Rollerfly goalie slide plates

It was raining when she came. Dark skies had threatened a downpour all day, claps of thunder intermittent but the rain itself had held off until nightfall, until after we had gotten home, tucked into pj's and sheltered from the storm.
Hearing the door chime didn't surprise me, but it should have. My home is not central to anything. You need to travel dirt tracks and winding roads. Unless you know where you're going, I'm very hard to find. I wasn't expecting anyone, but still I rose from where I'd been sitting on the couch, trying to unwind after a long day. I wasn't psychic or anything, but I had a peculiar feeling all day that something wasn't right and hearing the knocking had cemented that for me.
She was dressed in a green sundress, sandals, a very strange sight considering the weather. And as the wind and rain danced violently around her, whipping her long, wet, dark hair around in every which direction, she simply looked possessed, like a crazy person. But still, I didn't flinch. Instead I opened the door, taking a step back to allow her inside. She glared at me as she stepped inside, dripping water onto the wooden floorboards, and making squelching noises with every step she took. "I'm not here to play games, Thomas. Where is he? Where is my son?"
For a moment, I'd had hope. Despite how she had arrived, despite the look in her eyes. I took a long breath, trying to compose myself, to keep my voice from breaking as I told her the news she had never been able to accept. "Ava, your son's gone, he's in heaven now. You.. You killed him."
The rage in her eyes broke me, sending shivers down my neck. She screamed like a wild animal caught in a trap, running to find the first thing she could grab hold of - my glass coffee table - and lift it and throw it as hard, and as far as she could against the wall. We were silent, breathless, as we listened to the glass shatter into a million pieces.
I'd never been close to my sister. She had been born years after me, after my mother had passed away and dad remarried, I was 15 when Ava came into the world. I remember holding her awkwardly, feeling something between love and contempt for this scrunched up, pink skinned and blue eyed little human.
I was moved out, living my own life by the time she learnt to ride a bike, by the time she started school. I saw them occasionally, holidays like Christmas and we would make awkward conversation over the phone on birthdays, but as time passed it was like they all were strangers to me, we had nothing in common, my dad and my step mum were busy with teenager Ava, and I was busy trying to start a family of my own. Life just got busy, I guess.
When I got the phone call saying dad and my step mum had been killed in a car crash, I was devastated. I kicked myself for not spending more time with them, and then my thoughts went to my sister, to Ava, 16 years old and now, all alone. I got on the phone and told her I was on my way to her, ready to help my little sister in any way I could. I realised I was about to become a guardian of a teenage girl who I basically knew nothing about, a teenage girl who was grieving the death of the only family she had ever known.
I needn't have been so rush in my decision to jump in the car, by the time I arrived it was clear that Ava was basically fine. It had been less than 24 hours since her parents death, but she was sipping on a daiquiri by the pool when I arrived. I cried to her and she held my hand in cold disdain. I never saw a tear.
It was only a mere few weeks later that I got another call, this time from a worried neighbor. The police tape cautioned off the childhood house I grew up in, a dozen or so officers roamed the yard and trailed in and out of the house, bringing out bags marked as 'Evidence'.
I wasn't sure what was going on. I knew dad and my step mum had been killed in a car accident, I wasn't sure if it was protocol to search the home of a deceased accident victim, I had no idea. So when I eventually saw little Ava sat in the back of one of the patrol cars, my heart dropped into my stomach.
I went over to the car to talk to her. To ask her what the heck was going on, but before I can get a word out, a beefy officer is standing between me and the car, his arm outstretched in a stop signal. "Sorry, I just wanted to talk to my sister. This is my parents house and -" The cop looked incredulous, shaking his head slowly then quicker with every word I spoke. He didn't respond to me in anyway once I finished talking, just started me in the eyes as he took his walkie talkie off his belt, and spoke into it. He asked for his boss, Stat.
I'm lead into a cop car myself. Although I'm not arrested, or cuffed, I still feel anxious getting inside. I wonder how scared Ava must be, and the thought makes me mad. Why the hell are they interviewing us in the back of a damn cop car? I fired my question at the Sargent and the cop in the front seat, and watched as they passed a look between themselves.
"I'm sorry no one's explained the situation to you, sir. Your sister isn't being interviewed. She has been arrested, and once the boys have finished up with the evidece bags, she'll be heading down to lock up. She is being charger with murder, so if you have a lawyer, how will probably be the time to get in contact." "Mm-murder? What are you talking about? I was told my parents had been killed in a car accident and now you're telling me my little sister had something to do with their death?"
"Sorry, sir. I should have been more clear. You're correct, your father and his wife were killed in a motor vichele aciident. This is relating to something... Ah, someone else, entirely. Now I need to ask you a few questions while we've got you here, if we aren't done by the time the others are ready to leave, we can continue this down at the station. That okay?" I nod numbly, not taking in what they're saying. The first question he asks me, is if I knew my 16 year old sister had been pregnant. I look out the window and catch Ava's eye. She smiles and waves at me, and even though I feel sick to the stomach, I plaster on a fake smile and wave back, as well.
Now, in this moment, I make Ava tea. She has showered, now warm and dressed in one of my old dressing towns. She cries as she sips the tea, saying she's sorry she's sorry she's sorry. She didn't do it. She didn't do it. She didn't do it. I give her a look of comfort and tell her it's okay, it's all going to be okay. She eats the lemon biscuit I brought out with the tea, between mouthfulls she tells me about living in the psychiatric ward, about how the people there scared her and the medicine she took made her feel sleepy and dull.
She asks me if she can stay here for a while, and I tell her of course she can. She's my little sister and I love her, no matter what. I tuck her into the spare bed, telling her things we be better in the morning, but she's already snoring by the time I finish my sentance. I close the door, sliding the lock behind me. As I prepare the evenings snack, I am feeling relived. I knew Ava wouldn't be having a great time in that place, but whenever I called up to see how she was going, she would only ever say things were fine, opting to always end our conversation before the allocated time was up.
I could hear the sadness in her voice, the desperation to get out, and it broke me. I would offer to come visit, bring her anything she felt like but she said with the contraband ban, there was no point. She never felt like having a visitor, refusing my requests and when I asked the nurses about it, they told me she spent most of her time staring off into space, they couldn't force her to accept visits, and that was that.
She would be out when she turned 23, after serving the 7 year sentence for the manslaughter of her newborn. Everyone said she was lucky to not get jail, but after hearing her voice in the psychiatric ward, I wasn't so sure I agreed.
Now she's here, out of that awful place. I'm going to really take care of her, something I should have done all those years ago. I'm her big brother after all, and it's up to me to make sure she's looked after. I go down stairs, this time carefully carrying a tray, with warm milk and few of the infamous lemon biscuits.
Karl is sitting up cross legged in his race car bed, concentration vivid on his little face as he plays a game on his Xbox. A moment later he let's out a little whoop, and I can't help but to smile at his excitement. "Kicking everyone's butts still, I see." Karl laughs at my comment, blushing but pleased. I can tell he's chuffed, and it makes me happy seeing his genuine joy.
I place the tray on his desk, and sit next to him to watch him play for a while. He offers me the controller and asks if I want to have a turn? I shake my head, and thank him, telling him its time for this old man to be getting to bed. He grins at me when I call myself an old man, and shakes his head laughing as he calls me silly.
"Milk and biscuits here when you're ready. Remember, lights out in an hour. I love you, son." "Okay, thanks dad. I love you, too."
As I walk out of his room, I ponder for a moment, wondering and hoping it wasnt, if it was possible he had heard any of that commotion upstairs, but eyes still glued to the screen, Karl seemed as happy as ever and basically impervious to anything apart from the car racing game he was playing.
It was me who'd asked her to babysit. Begged her, really. Told her how much Jennie and I had been fighting, how hard the baby was on our relationship. She said she really wanted to help her big brother out and she even said it would be a welcome distraction from the finals she was studying for. No mention of the parents she had recently lost.
She told me she felt a bit nervous about it all, but she felt it would be good for her, as well. I agreed. We organised a time for an evening a night away, and that was that, my plan was in motion. Done all over HiddentextApp of course, so there was no trace of our conversation.
It was all the rage with the kids these days, according to Google, so when I suggested it to my sister, she hadn't batted an eyelid. I knew she had been having trouble sleeping, and honestly, for the both of us, it seemed like the easiest way.
There would be no one to blame, it would be a simple, cruel act of nature that no one would even consider questioning. She could of said it was an accident, and everyone would have believed her. I didn't think she would do what she did. I asked her if she was still okay to babysit, feigning guilt and worry, and she had nodded. Our fathers and her mother's death had not seemed to greatly affect her. She seemed bored of talk of them. "A distraction would be great." I thanked her with a close, tight hug, and told her I'd brewed her some green tea and made a batch of an old recipe my mum used to make me while I was growing up, lemon biscuits.
Once Ava was settled on my couch, Netflix on the tv, with her snacks and mug of green tea. She had baby monitor on hand so she was ready to hear the cries that would never come. I expected silence when I got home. I expected Ava, sleeping peacefully, still on the couch where she had first sat down.
But she wasn't. And the house was not silent, instead the sound of an electric saw penetrated the halls. Maybe the shock of losing both parents, perhaps she felt bad for the fact they were out on the roads that night, they would have been safely tucked up in their bed if it had not been for their teenage daughter needing to be picked up. I don't know, seeing the baby like that.. Well, I guess that honestly would've broken anyone's soul.
At the start, I tried to explain to her, calmly and using soft voices, but she was beyond contemplating my words. It was as if what I was saying to her, she just simply could not comprehend. I tried to stop her, honestly I did, but she was a force that could not be reckoned with and truly, Ava had basically already finished when I arrived home.
The walls were painted red. My hacksaw now lay disgauardrd to one side of Ava, who was just as red as the walls. I didn't notice the noise had ceased. All I could hear was the hammering of my own heart in my chest. She cradled something white and rubbery to her chest, blood making it slippery to keep hold of, and once I realised what it was, I'm throwing up and crying and screaming as well.
When I catch my breath I ask what the fuck she has done and she tells me it's her son, her son, her son. She loves him. She loves him to pieces and she's never going to leave him. She was fixing him. Fixing him. Fixing him. She laughs and smiles. I take her home, with what's left of the baby wrapped up in a towel. She holds the towel as we drive, singing to it, cooing.
The scene is stuck in my memory, a picture I have tried hard to forget, but it greets me every time I close my eyes. I sit in the car and watch as she cradles the bundle in one arm, still singing softly to it, and let's her self inside my empty, parentless childhood home.
