He must have been punched in the leg. He must have. It had happened before, it would most likely happen again.
That was, until he collapsed. Sand kicked up around him as he fell. No... something was wrong. It hurt. The entire length of his leg hurt. Something was terribly wrong.
It wasn't until he was picked up by the arms and dragged back in the direction of his burning ship that he noticed the red sand. A trail of blood, his blood, smeared in the sand, from his leg.
He was shot. He couldn't run. Who were these people, these masked figures, hauling him up, tying a coarse blindfold over-
They were blindfolding him. He jerked wildly against the hands twisting his arms behind his back. His hair was grabbed and head pulled up in response. They weren't friendly. But why would they want him? He was just another captain, they had dozens of more important people to choose from, larger ships to capture, why did they want him?
What made him so special?
He knew the second the rope touched his wrists. The cannon. Everyone, friendly or not, loved the cannon. Needed the cannon. Heck, the only reason he and his family had allies was the cannon.
And they were dead. He was the lone survivor of the crash. A loop of rope was pulled down over his neck. It was tugged once, then fell. It wasn't needed. Yet. He was the only one alive that could operate the cannon. He designed the cannon, he built it with his own two-
Oh no. He began to struggle again as he was pushed down. His leg burned. Please, gods, let me pass out. No. He wished for more. He didn't know what was in store for him when he would inevitably wake up. He could only imagine what they'd do to him. What they'd do to get that cannon.
Please, gods, let me die.
YOU ARE READING
Cassian's Resistance
FantasyCassian knew people were after him. His cannon put a bullseye on him and his crew. He knew they would catch up to him eventually. He didn't think it would end up like this.
