Because here I am, on shore leave, and instead of watching beautiful women walk by as I slowly dig my feet into the sand, a cold, perspiring beer held loosely in one hand, I’m standing, back against a grimy brick wall in a back alley on ArcCorp as some half-crazed, half-drunk, half-roided mountain of a man waves a gun in my face.
‘I know a great bar!’ Bradley’d said, ‘my brother owns it! We can drink free!’
If I get out of this alive, I’ll kill him.
The menacingly muscled man meanders closer as he mangles his words, stuttering out consonants, slurring out sibilant s’s, more drunk snake than drunk person. Don’t ask why all that alluring alliteration appeared. Guns in faces cause stress, and apparently I cope with stress by alliterating. So shoot me.
See what I did there? I said shoot me as a joke while being held up at gunpoint?
‘Jeeze, just… just take whatever you want okay?’ I say, reaching slowly towards my back pocket, willing to throw him my wallet just to get out of this alive.
‘DON MOVE I ssaid’ he says, swaying as his words slur. I stop, one hand held up, one hand midway to my pocket, like some kind of moderately mortified mime.
There. See? Did it again.
‘ah TOLD youu, youu… youu come back here, I’m gonna kill you! An you came back’ I realise I’m not really scared. I mean, not that scared. I’m focused so hard on trying to understand the guy’s slurred speech that I hardly even notice Bradley sneaking up behind him, one of those awkward looking ashtrays that so dot the Arc Corp landscape held tightly above his head, ready to swing.
My eyes fix on him, watching as he exaggeratedly starts to count down.
‘Five!’ he pantomimes, making no noise, taking another step closer.
And then the gun goes off, a bold of laser fire erupting from the barrel of the pistol, the smell of burnt ozone rising quickly from the barrel to my nostrils.
Bradley stops, stunned.
The drunk man looks at the gun, seemingly confused, then looks back at me, mouth agape. He drops the gun, turns to run as Bradley hits him hard in the face with the ashtray, sending the muscled moron to the…
Alliterative abilities failing. This isn’t good.
I look down, and the hole in the left of my chest looks…
Knees buckling, legs giving out. Somehow I feel my knees hitting the pavement more than I felt getting shot.
I definitely feel it as I faceplant, my right eye impacting hard on the unyielding ground.
And then I feel nothing.
Which, really, probably isn’t a good sign.
Please note - Endeavour will be on hold until CIG release more information about the Endeavor ship itself, hopefully in the next few weeks. OR WILL IT. It will. I apologize, but as the ship is finally getting near to be a reality, I've decided to take this opportunity to ‘update’ the series, and make it more in-line with the ship we end up with. Cheers, Erris