It was nights like these that Stork liked to call a rare opportunity.
The sky was dark, the crew was asleep, and the ship was gliding smoothly through the starry night. The merb stood on the balcony of the Condor, hands on the railing, as he had set his beloved aircraft on autopilot for a moment to relish in the peace. The stars twinkled and winked at him pleasantly, and the moon cast his shadow across the large windshield.
Stork took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, as if exhaling all of the day's worries and strife. His searchlight eyes reflected the sky back to it. The air was pleasant, still warm from a previously hot afternoon but had a nice, cool edge to it. There were no sounds around him but the sounds of the ship. He could feel her underneath his feet, moving at a leisurely pace, in no hurry to go anywhere. He had entered that realm where he was aware of everything going on with her, where merb and ship were almost one.
Suddenly, Stork felt the air begin to grow colder. He sensed the Condor begin to turn slightly to the right with a wind that seemed to come out of nowhere. He folded his arms, rubbing the chilled skin wordlessly. His expression remained carefully blank as he became aware of a prescence at his side. He turned. Staring straight ahead was a translucent figure, standing in ripped pirate garbs with a hole through his chest and half of his face missing. His jaw hung slack, and he slowly turned to meet Stork's eyes with his own deadened ones. Stork's ears perked slightly, and he took a step back, only to feel the cold hands of another figure wrap its fingers around his shoulders. As he watched the first figure, others began to join him, bodies without heads, others leaning against the ship with one leg, even more with holes through their stomachs and carrying the bones of comrades.
Stork knew at once the owners of these faces. He recognized each and every one of them. There was the Captain, with his several medals and eyepatch. There was the first mate, with his mechanical claw and peg leg. And there was the man that always sat in the crow's nest, the one with the lazy eye that was never quite right in the head. Stork knew them all, by name, age, rank, and birthplace.
He knew them all too well.
Stork twisted to remove himself from the clutches of the pirate behind him and backed up so he could get a good look at all of them. His breathing had gone slightly astray, his legs were quivering and his ears were back, but he stood his ground. His wide eyes searched the many faces of the pirates, before looking over their heads hearing a shriek. A large, translucent parrot circled the air like a buzzard, glimmered in the moonlight before coming to rest upon the Captain's shoulder.
"Stork," the pirate captain said. "You know what you've done."
"What you've done," the others murmured softly, their voices droning, letting the syllables drag out. "Monster...monster..." Stork's breath fogged the air, curling like wisps of smoke.
"I regret nothing," he said. His voice was strong, full of conviction, even as it trembled and rasped from fear. "I. Regret. Nothing."
"Monster...monster..." The voices echoed in the air, turning to growls. Stork grabbed the railing for support as the lava of the Wastelands appeared in his subconscious. The air thick with smoke. The sound of cannonfire. Screams filling the air, blood being spilled. The sound of his own shrieking...
When Stork opened his eyes again, his tormentors had disappeared. The night was once more calm and peaceful. The wind had died down into a gentle breeze, touseling his hair. Panting, Stork looked down at his hands.
"I regret nothing..." Wet crimson dripped down his gloved hands and onto the deck.