Sulfur Lungs
Ives woke up to darkness and the quiet sound of gurgling to his right. A moment later he was pushing himself up to his feet. A pain in his back and the blurriness in his vision vanished before he'd even fully registered them. He knew that sound well, and it made the adrenaline spike in his system.
He didn't stumble in the dark for long to find the source of the sound. Beyond a door, barely broken open enough for Ives to squeeze through, he found the cockpit.
One survivor inside--Rattatki, male, shuttle pilot. The faint glow of sparks and emergency instruments on the dashboard cast a red glow over pilot, and into the night beyond the canopy. Large chunks had broken away and were missing.
Ives met the pilot's eyes. He was pleading silently with silver eyes--Pt was responsive--through barely contained fear.
An arm-length shard of jagged canopy glass had embedded itself in his chest. It had stained blue with blood.
Ives settled against the console next to the driver--Pt was still breathing, airway unobstructed--and took the man's hand into his own.
The skin of the pilot's hand was scarred, consistent with old shock-boxing injuries--pulse present but faint. The way the pilot moved...Ives checked the man's back. The shard had pierced clean through, into the cushioning of the backrest, and pinned him in place. Removing it would be extremely dangerous.
Ives shifted back against the dashboard. He exhaled, thinking beyond instinct for the first time since he'd regained consciousness.
The shuttle had been descending into atmosphere. There'd been a bright series of flashes, some turbulence. Ives had been standing at the time, and there'd been a handful of other passengers on board.
Ives grimaced. Passengers meant more injured.
Jett Aurin
He didn't stumble in the dark for long to find the source of the sound. Beyond a door, barely broken open enough for Ives to squeeze through, he found the cockpit.
One survivor inside--Rattatki, male, shuttle pilot. The faint glow of sparks and emergency instruments on the dashboard cast a red glow over pilot, and into the night beyond the canopy. Large chunks had broken away and were missing.
Ives met the pilot's eyes. He was pleading silently with silver eyes--Pt was responsive--through barely contained fear.
An arm-length shard of jagged canopy glass had embedded itself in his chest. It had stained blue with blood.
Ives settled against the console next to the driver--Pt was still breathing, airway unobstructed--and took the man's hand into his own.
The skin of the pilot's hand was scarred, consistent with old shock-boxing injuries--pulse present but faint. The way the pilot moved...Ives checked the man's back. The shard had pierced clean through, into the cushioning of the backrest, and pinned him in place. Removing it would be extremely dangerous.
Ives shifted back against the dashboard. He exhaled, thinking beyond instinct for the first time since he'd regained consciousness.
The shuttle had been descending into atmosphere. There'd been a bright series of flashes, some turbulence. Ives had been standing at the time, and there'd been a handful of other passengers on board.
Ives grimaced. Passengers meant more injured.
Jett Aurin