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| - Plasma blasts and gunfire split the air, their cracks and whines carving out an ugly symphony amidst the chorus of shrieks and cries echoing out amidst the hangar. A series of explosions rocked the entire station, but even the thunderous tremors couldn’t halt the battle that raged from bulkhead to bulkhead. Gavin Dunn wrapped his arms around the ladder and clung to it for dear life. A grated catwalk loomed just a few meters up the rungs, but that might as well have been a mile when every second on the ladder risked a plasma bolt or bullet finding its way into his head. As the tremors subsided, Gavin scrambled up the remaining rungs and dragged himself up onto the catwalk just as a fuel rod blast tore the ladder apart behind him. The smuggler yelped and fell, the heat from the blast singing the edges of his overcoat. His cap was torn from his head and landed a few feet down the catwalk. How could things have gone to hell so quickly? Gavin wondered as he pushed himself upright and made a grab for his hat. He certainly hadn’t gone looking to land himself in the middle of a full-scale war--at least, not this time--but here he was, dodging bullets like a rabbit on a firing range. He had to get out of here; find the Chancer, spin up those engines, and jump out-system without looking back. But where was Zoey? Gavin wasn’t sure what made him reach for his pistol and scan the chaos below. Maybe it was duty. Responsibility. A shot at redemption. Or maybe it was just common decency. Whatever the reason, he squatted there on the catwalk like an idiot instead of making tracks for a ventilation shaft. It was a dumb move, one that was swiftly rewarded by a barrage of plasma bolts that sent him scurrying back into the wall. He slammed into an open wall panel and got tangled in the wiring, looking for all the galaxy like the fool he was as plasma shots burned holes all around him. Before he could even disentangle himself, yet another fuel rod blast tore the catwalk beneath him apart. The wiring saved his life, keeping him dangling above the hangar as the grated walkway collapsed beneath his feet. He thrust out an arm and grabbed what was left of the railing, hauling himself and more than a few trailing wires onto the remaining catwalk grates. Shaking himself free of the wires, he ducked low and crawled on all fours towards the waiting door. Two plasma grenades hurtled up out of the melee below and landed beside him. The glowing blue orbs hissed evilly as Gavin regarded them with a weary sort of horror. “Oh, you've got to be kidding...” He threw himself down and rolled. The explosion picked him up like a child’s toy and threw him into the wall. The pain from the impact rang through his body and he couldn’t tell if he was on fire or just plain bleeding internally. He dropped down onto the catwalk only to feel it tilt and groan beneath his feet. “Bloody Elissa!” Gavin swore. He lost his balance and slid down the collapsing walkway. His fingers found purchase in the grating and he clung on for dear life, dangling precariously over the war raging on the hangar floor some forty feet below. I can’t take much more of this. Part of him--the bit he hoped was the smaller, dumber part of his being--was tempted to just let go. Be done with all this nonsense once and for all. The hopefully larger and more practical part of him was screaming in terror and demanding that he pull himself up. Gavin’s arms burned with the effort, but he dragged himself up the side of the lopsided catwalk. He had to get back up. Get out of here. Escape. Just like I always do. He hadn’t thought it was even possible for so much bad luck to follow one person, but then again, no one he knew was particularly lucky and he seemed to be the unluckiest acquaintance by far. Come on, he wheedled at God. Cut me a break. Just this once. I’ll be good, I promise. No more smuggling, no more customs evasion. I’ll even pay the proper taxes for all my cargo. Really. The catwalk groaned, about to give beneath him. Gavin couldn’t really blame God--or whoever up there was in charge of doling out good and bad fortune--for choosing to look the other way and pretend not to hear. He made promises like that all the time, not that anything ever came of them. His arms couldn’t hold out much longer. The edge of the catwalk was a few feet away, teasingly beyond the limits of his endurance. Really. I mean it this time. Gavin gritted his teeth and dragged himself up. Blood welled up from cuts in his fingers, trickling down his arm in small, crimson rivers. Just one more good pull, and he’d be up. One more pull... The catwalk lurched and Gavin was nearly thrown free. Bullets whizzed past his head; one caught the edge of his cap and tore it away. He couldn’t even see where the hat fell. It was all he could do just to keep himself alive. “Come on,” he hissed, though he wasn’t sure who he was talking to. “Bounty hunters? Syndicate? The Covenant? My frakking ship stolen? There is no way in hell I’m standing for this nonsense one damn minute longer!” With a sudden burst of strength he pulled himself up, grabbing hold of the last bit of catwalk that was still bolted onto the hangar wall. He dragged himself up onto flat grating, wheezing and wincing from the effort. And then he looked up and saw the armored feet striding towards him. He scrambled to his knees and drew his pistol, but a single blow knocked it away. A gauntleted hand wrapped around his throat and pushed him down, forcing his head back as he struggled for air. His eyes peered up at an all-too familiar helmeted face, a battered visor that peered down at him with expressionless menace. “Gavin. No more running.” Something flashed out of the corner of Gavin’s darkening gaze. His attacker raised a combat knife and angled it towards his throat. The edge of the dagger would be the last thing he ever saw. Gavin tilted his neck back and closed his eyes. Most of his brain was screaming in terror, but a small corner was still trying to work out how things had gone so wrong.
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