This was written nearly a year ago.

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The Run
Deadline

[00:06:33]

The sun began to peek through the layers of clouds.
Light graced the industrial park on the surface, its large robust buildings casting shadows on the terraformed grass. Dew glistened on the rooftops, and so a new day began.
On the ground, everything was fresh and calm, in the air...
A dot appeared in the sun, two more came into view shortly after. Sonic booms awakened the planet, as did distant gunfire. A fight had been brought to this world.
Alarms went off in the cockpit of the VS-21 Anvil. The ship was still shaking from a hit it took before entering the atmosphere. Seatbelts held the Runner tightly in place. He flicked switches as his eyes moved over velocity and altitude readings. Sweat ran down his spine, adrenaline pumped through his veins. Plasma streaks shot past in the corner of his eye, and instinct steered his left hand to the right, rolling the ship.
He took another hit, sending a massive quake throughout the hull.
"Son of a bitch!" The Runner cried out as his fist turned off a second set of alarms.

[13:04:51]

The clear blue skies of the day had formed a gradient; deep shades of orange and red where the sun began to disappear behind the horizon, to an array of dark blues and blacks with tiny white specks forming constellations. The galaxy was clearly visible from this desert planet.
A light breeze picked up the loose sand and formed dunes not too far off a lone Axis outpost.
It was a remote site, fairly small and far from the mostly religious civilization.
However, it was the perfect place for a team to wind down after a long day.
Lights turned on, casting shadows on the landing pad. A single Hoplite proudly stood taller than the main building, its hull reflecting the stars above.
Cigarette smoke came from the top. Just above the cockpit, on the hull still warm from the sun lay the commander of the Axis team.
He had nailed a runner a few hours back; some amateur, flying some second hand piece of crap.
It was hardly a satisfying catch, and it was probably the reason he was smoking right now.
His mind had deeply sunk into thoughts, something troubled him: the bar, that runner.
All of it was of course his own stupid fault, having underestimated him. But there was something else. A difference between him and all the other Runners:
He didn't seem the type of man who would take this kind of job. He was too... too...
Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Maybe it was the way he moved, casual yet with a perfect sense of balance and efficiency, along with that deadpan expression on his face and those confident, almost arrogant eyes.
As he inhaled some more sweet nicotine he realized the sky was now completely dark, the two moons about to take a prominent place in it. Footsteps came from the concrete below.

[13:03:25]

"Play"
And so a song began. Slowly, chords began to fade in, supported by a light bass;
a relaxed orchestration that progressed slowly, evolving only to a fraction of its potential.
It kept moving that way for a few seconds, until powerful strings made their way through the headset. A steady build-up followed, five, six, seven, eight, breakdown.
A moment of silence, and then... Percussion powered in. A choir commenced, chanting an epic tale of life and death. The strings followed the lead as the bass began to change into something synthetic. The chorus was born.
Break beats began driving the composition forward as the first verse began.
The Runner bobbed his head along with the drums, watching from behind the glass how the world became smaller and smaller. The elevator he stood in quickly made its way to the top of one of the smaller buildings in the industrial area. His destination; a ship dock, some 2000 meters above the surface.
The company that rented the upper levels was relatively small and worked with a 'no questions' policy; an ideal place for those on the other side of the law.
And so the Runner would bring his ship here every month for repairs, fresh paintjob, the occasional module and a cup of coffee.
A sharp beep rudely interrupted the music.

[12:57:39]

Footsteps came from the concrete below.
His point man probably, he made no attempt to find out.
The ladder leading to the top of the ship cracked under the weight of whoever came up.
"Good evening sir."
'Sir' was proven right. "Evenin' lieutenant"
The cigarette in his mouth didn't go unnoticed as his man sat down next to him.
"You know, not only is that bad for your health, it's also illegal here."
"Old habits die hard, I suppose." The white roll was tossed away, and landed in the cool sand surrounding the concrete.
It was silent for a moment. The commander sensed an uneasy silence settling in
Ever since he was transferred to this squad he felt the lieutenant didn't quite fit in. There was never a nice talk or even an attempt at one.
"But that's not why you're here." So he decided he would kick off instead.
"Heh, no, not exactly. I was wondering..." His LT tried to find a more comfortable position.
"I was wondering about the bounty, are you sure it's... enough?"
"Oh, it's enough..." The chief kept gazing at the stars, and began to miss his smoke
"That runner already thinks we underestimate him, so now he gets cocky, and we grab him
by his balls." A colourful, but clear explanation.
The hull started to lose its warmth. Or perhaps his arse was all numb now.
Dark clouds sailed in, covering the stars above. The light breeze became stronger and the evening suddenly a lot colder. It wouldn't be long before the rain season would thunder in.
The chief sighed, like his cigarette; he would now lose his view.
On top of that, his PDA broke the silence. Annoyed, he put in his earpiece:
"This better be good."
His face remained neutral for the first few moments, not expecting a lot. Probably troops moving through his area, or more budget cuts. He actually chuckled at the thought, as he was probably right.

