Con Air: In Space

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Spectre of the Fade, Jul 24, 2015.

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  1. A science fiction roleplay centering around a mercenary captain, a ship engineer, and the various trouble they get into. Elements and races from multiple science fiction universes will be used.

    Players: @Spectre of the Fade @King

    The icon image source is here.

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    Name: Angel Cove
    "Yeah, I know my name sounds like a fuckin' holiday resort."
    Age: 32
    Gender: Male
    Sexuality: Bisexual
    Marital Status: Single
    Species: Human
    Occupation: Chief Engineer

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    Height: 6ft
    Hair Colour: [/B]Black
    Eye Colour: [/B]Deep Brown
    Description: Angel is a tall, slim male. He is short of lanky, with broad shoulders. His hair is usually a gel-like mess, which he doesn't really care about. Most of the time, he's covered in oil or soot, whatever part of the ship he's been working in.
    He has a pair of glasses, which he always wears, and is usually in tank tops, flannels and jeans.
    "Do you think I have time to care about what I look like? Hint - The answer is no."

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    Personality:
    || Hard-Working || Sarcastic || Calm || Stoic || Humorless ||

    Likes:
    Engineering
    Hot Drinks
    Deep conversation
    Peace

    Dislikes:
    Being told what to do
    Not getting his way
    The cold
    Motion

    History:
    Angel was born on deck to the captain and his wife. Ever since he was born, he had been pretty privileged, his parents always got the good stuff, so he did too. It wasn't until he was a young teen, when his father died of a heart attack he was introduced to the ground. He made friends and began education, this is where his privilege wore off. Most of his friends were signing up for the military, Angel protested. As a compromise, Angel agreed to become a junior engineer for a prison ship for criminals. He wasn't exactly excited to work with criminals, but he soon accepted it.
    He floated around different prison ships, but settled on his original one and began working his way up the career chain. Now, he works as the chief engineer, his job working on keeping the ship afloat in space.

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    "No, I don't eat food like an ordinary human. I am obviously a parasitic organism that survives on spite and the blood on my enemies. Do you have another stupid fucking question?"

    Name: Malcolm Cillian Hayes
    DoB: December 25th
    Eye color: gray-blue
    Hair color: red
    Height: six feet, two inches
    Alignment: True Neutral
    Sexuality: Gay

    Basic Description: Malcolm cuts an intimidating figure, between his default scowl and glare combination expression, his height, the muscle he maintains, and the cool confidence he wears like a jacket. He walks, moves, sits with excellent posture, chin tilted just a little bit up as if to look down his nose at other people. A genuine smile or laugh from him is a rare thing, and he always lifts a hand to cover his mouth when around other people.
    Tattoos: none
    Scars: Quite a few dot the parts of his body that are still covered in skin, the majority from various fights over the years
    Modifications: His right arm from the elbow down was voluntarily replaced by an engineering attachment; the majority of his left leg was replaced by an artificial limb; his right eye is entirely robotic and features and alternate mode of sight that allows him to perceive magnetic or electric fields, but it's moderately painful and quite expensive power-wise

    Basic Personality: Stubborn, Loyal, Dedicated, Thoughtful, Self-possessed, Spiritual, Suspicious, Blunt, Argumentative, Complicated, Opportunistic, Difficult
    Weaknesses/fears: Loyal to a fault, “reasonably afraid” of everything from heights to snakes, has an extreme love for sweets and soft sweaters

    Backstory: Malcolm was born in the slums of one the great city-worlds. He was the middle child, in between two sisters, but the younger one was far more attached to their parent than he was and the older one (whom he was actually close to) died of a drug overdose when he was twelve. John, a friend he'd made when he was very young and was somewhat in love with, coerced Malcolm into joining the military with him, both of them signing up for the Engineering Corps. They were split up after training, Malcolm ended up in a sole survivor situation and losing one of his legs. He bounced around a few criminal groups for a number of years before starting his own enterprise and has been working on building his reputation, influence, and wealth since. He is still considered officially dead in the system he left.​

    Click. Click. Click.

    The sound of a metal joint catching against itself was the loudest sound in the cell, the only other ones being the soft hum of the barrier set up around the only occupied bed in the room and a buzzing coming from an important-looking panel on the back wall. The inmate that was occupying the bed was currently sitting on it, behind the electrically charged barrier, making no other noise but the clicking of a faulty joint in his robotic hand.

