Snippet #2767659

Syra felt her eyes narrow in response to Girthfield's reasoning. Yet the ship's loading ramp dropped for her and she found herself scurrying aboard anyway. The idea of simply stealing the ship and getting herself off this gods-forsaken ball of dust and death crossed her mind, but she didn't even know where she'd go. Her home was gone, her family dead, and the systems were nothing like they'd been when she was growing up. The weight of this hit her as her fist met with the cold metal of the walls of the ship. "Now what..." she muttered, edging ever closer to the bridge. She had no idea why Girthfield had wanted her to board the ship in the first place. She stared for a moment out the viewport, and endless expanse of desert lay before her, and the firing mechanism for the ships' weapon lay just below a small metal switch. Her finger itched the sudden desire to end it all becoming overwhelming. She felt herself collapse into the pilot's chair and swiveled side to side.

"I could just run away, take this ship and spend my life in the stars. Anything is better than here..." She pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on her dry skin. It was odd being in the pilot's seat again. "Screw them all..." She muttered, simply sitting in the pilot's seat, looking out the windshield.