Purple Comes From Red And Blue

Chapter One: the nerds leave and aliens happen

Hey! Back at it again with another chapter!

Our story begins with a flight simulator in the most prestigious astro-explorer academy in the world, the Galaxy Garrison.

A dark-haired boy in an orange, white and grey flight suit grabs a walkie-talkie from its stowage point above him, "Galaxy Garrison flight log 5-11-14. Begin descent to Kerberos for rescue mission." He tilts the control stick on his dashboard forward.

"Ugh. Klance, can you keep this thing straight?" A large Samoan boy in the same flight suit exclaims, hands moving frantically over a screen in front of him. He retches, nauseous, as the ship swerves.

Our pilot, Klance, is a tall boy with dark brown, almost black, hair and pale brown skin. "Relax, Hunk," presumably the engineer behind him, "I'm just getting a feel for the stick. Besides, it's not like I did this!" Klance jerks the control stick sharply to the right. The ship swerves in that direction, tossing its contents around wildly.

"Klance, stop it, unless you want to be stuck on cleaning duty again! I will throw up!" Hunk grabs the dashboard in front of him, stomach lurching. Klance huffs an annoyed sigh, but complies, shifting the controls for a smoother flight. A disruptive beeping sounds from the walkie-talkie that the communications officer has hanging on a small perch above them. The smaller figure, pale and slender with wide owlish eyes, calls out to the rest of their team, "Klance, we've picked up a distress beacon!" they peer over at the pilot, who somehow manages to exude an aura of nonchalant confidence while also having taut muscles and a focused expression.

"Look alive, team! Pidge, track coordinates." The communications officer- Pidge, their name was- turns back to their console, muttering their assent, just as the ship begins shaking again; the overhead fluorescent lights flash red and alarms blare from every speaker.

Hunk groans, clutching at his mouth and pushing his monitor away from him. The craft rumbled and shook again, "Knock it off, Klance, please!" he complains, lurching in his seat.

Klance sends a sharp look Hunk's way, "Oh, this one's on you, buddy. We've got a hydraulic stabilizer out, and, last I checked, that was your area of expertise, not mine." He turns back to the front window of the craft.

Hunk pulls his monitor back to himself before leaning forward and clamping a hand over his mouth. "Oh, no-" his stomach lurches again and Hunk barely avoids retching. Klance groans, running a hand through his dark hair and rolling his eyes- a kind-of dark indigo-blue.

"Nope! Fix now, puke later, Hunk!" He refocuses intently on the screen. Pidge calls out to their team that they've lost the signal because of the shaking. "It's interfering with our sensors!"

Klance drives the base of his palm into his temple, chastising his nauseous teammate as he returns to the screen in front of him. "Ah, nevermind, boys, thar she blows!"

Fatal last words, he thinks, standing in front of Iverson and taking his shit yet again.

"You are the most incompetent officers I've ever seen in this program, and what's more, the worst team! This kind of shit is what cost the lives of the men on the Kerberos mission!" Klance (literally) glowed in anger at that, their two souls dangerously close to splitting. Keith nearly punched Iverson, and Lance barely held them together and shoved a hand over the indignant mouth of his crewmate, Pidge. "Tomorrow'd better be the best run you've ever had or so help me god, you won't live to see the end of this program!" Klance winces at his harsh tone, flinching as spit falls on his face with the end of his sentence. "Get out of my sight," he growls.

"NEXT!"

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