It had been, what, three months? Maybe four since he had woken up in a hospital bed on an alien planet, two since he'd learned their language. Only a couple weeks since he'd left them for greater vistas and to find some kind of purpose in life.

He'd only the memory of the past couple months in his memory, everything else was a blur. It was almost as though he was born an adult, thrown into existence only to experience confusion. At least that's how it seemed, it was event after event with him.

A woman on a train who had shot him in the chest, which was nice.
Suffocating in space and waking up in a hospital bed, which was nice.
And then an engagement with an evil space empire's scout ship.

Which was nice.

They had demanded he disarm and allow them to board his ship. Somehow their polite request wasn't convincing enough to make him disarm, and there was a short lived dogfight that ended in the pair of them crashing on a nearby planet. It was lucky that it had a breathable atmosphere, otherwise he'd have much worse problems than repairing his ship.

After waking up in the wreckage of his ship, Dunnaman crawled out and found that the crew of the other ship didn't survive. It was convenient, because he passed out again and didn't awaken for another few hours. Night had fallen when his eyes finally opened again, he was exhausted and pretty badly bruised up. Passing out isn't particularly restful, so he was just as tired as ever.

Though he was tired, he was worried about starvation and dehydration. These are things that he really didn't want to deal with, especially while stranded on a planet that he wasn't native to. Dunnaman began work on pulling his ship out of the crater, grumbling and muttering to himself about how he always has to put up some some dumb incident.

It would be a terrible inconvenience to suddenly find out that this planet has unfriendly native life, even worse if there was unfriendly non-native life. The thought of another ship was terrifying, and he began nervously working at twice the pace, sweat pouring from his brow and down his face.

What a terrible day.

He watched through the glass for a few minutes, as he had every day for the past few months. On the other side, technicians worked tirelessly to create the ultimate weapon. They attempted to integrate the World Machine into Angar-Ryllan armour, specifically, his. It was not an easy process. The machine seemed to resist the attempts to pervert its purpose, to tear it asunder and remake it as a willing slave to the empire. In a way, it was like mastering the elements, and the excitement on the other side of the glass drew him there like a moth to flame. This was the weapon with which he would achieve his goals, and it took only the sacrifice of a single man.

The Fireen’s energy scarred face looked back at him in the glass and he noticed it, tracing the familiar lines of his very human appearance, marred by the devastation he was caught up in and the entity trapped within his soul. He turned away, finished with watching his designs for one day. There were other things that required his attention, and he had to play the good little soldier for just a while longer. Just a short while.

“One of our scouts hasn’t returned.” The officer told him as he walked into the briefing room. Around him stood the blue faced Angar-Ryllan warriors who had for whatever reason made it to high rank. He was the odd one out, as per usual, as he sat down and regarded them with his usual irritated frown. Usually he wouldn’t have sat, but they were all sitting and to stand would only further alienate himself and probably make him look weak. The thought of how the Angar-Ryllans regarded him caused a flash of anger to flood his system with adrenaline, which he clamped down on. He had to resist the urge to take a deep breath as the briefing continued.

“Why am I supposed to care?” He asked, finally, wondering why he had been invited to talk about such a trivial matter. They didn’t need his skills for something like this.

“Well, ahem, Fury, we expected you to be interested because the scout’s last report had detected technology of a similar make to that of the Machine you recovered.”

“What?”

“The Machine in tech-”

“I heard you, take me to the scout’s last location.”

“The ship is already outfitted, you can leave within the hour.”

“Ten minutes.”

In took less than half a day to find the last known location of the missing scout ship, in a solar system with only one habitable planet. It was as they closed on that planet that Fury felt a familiar feeling indeed. An energy signature, one that he remembered well. Not that of his greatest enemy, fortunately for the scouts, for they would have been lucky to survive his departure. Rather, the more subtle presence of one he had thought was gone, killed in Fury’s pursuit of revenge like so many others. It was impossible though, it must have been some similar piece of technology, carried by another of his people perhaps? But Fury’s power had only led him astray once before, and this time he was almost certain it couldn’t be carry over like the Nexus incident. It could surely only be one man.

