Wesley Richter

[Zapp]

The Wrath rocketed through the space of New Berlin, alarms and warnings blaring over the radio, several voices in several conversations making everything but the panic unintelligible. But the panic of the first guards and scientists had seeped into the Wrath pilots after Wesley after all, if the people guarding it were terrified, shouldnt they be too? as they were flying extremely defensively and with much foot dragging. Wesley dodged pot shots and kept flying. They didnt even attempt to disrupt his cruise engines as he ran for where he remembered the Junker base Kreuzberg was.

They seemed unwilling to let a RM Wrath dock; that is, until they started listening to the comm chatter. Then they were all too happy to let a turncoat land. There Wesley sat in his ship, considering what to do, and more importantly, what he had done. He had made himself a fugitive for his ship, which was infected by some weird Nomad thing. It didnt make sense. Until his mind dwelt on what he had been feeling before he had hijacked his ship out of the hangar. A need to be with his ship, stronger than anything else he had ever felt before. And how had he handled those guards? He couldnt fight like that. He looked at his arms, and noticed new muscles where before there had been nothing. Not even his time in the RM training grueling as it was had been able to get him any muscle.

It was all too much. It was almost as if the ship had controlled him somehow, though that was just plain silly. Or was it? Was anything just plain silly as far as a Nomad was concerned? All of the sudden Wesley had a strong feeling to be somewhere else, so he left the ship and wandered the station. After about an hour, he found himself back in the Wrath, as if some desire, unbeknownst to him, had forced him back. As if there was no escaping.

Wesley sat there with his head in both hands, denying and planning at the same time.