In public, Dean’s own insecurity was submerged by his Brando-style machismo.
His open shirt and arrogantly poised cigarette were a perfect fantasy for
nonsmoking teenagers who still listened to their parents.
vision was going black. Her helmet was repeatedly depressurizing and
repressurizing in an attempt to help oxygenate the dropping O2
levels in her blood. She was clawing at the Juggernauts forearm which was
holding her up by her neck. She reached up at the underside of her shattered facemask.
The tempered glass crunched within her gloves on the helmet detaching from her
suite. She hurtled it at her assailant who dropped her to the floor. Gasping
she reached around for a weapon only to find her recently discarded helmet. She
slide backwards away from the man who was still holding his face. She backed up
into a wall. There was a silence as the both stood there looking at one
another. His jaw tightened and he hunched forward as he wiped blood from his
eyes. She started pushing backwards again as she moved right along the wall and
into a small vestibule. She looked up as she passed under something before she
could register what it was her bulky Maglev book had kicked out one of its
legs. The wooden leg of a ladder, which was so out of place for the arbormine
space station. The ladder began to fall forward between her and her assailant.
Objects began to fall off the top of top tier of the ladder. A bucket of blue
paint fell into his arms and a moment later a bucket of white paint fell in her