Kanitah.

A significant amount of time had passed from the Scout Ship's destruction to the message being delivered.

Sun beaten was almost an insult at this point. Being strong enough to move something, and being in good enough shape to move something, are totally different definitions. Dunnaman's sweat poured down his face causing his eyes to burn.

With terrible effort he dragged the ship out of the crater, dirt and grass were crushed beneath the immense weight of his vehicle. Too much work for too little payoff, he had only managed to drag it a few feet before his grip failed and fell flat on his back with a thunk.

There wasn't much progress so far, he wasn't able to deal with this much weight on his own for long periods of time. In the ten or so hours he's been tugging at this ship, he's managed to pull it about ten yards outside of the crater. Not a good sign. As he lay there, glaring at the sun in response to its own glare, he contemplated how many miserable and confusing moments he's had so far. This one, by far, was the worst. Not the fighting, not the uncomfortable confusion of his lack of memory. The worst moment he's had so far is this, the seemingly never ending work on the ship.

The sun wasn't high in the sky yet, it was only morning, but even now it beat him to death. Was it the fat? Is he just really out of shape? Or is it the sun itself, becuase he really hoped that it was just the sun. He didn't want to feel as fat as he does right now, because it's really embarassing.

Lying there, he narrowed his eyes to keep the sun from his eyes and managed to catch a glimpse of something in the air. It was subtle at first, he didn't think it was anything terrible and incredibly unfortunate. It was a little dot in the sky, looked something like a bird or other flying creature. Only barely visible, until it got closer.

Man he didn't want it to get closer.

He really didn't want to know what it was.

But at this point he already knew.



Tired, aching, possibly sunburnt, and drenched with sweat. Dunnaman jerked forward and leaped to his feet with a colossal thud as his hooves dug into the ground. The man ran to his ship and jerked the door off the hinges, he had to, it was fused to the hull of the ship after the crash. Half limping half sprinting he rushed into the ship and scrambled to find the engine room. Inside he tried his damnedest to kickstart the ship, try and get the weapons system back on. He was strong but he wasn't strong enough to fight an orbital bombardment with his fists.

For a single hopeful moment, the ship's engine sputtered on and the lights burst to life. The holographic projector came on and his hopes were immediately dashed. Emergency power was on, but weapons systems were destroyed. As well as thrust.

And life support.

These were things that he didn't know how to repair.

It would have been more pressing if he weren't under immediate threat from the Angar Ryllans.

Surprisingly, lacking the usual subtlety of his favoured entrance, the five man transport ship touched down gently on the planet’s surface a half-mile from the crashed vessel. Anyone who knew the warrior who called himself Fury would have been surprised indeed to see him step onto solid ground without his usual air of determined purpose, as if for once he hadn’t come to a place just to fight and kill someone. Perhaps that was the reason for it all? People rarely saw the man in any other light than that of a warrior, in fact, few knew the man at all. They only knew the myth, unless they were one of the unlucky few, in which case they knew the monster.

Regardless, he wasn’t even dressed for battle, which might have been a foolish oversight on his part. His armour was still being reconstructed, the World Machine was resisting the attempts to graft it to his suit, so instead he walked over in plain clothes. Or what passed for plain clothes on a military ship, in other words, strict officer attire. The Fireen did not seem conscious of his appearance, having been a military man before all of this it was not something he concerned himself with, he may rebel in action and even word, but to wear clothes properly was hardwired into his brain. He made an odd sight, his iridescent blue scars running across his face somehow looked at odds with ordinary clothing, and his mail armour suited that rugged image better in some ways.

