All these three-posters make my chapters feel tiny and insignificant D=

Chapter 16- Not the most ideal means of escape

Jargon and John raced throught the streets of the city, past panicking bystanders.
Jargon's raccoon tail streaked out from behind him as he dodged around corners and ran across streets. His muddish red coloring would have blended into the bricks of the buildings, had they been made from terrestrial mud. Instead, they were made on Diamondous, and thus were a unnatural shade of blue. His clothes made soft clinking noises as he ran, from their partially metal construct. Looking back at John, his white-on-black eyes noted that the more mentally-stable Technomancer had not fallen behind. John was wearing, instead of Jargon's causual- if unusual- clothes, the traditional robes of a Technomancer- fancy, but still quite functional. However, it would still slow down even a fast rabbit such as John.

Jargon rounded another corner, only a few minutes from the spaceport. Stopping to catch his breath, Jargon chanced to look at a side alley. Two soldiers of the rebellion stepped out from the alley, wearing black masks to hide their identities. They both held up their guns, and started to fire. Jargon and John both jumped in opposite directions, and both took out their autocasters. After a glance at each other, they both started to twiddle them with speed born from urgency. John finished first; with a small bang the gun of one of the soldiers flew apart before the soldier's startled eyes. Jargon then finished his spell; the parts of them gun re-assembled themselves into a bomb. In a blast, that soldier died.
The other soldier ran forward, to John. Jargon glanced towards the dead soldier's corpse, and then darted towards it. John tried to run backwards as he prepared a spell, but dropped his autocaster as the other soldier wacked him in the head with his rifle. The soldier stood over his target, and aimed his rifle at John's head. Then there was a bang, and the soldier relaxed and fell over. John saw, somewhat lightheadedly, Jargon standing behind him, reloading the handgun he found on the corpse of the first soldier. After being helped up, John continued on with Jargon.

Since John was still somewhat dizzy after the fight, they walked the rest of the way. Within minutes, they had found the space port. A twenty-foot tall and rather boxy structure, the space port had the capabilites to hold around 30 shuttles, and that's all. This was not a very rich area of Diamondous, and the space port reflected this.
Rushing inside, they found the place rather empty, with only a few small shuttles occupying the open, girder-crisscrossed building. Lining the walls, deserted stores offered a silent testimony to the optimism of the entrepreneur. John walked past the door to a bathroom with the words 'out of order' written on it in several languages, some of which were even long-dead when they were printed. In the corner, a few dirty boxes were piled up, possibly upside down. However, the floor was full of footprints. It looked like everyone who had the sense to go here had left on the shuttles out hours ago, and had left in a hurry. Going up to the center, Jargon was suprised to find the space port's owner was still there. Jargon, glancing to John, who was currently sitting down on a bench next to one of the few shuttles left, cleared his throat. "When is the next shuttle flight out here?"
The port's owner looked up at him, and replied, "The last one left an hour ago. Been really busy lately, and all the flights are booked."
"WHAT?" Jargon exclaimed, "They've all left?"
The owner, unphased, replied "I am afraid so, sir. Will you please wait a day till one is scheduled to get back?"
"You aren't up to date, are you?" Jargon growled, flustered.
"What do you mean, sir?"
"The city is being invaded! Revolutionary soldiers flood the street! We don't have another day till this place is taken!"
"I am sure if that was the case I would have heard about it."
"But why do you think all the flights are booked?"
Jargon sighed, and said, "I shouldn't waste time with this idiot."
He walked down to the exit, when he noticed that John was motioning to him. He walked over to John, and John pointed to the small private shuttle which was next to his bench, and looked to be deserted. "You have the honors. I still feel a bit too woozy to do it."
Jargon nodded, then waved in the direction of the shuttle. The waving wasn't strictly necessary, but the shuttle's door opened. They walked in, and turned it on. The port master ran up, but he was too late.

The shuttle streaked off, into more trouble then it's two passengers could anticipate...