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Fight or Flight

a topic in Flourishing Republic, a part of the RPG forum.

Star Wars RPG set 500 years prior to Episode 1. All plots to be player-made

Fight or Flight

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Zhelir Darkfall on Sat Jun 17, 2006 11:45 am

Halix pressed both hands to the metal grate above his head, gently lifting it from the floor. Peeking just enough out of the hole he'd been in to allow him to see the corridor around him, he sent his eyes on a quick trip around the hall. All clear.

He slipped fluidly from the hole and out onto the metal grate that was the corridor's floor, matching the hatch he'd just opened perfectly. He slipped the hatch back into place and, using as much stealth as his whirling mind could muster, he snuck off in the direction of the cockpit.

Zal, Corten and Bolts were in lockup. No measure of luck would let him break them out, but he did have a damn good shot at getting the ship out. If he did that, he could call in a few favors and get a good enough crew together to go break his companions out. The ship was in transit from the landing pad they'd touched down at to the Corellian Impound, which meant that he could easily take control if he could subdue or kill the pilot.

Even as this thought traced a path across his mind, a long, slender Vibroblade seemed to come out of nowhere -- a trusty nowhere that happened to be strapped to his inner arm. He wasn't in the least bit sympathetic of the man he was about to take down. He'd helped in taking his friends down -- and not just the ones that crewed the Slick Hand. Countless smugglers he'd made aquaintence with had been busted and imprisoned on Corellia. If he were damn lucky, he might even get the chance to start a prison riot and bust them all out. He'd trade a few murderers and rapists back on the street for that kind of favor-owing any day.

It was almost with a smile that he did it. As he crept into the cockpit, he saw the man sitting in the Pilot's seat -- Zal's seat, most of the time -- as relaxed and casually as though he were king of the galaxy. Not today, he wasn't. The man had a short crop of blonde hair, but that was all Halix could or needed to see. With one final, soundless leap, he bounded across the cockpit and thrust the weapon downward, sending a spray of flesh, blood, and what he suspected was brain up his forearm.

Not missing a beat, he leapt into the copilot's chair and switched over the controls to his own station. He pulled the manueverable little freighter in a tight 90 degree turn, setting a course for a point well over the horizon: a cave they had used in past years to hide out from government search parties. It was relatively near to a little town like his home, which included a cantina, which was exactly what he needed. If he was going to work up the courage to try to break his friends out of prison, he was going to need a few pints of Ale in him first.

Bringing the ship around and switching to repulsor lifts, he backed the ship into the little cave, barely large enough to fit the ship, and touched down. The ship shook a little as the landing claws hit an unever surface, but that wasn't exactly a surprise. Halix took a glance over at the dead pilot as he shut down the ship's main systems.

"Now what am I gunna do with you...?"
STAVE: Commala-come-ki,
There's a time to live and one to die.
With your back against the final wall
Ya gotta let the bullets fly.

RESPONSE: Commala-come-ki!
Let the bullets fly!
Don't 'ee mourn for me, my lads
When it comes my day to die.

Tip jar: the author of this post has received 0.00 INK in return for their work.

Zhelir Darkfall
GWC Veteran
Member for 17 years
Progenitor Conversation Starter Author Conversationalist Friendly Beginnings Greeter Beta Tester Contributor

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