Two armoured warriors stepped out from the ship behind him and took up guard positions, scanning the horizon. The sun beat down on them, hotter than was average, but by no means unbearable. There was scarce vegetation in the region, and it seemed mostly flat, some sort of savannah perhaps? Such was likely, as even from a half-mile away there was faint smoke and dust from what the Fireen presumed was the crash site. It was not the worst place he had ever seen, but Fury had no real interest in remaining on the planet for any longer than he had to. First though, his curiosity had to be satisfied.

He walked alone across the dusty, grassy, plain. No life rose to greet him, outside of the faint but oddly familiar energy signature pulsating up ahead. The ship perhaps had some life in it still, maybe he would find more pieces of technology not unlike that of the World Machine? His excitement piqued, there was a chance that something in the wreckage could increase the likelihood of successfully grafting the World Machine to his armour. Then… then he’d have a chance at taking his revenge. Or obtaining justice, however one wanted to colour it.

He did not move all that quickly, but even his ordinary stride was faster than the jog of an average man. He made a steady, inexorable progress across the plain towards the crater, and as he closed he felt more and more certain of what he was sensing. But how was such a thing possible?

His heart stuck in his throat when the sounds of the ship landing nearby struck his ears, they weren't just here to obliterate. They were here to investigate. If they were confident enough to not only land their ship but get out and look in person they must be confident in their ability. As he shook the console and jammed buttons with his fingers, the silent sound of long and heavy footfalls came through the door. The sounds of his engine would be a dead giveaway, he couldn't fake that he didn't survive the crash with it running. So he stood there absolutely stunned for a moment, stuck in a fight or flight response. Fear and frustration didn't prevail, however. Instead, logic.

Dunnaman spoke out with a holler to the currently faceless footsteps outside of his ship, the corridors of the ship echoed his strange accent pretty loudly. Unintentionally so, but accidents happen. "Hold ahn! Ah'm commin' oht. Ah'm armed, but ah c'not disarm. Tha thahng is tethered ter mah wayst! Ah've got mah hands raysed ah'll be no trahble!" The heavyset man did as he spoke, raising his arms above his head as a show of surrender. Or at least as a show of non-violent intent. "Ah can explahn everahthun', long'us yah let mah."

It was ultimately unfortunate that he could not disarm, as the mace was tethered to his waist. If he had known what the mace actually implied, then he would not have kept it held so tightly to himself. If he had known that it was of the same make as the Engine, he wouldn't have brought it. But this kind of knowledge was impossible for him to carry, because even if he knew what the Engine was, he wouldn't know the correlation between the two.

Slowly but surely he strode down the hall of the ship, it wasn't too long a hall so it wasn't terribly long of a walk. It took him just a few moments to reach the end of the hall and at the doorway. His elbow knocked both sides of the door as he stepped out into the sunlight, the sweat from before glistening brightly as the sun struck his face. As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight again he was left partially blind, all that stood before him was an imposing figure as tall as himself.

Though his eyes were squinted tightly together and unseeing, he kept his hands raised just in case they were worried he might go for the mace. "Yah say? C'not disarm mahself. Thah chain holds ter strong."

As Fury's stride carried him towards the ship, he dropped a little ways into the crater, sensing a living soul within the confines of the ship. He made no effort to call him out, the ship was crippled, he wasn't going anywhere, so the man instead placed himself just outside the entry-way and tapped his foot on the ground, mute. Waiting. Though not for long.

The Fireen’s eyes narrowed as the tall, bulky, humanoid stepped gingerly out into the open air. He was as true as his word, there was an unusual mace tethered to his body, and Fury’s gaze was fixed upon it. His face was marked with a frown as he slowly glanced upwards to regard the creature who had presumably been the pilot of the ship. For a moment, the Fireen looked disappointed with what he saw. Tall, too tall, with hooves rather than ordinary feet and a strangely hairy body. He looked like a satyr, in a way, though the man stood before him knew nothing of Greek mythology and was incapable of making the comparison.

“Who are you?”

