[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/59TH0pb3/Screenshot-2022-12-01-at-22-30-11.png[/img]

[b]Fret Chappel  :  Human  :  Prospector[/b][/center]

"Ooof"

Fret could see a ceiling above him...

His vision had come back on line.

Someone had said something to him.

"Yeah, just fine..." he said back to the new acquaintance.

He grasped the rifle, which was laying across his chest and lifted it off his face.

He was alive. Thats a start.

He slowly creaked and sat upright. But why was it hurting so much?

He could hear the low rumble of the engines in the background.

He knew what that meant.

He could also hear some chatter over the comms "start the launch sequence" was one part he made out.

He looked about worriedly then opened the door to the conference room and stumbled in.

He looked down and fabric swivel chairs were rooted down, and yes, every one had a seatbelt.

Why was it hurt-- his fingers had quested down to find a tear in the red shirt he was wearing, and felt where it was warm.

GhaH, somethings clipped me! He thought to himself.

He felt the ship jerk with acceleration as it started to move.

As his body started to list sideways, he rounded the seats and sat in the chair and buckled in.

He felt the acceleration growing, faster and faster. 

Soon its gonna get real. He said to himself.

A few civilians darted in the room and he tried to shout over the engines and point to the seats.

They gratefully sat down and fiddled with their belts. One was a blonde woman and the other a teenage boy.

His rifle slid down to the ground and slid to the back of the room as the acceleration began to gain pace.