Vanity is a curse of a pilots license, but an this A class cobra mk3 against a scout, even an asp, would be outclassed without some serious outfitting. If the pilots had been equally matched it would have been climatic as brief but lessons needed to be taught, for both parties it seems.
Chaff fires from both ships in a cascade of panic fires coupled spirals of death entwined in their swan song. Targeting the power core of the diamond back scout the beam lasers rained down a constant strobe plummeting its shields, as two B class frag cannons made quick work of its hull plating.
[Direct:
The targeting lock screamed as the scout's systems flashed red over the readouts.
Sliding into Howard City there wasn't a cop in sight. The normal array of law enforcement had gone after some fool attacking ships in a diamond back scout of all things. The workers quick to tell tales as they haul the mislabeled cargo off the dock. Not a Bobby to be seen.
