To write a Sci-Fi story that must contain the following words: Whisk & Neoprene Knee Support.
Caught amidst the crossfire of two opposing forces hell bent on destroying each other, wasn’t exactly the kind of rebellious run away he had in mind.
These weren’t no tippy tappy ricocheting bullets, but full blown military grade, melt your face off, laser blasts.
Huge chucks of debris burst away from the remnants of once tall buildings as speculative fire strafed in search of a lucky hit. On several occasions he thought he’d been spotted whilst cowering within the shell of a burnt out land cruiser, such was the closeness of some of the blasts.
He had only explored the vehicle on a hunch that it had at one time carried medical supplies. Save from a few charred bandages and a neoprene knee support that looked as much use as an empty blaster pistol, there was little here worth salvaging.
As the battle ensued, he contemplated his chances should he break cover and run. He reasoned them to be ‘slim to none’. What he hadn’t factored in was being discovered by some kind of alien humanoid carrying a fallen comrade.
Upon seeing him, the alien let out a deafening scream. Tendrals span from the gapping hole that was presumably its mouth like some kind of primitive whisk sending ochre coloured bile everywhere.
His comrade had been hit and was losing a lot of blood. It too was ochre in colour making him wonder if those tendrals has tried cleaning the wound at some point. He’d been told some crazy stories about aliens.
“Here!” he said, pointing to bandages and knee support, gesturing as to how they should be used.
The alien replied in some indiscernible dialect whilst laying his companion down. It watched as he once again gestured as to what to do with the supplies.
Some of the stories had been wrong. Here first hand the myth about these creatures being devoid of compassion was being dispelled. He wondered how many others were false too.