No wonder the sky is black -- the plains are burning. Something, could have been anything, caught the tinder-dry grass, and God only knows when the conflagration will stop. Duo rises as high as possible into the smoke, riding on the infernal heat waves as much as he can as he scrambles to avoid the fire that still pours after him.
Half an hour later he had lost his pursuers, for now at least. Climbing into a slightly rockier area, the fire at last thinned out, leaving the landscape beneath empty. The rendezvous point was nearby. Deathscythe's engines stuttered, threatening to cut out entirely, and Duo wiped a shaking, sooty hand across his face as he realized what he would have to do. There was a lake nearby -- Deathscythe would crash there, and wait for him to return. Oz would never find it. The meeting point, the end of his mission, was close. Carefully, coaxing as much response as he could from Deathscythe's overtaxed navigation system, Duo brought the suit as low as he could without crashing through the treetops. With shaking hands he undid the harness, tearing and ripping at the places where the fabric had fused to his clothes. Free, he checked one last time -- that Deathscythe would remember this one last command if nothing else -- opened the hatch, and jumped. He landed, and rolled down a steep embankment, and blacked out. Deathscythe screamed overhead, streaking like a missile to its ultimate target. It hit the lake in one final explosion of steam, and vanished. Slowly. Slowly, the steam collected and settled into fog, creeping onto the shore and into the trees. Presently a carrier craft passed overhead, slowly searching for something. All unconcerned, the world went on.
Re: Disgustipated
Date: 2006-02-21 06:28 am (UTC)Half an hour later he had lost his pursuers, for now at least. Climbing into a slightly rockier area, the fire at last thinned out, leaving the landscape beneath empty. The rendezvous point was nearby.
Deathscythe's engines stuttered, threatening to cut out entirely, and Duo wiped a shaking, sooty hand across his face as he realized what he would have to do. There was a lake nearby -- Deathscythe would crash there, and wait for him to return. Oz would never find it.
The meeting point, the end of his mission, was close. Carefully, coaxing as much response as he could from Deathscythe's overtaxed navigation system, Duo brought the suit as low as he could without crashing through the treetops. With shaking hands he undid the harness, tearing and ripping at the places where the fabric had fused to his clothes. Free, he checked one last time -- that Deathscythe would remember this one last command if nothing else -- opened the hatch, and jumped.
He landed, and rolled down a steep embankment, and blacked out. Deathscythe screamed overhead, streaking like a missile to its ultimate target. It hit the lake in one final explosion of steam, and vanished.
Slowly. Slowly, the steam collected and settled into fog, creeping onto the shore and into the trees. Presently a carrier craft passed overhead, slowly searching for something.
All unconcerned, the world went on.