[12:59:47]

A sharp beep rudely interrupted the music.
The Runner had arrived. The doors slid open and the smell of cold metal and heated plasma engulfed him. Bobbing his head to the beat, he stepped into the shop.
The place was awfully quiet, with most of the ships and hover cars covered, all the tools placed neatly where they're supposed to be and not a soul in sight.
This was to be expected on a day like this, though. Nobody worked on the Day of the Harmony. No, today was meant for peace, relaxation, celebration and sex with young boys for the priests who preached all that hypocritical bullshit.
At least, that's what the Runner thought, though he imagined he wasn't too far off.
His attention was caught by a stuttering light. The music went on pause and he could hear a plasma cutter from where the light came.
"Otto!" He called through the shop, wondering if it was the owner.
There was silence for a moment. The cutter shut off, a thump followed and footsteps began to close in. The Runner stopped, expecting to see Otto's bearded face emerge from behind one of the ships. It was a bit of a letdown to see Sybren Denkis, one of the mechanics, instead.
"Moornin'." Sybren welcomed him with his Persean accent.
"Good morning." They shook hands.
"Otto's noht here right now, had to maake an... urghent call." Denkis flared his nostrils.
The Runner replied with a simple "Hmm...".
"Hmm?"
"You always do that thing..." He moved his hand over his nose.
"What thing?" Denkis wondered, seemingly oblivious.
"When you lie, you..." unable to find the words, "...you flare your nostrils."
Sybren was silent, as he didn't know what to reply. The Runner's mouth showed a slight grin.
"Err... so, I taahke it you want your schip?"
A simple nod provided enough of an answer. "Lead the way."
"You know, you weeren't supposed to be here until tomoorrow."
"Got a last minute delivery, so I'm in a bit of a hurry."
"Something... impoortant?"
"Important enough to warrant..."

[13:54:32]

"... one hundred thousand Unies."
The Runner sat back, allowing the grand amount to properly sink in.
"What's the catch?" And he immediately asked the most obvious.
It was silent on the other side. The static of the connection briefly took over.
Apparently he had asked the wrong question.
"A lot of people don't want to see this package delivered..."
"Tell me something I don't know. Now, what... is... the catch?" He asked again, his tone more demanding. Again he had to wait for an answer, though this allowed his mind to piece bits together.
The reward was big, too big for something as simple as information or blueprints. No, this was something else. Something was at stake. He could hear it in the voice. A slight trembling undertone. He sensed fear and a hint of despair.
Yet all of this was somehow controlled by a strong will which only allowed that much to show.
There was an attempt to answer: words came out, hesitant, and unable to formulate a proper sentence.
"Ok, look," The Runner gave in a little, "this is obviously important to you, and I apologise if
I..."
He couldn't quite finish himself. It seemed to go against his nature.
"So you'll..."
"Where do you need to go?".

[12:57:25]

"A hundred K?" Sybren seemed impressed by the amount.
The Runner nodded, slowly walking along side him.
"For a shorrrt range trip?" The mechanic wiped his face clean, not that it helped much.
"A twelve hour jump, roughly."
"Sounds a bit... err... what iz the worrrd?"
"Suspicious? Yes, very."
"And yet you taahke the job."
"Guess I'm a sucker for big numbers..."
Sybren laughed with his raspy voice. "Thaat makes two of us."
"So, when arre you leaving?"
"I was supposed to meet my contact here..." The Runner checked his watch, "two minutes
ago..."
The elevator doors opened, which could be heard throughout the shop.
This immediately caught the attention of Sybren and the Runner.

