The Dead God
The air hung cold on the planet of Zeltros, but as rain fell to cover any silence that might have formed; the careless boot falls of a scrambling smuggler was afoot. With each step, another would match behind him, the slow murmurs of a small grouping forming just behind the club known as Blush. It wasn’t the best neighborhood by any means, but the men were well armed enough to cause some attention.
With each passing second, the group seemed to take position in various areas around the alley, as if expecting something to happen. They faced outwards with guns raised, each patiently waiting; as if what sought them was the devil itself. Perhaps it was in truth, and windows closed to stop his demonic aura from unsettling the pleasant homes around them.
A man slowly got out of the passenger seat of the small planetary freighter, brushing his hair back before walking up to the back door of the club. He knew it was a slow day, what with the storm and all, but he had no intention of buying a drink today. Three heavy knocks came from his hand on the door, a heavy and menacing salute to those inside as his clothes grew damp.
In the next instance, the rear doors of the ship opened and the mangled body of The Slave was thrown out. His body landed with a brutal thud and splash as he was left lying on the ground, almost entirely emaciated from his time in torture aboard Bastion. With no movement to his form besides a very slow breath, he remained with eyes closed and skin bloodied by a mixture of heat blisters and sores.
Besides his torn clothing, there was a small, and rather cheap, datapad next to him that another man threw from the van only a moment after.
After The Slave was out, the crew of malcontents or even would be heros, left him alone. A quick retreat from the situation seemed all the further assistance they were willing to give, and as the slow drawl of music came out of Blush; there was nothing left for the Slave besides a cold bed in a watery pile.
│ [member="Joza Perl"] │