I'm back.  All groans and welcome backs will be accepted either by this forum post, private message, or in game tell.  Thank you.  That is all.

*NOTE* Gryn and Dxy both refer to each other by their bluepill names.  Dxy's being Bridget ( hence the shortening "Bridge" ), and Gryn is Jon.

Dxy stared intently at the blank screen.  Her eyes burned.  How long had it been since she had blinked?  Eyes that once burned bright now seemed rather dull.  So lost was she in her own world, it hadn’t even occurred to her to remember to breathe.  A loud bang snapped her out of her reverie, and she began coughing, gasping for air.  Her lungs burned.

“What the hell girl?  I’ve been yelling at you for half an hour!”

She turned around slowly, moving as though through mud to face the person behind her.  There was a broken monitor on the ground next to him, smoke rising idly up from its remains.

“I forgot to breathe…” she rasped.

“I noticed.  It seems you’ve forgotten to pay the electricity as well.”  Gryn said, motioning around the darkened cabin.

“The check’s in the mail.”  She muttered.

“You can’t sit around here forever in front of that screen Bridge.  No matter how hard you wish, it’s not going to magically turn on.  Face it, we’re stuck.  We’ve got no way out of this mess.  I told you this would happen too.  She was a good kid, but not the commanding type.  You should have left me in charge.”

“I would rather have no power over a burned out shell.”  Dxy replied.

“Oh, my aching heart Bridge!  How could you, it stings to the very core of me!”

 “Screw you.”

“That doesn’t seem likely in this situation; let’s have a rain check shall we?”  He plopped down in the chair beside her.  She gave him a foul look as he pulled the cellophane off the ration in his hand and took a large bite.

“That’s more emotion than I’ve been able to get out of you in days sugar.  Look on the bright side, at least we found her.”

Dxy looked around the familiar loading bay of the SS Praetorian.  Several days ago they had left the safety of the HvCft Little Horn to find the ship they had once called home.  Their tiny skiff barely had enough fuel in its energy cells to take them far, but after the distress call they had received from Jesma they realized they had to go.

They had prepared as well as they could with the meager provisions that were left on the Little Horn after the crew had parted ways with rest of The Lost’s fleet.  Dxy had stared at the skiff’s viewer watching the distress call over and over.  The fear on her old friend’s face had shaken her to the bones, tears streaming down her face as the young girl screamed and the video cut abruptly to static.

When they found the Praetorian they found neither hide, nor hair of the bird’s former crew.  They wondered how old the distress call actually was, as the Praetorian’s timestamp was never as functional as it should have been.  This was five days ago.  Dxy hadn’t moved from that console until now.

Gryn had spent most of his time searching the ship for signs of Jesma’s crew or at the very least a few spare power cells.  He gave up after the third day.  So he watched, and waited for his captain to snap out of it.  At around day five he had decided that the best course of action would be to snag a monitor from the skiff, and throw it onto the bay floor behind her.

She sighed loudly, “What the hell are we going to do?”

“We’re thousands of miles away from Zion, not that we’d want to go there anyway.  The Praetorian is dead, as is the skiff.  We’re running low on rations, and you haven’t taken a shower in days.  I think we’re pretty well screwed Bridge.”  He replied with a shrug.

“You really know how to lighten the mood Jon.  This is a lost cause.  We have no idea how old that video is, or what happened to Jes.  I’m so worried for her.”

He nodded, chewing the remnants of his ration quietly.  Her brown eyes looked sullen, dead.  He could see no shadow of the brightness they once held, and though it hurt to see his friend look so defeated it hurt even more knowing she was resigned to whatever fate had befallen the Praetorian’s former crew.

The two companions sat, mourning their friends and their current fate.  The two didn’t notice the soft clinking sound of metal on metal from outside the loading bay.  As Gryn shifted his focus to the scarred wasteland outside the ship he became aware of the fact that they were not alone.

As the sounds grew louder he tapped Dxy on the shoulder, and motioned towards the open door behind them.  She fixed her eyes towards the outside, and listened intently.  Gryn popped the release on the holster at his hip and wrapped his hand around the grip of his pistol.  It was an ancient Colt Model 1911 he had stolen from a museum in Zion, and modified to fire the depleted uranium shells which had become the norm.

Removing it from its home, and silently clicking off the safety he motioned for Bridget to do the same before he realized that his friend had already produced her sidearm and was easing her way to a clearer vantage point.  He had to smile to himself as he remembered once again why she was the captain.

They didn’t have to wait long before the source of the sound revealed itself.  From their cover they could see a tall man wearing a long brown duster, and wearing a wide brimmed hat.  The man looked almost inhuman.  His scarred, pockmarked face was formed into a horrible sneer.  His jacket was tattered, and torn.  The clinking sound came from his left leg.  It was a cybernetic replacement, the original having been lost some time ago.  The craftwork of it was obviously Machine.  It was perfect, resembling a metallic skeletal version of a human leg.  The toes clicked loudly at the foot of the bay door.  Slung over his shoulder was a heavy machinegun.  Standing behind him were four others, each carrying large weapons and grinning evilly.

Gryn looked over at Dxy, and mouthed “Freaking pirates.”

She nodded solemnly and silently clicked the safety off…

Message Edited by Dxy on 04-06-200603:55 PM

Message Edited by Dxy on 04-06-200603:55 PM

Message Edited by Dxy on 03-01-200609:05 PM