[12:55:34]

He actually chuckled at the thought, as he was probably right.
After that he was silent, not moving, looking or feeling. His ears were fixed on the message but if you looked closely, you could see the corners of his mouth slowly rising with each word spoken.
"How good is the info?" He spoke.
"We intercepted chatter..." The conversation continued, the lieutenant following. Though he only heard half of it, he had a good idea what this was all about; the chief's face telling him more than a thousand words. The funny thing was, he had only seen his commander once like this. And that was the day the LT was transferred to this squad...
The Hoplite Corvette they sat on was commissioned the exact same day and every commander would have access to one.
"Alright, thanks." It ended with a similar annoying jingle, though the chief didn't seem to care anymore. He let out an almost satisfied sigh.
"I should get the men?" His officer asked a rhetorical question.
"You should get the men..."

[12:56:04]

The elevator doors slid open, immediately grabbing the attention of Sybren and the Runner.
The Runner was hoping for the arrival of the package, eager to leave. This whole affair still didn't feel right to him.
"Ah, my favourite customer!" And again he was disappointed as it was Otto who came walking up to them, PDA in his right hand, and offering his left hand for a shake.
"That's only because I pay you good money." They met with laughter.
"Hold on just a sec." He told the Runner and so he continued.
"Yes... he'll be coming your way..." The chat didn't seem all that interesting, so instead he turned his attention to Otto himself. The immediate thing he noticed was the sweet smell of perfume and smudges of lipstick on his neck, which obviously betrayed his previous whereabouts.
He grinned as he didn't expect any less from him.
"Ok... tomorrow yes... bye." He hung up.
"Sorry for that, business as usual."
"Like that lipstick..."
At first Otto didn't know what he was talking about, until he checked his neck with his hand.
Seeing the pinkish red on his fingers made him laugh.
"I have three wives to take care off, what is a man like me supposed to do, huh?"
"Get a divorce?"
"Oh, believe me I've tried, hehehe..."
And that seemed to mark the end of the small talk. A few quiet moments passed.
"I err... I goht to maahke a few calls" Sybren thought now would be a good time to leave.
"So, what brings you here this early?" Otto asked.
"I was supposed to meet a client here."
"Who hasn't showed up?"
"Nothing so far..." The arrival of Otto made it clear to the Runner that his contact wouldn't be coming at all. Somewhere he already knew that though.
"Well, you know you're always welcome here."
"Like I said; that's only because I pay you good money."
Otto's laugh thundered throughout the shop as the duo strolled towards the Runner's ship.
"So, here we are." Otto proudly patted the freshly painted hull. The Runner stood a few steps behind him, allowing himself a good look. His mouth formed his trademark grin. Truly, the new black and orange livery was a treat for the eyes.
"What do you think?" His friend wondered, though the answer could be clearly read on the Runner's face.
"Otto, you're good." He answered, refraining from making any real compliments. But it was more than enough for the shop's owner. Slowly he moved forward, with each step fixing his eyes on a different detail: intakes, landing gear, windows, the modified two door ramp which allowed for easier access. All of these were more than familiar to him but with the new paintjob seemed very different at the same time.
"You're very good." He rephrased.
"I trust the money...?"
"Check your account."
The answer pleased Otto, as was evident by his smirk. His customer took a peek inside the right engine.
"You had no problems with the injectors?" The Runner's voice was muffled.
"No, not at all, the flow parameters you gave us work perfectly."
"Good, good."
"Satisfied?"
He pulled his head out, moving his hands over the hull as if caressing the fur of a friendly beast. "Very."
Again his eyes and ears caught movement near the elevators.
"Sybren?" Otto called, but the Runner already knew it wasn't the mechanic.
The doors had opened and somebody came pacing towards them. Both walked out to meet whoever was coming. It was a man, late fifties probably, with most of his hair already gone. Both the look on his face and his walk were nervous, which probably had something to do with the thick, black briefcase he was holding. His hands were sweaty, clearly he had been holding a tight grip on it
"I was told I would meet my pilot here." He spoke before he stopped, his words came out fast and his breathing was heavy.
"You're late." The Runner said, clearly annoyed.
"I know, I was followed..."
"By who?"
"Don't know..."
"Mercs?"
"No... no..." The responses the client gave were quick, but made with little thought.
He was hiding something, that much the Runner could tell.
"Look, we're running out of time here, we have to move now."
"Oh, we're not moving anywhere until you tell me what I'm up against."
The client's breath filled the next few moments. The answer was there, but he seemed too afraid to tell.
"Em..." He hesitated, but why? "Em..."
A vague humming slowly began to overpower all background noise. At first the Runner didn't give it much thought, until he saw Otto looking outside. Immediately his look turned to a drop ship hovering in front of the glasteel windows. Its dark grey and chrome colours weren't associated with any faction, but the gatling guns under its wings made it clear it wasn't civilian either.
"Customers, Otto?" The Runner made a few steps forward, his client a few back.
"You know I only work with reservations..."
The ship moved back a few meters.
"How thick is that glass?"
"You already know what my answer is..."
The gatling guns began spinning up.
"Oh, fuck..."

