Pilot (10/?)
Dave opened his eyes. He had closed them for fear of his impending death. He knew that he would look a little cooler if he died with his eyes closed. And also, he was scared shitless.
But he wasn't dead.
But Kara was a receding dot up ahead. And there was an energy shell in his arm.
It was a little like a bullet, but in space. Energy shells were a common type of ammunition across the solar system, heralded as "the future of the bullet" upon release, which for many answered the question, "If the bullet was so good, why didn't they make a sequel?" Unlike the bullet, however, the energy shell housed a certain kind of technology that allowed the round to not only flatten upon impact, but afterwards disintegrate into nothing. Completely non-toxic, and removed the hassle of bullet removal surgery, thanks to some very complicated science.
None of this, of course, passed through Dave's mind, because his experience with ballistics and science was shallower than a swimming pool for sentient corn flakes. This was okay, however, because all Dave really needed to know was that he had just been shot in the arm, and he was probably going to lose a lot of blood if he didn't do something about it.
Dave's tie, draped loosely around his neck (and now more or less covered in dust), was a wrinkled blue-and-black one that had seen plenty of use at his work at the grocery store. Now, it would become a bandage.
He could no longer see Kara. If he managed to make it to civilization, she would be long gone. He had more important things to do, anyway. He wrapped his tie tightly around his arm. It was a two-arm job, so he hissed and winced from the pain.
"Fuck." He was glad to be alive, but it hurt like hell. He would have to find his way all the way back to Earth like this, alone, with one good arm and no money.
He tried not to think about how many ways that could go wrong.
It didn't work.