Now she is back, and this time she is a threat to my family. To my son, who can never ever know what this woman has done. She's still sleeping when I go back into the spare bedroom.
I am not surprised, because I did give her enough sleeping pills in her green tea to knock out a grown man. But, I had no choice really. If only she stayed away..I sigh to myself as I place the pillow over the top of her head. She could have started her life all over again. But no, she couldn't. As a good big brother, it was my responsibility to help her, in whatever way that meant.
I knew she would never accept that her son was dead or that she had been the one to kill and dismember him. I knew her life would be a constant battle of heart break and pain. I was doing her a favor. And keeping my family safe, as well.
It's almost daylight when I return home. I am straight into the shower, dressing quickly for my day before I head into the kitchen and get started on Karl's favorite breakfast - banana pancakes with maple bacon on the side.
He beams as I pass him his plate and thanks me for being the best daddy in the whole world. It's always the moments like this that I feel a pang of guilt. I wonder if his brother would have the same opinion, had he still been around. In my mind I picture the two of them, identical twins, sat side by side with me at the table.
Would Rory had liked maple bacon? I ruffle Karl's hair as he finishes eating, telling him he better get a move on if he doesnt want to miss his bus again, and he laughs and goes to get dressed for school. Before he left, he flashed me a grin and crinkled his green eyes with happiness. I think of last night, of Ava, those same green eyes staring up at me in panic when she woke up, managing to push the pillow off her.
She glared at me, opening her mouth to scream, or maybe ask me why, but I placed the pillow back in place and leaned down before she could speak. Her eyes were open when I eventually took the pillow off again, this time the green eyes were bloodshot and vacant,staring at nothing. The exact same eyes I had seen on Rory when I walked into the twins bedroom to check on him. He was blue, his eyes that blazed green were open, unblinking. I stared at him for a long time, until Karl's crys woke me up, brought me back to reality. I took Karl down for his bottle, placing a blanket on his brother, who was cold to the touch. I knew it was too late. I knew it didn't matter anymore. But to me, it would always matter.
I was a good dad, really I was. I had wanted to be a dad for so long, that when I heard my baby sister was pregnant at 15 years old, I felt sick with anger and disappointed. But my dad and step mum had pleaded for me to take the babies, to raise them. Ava didn't want them, she wanted to get rid of them, but it was too late in the pregnancy.
They told me Ava had her whole life ahead of her. They told me I could have what I had always wanted, to be a dad. We didn't have to tell anyone. It would be a family secret. Just better for everyone that way, my dad had said. So I agreed.
I had never wanted to hurt Ava. I had given her sleeping pills so she wouldn't go searching for her son. So she could simply fall asleep, and I'd come home later that evening, and together we would discover the absolute heart breaking news that baby Rory had passed away in his sleep. Which is what had happened, just a few hours before.
She had questioned why their would only be one baby to look after, but when I explained that Karl had been a bit under the weather and we wanted to keep a close eye on him, she didn't give it another thought. She never even asked why Jennie wasn't around, given we were supposedly heading off for a mini getaway sans one child.
I hadn't told anyone we'd separated, after she decided having kids just wasn't for her. I felt guilty, but not too guilty. Ava had given the babies away without another thought, not even bothering to check in on them or ask how they were growing. I didn't think it would truly affect her so much. And so.. Badly.
But in a fucked up way, it all worked out in the end, I guess.
Karl was safe then, because the girl that was his mother had truly lost her mind and she was kept away in a place she couldn't reach him, even thought it seemed as if she had completely forgotten of his existence, I always had the idea in my head that she would one day remember there had been two bright green eyed boys, not just the one.
And what if she wanted her other son back, as well? I've kept him safe, unlike I was able to do for his brother. And I wasn't about to start letting someone mess with the sweet natured and gentle boy I'd raised.
I saw things in Ava that made me realise I had never known her, only knew what I thought she was, what I wanted to her to be, the sweet, sweet little sister. Instead, my sibling had been a devil in disguise. As we leave the house, ready to make our trekk to the school bus stop, I glance at the window at the fresh mound of dirt thats waiting to be spread when I get back.
Karl notices it, and asks if he can plant some roses there when he gets home. I tell him that's a wonderful idea, wondering if and how he could possibly know that flowers were Ava's favorite flower.
I shake the idea from my head, and together we walk down the dirt roads, hand in hand.

The gas giant loomed large in the viewport, ballooning as the ship coasted toward it, the colorful blue hues of its swirling bands reflecting the glow of the system’s star.
Darren could make out the bright, scarred surface of an ice moon drifting lazily past, framed against the rivers of flowing hydrogen and helium. Silhouetted against the Jupiter-mass object was their destination – Halfpoint Station.
Having come from Earth, which was still a backwater when compared to many of the Imperium’s more developed worlds, the sheer size and grandeur of the structure took his breath away.
It was hard to gauge its true scale in the vacuum of space where there was no atmospheric haze, and there were no landmarks for reference, the unfiltered light creating harsh shadows. As they drew nearer, however, he was able to pick out some of the massive fuel tankers that swarmed its ports like clouds of gnats.
Those vessels put anything created by Humanity to shame – their purpose being to dip into the upper atmosphere of the gas giant, harvesting its resources to fuel the ships that made their berth here.
Calling it enormous was an understatement. It must have been nine miles tall, the main hull of the station forming a long, relatively thin vertical shaft. Surrounding that shaft were half a dozen rotating rings, each one connected to the central column by spokes, the pinpoints of innumerable windows glinting as they slowly turned.
At its apex was a dome of immense proportions, sitting proudly atop the structure, the crystalline material that made up its transparent hull glittering in the starlight. Inside, he could make out glimpses of regal skyscrapers and patches of parkland – an entire city encapsulated in a habitat that had a breathtaking view of the planet.
Darren pursed his lips as he looked down at the device on his wrist, the tiny display showing the familiar text of an article he must have read at least a dozen times by this point.
Halfpoint Station was situated on the outskirts of the Imperium’s sphere of influence, a region of space known only as the Periphery. This put it soundly outside of Purp jurisdiction, but the place still saw a lot of traffic, as the station was right in the middle of a relatively well-traveled shipping route between the three big powers.
While it had started its life as little more than a place to fuel up and get resupplied, being located outside any of the major spheres of influence had its benefits, and the station had garnered a bit of a reputation for its more permissive policies. Now, it was said to be populated by hired guns, smugglers, gamblers, and anyone else who might appreciate discretion.
The Human frowned as he looked out the window once more and tried to reconcile the gleaming edifice before him with the dark reputation the article in his hands presented.
He didn’t have long to dwell on it before the pilot’s crackly voice came through a hidden intercom in the cabin, informing the passengers that they were commencing docking procedures.
The woman spoke in accented Shil. What that accent was, Darren had no clue, but he knew it wasn’t the same one spoken by his professors – linguistic or mechanical.
He glanced around at his fellow travelers, seeing a few species that he didn’t recognize, along with the more familiar Shil’vati. The aliens were easily identifiable by the purple hue of their skin, their sharp tusks, and their seven-foot height.
Several of them returned his gaze, some curious, some covetous.
Males were rare in the Imperium.
Hell, males were rare, period.
By the standards of most races out in the galaxy, Humanity were the strange ones for having an equal number of men and women. Even six years into the occupation, most were still struggling to adapt to the new paradigm brought on by that reality.
Darren was no exception.
Still, he managed to ignore the stares, turning his attention to the smart display on his wrist, bringing up his itinerary. He was headed to Hab-Ring Five, and the only information that he’d been given beyond that were some coordinates to who-knew-where.
He sighed, wishing – not for the first time – that he might have a fellow first timer to converse with.
Unfortunately, that was a pipe dream.
The lack of other Humans on his ship wasn’t surprising. The Imperium had only recently relaxed enough to begin authorizing travel visas allowing Humans to leave Earth, and his kind were still a rarity on the Galactic stage.
As to why he was out here out in the ass end of space?
He’d been offered a job.
He was an engineer by trade, at least according to his degree, and he specialized in the combination of alien and Human technology. It might seem like an oddly specific skillset, but it was one that was in high demand, as just about every industry on Earth was trying to take advantage of the opportunities provided by the Imperium’s literal space-age technology.
It was complicated work, but he was quite good at it, if he said so himself – and his professors seemed to agree. His gift had catapulted him through university and had apparently landed him a very lucrative offer to take up a position on Halfpoint.
How they’d heard of him, he wasn’t too sure. Nor did he truthfully know exactly what the job entailed. Apparently, he was to be briefed on-location.
Regardless, off-world work was a rare opportunity for any Human, let alone one fresh out of school, and visiting an alien space station was a lot more interesting than backpacking around Europe for a year.
Whatever happened, it was going to be an adventure.
The ship matched velocity with one of the rotating rings, the structure at least half a mile tall in its own right, covered in tiny windows that made it look like a whole city block had been condensed down into the shape of a donut.
Now that he was a little closer, Darren could see that the station was actually far from pristine. Its hull was pocked with haphazard repairs, the newer sections shining brighter than their older counterparts, its armored panels pitted with little craters from space debris and micro-meteorite impacts.
The ship lined up with a docking port, and an umbilical walkway began to extrude from the ring, reaching out towards them. It looked like the jib of a crane, covered over with a flexible material that bore a suspicious resemblance to a grey tarp.
Surely it wasn’t actually a tarp? No, it had to be some kind of alien supertech – too advanced for him to recognize at a glance.
Right?
His thoughts did little to reassure him as the umbilical connected to the shuttle’s airlock with a tangible thud.
Shaking his head, he retrieved his travel bag, then made his way down the aisle to join the queue of passengers who were waiting to disembark. More of them crammed in behind him, and he tried to ignore their uncomfortable proximity.
He hadn’t actually spent a lot of time around aliens during his schooling. One of his professors had been a Shil, but she had been professional to a fault and had always kept a healthy distance from her students.
Of course, she had still managed to be rather intimidating despite that, her head seeming to scrape the ceiling every time she stepped into the classroom. However, Darren was rapidly discovering that being surrounded by women who stood head and shoulders above him was a different experience altogether.
It was nothing to get worked up over, though. He just needed to-
The Shil standing behind him pressed close – uncomfortably close – Darren swearing that there was room enough in the aisle for her to keep her distance. Suddenly, he felt a sharp twinge in his rear.
Had she just...pinched him? No, it had to have been a mistake.
