But You Say He's Just A Friend

[Ugoto Chivaro]

AETEN II
A MINING FACILITY - THE FOREMAN'S OFFICE

Grigori was a Sakyian. Not one of those lame Sakyians with office jobs or something. Cooler than that. He was like a bounty hunter but only for killing people. With knives. An assassin. Yeah, that was the word. Or he used to be, before he got sprung out of jail. Now most of his jobs didn't explicitly involve killing people. Really, all the Helix Syndicate wanted him to do was follow around [member="Vulgrim Blackwell"] and help him out with whatever he wanted. Sometimes, though, Grigori was sent elsewhere to do something less... Boring. And now Vulgrim Blackwell was following him around. Not out of any sense of friendship towards Grigori, the Sakyian suspected, but because the Maelibus was interested in the Syndicate's inner-workings.

What did Maleagant want him to do? Tell the giant demon with the screechy voice where he could and couldn't go?

Fat chance.

"I hope you are pleased, comrade," Grigori said, to Vulgrim, as he grabbed the foreman and pulled him out from his chair, dragging him across the desk and letting him fall to the floor. "You were not supposed to be seeing me beat up mister-comrade Tokomoto here."

In lieu of a personality, it appeared that the author has decided that Grigori will just casually insert the word "comrade" into his speech when addressing people. A lazy move that would not, at any point, pay off for anyone. Least of all the readership.

From the floor, the Foreman offered some small protest. "No, wait-"

And then Grigori stomped down on Foreman Tokomoto's stomach, driving all the wind from the man. Being winded by a moderately aggitated, faux-Russian Sakyian would be the least of his worries if he did not cough up the location of the stygian crystals he owed the Helix Syndicate. While Tokomoto was sputtering and gasping on the ground, Grigori looked over to [member="Pauul Farrlo"] for assistance. "Help me get this one up."

This was going to be a long thread.

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

"Sure thing, knife ears," Pauul buzzed. The insult was the sort of comedic throw away line Farrlo tossed out without second thought. Not because he disliked ol' Grigori, quite the opposite.

Anything that concerned Helix Syndicate concerned the Zareca Cartel, which explained why they sent a contract killer like Pauul.

The Rodian bent down to grab the man, only it looked like the stomp had done a little more than give the guy a tummy ache. Tokomoto's lunch came out the way it'd come in and splashed all across the floor. Looked like a nerf burger or two. Pauul's snout curled down in disgust and he seized the fellow by one arm and hauled him up.

"Eugh, let's go tough guy."

He sat him roughly down in the nearest office chair. Nice leather, shame they would probably be getting blood all over it.

"Listen up, sap. Upchuck better not be the last thing that comes outta yuz mouth otherwise my friend here is gonna take a real fancy to your kneecaps, attaboy?"

Suction cup tipped fingers stroked lightly along the length of a silenced pistol.

[member="Vulgrim Blackwell"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Pauul Farrlo"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"]

"Pleased would not be the word I'd use, monsieur Grigori." Vulgrim calmly stated, while studying the limp form of the proprietor of this particular establishment. A stygium mine out of all the things. In truth, he wasn't entirely certain why Pollux had been so determined to have him on this specific missive.

Perhaps he figured that his appearance would be sufficient to cow this Tokomoto into submission.

But, then, Pollux had not counted on the infamous strength of will that most Atrisians possessed. They said it stemmed from that one defeat at the hands of the Omega Protectorate years ago. They had it all: the fleeting strength, the element of surprise, determination and a target that had already started its decline. Yet, the late Emperor Akio -- infamous for his speech, where he stated that he'd never retreat from a fight -- did just that.

The Atrisian spirit never truly recovered from that blow to their collective pride.

It was surprising that they did not all collectively decide to seppuku themselves or however those barbarians called that travesty.

"But you must be aware that kicking the air out of him will make it more difficult for him to give us what we want, yes?" Not that Vulgrim truly cared. This was quite clearly beneath him, but the mister Pollux had been very helpful and kind in his dealings on Ukio. Without him... well, the Maelibus did not want to think what would have happened, had he been forced to take matters in his own hands.

