was still clinging to life by a thread. His neck hadn't been crushed, instead, he'd received a punch through the stomach. A massive hole had been opened in the man's midsection, through which the sticky purple tendrils of intestines and blood slowly oozed.
“Have to-stop him-” he managed, gasping.
“Do you have armor-piercers here?” Allan asked.
The man hesitated, then shook his head. Then he died. Allan ripped the rifle from his death grip anyway and hurried on.
“Let's fucking move it!” he called, racing down the corridor, jumping lightly over any corpses he encountered.
Allan came to the end of the corridor and moved through the ruined doors at the end of it, entering an even larger corridor. The walls were lined with massive cargo bay doors, half of them open. No doubt the corridor saw a lot of through traffic in the way of forklifts and anti-grav cargo shifters, but for now it had been turned into a slaughter house. Another dozen security personnel and technicians lay dead and broken on the ground.
The fighting had died away now. Allan looked around furiously, rushing forward and peering through the nearest open bay door. Beyond it was the immense, open space of a hangar, complete with all the usual suspects like toolkits, cargo crates and vehicles. Opposite the first door was another, also open, this was giving a view out onto a sun-drenched landing pad beyond. Something like dark hope surged in Allan's chest as he spied movement on the landing pad. He began rushing through the hangar, towards the exterior.
The killer was ahead, though he was only visible for a moment. The hulking figure had just finished ascending the back ramp of a cargo freighter occupying the landing pad and had disappeared into the darkness of the rear bay.
“There he is!” Allan screamed, scrambling forward.
He could hear the others behind him. Johnson was saying something, and so was Redford, but he ignored them both, his boots pounding the landing pad, the quality of that sound changing to a dull metallic thud as he hit the back ramp of the vessel. Allan raced up it and came into the bay, which was cavernous and empty save for a few vehicles secured at the far end.. He turned around briefly and spied the others.
“What are we doing ?!” Johnson cried.
Before Allan could answer, the engines began coming to life. Allan moved over to a control panel beside the rear cargo ramp and hit a button. It began to fold closed.
“We're going after him,” he replied firmly, then turned and began walking deeper into the bay.
“This is insane!” Johnson cried.
Allan ignored him, stumbling slightly as the engines finished activating and the ship rose swiftly into the air. He kept going, fighting against gravity, until he had reached the door at the front of the bay. He opened it and found himself in a long corridor. It stretched away from him, cast in dim lighting. There were doors along the left and right hand sides of the hallway, but he ignored them. The single door at the opposite end beckoned to him.
The bridge.
He began stalking the length of the corridor, weapon at ready. Already, something like a plan was forming in his mind. He reached the door to the bridge and stopped, heart racing, adrenaline pumping. The others crowded in behind him.
“What are we doing!?” Johnson whispered furiously.
“Taking this ship down,” Allan replied. “I'm going to head in there. We send the ship into a nosedive, then get to the crash room, it's right there,” he pointed to one of the doors that led to a room meant to serve as protection if the ship was going down if the escape pods couldn't be reached, “and ride it out.”
“He already survived a crash!” Johnson snapped.
“It's our only means right now! We're here on this ship and we have to, at the very least, slow him down,” Allan replied. Johnson opened his mouth to reply but Allan cut him off. “No, listen, I'm bringing this ship down and that's final. Go wait in the
“Have to-stop him-” he managed, gasping.
“Do you have armor-piercers here?” Allan asked.
The man hesitated, then shook his head. Then he died. Allan ripped the rifle from his death grip anyway and hurried on.
“Let's fucking move it!” he called, racing down the corridor, jumping lightly over any corpses he encountered.
Allan came to the end of the corridor and moved through the ruined doors at the end of it, entering an even larger corridor. The walls were lined with massive cargo bay doors, half of them open. No doubt the corridor saw a lot of through traffic in the way of forklifts and anti-grav cargo shifters, but for now it had been turned into a slaughter house. Another dozen security personnel and technicians lay dead and broken on the ground.
The fighting had died away now. Allan looked around furiously, rushing forward and peering through the nearest open bay door. Beyond it was the immense, open space of a hangar, complete with all the usual suspects like toolkits, cargo crates and vehicles. Opposite the first door was another, also open, this was giving a view out onto a sun-drenched landing pad beyond. Something like dark hope surged in Allan's chest as he spied movement on the landing pad. He began rushing through the hangar, towards the exterior.
The killer was ahead, though he was only visible for a moment. The hulking figure had just finished ascending the back ramp of a cargo freighter occupying the landing pad and had disappeared into the darkness of the rear bay.
“There he is!” Allan screamed, scrambling forward.
He could hear the others behind him. Johnson was saying something, and so was Redford, but he ignored them both, his boots pounding the landing pad, the quality of that sound changing to a dull metallic thud as he hit the back ramp of the vessel. Allan raced up it and came into the bay, which was cavernous and empty save for a few vehicles secured at the far end.. He turned around briefly and spied the others.
“What are we doing ?!” Johnson cried.
Before Allan could answer, the engines began coming to life. Allan moved over to a control panel beside the rear cargo ramp and hit a button. It began to fold closed.
“We're going after him,” he replied firmly, then turned and began walking deeper into the bay.
“This is insane!” Johnson cried.
Allan ignored him, stumbling slightly as the engines finished activating and the ship rose swiftly into the air. He kept going, fighting against gravity, until he had reached the door at the front of the bay. He opened it and found himself in a long corridor. It stretched away from him, cast in dim lighting. There were doors along the left and right hand sides of the hallway, but he ignored them. The single door at the opposite end beckoned to him.
The bridge.
He began stalking the length of the corridor, weapon at ready. Already, something like a plan was forming in his mind. He reached the door to the bridge and stopped, heart racing, adrenaline pumping. The others crowded in behind him.
“What are we doing!?” Johnson whispered furiously.
“Taking this ship down,” Allan replied. “I'm going to head in there. We send the ship into a nosedive, then get to the crash room, it's right there,” he pointed to one of the doors that led to a room meant to serve as protection if the ship was going down if the escape pods couldn't be reached, “and ride it out.”
“He already survived a crash!” Johnson snapped.
“It's our only means right now! We're here on this ship and we have to, at the very least, slow him down,” Allan replied. Johnson opened his mouth to reply but Allan cut him off. “No, listen, I'm bringing this ship down and that's final. Go wait in the
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