He turned to glance over his shoulder, looking up at the towering Purp. “Sorry, Ma’am, I must have bumped into you.”
Her sly smile faded as she furrowed her brow in confusion. Before she had time to formulate a reply, the intercom above the exit beeped.
“Oh, looks like we’re moving again!” Darren chimed as he began to follow the queue. “Sorry!”
He followed the procession of towering women into the passenger ship’s airlock. Both of the pressurized doors were open, and before him stretched the umbilical. The worryingly thin material that protected them from the deadly vacuum of space was wrapped taut around a metal frame, and the walkway beneath his feet was made up of a simple grate.
After a short walk, they emerged into a cavernous dock area, so large that it was more like standing in some kind of indoor stadium than anything that could be compared to a space station. There were stacks of shipping containers and unidentifiable machinery everywhere he looked.
It was a challenge not to stop and examine the equipment, each new sight piquing his interest, each strange device begging to be investigated. As he followed the other passengers to the far end of the room – his head on a swivel – he almost bumped into one of the containers. To his surprise, it was floating a foot off the ground, suspended on an anti-gravity cushion.
It was funny – no matter how many times he saw it, it never stopped being surreal to see something just…float.
As he stooped to look beneath it, an irritated dockworker leaned out from behind it to yell at whoever was in her way. She stopped when she saw him, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She was a Rakiri, if Darren remembered correctly. She resembled a towering werewolf, a pair of cat-like eyes peering out from beneath her black fur, her facial features strangely leonine. She was clad in dirty, yellow coveralls that hung loosely from her broad shoulders, exposing the ragged tank top that she wore beneath it. Tufts of her dark coat poked out around the faded garment, giving her a surprisingly fluffy appearance.
“You lost, boy?” she asked as she shooed him out of her path. “Stay behind the yellow warning markings unless you want to get that cute butt smushed,” she added with a nod toward the deck. She continued to push her heavy container, moving it effortlessly on its gravity cushion.
More dock workers were assembling to stare at him, perhaps having never seen a Human before. Or perhaps it was because he was male? It was hard to tell. Either way, a small crowd of yellow-clad women saw him off, a couple of them hooting at him and waving. Not sure if this was some kind of alien greeting, he shyly waved back, eliciting laughter from them after a moment of surprise.
One started to make her way over to him before a menacing growl from her superior made her freeze in place sheepishly. Darren took that as his cue to move on – he didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble by being in the way.
He arrived at a security gate, and after being asked to show his visa, he was subjected to a very thorough – and in his opinion unnecessary – pat-down. Once he was cleared, he emerged into the station proper. He stepped out of the way of the women behind him, then set his travel bag down on the metal deck, taking in the alien sights and sounds for a moment.
Far from being a sterile, clinical environment, he found himself in a bustling bazaar worthy of any city back on Earth. It scarcely felt like he was standing inside a station at all, what passed for the ceiling so high above his head that he could barely make out the crisscrossing support beams and maintenance catwalks.
It was styled like a cramped street, too small for cars, almost like the city center of some old European town had been reimagined in an industrial style. Civilian quarters that resembled apartment blocks rose up towards the ceiling, connecting to it in some places, likely leading up to higher levels of the station.
In every nook and cranny – anywhere there was room – the denizens of the hab-ring had set up little stalls where they were hawking their wares to the tourists who had just boarded. Colorful awnings fluttered in the artificial breeze from the air recyclers, and insulated cables that had been patched from the station’s systems trailed along walls and floors, powering streetside food stands and colorful neon signs.
Speaking of the denizens, they came in all shapes and sizes. Darren had never seen so many varieties of alien in one place before. He could make out a few Shil and Rakiri, but most were unknown to him, the varied hues of their skin and clothes creating a bustling sea of color.
He checked the device on his wrist again, pulling up the coordinates that his new employer had forwarded to him. This was indeed Hab-Ring Five, and he’d been given what passed for an address in this strange environment. Hefting his bag once more, he made his way into the throng, having to dodge and weave between the towering aliens. Many of them barely seemed to register his presence, probably due to his comparatively small stature, though some seemed to stop and stare in confusion.
Well, I suppose Humans are pretty new on the galactic scene, he thought to himself.
The scents of strange, alien food assailed him as he navigated the cramped streets, a few of the criers singling him out. They had sharp instincts, he’d give them that. It seemed the locals could smell a tourist at thirty paces.
Maybe it was all the staring he was doing?
Eventually, he arrived at his destination, glancing up from his display to see a dingy bar. It was open to the street, built into an overhang at the base of one of the many buildings, little more than a long counter with a few stools. Above it was a blinking neon sign in a script that he couldn’t read. As he made his way inside and struggled up onto one of the tall stools, the small handful of patrons who were sitting off to his left paused their conversation to examine him.
They were Nighkru, their goat-like horns and the bruise-purple hue of their skin giving them away. Their silver eyes were striking, almost seeming to glow in the dim light of the bar, as reflective as those of a cat. Their clothing was all tight leather and straps, their skin strategically exposed in places to show off their stunning bioluminescent tattoos, the swirling patterns trailing down slender limbs and across toned midriffs.
He kept his gaze aimed forward, knowing that their kind didn’t think much of the Imperium to which he now belonged.
…Then again, that was true for pretty much every race that wasn’t a part of the massive interstellar empire. Say what you would about the Purps, but they knew how to make an impression.
The bartender walked over to him, leaning on the counter as she looked him up and down skeptically. It was another Rakiri like the dockworkers, her feline nose twitching as she took in his scent.
“You lost, or do you want something to drink?” she asked.
“No thank you, I’m waiting for someone,” he replied sheepishly as he lowered his eyes to his device again.
He was right on time, but as he looked around, there was no sign of his contact. He was supposed to meet them here, right?
The Rakiri shrugged her furry shoulders, then left him to his own devices, moving over to the small group of Nighkru.
Perhaps one of them was his contact?
He certainly hoped not. While he didn’t have anything against a person enjoying themselves with a good drink after hours, it wasn’t a good way to make a positive first impression on a prospective employee.
Fortunately for him, the surprise on one of the trio’s grey skinned faces when she happened to blearily peer in his direction dashed that possibility. Just a trio of young women out for a drink.
Unfortunately for him, after a few hastily whispered words to her friends, the group made their way over to him.
“Don’t see many males round these parts,” one of them said, her faux leather getup creaking as she planted her hands on the bar to his left. Another leaned on the counter to his right, the third posting up behind him.
“A Human, too,” the woman to his right added with a sly chuckle. “Now, what’s a Human doing all alone out on the Periphery?”
“I didn’t think the Purps were letting their pets off the leash.” the one behind him snickered.
“I don’t know,” the first said with an exaggerated shrug. “Maybe he snuck out in search of a real woman? I think we’ve all heard how Humans can be.”
That set the three of them laughing.
All the while, Darren wasn’t sure where to look, turning his head left and right as he struggled to pick a Nighkru. He settled on the woman to his left, having to lift his head to meet her gaze, those reflective eyes shining like a pair of silver coins.
“I...uh...was actually supposed to be meeting someone here.” he stammered, a little of his anxiety bleeding through.
The Nighkru gave him a warm smile that wasn’t reflected in her eyes, leaning a little closer. He tried to pull away reflexively but found another Nighkru waiting for him, something rather soft pressing against his back.
“Well, I don’t see anyone else in here but me and my friends,” one of them said as she tutted dramatically. “Maybe they stood you up?”
“Poor form, that,” the one behind him whispered into his ear. He lurched in his seat, surprised by her proximity. “Leaving a pretty young thing like you hanging.”
The first one nodded, as if that was a piece of sagely wisdom. “I know – how about my friends and I give you a personal tour of the station to make up for it?” she asked, reaching out to brush a piece of errant fluff from his collar. “We’ll even carry your luggage for you – we’re nice like that.”
She signaled to one of her compatriots with a curt nod, who then plucked his travel bag off the deck.
“Oh, that’s really not-”
He tried to stand, but he was cut off as two of the women placed their hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down into his seat. Their touch was gentle, but firm, letting him know that he wasn't going anywhere.
Darren looked to the Rakiri bartender for help, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the turn of events, but she was staying out of it. She was feigning disinterest, cleaning a glass with a rag that didn’t look clean enough for the job.
It was clear that he wouldn’t be getting any help from her.
Was this really going to be his first experience on the station – kidnapped by a gang of alien grifters?
Just as he was getting ready to – likely ineffectually – start swinging like his life depended on it, he heard a voice ring out in a language he didn’t recognize.
The Nighkru turned their heads as one, and he followed their gaze, seeing another of their kind step in from the street. Her skin had the same twilight hue, her silvery hair pulled back into a long ponytail that trailed behind her as she strode towards them. She wore a jet-black body suit that left little to the imagination, so tight that it might have been sewn onto her, the garment open at the front to expose a chiseled midriff and the beginnings of her cleavage. Her eyes were mesmerizing, his gaze drawn to the glowing tattoos that served to accentuate them.
Oddly, unlike the trio surrounding him, she had no horns.
The stranger walked with purpose, her heels clicking on the deck, her hair swishing behind her as she came to a stop to stare down the three other women. They were already backing off, the Nighkru who had taken his bag setting it back down gingerly beside his seat. Did they know this person? They seemed so wary of her.
“Maybe we’ll see you around,” one of them whispered, her hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment before she followed her friends out into the street.
Once they were finally out of sight, Darren breathed a sigh of relief and turned to thank the newcomer. Before he could utter so much as a word, she beat him to the punch.
“You shouldn’t wander around Halfpoint alone,” she said, skipping the preamble. Her voice had a melodic tone, one that was almost musical to Darren’s ears. She planted her hands on her hips, scrutinizing him with a skeptical expression. “You’re just asking for trouble.”
“I’m just...waiting for someone,” he replied. “Thank you, by the way. I’m-”
“Do you have a weapon on you?” she asked, cutting him off. “A handgun under that jacket? Defense spray? A pocket knife?”
“What? No,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “Why would I have a gun?”
Even with a few inches of titanium-alloy plating between everyone aboard and a messy death by explosive decompression, using a firearm on the station seemed risky.
She snorted derisively, almost as though she couldn’t believe his reply.
“For your sake, I hope that whoever you’re waiting for is smarter than you are,” she said with a roll of her silver eyes. “This isn’t Earth, boy. There are no Shil Marines around to babysit you. Next time you want to play tourist, go somewhere closer to home.”
