Dadragon6
Active Member
ISS Down "bottom of the barrel" rider
Commons Area
Keith had laid in wait at the door to his own office to ambush Clef as he was to leave the Cargo Bay, fully expecting him to once again come out frustrated over not finding... whatever it was his group was after. Only, even after biding his precious time gazing through the sniper rifle's scope, the informant's target didn't come out. After some of his crewmates had rushed in to pursue the invader, he heard the sounds of battle coming from within, before a loud blast came from within and the commotion ceased. It was at this point that the ex-sergeant decided to tactically reposition to a more advantageous spot overlooking the Cargo Bay's door and some of the room's inside area---with rushed movements he trudged through the now-clearing sewage to near the ISS Downrider's side door, looking through his weapon's scope to analyze the current situation.
Thus did he witness Clef wielding the very air around him as a barrier against attack, a whirlwind of minor heat haze protecting Keith's target. There he also glimpsed an injured-looking Reman making his way out, and Nivara prone on the floor amid the sewage. He could still see Clef, he still had a chance to attack, but there would be no chance in hell of any of his darts finding their mark; not at this range, not through debris, and certainly not through that wind velocity. His gaze aimed lower, toward Clef's boots---the apparent source of whatever power he seemed to wield. An extremity and non-vital area both, so long as its bleeding was stopped, no one has ever died from being shot in the foot. And yet, why was Keith still reluctant to exact an injury in return for what this man did to his crewmates? Why, as his breathing grew ragged and he could hear his uncle's mockery, did his hands still subconsciously load an HEIAP shell into his rifle's chamber?
No, his uncle was a good man. He had never mocked his ex-sergeant nephew once in his life. Indubitably, even after he had deserted and was labelled an unpatriotic coward, his uncle continued to care about and worry over him---pull the bolt handle---continued to love his nephew he had spent so much time together with. Sometimes---account for whirlwind speed...---Keith wondered if his uncle had even looked for him. If, should they ever meet again---steady your breathing...---they'd be able to play chess, like the good old times. If he would forgive him---take aim...---for hesitating to even shoot an enemy's foot.
But an injured foot was a fair price to pay---fire.---for what Clef had done.
"Bang."
Commons Area
Keith had laid in wait at the door to his own office to ambush Clef as he was to leave the Cargo Bay, fully expecting him to once again come out frustrated over not finding... whatever it was his group was after. Only, even after biding his precious time gazing through the sniper rifle's scope, the informant's target didn't come out. After some of his crewmates had rushed in to pursue the invader, he heard the sounds of battle coming from within, before a loud blast came from within and the commotion ceased. It was at this point that the ex-sergeant decided to tactically reposition to a more advantageous spot overlooking the Cargo Bay's door and some of the room's inside area---with rushed movements he trudged through the now-clearing sewage to near the ISS Downrider's side door, looking through his weapon's scope to analyze the current situation.
Thus did he witness Clef wielding the very air around him as a barrier against attack, a whirlwind of minor heat haze protecting Keith's target. There he also glimpsed an injured-looking Reman making his way out, and Nivara prone on the floor amid the sewage. He could still see Clef, he still had a chance to attack, but there would be no chance in hell of any of his darts finding their mark; not at this range, not through debris, and certainly not through that wind velocity. His gaze aimed lower, toward Clef's boots---the apparent source of whatever power he seemed to wield. An extremity and non-vital area both, so long as its bleeding was stopped, no one has ever died from being shot in the foot. And yet, why was Keith still reluctant to exact an injury in return for what this man did to his crewmates? Why, as his breathing grew ragged and he could hear his uncle's mockery, did his hands still subconsciously load an HEIAP shell into his rifle's chamber?
No, his uncle was a good man. He had never mocked his ex-sergeant nephew once in his life. Indubitably, even after he had deserted and was labelled an unpatriotic coward, his uncle continued to care about and worry over him---pull the bolt handle---continued to love his nephew he had spent so much time together with. Sometimes---account for whirlwind speed...---Keith wondered if his uncle had even looked for him. If, should they ever meet again---steady your breathing...---they'd be able to play chess, like the good old times. If he would forgive him---take aim...---for hesitating to even shoot an enemy's foot.
But an injured foot was a fair price to pay---fire.---for what Clef had done.
"Bang."