The impact hit the ship hard. Sliding across the land, grazing through it like it was nothing. Dirt flew past in the air. Unfortunately, the bot was unable to switch the X-wing out of a t t a c k mode and part of each wing flew off as the fighter continued to skid. Only stopping after it had wrecked havoc. The halt felt like a kick to the stomach as the X-wing settled in the dirt. A large scar stretching across, tracing back to the b̘̦͔̗̠̙r̠̰̥̤͇̰̳o̼̠̜k̠̗̤̻̣ͅͅe̥͕͉͈n̜̝ ship. Finally, R2 could get his bearings.
Smoke morphed and twisted all around him like a black and grey fog. Twirling up into the air, the cause being a few small fires scattered about the area, some even on the ship itself. Debris was strewn around the ship. Bits and pieces here and there. Glass ｓｈａｔｔｅｒｅｄ all over the place. The pilot, having been nearly cooked to a crisp due to the large cracks and holes in the windshield. It was a sorry sight indeed..
His metaphorical heart was beating quickly in his chest, all most out of pace. If only he could breathe, he’d be gasping for air. Hyperventilating at the amount of p̠̼͙̣̯͔o̖͔̮ͅl̲̗l̹̥͔̺͙̥̱ṷt̥̱̣̳͚i̞̠n͉̞͖͕o̮̮̤̺͉͖͕u̩s̺̞̬ clouds around him. The droid, wanting to get away from the X-wing in case it decided to explode, ejected out of the slot meant to house astromech’s. Landing unsteadily on the charred layer of dirt in his small crater.
Artoo himself was a little beat up from the rough landing. His dome head was covered in scorches, b l a c k scratches across the metal as if a demon from Hell itself had attacked him. Filth covered the rest of his body. Clogging the small crevices all over him. Were droids supposed to feel pain…? He didn’t know, but he was without a doubt, exhausted.
Swiftly using his third ｒｅｔｒａｃｔａｂｌｅ leg, he rolled away from the wreckage. Not too far, but far enough so that it wouldn’t pose too much a threat to him. His head swiviled about as he tried to figure out where exactly he was. The Astrodroid’s mind was whirling with so many question,. so there he stood, trying to calm himself as he stared at the X-wing.
Artoo failed to notice the life forms on his radar inching ｃｌｏｓｅｒ..
His sensitive hearing caught the sounds of heated metal bending, morphing, falling apart beneath the force of the planet’s gravitational pull. It was not significantly greater than that of Ｔｅｒｒａ, but enough to have an effect upon those who were unused to its presence. Khan had adapted. The augments had adapted. But this machine? This great, smoking behemoth of a ship? It was made for the depths of the cosmos, not the Amazonian forests of Ceti Alpha V.
He crept closer, intrigued by the metal hulk’s form. Clearly it did not originate from Starfleet, as he had first believed. It was not shaped like the shuttle craft he had studied during his years as “John Harrison” nor did it bear the iconic code or humanesque names. This was no Galileo 7 or Copernicus 2. Rather, it did not bear at all any names, lest even Khan’s careful eyes missed that fine detail. It did not seem to be marked at all or, if it was, he did not recognize them.
Like a feline creature, the augment crept forward with deliberate care. He stepped over hot debris, evaded smaller plumes of smoke that seemed to arise from everywhere. There must be a cockpit of some sort somewhere. There, he believed, he would find the pilot of this craft was there a pilot? The question gave him pause and he contemplated it for the briefest of moments. If there was no pilot within the craft, then where was its controller? And who?
Khan was in the midst of finding an answer when the sound of crunching metal spooked him into movement. Muscles tensed and he jumped, raising his phaser in the direction of the noise. One blast from the weapon, and whoever whatever it was would disintegrate into nothing. It was not set on ＳＴＵＮ. No that phaser setting was something the augment was not intimately familiar with. On this planet, when it doubt, ＫＩＬＬ was the answer. Kill anything that moves. Breathes.
Or it will kill you first.
But this isn’t some mere organism indigenous to Ceti Alpha V, Khan feels. It’s something else. There’s something non-Cetian that is lurking within the rubble. He can hear it, scuttling (dragging?) its body against the dirt of the ground, the shattered glass from the fallen craft. Khan realigns his fingers along the form of the phaser. He allows himself a slow breath, then projects his baritone voice out across the wreckage:
”You are surrounded. Reveal yourself!”
amandla
2087
turnnoffyourmind
titsay
dailybridgerton
stormborns
theartofmadeline
