The lone man limped down the dark street- the sun slowly rising behind him. His black jacket was ripped to shreds, barely clinging onto his muscular body. Blood trickled down his arm, dripping to the black asphalt. His black hair was damp and sticky, slowly turning a faint tint of red. His dark blue eyes looked forward down the seemingly never ending street.
He was almost there, almost home.
***
Greg's visor flickered to life as he pulled his helmet on. It showed his target for the day, a trade convoy heading through the system. He was hired to ensure it never reached it's destination. He sat in the cockpit of his ship, a Tarantula C-48, one of the best mercenary ships in the system.
Greg's confidence level was off the scale, he could take on anything, anyone, at anytime- and do it fast. People hired him when they wanted the job done quickly and efficiently. Today was just another easy job.
Everything is ready, prepare for launch, is AI reported.
Right. Here we go. After flipping a few switches, Greg jerked the throttle back, and he soared into the sky.
![[Image: 1z6y3k6.png]](http://i28.tinypic.com/1z6y3k6.png)