Far less diplomatic it would have been.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

[member="Pauul Farrlo"] | [member="Vulgrim Blackwell"]

Now the demon was trying to tell him how to do his job. Worse people had tried to tell him worse things, Grigori supposed, but at least Grigori had the option of killing those people. Which he usually did. Because they were annoying. This was the first time in his life someone had annoyed him and Grigori could not console himself with the fact that he could stab them twenty-four times in the chest at his leisure. So Grigori did the only thing he could do: ignore Vulgrim and hope he did not inevitably snap, getting his arms pulled out by a spooky demon in the process. Not the way he wanted to go. Not yet, anyway. If Grigori had learned one thing in this trade, it was that opinions were constantly changing.

He folded his arms and decided to look intimidating, standing just behind Pauul and to the right. Simon Tokomoto looked warily between the Rodian, clutching his stomach. His eyes were unfocused and he seemed to be staring past them, for a moment, and then-

A second stream of vomit projected from Simon's mouth, splattering the floor directly in front of Pauul and likely soaking the Rodian's shoes. Mr. Tokomoto was a large man who indulged in large meals and was not appropriately accustomed to being punched in the gut, as all the parties present were. "Guhh..." Was all Simon managed, wiping a driblet of bile from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, the other still wrapped protectively around his gut.

"Woops." Said Grigori.

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

"Again? What'd yuz get, the McYoda's happy meal?"

The foreman nodded weakly. "C-can I have a tissue?"

"What? No. Yuz get a tissue when yuz answer our questions, sleemo." On a nearby nightstand was a scattered group of flimsiplast documents.

"Ok, ok. The stygian crystals... Wakazi knows more, but I have the file in the desk. Let me grab it?"

Pauul shrugged disinterestedly, "Grigori's call."

The Rodian's large multifaceted eyes found the flimsi to be of a bit more help at the moment. He picked up the top one on the nightstand. Looked like a memo. Something about new management. Manda-Roon Mining Triad? Now where had he heard that name before?

Tokomoto pulled open a file cabinet and withdrew a folder. He tossed it toward Pauul, who caught it in one hand, the other still holding the pistol. "This it?"

"Yes."

"Hm..." Pauul opened the folder only to hear the file cabinet slam close. When he looked back up Tokomoto was standing on the desk chair.

"Girudo no tame ni!" Tokomoto screamed, then slammed his thumb on the end of what Pauul had at first assumed was an ordinary stylus, but was in fact the detonator for a high yield explosive built into the desk.

The resulting explosion killed Tokomoto, sent wooden shrapnel flying, and knocked Pauul backward and out the shattered window.

[member="Vulgrim Blackwell"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Pauul Farrlo"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"]

And so it came to pass that the ten foot tall Maelibus was too busy being distracted by something to notice the elderly Atrisian gentleman jumping on top of his chair. What that something was would have to be kept in the shadows of obscurity, for even Pauul's writer was probably not capable of coming up with a reasonable explanation, alas.

It mattered not.

In defiance of his physique and earlier weak stomach the Atrisian blew himself up.

Literally.

Vulgrim looked up just in time to see legs flying past him, blood splattering across his new karking suit -- karking, kark, feth, Pollux is getting the gorram drycleaner's bill for this one. Contrary to Pauul, he did not simply stand there as the explosion went on, though, because he realized what priorities were.

Such a close-range explosion would kill a reasonable, normal sentient.

And so his claw lashed out and gently grabbed Grigori by the shoulder, pulling him back from the blast zone. His own black carapace, once again revealed in the shards of textile being blown away, kept most of the heat and explosive goodness away from the Helix enforcer.

Two moments passed, two breaths and then the heat ended. Pauul did not seem to be here any longer.

"Mister Grigori, it seems like our associate has disappeared." Vulgrim observed patiently, before dusting off his remaining textile and trying to ignore the far-away sounds of boots clattering against durasteel. "It also seems like we are in for more problems. Are you physically well?"

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

[member="Pauul Farrlo"] | [member="Vulgrim Blackwell"]

Grigori was dreaming.

Dreaming of what, exactly? It wasn't hard to guess. While androids dreamed of electric sheep, Grigori dreamed of his lost love- the beautiful Sakyian Amazon, Anastasia Kalashnikov. She stood a full head taller than him and made her living in the arenas of Geonosis, spilling blood for the worker drones. Grigori could never afford to become a pit fighter. It was what had caused the gulf between them. His ways were the ways of the concealed blaster pistol and tiny knife, whereas Anastasia's was the way of the axe that is the size of a small Wookie child. How long had it been since he gazed longingly into her bloodshot eyes? The way she held the knife to his, well, better to not get into that. It had been too long, simply speaking. And yet he would never see her again, because-

"Girudo no tame ni!"

