute opening lay in wait, and the marauder withdrew his blade once more to begin cutting through the metal.
"C'mon." He muttered, sweat beading on his brow even in the unforgiving cold. "Fuckin'-- hmh. Open."
With a shove of his shoulder against the grate, it budged, bowing out slightly; another strike, and the thing flew off. Voraan pushed himself through the opening, one hand pulling himself the rest of the way onto the cold floor of the ship.
"Jeez, I said he was off the hook..." Grim rolled his eyes, "Party's over. No harm, no foul, and all that."
The impact clearly didn't have much impact. The android stood as firmly as before, like someone had dressed a concrete post up in a bucket hat and limited-run Beatmania IIDX 16 EMPRESS t-shirt. He slowly reached his hand back down towards his gun, regardless. This woman could be a threat, if she continued to be so foolhardy. Still, when she mentioned something about visitors, and the external door opened up behind them...
"Oh, come on..."
Grim muttered under his breath. He was just about able to stay rooted, watching as Voraan was flung off into the stars, swallowed whole by the void as the door slammed shut behind him. So much for letting him go, then.
The visitors showed their faces, seeming more the type to shoot first and make small talk later. Or never. It might have been never, with anyone else on the receiving end, but... well, this was Grim. He loved a chat. The shot went wide, soaring over his head, and the others didn't seem aimed for him. He turned around, offering the invaders the same lazy wave he offered most of his targets.
"Aw, did we leave you behind at the last stop, or something?" He said, "You should've just waited for the next one, they run pretty regularly. Might have even landed yourself a nicer bunk."
He made no attempt to protect the strangers next to him. If they were going to factor into his personal survival, then they'd be able to deal with a couple wayward shots. This was a test. Yeah, this was a test- not laziness on his part, or anything.
"So, uh... you guys with Kell, then? I thought his boys were all dead."
Fuck this, you're not a hero. Fuck this, you're not a hero. Fuck this, you're not a hero.
Isre shifted a little closer to Smiles, watching - body tense - as an unfamiliar pair of feet stepped into the mess hall. Not, like, that she had the feet of everybody here memorized, but she was 99% sure none of them were furry. So this was like - a hijack thing. A pirate thing. Good chance they were gonna get robbed, or killed, or robbed then killed, and fuck this considering the amount of money she had on her the killed bit seemed really fucking likely. She glanced at Smiles you're not a hero and tightened her fists.
Girl was in medicine. Not too bad off, too, by her dress and speech, and by the doe-eyed way she looked at everything. Not the sorta person who got into fights. Probably didn't know how to fight, and if she did, it was, like, some fancy shit from a coupon dojo that teaches the power of redirecting energy with your hands.
Ohhh, fuck this, you're not a hero.
She could use a drink right now.
Or a fuck.
Or both, really. The shit she did for a pretty face.
"Stay low, Smiles. Hey! Shithead!"
Isre pushed herself out from under the table, clambering on top of it, picking up and brandishing the first thing she could get her hands on. A ceramic mug, Don't Bother Me Until This Is Empty printed on the side in big, blocky letters.
Great. Master intimidator, Isre. Really gonna make them run home to their parents.
She shook it threateningly.
"Fuck off before I figure out how thick your big, dumb skull really is!"
A heavy weight in her hands and an even heavier lump in her throat. Okay, he had given her a gun. Why had he given her a gun? She didn’t know the first thing about using a gun and the inside of a spaceship seemed like a bad place to try to learn. She held the weapon with one hand a good distance away from her body, like she expected it to bite her while she clipped the small communication device to her ear. Her attention went from the man to the pilot, Miss Sevvi, as she offered her own word of advice.
“I would rather not have it at all, if I’m honest.” Sienna said.
The light of the sun caught her eye as the star filled the ship’s view, its saccharine warmth seeping through thin fabric and prickling the skin beneath. Like the taste of caramel lingering on a tongue, scattered speckles across her skin flared into a shimmering band which stole their shape from the distant lights that filled the autumn skies of her youth. Her heart fluttered hard in her chest, but it was hard to tell if that was on account of nerves or the sudden flush of sugar into her system.
Miss Sevvi turned to look her way, and Sienna couldn’t help the faint chuckle that escaped her lips. This was absurd wasn’t it? Hard to pick out one thing really, but it would have been nice to die in normal clothes. Still, she was a sucker for a moment of levity, so a quick smile split her lips.
“We live through this and maybe you’ll get to see them in the dark” she said with a wink, and another, unbidden, nervous chuckle. She pulled in another breath, and focused on the warmth against her skin, she just needed to keep a level head until they weren’t all about to die, that would be easy enough.
“Is there… a plan? Anyone we can call for help from Sargasso or on the lane?” This was probably a dumb question wasn’t it?
Fuck, the sun felt nice.
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
Shots rang wild, skimming past the tin man’s head just before screaming past Laurel’s as she dove to avoid them. The soft click of her shield signaled her charge, the barrel of her rail pistol leveled at the armored pirate as he ran to the weights and other fitness gear. Four shots rang out as she squeezed her shield again, the whir of the gravity matrix joining the faint hiss of her gun.
