The blackness can make battles feel so empty and haunting.
An artillery round you’ve never seen, igniting your shields in a vibrant blue flare, will never not make me flinch.
But nothing will strip that chill out of your lungs like the piercing red streaks of trig fire,
crossing your bow and slicing the abyss into ribbons of blood, fire and metal shards.
And just as quick as it left, the chill returns as you realise, they were not aiming at you.
For if you can see the lasers, out shine the stars on this angle then you were never the intended target, and they never … miss.
Your comms light up, you can hear their ship screaming before any words are spoken.
The tones shifts so fast you can hear the pain of the vessel as it is dissected in space.
Strips of armour and hull start littering the grid, intensifying with every second.
Further pleas from the capsuleer are made in vain as the weapons and drugs disintegrate their mind.
Death throws are haphazardly maneuvered about in an attempt to thwart the inevitable…
Silence.
So sudden and harsh.
Both audio and visually quiet.
The peaceful blackness returns.
Maybe those ships are gone.
Or maybe that ball of dull red light glowing ever brighter,
means they have now found you.
Campfire Stories with Haconen.
