>>6248578[2/6]
You sense movement on your left. You briefly see a pale face in the gap of the exit hatch on top of the pod before it disappears, the hatch closing once more with a <span class="mu-s">CLUNK!</span>. You sigh in annoyance, stepping back towards the pod. At least this was a confirmation that the colonist was still alive. With all the noise made in this area in the past five minutes, the time to get lost was now.
<span class="mu-s">"BANG! BANG! BANG!"</span> you loudly knock against the side of the pod with the butt of your musket. <span class="mu-i">"COME ON! WE HAVE TO GO!"</span> you hollered at the pod.
Silence.
<span class="mu-i">"MORE OF THESE NIGGERS ARE COMING AND I'LL LEAVE YOUR ASS BEHIND, YOU WANT THEM TO FUCKING EAT YOU, ASSHOLE?!"</span> you lied loudly, having no idea of their dietary preferences or the proximity of reinforcements.
Nothing, for several seconds. You were about to engage in another round of banging and yelling when suddenly, a stirring noise reverberates from inside. The hatch unlatches, and the thin, harried face of somebody in their late teens emerges, topped by a mop of messy brown hair. His eyes anxiously flit from you, to the dead raiders, to your gun, and back again. A horrid smell wafts from the open hatch, not unlike the one that accompanied you when you landed. You grimace. He looks sick. He opens his mouth to speak.
<span class="mu-i">"What th-"</span> he manages before dry-heaving, his stomach long devoid of contents to expel. You haul him out of the pod by the collar of his blue expedition jumpsuit, and, despite your half-hearted attempt to catch him, he quickly tumbles over the side and onto the ground below, landing on his side with a thud.
<span class="mu-i">"m-motherfucker..."</span> he croaks.
<span class="mu-i">"Come on, let's get your shit together. Quickly. We've got to go."</span> you retort, looking around the campsite. Returning to Red Turban's corpse, you pull the blood-soaked bandolier from his body and pluck his discharged musket from the grass nearby.
<span class="mu-i">"Who the hell were those guys?... What happened to the other col-"</span> he starts, picking himself off of the ground as he starts to look through his pilfered baggage.
<span class="mu-i">"I have absolutely no clue, man. Not the time."</span> you interrupt pointedly. <span class="mu-i">"Take this... and put this thing on."</span> you say, handing him Red Turban's musket and offering the associated bandolier of ammunition, causing additional confusion and incredulity as the kid struggled against asking what year it was supposed to be. Red Turban's musket was markedly different than the one you carried, it was much shorter and seemed better-made, though just as gaudily decorated with brass, knife carvings, and indecipherable text. The kid complied, likely still in shock at his sudden change in circumstances.
