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(60.88 KB 711x466 not sorry.jpg)

Story time Anonymous 06/07/2022 (Tue) 03:08:41 Id: 3f7b01 No. 230
Op says tell me stories
Once upon a time lived a man in a small town. Then he was eaten by hungry townfolk. The end.
The wind ripped through Joshuas shirt, the collar flapping and beating a tattoo against his skin. Sweat flew in cascades from his brow as he turned the rudder 3 points tacked off to the wind. In the distance he could see the Eurasian Consortiums explorator airship, a simple design, the design so closely followed his own light weight mini blimp design that back on earth there had been accusations of industrial espionage, it was off to his 9 o clocl off the bow, and was travelling perpendicular to his own course. left to right, slowly edging into his ten o clock, it hadn't spotted him yet. His right hand had a torn scrap of cloth bound around it, though not to staunch a wound. He was unwounded from the surprise bombing of his expeditions base camp, the cloth belonged to his wife Delilah. She didn't need it anymore. The scientific exploration of Mars had started as a monumental achievment of man, and then the politics started. He adjusted course to intercept off to his right, with a quick practised gesture he opened the engines up to full, and the roar from behind him increased to a feral scream, echoing the ones still filling his mind. No weapons were brought by his North American team, That the Eurasians had was unthinkable. Did the man intend to ram the other vessel? Was this suicide writ large on the planet of war? The other vessel has seen him and begins to adjust course. They are fleeing his vengeance. With a shouted curse he picks up a sharped tent pole. He had a weapon after all. The commset began chirping for his attention. The murderers wanted to speak to him, but he had nothing to say. His father had told him as a child that actions speak louder than words, and he had believed it. The other vessel was directly in front of him now, less than a hundred feet, turned away from him and pouring all thrust available on. He could see the bulky suited figures throwing various items overboard, he could have sworn he saw a 2 million dollar portable protein detector tumbling end over end to the red ground below. It mirrored the memory of them bombing his fellow scientists no less than an hour ago. An image burned into his memory, for however much longer he would have memory. With a jolt that nearly threw him from his standing position by the rudder he impacted the rear of his hated foes air ship, releasing the rudder and running toward the bow he leaps and lands in the other vessel, The makeshift spear stabs forward. It seemed to Joshua to have done so almost of its own volition, and a part of his mind wonders in disbelief as captain Yuri Petrov is run through the belly. His punctured suit exploding back into the weapon as his pressure is lost. Joshua takes a half second to savor the look of confusion and fear on Yuris face before decompression explodes it like an over ripe grapefruit across his visor. Pulling out the crude spear he looks past the captain of the rival expedition. The pilot has not dropped the rudder in the 5 seconds of combat elapsed, turning over his shoulder he meets Joshuas eyes. His eyes are wide open and wild. The whites almost all that is shown. His lips bloodflecked. In a darkened chamber an asian man types into a console. the room is small. "3rd expedition reports success. The American base has been bombed, and preliminary reports show almost total destruction. The plan worked perfectly, it appears they had no knowledge of the Chinese expedition. They blamed the Eurasian consortium. ALL HAIL MAO" With a tap of the enter key the man dispatches what is likely his last report. The party hadnt sent near enough oxygen. His duty was to establish a base. Start a war. And then die. He accepts his fate. With the message sent he begins shutting down systems to preserve energy. They follow on public expedition from his country would need every resource he could leave them.
>>235 Pretty good pulp story.
profe dedo


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