Within the three seconds that it took for his eyes to adjust, he had a life changing experience. For the first time in his life, so far, he was absolutely speechless. Somehow this man that he had not met in this life had filled him with a primal and inexplicable fear, his heart stuck in his throat and choked him for a moment. Dunnaman stood there with fear in his widening eyes, if he were a more flighty fellow he would have dropped his arms and ran.

Every fiber in his being pulled at him, tearing him away from this situation. Something about this man drove Dunnaman's mind to only one solution, flee. Terror and primal urgest wiped almost all thought from his mind, but for some reason, he didn't run. For some reason, another emotion flooded him shortly after the fear. Another emotion that was more compelling and driving, something that normal emotionally adjusted people would ignore.

But Dunnaman isn't a normally adjusted individual.

What emotion, you might ask? Confused recognition. Dunnaman had managed to put two and two together, and realized that this man was someone he recognized. Even though he didn't know why or how he knew someone he had never laid eyes on before. This man was familiar in an almost dream-like sort of way. A person you've never met but have always known.

It took him a moment to speak, terror sweats beading down his face, as he managed to spew a few words. "Ah'm Dunnaman. Dunna who ah'm but ah've buhn trahvlahn fer a short tahm. Ahnly a couple weeks aht most." After he had managed to open his mouth to speak, he was able to bring himself to actually explain himself.

His accept peeped through particularly thick right about here, and he would have felt embarassed if he didn't have other more confusing emotions on the brain. "Ah had a rahn in weht thas harr scout shep. Thah ahttacked meh and ah retahlahyated. Had ter dahfend mahself, ya'nah? Sahry ehf they whar yah pahls."

The only indication that Fury was even listening as the man tried to answer his question was a slight furrowing of his brow. In truth, the creature’s accent was not overly difficult to decipher with some thought, but the Fireen had little patience for concentrating on the words of others. Still, he had come this far, so the least he could do was try to get to the bottom of why the creature had an energy signature comparable to that of the Pundambayan race. Or rather, the energy signature of their technology, Kanitah’s technology, the World Machine. It was not so common a device that any individual should be trawling the galaxy with technology of the same ilk, yet the man (?) provided little information as to who he was.

“Dunnaman.” He said slowly, rolling the strange name off his tongue, his voice echoing with that of the Void. “So you don’t know who you are, but you were happy to fight Ryllan scouts and, somewhat, succeed?” Fury looked fearsome for a moment. “No matter, they are no friends of mine, I could care less what happens to them.”

Fury approached the being. If not for the energy scars that pulsed on his face and the strength of his build he would have looked less dangerous than usual. He was unaware of his much his armour played into his ordinary visage. Still, he could be intimidating, and Dunnaman could likely be intimidated.

“Now, I want to know what you do remember. I want to know where you got that mace.”

His too calm and cool demeanor, the strange reverberations in his voice, the haunting lights crawling in his face. Horror is the closest word and it does no justice to the primal fear lurking behind the eyes of the desperately collected Dunnaman. Fury toyed with his name for a moment, the introductions weren't over and yet he was asking for more information about him. No, not him, about his mace.

What kind of man is he?

Not wanting to engage in hostilities as frequently as he does, Dunnaman kept his tone low and as polite as he could. Withholding any of his usual sarcasm or hot-blooded shouting, something about this guy wasn't right. It was almost as if his instincts were telling him about a predator much higher up the food chain than him, like a barracuda running into a mako. Just feels dangerous all around. "'T was mahd fer mah condahshun. That thar star ah cahm from had daycent folks who halped mah oht, mahd eht ter kehp mah ehnargeh absobshun ehn check. Ahtherwahs ah'd suck up ahll tha mahtter round mah an' probablay ahxplode."

He paused for a moment, trying to work his most pressing question into the conversation in a reasonable way. "Ehrr. . .Sah, what's thah rahson fer yah askehn? Mehster. . .?" He was hoping that leaving the sentence open ended would have him fill in his name, if he didn't then he wouldn't bother trying to ask again.