Oh, Simon was up on the chair now. But what was he doing with that stylus?

What proceeded next was a blur to Grigori. Blinding light, deafening noise, searing heat. Someone grabbed him, the large hand yanking him behind a sturdy wall. The room gradually faded back into view for Grigori, but now it was a mess and he could see that the wall had actually been Vulgrim Blackwell. A blessing in disguise, truly. Aside from the fact that his suit had been shredded, he seemed fine. So did Grigori, as a matter of fact, aside from the ringing in his ears. "What?" He yelled back at Vulgrim. It was unintentional. He could not hear himself to modulate his volume. "What did you say?"

He squinted around the room, noticing the various bits of Tokomoto stuck to everything, but clearly looking for something else. "Where's the Rodian?" He yelled. Again.

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

The Rodian lay on the warehouse floor, doing his best impression of a sentient pincushion while fading in and out of consciousness. Blearily, he came to in a world of pain. Not a first, but somehow it always surprised Pauul. He groaned feebly and sat up, which only made his body hurt more. He found a particularly large splinter wedged in his arm and proceeded to pull it out amid a stream of curses that would make a Toydarian blush.

He got to his feet, still plucking slivers of wood from his body and glanced around. The shattered window of the foreman's office overlooked him and all around the warehouse sat stacks of crates. Presumably stuffed full of whatever minerals this place extracted. Only, something was off. Where were all the workers?

"Ey yuz guys?" He called up, desperately hoping Knife-Ears and the Horno had survived. Oh who was he kidding, the demon had definitely survived. It was Big Brain he was worried about. "I think we gotta problem 'ere."

No sooner did he say it than did a pair of outer doors slide open. Pauul heard the stomping of heels and saw a bunch of nicely dressed Atrisians run in wielding an assortment of compact automatic weapons. The lead Atrisian, or so Pauul assumed due to his spiky hairstyle and white suit, pointed at the Pauul.

"Karera wa soko ni iru!"

They opened fire.

Farrlo groaned and crawled behind a crate. Manda-Roon Mining Triad, aka Atrisian organized crime on this side of the Slice. That's why he remembered the name. But why were they after- oh, the Deathwind Outfit. Pauul vaguely remembered a connection between the two. Not that Narbo had cared when he'd wiped the outfit off Roon. Whoops.

[member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Vulgrim Blackwell"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Pauul Farrlo"]

Grigori was yelling.

This mildly annoyed Vulgrim, at least until he realized that it was the explosion that had caused this. He probably couldn't hear anything at the moment, not even his own voice while he was speaking. Quite the normal humanoid response really. It was still annoying, but at least now it was bearable. Which was all that Vulgrim could count on while being in this... situation.

Insane, suicidal Atrisians. Puke everywhere. Gory limbs spread across the room and their Rodian defenestrated.

Sometimes the Maelibus wondered how he got himself in situations such as these.

Instead of attempting to speak again, he simply pointed to the window that was shattered and made gestures with his claw to accommodate the alien's understanding in the matter. Soon enough, though, everything went to complete crap. He heard the sounds of gunfire out of the window and sighed to himself. There was little he could do about Pauul right now, mostly because the clattering of boots against durasteel was only getting louder and closer.

Once again he demon-handled Grigori, this time pushing him away from the door.

Then he waited. Waited. Waited. Now. Right before the clattering would come crashing through the door, he punched it. Punched it hard enough that the door came out of its hinges and was sent flying right in the face of the first Atrisian mook.

It all devolved from there, really.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

[member="Pauul Farrlo"] | [member="Vulgrim Blackwell"]

Grigori edged towards the window and saw Pauul standing himself up. "There's the Rodian!" Yelled Grigori, again unintentionally. It was at that point that the spiky-haired Atrisian, whom Grigori had not yet noticed, followed the Sakyian's gaze and found Pauul. He shouted something. Grigori could not hear what it was, but suddenly a bunch of other Atrisian men stormed in and started shooting at everyone who wasn't... Well, them. Grigori dived away from the window just in time to avoid a few blaster bolts that had been flung his way.