With a flick of her long hair, she turned about, vanishing into the crowd once more to leave him sitting at the bar in confusion.
Darren felt another hand on his shoulder and turned to see an Edixi wearing grease-stained overalls standing behind him. The tool belt that hung loosely about her hips let him know that she was a mechanic before she’d even had time to open her mouth.
Her kind were evolved for an aquatic environment, and although they were fully amphibious, they retained many of their ancient features. Their bodies were smooth and streamlined, with lean, lightly-muscled frames that made them look like Olympic swimmers. Her eyes were a striking ocean-green, and her azure skin was patterned with faded tiger stripes, darkening as it neared her extremities.
“You’re the new engineer, right?” she chirped excitedly.
“Darren Fogle, pleased to meet you,” he confirmed as he extended a hand. She took it, shaking it eagerly, and he noted that her fingers were webbed.
He was a little surprised by how smooth her skin was. Given the sharklike appearance of the Edixi – and her vocation – he’d expected it to be rough and scaly. Maybe cold and slimy, too. By contrast, it was warm and soft, her small scales smooth like a snake’s rather than sharp like those of a fish.
Odd.
“Oh, it is. It very much is. The boss told me to fetch you,” she said before turning back towards the street. “Don’t get lost, you hear? There are some rough types around these parts.”
Yes, she could say that again. He stooped to pick up his bag, then hurried after her, trying not to lose sight of her in the crowd. He also belatedly realized that she hadn’t told him her own name.
Was that an Edixi thing or was she just in a hurry?
The mechanic led him through the streets, which seemed to be arranged in a kind of grid pattern, always flanked by the towering hab-blocks. It was as challenging as ever to navigate when so many of the station’s inhabitants stood a head taller than him. It made him feel like a bug that was trying to avoid being stepped on.
He could only assume he’d get used to it. His guide seemed to have no problem getting around, and she was a few inches shorter than him.
Their destination was some kind of service elevator – a large platform that seemed designed to carry heavy cargo up from the docks, wide enough that a couple of trucks could have parked on it side by side. There were still a few cargo containers stacked off to one side that hadn’t been unloaded yet.
He watched as the woman hit a touch panel beside the double doors, and they began to slide shut, the platform lurching as Darren felt it start to rise. There was no grinding of machinery, no vibrations, only a sensation of getting heavier. It was obviously gravity-manipulation tech. It wasn’t too surprising – the Shil seemed to use it for just about everything, so it wasn’t too strange that the rest of the universe did as well.
Convergent technological development, he could almost imagine his Shil instructor saying as they started to descend. Good tech is good tech.
The hab-ring’s many levels flashed by one by one, until finally, the elevator slid to a smooth stop. Darren followed the happily humming mechanic out into a garage, his eyes lighting up as he took in his new surroundings.
Were those… mecha?
The bay’s walls were lined with bulky harnesses that were obviously designed to hold the machines in place, a few of the berths already occupied by half-disassembled vehicles.
They were!
“Real life mecha,” he mumbled.
As a mechanic, he wasn’t ignorant of the genre. After all, what kind of engineer didn’t hold a soft spot for giant stompy robots? Of course, as an engineer, he also held an inherent disdain for anyone that actually thought said machines were even remotely practical outside of the realm of fiction.
The Square Cube Law was a harsh mistress.
The long and short of it was that if you doubled a machine's height while keeping it the same shape, you ended up with four times the muscle power moving eight times the mass. As a result, instead of having the same relative agility as the original, the double-sized machine actually had only half.
That was why ants could lift so much relative to their weight. If you scaled one up, you’d end up with a much less impressive power to weight ration.
And, the problem only got worse the bigger you went. Giant robots would be slow, cumbersome, and they would inevitably suffer from exploding ankles if they tried to move too fast. They’d also sink in just about any terrain that was even slightly porous.
All in all, mecha were a cool concept with absolutely zero real world applications.
Which was why he was so stunned to see some in real life. Sure, the Shil military liked to use exos, but they were really just power armor by any other name with thrusters attached. Besides, the only reason those things could skip around like they did was because they had anti-grav generators…
His thoughts trailed off as an idea occurred to him. He jogged over to the nearest machine, peering up at the twenty-foot humanoid monstrosity. Its legs had been detached, leaving only a bulky torso covered in half-stripped sensory equipment, lenses and scanners visible where their protective covers had been removed. The cockpit was open, revealing the pilot’s seat, along with the surrounding neural interface cables that hung loose like the entrails of some mechanical beast. Its weapon attachments were empty, but it was nonetheless an awe-inspiring sight.
Sure enough, there were two oversized humps on the back. One was clearly for the thing’s fusion engine – and the other must have held the anti-grav generator.
“Darren?” the mechanic asked, having only just realized that he wasn’t behind her. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Y-yeah,” he said, jogging for a few paces to catch up. “That’s a mecha!”
The blue-hued alien nodded slowly. “Yes?”
“A mecha,” he reiterated.
Which prompted another slow nod. “You’ve never seen a gladiator mech before?”
“No.”
“Didn’t they tell you what job you’d be doing?” the mechanic asked, cocking her head in a rather adorable manner.
“No?” This time it was his turn to cock his head.
Several emotions seemed to fly across the alien’s face. He saw surprise, confusion, and dismay before she finally settled on irritation.
“Typical,” she grunted. “Just… follow me.”
AN: https://youtu.be/a3Xp1WhRQ9Q

Despite whatever grievances they might have had towards Ego Jinpachi, no one in Blue Lock could deny that if it wasn't for him pushing them beyond their limits, they couldn't have achieved the level they had as players, as egoists. That was why, when Ego asked them for a favor, all the 'graduates' of the Blue Lock program agreed.
"Wow, this place sure is nostalgic!" Bachira said, as he had his arm wrapped around Isagi's shoulders.
"I'm not sure if it's the good kind of nostalgia, though," Chigiri said, as he looked at the familiar facility, although it wasn't completely the same as before.
There was a new generation of Blue Lock trainees, hand-picked by Ego, of course, although he was more hands-off as an overseer these days. Blue Lock now had world-class instructors teaching the new trainees, with advanced AI technology assisting the lessons.
Blue lock man was still there, but instead of being restricted to goalie duties, due to advancement in robotics, they could now play other positions to assist with individual training. Isagi looked down at the practice field below, where a young man wearing his number 11 attempted to dribble past two Blue Lock men playing defense. The young man fell down after getting tackled by a Blue Lock man.
"Hah! That kid is just as shitty as you were when we first met, Yoichi!" Raichi said, laughing right at Isagi's face.
"Shut up, unless you want me to score another hat trick on your poor excuse of a team again, Raichi," Isagi said, a taunting smirk distorting his usually gentle face.
"That hat trick didn't count!" Raichi yelled. "That penalty kick was so bullshit! I bet you paid those refs off!"
The chatter between them died down when they arrived at the meeting spot Teieri Anri instructed them to go to. They saw many familiar faces, former Blue Lock participants, now current National team members. Isagi was about to greet Nagi and Reo when he saw them, but that was when Ego himself came out from a sliding door, with Anri following close behind him.
Even though Anri was now the CEO of Blue Lock, Ego was undoubtedly still the heart and soul of it. Blue Lock was his creation, his magnum opus. Not only did Blue Lock change the sport of football forever, it even revolutionized many technological fields, namely in AI and language translation technology. Ego Jinpachi didn't like the attention. He let Anri become the face of Blue Lock, but they knew who was really in charge.
"I'm glad you could all make it, my perfect diamonds," Ego said, showing that off-putting grin of his. "I didn't think that all of you would agree to do this favor for me."
"Cut the crap," a loud voice that Isagi recognized as Barou's said. "I have an important game tomorrow against that asshole Isagi's team! Don't waste anymore of my time!"
"Very well, I'll cut to the chase, then," Ego said, not at all caring that Barou rudely interrupted him. "I want you all to take a look at this."
Anri took out a tablet and pressed something on it. The crowd stirred as panels on the wall opened and several Blue Lock men came out.
"These are the latest generation Blue lock men," Ego said. "They have a special feature that I would like all of you to test."
"I can't believe I'm agreeing with that bonehead Barou," Rin said, with that condescending voice of his that Isagi hated, "but this does seem like a waste of all of our time. I only came here because I don't want to owe you any more favors, Ego, but my time is precious. Don't tell me you told us to come back here just to play with your stupid toys."
Ego let out a chuckle and snapped his fingers. One-by-one, a shimmering light went over the Blue Lock men. Once the light faded, their faces changed to a distinctly human one.
They had the face of Ego Jinpachi.
"I only have one regret in life," Ego said. "I knew I was the best striker in the world, but I couldn't prove it."
They all knew about it, about how Ego's career as a striker got cut short. Even though he was someone that Noel Noa himself considered a worthy rival, Ego never got to show that talent.
By now, all the Blue Lock men had adopted Ego's face. Isagi noticed that Ego's robotic copies looked younger, around the current age of the Blue Lock members.
The real Ego spread his hands wide and exclaimed, "This is the only favor I ask of you, my perfect diamonds! I want you to erase any doubt I have left! My prime, versus your prime! My ego versus the greatest egoists Japan has ever produced! Show me who the greater egoist is! Lay my imagination to rest! Let my ambitions die, or else I will be forever haunted by the future that was taken from me!"
Isagi's entire being trembled. This was ridiculous. An army of Egos? He knew that Ego was really good back then, but did Ego really think that a team full of himself could beat the very best of Blue Lock?
What a narcissist. What an absolute fool.
Another door opened. The door led to a field.
"Step through that door if you believe yourself to be the strongest striker! Prove your egoism to me!"
This was ridiculous.
Who would agree to this?
Just like back then, the first one to move was Isagi Yoichi.
He ran forward and the rest followed.
Ego followed the egoists who sprinted before him. Anri followed as well, but not before heaving a great sigh.
"Ego-san, this side-project of yours took up half of our budget for this quarter. How can I explain these expenditures to our sponsors?"
"Shut up, Anri-chan."
His lips twisted into the biggest grin he had ever shown. He snapped his fingers again and the Ego 11 followed after him. A procession of smiling Egos made their way to the field. In one voice, they said,
"Lock open."

As we all know Mumbai comes under zone IV of seismic activity & there hasn't been a earthquake of magnitude 6 in last 400 years since data is available.
There is a fault in Eastern African Plate and Western Indo-Austrailian which is causing both the plates to slide b/w each other which may cause a Tsuami in Arabic sea and a earthquake upto 8.5 in Mumbai.
