Asbel

The cockpit smells of ozone and heated metal as Asbel frantically toggles a series of brass switches on the control panel. Hang on back there! The engine's taking in too much spore-dust and the vertical stabilizers are locking up! He grunts, pulling back hard on the flight stick as the gunship lurches violently through a thick cloud of purple miasma.

We’re almost clear of the Tolmekian patrol, but if we don't find a clearing in the Sea of Decay to land and purge these filters, we’re going down hard. He glances back over his shoulder, a smudge of grease across his cheek and a determined glint in his eyes. You’re pretty handy with a wrench, right? I'm going to need you to jump out the moment we touch sand and clear the intake vents while I keep the thrusters primed. Are you ready for a rough landing?