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(This is just an idea that's been floating around in my head for a while. No saying quite yet if it'll develop much or not. As such, expect very little from this piece of work.)
The night was calm, quiet. A gentle breath of wind rolled across the desert sands. While there was not a cloud to be had in the sky, no moon shone that night. The gentle curvature of the desert landscape seemed to go forever, except for the harsh drop-off at the edge of a canyon not far beyond.
The serenity was disturbed by a large vehicle. Roughly 20 meters long, 8 wide and about 4 high, this massive behemoth was, of course, a transport vehicle, divided into three sections. The 12 wheels lining its bottom left a trail in the sand, being slowly obscured by the desert breeze. Lights atop the vehicle illuminated platforms, three to be exact, with a sentry upon each. Given the tensions between governmental bodies at these times, guards were commonplace.
The newest of the bunch, a private, sat at the back of the vehicle. He hoped his shift was over, and checked his timepiece. 12:37 AM, May 21st, 3023. The date held significance in history, but the time disappointed him. He still had an hour and a half to go.
As if a response to his sheer boredom, an aircraft flew overhead. It had a cockpit, with what appeared to be a fairly large cargo bay behind it, big enough to hold a car. The two wings extending out held engines, emitting soft red trails in the night sky. The bright red lights on the tail, which extended from the back illuminated the rear of the craft. He grabbed his rifle, aiming down the sights, when a senior officer from the next platform called to him. "Calm down and lower your weapon. That was just a Vulture. Probably just a tradesman making his way to the next hub.
The private reluctantly lowered his weapon. He'd been eager for some excitement lately. Then something occurred to him. He could've sworn he saw the door on the back of the Vulture closing. But why would it have been open mid-flight? He shook his head. He was tired, probably just seeing things.
But he hadn't been seeing things. The door had been open, and the Vulture certainly did not belong to a tradesman. No, it belonged to a group of bounty hunters, and their target was this transport. The door had been opened to allow one of the hunters, on his cycle, to get onto the ground. The transport would fall within the hour.
A gentle whine entered the private's hearing. It slowly developed, from a whine into a guttural, distant roar. Then, it began to grow louder, and louder. He turned to see the officer in front of him looking back at him. He gestured to the darkness in the distance, and the private took aim, searching for a threat. Perhaps he would get some excitement tonight.
The roar was louder now, positively present. This was no trick of the mind. He could see something kicking up clouds of sand, ever so slightly in the moonless night. He took aim, his finger tightening on the trigger...
A bright red flare burst forth from the night. It came up in an arc, but for a split second the private could see a sleek, metallic cycle. He opened fire, but the target was already gone. He turned his attention to the projectile, at the peak of its ark, and realized it would be heading straight for him. He made no motion to escape, despite the cries of the others, but instead had one sole though. Man, that's some good aim.
The rider grinned. He silently congratulated himself on that shot. He looked at the small meter on the hand launcher he had used. It was kept on the bike, which recharged its energy cells when it was stored. Unlike most guns, it toted an almost straight design, the handle only curving not much more than 30 degrees. He spun it around in his hand, for no reason, and took aim at the other side of the transport. This time, he lowered his aim and fired.
He found out quite rudely that he hadn't eliminated all the guards, as another burst of rifle fire flew towards him. He ducked and swerved back to the right of the transport, this time pulling up alongside it. He heard a boom and saw the flash of red as his projectile struck its mark. Assuming the guard would be too preoccupied examining the impact, he pulled out again and up next to the front of the vehicle, firing right into the cockpit.
He pulled ahead, increasing his speed as the bike roared beneath him. The impact killed the driver and broke off the front two wheels of the transport. The front section became imbalanced, and leaned sharply to the right. The joints held for a few moments before they snapped. With the front section conjoined to the middle by only two joints on the left side, it swerved to the left and crashed down. The sudden deceleration jolted the middle section as it stopped. The remaining joints broke and the back slammed into the middle, propelling them both forward, leaning to the side, and rolling over several times on the sand before screeching to a halt.
The rider grinned. He put the launcher into its place on the bike and got off, strolling casually towards the convoy. As a precautionary measure, he grabbed his rifle off his back, which also worked on energy cells like the launcher, and walked up to the back gate of the convoy. He grabbed the door and flung it down, as it normally opened horizontally, and stepped inside.
The first thing he saw was the bodies. A solid six or seven men, all in... body armor? That wasn't right. A guard force in body armor was costly these days. Why, the only powers that could afford them were...
He bent down over a body, and in the flickering light of the ruined vehicle he saw an emblem on the shoulderpad. His heart stopped. Almost everybody knew a governmental emblem when they saw one. As if that wasn't bad enough, it appeared to be from the United, one of the strongest military forces on the planet. He gulped, and decided not to waste time.
His team had received a mysterious contract, detailing an item on this convoy that they had wanted. He tore into the second section, and found it. A briefcase, locked with some kind of scanner by the handle. Whatever that was didn't matter to him at the moment. He wasted no time getting outside, onto the cycle, and calling back his teammates. He tore away from the crash site as fast as the cycle allowed, and happily greeted the welcome site of the same Vulture the private had seen landing on the sand in front of him. The door opened, and he slowed down, piloting the cycle in. He secured it to the wall, once inside, and sat down in the chair next to the pilot once it had closed.
As they took off, the pilot, a good friend of his from childhood, turned to him. "So, Chance, you get what we came for?" Chance(Which wasn't his real name) turned to his friend in the pilot seat, who went by Gallus. "You could say that yeah... but we got more than we bargained for. That was no ordinary transport. It was a government transport."
"Wait... what? Which government!?"