Don't worry the Bombay municipality is avare of this and they are working on how this could be prevented by simply packing their backpack and moving out of bombay.

I put the Magwell kit beretta sells on my Apx a1 and now the barrel doesn’t lock when the clip is empty when I swap back to the standard plate for the mag and not the extension the slide locks but with the extension the slide doesn’t lock

I got a a Glock 45 MOS slide with brand new internals and a barrel with just a box of 50rds down the tube. Comes with a Glock RMR plate adapter.
Asking $350 $340 shipped.
https://imgur.com/a/Obdt2Uy

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark, when out of the blue, my wife called me at work. "We're going to Niagara Falls for the weekend. I got us an awesome deal!"
We had both been working at our first "full-fledged" jobs for a year and had reached that moment after graduation when you suddenly realize you can't make that impact on the world your student enthusiasm once promised. At first, I just sighed. It was the dead of January, and I had already expended all my energy on a week of inconsequential stress. I just wanted to collapse on the couch for two days. Sarah felt a similar weary exhaustion. I could tell. Her tone was more hopeful than excited, but she had dreaded the routine we were sinking into and was trying her best to pull us free.
I looked to the ceiling and adjusted my telephone headset. At that time I was working at Stats Canada on the tele-query desk. I took a deep breath and, as convincingly as possible, said, "Sounds good." I don't think she bought it, but we went nonetheless.
This was Niagara Falls before the casinos when there was a very distinct off-season. When we got to the hotel, we were given the details of our "lovers' special". One dinner to be used either Friday or Saturday, two breakfasts, a roll of tokens for the arcade, 10% off some "4D" movie ride experience, and a 2-for-1 coupon to Max Tussaud's. I guessed it was Madame's nephew? We also got a bottle of sparkling wine in our room and chocolate treats on our pillows. I was impressed. It sounded good.
When we got into our room and saw the "bottle" of wine - basically an aeroplane-sized glass and half - and the chocolates - "fun wrapped" Oh Henry's left over from Halloween - we both started to laugh. The tone for two wonderful days had been set. We decided to cash in on our dinner coupon right away.
The restaurant off the lobby had hopes of being better. There were huge panoramic windows that promised a view of the gorge. Unfortunately, they had some winter moisture problems that day, and it felt like we were defrosting amid the dripping streaks and foggy patches. The decor was your standard booths and tables though the "romantic" lighting was unique. Dollar store battery-powered tea lights were lodged inside thick tumbler glasses and shed a muted pleasantness in a "what a great idea for a craft" sort of way. I had a feeling they were created by our waitress since she was the one who always seemed to be fussing with them. Only one other couple was in the dining room, so she attended to us immediately.
"Can I get you something to start?"
"Sure." "Thank you, that would be nice." We both responded simultaneously.
"And what would the lady like this evening?"
Sarah smiled at the flattery. "I think I'll have a glass of white wine." She glanced over at me to see my reaction. This was a subtle cue of the mood to follow. Diet Coke was usually the beverage of choice. She didn't normally drink alcohol. One glass numbed her nose and made her giggle far too easily. When she did drink, however, it meant she was comfortable with my company and open to anything to follow. I raised my eyebrows in a debonair way.
"And for the gentleman?"
"Do you have Foster's on tap?"
"Yes we do."
"I'll have a pint please."
Sarah smiled at the happy memories I invoked. At university, Foster's was my signature beer. It was at a time when Crocodile Dundee was a known name, and Australia was inexplicably cool. 15 cent buffalo wings and a pitcher of Foster's was the Tuesday night special at the London Arms pub. There the Classics Club would meet and, as a group, circle the wagons and drink ourselves into extroverts.
As soon as the waitress left, Sarah smiled at me. She reached out and held my hand across the table. With my gaze on hers, she slipped her foot from her shoe and slowly began sliding it up my pant leg.
"I got a pedicure this morning." She announced seductively.
I nodded and pretended I didn't notice her invitation. "What colour?" I asked.
"I'm not telling." She teased. "You'll just have to find out later." Her devious little smile was gorgeous.
"Mmmm. I can't wait."
When the waitress returned with our drinks, we immediately retreated to our personal spaces as if we had been discovered by the chaperone. Sarah opened the menu and began to salivate at the variety.
"Can we add an appetizer to the package dinner?" Her question seemed innocent enough.
"You're on the package?" Our friendly waitress disappeared, and we were no longer a lady or a gentleman. She ripped the menu out of Sarah's hand and took mine before I had even opened it. She then scurried to her podium and brought back a tattered, grease-stained, photocopied page that we had to share. We both burst out laughing.
The waitress was flustered that we were not as bothered as she was. "The drinks are NOT included!"
"What choices do we have?" I asked, expecting the usual chicken or fish. I had been on many packages before with my parents.
"Coffee or tea." The waitress snapped.
Sarah and I looked at each other in amused disbelief.
"I'll have coffee please." I didn't even flinch at the ridiculously limited package. I was eager to get my order in early.
"And I'll have the tea!" Sarah followed my lead. "Can I have some milk with that?"
"Yes." The waitress snarled.
"Fantastic!" I enthused.
"Yes, great! I'm glad we got the package, Honey." Sarah joked.
The waitress stormed off and returned sometime later with our lettuce-only salads drowned in Kraft's Italian dressing and our chewy chicken dinners, which she had thoughtfully allowed to cool. She tossed the plates on the table and left us to peacefully devour our deal. We didn't see her again until we requested the bill. For some reason, we found it amusing to leave a generous tip, which of course, defeated the purpose of the package, but we didn't care. It was fun.
The rest of the holiday was marred with similar off-season products and services. The wax museum was only half open, so we couldn't see the pop stars of the seventies. I didn't think it was a problem, but Sarah pouted playfully. She really wanted to see young Bowie. Meanwhile, the arcade was particularly stingy about spitting out coupons. So much so that Mike, the scraggly-haired repair guy, ended up escorting us from game to game and repairing the devices on demand. In no time, he was acting like an old drinking buddy. He joked and laughed, then, out of the blue, revealed that working at the Niagara Falls Fun Centre wasn't his career choice, that his dream was to be part of a travelling carnival. He desperately wanted to see more of the world, he explained and socialize with a greater variety of "wildlife." Mike winked at Sarah to punctuate his meaning, then began advising her on which games to play.
Sarah was partial to Skee ball and clearly had career potential in the sport, but Mike quickly pointed out that the token-to-coupon payout was not the best. In a furtive whisper, he revealed that The Storm Stopper was your best bet, provided the arcade had left it on its original factory settings. He assured us the ones here were "cool." The game had lights that ran around the outside in opposite directions and you had to hit the button at just the right spot to win. It looked impossible, but Mike was right; if you calculated tokens in versus coupons won, it was the best deal. It only took a little practice to win a minor jackpot every 5 or 6 times.
We would cheer each win as if Toronto had won the Stanley Cup. I would give a quick fist pump and a full lung "Yes!" while Sarah would jump up and down screaming, "WhoooHooo!" Of course, in the end, when we cashed in, "Mike's secret" only bumped us up from a key-chain flashlight to a "deluxe" nail beauty set. Mind you, it did come complete with clippers, scissors, a file AND a cuticle scraper. Not only that, it was all neatly packaged in a paisley-patterned pink and green plastic vinyl case. Mike was so pleased to give us our prize and to be honest, we were thrilled to win it if only to see his broad chicletted smile. It was more of a trophy than a grooming set.
That night, I made reservations for us at a fancy Chinese food restaurant - the Bamboo Garden. When we arrived, we had half-expected renovations of some sort. Instead, the place was immaculate. Gentle pools teeming with goldfish highlighted the epic black and red Ming dynasty decor. Real candles flickered on crisp white tablecloths. Again, the restaurant was virtually ours. The reservations on my part were entirely unnecessary. In fact, as soon as we entered, they knew us by name and guided us directly to our table. A live lounge piano caressed the air, its notes danced vaguely around familiar harmonies until finally, as if prompted by our presence, a song emerged immediately accompanied by the velvet voice of oriental karaoke. It was our song remastered

Bought for my 19x but decided to stay stock, LIKE brand new condition, only dry fired with a couple times and it’s just taking up space
DEETS👇🏽
Glock 19 Gen 5 Slideworks engineering defkon with rmr cut (only dry fired with a couple times, never shot)
Zev tech rose gold dimpled match barrel (bought used, never shot by me but a previous user shot about 150 rounds more or less)
L2D combat complete slide parts kit for Gen 5
NO IRON SIGHTS INCLUDED
Sets screws for RMR cover plate are a bit loose because they are little to long
Asking $450 but price is negotiable
Will ship out the day after it is bought
https://imgur.com/a/8ZBj1Mw
Will not part out
PayPal friends and family only or G&S if you’re 100+ flair (you eat the fees)

Im looking for a RMR cover plate that would fit a oem 19.3 cut slide. Does not have be special. Just a cover plate.
$10 -$15?
Comment here then shoot me a DM.
Thanks!

Chapter 1 Chapter 68 Chapter 70
Prae
A young man sits at a crackling fire. He smiles and laughs at some bawdy joke told by another rough mercenary, one of so many shared each night around that fire.
Humans and dragons share this. A love of the flickering flames, the comforting calm that they bring even on the edge of devastation. A fire require caution and care, lest it be snuffed out or it grows beyond control.
He sings often. His voice is not soothing like the flame but he never falters, he sings because he enjoys it. Not because it is a talent. The others join him, their voices a medley of ragged sounds like have a strange beauty to it.
They are bad at this. But that does not mean it is bad.
He looks at me and he smiles.
Now he is dead. Like so many others, their faces now forever etched in my memory. So many. All for nothing.
I have forgotten myself. My wingtips cut the ocean surf and I keep low to the waves, casting a salty spray behind me. Cassian clings on, his body pressed low to protect against the wind and waves that would cast him off into the surf. I fly at the dark shapes ahead and I fuel a rage that knows no limits. All life is precious to an Emerald, this is who we are.
I feel shame for what I am about to do. But I am tired. I just want to return to the green of a canopy overhead. To a simpler world.
I suppose that this is simple too.
Fire is beautiful.
My fire has grown beyond control.
