#bwehehehehe

I love it when a lot of people like my art like eyesyeysyssss hehehee :3

So glad people like my art it genuinely means so much </3 will have to draw more for y'all

He's having a blast

HEGSHEUEGDBDBHD

- Well? Your name. - The claw passed so close to the doctor’s face that Pharma could swear that his crumpled and battered reflection was visible in it.

- I uh... Pharma..? - If he had a nickel for every time he saw an alien this close, he would have two nickels. It's not much, but he's almost surprised it happened twice. And they had never asked him his name before... Well, aliens.

- Alright, “Uh Pharma”... - The surgeon did not recognize what the helicopter wanted to say, since a bullet whistled very close to his captor’s helmet.

- Oops, break's over, time to move on, bwehehehehe. - The man was pushed back under the yellow glass and - oh my God - Pharma just realized who the alien was going to fight against.

Whirl was definitely something that was made to kill.

Graceful and... Deadly.

The glass slammed shut and took several shots - without even cracking! - and the surprisingly stable claws flashed dangerously.

Somewhere under the medic’s feet, mechanisms began to sound and the cabin shook.

- STOP! - Pharma was surprised that he had not yet vomited, randomly tumbling in the cockpit and scratching the chair. - STOP-STOP-STOP, DON'T YOU DARE! These are pilots! This is a Mecha project! These are not enemies! You can't!!!

- And what? - This... This... Thing. It was moving too fast. Too unpredictable, too... natural, in a way that pilots did not move, as no one moved, perhaps with the exception of piloting aces like Jazz. Although Pharma would have been happier if the alien, Whirl, had turned out to be less good and the frantic shaking, cacophony of sounds and flashes in front of the doctor’s face had stopped. - They shoot, I shoot, it's a fair deal.

The shots struck the transparent surface again. What Whirl was good at was fighting shots.

- You're crazy! - What did he need to be happy? Shootout? With your own?? No, no, and no again, Pharma would give anything right now just to be on solid ground and for the headache to stop and for his stomach to stop performing aerobatic maneuvers. The sour taste of bile ran through my throat again.

(If only I didn’t throw up right in the cockpit).

This is all a nightmare, terrible, alcohol-induced dream. And he will definitely wake up with his face in the reports or in the first-aid post, and he will lash out at Ambulon, who is minding his own business, for sure... And no aliens who shoot at pilots, no frantic pirouettes, no...

- OH YES, DOCTOR, SAY IT AGAIN! - Loud, metallic laughter and the screech of machine guns, laughter and shots, this...

God.

Fuck.

How many times did Pharma want to apply for a damn transfer to a morgue somewhere, apparently he would appear there as a patient. If there is at least something left of it that can be put in a storage room.

- YOU ARE PSYCHO-PSYCHO-PSYCHO!!! LET ME OUT IMMEDIATELY!

If it was just a furious fur, Pharma would have punched it in the stuffing.

Although, here she is, right in front of him.

Pale fingers grabbed the armrests and Pharma kicked with all his might, and then howled in pain.The instrument panel, clearly copied from some earthly technology, turned out to be stronger and did not even move. Attempts to turn the steering wheel were also unsuccessful.

- Hey, don't bother me. I'm almost collected four-of-a-kind!

Pharma should pray that he stays alive.

God, please...

>:33333

WUAAHHDBEHHDNSH :3333