Disclaimer: I do not own Treasure Planet or any material related to Walt Disney in any way or form.
Eighteen-year-old Jim Hawkins swerved between cliff rocks as swiftly and smoothly as a bird in flight. Sailing along quietly on his solar surfer, rubber-soled boots molding perfectly to the board's surface, Jim looked as though he had been born flying. Angling the nose of the board up at a ninety degree angle, Jim shot up and over the tops of the cliffs on either side, flying far up into the sky. Ethereal-blue eyes shot a glance back down to the parched earth, and a smirk came over the brunette's face. Jim brought his heel down hard on a small metal button near the end of his board, causing his solar sail to fold in on itself and disappear rapidly into a narrow compartment in the underside of his board. The young brunette closed his eyes, sighing contentedly as he felt himself dropping into a massive free-fall. Crossing his arms, he allowed his senses to take control of his body; he heard the wind howling in his ears, causing the normally soft locks of his hair to turn into whips, catching in the maelstrom and lashing at his face. The scent of hot, baked dirt was all around him; the hot atmosphere cooling his face as he fell.
A rush of adrenaline shot through his system as Jim opened his eyes, his arms splayed out to help check his fall, before he pulled out of the dive just in time, his solar sail whipping out to power the board. Jim's sharp eyes caught sight of a new challenge: an operating cliff grinder that was carving mercilessly into the side of a formidable granite cliff. Jim accelerated, gaze locked onto his target like a sniper watching his victim through his crosshairs. The reckless youth came up to a gate protecting the construction compound against intruders. Jim crashed through the sign, oblivious to the splintering of wood with the word 'RESTRICTED' painted on it in bright, reflective paint, and ignoring the alarm that sounded as soon as he flew through it. Loving the maze of exhaust columns and other miscellaneous machines scattered about the place, Jim twisted and turned his lithe body around the obstacles, his solar surfer obliging to his every move.
As Jim neared his goal, a long list of warnings flashed in is head that told him he shouldn't be doing this. The brazen young man merely shrugged it off with a pivot of his heel and a smash on the solar sails' folding button.
"Come on!!" he cried, crouching low to his board. His eyes never left the opening between two blades. One had just passed, leaving a two-second gap in which to fly through. If Jim didn't make it through in those two seconds, he was as good as dead. A jolt shook his frame, one of fear and exhilaration as the nose of his board passed through the opening, a great rumbling of machinery passing over his head as the opening closed in on him…
"Yeah!! Whoo-hooo!!" Jim yelled, ecstatic, as he rose from his confrontation with death. The boy certainly had had many near-fatal experiences, but none so close as that, and it gave him a sense of satisfaction to know he could cut corners around injury or even death. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as the sail on his solar surfer shot out again, allowing the brunette to better catch the rays of harsh sunlight bearing down on the desert area.
Abruptly, Jim's sharp hearing caught the sound of something slicing neatly through the air behind him. Cursing under his breath, the young man immediately dropped through the air, halting his descent only a few feet from the compact, scorched earth below him.
"Hey, better get a move on, buddy!" Jim started, his eyes training on a fast-moving object about two yards above his solar sail. It was another solar surfer, he realized, and the person riding it appeared to be no older than Jim himself. They wore all khaki, colored like the desert floor for camouflage. The beige jacket they wore flapped in the wind, exposing a plain white shirt that clung to the person's form like plastic wrap. Slightly baggy sand-colored pants disappeared into earthen-brown boots with thick rubber soles. The person also wore jet-black half gloves which enclosed tanned hands spread out like wings on either side of the rider. The surfer's hair was covered by a dirty golden bandana, that Jim raised his eyes at, confused. Whoever they were, they looked back at Jim, showing a pair of black-tinted goggles, before skillfully dipping the nose of their board and flying level with Jim.
"Hey, Brownie!" they shouted, motioning to his hair, "I said, you'd better get a move on!" All too late, Jim realized what they meant, as he heard police sirens sounding not very far off behind him.
"Shit…" Jim turned to the rider, but found nothing but empty air. Looking up, he barely managed to catch a glimpse of a khaki-clad arm zip up and out of sight over a cliff. The sirens drew closer, too close for Jim's liking. He sighed, defeated, and rolled his eyes
"Oh, great…"
A/N: First time writing in this category, so kindly leave constructive criticism.