My poor Main Character. He just keeps on crashing, doesn’t he? Poor guy.
He couldn’t bail. Because he was in a Generation-M. Which meant he was better armored. Tenner closed his eyes and shut down the engines. All of them. And fell.
His momentum carried him a curve. He fell quickly—his stomach seemed to stay behind with Helvetica Squad, which was still circling, unsure of what to do. Below him, more a blur of paint than a sight, was a damaged Hemoth-class being carried by chains behind a pair of Spirit-classes. Enoch’s craft. Tenner willed his craft to slow and speed up at the same time. Speed to carry him to the open launch bays and slowness to let him survive the impact.
He spun lazily as Cher Nobel held its collective breath. He missed the first bay. The second level. The third. The fourth. He clipped the fifth, ripping a warning light from the outside and carrying it down with him. He fell nearly the whole length of the split, almost hitting the place where it rejoined into one cohesive tower. But he made the last bay. Barely.
The sturdy ferio-hunting craft tore through two levels, losing almost all its fins and weapons in the process. The ammunition inside the craft, all the paint pellets, went off at the impact, filling the inside of the cockpit with red slime.
And the craft rested in a nest of its own destructive making, smoking, waiting.