LoK Concentrate and finish the mission.
From Create Your Own Story
Krystal shook her head, as if to clear it, and did her best to focus on the mission. It wouldn't do to die alone in a fiery wreck just because she got a bit hot under the collar.
After several hours of fruitless flying, she began to wonder if the courier robot was not, in fact, a ghost. A minor, Outsystem Mining Ltd Flying Dutchman that nobody outside a few executives and bored interns actually cared about. The rich mineral deposits simply played havoc with advanced sensors, their sheer concentration making her wonder why no major interests had ever tried setting up mining operations here. Surely the price of extra security to keep the natives from killing your workers would be worth it? Then again, Sauria did have an uncertain reputation from when it sort of...broke into four pieces within recent memory, with the Krazoa spirits evidently being the only thing keeping the moon from being turned into a new ring system by the gravity of its parent body. She shuddered, thanking her birth stars that Andross' mad plan had been foiled. It would have been a cruel end to her life story if she'd been forgotten in a crystal prison, adrift on some nameless asteroid for eternity.
Shaking off her dark thoughts, an even worse companion than her frustrated lust, she tries to focus on finding the damn courier. Try as she might, she seemed to get no closer to her goal of activating the secondary drone, weaving twisting paths through the maze of jagged, volcanic ridges and narrow valleys as she hunts the weak and intermittent signal in vain. The temperature in the small cockpit rose despite her attempts to trade her telepathy for temperature control, as the flightsuit seemed to constrict around her lithe, sweaty frame. Groaning in frustration, she decided to loop around a particularly impressive and rugged mountain range in an attempt to give her sensors a high-altitude scan of the target region and give her scanners every ounce of spare juice she had, noting the surprisingly not volcanic peaks rearing up as if in spite of the prevalence of extinct Ashemounts in the surrounding area. As her Arwing circled the snow-capped peaks, eyes trained carefully on sensor readouts, her engines begin to flicker and whine. The Hell? Snapping to attention, she scrambled to run diagnostics as she fought to keep control of the fighter, praying silently for a minor computer glitch and letting loose a verbalized series of expletives that would have shocked her elderly tutor into a long overdue grave.
Cursing even more foully, she blinked in disbelief at the readout, helpfully informing her that roughly nine out of every ten systems needed to actually make the Arwing fly and keep her protected from the vacuum of space are failing due to recent battle damage, and noting that the systems responsible for automatically monitoring her Arwings internals are not responding. Vaguely, she recalled Slippy saying something about having to re-route her automated diagnostics through a handful of backup computer cores, making them vulnerable to damage... Shit! As she fought to keep her Arwing level in its spiral to an inevitable meeting with the hard, hard ground, she cursed the frog and his family six generations back. Why the Hell should she have to die because just this one time his warnings actually meant something? He should have spouted less jargon and made sure she was actually listening!
Her eyes flickered desperately to the weather readout. If she can just... There! Sighing in relief at the lucky updraft, she slammed the emergency maneuvering jets into action with her fist, giving her the extra control and power she desperately needed to make her imminent crash survivable. Bracing for a hard landing, she closed her eyes tight as her precious Arwing slammed through the jungle canopy, a symphony of snapping branches and cringe-inducing crashing noises singing her to her collision with the rocky soil. Rocking against against her canopy bubble, she all but blacked out as her starfighter slowly ground to a halt. Taking one last look around as black closed in on her field of vision, she looked at her clock, blinking in surprise at the time. Minutes? That crash felt like four hours of continually smacking trees! Collapsing back onto her seat, she slipped into unconsciousness thinking that she wished the crash had broken part of her canopy open. It's so damn hot...
Some time later, she felt vague impressions of being lifted up and carried, and later of being in motion in some kind of bumpy vehicle, of a smell familiar enough to warn her of danger but not immediately recognizable, and some cretin with an oversize hand squeezing one of her firm ass cheeks. Trying to tell whoever it is to sod off, the words fail to escape her mouth and she falls the rest of the way into darkness.
What does Krystal do?
Location:Krystal's Arwing (Flying)
| Status | ||
| Health | Uncomfortably Hot, Unconscious | Equipment: |
| MP | 0 | |
| Conquests | 0 | |
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