With another explosion rocking the vessel once more, the reconnaissance specialist named Cayne found himself briefly in the most unfamiliar of places; in the air. The scout hit the debris covered floor with a hard thud, tossing Cayne into a roll until before inertia finally stopped him. He groaned as he pulled himself back up, still shaky from the blast and impact but slightly pleased that he was suited up ahead of time once Providence in sight; in the back of his head, he knew the damage could have been a lot worse.

The ship shook continuously from the station’s concentrated fire, causing Cayne to stumble as he made a mad dash to the escape pods, if of course there were any remaining at all.  “This is why I hate flying…” growled Cayne as he slid around the corner at the end of the hallway.

To his relief, Cayne saw one escape pod was still waiting for passengers; to his horror, it was the only escape pod left and he could still hear cries echoing throughout the disabled vessel. To him, it was apparent that the situation had escalated too quickly and he needed to move, now. With surging adrenaline coursing though his veins, Cayne bolted to the lone escape pod, bounding over fallen debris and piping with hopes of getting to the pod in time.

Within seconds, Cayne’s rush had carried him to the last escape pod as he scrambled in, nearly collapsing into one of the seats as he frantically breathed in what little air he could. Eventually, he buckled himself in, wanting nothing more than for the escape pod to jettison out; the idea of touching the ground, any particular ground sounded wonderful to him.