Re: Epic Clash Round 2 - The Wax Colosseum
03-06-2010, 01:50 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by suomynonAyletamitlU.
Spender's engines kicked in with a blast of afterburner, and he was off into the fog within moments. Glere's single-engine bowtie chasing after him.
Both aircraft had the other on radar--and, he presumed, Glere's craft would also have the terrain-monitor, which would likely register the other players. What Glere likely didn't have, however, was a scanner that registered his fighter's structure. Fortunately for him, Spender was the sporting type. It wasn't a game, otherwise.
Spender brought his engines back down and took a dive, leveling off just over the pavement as he chased a walkway back towards the center of the dome. Behind him, Glere took the invitation and chased, although he kept just a shade higher, his weapons spitting once or twice experimentally. Looking behind him, Spender couldn't see Glere, but he was sure his engines left a clear target.
He grinned as he set his craft to transform.
Glere was in his element, and he was exhilarated. The controls, the sensors, the weapons, all worked--no fussing, no hesitation, no fear. This was power!
Of course that cocky little shit Spender had wanted to keep this for himself--no, to share it, only so he could laugh at how boring the other games were while he held all the cards. Well, not all the cards now, huh? He trained his weapons on Spender, his eye watching carefully, his whole being on the ball, ready to strike.
Then Spender's engines swiveled and separated. The fog swirled a differently, like it was disturbed. Glere's hands were on the controls, ready to evade some new obstacle, but the engines returned, perhaps a little wider-set.
He let loose with his cannons, but the ship ahead of him dodged with far more maneuverability than it had had before. And then, as though taunting, Spender's craft leaped out of the fog in his direction--only now, rather than a jet, it was almost humanoid, and carrying a rifle, one which rattled shots off in his direct.
Glere laughed even as he spat insults about Spender's lineage, heritage, and eye color, his ship twirling to avoid the shots., and then he doubled back, mind locked on the radar.
Spender laughed in return. "Well, he ain't half bad."
His ship flipped back into jet formation, and he upped the odds by choosing the nearest humanoid and gunning the engine.
Both aircraft had the other on radar--and, he presumed, Glere's craft would also have the terrain-monitor, which would likely register the other players. What Glere likely didn't have, however, was a scanner that registered his fighter's structure. Fortunately for him, Spender was the sporting type. It wasn't a game, otherwise.
Spender brought his engines back down and took a dive, leveling off just over the pavement as he chased a walkway back towards the center of the dome. Behind him, Glere took the invitation and chased, although he kept just a shade higher, his weapons spitting once or twice experimentally. Looking behind him, Spender couldn't see Glere, but he was sure his engines left a clear target.
He grinned as he set his craft to transform.
Glere was in his element, and he was exhilarated. The controls, the sensors, the weapons, all worked--no fussing, no hesitation, no fear. This was power!
Of course that cocky little shit Spender had wanted to keep this for himself--no, to share it, only so he could laugh at how boring the other games were while he held all the cards. Well, not all the cards now, huh? He trained his weapons on Spender, his eye watching carefully, his whole being on the ball, ready to strike.
Then Spender's engines swiveled and separated. The fog swirled a differently, like it was disturbed. Glere's hands were on the controls, ready to evade some new obstacle, but the engines returned, perhaps a little wider-set.
He let loose with his cannons, but the ship ahead of him dodged with far more maneuverability than it had had before. And then, as though taunting, Spender's craft leaped out of the fog in his direction--only now, rather than a jet, it was almost humanoid, and carrying a rifle, one which rattled shots off in his direct.
Glere laughed even as he spat insults about Spender's lineage, heritage, and eye color, his ship twirling to avoid the shots., and then he doubled back, mind locked on the radar.
Spender laughed in return. "Well, he ain't half bad."
His ship flipped back into jet formation, and he upped the odds by choosing the nearest humanoid and gunning the engine.