Wanderer Ch 36: Path Way To Escape!

(Jack) 

More black-armored soldiers poured into the hangar like a busted hornet's nest—each one pointing some variant of a death stick at me. Great. Just what I needed. I ducked behind a crate as a volley of red-hot plasma lit up the room like a twisted rave party.

My own ship was still crawling with wires, some of them hissing and sparking from earlier damage, and way too far across the room. Even if I made a run for it, I'd be reduced to space confetti before I got halfway there. But then my eyes caught it—off to the right side of the room, still miraculously intact, was another ship. Sleek, compact, probably fast. And a hell of a lot closer.

Alright, plan B. Or was it plan G by now? Didn't matter. I just needed to move.

I was halfway through figuring out my death-dodging route when the entire damn ship lurched again—like a bug being flicked by a god. I slammed into the crate, stars dancing in my eyes, and then the glow started.

I blinked hard and looked up. The crimson energy fields—those barriers sealing the gaping wounds in the hull—began to distort. Light shimmered, warping like the surface of water in a boiling pot. And then... then I saw it.

A golden eye.

No, not just golden. A fucking massive golden eye. It peered in through the crack in the hull like a curious cat studying a trapped mouse. And that mouse? Yeah, hi, that was me.

My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't look away. The eye was impossibly large, full of swirling solar flares and glimmering threads that stretched like stardust in an endless void. And it was looking right at me.

"Oh no," I muttered. "She's looking for me."

Was that good? Bad? Cataclysmic?

The air in the hangar shifted—soldiers hesitated, the crimson glow flickered. And that eye didn't blink. Just stared. Focused. Waiting.

I ducked back behind the crate, heart racing. "Okay, Jack," I whispered to myself. "A massive space goddess is eyeballing you like a long-lost chew toy. You've got about thirty seconds before this whole ship becomes cosmic debris. And your best shot is that shiny ride over there."

Blasters warmed up behind me. Footsteps pounded closer.

I gritted my teeth and prepared to move.

"One Titan, a room full of death bots, and a ten-second escape window. What could possibly go wrong?"

And with that, I ran.

I made a mad dash across the hangar floor, ducking under a rain of plasma and sparks, skidding behind some half-melted barrier and straight toward the console near the intact ship. The controls were glowing with symbols that looked like a toddler had scribbled circuit diagrams during a sugar rush. Nothing made sense—triangles inside of squares, rotating glyphs, pulsing orbs. Was that one blinking Morse code? I didn't have time to learn alien.

So I did what any rational person would do.

I started pressing everything.

One button flashed green, then blue, then let out a weird clicking sound that made me flinch like it just armed a self-destruct. Another button hissed and spat steam. But then—I hit one, a large panel glowing dim gold, and the wires holding the ship gave a mechanical screech like someone had just popped the lid off a pressure cooker.

The ship dropped an inch, then hummed.

"Oh hell yes."

Of course, the victory dance would have to wait because I heard heavy boots pounding toward me. One of the black-armored soldiers rounded the corner like a linebacker, gun raised, shouting something in a language that sounded like static and throat-clearing.

"Nope," I said, diving into the ship.

The inside wasn't any more welcoming—switches, tubes, half a dozen panels that looked like angry touchscreens. The pilot's chair greeted me like a spider nest, all coils and glowing strands.

I dropped into the seat, heart hammering. "Okay, fly... just need it to fly..."

I grabbed the closest thing that looked like a throttle—big, chunky, probably important—and pulled it toward me. The engine roared like a sleeping god waking up pissed off. The hangar bay around me started to pull apart, the floor trembling as magnetic clamps disengaged.

I slammed the throttle forward. The ship jolted, almost threw me back, but then I was flying.

Straight out of the hangar and into the great, chaotic mess of space.

And there she was.

Her.

The brown-haired wanderer. The Titan.

Her face filled the entire viewport like a living moon. Her eyes were molten amber, her mouth stretched wide open as if ready to swallow half a solar system—and me right along with it. I could see the glow from her throat, deep and endless.

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"

I yanked the handle to the right, full force, muscles screaming as the ship screamed louder. We spun, the edge of her lips skimming past the window like the rim of a canyon. I felt the heat of her breath rock the whole ship.

Then—stars.

I was out. Past her cheek. Past the trap.

I laughed—maybe half from relief, half from oxygen deprivation—and leaned back in the seat, arms trembling.

"Made it," I said with a crooked grin.

Then the lights went red.

Every. Single. One.

A siren blared, a deep womp-womp like a submarine had just rear-ended me. I whipped my head toward a screen lighting up near the back camera feed.

My grin fell.

Behind me, blotting out galaxies, a hand—no, a planet-sized hand—was reaching toward the ship. Fingertips larger than continents, moving slow, but inevitable. Like a god swatting a fly.

I stared, breath caught in my throat.

"...Shit."