The robot, for whatever reason, left his gun holstered, offering a lazy wave and sarcastic words to their attackers without moving. Laurel shook her head as she darted behind a crate. ”Why would Kell launch his own ass into the void?” A few bolts shy of full assembly, this one. Two more shots for each attacker rang out from Laurel’s hiding place, the white hot metal whizzing around Grim. Laurel didn’t take the time to see if her shots landed, preoccupied with laying cover fire, seeing as she was the only one with her gun drawn.
”Maybe use that cannon of yours?” She popped off another round, pointedly shoving her chin in the direction of Grim’s weapon. ”Not that I don’t enjoy a good firefight, but the longer this takes the more likely the odds will turn against us.” Given the robot’s current actions the odds were already against them, and in favor of Grim becoming riddled with holes slightly faster than her. Laurel cursed leaving her duffel in the mess area.
Sevvi's head was racing at several thousand kilometers a second, only just keeping up with how fast the ship should have been moving if they weren't tethered in place currently. First on her mental checklist was trying to figure out who the hell was attacking a heap of trash like the 604 this close to such a major location. It was foolish, but that unfortunately matched with the pirates actions up to this point. From where she was sitting, they were just as likely to get all of them killed, pirates included, as actually find something worth taking on any of them.
Next up, was trying to find any way under the stars to reason with and respond to what Sienna had just said to her. Eventually, what came from her mouth was an attempt at words that came out more like someone trying to talk around a mouthful of beestings, absolute non-words, a nervous chuckle, and a good bit of mental admonishment from herself to herself. Now was not the time to be getting distracted by a very attract-
Another key point on the list was trying to figure out who had shot, where they had shot from, and how fucked everyone was because of it. From the sound of it, it didn't seem like it'd pierce the hull, which brought the how fucked is everyone level down to moderate. The shots were quick, and sounded far away, likely in the cargo hold if her ear had tuned correctly to the feel of the ship, but that didn't answer any questions. She was halfway through her reasoning before the second statement from Sienna made it through her thick skull and found a way through her tide of thoughts, jumbled as they were.
"... Good idea, Starlight. Shoulda thought of that one. Gimme a bit," the Dokka said, moving back to her seat. They were still a ways out, so comms might not reach, but on the off chance, it could be exactly what they needed. Granted, it'd take time for anyone to get here, and Sargasso wasn't exactly the most lawful place in the galaxy, but a long shot was a lot better than no shot at all. Quick hands and deft fingers set to work, with her handing her handgun off to a mechanical arm, not meant to hold a firearm but that didn't mean it was incapable of it, and it'd be a hell of a lot steadier than her own.
Soon enough, she was sending a ping through empty space, in the direction of Sargasso. "Come on, I know y'all are there, just pick up..."
Voraan broke through the hatch and ended up on the cold deck of the ship. Low running lights lit his surroundings. Speaking of, where was he? A long row of lockers lined the wall opposite from him, while the wall he’d come out of had a half-dozen or so shower nozzles. Locker-room then, and very well kept. The subtle hiss of a sliding door came from his left, followed by the plap thunk plap thunk plap of wet footsteps, one bare flesh and the other-
Metal. The man who came out through the door was clad in only pants, and still damp from a shower maybe. When he saw Voraan, he took a step back and placed his organic hand on the control panel next to the door. Judging by the utility belt and his startled look, he wasn’t a fighter.
“Uhhh, where the hell did you come from?” His tone was one of surprise, with a hint of uncertainty. He looked over the man’s armor and equipment and then tightened his eyes. “Wait, are you one of our new guys from Ballast?”
~ ~ ~
The weirdo in the hat didn’t even flinch, what the fuck was his deal? Wasting not a moment, Callum found his way across the floor and faced Grim. The guy hadn't even pulled a weapon, just offered a half-assed wave and said something stupid about missing the last stop. Smartass. Callum couldn't figure this guy out.
He leveled his pistol between Grim’s eyes. “What’s your fucking deal, and what’s with the hat?”
~ ~ ~
Shithead?
The Lykaian's ears perked up at the insult, leading him to turn and watch quizzically as the Silwin scampered out from under the table and plant themselves on top. She seemed unarmed, save the novelty coffee mug she held like a hand grenade - shaking it with violent intent.
Lukan tried to stifle his laughter, but it broke through - husky and in his chest. “You-” he managed to make out through the laughter. “You really-” he tried, but couldn’t help himself. He knew he was a bastard.
He wiped a stray tear from his eye and let out a sigh. “Oh, you’re my favorite. We’re keeping you alive for sure!” His smile was wide and sharp. “I'm dying to know how you intend on - what was it?” He scratched his chin with his clawed fingers. "Figure out how thick my dumb skull is?"
He wore no weapons, or at least none that they could see yet. "Name's Lukan, by the by. What can I call you?"
~ ~ ~
Bits of rock split off of Gypsum’s head and blew towards Kaz as one bullet took a piece of his cheek and the other blew a tip off the top of his head. A glancing blow, but still enough to piss him off - charging his cannon and setting his sights on Laurel.
