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Jebediah blinked and roared to life from a dormant state on his cot when the cell door clicked. He was ready to strike and fight back. A man with a lantern in one hand and a key in the other stood there, looking blankly at him. He showed no clear intent to harm him. The man waved the lantern back and forth, then continued on to the next cell.

"Come on, you gobshites," the man said with a deep voice and a lisp to pair with it. "It's almost time to go. My name is Hammond," Jebediah heard through his muffled speech.

Jebediah pushed the door open and exited his cell. He was flanked by the massive walls and musty stench that clouded the cells around him. He stood in an old docking sector, a port for trader ships and other aircraft. It was out of order and probably hadn't been used for an eternity. Crates of cargo lined the distant hallways and interconnecting parts of the ship and the walls were spanned with tattered banners.

After Hammond had released all of the prisoners, he began to tap his foot and look down at a golden pocket watch that had been holstered on his belt. His actions were frantic and rapid. It was clear that this character, Hammond, was waiting for an arrival. The war machines above were not aiding to his angst, either.

Suddenly, a creak of rusty bolts trailed down the hallway, presumably a door being opened. Hammond wrung out his hands and slipped a pistol out of his back pocket. Jebediah thought the entirety of this man was shameful. Hammond handled himself poorly, stuttering to load a clip into the prehistoric gun. Hammond was clearly nervous. Steampunk technology had not come a long way, but this sorry excuse for a gun would not hold up in a fight.

Jebediah shook his head. "Hammond, what's your plan of action," he whispered.
"Piv is my plan of action, gobshite. However, the little punk is always late."
"Who is that?" Jebediah questioned with urgency.
"Unfortunately, you're about to find out," Hammond said, positioning himself behind some cover.

Unfamiliar voices echoed down the dark and eerie passageway of the ship. The only thing of comfort were the red emergency lights that had been triggered.

"This sector hasn't been used in years," came a raspy voice.
"Well, the commander said they were down here."
"Heck, why were we sent down here, anyway?"
"Jack-head, can you hear the firin' goin' on up there?"
"Good point."

Both of the men moved steadily, creeping into sight just as another round of artillery smashed into the side of the ship. It made Jebediah rocket forward and slam his hand down to catch himself.

"Who's there?" yelled one of the men.

Jebediah sat quietly, watching the men pace from one side of the cargo room to the other. The hostiles were suited up in heavy-plated armor and carried steam-powered rifles that were commonly used in battle. There was no getting around them. Jebediah was resourceful in most situations, but he felt like he had a concussion and he'd just woken up in the middle of literal hell, a battle between two aircraft, in the sky.

Hammond looked back to Jebediah, staring him down. The glare was degrading within itself, and it clearly stated that Hammond thought that Jebediah was an idiot of the highest caliber, but he had nothing to prove to this grotesque pirate. But he did feel as if he had a sense of duty to him and all of the other prisoners. Someone had to take action.

"Give me the gun, Hammond," Jebediah demanded.
"Gobshite, I suggest you sit back, not try to be a hero," Hammond said in spite.
"I'm not trying to be a hero, I'm trying to stay alive."
"Gobshite-"

Hammond fell silent and his agitated face drooped down into a sag, his eyes losing all vibrancy. Everything happened fast. Hammond dropped to the ground, a heap of blood collecting around his body, the blaze of the steam-powered rifles ignited within the room, and Jebediah attempted to make best of the situation by grabbing the pistol and shooting back. He got a few shots off before he heard the ramming of the docking bay door, its hinges crunching and grinding. The bay door crumpled, almost as if it were a piece of paper, and imploded, making it scuttle across the room and smash their contenders. An aircraft screeched behind its rear in an entanglement of sparks and smoke.

It took Jebediah a bit to erase the image of the bullet lodging into Hammond's chest. Blood splattered and managed to mark some of Jebediah's face. He hadn't been awake for nearly an hour. He'd already witnessed a death.

A long time passed before the silence was broken by a circular door jarring open on the craft. Jebediah tensed, raising the gun toward it. A little, burly man cloaked in grime and a dark red beard plummeting down to about chest-level arrived at the opening. His hair was long, clean-cut, and swept to the back. A coat of leather and armor and belt buckles for supplies were slung this way and that. This was the man Hammond was waiting for.

"I'm assuming you're the prisoners. Well, who's t' join me in the ride out of here?" prompted the dwarf. "There's enough room for the lot of ye," he said as he lit a cigar and shoved it in his mouth, walking back into the craft and igniting the thrusters.

The ship hummed with a new sound, a good sound. Anything was better than gun fire. The ship rotated in a buoyant state and slowly drifted down, its small thrusters pulsing with heat. Jebediah had never seen an aircraft up close before. Although the dwarf's ship looked to be a junkard and was practically slapped together with random sheets of metal and other endings, it didn't matter. What mattered was the pilot. The realization that Hammond had been killed in the commotion came back to him. Death came naturally for Jebediah. But the fact that he couldn't prevent the death of another person, regardless if he cared for them, kicked at him.