[url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4139850][img]http://i.imgur.com/XetTf5b.png[/img][/url][right]With his feet kicked up onto the dashboard, collecting all the flakes of moon-dust falling from his uniform's tanker boots, Troy's body had gone limp in the cockpit. The beer helped his reflexes none, all the empty cans crushed between his fingers and then stacked up near the foot-pedals. When he realized people were speaking suddenly, and that a visual feed had been sent through his holoscreen, grudgingly he pushed his feet to the side so he could watch the radar. Three bogies? No, probably a maintenance crew, or couriers from another factory.

But their communications were working fine, according to a perfunctory glance the pilot took toward his cockpit's many dials and needles...

No matter. [i]Something[/i] explained these newcomers' presence, and the urgency with which they rode forward. Just a few minutes ago Troy had swapped the CDs in his little cabin, moving a new album into the player. The old he replaced delicately, ritualistically, in its plastic case.

"[color=54b9da]I'm next to the power plant. Southeast corner,[/color]" he slurred into his mouthpiece. "[color=54b9da]Hopin' its heat signature hides mine. Over.[/color]" [i]Way ahead of you, Bratya,[/i] he thought, smirking to his lazy, torpid self. Even his seat vibrated with the idling engine's purrs.

[center]—And nothing can hold it back
I am the dawn upon your bloody beach
Come to pa—[/center]
Distorted guitars crackled in the feed's background while the singer's silky baritone crooned. Hard Rock? Or was it Metal? The song danced across that vague distinction as it seeped through the Troy's transmission.[/right]