    The hand was a piece of shit, of course. It was a mass-produced model that some factory popped out a decade ago, at the very least. It was rusty. It had no less than three faulty joints. It had a one point three second command delay, for fuck's sake. His leg was of the same shoddy make and had similar problems, with a smaller but no less irritating delay. And the most frustrating part about the damn situation was that Malcolm knew how to fix both the joints and the delays, but he lacked his tools. His arm, his actual arm, the custom engineering attachment he'd spent a wince-worthy amount upgrading, and his leg, also expensive and custom and upgraded but not to the same extent, were somewhere in the lockup for prisoner belongings. The only reason he'd been allowed to keep his eye was because removing it would damage him permanently, therefore lessening his value.

    Prison was inconvenient. Why oh why had he insisted on doing this job himself?

    Oh, yes. A wealthy contact, a foothold in a new system, and a tidy sum of credits.

    Malcolm scowled darkly at the thin, silver fingers of his right hand as he considered his situation, intentionally bending his middle finger to make the joint click once again. It was far, far too late to back out now. He had a window of two more weeks to kill the target and get out, or his second in command was to assume him lost and take the ship and leave. Being abandoned in a tiny, orderly version of the hell he'd grown up in was not the way he was going to go out.

    Lifting his eyes from his robotic hand, Malcolm looked over the field he'd been effectively trapped in. It'd been set up maybe an hour before, likely relating to the repair of whatever was fucking up in that panel in the wall of his cell. Wouldn't want him doing some manner of violence upon whatever unlucky engineer was made to fix it, after all. A scandal like that would be bad for business. The fact he had an important electrical panel in his cell was a good thing to know, however.

    Hearing a couple sets of footsteps coming down the hall outside his cell, he stood up and paced in the small area between his bed and the barrier, chewing on the thumbnail of his left and wholly human hand, face directed at the ground. Playing crazy was a simple enough disguise, after all. What guard was going to consider the crazy redhead mumbling about evidence a real threat?
     
    #1 Spectre of the Fade, Jul 24, 2015
    Last edited: Oct 24, 2015
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    "No, no. Look, where are all the probies? I've got work-" Angel spoke through the com, trying to convince the Prison Manager that it wasn't his job to fix small things like panels or cells. "What? Training?" Angel rolled his eyes, thankful he hadn't put the hologram on. Why did this keep happening? Angel was up to his eyes in technical work for hiring the new engineers, and now they were too busy training to actually do the job they got paid for? "Okay, fine. I'm going over now." Angel puffed out his cheeks, not wanting to act like a spoilt brat again.

    Angel fixed his gelled hair loosely, sticking more soot into his hair. His hands and face were covered in black oil, soot sticking to the greasy substance. It stained his white tank top and flannel. Angel fixed his glasses, carrying his toolbox with him to the cell. Apparently it held an ex-soldier and current criminal. A big deal. Angel had spent all of his time with criminals and never really was intimidated anymore. But he still prepared for violent, crazy and scary.

    "Ahola, just the tech-man here to fix your home." Angel raised his eyebrows and nodded as a greeting, noting the tall male. He was twice as buff as Angel, and looked like he could stomp him out in one. But, when the man didn't seem to have much sense left inside of him, Angel let go of his breath. Another one who had lost his mind on the way then. "Don't mind me." Angel gave him a half-friendly smile, an usual thing he gave. But since he thought it couldn't be taken the wrong way, Angel knelt down, flicking off the current to de-electrify the fence before twiddling with various tools on the fuse.
     
  3. Malcolm stopped dead when Angel entered the cell, his sharp, gunmetal blue eyes scrutinizing the engineer and left hand scratching through the messy red beard growth on his neck. He'd started growing out facial hair before he'd entered this prison, on the off chance there was someone in here who might recognize who he really is, and it had only lengthened since. After those several weeks without trimming, it mostly just looked nappy. He hated its unkemptness nearly as much as he hated the faulty joints in his hand.

    The engineer himself wasn't wearing a uniform and wasn't awkward at all in his repair of the faulty panel, so Malcolm deemed it safe to assume he was either important, knowledgeable about the ship, or both. A bit taller than average. Thin. Didn't look like much of a fighter, but this was a prison ship and all of the staff were potentially dangerous. Definitely dirty. Who wore white while working on a fucking spacecraft? As for the flannel, he wasn't even going to bother wasting the time necessary to think of all the reasons that was wrong. He was in no position to give his arguments, making it a pointless exercise.