I draw it to myself and ignite it in my belly, furious flame that spews with a roar from deep within. Men scream and scatter. A dragon shrieks. Brilliant green fire with deadly red fingers splashes against thick timber and the force shatters them. They crack and splinter and char all in a moment. Men are consumed, a dozen, two, three. The ship is eaten by the living flame. Water hisses and steams. I bank and strike the broad side of the ship, from stem to stern the ship is bathed in green fire. A beacon on the ocean that burns bright in the darkness, in the rain.
I disappear into the darkness and leave the screams behind.
One of their stout, metal clad ships turns. It is lazy in the water though I sense the panic of the crew aboard. They clamor and race to make ready to fight. Small ports open and the dark, iron shapes of their cannons are pushed out. Fire splashes against the metal and each piece groans and creaks, blackened by the fire and battered by the force. Fire, like liquid, pours through those ports and into the belly of the ship. The screams are softer, muted. I take to the sky a moment later and the ship bursts from within. Their powder alone is dangerous. My fire alone is dangerous. Together, they are devastating. The ship splits with the explosion from within, the metal shell peeling away and two halves leaping from the ocean before settling down with a crash among the waves. The ship quickly sinks below the wave, hissing and steam as water floods into the flame filled vessel.
Something dark passes by me, quickly. A flitting flash of color. A dragon shrieks, but only for a moment. The flash is Mahz. A whirlwind of death crashing into a barely visible clutch of brass colored dragons. His claws rend through their metallic scales, his teeth deadly quick and sinking in. He tears a path through them, lit only by the barest of light that gleams off his dull, yellow scales. His sharper eyes saw them coming for us. His sharper talons have cut a path through them and they tumble away to the water, splashing and sinking out of view.
I turn my attention to one of the larger ships. I hear the shouting and the sounds of alarm. I even hear the distant, heavy sounds of wings. There are many of them here and they know that we have come. Another of the metal ships makes way, slicing a path through the water and bouncing on the waves. I spray it with fire, a furious wave of it washing over the metal plating. They plunge through the fire, followed by more wooden ships that flank it, and another of the metal clad ones close behind.
Then I sense alarm from Cassian.
I drop lower to the waves and feel the passage of talons just above my back, just glancing off my scales as I spread my wings just before we plunge into the water. The glint of gold flashes overhead.
It is as large as an Onyx, covered in shimmering gold scales that overlap in near perfect symmetry. Long, golden horns twist back from a narrow, head that is covered with sweeping spikes. Deep pools of golden light watch me, almost indifferent to what is happening. It is a thing of a beauty.
A dangerous thing.
“Fleet.” It grumbles at me, turning and beating wings to hold a position to look at us. The man astride wears golden armor and stares from beneath his gleaming helmet.
“A simple beast.” The man says the words with a dull tone, as if an observation to him. He is looking at me. Then he sneers. “And look at the thing it rides upon.”
“Bold words from the man that’s losing.”
The man in the golden armor shrugs, reaching down to pat his dragon on the neck.
“Loss? Can it be called that?” He calls out. “There are many bodies to replace the ones lost to the waves below us, to your magician’s tricks, to the violence of blade and claw. I do not mourn the chaff, it is no loss. It simply…is. And I have more chaff to sacrifice.”
“Turn your ships away, leave. Perhaps live.” Cassian says. The man shakes his head, water droplets cast away from his helmet. The ships are closer now, men scamper about to make their weapons ready.
“Your yellow beast hides nearby?” The man says, casting his gaze about the darkness around us. “And my daughter, my dear daughter, I’m sure. You seek to end this, no? There is no end. I will take this continent. I will harness what lies within it. I will have what is mine.”
“It is not yours.” I say. “It belongs to all of them.”
Our time has nearly run out. Whatever move that Mahz is making, he will have to make it soon. Cassian twitches and I know that something is coming. The gold dragon’s eyes twitch and a great many things happen at once. Mahz appears from the darkness in complete silence, shrouded in the rain that falls around us. He comes with wings extended along with his claws, ready to strike.
Liana is behind, Veyra crashes into the side of a wooden ship with his talons outstretched. He rends the wood easily and it parts under his razor sharp claws, water gushing into the pierced hull of the ship as Veyra roars and looses a furious storm of metallic gray fire across the deck of the ship. It sears the wood black in a heartbeat, scorches flesh and bone and then shreds all of those in an instant with the forceful impact.
The Gold takes to the sky, faster than I would have thought it could. It easily avoids Mahz, he lurches past and recovers from his failed strike. The Gold is already away from us and I pursue it, toward one of the larger ships. Surrounded by ships and soldiers and dragons. I still pursue it.
Veyra brings down another ship, collapsing it from the center. It explodes in a spray of wood shard and sails and screams. The two metal clad ships begin spewing smoke and fire from their cannons. Mahz dodges the clumsy projectiles easily and joins me in pursuit of the Gold. Veyra pushes off and spews fire at a metal clad ship but they remain afloat.
I land on the flat top of the large ship, feeling it pitch and move under my claws. Cassian slides down and his feet land in pooling water that splashes as he does. He draws his sword and levels it at the man in golden armor. He is calm and he is focused.
And he is angry.
“You have cost a great many people a great deal.” He shouts. The man slides off the golden dragon and draws his sword. He stands broad in his bright armor, a sword of gold in hand.
“Come then.” He says, shrugging his shoulders, taking a fighting stance. “Have at.”
Cassian charges. He is light on his feet, dancing through the raindrops and barely bothering the pooling water on the deck as he bounds forward. His sword flashes, faster than the blink of an eye and he strikes. A flurry of blows lands against the edge of the golden blade, each blow parried away with the dull clang of metal against metal. The man moves like Cassian does, almost. His feet barely lift from the deck, sliding through the water there. Cassian lifts his feet as he attacks, his blows drawing strength from his motion where this man draws his from firmness in position. They are evenly balanced in this fight.
The golden eyed dragon turns attention to me. It sits there, hunched and unbothered by this. It’s eyes flick away and I know that Mahz has come, angry and seeking blood. I drive forward, tearing pieces from the deck as I launch myself at the Gold. I clamp teeth through that metallic scaled armor and pierce it, surprising the Gold. It raises claws and tries to rake at my underside but Mahz is there, tearing and rending at it. Veyra strikes from the rear and the Gold fights the three of us, fire spraying as we each seek the upper hand in bringing down this brute. It fights coldly, not a wasted motion or thought.
Cassian’s blade rings louder and I feel his energy flagging. He breathes hard and looks for a weakness. Then he strikes hard and with abandon, but the man does not fall for the feint. Instead he turns and parries Liana’s blade. He fights both with the same unfaltering look as before. Then he whistles, without breaking stride in the fight. From below the deck pour soldiers, armed and taking positions against us. Dozens, more. We all break from our battle for a moment.
“Sister.” The Ash Lady says, tilting her head. The Wyrm King is beside. And others, others that I do not recognize. Cassian does.
“Bella. Dunkan.” He says. He does not say their names with kindess.
“Cassian Gardiner!” An enormous man says, crossing thick arms. Long dark hair is plastered back over his head by the rain. The woman is slighter and carries a bow. She has hair cut so short that the rain does little to it.
“You will clean up your mess.” The man says. “And do it now. This is all your faults, after all.”
“With pleasure.” Dunkan says, grinning ear to ear. Dragons scramble up the sides of the ships, none of the molten or wyrm but many of the Brass. A great many. The man snaps his fingers and stalks to the edge of the ship, sliding down the neck of another Gold dragon. He takes to the sky and he is gone before we can do anything but watch, surrounded as we are. The Gold he has left behind does not seem to care.
There is little love lost between these ones, I see.
Soldiers move in closer, along with the two that Cassian knows. He grips his sword more tightly. Liana does the same. Mahz, Veyra and I steel ourselves for a fight that we are not sure that we can win. It was a risk to attempt this. And we have risked much only to lose it all.
Soldiers close around us, their weapons ready.
“Hey.” Someone says from the edge of the ship. He is sopping wet and stands on nothing, there at the edge of the ship. He grins, bright teeth in the darkness. The rain begins to end and all are confused. He holds a glass orb in his hand, tossing it gently up and down. Then he throws it, underhanded and slow, at one of the soldiers.
“Catch.” He cries out.
The soldier catches the orb. Out of some sort of reflex, surely. But he does it.
It bursts in his hands and a cloud of fiery red dust consumes the deck. Soldiers begin hacking and coughing, tears streaming down their faces. An unseen wind from nowhere blows across the desk and sweeps that dust over the crew. Aldrich leaps down with blades in hand and charges ahead, laughing. He slides across the deck and begins a vicious attack.
Somewhere on the water, cannons erupt from a metal clad ship. A ship defiantly flying a flag with a Captain atop her hull, sword in hand and cursing out the other ships with brutal efficiency. Smoke obscures her a moment, then she is lifted to the deck by a scaled head, her and her crew sliding to the deck behind Aldrich.
“I want this ship, lads!” She roars, with laughter. “Captain Flint is building herself navy!”
I turn my attention to the Gold, baring my teeth and drawing fire to myself.
And I see something that I had not yet seen from it.
A flash of fear.

FIRST CHAPTER PREVIOUS CHAPTER
This product is a fanfic of the Sexy Space Babes/Between Worlds product of u/Bluefishcake and one I highly suggest you read. It was created with permission, but give the OG works some love.
Imgr gallery of Comissioned and Fan Artworks
//////////
Speed.
Surprise.
Violence of Action.
These three directions were how one survived engaging in boarding action or breaching small spaces.
Speed.
Surprise.
Violence of Action.
If you lost any one of them, the enemy gained the advantage, for the defender always had the edge.
Speed.
Surprise.
Violence of Action.
When grenades fell from silent ventilation into the gathered groups of corpses and boarding marines, the pirates had the surprise. As the flashbangs and concussive grenades detonated, they gained violence. As the sealed doors flew open and laser fire began to lance out, impacting shields and armor, they had violence of action. They moved quickly into prepared defenses, kicking aside corpses and throwing bodies over barricades to add more protection, speeding to take their places in this dance.
The pirates were leading this fight, and the Boarding Marines were pinned down.
Something had to change.
“FORM A CIRCLE AND RETURN FIRE!” Salt-1, First LT Yurath called out, dragging Private Snu’fee into the center of the boarding shield ring. “And keep those plates planted. If anyone lets a frag roll between them, I’ll kill you myself.”
It took every speck of willpower for Snu’fee to shove her helmet back and get her rifle firing, shooting at anything even as the projected laser lines began to fill her HUD. It took every bit of training to not just curl into a ball and hide. It took the sheer weight of her larger LT’s presence at her back to let her bring her rifle and begin firing.
