Pilot (1/?)
Dave had never had a gun pointed at him before, but his imagination, as it happened, wasn't too far off. Turns out it was pretty much exactly how he'd expected. His heart froze and then quickly tried to catch up, a bead of sweat slipped down the side of his head, and his train of thought was entirely interrupted.
To think he had only walked into the wrong craft.
"Don't move." The command came from the only other person in the craft, and the one who was currently pointing the gun at Dave. She was a Fennec fox – she couldn't be very tall; Dave was pretty sure he was taller – and a redhead to boot. Of the people who could possibly be pointing a gun at him, Dave was in a strange way relieved it was a redhead. But in the face of potential death, it was hard to keep his mind on this happy thought.
"Don't move. Got it. No problem here," Dave replied quickly. When she had pointed the gun at him, Dave had been so surprised that he'd fallen on his rear, so any move he could have made probably would have been too slow to avoid being shot, anyway.
"How did you get in here?" the fox demanded.
"I walked," Dave said, and immediately regretted it. (But it was true.)
"No one just walks in here. If you're a plainclothes, you just decreased your lifespan by 40 years."
"How many 18-year old plainclothes cops do you know?" Dave asked before he could stop himself.
The fox's finger tightened around the trigger as she bent her wrist slightly. Energy crackled at the tip of the gun, a spherical bulls-eye attached to what would otherwise be a rather aerodynamic shape for a gun, and leapt out. Dave's captor flicked her wrist up and the shot only grazed his shoulder.
He was about to shit himself.