[11:47:58]

"Sir," the lieutenant called for his commander, who came walking in with his razor still in his hand, "local holo channel." His officer brought up the main screen where a news flash was continuously broadcasting:
"..ago a drop ship of unknown make was shot down from the Braben-Bell tower. According to
witnesses it was involved in a fire fight as it was seen firing into the building itself.
A VS-21 Anvil has been reported leaving the scene. More details will..."
The lieutenant paused the transmission. "What do you think?" He could see his superior comparing his options.
"I think we should scan for jump clouds the moment we arrive."

[00:37:37]

It was silent now, the only sound being the low hum of the Anvil's nav. Computer.
The Runner hadn't left his seat during the entire jump. Which was odd as his arse had really gotten used to his own, though probably destroyed seat. Of course, the ship he now piloted was completely stock and lacked all the modifications he had installed on his Anvil.
Sighing, he began thinking about all the little quirks it had and the time, blood and money he had spent on it. His face got angry for just a second, as if he cursed in his head.
Slowly he turned the seat. The client had dozed off on the bench in the cargo hold: his hands still holding the black briefcase tightly.
The Runner had to admit; this whole affair had made him curious about its contents, which was very unlike him, though. Normally he would keep his questions to himself, but this run had too much of an impact to simply ignore it.
His package woke up, ceasing his snoring and wiping the short sleep from his eyes.
"Where are we?" He asked, his voice dry.
"Somewhere between A and B." The Runner sat back, answering casually while switching his eyes between man and briefcase.
"How long till we arrive?"
"We should exit the jump in a few minutes, but those last few hundred clicks..." He didn't finish himself, a sign telling the carrier he was worried.
"What about them?"
"We're... being followed. By at least two ships."
"So, there's more to come?"
"A lot more, I reckon." Again the Runner laid his eyes on the case, the client noticed.
"You want to know."
"I'm... just curious, really. What happened back there..." He fell silent in the middle, as the look on his package's face told him he had said enough.
"Tell me," the reply was calm, controlled, "What would you fall on your sword for...?"

[11:02:03]

All that remained were burned out hover cars, broken glass and tools in between bullet holes that covered almost the entire floor and nearly every pillar.
Otto sat on one of the few surviving ships. His face in pain every time the doctors wrapped the bandage around the bullet wound in his shoulder.
The relieved sigh was more than expected when they finished.
He was told to relax and not put too much pressure on himself. Meaningless words as he had far more important things to tend to; his shop which lay in ruin for instance.
"So, the drop ship did most of the damage?"
Then there was this Axis enforcer asking questions as well, sizing up the amount of damage inflicted. He was cruising the shop, the glass cracking under his boots.
"Most of it, though those spec-ops also had a good hand in it." Otto answered, referring to the 6 soldiers which lay dead on the floor. The officer bowed his head over one of the masked bodies.
The gear it wore was high-tech, lightweight and capable of protecting its wearer from conventional arms fire.
"They came unprepared." Otto said, resting his foot on an empty gyro cannon.
"So you did all of this, on your own?"
"Pretty much." He answered proudly.
"And your customer?"
The wounded shop owner didn't expect that question.
"What about him." He chose for a neutral response.
"Well," the chief sat down in front of him, "what happened to him?"

[12:48:36]

