The Scarman Enigma

[|Scarecrow|]

Starwood Hotel, Landing Platform Terminal, Floor 75

“Scarecrow!” Merlow shouted as he ran, “Scarecrow!”
He was rapidly closing the distance down on his friend, but he wasn’t sure if he’d make it in time. Tyrant Scarman had dropped Scarecrow to his knees, readying to enact a brutal coup de grace. Before Merlow could shout another word, a flash of laser fire cut back across the open terminal from a direction he didn’t expect. The laser bolt struck the Tyrant squarely in his now exposed chest. Merlow instinctively ducked low and skidded to a halt below a stack of refuse bins. Shooting a glance across toward the source of the weapons fire, he spotted a flurry of movement over by one of the ferry terminals.
Jadyn!
Looking back over toward Scarecrow, Merlow saw the Tyrant release his grip and slowly topple over backwards. He clattered to the deck, seemingly lifeless.
What? Merlow was puzzled. Had Sayne just executed his only ally in all this madness? Why?
He had no time to ruminate. As soon as Sayne had taken the shot, he turned his attention to some unseen detail on the floor by the security desk. He couldn’t be allowed to escape. Merlow levelled one of his rail pistols and took a shot. The pistol crack cut through the air and the super-high velocity round punched into the security desk above Sayne’s head. The wooden surface exploded in a miniature cloud of dust and wooden fragments.

Sayne flinched as the round exploded through the wooden panel above him, a small cloud of debris raining down on his head. He looked up to see an almost perfectly round hole in the side of the security desk. Looking back in the direction of travel, he spotted Merlow, squat, beside a duo of waste containers. In a flash, Sayne whipped his blaster upward and fired off a shot in the direction of the Fleet Admiral. The laser round smacked into one of the waste units, blowing a hole in the side and sending a shower of garbage cascading to the floor. Merlow ducked to the side, albeit unnecessarily; the shot had been wide. Sayne swore and ducked even lower, once again training his attention on the ground.
Keys, keys, keys! He snatched amongst the discarded aircar controllers, grabbing individual units and frantically thumbing the buttons. The airbus sat stoically on the landing platform out beyond the edge of the tower. Nothing. He tried key after key, thumb-press after thumb-press, until eventually the final set he scooped up signalled the flashing of the airbus’ indicator lights.
“Fucking finally.” He grunted. He stood up and grabbed Heather Scarman, who had remained crouched behind the bench. Another high velocity round whipped through the air inches from his face. It passed him, punching out of the large, wide glass windows that looked out toward the landing platforms. The thick glass cracked in the blink of an eye; spiderweb lines branching outward in every direction from the small hole at the epicentre. Sayne whirled around, bringing Heather before him. He pressed one hand firmly down on her shoulder and brought his blaster up to point at her temple. Merlow was now standing, duel-wielding his rail pistols as he advanced on Sayne. He was still a good distance from the ferry terminal, but he had a clear shot.
“Don’t do it Merlow,” Sayne shouted, “You don’t want her blood on your hands.”
Merlow paused, “Let her go Jadyn!”

“Raph, look!” Skyler Hawkins had stopped in his tracks at the sound of gunfire off to his left. He had spotted the small group just in time to see Tyrant Scarman topple to the ground, a faint trail of smoke leading away from his chest.
“What?” Zed Raphael dropped down beside him, squinting ahead.
“That bastard Jadyn just shot the Tyrant!”
Zed seemed nervous, his muscles tense. “So what? He won’t come after us if he’s dead.”
Hawkins shot Raphael a look of frustration. “You’re not seeing it Raph.”
“I thought you were cool with running!” Raphael protested, backing away slightly.
“I was wrong,” Hawkins brought his laser carbine up to his shoulder and sighted in the direction of Robert Merlow. “We’ve been given an opportunity here.”
“Fuck no,” Raphael growled, “I’m getting out of here.”
“Think about it Raph!” Hawkins insisted, looking back at Zed, “No Scarman, no Jadyn… We can take control of the Black Flag! Leave Liberty space entirely and operate on our own! We’d be free of his madness!”
For a second, Raphel paused, Hawkins’ prospect echoing around his mind. As he opened his mouth to reply, the clatter of gunfire sounded from behind him. He flinched has bullets zipped through the air to his right. He dropped to his knees for cover. “Get down!”
But Hawkins did not reply. Slowly, Raphael turned around and looked up at his comrade. A think trickle of blood had begun to run down Skyler’s forehead, emanating from a clean bullet hole just below his hair line. To their right, further around the terminal, Thomas Serov had spotted them and carefully lined up his shot. It had been a quick, semi-automatic burst, clean and clinical. Hawkins had been an easy target, standing out in the open as he was. Raphael reeled at the horrific vision before him.
He had broken and run before Skyler’s body had hit the floor.

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| S C A R E C R O W |

"See you space cowboy..."