"What are we going to-" Grigori was still yelling. He had dived close to the door when suddenly Vulgrim picked him up and tossed him away, towards the opposite side of the room.

After skidding to a halt, Grigori pushed himself up. Not all the way. Some people down below were still firing shots through the broken window. The Sakyian scrambled for his sidearm, all the while glaring at Vulgrim. He was about to yell out a demand for an explanation when the giant Maelibus suddenly punched the door. Much to his surprise, the metal thing was vaulted from its hinges and smacked into the gaggle of sharply dressed Atrisian gentlemen standing on the other side. Vulgrim gave some kind of animalistic roar and proceeded to start rending his enemies; literally tearing them apart with his massive claws.

Grigori settled for, "Oh."

His sidearm was only a blaster pistol and Grigori did not want to currently risk getting in the way of Vulgrim's rampage. Or manpage, as it could be more accurately called as the shirtless demon alternated between slaying his foes with blunt force trauma and ripping out their innards. With his bare hands. Vulgrim's toxic masculinity might have been the death of him if it weren't for the fact he was a giant, invincible demon who could sing torture songs. We're getting off track here, aren't we?

Ignoring the screams of the nearby Atrisian gangsters, Grigori crept back over to the window and laid down some covering fire for Pauul. Given the limited range of his pistol, it was unlikely he hit anyone with the spattering of shots he returned. It was, however, enough to give some of them pause and retreat to cover.

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

Blaster bolts whinged through the air all around Pauul as he lay behind the metal crate, pressed up against the surface. Lancets of plasma slapped against the front and sent up a shower of sparks and smoke. Farrlo held his blaster pistol up over the crate and blindly fired back, hoping to make at least a few of them duck.

"Damn, I'm in a tight spot," Pauul buzzed, antennae twitching frantically. He wondered why his hands were all sticky, then remembered he was covered in his own blood.

Suddenly there came an explosion and the shooting lessened dramatically for a precious second, then resumed with a ferociousness, but none of it directed at the Rodian. He peered around the crate and saw Mr. Blackwell standing on the stairs to the office. Only Blackwell was not exactly himself. The Maelibus tore into the Triad members with his claws, face eerily calm. Almost like he was routinely butchering a slab of nerf meat instead of carving open the bellies and throats of living people with his bare hands. What remained of the office door lay on the ground, ripped from its hinges. Pauul was starting to get an idea of where the explosion had come from.

There were considerably less Atrisians now than a few seconds ago, but the half-dozen or so who remained were frantically shooting at the fella with the horns. Not that it did much good besides ruining his suit, apparently.

Covering fire from Grigori allowed Pauul to lean out and sight down the barrel of his Vanir pistol. He squeezed the trigger and put an invisible bolt right through the kneecap of one of the Triad bangers. The guy collapsed, cursing.

At that point, the Atrisians came to the same conclusion that Pauul had and decided blasters just wouldn't do. One of them crouching behind his own cover reached inside a now rumpled dress jacket and pulled out a grenade, primed it, cooked it a few seconds, then lobbed it in Vulgrim's direction.

[member="Vulgrim Blackwell"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Zareca Cartel"]

The Wyld was heavy in the air now.

He felt its ethereal pull against his very being in that one precise moment. It was a song, a beautiful one, mesmerizing him into action and decision. The Force, some called it, but he knew it under older names, different ones. Point was; he was acutely aware of all that transpired and right now...

It sensed danger.

From the direction of Grigori. The animal inside of him wanted to rip and shred, but Vulgrim Blackwell was no wyld's slave. He paused in his ripping and noticed the Sakyian staring, but without presenting any real danger.

He was about to return to his business, when the grenade started to fly in.

Time slowed as his breath was caught in his throat. Then everything started to move quickly- his claw gripped strongly around the remnants of an atrisian corpse, and there it flew through the air right into the grenade.... it bounced back and boom went the pack. That sheer act of calculation caused Vulgrim to snap out of his bloodrage, at least for a moment.

He looked around, before dusting off the remnants of his tattered suit.

"I really dislike it when that happens." The Maelibus remarked, more to himself than to Grigori. "At any rate, I think we are quite done here. Let's proceed further, yes?"