If the Fireen realised that Dunnaman was prompting him for his name, there was no indication of it. In truth, there was a strong possibility that the man could no longer converse like an ordinary person, he had almost completely relinquished his true name after all, it was clear he placed little importance in monikers. When he had asked that question of the furred creature, he had been asking for more than a name. Still, the furry man’s answers to his questions had aroused the Fireen’s curiosity, which was a double edged sword of the sharpest sort. On the one hand, he was unlikely to try and kill him until his curiosity had been sated, on the other, he had gained the attention of a mass murderer. Almost as if to emphasise the threat, the Void flared up briefly within Fury and his eyes momentarily flashed with that same, somehow harsh, blue fire. Something inside wanted out. The best it could do was look through his eyes.

“You drain energy?” like me.

He let his rhetorical question sit in the air for what would in normal circumstances be an awkward length of time, though there was nothing all that normal about their conversation. He was thinking. If what Dunnaman said was true, the mace was of no use to Fury. He frowned, an expression one could frequently find on his face. He hadn’t smiled for a long time. Long enough that he might have forgotten how.

“I ask because I recognise it.” Fury said finally, unsure why he was divulging so much to the person he questioned. Not that he claimed to be a master of interrogation. “You say some people you first ran into made it for you?” He paused. “Who are they, where are they?” The hunger in his voice was disturbing, he should have tried to clamp down on it. Dunnaman would be aware he was putting his friends in exceptional danger if he told the Fireen, but did he really have much choice?

Dunnaman glazed over the mention of his energy absorption once Fury shifted his focus back onto the mace, he was inquiring about the location of the planet that he had left. The ones who had saved his life and given him the mace. Without the mace he'd explode, or turn into an abomination. Neither of those sound like a walk in the park. His entire body shook with the realization of what this man might want with those people, because if he made Dunnaman quiver in fear like a child what would he do to them?

It was a desperate thought process, one poor solution after another. Every single conclusion he came up with was a bugger failure than the last. He had nothing, and he might have told Fury where to find them if his ship's power hadn't suddenly cut out. The light disappearaing in the corner of his eye gave him an idea, and he hoped to any higher power that it would work. "Ah c'not tahl yeh whar that thar plahneht ah cahm from ehs. Ehn tha crahsh mah NavCom blew, an now ehs worthlass. Ah had ter mahk a couple jumps durran thah fahrfaght. Loss trahk of mah locashun, ah'm ahs lost ter thar wharabouts as yeh are."

He kept his face exactly as inconfident as it had been during the entire duration of this encounter, hiding the sliver of hope that he held within himself. Praying that his lie was good enough, because he hadn't even inspected his computer's systems. If Fury investigated, he didn't know what he would do.

“I see.” The Fireen stared into Dunnaman’s face, expecting to see some sign of fear or subterfuge there. Perhaps if he were a different type of person he might have been able to see it, maybe before he became the Fury he would have been able to see through the lie. Still, that was not to mean he was happy with the furred-man’s words.

“Then we will fix it, you will show us how. I will have what I want and you will be allowed to live.” Fury bartered, though he was even unsure if he himself lied. There was certainly no sign of it on his face, there was seldom more than cold anger on his face, except for those unlucky enough to see it burn hot. Dunnaman’s luck hadn’t ran out yet. Would Fury kill him anyway? It was difficult to say, his motives were usually obscure save for one overriding goal. But there was no need to dwell on that now.

“Or will you defy me?” The threat was as audible as the pressure that built around the two as Fury’s strength exuded from his form, in equal measure with that draining force that was somehow contained within his paradoxical body. As the tension mounted, the area became less and less pleasant to be in, it was like choking in a hostile environment. And Fury hadn’t even got really angry yet.

Conflict seemed like an ever closer and terrifying inevitability. He didn't know how long he could stall, and even if he could stall forever he didn't know the lengths of Fury's patience. After being in the sun all day, and after hauling his ship he was unsure of himself.