    Once he'd stared at Angel for what he deemed a long enough time, Malcolm snorted softly and sat back down on his cot, going right back to clicking the faulty joint in his robotic hand but keeping what the engineer was doing in his peripheral vision. Could be important to his escape, after all.
     
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    The bars were fixed again, Angel had to make sure the current wouldn't cut out the rest of the cells electricity. He knelt there, frowning in concentration as he played with tiny wires. Even though he never specialized, Angel was always good with micro-engineering, so little wires and screws were easy for him to fix. Angel had a delicate hand.

    "Ah, there we go." He muttered to himself as he fixed in a new fuse, successfully not fucking the entire cell block up. He stood up and stretched before looking up at the panel, "I just gotta fix that then I'll leave you be." Angel said, knowing most captives didn't enjoy the company of staff. He picked up a screwdriver and undid the panel, pulling off the sheet of metal to reveal more wires. Angel placed it leaning against the wall before frowning at the wires, noticing the kink in the red one. That was what they were complaining about? Faulty tech? He rolled his eyes as he fiddled with it again, trying to rewire the red.

    It took him a good ten minutes to rewire the entire panel, but he finally did it. Angel let out a sigh of relief when he had finished, stretching out his arms. Quickly, he put the metal back over the wires and collected his tools back, making sure he didn't leave any in the cell. Even though the man in with him didn't act like he could use it, he didn't want to leave a tool lying about. Once they were all safely in his red box, Angel stood to leave, before noticing the robotic hand the man had. He could hear a faulty click. "Hey, is that still workin' for you?" Angel asked.
     
  5. Ten minutes was a decent time for rewiring an entire panel, Malcolm observed, still watching Angel out of the corner of his eyes. The man seemed skilled. Didn't even make a mistake, as far as he could see, but he'd have to actually investigate the work in order to be certain. Maybe he'd do that once the engineer was gone. It couldn't hurt to know the ship's electrical systems a little better, after all.

    He'd stayed quiet all through the repair process and the clean up, with the exception of the repetitive, nearly annoying clicking of the faulty joint in his middle finger. The other man's question took him by surprise, and he frowned automatically. This guy wasn't trying to be nice, was he? Malcolm didn't trust nice. In general, really, because nice was a facade according to his experience, but especially in a situation like this. Still, if the guy fucked the joint up, he'd get a replacement, and if he did manage to fix the fault, that was one less irritating thing Malcolm had to deal with. He stared blankly at Angel while he contemplated, it quickly becoming apparent that his right eye wasn't natural. It was roughly the same stormy blue as his left, but the color was flatter and the white of it was a synthetic, uniform color.

    "It clicks," he supplied almost twenty seconds after the question was asked, bending the finger to make it click once again, as if in demonstration. He didn't speak very loudly, and his voice was unsurprisingly low in pitch, given his build. The accent in it was not local, certainly not from this particular section of the galaxy.
     
    #5 Spectre of the Fade, Jul 26, 2015
    Last edited: Jul 26, 2015
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    The awkward seconds of silence made Angel wonder if he overstepped a boundary. Maybe he should of guessed that the men in these cells usually don't want or need other peoples help. Especially the staff here. Angel exhaled when he finally replied. He noticed one of his eyes was more synthetic, he probably lost it. Most of the criminals here - human or not - were pretty beaten up, scarred and violent. Angel had been attacked a fair amount of times, so he always his guard up.

    It clicked? Angel peered over at the mechanics, wondering how old it was. "Do you mind if I?" Angel motioned over to his arm before slowly walking over. He knelt down to the hand, peering down at the complex joints. He slowly pulled up a hand to touch the joint, "Ah, the joint has a kink in the screws." Angel sighed, the hand must be pretty old. The man could probably use another new one, but criminals didn't get that sort of luxury. "It won't take me a second to fix that for you." Angel looked up to the masculine male, noticing the scars on his skin. This man must of been in the wars. Making sure not to be too friendly, Angel grabbed a smaller screwdriver and began to carefully undoing the joint to redo it.
     
  7. Unable to help a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, Malcolm offered his hand to Angel once permission had been requested. This one certainly wasn't the quiet type, he observed to himself, lifting his chin and turning his head toward the cell door. The repair of the faulty screw wasn't going to give any new or particularly useful information. Having such a new person in his personal space also made him uncomfortable, but that wasn't something he would easily admit. Having someone in an arguable position of power over him bother to be considerate toward him, without obvious gain on their end, also made him uncomfortable. All in all, this was a situation he would prefer to be resolved as quickly as possible.