"The United. I don't know about you, but I'm going to want to have a little chat with the scumbag who set us up for this."
The night was calm, quiet. A gentle breath of wind rolled across the desert sands. While there was not a cloud to be had in the sky, no moon shone that night. The gentle curvature of the desert landscape seemed to go forever, except for the harsh drop-off at the edge of a canyon not far beyond.
The serenity was disturbed by a large vehicle. Roughly 20 meters long, 8 wide and about 4 high, this massive behemoth was, of course, a transport vehicle, divided into three sections. The 12 wheels lining its bottom left a trail in the sand, being slowly obscured by the desert breeze. Lights atop the vehicle illuminated platforms, three to be exact, with a sentry upon each. Given the tensions between governmental bodies at these times, guards were commonplace.
The newest of the bunch, a private, sat at the back of the vehicle. He hoped his shift was over, and checked his timepiece. 12:37 AM, May 21st, 3023. The date held significance in history, but the time disappointed him. He still had an hour and a half to go.
As if a response to his sheer boredom, an aircraft flew overhead. It had a cockpit, with what appeared to be a fairly large cargo bay behind it, big enough to hold a car. The two wings extending out held engines, emitting soft red trails in the night sky. The bright red lights on the tail, which extended from the back illuminated the rear of the craft. He grabbed his rifle, aiming down the sights, when a senior officer from the next platform called to him. "Calm down and lower your weapon. That was just a Vulture. Probably just a tradesman making his way to the next hub.
The private reluctantly lowered his weapon. He'd been eager for some excitement lately. Then something occurred to him. He could've sworn he saw the door on the back of the Vulture closing. But why would it have been open mid-flight? He shook his head. He was tired, probably just seeing things.
But he hadn't been seeing things. The door had been open, and the Vulture certainly did not belong to a tradesman. No, it belonged to a group of bounty hunters, and their target was this transport. The door had been opened to allow one of the hunters, on his cycle, to get onto the ground. The transport would fall within the hour.
A gentle whine entered the private's hearing. It slowly developed, from a whine into a guttural, distant roar. Then, it began to grow louder, and louder. He turned to see the officer in front of him looking back at him. He gestured to the darkness in the distance, and the private took aim, searching for a threat. Perhaps he would get some excitement tonight.
The roar was louder now, positively present. This was no trick of the mind. He could see something kicking up clouds of sand, ever so slightly in the moonless night. He took aim, his finger tightening on the trigger...
A bright red flare burst forth from the night. It came up in an arc, but for a split second the private could see a sleek, metallic cycle. He opened fire, but the target was already gone. He turned his attention to the projectile, at the peak of its ark, and realized it would be heading straight for him. He made no motion to escape, despite the cries of the others, but instead had one sole though. Man, that's some good aim.
The rider grinned. He silently congratulated himself on that shot. He looked at the small meter on the hand launcher he had used. It was kept on the bike, which recharged its energy cells when it was stored. Unlike most guns, it toted an almost straight design, the handle only curving not much more than 30 degrees. He spun it around in his hand, for no reason, and took aim at the other side of the transport. This time, he lowered his aim and fired.
He found out quite rudely that he hadn't eliminated all the guards, as another burst of rifle fire flew towards him. He ducked and swerved back to the right of the transport, this time pulling up alongside it. He heard a boom and saw the flash of red as his projectile struck its mark. Assuming the guard would be too preoccupied examining the impact, he pulled out again and up next to the front of the vehicle, firing right into the cockpit.
He pulled ahead, increasing his speed as the bike roared beneath him. The impact killed the driver and broke off the front two wheels of the transport. The front section became imbalanced, and leaned sharply to the right. The joints held for a few moments before they snapped. With the front section conjoined to the middle by only two joints on the left side, it swerved to the left and crashed down. The sudden deceleration jolted the middle section as it stopped. The remaining joints broke and the back slammed into the middle, propelling them both forward, leaning to the side, and rolling over several times on the sand before screeching to a halt.
The rider grinned. He put the launcher into its place on the bike and got off, strolling casually towards the convoy. As a precautionary measure, he grabbed his rifle off his back, which also worked on energy cells like the launcher, and walked up to the back gate of the convoy. He grabbed the door and flung it down, as it normally opened horizontally, and stepped inside.
The first thing he saw was the bodies. A solid six or seven men, all in... body armor? That wasn't right. A guard force in body armor was costly these days. Why, the only powers that could afford them were...
He bent down over a body, and in the flickering light of the ruined vehicle he saw an emblem on the shoulderpad. His heart stopped. Almost everybody knew a governmental emblem when they saw one. As if that wasn't bad enough, it appeared to be from the United, one of the strongest military forces on the planet. He gulped, and decided not to waste time.
His team had received a mysterious contract, detailing an item on this convoy that they had wanted. He tore into the second section, and found it. A briefcase, locked with some kind of scanner by the handle. Whatever that was didn't matter to him at the moment. He wasted no time getting outside, onto the cycle, and calling back his teammates. He tore away from the crash site as fast as the cycle allowed, and happily greeted the welcome site of the same Vulture the private had seen landing on the sand in front of him. The door opened, and he slowed down, piloting the cycle in. He secured it to the wall, once inside, and sat down in the chair next to the pilot once it had closed.
As they took off, the pilot, a good friend of his from childhood, turned to him. "So, Chance, you get what we came for?" Chance(Which wasn't his real name) turned to his friend in the pilot seat, who went by Gallus. "You could say that yeah... but we got more than we bargained for. That was no ordinary transport. It was a government transport."
"Wait... what? Which government!?"
"The United. I don't know about you, but I'm going to want to have a little chat with the scumbag who set us up for this."