Could he escape if he ran? If he ran, Fury might just take the ship and leave. He would doom those helpful folks who had saved his life. Other plans seemed just as hopeless, some for more foolish. Recklessness might get him killed, and he still hasn't figured out who he is yet.

One word and a color were all he had to go on, and that word was in a language nobody he had met could speak. By the gods he hadn't even learned his own damn name! Dunnaman was a made up moniker! As he stood there, Fury demanded that they fix the ship. Panic washed his blood white hot, and his skin chilled at the pressure of Fury's aura.

He didn't know what to do, and his mouth worked without thought. His words were totally on the spot. "No," Uttered from his mouth, defiance heavy on the single syllable. Panicked words followed very shortly, though the defiance still hung in the air like a weighted balloon. "Ah mehn. Ah cahnnot fehx tha shep's sehstehms. Ahm not skehlled ehnough ter fehx Tham. Ahll ah knoo ehs how ter fehx thah engahn."

Another lie, they had given him a manual to fix every system on the ship. Hard and soft ware. If his entire body wasn't already drenched in sweat, Fury might see cold sweats running afresh down his forehead and into his eyes."Ahnd ehvahn ehf ah dead. Eht maght not beh sahlvagable."

If push came to shove he'd do what needed to be done to save the lives of the helpless many from Fury's wrath.

“You’re testing my patience. If you can’t fix your computer systems how were you ever going to get anywhere? Were you planning on just flying through space aimlessly until you found people who could help you?” Fury had turned on his heel and then began pacing, he didn’t have a brilliant analytical mind but Dunnaman’s excuses were starting to sound like exactly that, excuses. He didn’t want to give him the information he sought, that much was becoming clear. Or maybe he really didn’t know how to fix the computer and had simply planned to fly through space aimlessly. It was difficult to estimate the creature’s intelligence with that odd drawl, but he thought it stupid. Somewhere in Fury was a soldier though, and drilled in him was tactical awareness that almost resembled intuition. Dunnaman seemed stupid, but Ryllan scouts were no fools. Dunnaman would be dead or captured if he was as stupid as Fury believed him to be. Something wasn’t adding up.

So the next question that shot through Fury’s less than complex mind, churned by mechanisms that utilised brute force more so than intricate analysis, was why the man was withholding that information. If he was. Did he know something about Fury? The Fireen’s presence was certainly a give-away that he was more than met the eye, but he had already admitted to being no real friend of the Ryllans. Unless Dunnaman did not believe him, thought him a spy or an officer in the Empire, thought he would bring destruction down on his friends. Fair points all, but if it were not that threat then what? Did he believe Fury so great a threat that he could destroy the people who had helped him? Were they so few? Were they so weak?

Fury was irritated, it was difficult to think with the burning at the back of his skull distracting him. Goddamn the Void and its persistent nagging, its incessant whispering, its grating commands. Damn thing. If it were not obvious, the Fireen was growing more and more irate, and with that, his sanity was slipping.

“I am starting to think you like it here, Dunnaman.” Fury said after some time, allowing the creature to reply to his original question and leaving a lengthy pause in which he paced. “You are making a poor effort to see yourself off the planet, after all.” The threat was there again. He might kill Dunnaman, he might strand him here alone to while away his days, however many they may be, with a desiccated ship.

It sure seemed like the excuses had stopped working, Fury had started growing impatient. So too did he seem to start figuring things out, the inconsistencies in his lies. Fear and confusion had caused Dunnaman to make mistakes, even the facade of ignorance had seemed to be unmasked. There was a little time for him to respond to the first question, but he came up with nothing to say. Nothing he could say would work as a distraction anymore, it seemed. Maybe totally innocuous conversation would distract him. Of all the things he's tried so far this was the most illogical.