    He nibbled on his left thumb as he waited for the repair to be finished, but once it was done and Angel made to stand up, he reached out and firmly grasped the other man's arm with his left hand. "Name. What is your name?" he asked, head still directed at the door but eyes shifting to focus on Angel's face. It wasn't often he was struck with curiosity, and it was even more uncommon that he indulged in it, but fuck it. It wasn't like he was going to encounter this particular dirty, noisy engineer again, right?
     
  8. [​IMG]

    It didn't take him long to redo the joint, fixing the metal rod back into place. He clicked the rod back into place and stood up, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm, smearing the oil further over his face. Angel placed the tools back into his red toolbox and was about to leave until he grabbed his arm. It made him jump, his tools jingling in the box as he turned around, ready to run. But he was only asking his name. Angel puffed out his cheeks, wasn't there more polite ways to ask? "Angel. Uh, Cove. Angel Cove." He replied before slowly slipping his arm from the strong grip. He actually had to struggle a little, but he got it free.

    "Well uh, see ya'." Angel nodded before leaving his cell. Once he was out, he electrified the fence again before swiftly leaving. The male found the inmate a little weird. But as he walked past the cells of inhuman creatures, he was thankful he didn't have to fix the cage of something with tentacles or sharp teeth.
     
  9. Malcolm watched Angel leave, shaking his head when he was sure the engineer couldn't see him. Angel Cove. What a name for a dirty engineer who wore fucking flannel. He carefully tested the fixed joint as he knelt before the panel Angel had worked on, pleasantly surprised to find it in working order and able to bend without producing an irritating click. That just produced more head shaking as he pulled the panel off and cautiously poked around inside, making sure he didn't shock himself. Between his approximate knowledge of how the thing should be wired and the work he'd seen Angel do, he was able to figure out a way that might just cut the power to the barrier. Useful knowledge indeed.

    ---

    It was nearly two days before he actually put the knowledge to use. There was no point in escape, after all, if he hadn't accomplished the reason he'd come here in the first place. The reason being killing one of the prisoners, of course. The target was a rival, or a rat, or someone who fucked with the wrong person, or maybe some other reason. Not that Malcolm cared. His business was not in the why; it was in the who, where, and how much.

    Carefully picking himself off the floor of his cell, Malcolm spat out a glob of blood and wiped the red from his mouth with his forearm. The target was dead, not that accomplishing that was easy, and the guards were far from gentle carrying him back to his cell. He'd guess the target had been worth something to the Warden.

    Now, to get out before his identity as a mercenary captain was revealed.

    He pried open the access panel and carefully pulled the wires he'd hypothesized would shut off the field, smiling softly to himself when it turned out that he was right. Assuming that would have triggered an alarm somewhere, Malcolm pressed himself to the wall next to the door of the cell, not immediately in sight of anyone barging in. Take the most important-looking person hostage, kill the rest. Hopefully one would have a weapon. Taking on a ship full of guards with nothing but his hands was...not an ideal situation, to say the least.
     
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    Angel was sitting with his feet up on his desk, lazily eating his food as he waited for the new technicians to come back from training. He hated dealing with the probies, but at least it meant he could spend more time enhancing the ships engine rather than wasting time fixing things techies are meant to do. Speaking of wasting time, the yellow alarm went off in his office. Angel groaned as he placed his food down and stood up, pressing the on button for the comm, "Uh, is someone gonna deal with that, or is it gonna be me?" Angel asked, a frown on his face.

    After seconds of argument, Angel agreed to go down and quickly fix the cell. Faulty wiring apparently. Great, somebody had fiddled with their panel. Angel jogged down with his toolbox, his flannel tied around his waist, his tank-top a dark blue. When he made it down to the cell, he recognized it as the cell he had fixed before. Foolishly, Angel opened the gate and saw the panel had been taken off from the inside. "This better not be labelled as my fault." He muttered.
     
  11. Malcolm stayed still, stayed quiet, confirming that there was only one set of footsteps before making a move on the idiot who had entered the cell. He hooked his right forearm around the man's neck, using his other arm to lock the hold into a rear naked choke before pulling them back into the shadows with him. His grip wasn't tight enough to choke, but it was more than firm enough to be painful.