The ship moved backwards, banking a little to the side. Its gatling cannons began spinning up.
"Oh, fuck..."
"Get down!"
A hurricane of bullets was released, instantly shattering the glass and ripping through the first row of hover cars and ships. The Runner made it behind his Anvil, followed by a trail of 5 centimetre holes. The cockpit of his newly outfitted baby was destroyed in a matter seconds, and he had to protect his head from the glass that rained down. The guns completely severed the engine, which fell and crushed a hover car with its weight.
"No, no, no, no, no!" He yelled, watching in agony how the engine exploded under the constant barrage of slugs. His eyes scanned his surroundings, trying to find his client in the orgy of dust, sparks and flying metal. He caught a glimpse of a pair of legs behind one of the crumbling pillars. They were moving, so he was still alive.
"Otto!" His voice was barely heard. At first there seemed to be no response, though the Runner couldn't really tell.
"Yes!" In between the relentless spraying he could hear his friend very faintly.
"It's a good thing you took that insurance I told you about!"
"I don't think it covers this!"
Another ship exploded, blasting the surrounding machinery into the air.
A set of spanners narrowly missed the Runner's head.
"Son of a bitch!" All of a sudden the drop ship stopped firing. Thoughts followed in a fast pace: did they run out of ammo? Were the gatling guns overheating?
He dared to take a peek through his broken cockpit. Behind the settling dust he could see the ship ascending, opening its side doors and showing the assault squad that was readying itself.
"They'll be back!" Otto yelled, slowly coming to his feet.
The Runner moved to his client, keeping his head down. "You alright?"
The only answer he got was a terrified nod, with a matching expression.
"Otto, I need a ship." Immediately the pilot asked for what he needed most.
"Right," Otto searched his pockets, pulled out an ignition key and tossed it over.
it's the red-white Anvil at the back!"
Ropes lowered, the enemy would rappel down in seconds.
"Go! I'll hold these bastards off." He opened up a door in the floor.
"I owe you one!"
"Oh, more than one!"
The Runner grinned and helped up the carrier. "Now we're moving." He said, trying to snap his client out of it. Again the nod, which would have to do for now.
They made a run for the ship, client first, and the Runner looking back one more time.
Otto loaded a drum magazine in what looked like a personal gyro cannon.
The ropes moved, and guided a squad of spec-ops onto the floor. The surprised look in their eyes when seeing the awesome cannon was all Otto needed.
"Cannon, assholes. Assholes, cannon." He took his aim and squeezed the trigger.

"That's when I started emptying my weapon." His story ended with words that perfectly illustrated the destroyed shop. "One of them managed to get me though, lucky shit."
"And you have no idea where your client went?"
Otto shook his head: "I never ask, policy."
"Alright, alright..." The commander rose to his feet, "we'll keep in touch and... try not to leave this system."
"Oh, I won't..." the reply he got wasn't very honest, but he only expected it to be.
He dialled his ship's ID on his PDA as he walked towards the elevator.
It took only moments for his lieutenant to pick up.
"Excellent timing, sir."
'Sir' smiled, knowing what he would get to hear.
"Notify our forces in that area..."

[00:06:33]

A torpedo rolled into the launch bay. It sat there for a second, waiting and downloading the target's speed, heading and heat signature in its program.
Lock-on was achieved; the ship swooped in from the right, releasing its deadly cargo into the thin, upper layer of the atmosphere of a green planet.
Ignition...
It blasted of towards its final destination, leaving a trail of white smoke in its wake.
Alarms went off in the cockpit of the VS-21 Anvil. The ship was still shaking from a hit it took before entering the atmosphere. Seatbelts held the Runner tightly in place. He flicked switches as his eyes went over velocity and altitude readings. Sweat ran down his spine, adrenaline pumped through his veins. Plasma streaks shot past in the corner of his eye, and instinct moved his left hand to the right, rolling the ship. The torpedo detonated on impact.
"Son of a bitch!" The Runner cried out as his fist turned off a second set of alarms.
"You ok back there?" He overpowered the wails just barely.
"I'm fine!" His client yelled, strapped into the passenger seat.
The ship moved from side to side, trying to dodge enemy fire. The controls felt numb, barely responding to his drenched hands. Shaking in his seat, the Runner could feel the Anvil wouldn't hold much longer. It had to hold, nothing else mattered anymore, only the briefcase.
He looked over his shoulder and saw the eyes of his client. The words he had spoken came back to him...

"Tell me, what would you fall on your sword for...?"
The Runner didn't know what to say, he could think of so many things, but failed to bring out words. It took a while before he responded with: "What's in it?"
The client laid the briefcase next to him, unlocking it. Cold air hissed out as he slowly opened the lid. A bright light welcomed the pilot who could only look.
Inside the case, next to a heart monitor and a maze of tubes and wires was a small, transparent receptacle containing a light red liquid which surrounded a small, fragile foetus.
"Life... it's life..."

