Flannigan Mcnash
Mr. Roboto
Neon lights flickered through the small, glass windows into the view. The vessel was a patchwork craft, built from a gutted BT-7 Thunderclap, a re-purposed Republic Assault Ship, armour plating flecked with the refuse of aged paint. Swathes of stainless steel, sleek black rods. And the glare of fluorescent tube lighting suspended from steel rafters, floor to ceiling the wall began to extend out and towards open air. The gang plank and door slid open revealing, two figures dressed in baggy pants and old dull shirt with two buttons missing, and around their waist was tied a wide black tasseled sash. The one closet to the left wearing a durasteel plating tide or held together by an adhesive or twine on his jacket.
"Stop running!" a voice blurred from the speakers, the ship hovering above the ground tossing dust and debri into the air in thick opake clouds, they were hunting, they were chasing and they'd soon catch up to them. long and slender barrels twisted and turned, the cannons were being armed it wouldn't be to long before they opened fire. "Don't make this harder on yourself."
"Stop running!" a voice blurred from the speakers, the ship hovering above the ground tossing dust and debri into the air in thick opake clouds, they were hunting, they were chasing and they'd soon catch up to them. long and slender barrels twisted and turned, the cannons were being armed it wouldn't be to long before they opened fire. "Don't make this harder on yourself."
| [member="Ren Sumazaki"] | [member="Venris Helion"] |