The paper lanterns wavered from their mounts in the small cabin of The Saki Strider. Her engines burning hot, the smell of fuel in the air as those props turned steady. It was a calm morning, the sun rising over the desert dunes as her crew made journey to the salvage yards.
At the helm was one Sean Murphy, a seasoned, grizzled man staring out into the skies ahead of him. It's easily debated, what feature you may notice first from him. His numerous facial scars, perhaps his profound mutton chops. The irrefutable fact, however, is that you may notice his ocular implant. Over his left eye rests a marvel in science and engineering, not a full implant, to replace his eye whole. But little was saved of the orb that once granted him sight. That, and this "Amplifier" you may say, work together as one entity. No longer can his eyes filter the intake of light, or remain hydrated due to the damage to his eyelids. It is perhaps his most identifying feature, and perhaps also, the greatest downfall of his anonimitity.
Perhaps it was poor luck, or inconvenient timing, the Saki Strider held no other crewman other than him. It is ill-advised for a man to venture into scavv'ing territory alone without a good gunner, and perhaps an engineer to keep her flying, but desperate times call for desperate needs. The Saki Strider was an old vessel, a used platform, she was a Goldfish-class vessel. She wasn't much of a sight in the yards where he found her, but a little love went a long way getting her airborne. Perhaps it was by pitty, or stupidity that no-one attempting to sieze her, out in these dunes, but Sean didn't seem phased.
He continued the flight.
The destination was a large engine bay off of a pre-fall vessel of unknown origins that he'd mapped out in the previous days. It was some two miles from the rest of the wreckage- He considered that a blessing in his book. Perhaps the bandits and pirates would be waiting around the mass of wreckage for the unsuspecting prey, rather than a lone engine in the middle of no-where. Sean looked out to the sky, towards the sun, then to the clear blue skies, before a slight smile creeped over the grizzled cripple's face. Hopes held high that this salvaging run will keep food on his plate a little longer, and keep the fuel in his engines for just another run.
Finally, the Saki Strider neared the destination point, and Murphy lowered the throttle to about 10% as he neared the large prop. He locked the helm in place via a broom, as all great Captains do, and walked down to the deck to cast a hooked rope by hand onto the engine, tieing his vessel to it, and reeling the Strider in closer, before running back up the stairs in a haphazard fashion to drop the throttle into a 10% reverse for a sudden, albeit small, stop.
It would be several hours, before his search would come up only with scrap metal, the rest either too worn or ruined by the sand, or too damaged from the war.
He hungers, and the Strider's reserves drain, another day.
