Crimson Skies

The actions to free the Banshee were viciously expedient. Mooring lines, refueling lines, they got removed post haste. Refugees permitted entry and ushered by the airship's crew towards safe places to huddle now cluster and quake.
The Hangar is buzzing with activity. The brave souls strapping in and spinning up were faced with a parking lot of flying machines. Diesel and steam, clockwork and electrical, some of which were probably destined for the Thunk Tank. It's a buffet of Beggyness.
Umbilicals are still hooked to some of the small aircraft, and the last to unhook are in danger of being the unfortunate recipients of the daemon spark that finally threads its way past the defeated hatchways. The fuse-like advance of the weird hijack signal meet a number of dead ends in the form of fire extinguishers installed in the ceiling, tipping off the escapees to the coming danger.
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