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No.3079784 View ViewReplyOriginalReport

It doesn't sound quite like that.

It's hard to accurately describe the exact noise that's made as an 8mm C-14 spike leaves the barrel of a confederacy issue gauss rifle at a velocity of more than five times the speed of sound, then penetrates organically reinforced bone, before passing through layer after layer of muscle and soft tissue...

...but then... it's not the noise that grabs your attention."

The DropShip thundered into the atmosphere, the blackness of space falling away behind a blistering, roaring curtain of fire. As freezing air was heated to a temperature that would incinerate a living human , the transport shuddered, the vibration of the hull turning every visible thing inside into a sickening blur. Every joint and fixture rattled and shook as though the ship itself would fly apart from the strain. The normally pitch-black interior was ablaze with an orange flare as the firestorm outside shone in through reinforced viewpoints, and as power throughout the ship was shunted to maneuvering control, the small green and red diode lights that were scattered about the cabin dimmed and flickered. Inside, nineteen passengers sat waiting. Ian Latimer stared blankly at the opposite side of the compartment, idly following the trembling contours of the wall with vacant eyes. The exercise had become routine long ago, focusing on a single point or object, and singling it out from the rest of the visual commotion. It was an effective method of combating nausea, and after having endured the ordeal of atmospheric entry so many times he did it almost automatically. He sat fastened to the bulkhead behind him, security straps and bracing bars bundling him and each of the others to the sides of the cabin. As the world around him shook itself to pieces, Ian leant back and closed his eyes.