The left nacelle stuttered, the torpedo had probably cut its fuel line.
The Runner yelled, trying to keep the ship levelled with all his strength. He powered the main engines down and was now solely relying on the ship's already damaged antigravity systems.
The Anvil was going into a freefall with him trying to keep the ship straight.
With the engines off there was a sudden loss of noise. The only audible things were the constant firing, the alarms and the loud groaning of the hull.
The ground was nearing fast and the Runner would have to prepare for landing soon. He was hoping for the back-up his client told him about.
The landing strip came into view, and he could make out a few ships next to it. It would seem his customer was right.
A message cracked through the speakers. At first it was a random collection of sounds filled with static. But the signal got stronger with each passing meter.
"This is captain Takei of the Axis Law Enforcement Division. Cease firing or we will shoot you
down."
Even though he would be landing smack in the middle of them, the Runner was relieved to hear that Axis would back him up. Unfortunately for him though, his pursuers didn't stop firing just yet.
A dozen plasma shots hit the hull, wounding the ship even more. He began to lose power in every system. His eyes just caught four missile launches before the screen went blank. The alarms shut off and he feared the worst.
Four explosions could be heard from the ground where a medical team was setting up equipment under the watchful eye of Axis soldiers. Commander Takei looked how the two chasing ships blew up in large balls of fire. Two Hoplites flew over, and prepared to land behind him.
The Anvil was coming in as well, though with breakneck speed.
"Brace yourself!" The Runner yelled, not lifting his hands from the controls. He punched the landing gear switch in an attempt to lower it. Only seconds remained between them and the planet.

[00:00:05]
[00:00:04]
[00:00:03]
[00:00:02]
[00:00:01]

The ship crash landed on the runway, grinding forward and leaving a trail of metal and paint It slowly came to a standstill about halfway down the strip.
Two Axis squads immediately rushed over, followed by the team of medics.
They surrounded the ship, weapons armed and loaded, ordering the doctors to keep their distance.
Nothing happened at first, with only a few sparks dancing around the left engine and the wind sweeping away the dust. Commander Takei was about to grab his megaphone when the Anvil's door slowly opened. Smoke came out and the client stepped into the light.
The medical team promptly came into action, running for him and taking over the briefcase.
As he was escorted to the complex, he looked back one more time.
The Runner casually strolled out, his hair and coat dancing in the wind. His face was cut, but he didn't seem to care. The corners of his mouth slowly went up when he saw all the men that welcomed him.
Takei's eyes became slits...

[+01:00:27]

The Hoplite jumped into the system. The lieutenant instantly steered for the planet.
"Good, good." His commander was pleased. Soon he would take the Runner into custody and then perhaps... a trip to the nearest tropical planet. The outlook was very nice indeed.
But, first things first. He told his lieutenant to hurry up and call him when they would arrive and left the cockpit to prepare himself.
Gently, the ship landed next to the other two Hoplites. The chief walked out, the ramp still lowering itself.
Captain Takei met him, his face should've worried the commander, but he was feeling too good to actually notice.
"Ok, where is he?" The opening line was obvious.
His colleague was reluctant, stammering out a few words.
"There was..."

Takei's eyes became slits...
And widened the moment he recognised the Runner.
"You?" His voice was startled.
"Ah, hello there, lieutenant Takei, or is it... commander now?" The Runner replied, chuckling.
"What are you doing here?"
"Oh, you know; the usual. Say, how's your wife?"

"There was... nobody in it."
At first the commander didn't believe him.
"I'm sorry what...?" His tone was almost happy, denying what he had heard.
"There was nobody in the ship."
"You're kidding me?"
Takei shook his head. Lost for words, the commander could only stare at him.
"SON OF A FU..." And he spat out more curses than anyone had ever witnessed.

[+18:06:56]

Once more, a song began.
But this time it wasn't an epic orchestration. This was more of a slow and cool composition.
Probably from the same artist though, as it used many of the same instruments.
Bobbing his head to the down tempo beat, the Runner stepped into Otto's shop.
The smell of superheated plasma, and cold, mangled metal engulfed him and
everywhere he looked, he could see people cleaning up what was left of the place.
The destroyed ships were dismantled, in an attempt to salvage as much parts as possible and the ones that survived were already undergoing their repairs or modifications.
The Runner smiled, happy to see Otto was already getting back up. He searched for him with his eyes, but with no luck. He did see Sybren who was working under the hood of a light blue hover car.
"Hmmm..." His voice was satisfied.
"Hello Sybren." The mechanic seemed astonished, as he dropped the tool from his hands.
He turned to see the Runner. "Hey..."
"I was wondering, where were you when that drop ship decided to... drop in on us?" His own choice of words seemed to amuse the pilot.
"I err... like I said... I had to make a few calls." Sybren's nostrils flared upwards as he answered.
"You know, you always do that... thing" The Runner slowly formed a grin.

End of the Line

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