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

[member="Zareca Cartel"] | [member="Vulgrim Blackwell"]

An explosion suddenly rocked the platform the office sat at the top of, causing Grigori to stumble from his crouched position under the window and fall on his backside. Blaster bolts still streamed through his window, albeit now at a lesser rate since some of the Atrisians had been spooked into cover and Farrlo put a disruptor bolt through the knee of one of them. Smoke filled the air and falling debris were still clattering down when the Sakyian looked over at the door where Vulgrim had been standing. A grenade? It looked like it. That could only mean Vulgrim's goose was cooked. Or blown to pieces, in this case. Great. Pollux was going to throw his ass into a meat-grinder for getting his cattle baron axed. Maybe it wasn't too late to track down Anastasia Kalashnikov and her large swords.

Oh, wait, there was Vulgrim. Holding the desiccated and apparently explosion proof corpse of an Atrisian gangster.

Having exhausted his shield, Vulgrim let the corpse drop. While the Maelibus had been saved, his suit had not been. Grigori watched dumbfounded as the invincible terror-tank brushed off the remaining tatters of his suit. Now naked as the day he had been born. Were Maelibus born? Or did they crawl out of volcanic rifts? Didn't matter. Vulgrim was in the nude. Invincible and in the nude. This was not how Grigori imagined this day was going to go, but he had once read about ancient Sakyian warriors who ran around the battlefield equally as stark naked, striking such fear into the heart of their enemies that they fled before them. Usually. Sometimes they just died.

Grigori fired a few more shots through the window to cover Pauul, making his way towards Vulgrim. "After you!" The second explosion had also deafened his ears again. Grigori was still yelling.

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

An explosion showered the warehouse floor with shrapnel and red meat. Mr. Blackwell, suit partially ablaze and torn in a dozen places, lumbered ahead implacably. Smoke wreathed his scabrous hide of grim sable. Sinews capable of shredding a man in half rippled beneath the rent fabric. Pieces burned off or fell away. Transfixed, Pauul watched for a long moment as Mr. Blackwell waded in among the Atrisians, then shook himself away from the surreal moment.

He kept firing from behind cover, but it was not much of a fight. The remaining Atrisians focused all their fire on the Maelibus, which proved just as effective as the previous attempts, which is to say not at all. Farrlo nailed one in the chest and put two invisible bolts into the stomach of a second, bringing the grand total to... oh.

Shakily, Farrlo got to his feet. Blood pitter-pattered from his pincushioned body and he stumbled forward a few steps in the general direction of his macabre companions.

"Whew, how yuz two doin', everything copa-" he swayed on his feet, "copacetic?"

The gangster he'd winged in the leg groaned.

[member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Vulgrim Blackwell"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Zareca Cartel"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"]

They descended the stairs and Vulgrim wondered why these goons did not wise up to the fact of the matter.

Which was that targeting a bullet-sponge opponent who wasn't attacking you, while ignoring the meatbag who was slowly picking you off one at a time, wasn't exactly a good strategy. But alas, as the blaster bolts kept clashing against his chitin plates and they started to heat up quite uncomfortably.

Blaster-proof armor was one thing, but heat transfer was quite the other.

"It's quite warm here." Vulgrim mentioned passively, before watching impassively as the last mook falled down to the ground. Then and only then, did he look over to the two of his associates. One a Rodian, wounded, the other... whatever Grigori was, wounded also. His mouth tried to twitch in distaste, they really needed to get better personnel if they wanted to-

Hmm.

He looked down and saw the green liquid seeping away down his leg.

Weak in the knee he grimaced slowly.

"It seems like I find myself wounded, gentlemen. It might be wise to find some... aid material around here for us." It was starting to burn, up and down, up and down his spine. But the Maelibus managed to stand rigid upright.

It would not do to show weakness.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

[member="Zareca Cartel"] | [member="Vulgrim Blackwell"]

In conjunction with the invinci-demon's meat shield capabilities and Farrlo's pot-shot making skill, Grigori finished off the remaining Atrisian gangbangers. It was quiet now, not that Grigori could tell the difference. He picked at his ear irritably, still deafened. He squinted at Farrlo, who said... Something. "You're epileptic?" He ejected the power cell from his blaster pistol, letting it fall to the floor with a light clunk. He looked over at Vulgrim for assistance as he retrieved a new cell from within his jacket, only to notice that the nude, chiseled demon was seeping green from his leg. Demon blood? Demons bled? What a day this was turning out to be. They told Grigori he had to find out where the stygium had gone, but now the stygium wasn't here and he was getting a primer on Maelibus resistances and biology.

