Clint turned the nobs, dotted the buttons for every red warning, and double checked the seals of his space faring one-seater. The engines sputtered dead, and while his wings yawed, it served nothing more than changing his direction.
He was drifting through empty space. Silent and alone. His ship out of fuel and his directions thrown to the solar winds after he was spit out during a botched transport.
No serious damage. At least, as far as Clint could tell after a few lights turned purple, a few he couldn’t quite remember the purpose.
No cracks. No breaches. The nose pointed towards a neon orange, spiral galaxy that blinked periodically. After a few presses of a few buttons next to a screen, the numbers told him that the sombrero-shaped galaxy to his right was closer, and populated.
The other, the neon, the mystery, the unknown–
Clint shook with excitement. Uncharted star systems made him salivate. He could very easily just use his final instant transport and arrive at a new land. One untouched by the general, and one that seemed to be calling Clint.
His ship systems beeped in low power mode, the screen showed a message of a rescue crew making its way to his position.
All he had to do was wait.
But something about the neon orange–
Clint couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t, because the chance was too good to bypass. Fuel was needed for instant travel so it would be as easy as–
Clint laughed out-loud like a maniac in his single compartment and smacked the button as hard as he could.