“Three targets 12!”
“Seven at 5.”
“Watch those airlocks. Keep them down.”
“Grenade! Brace!”
“Impacts! Keep steady!”
The steady chatter of her squad kept her together, grounded.
And finally, she saw the foe. A ramshackle void suit with a patched up helmet and deep purple face. A handful of ceramic tiles pulled from industrial equipment hung across their chest like armor as a cut down civilian laser melded to a high power energy cell turned the hunting weapon into something with a punch.
The pirate special.
Others might wear full void suits, or even discount Consortium armored suits, but for the most part, pirates worked with what they had on hand and while their ships and navy would be the crème of the crop, those sent to pin down the poor bastards huddled in a circle with boarding shields would only have what they could buy.
Except for one piece of equipment.
A grenade. The pirate’s greatest weapon of terror. An oxygen-eater.
Snu’fee’s Khomother told her once that the most terrifying thing any crew could see was a spread of grenades rolling across the floor, glowing white as their chemical reaction sucked in and consumed every molecule of O2 in the room. Anyone without a helmet was doomed to choke, and those without good seals could see their masks burst or be ripped from their face due to the pressure differential.
Her team wore full helmets.
The enemy was wearing a mix of civilian helmets, masks, and the occasional full voidsuit.
Her team’s helmets had pressure treated, shock resistant, impact dispersing glass behind their sealed visual devices.
The enemy did not.
She leveled her rifle at the bright red grenade resting on the pirate’s vest and fired.
Private Snu’fee almost smiled as the pirate began to scream, and the oxygen eater began to glow white.
//////////
Aktrita Vulin gripped the controls of her old fighter as the armored panel drifted away from her hidden hangar bay. Honestly, it could barely be called that; the makeshift cradle had her old Sevesh Standard Aerospace Fighter plugged into reserve power and life support, so its very visible engines wouldn’t show on any basic scan of the area.
And so she was left to sit and wait in her coffin, waiting for the call to scramble, launch and kill.
But it wasn’t so bad, the Sevesh Standard had seats that could turn around, and since her copilot got killed in a brawl three months ago, the old cunt’s seat was now full of snacks.
Vulin rolled her head, cracking her neck, as the call to deploy came over the radio, shutting up the stupid beeping the back seat console was making.
“Yes, I know I’m close to something else; shut up!” She said with a laugh.
It was just a single Interceptor and a shuttle, how hard could it be?
The last thing to go through her mind was a standard issue ‘cockpit seeker’ micro missile.
//////////
With the sound of shattering glass, the pirate assault was broken.
The lesser equipped pirates began to choke as oxygen left the room, the pressure differential ripping half face masks from their lips and popping open any weak point in visors.
As the unlucky pirate with a string of oxygen eaters burning away at their chest screamed, the Patrol Naval Infantry swiftly took initiative back.
“All forces,” First Lieutenant Yurath called out, “prepare to move. We are falling back to the gunship to regroup.”
“LT, what about any survivors?” Private Snu’fee asked the Rakiri.
1st LT Yurath casually headshot a pirate pulling the pin from a grenade, letting the woman fall back into the panicking crowd of her scumbag compatriots as the senior officer’s soldiers sent out killing bolts in perfect volleys. “We can’t help them if we’re pinned down for anyone who has a recoilless. All forces, fall back on my mark.”
There was a pause as everyone reloaded and readied flash grenades.
“Mark.”
//////////
“Where the hell are they? I thought we were just fighting a gunship! Did we get bounced by stealth Interceptors?” Pilot Nephra Cadish screamed at her RIO. The backseater was turning around in her ball turret, searching every which way for the slightest hint of what was hunting them in the dark.
The moment the doors dropped, the entire side lit up with explosions, like someone had been waiting for them to appear and give them a target. “I’m not seeing anything. Scanners are fucked and this-” she bashed the console with a hand- “Goddess damned equipment isn’t doing anything to stop it! I thought Interceptor ECM was a joke!” RIO Krukis’ada screamed back.
“It is! It should be!” Cadish swore, spiralling around, trying to see where the fire was coming from before there was a meaty smack and a blue smear appeared on the wing.
It was a body.
Goddess, it was a body.
A large dish drifted in the cloud of debris, showing what remained of their AWACS and E-War support.
“Goddess,” Cadish prayed, “please don’t let me die here.”
Krukis’ada screamed and let loose a burst of laser fire at a flash of something she saw.
“There! There! Bring me around, I think I see it!”
“What? What do you see?”
“Wings! Grey Wings!”
For a split second, Cadish saw them too.
But, unfortunately, the Grey Winged Hunter was staring back.
And its laser cannon had them dead in its sights.
//////////
They fell back in solid order, Snu’fee opening doors and leading the way back to their shuttle as her companions lay down fire on any pirate scum who poked their heads out to be shot.
Luckily, after that trick with the grenade, it seemed like most of the assorted scum was willing to sit back and barely poke their heads out. Probably helped that the group was retreating.
“Almost to the airlock,” Snu’fee reported. “Gunship is still there. She says we’ve got time to pick up the floater before we disengage and begin maneuvers.”
“Good,” Yurath replied. “At least we’ll save one person from this Huntress forsaken mess.”
//////////
When the explosions went off, and everyone began screaming, it took everything in Shuttle Pilot M’liona’s considerable mental fortitude to not choke.
Mostly because she was halfway through swallowing a bite of protein bar she had found stashed between her rumble seat and the center console.
Could you blame her? Her meals kept getting interrupted.
M’liona pulled her oxygen mask back into place, throwing her barely eaten protein bar into the center console. “LT Yurath, what’s going on?”
“Ambush!” the Rakiri reported. “Are you secure?”
A quick glance back to console screen showed the remaining pod of Marines throwing her a thumbs up from behind their heavy, mounted cannon had her feeling at least slightly relieved. “Yep, we’re secure. They aren’t trying to push us for now and if they do, well, the ol’ repeater‘ll put ‘em down.”
“Use proper comms discipline,” Yurath chided the pilot. “Hold for further instructions.”
“Alrightyroo Lieutenitoo!" M’liona replied, glancing longingly at the protein bar.
The silence over her radio sounded of victory.
She waited longer, anticipating the call, listening in on the naval infantry circle up and fighting well, fighting hard.
“Shuttle. We are returning, prepare to receive us and lift off. We will be rescuing the floater as well.”
“Shuttle to Salt-Actual, I confirm. We have time for the floater,” M’liona replied. There was time for snark, and relaying orders was not the time.
Probably also wasn’t the time to snark during an ambush, but the Shuttle Pilot had an image to uphold.
A quick jiggle of the sticks showed all thrusters warmed and ready to go. She could decompress and disengage with the station at a moment’s notice, the gravity drives were spooled up and weapons were ready.
It was at that point an alert began to ping on Shuttle Pilot M’liona’s sensor console.
//////////
Ex-Flight Lieutenant Sentash dove through the void, angling her old model Interceptor towards their captured space station. The dishonorably discharged pilot could hardly care that the rest of the scum with her was dying; she had a mission. And that mission involved making sure the crew in that pathetic gunship never left the station.
It made sense their client would entrust the task of silencing witnesses to her. After all, they were the ones who saved her from the noose.
Honestly, the male was asking for it, dressed like that. What was the harm in having a little fun?
She climbed and twisted through the interlacing superstructure of the station, dancing between struts and sliding underneath rotating segments. And then she saw it.
The gunship.
Gunship pilots were always disgusting to Ex-Flight Lieutenant Sentash. All the swagger and bravado of a proper pilot with none of the skills.
Her computer reported a partial lock; now she just needed to clear this Deep Damned station to get a clear shot at the solar sucking shuttle, and she could get back to the reexfight blossoming behind her.
There was obviously some advanced kit in the fray, dashing in and out of contact like that, and there was no way in the deep Ex-Flight Lieutennant Sentash was going to miss a fracas like that. The chance to score a kill against what was obviously a wing of elites?
It was time to show the stuck up prats why they shouldn’t dismiss a True daughter of the Imperium.
“Just a bit longer. I get to kill the stuck up dirtreex and then I can get back to the fun. Things I do for the Empress," Sentash muttered, idly bringing a hand up her forehead performing the gesture of woe. Never know when the Divine Empress was watching and she wasn’t going to be found lacking.
Her computer blared a lock right as she crested over a habitation tube and the old, trusty Interceptor brough it’s cannon to bear on the helpless shuttle.
There was a single problem.
It wasn’t Sentash’s cannon the system was screaming ‘lock’ about.
//////////
Cookie idly pulled the trigger on his stick in the middle of a spin as the powerful computer Milk tasked to guide his gun whispered ‘fire’ in a smooth, male voice.
A shouted warning from his backseater about someone trying to flank their gunship had him throw the Interceptor into a sharp patch, flinging it nearly 180 degrees to face behind as the Bostonian in the back ensured good lock. Then, with casual ease, the pair made ace.
“That’s four,” Milk reported. “Sixteen to go.”
Cookie finished the incredibly tight loop, letting his helmet roll, relieving some of the stress that had built up from the high g maneuver.
“Say it. You know you want to,” Milk said from the back, letting a single moment of levity bleed through the stress.
Cookie breathed in and glanced at the tactical map displayed on the console.
16 against 1.
“Time to dive into the fireworks,” The veteran pilot spoke with a savage glee.
Those poor bastards.
//////////
So! Two in a month! Or is it one in a month since the last one was delayed… Eh, doesn’t matter.
Next chapter is going to be fully Dogfighting goodness, no more edging. I can’t wait.
Comments, corrections and theories are always welcomed, interaction drives my motivation!
Have a wonderful day and I will see y’all later.
[NEXT CHAPTER]

FIRST CHAPTER PREVIOUS CHAPTER
This product is a fanfic of the Sexy Space Babes/Between Worlds product of u/Bluefishcake and one I highly suggest you read. It was created with permission, but give the OG works some love.
Imgr gallery of Comissioned and Fan Artworks
//////////
Speed.
Surprise.
Violence of Action.
These three directions were how one survived engaging in boarding action or breaching small spaces.
Speed.
Surprise.
Violence of Action.
If you lost any one of them, the enemy gained the advantage, for the defender always had the edge.
Speed.
Surprise.
Violence of Action.
When grenades fell from silent ventilation into the gathered groups of corpses and boarding marines, the pirates had the surprise. As the flashbangs and concussive grenades detonated, they gained violence. As the sealed doors flew open and laser fire began to lance out, impacting shields and armor, they had violence of action. They moved quickly into prepared defenses, kicking aside corpses and throwing bodies over barricades to add more protection, speeding to take their places in this dance.