What a time to be alive. And also deaf. "Hold on, comrade, I got you." Yelled Grigori. Ironically enough, he had not actually heard Vulgrim request aid. He was just being polite.

There was a medical kit attached to a wall that Grigori could see. He holstered his pistol and went to go retrieve it, only to run into the wounded Atrisian on the way over. The poor man reached for his gun, but Grigori only scowled and kicked the assault rifle away. He didn't make a comment about the downed, moaning Atrisian and continued over to the first aid kit.

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

Grigori walked past the Atrisian on his way to the medkit. Good, now they could pump him for information, thought Pauul. Wait, medkit?

The Rodian thought his multifaceted eyes must have missed something. "Did yuz..." Grigori started yelling and scrounged around for a medkit to help the wounded Maelibus. Pauul looked down at himself. Splinters of all shapes and sizes stuck at odd angles from his body. Blood had soaked through the front of his shirt.

"Haven't you ever heard of triage, ya big headed bimbo." Pauul wobbled forward, plucking shards of wood out of himself. The moaning Atrisian grabbed at his leg as he passed. Pauul kicked him in the face. The Atrisian abruptly became less grabby, also less conscious.

"Whoops."

While he waited for the guy to wake up, he rifled through the pockets of the dead Atrisians to see what he could find. He started with the one who had seemed to be in charge. Patting him down produced an alarming number of knives, throwing knives, throwing stars, and what looked like a monofilament garrote. Pauul liked that, so he stuffed it in a pocket and didn't say nothin' to nobody. He also found a data pad and started messing around with it.

Occasionally, he had to wipe the screen because - as previously mentioned - he was leaking blood everywhere. "Think I got somethin' 'ere."

[member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Vulgrim Blackwell"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

[member="Zareca Cartel"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"]

Vulgrim was too fascinated with his own wound to really notice what was happening around him.

It wasn't often he got wounded -- mostly, because he managed to keep himself out of these kind of conflicts to begin with, but this time around it didn't work out. In fact, ever since Pollux walked into his life things weren't working out. Oh, sure, he managed to grab hold of the agriculture business on Ukio and that was nice.

But there is something to be said about the peace and quiet he had experienced prior to this.

While Grigori was busy searching for that med kit, he decided to do something about the current bloodflow. With a sigh, he measured his claws, before landing onto the one that was marginally smaller than the rest. Then, while ignoring the fire that was to come, he shoved the single digit into his own wound.

Pain wrecked his spine, but it stopped the blood from seeping out for now.

"What did you find, mister Pauul?" He asked behind the haze of red.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

[member="Zareca Cartel"] | [member="Vulgrim Blackwell"]

"Alright, comrades, I have the med-" Grigori paused when he saw Pauul, as this was the first time he was actually seeing Pauul. Now that the Rodian was standing, it was quite easier to see the condition he was in. It was not a pretty sight. Grigori could also see the trail of splinters of varying sizes Pauul had plucked out of himself. On one hand, Pauul clearly needed the medical assistance more than Vulgrim. On the other hand, to deny a demon the medical service he needed could potentially be to incite the demon to anger. And if what Grigori had just witnessed was any indication, he did not want Vulgrim to be mad at him forever.

But he couldn't just hand it to Vulgrim in front of Pauul. That would upset the Rodian and Grigori could not very well have the only other non-demonic person in this three man team hate his guts. Oh, decisions, decisions. What would Grigori do? Sometimes, when presented with two options, the only valid course of action was to refuse to choose. So Grigori picked a spot equal distance between Vulgrim and Pauul and placed the medical kit on the ground.

He coughed. "I will find another."

And then he was gone once again, to scrounge up another medical kit. He would allow them to decide who got it first.

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

"Well, uh, guess they was supposed to ship out the crates of stygium today. Says right here on the manifest. And uh, these crates?"

He pointed at the very same crate he'd been hiding behind.

"Whaddya know, they're the ones full of those crystals."

Weak laughter poured from the Rodian before it devolved into sickly coughing. He limped over and tried to pry open the crate with his suction cup fingers, but they were not very good at ripping open steel crates the way a Maelibus' star fighter shredding claws were.

"Mr. Blackwell, Grigori, wouldya gimme a hand here?"

[member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Vulgrim Blackwell"]