Pilot (8/?)
Dave swiveled cautiously. Sure enough, between plumes of smoke, he could make out a city. Well, more like a town, if you wanted to get technical. Its skyline barely rose over the dunes it contrasted. But there was still plenty of space to get lost.
Which was exactly what he assumed Kara wanted.
All too aware of the speed at which his life could end via blaster, Dave could simultaneously feel the call of the void behind his eyes. He could try to wrestle the gun from Kara - an ill-advised plan at best, to be sure, but it might just work.
Or it could lead to the end of his eighteen-year life. The main thing he knew about Kara was she was a criminal, and his instincts told him that the threat of lethal force pointed at a criminal made a dangerous enemy.
His other option was to play it safe. Let her take him into the town - really, more like a desert hamlet - and then try to get help. But he was pretty sure that wouldn't work. Given that Kara had made it this far, she could probably lose him in a crowd - and she would still have the gun, after all. Perhaps it would be better to recklessly grab for the gun.
And maybe she wouldn't try to kill him. After all, she had every opportunity to do it when he first stumbled on to the Schadenfreude (God rest her soul), but instead she'd opted for the most back alley of memory wipes. On the other hand, maybe she wouldn't be quite so merciful the second time around.
"...Mars to Rat," Kara was saying. "Why are you staring off into space like you're thinking about stealing the gun?"
Dave balked.
"I'm just kidding. Let's storm that city. We don't got all day."
