How I Got Here: "Purge"
13 Oct 2022Columbuss
Commander Justin Estok. Stardate 13-OCT-3308."Welcome to the party boys..."
There's a moment, between when the bullet's whiz past your head and when the person shooting pulls the trigger where time slows down. It starts with the realization of what's about to happen coupled with the sudden surge of adrenaline that fires into your brain making your synapses explode. Your focus sharpens as your vision narrows. Without thinking, you're gripping the handles of the dual revolvers tucked into the holsters on either side of your chest and pulling them up until the barrels of the pistols are out in front of you. With a quick glance down each barrel, you line up your targets and that's when the bullets snap past your head. THIS is when you notice it. This is when you realize you're still alive. This is when you realize that, If your attackers were better shots, you never would have seen a thing.
Jump back five minutes, to John hastily packing data pads and notebooks into a back pack. He's scrambling, as the news airs in the view screen behind him. Smoke billowing up from a crater of what used to be the capital building on the surface below Gilleken Terminal.
"I'm gonna cut that traitorous bastards throat from ear to ear," he snarls, jamming in another data pad.
"John, we don't know who did this yet. Let's not..."
"Look!" he yells, pointing at the view screen. "He wasn't even there! He was the ONLY council member that wasn't in attendance to the ratification. Look again, and tell me it wasn't Gryll!"
"Alright... alright... but lets get our ducks in a row first."
Just then, the double doors to John's office opened. Shuffling through the doors were four men with machine pistols at the ready.
"Welcome to the party boys..." John says, turning around to address the men standing battle ready before us.
Time slows down as the weapons bark fire. The rounds snap past your head as you pull the triggers on your revolvers, pumping round after round back toward the men in the doorway. John dives behind his desk as bullets send shards of data pads and paper up into the air. You watch as one of your bullets rips through the helmet of one of the attackers before he slowly reels and collapses to the floor. Behind you, John props a scattergun up on his overturned desk and fires a load into the group. One of the men goes flying back and out into the hallway. Without noticing, you've triggered the lock on the door behind you before pulling John out of the room. The door closes as bullets punch through the steel.
The station wide alarm sounds as a voice echoes over the station intercom.
"This is an emergency broadcast. Repeat. This is an emergency broadcast. All residents, stay inside your homes. Dangerous fugitives on board station. Repeat. Dangerous fugitives on board station."
Down every hallway, through every on station alley, the sounds of a purge can be heard. Gun shots echo through every chamber of the station. John and I duck into a storage bay as a platoon of heavily armed Dynasty troops race down the hall.
"We gotta get out of here," John says. "Where's the nearest hangar?"
John and I run to the nearest terminal. He begins fingering through the menus as I watch the street, pistols at the ready.
"Hangar 34! The Amy Rhea. We can get out on her."
"Is she fast?" I ask.
"She's a Type-7 we use for supply runs but she'll have to do."
"A Type-7?! We might as well be trying to escape in a bathtub."
"Do you have a better plan?!" John asks.
Making our way to the Amy Rhea, she's surprisingly unguarded. On the way, John links up to the onboard computer, starting preflight checks. He taps the comm pad on his arm signaling flight control.
"I hope there's still someone up there who likes us. Flight control," he says into the comm. "This is Grayson. Come in flight control."
"This is flight control. Go ahead John."
"Can you prep hanger 34 for emergency dust off? I think we have a bit of a problem on this station at the moment."
"They're beating down the door boss. Looks like you got to us just in time."
Running across the tarmac, we board the Amy Rhea. I rush to the cockpit, diving into the pilots seat.
"Get us the fuck out of here!"
The ship moves to the surface. The interior of the star port is blood red as the flood lights and emergency lighting has been activated. I punch the Amy Rhea's vertical thrusters, pushing off the deck hard and hitting the engines, burning for the mail slot. I pull the stick hard, trying to pitch the heavy ship and angle it for exit. The ship scrapes hard as the port side grinds against the mail slot wall. John trigger's full power to engines as the heavy transport ship races out into the black.
"Spinning FTL!" John yells as hails chime in over the comm.
"Type-7. This is system security. Disengage your engines and stand down. Repeat. Disengage and stand down."
"Yeah, we're DEFINITELY gonna do that."
I watch as a red triangle vectors in behind us on the sensors. John deploys the chaffe cannons and fires. Thousands of golden sparks shoot off into the black.
"Punch it!"
I throttle up as John reaches behind me, targeting the nearest system for jump. The countdown engages as we strap in.
"4... 3... 2... 1..."
*Flash*
*Boom*