Welcome to purgatory, Jayne Cobb...
Drink must’ve hit him harder than he thought. Funny, that. Jayne remembered turning a corridor on a Reaver-infested derelict, not drinkin’ himself into a suptor. Still, that had to be what explained the whirling noise, the sudden pull, and wakin’ up on the ground in the middle of a gorram war zone without a clue as to how he’d gotten there.
So, why was he strapped to the nines with weaponry, Vera in his hands like he was ready to fire her?
War zones were common, ‘specially after the war. Findin’ one so bleak, though, that wasn’t common one bit. Pools of dark rain water scattered around his feet reflecting streams of odd, greyish light, rubble and dust clogging up his boots lead him to believe he had to be on a rim moon, somewhere the Alliance hadn’t figured to clean up. Crunching bits of rubble beneath his feet, he headed for what could've been a building, but not one he recognized. No blaster marks. Wasn't a moon base, nobody had the kind of technology to keep their ship's marks from dirtyin' up a smooth road. His eyes went to the sky, ready to count the suns he saw up there, figure out where he was. Deep breath of the dusty air. He’d been a tracker long ‘fore he was a merc, he’d know where he was.
Grey. Nothing but grey. Maybe it was a moon that weren’t terraformed right. That…happened…a lot, didn’t it? His gloved hands tightened slightly on Vera, one on the barrel to steady her, one on her smooth trigger. He wasn’t about to just start shooting to kill, could be one of his crew wanderin’ around these parts somewhere.
God, he hoped one of those ruttin’ crewmembers was wanderin’ around here, somewhere. It would be a helluva lot better than thinkin’ he’d wandered into some sort of ultra-terrifyin’ purgatory or somethin’.
So, why was he strapped to the nines with weaponry, Vera in his hands like he was ready to fire her?
War zones were common, ‘specially after the war. Findin’ one so bleak, though, that wasn’t common one bit. Pools of dark rain water scattered around his feet reflecting streams of odd, greyish light, rubble and dust clogging up his boots lead him to believe he had to be on a rim moon, somewhere the Alliance hadn’t figured to clean up. Crunching bits of rubble beneath his feet, he headed for what could've been a building, but not one he recognized. No blaster marks. Wasn't a moon base, nobody had the kind of technology to keep their ship's marks from dirtyin' up a smooth road. His eyes went to the sky, ready to count the suns he saw up there, figure out where he was. Deep breath of the dusty air. He’d been a tracker long ‘fore he was a merc, he’d know where he was.
Grey. Nothing but grey. Maybe it was a moon that weren’t terraformed right. That…happened…a lot, didn’t it? His gloved hands tightened slightly on Vera, one on the barrel to steady her, one on her smooth trigger. He wasn’t about to just start shooting to kill, could be one of his crew wanderin’ around these parts somewhere.
God, he hoped one of those ruttin’ crewmembers was wanderin’ around here, somewhere. It would be a helluva lot better than thinkin’ he’d wandered into some sort of ultra-terrifyin’ purgatory or somethin’.