Here’s the next chapter~ Sorry for the wait, but, you can sort’ve blame Poindexter-sempai too… She doesn’t motivate! >3< But, then again, I should be learning myself *sigh* Oh well~ Don’t let me keep you from reading~ :D
Without further adieu,
Read, Enjoy, and Comment/Vote/Fan!
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Chapter Two: The Choice
I slowly open my eyes, finding myself in my bed in my cluttered room on the Reliant. If I’m on my cruiser, then does that mean that I was never captured, was everything a dream?
One movement and the throb of pain after explains everything.
I slowly sit up, carefully bringing my legs to the side of the bed. I look up, into the full-length mirror I have propped up by the wall.
I’m shirtless, Always Warm brand bandages wrapped around my shoulder and abdomen, the warmth the bandages are seeping into my smooth, tan skin is very welcome. My leans (leather-jeans) are still on, luckily. My black-hair, the exact color of the base of space, as Master Palatino would joke, is only a bit messy, but more or less the same. And my eyes, light-grey like Wyndian silk, are tired. If you’ve ever seen an Indian from India on Earth, I probably look like one of them.
I get up, grabbing my aviator’s jacket off of the bed post, putting it over my shoulders since I don’t want to move my injured shoulder just yet. I know I’ll have to, but I don’t want to take it too fast.
I walk to the control pit, finding three people there, one of them commandeering the Reliant. The one steering is a guy my age, with orange-hair, he has dark indigo eyes that could be mistaken for black in the wrong lighting. He’s wearing a red ringer shirt and ripped jeans, oversized sneakers on his feet.
The second one is a guy who looks a bit older than me, with black-hair like mine, but he has lighter skin, his eyes clear and blue. He has on a silk-grey Henley shirt and black pants, stuffed into boots.
The third person is a girl, I can’t determine her age. She has dark-grey skin and short-styled layers of white-blonde hair. I realize that she’s the girl who’d tripped over me in the smoke. She’s sleeping, from the looks of it. I think back and remember that she has blue irises, and instead of white, her sclera is black, her pupils bright white instead of black, like most human-appearanced people I’ve met. She’s wearing a black halter-neck and a cameo-vest on top, jean shorts with fur at the bottom and moccasins finish her strange outfit.
The only thing they have close-to in common are their brooches.
The orange-haired guy has one of a black-grey marbled zigzag, an ovular-shape the color of a sunset on Earth on the upper right corner of it. The older one has one of a white spiral; I recognize it as the Milky Way galaxy, a circle that’s blue, brown, and green on the spiral where the Earth is in the Milky Way. The girl’s is of a rainbow from pink to blue-specked flower-shaped galaxy, a small brown and blue circle close to the center marking her planet.
Those brooches aren’t just to show where the wearers are from; they’re to signify that the wearers are from the Intergalactic Federation of Allies, a.k.a the I.F.A.
“Who are you?” are the first hoarse words out of my mouth.
The older boy looks at me, the other one keeping his eyes outside and the girl still asleep.
“I’m Spencer Thomas, the one driving is Oz Kinsch, and the sleeping girl is Olivia Shay.” He answers.
“Willure Wynn… Just why are you driving my ship?” I ask, wincing when I realize how rude that sounds.
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The Stolen Hunter
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