The ship sailed between the stars of the Outer Rim, more floating than soaring, drifting as it was exploring. Anonymous, even insignificant, with her appearance of little more than a freighter. Only she wasn’t just this. She was armed and armored. She was a bitch.
And proud of it. “I get it,” the captain stated in the cockpit. “That’s a Strongarm-class gunship we’re dealing with.” Retrofitted, even, and equipped with all manner of explosives and expletives.
She might have flicked ash from a lit cigarette, but it was vape between her lips, black as space. Smoke billowed. “The Burnt Dragon.” Well, her ship would give the other's a new definition. “She has a weakness.” The captain of her own ship beckoned. “Her armaments are beneath her. So we will swoop in.” She commanded.
“Shit, they saw us!” A crewmember stated.
“Aye,” the Captain replied. “It was expected.” For they held the element of surprise at that moment, and that’s what mattered. Her ship swooped in, having exited hyperspace, swiftly closing the distance.
“Fire cannons.” That ought to be enough of a distraction. The Brave Marquis might not have been faster but she was more maneuverable, agile, quick to turn against the burn, and unleash hell.
A lift of her wrist, as the hand demanded. “And rain shit from above.” Captain Kit Zelkar promised. It was take out the competition or become it as far as she was concerned. Of that much, her employer had proven to be rather certain.
Lasers burst as the armed freighter turned, whipping across the distance, toward the horizon of a sunrise and sunset, for that star farther ahead was made of much and more, little and less.
Pelted, the Burnt Dragon shifted to respond, rounding and turning her belly, her fuselage, upward, to fire cannons. Space, however, was rather relative. “Flip and burn!” Captain Kit shouted to her crewmen.
“Concussion missiles to their armaments!” The freighter swerved as it fired a barrage of its own. Missiles pounded toward the belly of the beast. A few found purchase, yet a few more were destroyed by the grace of blasters in the span of instants.
“Heave!” The Marquis twirled like a dancer, slingshotting from the underbelly of her enemy to its front. "Clip it!" And the Dragon was given a concussion to its wing as it found her predator above her.
“Hail the captain.” Kit eased breath between her lips amid her excitement. “Let’s see if he wants to be taken in alive or dead.”
And proud of it. “I get it,” the captain stated in the cockpit. “That’s a Strongarm-class gunship we’re dealing with.” Retrofitted, even, and equipped with all manner of explosives and expletives.
She might have flicked ash from a lit cigarette, but it was vape between her lips, black as space. Smoke billowed. “The Burnt Dragon.” Well, her ship would give the other's a new definition. “She has a weakness.” The captain of her own ship beckoned. “Her armaments are beneath her. So we will swoop in.” She commanded.
“Shit, they saw us!” A crewmember stated.
“Aye,” the Captain replied. “It was expected.” For they held the element of surprise at that moment, and that’s what mattered. Her ship swooped in, having exited hyperspace, swiftly closing the distance.
“Fire cannons.” That ought to be enough of a distraction. The Brave Marquis might not have been faster but she was more maneuverable, agile, quick to turn against the burn, and unleash hell.
A lift of her wrist, as the hand demanded. “And rain shit from above.” Captain Kit Zelkar promised. It was take out the competition or become it as far as she was concerned. Of that much, her employer had proven to be rather certain.
Lasers burst as the armed freighter turned, whipping across the distance, toward the horizon of a sunrise and sunset, for that star farther ahead was made of much and more, little and less.
Pelted, the Burnt Dragon shifted to respond, rounding and turning her belly, her fuselage, upward, to fire cannons. Space, however, was rather relative. “Flip and burn!” Captain Kit shouted to her crewmen.
“Concussion missiles to their armaments!” The freighter swerved as it fired a barrage of its own. Missiles pounded toward the belly of the beast. A few found purchase, yet a few more were destroyed by the grace of blasters in the span of instants.
“Heave!” The Marquis twirled like a dancer, slingshotting from the underbelly of her enemy to its front. "Clip it!" And the Dragon was given a concussion to its wing as it found her predator above her.
“Hail the captain.” Kit eased breath between her lips amid her excitement. “Let’s see if he wants to be taken in alive or dead.”