The pirates were leading this fight, and the Boarding Marines were pinned down.
Something had to change.
“FORM A CIRCLE AND RETURN FIRE!” Salt-1, First LT Yurath called out, dragging Private Snu’fee into the center of the boarding shield ring. “And keep those plates planted. If anyone lets a frag roll between them, I’ll kill you myself.”
It took every speck of willpower for Snu’fee to shove her helmet back and get her rifle firing, shooting at anything even as the projected laser lines began to fill her HUD. It took every bit of training to not just curl into a ball and hide. It took the sheer weight of her larger LT’s presence at her back to let her bring her rifle and begin firing.
“Three targets 12!”
“Seven at 5.”
“Watch those airlocks. Keep them down.”
“Grenade! Brace!”
“Impacts! Keep steady!”
The steady chatter of her squad kept her together, grounded.
And finally, she saw the foe. A ramshackle void suit with a patched up helmet and deep purple face. A handful of ceramic tiles pulled from industrial equipment hung across their chest like armor as a cut down civilian laser melded to a high power energy cell turned the hunting weapon into something with a punch.
The pirate special.
Others might wear full void suits, or even discount Consortium armored suits, but for the most part, pirates worked with what they had on hand and while their ships and navy would be the crème of the crop, those sent to pin down the poor bastards huddled in a circle with boarding shields would only have what they could buy.
Except for one piece of equipment.
A grenade. The pirate’s greatest weapon of terror. An oxygen-eater.
Snu’fee’s Khomother told her once that the most terrifying thing any crew could see was a spread of grenades rolling across the floor, glowing white as their chemical reaction sucked in and consumed every molecule of O2 in the room. Anyone without a helmet was doomed to choke, and those without good seals could see their masks burst or be ripped from their face due to the pressure differential.
Her team wore full helmets.
The enemy was wearing a mix of civilian helmets, masks, and the occasional full voidsuit.
Her team’s helmets had pressure treated, shock resistant, impact dispersing glass behind their sealed visual devices.
The enemy did not.
She leveled her rifle at the bright red grenade resting on the pirate’s vest and fired.
Private Snu’fee almost smiled as the pirate began to scream, and the oxygen eater began to glow white.
//////////
Aktrita Vulin gripped the controls of her old fighter as the armored panel drifted away from her hidden hangar bay. Honestly, it could barely be called that; the makeshift cradle had her old Sevesh Standard Aerospace Fighter plugged into reserve power and life support, so its very visible engines wouldn’t show on any basic scan of the area.
And so she was left to sit and wait in her coffin, waiting for the call to scramble, launch and kill.
But it wasn’t so bad, the Sevesh Standard had seats that could turn around, and since her copilot got killed in a brawl three months ago, the old cunt’s seat was now full of snacks.
Vulin rolled her head, cracking her neck, as the call to deploy came over the radio, shutting up the stupid beeping the back seat console was making.
“Yes, I know I’m close to something else; shut up!” She said with a laugh.
It was just a single Interceptor and a shuttle, how hard could it be?
The last thing to go through her mind was a standard issue ‘cockpit seeker’ micro missile.
//////////
With the sound of shattering glass, the pirate assault was broken.
The lesser equipped pirates began to choke as oxygen left the room, the pressure differential ripping half face masks from their lips and popping open any weak point in visors.
As the unlucky pirate with a string of oxygen eaters burning away at their chest screamed, the Patrol Naval Infantry swiftly took initiative back.
“All forces,” First Lieutenant Yurath called out, “prepare to move. We are falling back to the gunship to regroup.”
“LT, what about any survivors?” Private Snu’fee asked the Rakiri.
1st LT Yurath casually headshot a pirate pulling the pin from a grenade, letting the woman fall back into the panicking crowd of her scumbag compatriots as the senior officer’s soldiers sent out killing bolts in perfect volleys. “We can’t help them if we’re pinned down for anyone who has a recoilless. All forces, fall back on my mark.”
There was a pause as everyone reloaded and readied flash grenades.
“Mark.”
//////////
“Where the hell are they? I thought we were just fighting a gunship! Did we get bounced by stealth Interceptors?” Pilot Nephra Cadish screamed at her RIO. The backseater was turning around in her ball turret, searching every which way for the slightest hint of what was hunting them in the dark.
The moment the doors dropped, the entire side lit up with explosions, like someone had been waiting for them to appear and give them a target. “I’m not seeing anything. Scanners are fucked and this-” she bashed the console with a hand- “Goddess damned equipment isn’t doing anything to stop it! I thought Interceptor ECM was a joke!” RIO Krukis’ada screamed back.
“It is! It should be!” Cadish swore, spiralling around, trying to see where the fire was coming from before there was a meaty smack and a blue smear appeared on the wing.
It was a body.
Goddess, it was a body.
A large dish drifted in the cloud of debris, showing what remained of their AWACS and E-War support.
“Goddess,” Cadish prayed, “please don’t let me die here.”
Krukis’ada screamed and let loose a burst of laser fire at a flash of something she saw.
“There! There! Bring me around, I think I see it!”
“What? What do you see?”
“Wings! Grey Wings!”
For a split second, Cadish saw them too.
But, unfortunately, the Grey Winged Hunter was staring back.
And its laser cannon had them dead in its sights.
//////////
They fell back in solid order, Snu’fee opening doors and leading the way back to their shuttle as her companions lay down fire on any pirate scum who poked their heads out to be shot.
Luckily, after that trick with the grenade, it seemed like most of the assorted scum was willing to sit back and barely poke their heads out. Probably helped that the group was retreating.
“Almost to the airlock,” Snu’fee reported. “Gunship is still there. She says we’ve got time to pick up the floater before we disengage and begin maneuvers.”
“Good,” Yurath replied. “At least we’ll save one person from this Huntress forsaken mess.”
//////////
When the explosions went off, and everyone began screaming, it took everything in Shuttle Pilot M’liona’s considerable mental fortitude to not choke.
Mostly because she was halfway through swallowing a bite of protein bar she had found stashed between her rumble seat and the center console.
Could you blame her? Her meals kept getting interrupted.
M’liona pulled her oxygen mask back into place, throwing her barely eaten protein bar into the center console. “LT Yurath, what’s going on?”
“Ambush!” the Rakiri reported. “Are you secure?”
A quick glance back to console screen showed the remaining pod of Marines throwing her a thumbs up from behind their heavy, mounted cannon had her feeling at least slightly relieved. “Yep, we’re secure. They aren’t trying to push us for now and if they do, well, the ol’ repeater‘ll put ‘em down.”
“Use proper comms discipline,” Yurath chided the pilot. “Hold for further instructions.”
“Alrightyroo Lieutenitoo!" M’liona replied, glancing longingly at the protein bar.
The silence over her radio sounded of victory.
She waited longer, anticipating the call, listening in on the naval infantry circle up and fighting well, fighting hard.
“Shuttle. We are returning, prepare to receive us and lift off. We will be rescuing the floater as well.”
“Shuttle to Salt-Actual, I confirm. We have time for the floater,” M’liona replied. There was time for snark, and relaying orders was not the time.
Probably also wasn’t the time to snark during an ambush, but the Shuttle Pilot had an image to uphold.
A quick jiggle of the sticks showed all thrusters warmed and ready to go. She could decompress and disengage with the station at a moment’s notice, the gravity drives were spooled up and weapons were ready.
It was at that point an alert began to ping on Shuttle Pilot M’liona’s sensor console.
//////////
Ex-Flight Lieutenant Sentash dove through the void, angling her old model Interceptor towards their captured space station. The dishonorably discharged pilot could hardly care that the rest of the scum with her was dying; she had a mission. And that mission involved making sure the crew in that pathetic gunship never left the station.
It made sense their client would entrust the task of silencing witnesses to her. After all, they were the ones who saved her from the noose.
Honestly, the male was asking for it, dressed like that. What was the harm in having a little fun?
She climbed and twisted through the interlacing superstructure of the station, dancing between struts and sliding underneath rotating segments. And then she saw it.
The gunship.
Gunship pilots were always disgusting to Ex-Flight Lieutenant Sentash. All the swagger and bravado of a proper pilot with none of the skills.
Her computer reported a partial lock; now she just needed to clear this Deep Damned station to get a clear shot at the solar sucking shuttle, and she could get back to the reexfight blossoming behind her.
There was obviously some advanced kit in the fray, dashing in and out of contact like that, and there was no way in the deep Ex-Flight Lieutennant Sentash was going to miss a fracas like that. The chance to score a kill against what was obviously a wing of elites?
It was time to show the stuck up prats why they shouldn’t dismiss a True daughter of the Imperium.
“Just a bit longer. I get to kill the stuck up dirtreex and then I can get back to the fun. Things I do for the Empress," Sentash muttered, idly bringing a hand up her forehead performing the gesture of woe. Never know when the Divine Empress was watching and she wasn’t going to be found lacking.
Her computer blared a lock right as she crested over a habitation tube and the old, trusty Interceptor brough it’s cannon to bear on the helpless shuttle.
There was a single problem.
It wasn’t Sentash’s cannon the system was screaming ‘lock’ about.
//////////
Cookie idly pulled the trigger on his stick in the middle of a spin as the powerful computer Milk tasked to guide his gun whispered ‘fire’ in a smooth, male voice.
A shouted warning from his backseater about someone trying to flank their gunship had him throw the Interceptor into a sharp patch, flinging it nearly 180 degrees to face behind as the Bostonian in the back ensured good lock. Then, with casual ease, the pair made ace.
“That’s four,” Milk reported. “Sixteen to go.”
Cookie finished the incredibly tight loop, letting his helmet roll, relieving some of the stress that had built up from the high g maneuver.
“Say it. You know you want to,” Milk said from the back, letting a single moment of levity bleed through the stress.
Cookie breathed in and glanced at the tactical map displayed on the console.
16 against 1.
“Time to dive into the fireworks,” The veteran pilot spoke with a savage glee.
Those poor bastards.
//////////
So! Two in a month! Or is it one in a month since the last one was delayed… Eh, doesn’t matter.
Next chapter is going to be fully Dogfighting goodness, no more edging. I can’t wait.
Comments, corrections and theories are always welcomed, interaction drives my motivation!
Have a wonderful day and I will see y’all later.
[NEXT CHAPTER]