Samwell Sours loves looking at Dyssodia’s night sky, mesmerized by the array of vivid colors cascading across the horizon. The planet’s rings, painted in hues of orange, pink, and purple, seem to twirl and dance against the backdrop of twilight. Dark gray clouds drift lazily in front, partially obscuring the rings but adding to the surreal sight that has been a staple of the planet since the first colonists landed.

Samwell, or “Sam” as he prefers, sits on the hood of his coupe, thick dark blue cargo pants clashing with the red paint on his hood; a color shared for the whole sleek vehicle. A black racing stripe claims the middle of the hood, and poking through the hood are three cylinders stacked in a pyramid. Dyssodia's bright rings reflect off the car's black tinted windows and waxed paint, and in the back is a strip of exhaust pipes with a soft blue glow.

Sam pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his dark blue racer jacket (decorated with a flaming pig head that has a fork in its eye). He lights it, takes a puff, and then gets hit on the side of the head with a bat.

“Fuck!” screams Sam, crashing to the ground.

He rolls on his back and holds his arm up in time to block another swing. Pain cracks through his bones, and he kicks his assailant away, rolls to his feet and draws his pistol. He fires off two shots, striking his attacker in the chest.

The attacker drops, and Sam scrambles to his feet and pants heavily as he aims his pistol. Before he can pull the trigger, two shots ring out, puncturing his chest.

Sam stumbles back, shooting wildly into his attacker. He bounces off his car, hit the dirt, and coughs blood, leaving a smear of crimson on his vehicle.

“What the fuck?” wheezes Sam.

His hands tremble as he grabs his door handle, but right as he pulls himself up, he is tackled from the side. The two roll over each other and fall into a ditch. Screams and curses echo in the twilight bathed landscape, followed by three more gunshots.

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The blasts of the gunshots carry across the empty land, quickly fading with each passing second.

Silence falls.

Bugs buzz.

A hidden bird chirps.

A large, blackbird with a scaly head and red eyes lands on Sam’s car, its talons hooking into the metal roof rack. It cocks its head as it looks at the ditch.

More silence.

Its talons click and clack as it moves along the car, watching the ditch intently. Its wings briefly expand when the foliage in the ditch rustles, and it makes a warbling caw when a bloody hand snaps up and digs into the ground. Another hand joins it soon after, and Sam crawls out, bloodied and bruised and his clothes a mess. The dirt mixes with the crimson coating his face and chest, and his breathing is ragged as he walks with shaky steps towards the coupe.

The bugs continue buzzing and the scavenger bird flies over him and swoops into the ditch.

Sam fumbles in his pocket to pull out his keys. He unlocks the vehicle, peeks inside for any signs of lurkers, and when he sees nothing but dirty clothes and take out boxes, he slides inside and locks the door.

All is quiet now.

Sam stares ahead. Blood streaks past his eyes and his muddy hands feel the steering wheel, coating the black leather with red tinted gunk. His eyes snap around the interior, taking in every detail he can. His breathing is heavy, and he leans over and opens the glove compartment box.

Inside are two tickets.

He takes the tickets and inspects them, smiling with relief when he finds that it has not been tampered with. The gears are still there, number “70-A” and “70-B” are still printed, as well as his name for 70-A, while 70-B is left blank. The downside is that there are no bandages or cleaning wipes.

Sam slips the tickets in his pocket, slams the glove compartment shut, and sighs heavily. He takes a moment to wipe the mix of blood, sweat, and dirt away from his eyes before he clips on his seatbelt and starts the engine. The vehicle rumbles and revs, and the tires kick up dirt as he speeds away from the rings. His destination: a cluster of lights and towers in the distance.

He turns on the radio and techno dubstep beats through the speakers. He can’t help but bob his head and tap his fingers to the tune as he drives down the empty road, his eyes fixated on the settlement in the distance with the light of the rings and twinkling stars above them.

As Sam drives, a smile of relief spreads on his face, and he quietly says, “What a beautiful night.”