Pilot (2/?)
"Don't get smart with me and you get to live." The edge in her voice was just as sharp as before. "Cooperate, and you might even be able to go home."
Dave decided he wanted to both live and go home.
"I know what happens when you give people the benefit of the doubt," she said. "They don't do the same for you." She squinted at him. "What's your name?"
"Dave."
"You might just be a regular Dave, but I'm not about to take that risk. You cant leave here remembering what happened."
"What?" Dave said blankly.
"I'm going to hit you upside the head and you're going to forget what just happened. So don't move."
"Oh." Dave didn't like the sound of that, but as he was not the one with the gun, he really had no room to contest this turn of events.
The fox cocked her arm so the gun was pointing away from Dave. Then, she circled to his side not unlike a predator to its prey and took a breath. "Make sure you don't bite your tongue off when I do this."
Dave saw stars as her knee connected with the side of his head. He was sure some kind of cry escaped him, but he was too busy gritting his teeth to ignore the throbbing pain in his skull. (It wasn't working.)
"Damn!" his now-assailant exclaimed, running to her console, and now Dave realized the ship was shaking. "Change of plans. I've been found!" Wait a minute. Were they taking off? They couldn't be taking off. What happened to going home?
"Is now a bad time to tell you I still remember what happened?" Dave managed.
"Yes! Yes it is!" his exasperated captor hissed. "But you're going to be a hostage anyway. Sorry not sorry."
Now that he wasn't staring down the barrel of a gun, Dave was beginning to notice the condition of the ship, which was...oh, boy. The more he looked, the more he realized the only thing her ship and his car had in common was the red paint on the outside. And anyway, Dave liked to think he had the sense to not decorate his car with harsh metal grates...or make the outside look like a giant shark. Did she steal this thing from some redneck?
The ship lurched. Dave put out an elbow to balance himself (which earned him another staredown with the barrel of the gun as the fox made sure he wasn't trying anything funny). A car and a ship squealed as their alarms sounded. That couldn't be good.
"Are those police sirens?"
"I'm holding a gun; you don't talk. How old are you again? Like, fifteen?"
He was eighteen. And he was pretty sure she couldn't be much older than him herself.
"But yes, those are police sirens. Because if I wasn't in trouble before, I'm in trouble now."
He couldn't resist. "I'm sure the police are here to congratulate you on a job well done parking."