Fury had begun to pace, a sign of irritation and anger. For a moment he had turned away from Dunnaman, he took this opportunity to lower his arms for the first time. That was a relief at least, now he wasn't totally held defenseless. More and more pacing, that oppressive aura ever present between the pair. The movements of Fury's head, the way he walked, he was deep in thought as he moved. Fury turned on his heel once more as he paced, Dunnaman saw his face and the furrows of anger on it. Standing there he gritted his teeth slightly, trying to muster up the courage to speak.

Just looking at Fury made him uncomfortable, and now it was worse. It looked like he was on the breaking point. People on the breaking point were often irra- His thought process paused for a moment. Irrational! The innocuous conversation might work, irrational thought met with irrational thought might be a big enough distraction. Alternatively it might literally blow up in his face, and he still has little in the way of knowledge of what he's capable of.

If it worked, that would be splendid! Save an unknown amount of lives from a lunatic of unknown ability by using his wit. If it doesn't work, he might have to turn tail and run. "Wahl, yah. Thahs plahneht ehs quaht nahs. Sahve fehr the haht ahr. Burnehn mah ahss ehn the sahn, yah fehl?" It sure did seem like he was making no effort to actually leave, maybe that was what he was going for. Maybe he was trying to make Fury believe he had every intention to stay here. For one reason or another, a lot of things were just happening to him.

Dunnaman had suddenly felt a nightmarish combination of emotions once he laid eyes on Fury.
Fury had shown up on this planet because of a battle between Dunnaman and some scouts.

Wait. . .

If Fury showed up because of the scouts, that meant that they were with him. If he couldn't keep Fury from learning about the people back on that planet, he might bring down the full might of whatever empire they serve under. Dunnaman shivered, the hair on his body stood on end again and sparked slightly. Panic made him energize the air around himself for a moment, this was much worse than his own self preservation. They might be able to survive just Fury, but an entire army!?

Oh Gods!

Fury’s eyes coldly regarded the displaced earth and the spot in which the ship evidently came to rest. Those same eyes rolled up to the current position of Dunnaman’s vessel, some distance away from that spot, having evidently been moved in some fashion. Judging by the creature’s condition, back-breaking labour no doubt. Now, it didn’t take a genius to spot a hole in the man’s façade.

“Oh, so you are resigned to your fate?” Fury asked rhetorically. “You have acted very strangely then, why bother moving your ship at all if you thought you were stranded on this planet?” The Fireen tired of games very quickly, and he was starting to feel like he was in one. To make matters worse, it was a game of words and wit, not one he was good at. Fury hated things he was bad at, and he hated games. What Fury hated he tended to destroy, it was his nature.

Suddenly, the Fireen’s unnatural eyes saw something else. It was brief, like a flash of light at night, so much so that he second guessed himself immediately. Had the creature just exuded energy for a short period? Had he some form of energy control not unlike that of Antireen control, Fury’s own ability? Fury was on edge, watching Dunnaman more closely now, still sure of himself but just that inkling bit more cautious. Would he be able to coax more displays from the man if things continued? Fury intended to find out.

Suddenly, the Fireen’s unnatural eyes saw something else. It was brief, like a flash of light at night, so much so that he second guessed himself immediately. Had the creature just exuded energy for a short period? Had he some form of energy control not unlike that of Antireen control, Fury’s own ability? Fury was on edge, watching Dunnaman more closely now, still sure of himself but just that inkling bit more cautious. Would he be able to coax more displays from the man if things continued? Fury intended to find out.

Standing there wordlessly, there was nothing that he could have said that could have fixed the hole in his logic. At least nothing that he could see, Fury's irrational behavior wasn't strong enough to fall for a lie as simple as that one yet. He had blown his chance to fool him and now he didn't know what to do. If he hadn't moved his ship he would have not only been less tired and the lie might have worked.

But now he didn't know what to do. Fury had caught on and now was glaring at him intensely. For what it was worth, he had managed to keep Fury talking for a solid few minutes. So it's at least commendable that he didn't try what he was about to do before.

Something had changed about Fury's expression when his unconscious expulsion of energy had sparked the air. His expression turned to interest instead of pure rage, which was not good. Dunnaman did not like being looked at like that, it was not condusive to good mental health.

