[C-OOM] Incoming Fighters
[Contains SPOILERS for the game, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic. Also contains quotes taken directly from the Knights of the Old Republic game and are the property of their respective owners. Quotes appear here for the sole purpose of role-playing, from which no profit whatsoever is being made. No copyright infringement intended.]
As soon as the Ebon Hawk clears the landing bay, they have fighters on them, hits rocking the ship as they attempt to get away.
"Incoming fighters!" yells Carth and Revan is grumbling ("No? Really?") under his breath even as he ascends up the step ladder to the gun turret. A slightly hard climb as the ship rocks again from another hit. He almost, almost, wants to tell Carth over the comm to learn how to fly properly but he keeps his mouth shut as he slips into the gunner seat.
His actions become mechanical then, fingers flipping switches and eyes darting around the expanse of space for the fighters with their metal gleaming in the light from the distant sun. And, kriff, he has missed this; the thrum of adrenaline coursing through him as he swivels around to fire upon an approaching fighter, finger hard on the trigger. He can hear the clunks of debris, the bang of metal against metal, as it scatters across the hull of the Hawk when the small fighter explodes.
And maybe that hit had been a little too close for comfort, as the fire from the explosion spreads across the turret, and the glass darkens from the soot and ash. He thinks, fleeting, that there had better not be any rips in the hull, before he turns to fire on another one.
His finger never moves from the trigger, no hesitations, and he becomes the soldier once more, war found again, and it did not matter that there was another being in the cockpit of that fighter. It became the immoral conduct of survival; kill the others before they killed you, to not die for what you fight for but to make the others die for their cause.
It was natural to him.
A thought that does not jar him at all and he keeps at it, fingers squeezing the trigger, another fighter exploding, and eyes watching for more. He lets his mind drift, the motions natural and mechanical and not needing much thought behind them. He lets his mind drift to Milliways. Milliways, because the small explosions outside remind him of watching the universe end; tiny mirror images of its destruction.
He wonders how long it has been since he wandered out of Milliways and back into this reality. Has it been ten minutes; fifteen or five? No time at all had passed here, Malak and the others where they had been, when he was there; he wonders if it was the same the other way around. He wonders if the place was real at all.
If Kira was real at all.
His finger slips on the trigger, fraction of a second, at the thought and he turns his mind back to the task at hand. Some thoughts are better left for thinking over when there are not Sith fighters trying to kill you.
As soon as the Ebon Hawk clears the landing bay, they have fighters on them, hits rocking the ship as they attempt to get away.
"Incoming fighters!" yells Carth and Revan is grumbling ("No? Really?") under his breath even as he ascends up the step ladder to the gun turret. A slightly hard climb as the ship rocks again from another hit. He almost, almost, wants to tell Carth over the comm to learn how to fly properly but he keeps his mouth shut as he slips into the gunner seat.
His actions become mechanical then, fingers flipping switches and eyes darting around the expanse of space for the fighters with their metal gleaming in the light from the distant sun. And, kriff, he has missed this; the thrum of adrenaline coursing through him as he swivels around to fire upon an approaching fighter, finger hard on the trigger. He can hear the clunks of debris, the bang of metal against metal, as it scatters across the hull of the Hawk when the small fighter explodes.
And maybe that hit had been a little too close for comfort, as the fire from the explosion spreads across the turret, and the glass darkens from the soot and ash. He thinks, fleeting, that there had better not be any rips in the hull, before he turns to fire on another one.
His finger never moves from the trigger, no hesitations, and he becomes the soldier once more, war found again, and it did not matter that there was another being in the cockpit of that fighter. It became the immoral conduct of survival; kill the others before they killed you, to not die for what you fight for but to make the others die for their cause.
It was natural to him.
A thought that does not jar him at all and he keeps at it, fingers squeezing the trigger, another fighter exploding, and eyes watching for more. He lets his mind drift, the motions natural and mechanical and not needing much thought behind them. He lets his mind drift to Milliways. Milliways, because the small explosions outside remind him of watching the universe end; tiny mirror images of its destruction.
He wonders how long it has been since he wandered out of Milliways and back into this reality. Has it been ten minutes; fifteen or five? No time at all had passed here, Malak and the others where they had been, when he was there; he wonders if it was the same the other way around. He wonders if the place was real at all.
If Kira was real at all.
His finger slips on the trigger, fraction of a second, at the thought and he turns his mind back to the task at hand. Some thoughts are better left for thinking over when there are not Sith fighters trying to kill you.