Errant nudged his helmet to the side. The bar room echoed a screech as the carbon fiber slowly slid across the floor. He got up from his seat and walked to the man tending bar. Errant motioned a consensual gesture and the man handed him another stick. The handwriting was of an unknown nature, but he slowly read the signs, chuckling at his pistol afterward.
The hunger...
Errant walked towards the thick glass. The never ending portrait of black on black had a rather depressing luminescence this time around, but he shrugged it off and walked back to his seat.
"Assuming they're all still alive, I can get you around fifty men. All experienced fighter pilots. Nothing too big, though." He said in a sluggish manner.