    "Oh, you've got to be fucking shitting me," Malcolm groaned once he recognized the person he was holding. "With flannel included. Lovely." Sarcasm absolutely oozed from the last word and there was a disdainful expression on his face, not that Angel would be able to see from this angle. This...required further consideration. He needed a few seconds to think. "If you scream, I will kill you. If you run, I will chase you down and I will kill you painfully. Am I clear?" he asked after a second, waiting for assent before releasing Angel.
     
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    As soon as he stepped inside, Angel was pulled into the shadows of the cell by his neck. Automatically, Angel dropped his toolbox and moved both hands to grab at the arm around his neck. It was strong, Angel wasn't tough enough to wriggle out of this one. When they stopped moving, Angel grimaced in pain, staying silent. And to think, he fixed this mans faulty hand.

    "Clear uh. Crystal, crystal clear." Angel said, taking a quick step away from the prisoner. He frowned, anger and disapproval on his face. He didn't feel the need to act friendly to him now, since the man had pretended to be completely out of it only to pull this trick. "I don't know how you think you're gonna try to do this." He muttered, not being able to help his smart mouth. His dad said it would be the death of him. He hoped that this would be over soon; The yellow alarm turned to a red alarm after three minutes of not being turned off, which then notified the security.
     
  13. Malcolm turned his attention back to Angel, fixing the engineer with an absolutely icy glare and snapping, "It's a good fucking thing you aren't in charge of my escape plan, then, isn't it?" He really hadn't expected anything but mouth from this guy, but there had still been the small hope that he'd be pleasantly surprised. That was what he got for an attempt at optimism: disappointment. Regardless, his first priority was to get his gear back, and Angel was coming along with. He also recalled that there was a security terminal near his cell; if he could get to it, he could maybe trip a few alarms or even open some cells and buy himself some time.

    "The lockup for shit you take from prisoners. Where is it?" he asked Angel as he moved to the cell door, taking a look up and down the hallway. Guards would no doubt be by any minute. Unarmed, he wouldn't stand a chance. Best to get moving as quickly as possible.
     
  14. [​IMG]

    Angel stood with his hands up, like he was protecting himself from a dinosaur or something. He recognized this guy would probably kill him when he didn't need him anymore, so Angel would just wait for security to do its job. The prisoners were getting more and more rowdy as the alarm was about to go to red. "The vault. Uh, It's basically on the other side. South-Way then to the left." Angel said, pointing past the security terminal, then down to South-way.

    Deciding if he showed Malcolm the way, then hopefully security could get him there. "That way. Christ..." He muttered, unable to hold his annoyance in. He stood outside the cell with Malcolm before looking at his watch, "You have a minute before the alarm becomes code red." He said, looking over his shoulder at the rowdy prisoners.
     
  15. "I shudder to imagine the lengths I would have to go to to get you to actually shut the fuck up," Malcolm observed dryly, giving Angel another icy look before heading out of the cell. He took note of both the direction and hallway the engineer had specified, but he didn't go that way. The security terminal was closer, and given that he had less than a minute before guards were out searching for him, it was the more tactically sound option at the moment. "This cell block is about to be broken open. If you want to keep breathing, you'll want to keep up." And with that cheery message, The mercenary took off at a run toward the terminal. It really didn't matter to him whether Angel was following him or not; he had a location for his gear and that was really all he needed the man for.

    Well. A potential location. He certainly wasn't going to take someone he'd threatened with death at their word.

    It didn't take long to get to the terminal, but even that little bit of time was too much. Rewiring the thing was a lengthy process that would get his ass shot, so he was forced to try and hack into it. A risky move, even in perfectly safe circumstances, but made even more so by the fact he knew next to nothing about the ship's security systems. Making an irritated growling noise, Malcolm pulled up the terminal's holographic interface and put in one of the more versatile bypass codes he was familiar with. Much to his relief, it worked, and from there it was no issue to trip every single alarm and open every single cell door he could access.

    As one could imagine, chaos ensued almost immediately.
     
  16. [​IMG]

    Angel glared at Malcolm. Well, he wasn't wrong, Angel didn't even notice himself talking sometimes. Angel didn't quite get what Malcolm was on about until he ran the opposite direction. His eyes traced the cells of creatures. Some looked at him with disgust, some didn't even quite have eyes, but he could tell they were sensing his fear. Then he recognized what Malcolm's plan was, setting these prisoners free. Angel cursed as he broke into the fastest sprint he ever ran.

