Forever locked and integrated into his pilot’s seat by nature, pilot keeps himself alive through his control over the systems of the ship that he is an indispensable part of. Pilot lives on only to prolong his life, and has become a part of the long-term maintenance system of his surrogate ship-body. Pilot flies on a constant search for others experiencing the same phenomenon of being a lone pilot.  More urgently however for fuel and spare bits he can incorporate into the ship’s constant exhaustive self repairs. Pilot thinks rarely, he knows more often than thinks. Pilot steers his ship in flight quicker and more confidently than he could walk. Pilot is the reason for the ship to move, as its spark, neither could function alone. Autonomy came to pilot as he saw fit for it to, the only mind pilot has ever encountered is his own, his actions arbitrated by him alone in an absolute void of second opinions, but in a slew of information he passively gathered through his elaborate system of optical, chemical, and even tactile sensors arrayed across the front of his ship. Taking full advantage of his ability to perform imperceptibly delicate adjustments in the control over the wings of his ship, pilot moved faster and more fluidly through whatever path he chose than water poured through a funnel. With a steady metered pitch, pilot checks his speed and brings his vessel to a hover, before him in open air, a massive beast rests, perfectly still. With a body larger than the entirety of his ship, the beast seems to be standing upon nothing, directly in his path as it is currently arranged. Pilot checks his sensors at a speed unparalleled by even the most experienced of steersmen.  Scanning expertly across the output from thousands of carefully integrated optic sensors on the hull of his personal gather-class craft, he sees that none of them are reading any form of support for this hideous monstrosity in his way. Setting the wings of the vessel into a cyclical pattern of treading the viscosity of the air, pilot gives himself a very brief moment to think. Within the cockpit the rhythmic thrumming of the light, delicate wings is not soothing, it is loud and harsh, when the ship is moving the sound is softer, less maddening. There is no point in waiting longer than it takes to decide, pilot’s path should be clear, he can sense no danger beyond the beast, and if he maneuvers below it, as his assurance in his own skill as pilot says that he can, it is a simple obstacle to bypass. No more hesitation, pilot kicks off from the spot in the air where he has been stationary for only a fraction of a second. With sharp turns and high acceleration pilot flawlessly steers his ship through three dimensions of free movement, careening wildly but with absolute control. He aligns his path so that he will pass below the beast by many ship-widths, the best measurement he has at the speeds he travels. Pilot reaches his max speed in a few flaps of the highly-maneuverable wings of his ship, pilot blasts forward at a speed so great, that his optic sensors begin to compile new overlapping data as streaks of silvery-white on the pilot’s main view-port. Going full-tilt there is nothing pilot can do, the ship slams into an elastic force field and is trapped inside of the force bilayer generated by the beast. Pilot tries his best to kick the wings of his craft into overdrive, flailing the fragile, yet rigid sheets without restraint in an attempt to pierce the trap that surrounds the ship. Extending his landing gear, and twisting the cockpit around in its space, the pilot desperately attempts to pass through, or bounce off of the field. The beast turns in its spot with a sudden lurch that shakes the entire ship and the field around it, with one long vermiform leg covered in bristly hairs, the beast seemed to manipulate the space around it with a casual gesture. Momentarily pilot is stopped, but he refuses to wait for a stoic death at the hands of this fat bodied pan-dimensional monstrosity, flailing harder than ever is the only option, to pilot it’s obvious really. The beast lurches again with more force, bringing several more of its spindly legs into position, and lunging with amazing speed across its force-net it reaches the ship in the time it takes for the vibrations of its movement to register with pilot. Without hesitation the beast directs its mandibles and slams a pair of highly specialized and enormous fangs into the life support system and engine compartment of the ship. Without the engine pilot cannot muster control over his ship anymore, he slumps in the cockpit as the air around him rapidly becomes filled with exhaust and a hint of the corrosive toxin injected by the beast. The last thing pilot registers on his optic sensors is spinning, and the beginning of some type of force-encasement ritual the beast is performing on his ship. The spider winds a tight wrap of web around the fly, and carries it in its back legs to the corner of its web.