BEEP.

BEEP.

BEEP.

The communications device on the dashboard continued to loudly flash and beep, drowned out by the blaring rock music in the cockpit, and the sound of bottles clattering inside of it. Our story begins with...

"Ah shitshit, HEY, you've got Biscuit!" The haggard, ragged pilot of "Funny Name" slapped his hand on the button, activating the call from the pickup location. A disgruntled voice groans out from the speakers now, in tandem with the music.

"BISCUIT! You're late!!! Get your ass to the pickup point before the Compact catches on to us, you CANNOT miss this window, or we're all fucked!!" 

Biscuit rolls his eyes, taking a swig from one of the many bottles that still had something in it. (Even he's not sure what's in them, but they give him a buzz, so it's all good.) "Yeahyeahyeah, entering pickup range now, priming tractor beam, skedaddle!" 

The operation they had going was simple. Go out to space, drop off the cargo, wait for a runner who can avoid the Compact's detection with their modified ships, drop off the cargo at the drop point, get paid. Biscuit was one of their top runners, followed by legends like "The Scarlet", Duck Simmons, Groovy, y'know, all names everyone definitely knew and weren't currently behind several markers worth of black ink. 

It ain't glamourous work, but it is glorious. Biscuit thought to himself as he snagged the cargo out of the void, already locking in his next drop point's coords. Pft, not like she understood that. 

The jump drive roared to life as the ship blasted through spacetime itsself, causing him to choke on his drink, and spit it up all over his favorite jacket. "Ah shit, -kaf- -kaf-, I did it again!" He wiped off his face with a rag from his pocket, and wiped off his face, not paying attention to several things:

1: Where he was going.

2:Who was there waiting for him.

When the ship slipped back out of jump, he was immediately followed up with a hail. "The fuck?" Slapping towards the hail button, missing it at least 4 times, each punctuated by an expletive, the hail is finally answered.

"Montoya Station, ready for drop off, you're late, pilot."

"Why're you calling me so early, t'fuck?"

"It's Standard Procedure, wait...Stars damn it..." Biscuit immediately recognized the voice on the other end.

"Oh, WELL WELL WELL, Cookie!! Long time no see!"

"Biscuit, it's been 3 days."

"That's a long time in space."

"It's three days in space."

"No!"

"And you're late."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Wh-nuh uh...? You- You're drunk again, aren't you?"

"Yeeeeeeee..."

Cookie groaned in frustration at her ex on the comms. She was a runner once, too. But unlike her husband, Cookie saw what she was running, and what it did. She ordered a job transfer, and filed some divorce papers, and ended up getting deployed to Montoya as a dispatch officer, in a cruel twist of fate, meaning the chances of dealing with her ex were always above zero.

"Just drop off the cargo and go, Biscuit. You have a 20 second window before they pick us up, and make sure to NOT HIT THE BASE AGAIN." Biscuit laughed as he came down into low orbit, opening up the cargo bay doors.

"Whaaat? C'moooon, Cookie, it barely grazed it last time!"

"Biz, our comms were out for 3 days when you buzzed the commlink with supplies SPECIFICALLY TO FIX the damage to the mess hall YOU caused. If you keep this up, they're gonna-"

"What, court martial me? Executube me? Cooks, you and I both know that you guys need me, and until someone else comes along, I will drop this wherever I please! Aaaaand because I see the SAMs firing up, I will gladly drop this out in the designated landing zone and leave-buh-bye!!" The cargo flew out from the hold, utilizing microjets to accurately and smoothly get on target as the ship circled the site once more, and blasted right back off into space.

"Thank you. 25% of payment has been wired, now get the rest."

"Wh-REST?! UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH........you didn't say anything about multiple trips!!!!! C'moooon!" Biscuit began to do barrel rolls in high orbit to express his frustration as Cookie elaborated.

"Yes, I did. I explicitly said 1 crate now, 3 crates next run. But you were too busy whining about love lost. Maybe if you quit trying to kill yourself on these stupid stars-damned runs, I wouldn't have left you, or better yet, maybe our s-"

"Oh, do you? Do you get it now? Did that wake you up?"

Biscuit quickly punched in his next pickups coords, angrily. "Fuck off. See you in a week."

Cookie heard the call fizzle out as the ship blasted off out of orbit, feeling smug with herself for finally shutting him up. "Asshole. Ugh..." Cookie watched from the comm tower's window as the supplies were extinguished from the incredibly hot drop, and unpacked. He used to be so nice... She thought to herself, looking at the ripped photo on her desk. Herself, Biscuit's body (his face blocked with a scribble of a donkey, and...

(To be continued in Chapter 2: "Test Flight"