"Why on earth are we flying over this wasteland? Shouldn't The Guild be using safer routes than flying over The Dust when their transporting their fucking employees?"
The passengers aboard the 20-Seater Voltz FTV 7-Series continued to bicker amongst themselves. There were a number of perfectly valid reasons that these civilians were complaining about their mode of transport; and the pilot, Dale DeVille agreed with every single on of their complaints.
The primary reason for their complaining was the route they had taken, rather than have this group of employees been flown the longer, only slightly more expensive route that took them through the Euro-Syndicate and into The Rising Sun Kingdom, they were instead flown directly over The Dust, a large area of what was once known as Africa that had essentially been reduced to an uninhabitable wasteland. It wouldn't be such a big deal if the only issue with flying over The Dust was the abysmal scenery.
The real issue was the innumerable number of large raider clans, bandits, pirates and clandestine operations and facilities that operated and were based in The Dust, the reason behind such a large number of undesirables in the area was rather simple. Due to the essentially non-existent value in the territory in The Dust, no faction or nation in the world had ever bothered to take territory their, it was simply inefficient to police the area, this lack of policing and government presented prime real estate to those who wanted to operate outside the law.
However, if The Guild had assigned this transport any form of security or escort, the passengers would be much less nervous. Evidently, they didn't bother to spare the money to protect their employees.
Honestly, Dale wouldn't even be surprised if they were attacked by a group of ne'er do wells on their way to-
BEEP
The pilot glanced towards the dusty radar screen in his cabin.
WARNING: High-Velocity Projectile Approaching
Dammit, how didn't he notice it sooner, if he had been paying attention to his radar he might have had chance to try and avoid whatever was coming for him.
Dale glanced at the radar screen again, it said the projectile was high-velocity, but it didn't seem to approaching him that fast, the small blip was almost directly next to the ship, but the pilot couldn't see it, perhaps it was just the damnable machinery glitching out again. Unless.
The pilot peered to his left and looked down, just in time to see a harpoon burst from a cloud of dust below him, he made a desperate attempt to steer the sluggish vessel out of the way, to little avail. The harpoon tore into one of the engines and lodged itself there, creating a violent screeching sound as the blades scratched and dug into the reinforced engine. An explosion shook the ship and knocked the idle passengers to the ground as the fuel line erupted into flame. The consoles around the cabin were flooded with warning messages and lights that couldn't give Dale enough info to get out of this mess. The craft was difficult to control, and he couldn't keep going much longer, but perhaps he could land far enough away from his attackers that he could survive and call for help. Even with an engine down, his rusty old vessel wouldn't lose altitude that quickly, and he could certainly get away.
Another harpoon sprang from somewhere below.
Warning: Low Altitude: 5000 Feet
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Warning: Low Altitude: 4900 Feet
Warning: Low Altitude: 4800 Feet
Dale peered down again, the second harpoon, that had cut deep into the hull had a thick looking line attached to it. A grapple. The passengers behind him were screaming in terror, trying to fasten themselves into the harnesses that lined the walls.
SCREECH
Another grapple tore into the ship, another line dragging it down. There's nothing the pilot could do at this point, so he quickly prepared for the crash, making sure his harness was fasted, he rested one hand on his company-issued sidearm, that was slid into a well-cleaned holster around his waste. His other hand pressed one of the dozens of buttons on his consoles. This one was for the speakers inside the ship. "Everybody! Please do your best to get into your seats and fasten yourselves in, seems like we'll be hitting the ground hard!"
A mad scramble began as the employees threw themselves towards seats, pushing down their fellow man to make sure they got to the closest ones first.
The 7-Series crashed into the sand, sending everyone that wasn't fastened in into the air. The vessel howled as it broke apart in places, systems shutting down and the engines completely erupting into smoke. Another screeching sound came from the vessel, but this wasn't the sound of damage from the impact. No. It was the sound of a heavy airlock door being torn from it's bolted hinges. After a few seconds, the interior door was met with a massive impact and it folded inwards. Another impact and the fortified door was torn from it's hinges as it clattered against the ground. Dale slipped out of his harness and hid inside his cabin, back pressed against the wall. He could hear footsteps, almost drowned out by more screaming civilians.
A voice called out, it was gruff, but distinctly female "Right shitters, which one of you is Jon Deaux?" Dale almost giggled to himself as the obviously fake name was spoken with such seriousness. No one responded.
BANG
The sound of gunfire blasted through the ship. More screaming, it would appear they'd shot one of the passengers.
BANG
Even more terrified screams.
"We ain't stopping till we find out which one of you is Jon Deaux!" Dale paused for a moment, he could make a break for it now, if it was just one raider, he could probably make it past them and run for it... no, even if he got out of this ship where on earth would he go? It was nothing but desert and murderers out in The Dust. His trail of thought was stopped prematurely as a muscular hand wrapped around his throat.
"Ey boss, there's another one 'ere, looks like the pilot, guessin by the shitty jumpsuit" The muscular hand tightened as he looked into the eyes of it's owner, a hulk of a man, perhaps more muscle than anything else. The voice from before called out from somewhere in the faint smog.
"We were told that this Jon guy was a passenger, just kill the pilot" The woman gave out her order, and the muscular hand tightened even more.
Dale grabbed desperately at the man's wrist, which was probably as thick as his neck. He couldn't breathe, he was going to die.
Through desperate gasps, Dale garbled out "Ain't... Gonna... Die" each raspy word accompanied by spittle as he strained to force the words from his mouth.
The pilot's right hand went lax and lip for a moment, dropping from his assailant's wrist and down to his waist. His fingers struggled to get hold of his pistol, straining to find the weapon without looking. Dale was making sure to keep eye contact with the muscular pirate, if he indicated his plan for even a second he might be stopped or killed. He felt the cold steel handgun slip from his holster as his finger slid beside the trigger.
He couldn't help it, the untrained, civilian pilot couldn't hold back a cocky smile as his finger pressed against the trigger "BANG" his words and the sound of his gun discharging into the man's stomach came simultaenously
BANG
BANG
BANG
He fired repeatedly, yet his foe barely flinched, the grizzled man just grinned "Only an idiot doesn't protect their vitals" a fist, more alike to an anvil being dropped on his head than a punch cracked against his skull. The world began to spin and fade.
"Yo boss, what we doing, looks like none of these are the guy we're told would be here?"
"Kill them all, bring the pilot with us though, the last one expired... Ah, and make sure you take anything that looks valuable."
Another fist cracked against his skull and he fell to the ground, gasping for breath as his mind seemed to glaze and his thoughts turned hazy, he was conscious for long enough to hear the screams of his former passengers as an automatic weapon mowed them down.
Then darkness.