    "Fuck me." Angel grumbled as he slammed into the wall next to Malcolm, "This is uh, not going to end well." He whispered, wiping his forehead before looking at what Malcolm was doing. He was on the cell with some of the most violent criminals. As soon as one cell opened, loud alarms echoed through the terminal. He looked through the glass to see the criminals tearing each other up. "You do know the security are gonna be running right through here." Angel pointed out, seeing the black masked men and women storming through the opposite end of the corridor, carrying large weapons.
     
  17. "What an astute observation. It's clear now why you were made an engineer," the mercenary commented, the only indication he was being anything other than serious was a roll of his eyes. Pausing in his work for a moment to watch the security and the convicts facing off, his expression darkened into a scowl. Navigating through this shit was going to be a pain. He turned back to the terminal, about to try to pull up a map of the ship, when he was interrupted by an approaching guard.

    "What the fuck are you doing, prisoner?" the guard asked, moving toward them from the opposite direction of the fighting, gun raised and pointed directly at Malcolm.

    Lifting his hands in the air, Malcolm carefully approached the guard, looking confused and murmuring, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know...when the cell doors opened, I thought it was drill or something. I'm not like them, I swear, I just want to go back." When the barrel of the rifle lowered fractionally, he struck, overpowering the poor individual and turning them, putting their head in the same choke hold he'd used on Angel but with the intent to kill this time. The guard stopped struggling after a number of seconds, and he eased the body to the ground then picked up the fallen weapon. Feeling more confident now that he was armed, Malcolm checked the rifle's charge level and turned to Angel. "Let's go."
     
    #17 Spectre of the Fade, Jul 30, 2015
    Last edited: Aug 5, 2015
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    "Now I see why you're fucking locked up..." Angel whispered under his breath, finding it impossible not to be a cocky little shit. When he went to turn, the guard jumped in. Angel prepared to explain himself out of this situation. It wasn't like he cared too much if Malcolm got hurt and he got out fine. But when Malcolm put on this shivery, quiet character, Angel watched him with a frown. Was this gonna work? Angel jumped back when Malcolm just killed him. At first he was shocked, but then remembered this was a prisoner.

    "Right..." He said with sigh, trying not to look down at the dead man or the gun. He was nervous Malcolm was gonna shoot him or something. The two exited towards the vault. Obviously Malcolm wanted something important, "What do you want so badly? The vault isn't easy to get into." Angel said as he jogged down the corridor, the sound of commotion echoing through the ship.
     
  19. "More than two hundred thousand credits worth of customized tech that should be attached to my body," insisted Malcolm, like it was the obvious answer. Which, to him, it was. He was offended by even the idea that Angel could seriously think he walked around with piece of shit attachments like the faulty arm the engineer had repaired before. Quickly checking the map on the terminal and confirming Angel's original directions to the vault, he put the gun's butt to his shoulder and made his way toward the vault.

    Malcolm moved like...well, like military. Precise and efficient and scarily quiet. He checked his corners before he turned them, he tried his best to keep to cover, he didn't stay still for long, and anything that so much as turned their attention in his direction got at least two shots to the chest or head. The most alarming part was probably the fact that his expression didn't so much as twitch; he'd killed his first person when he was a teenager and only gotten more numb to it ever since. Once again, he really didn't care if Angel was keeping up. Backing the prison faculty at this point seemed like the idiot idea, given how hard the other prisoners were trying to fuck up whatever systems they could, but far be it from him to stop natural selection from eliminating the weak.

    He came to a dead stop upon arriving at the massive door of the vault, staring in silence for a few seconds before sighing deeply. "That is going to be complicated to open."
     
  20. [​IMG]

    Everytime Malcolm killed someone, it made Angel jump and cringe. It wasn't like he hadn't witnessed death on these ships, but it didn't mean he had toughened up over it. "Jesus Christ." Angel hissed, flinching everytime a gun was shot. He didn't even know why he was still following Malcolm around, but he assumed if he tried to run, Malcolm wouldn't hesitate to blast a couple of bullets into his back. The overhead comms was saying things in robotic voice, listing the cell gates that had been opened. It was barely noticeable over the sound of alarms.

    When they got to the vault door, Malcolm complained. Angel raised an eyebrow, breathing heavily. He stood with his hands on his hips, trying to get his breath back from all that running. He was pretty out of shape sometimes. "Really?" He said sarcastically said. Angel knew how to open the door pretty easily, but only because it was his job to maintenance it sometimes. "How about I open this, you get your limbs back and you let me go? Because I don't wanna be part of this.." He mumbled, hoping Malcolm wasn't gonna put a bullet through his head.
     
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