A resistance warship flies into battle against the Conglomerate, a mecha-company conquering planets for minerals and slave labor. When the ship crashes above the plains, the five people on board battle for survival across their world, pursued by th...
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Genetic monstrosities and behemoth mecha-walkers advance on the light aircraft with its five crew members.
The Pilot swears colorfully as a blast from a mecha-walker shatters one of the cockpit windows, spraying herself and the crew with silicon-plated plastic. The craft wings past the walker, skimming the hulking metal mass in a tight maneuver.
In the aft of the craft, the Gunner depresses the artillery releases and ionic charges erupt. The mecha-walkers burst into flame, tilting on unbalanced legs from the velocity of the blast. Her eyes sweep about the viewport in front of her, cataloging other potential threats.
"Low on ammo," The Captain mutters over the Pilot's shoulder. His stern, craggy face looks out the forward viewport as their forces fall in waves beneath them. Screams of the dying break over the comm frequencies cut short as the other ships explode around doomed crews. The air is awash with the heat of burning debris and the adrenaline wafting over the Pilot as she jinks the ship side to side is palpable.
The Recruit winces from his seat behind the Pilot, the screams a chorus of agony unlike anything he has ever heard before. The straps holding him in the cabin seat dig into his chest and hips as their ship accelerates and decelerates under the Pilot's clean control.
"How are we doing on that thruster repair?" The Captain barks over the staticky internal comm line. Their engine and ship screech in unison in the background of the communication, the Captain grabbing the ceiling handles for support. "We can't take another hard hit or the engine could fail."
The Recruit tries not to cry out as the Pilot abruptly ascends, throwing the Captain backwards, arm jerking on the handle. The blur of a warbeast swims past the viewport of the cockpit, a mass of scarred flesh and teeth, slave warriors on its back. The Gunner fires again and there is an animalistic roar behind them from the throat of the manufactured beast.
There is a moment of quiet in the cockpit while the Captain makes his decision.
"We have to abort," he says solemnly, and the Pilot turns sharply, her fierce gaze on him. Their eyes lock and the Recruit sees the Pilot's fury meet the Captain's cowardice with a shuddering force.
"Without our ship, our infiltration crews have no hope of stopping the Conglomerate invasion," the Pilot tells him harshly. "You know this." Her eyes are furious beacons in her face, a sense of duty burning brightly there.
The Captain meets her eyes, a machismo fluttering in response, angry she dares to subvert his will, no matter who she is. He knows what she is but he does not care. He will not continue this suicide mission based on her words alone.
"Our resistance crumbles if we abort," the Pilot says, her eyes cold and bright.
The Captain presses the internal comm button on the craft dashboard, meeting the Pilot's eyes. "Rear guard positions. We abort."
