[right][h3]Kid - Beck's Skiff, Jundland Wastes[/h3][/right]
[hr]

"I think you'll make it old man." Kid replied, rolling his eyes at Beck's response. Kid understood how dangerous this life was, how every assignment was a hit or miss when it comes to making it back home. He understood the dangers, the risks, and the grief that could come with it. That didn't mean he couldn't show compassion towards those he cared about in the here and now. Beck was one of those. The Kid was younger, maybe faster; he could pick up where Beck couldn't. At least the kid tried to.

Distracted by his thoughts, he didn't hear the first few plinks of what he assumed to be rocks on metal. Suddenly others were calling for gunfire, giving a direction for shots, and Beck was returning fire. 
Kid reached up to pull his goggles down over his eyes, lifting the eyewear up off his head slightly to move them. He heard the whiz of a slug as it flew right over his head, catching the goggles and knocking them out of his hands and off the side of the skiff. 

"Little bastards!" Kid cursed under his breath. Pulling another pair of goggles from his pocket, for the boy was never short on them it seemed, he quickly pulled them over his eyes and pulled his Czerka cycler from his back. He took a couple steps back to put some space in between he and Beck, Kid wiped a few loose strands of hair from in front of his face before lifting the cycler up and aiming towards the rocks. A flip of the safety and a quick moment later a sand person could be seen falling from his perch upon the tall rock pillar. 
Two more shots and two more sand people fell to the desert below. He kept an eye on Beck as the skiff swayed left and right, watching for any hand signals, listening for any orders. The boy kept up with his shots, hitting every other shot it seemed, the movement of the skiff challenging his abilities as a shooter.