Someone had thumped against the wall. As soon as the scrape of feet signaled that they were up again, Bel stepped out into the open doorway, taking in the scene with one quick survey.
One of the new abductees, the helmeted stranger with bad-disk rumbling noise the red lights along his armor, was striking out at another crewperson with something that flashed brightly in his hand, the long flex of his body almost miraculous in its perfection. The other, forced away from what had almost been a grapple, was about to throw something that shone bright blue -- Tron. The lights along his armor were flares now, and both were wounded, bright gashes spilling -- what, tiny glowing specks? That couldn't be good.
Other projectiles, already on their flight paths as Bel turned the corner, caromed off the walls. Jumping either warrior was a bad idea as long as one of them still held a weapon. And this was no ponderous drunken brawl. The two fighters were good.
Bel was already moving. Twenty years of instinct and training took over, adrenaline spiking. Skidding out onto the deck, well out of reach of either fighter, Bel held both hands out just above waist level, an empty, disarming distraction within easy snatching distance from the small stunner still appended to the belt. To the fighters, the mercenary would appear lean and lithe, somewhat shorter than either of them, soft brown hair framing a sharp face in a raggedly ambiguous cut; perhaps not particularly threatening, but moving with confidence, the alto voice raised to a roar.
"Stand down! Both of you--!"
Under a second had passed from the first quick look.
It would have taken a similar fraction to realize that something was wrong -- the flung projectiles weren't losing momentum and bouncing to the floor, like any self-respecting metal object in the grip of the ship's artificial gravity, but curling back toward their respective owners.
And even as Bel's gaze turned from one fighter to the other, a ticking rumble revved up, twin to the helmeted man's incessant robotic purr.
They'd never really talked, but Bel had seen Tron about the ship helping others during the recent heating breakdown. A little tall for comfort, but perfectly proportioned and with a look of gentle sternness that he might not know the power of himself, especially if -- as rumored -- he wasn't actually human. But it was a different face that caught Bel's attention now. Snarling. Transformed.
Transforming.
His light-spots flashed red. The new inhuman purring growl was somehow coming from him.
we've almost reached the interrupt interface~
One of the new abductees, the helmeted stranger with bad-disk rumbling noise the red lights along his armor, was striking out at another crewperson with something that flashed brightly in his hand, the long flex of his body almost miraculous in its perfection. The other, forced away from what had almost been a grapple, was about to throw something that shone bright blue -- Tron. The lights along his armor were flares now, and both were wounded, bright gashes spilling -- what, tiny glowing specks? That couldn't be good.
Other projectiles, already on their flight paths as Bel turned the corner, caromed off the walls. Jumping either warrior was a bad idea as long as one of them still held a weapon. And this was no ponderous drunken brawl. The two fighters were good.
Bel was already moving. Twenty years of instinct and training took over, adrenaline spiking. Skidding out onto the deck, well out of reach of either fighter, Bel held both hands out just above waist level, an empty, disarming distraction within easy snatching distance from the small stunner still appended to the belt. To the fighters, the mercenary would appear lean and lithe, somewhat shorter than either of them, soft brown hair framing a sharp face in a raggedly ambiguous cut; perhaps not particularly threatening, but moving with confidence, the alto voice raised to a roar.
"Stand down! Both of you--!"
Under a second had passed from the first quick look.
It would have taken a similar fraction to realize that something was wrong -- the flung projectiles weren't losing momentum and bouncing to the floor, like any self-respecting metal object in the grip of the ship's artificial gravity, but curling back toward their respective owners.
And even as Bel's gaze turned from one fighter to the other, a ticking rumble revved up, twin to the helmeted man's incessant robotic purr.
They'd never really talked, but Bel had seen Tron about the ship helping others during the recent heating breakdown. A little tall for comfort, but perfectly proportioned and with a look of gentle sternness that he might not know the power of himself, especially if -- as rumored -- he wasn't actually human. But it was a different face that caught Bel's attention now. Snarling. Transformed.
Transforming.
His light-spots flashed red. The new inhuman purring growl was somehow coming from him.
Oh yes, this is definitely trouble.