Heat built in the barrel, and he narrowed his vision on the girl. Siobhan had said no unnecessary casualties, maybe he’d be doing her a favor by ridding them of the feisty one.
Just as his finger met the trigger, more shots rang out through the cargo bay - this time towards Foster. The first two missed, but the third found purchase in his armpit, then the last one just below his ribs. A muffled scream came from inside his helmet as he slumped down and slid over against the wall - a bit of his side and legs stuck out from behind the equipment still.
With a man wounded, Gypsum was eager to settle the score. He squeezed the trigger and waited for recoil.
BANG!
Another shot, this one from behind. A puff of dust blew out of his vac-suit - there was a new hole where his knee cap was, an exit wound.BANG! Another shot landed just above it and his knee buckled. As he hit the ground, he released on the trigger, sending the blast back towards his unseen attacker before charging another.
~ ~ ~
Kaz ducked down low as the shot blasted against the hull, leaving molten metal dripping on his shoulders. A bad shot like that and the ship would be going down sooner than he thought. Just as he recovered from the last one, another came flying his way. Gypsum had caught him off guard and off balance, payback for blowing out his knee. With nowhere else to go he tried rolling for the doorway - and took half the blast to his right side.
Kaz hit the deck hard and sizzling. The reactive plates redirected and dispersed what energy it could, but what was left still scorched him - the vest had done it's job, but his arm wasn't so lucky. The wound was raw and burning, bits of the melted fabric of his shirt stuck to his skin and smoked. At least he wasn't bleeding too badly, a shrapnel blast would've shredded both him and the wall behind.
He gritted his teeth and pushed himself off the floor, he was a better shot with his left anyway - that would be a problem for later. He collected his gun off the deck and motioned to peak around the cargo crate when he felt a chill breeze move through the cargo bay, pulling some of the smoke back down the hall - the others would see it too. It was the slight pull of an airlock exchange from the bunkroom, no doubt.
Whether he was ready for not, they were about to have more company.
From his position between the cargo crates, he spied their android passenger - 45, hiding away from the action. Moving low, he swooped next to him and planted his back against cover. "Hey, you alright?" He peeked back out, eyes down the hall. "Name's Kaz, by the way."
~ ~ ~
Heavy footfalls echoed down the hall as John made his way back to the fight. A wide shadow emerged from the dissipating smoke, a shape that nearly didn't fit the tight hallway. John could hear gunshots and plasma blasts down the way, but between them the subtle hissing of heavy hydraulics and flexing machinery was picked up.
Then, from out of the smoke came a massive figure that seemed to block his path entirely.
The cyborg was huge, standing almost two feet taller than John and almost twice as wide. "G'mornin', little man." His voice was thick with drawl and confidence. He stepped closer, blocking out the entire hallway. "Nice chrome." He jabbed at the detective's augmented arm. "It's too bad I'll have to rip it out of 'ya." For someone of his size, he moved fast. In only a moment he pulled back and threw a steel haymaker towards the detective.
~ ~ ~
For a few long moments, the ping travelled with no response. It bounced off moons and space rocks, swung around the rings of gas giants, and offered to share itself with anyone willing to listen.
The ping echoed back to the Starskipper. It had gone out, but there was no knowing if someone heard it - and more importantly if they would help.
The screaming told Laurel she had hit her mark as the armored man fell. The tiniest of internal celebrations was all she allowed herself, the quick flash of the living rock and his plasma-caster reminding her that more enemies waited. Cautiously she peeked around her protective crate-
And darted back as a man with an eyepatch swaggered toward the robot. She listened to him threaten the robot, rolling her eyes at the man’s poor taste. A pirate with an eyepatch and a superiority complex backed by his gun. At least he chose to dive into the stereotype at full tilt. Two more shots rang, one shortly following the other and causing Laurel to pop her head over the crate again. The rock man had been downed, his charged plasma shot recklessly released in the direction of the now armored mercenary who made coffee.
Laurel wasted no time as the other merc dodged between crates, firing twice in quick succession only after she had taken a full moment to center her shot between the fallen enemy’s eyes, or seeing stones or whatever. Her jaw was clenched tight, anger boiling in her gut and threatening to explode from her lips. It was bad enough they were on a Starskipper in the first place, worse still for the skirmish between the vacated Skull Face and his chipper robot friend. It was even worse that they were being attacked by stupid pirates. And nothing made it better than the fact that these were stupid, amateur pirates.
It was the only explanation for the rookie mistakes they made, their brash charge into unknown territory and their weaponry that threatened all of their lives. Laurel glanced over to Eyepatch, his attention solely on the bot. Slowly she released the breath she had been holding and stood. In a flash the pistol was back in its place at her back, and Laurel stepped past the pirate and the robot with a smile directed at the former.
”Hi, yeah. I’m not really with him, so if you wanna kill him or whatever I am gonna just go over here.” Laurel scrunched her nose and pointed toward the entrance to the bunk room. ”Maybe when this is all done and over you can give me a call, handsome?” She extended her hand in a slight offering motion, quick glances cast about to keep an eye on the armored one and the rock. Just because a man was down didn’t mean they were out until the kill is confirmed.