So, the time had finally come for Dunnaman to do the extreme.

His right leg shifted slightly, putting itself behind him. He turned his left shoulder towards Fury amd raised his hands slightly. It looked almost like he was taking a combative stance. That was, until Dunnaman turned on his heel and ran towards his ship in full sprint. It was an almost comical sight, seeing the heavyset bruiser dart off in cartoonish fashion. Arms and knees raising to full extension every step, it took mere seconds for him to reach his ship.

Once inside, he unhooked the mace from his waist and smashed the console with all of his might. The ship, being light enough to be overcome by the force of the shockwave, lifted off the ground momentarily before slamming back down. Without the computer system he would be stranded, but it would save the people of that planet from Fury's wrath.

Potentially the Empire's wrath as well.

Whatever happens next, happens.

“What are you-”

Fury was taken aback for just a moment, but in that moment he had witnessed something extraordinary. Something so surprising that even though he had the power, he took no steps to prevent it. That thing was the sudden flight of Dunnaman and subsequent destruction of the console by way of beating the shit out of it with a mace. He watched the creature batter it into oblivion in response to his questioning, frozen in place.

Then, he snapped back into the real world. Unfortunately, all his rage came with it. “You fucking idiot!” The Fireen roared, and with it he swept his hands forth and a great torrent of force blasted outwards, catching the lip of the ship as it hung suspended on rock and battering it with pure, unbridled power. Amazingly, the craft tipped all the way over as it was shunted backwards and collapsed upside down, presumably throwing Dunnaman around inside like a rag-doll. As suddenly as it came, the raging river stemmed and dried as Fury quite literally exuded all his emotion. He yelled another question into empty air, but the anger behind his initial outburst had left his tone.

“Why would you do that?”

Inside the ship he had been rolled around like an incredibly hefty ragdoll indeed, smacking from one side of the ship to another before coming to a rest somewhere in the engine room. Dazed and tired he laid there for a few moments, the words of Fury echoed for a moment before only a soft ringing sound touched Dunnaman's ears. It took him a few seconds to right himself and climb up and out towards the door he had run through. His fingertips peeked out and lingered for a moment before he let his head peer over the edge of the ship's door, Fury had gone entirely placid from his outburst. His ship had flipped over, so he was hanging over the underside of it and staring at him over a plane of dented and dirty metal. "Sahry buhb, nehded ter prahtect thah ehnnascant. Rahthar ah' gaht pahmmeled ehn thah stead of softer folk." His face hurt slightly, he had fallen face first into something metal a moment ago, so he blinked a few times to right himself again.

"Baht ah'll beh honhast. Ah do naht ahctooleh know whah ah dehd eht, ah've jehst hahd ah bad fehllehn about yeh sehnce ah fehrst lahd ehs on yeh." Suddenly, after unleashing a ballistic wrath upon the console of his ship, he had calmed down. Only now was he noticing this difference. Maybe in much the same way as Fury had released his pent up rage in one motion, Dunnaman had unleashed his pent up fears. Though he was still uncomfortable looking at Fury's face, he was able to talk a bit more honestly with him. Maybe for the better at this point.

“And so you fear me and the Angar-Ryllan and believe we will destroy these people you owe your life to?” His head shook, somehow he couldn’t quite rationalise the creature’s fear. Perhaps one never truly accepts they aren’t on the side of angels. Fury seemingly hadn’t.

“Well. You have done more than enough to make finding them difficult. I am half tempted to hurt you quite badly for that.” His eyes burned for a moment. “Instead, I will give you a chance. Tell me your story, everything you remember from when you first opened your eyes. If you will not tell me how to find these people who helped you then tell me who they were and what they were like.” Fury’s hands flexed. “You will see it as a betrayal, perhaps, but do you think they gave you that weapon just to throw your life away fighting the Empire? Take my offer, tell me your story, I don’t want to kill you.”