|
|
re: Episode 2.1: Ship
 by Arwen Skywalker on Wed Oct 22, 2014 7:02 pm
She told me everything I needed to know. Oracle spoke of the war between good and evil, heroes against villains, the invasion of Brainiac, the exobyte infection, Luthor spreading them, people having… super powers, it was kind of too much take in at time being. “The bodies, the one you just transferred, were victims of a harvester; those things harvest the exobytes inside of people, leaving them powerless and… lifeless” Oracle added once more. “These innocent people…” I sorrowfully spoke with a hint of anger. I must not let my emotions get the best of me, I do what I must. “tweeee tot bee”, “I got the ship’s data T6, thanks” “tii doo dit dop”. “Okay you need to…” I interrupted Oracle, “I got the data, I know where to go and what to do, I’ll get back to you Oracle, thanks”, “Keep me posted” she said briefly. Comms went quiet. Visor lit up showing my location and the layout of the ship. Visor highlighted an object in the center of the ship, some sort of gun or a power couple, maybe both. “That’s the one I need to destroy”.
I focused my attention on the map of my visor, it was easy to memorize and straight forward point A, where I am, to point B where the coupling is; I turned it off and lifted it up snug on my head. It was dim inside, spacious, the ceiling concaves as it conforms to the shape of the ship, the only light source was from the panels running along the edge of the floor and ceiling in a faint orange colour leading to the first door. The console by the door was written in outlandish form but I didn’t bother with. I lifted my left hand, palms facing the door, fingers relaxed and waved it slowly to the left. The door slid left making a hissing sound from somewhat a hydraulic system. The path quickly directed to the right into a long hallway. I walk cautiously, preparing for what might come; halfway through the hallway there was a see-through glass on the right. I peeked and saw below, probably a hundred of brainiac servitors and a couple of harvesters, same things that took Titanic Trenton. Oracle mentioned them too, what they were, what they’re called and their purpose. They’re nothing more but foot soldiers of brainiac. I have fought before, masses of droids, tusken raiders, a couple of bounty hunters and even Siths. I still have to be cautious of what these servitors and harvesters can do, I have yet to find out what they can do. I do not have the privilege to underestimate them… for now.
I waved my hand on the next door. It was square and the walk way split onto two hugging the corners of the wall diverging back to the center. In the there were four pillars, in the middle was scraps of metal, there was an opening an above as more scraps of metal falls. There were a couple of brainiac units, not servitors but smaller, like a class 2 protocol droid, scavenging in the pile of scrap. There were 6 of them and all 6 looked at my direction as the door made that loud hissing sound. “INTRUDER.ALERT!” “INTRUDER.ALERT!” The droids ruckus, following an alert sound in the entire ship. The droids walked my way. I hastily looked for a huge chunk of metal, “there”. I extended my hand to it, holding it as it if were in the grasp of my hand and threw it on the 3 droids on the right taking them out all at once. As the 3 droids were nearing on the left, I held my other hand up, gripping the nearest droid tightly, lifting it up and throwing it towards the other two droids. The chute from the ceiling kept spewing scraps of metal. One thing caught my attention, as it dropped and bounced off the pile, on the walkway to the right. It was a sheathed short sword with the waist wrap-around still intact. Hidden under my glide cape, I patted my left hip, “I want to make this a little interesting, this thing reminds me of my training days”, talking to what’s hidden under my cape as if it was a living being. Though I do I treat it as a living being. I picked up the belt wrapping it around my waist, unsheathed the sword for observation. The pommel was silver, small and round. The grip was black and sizeable enough for a good grasp of my hand. Had a sturdy cross-guard. The edge was straight but a couple of blunts are visible. Point, still intact. It’s silver color peeks out from the stains of some sort of black oil, splattered all over the blade. I extended it, arms straight pointing ahead, examining its straightness, “I hope you served your master well, but let’s not, whatever happened to him, be in vain, at least keep fighting in honor of him”.
_________________ 
|
