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"Home"

Ak'lya

That one kid
Writer
Strask stepped off the transport and onto Bothawui, a J1 palm blaster in his left fist. He trusted no one. Twenty-two years had past since he had last been here. He had been away for too long to know the streets anymore. Slowly moving to doors, he hoped that his arrival, and the location he went to, would go unnoticed.
He slowly walked the streets to where he had spent thirteen years of his life, six of them as an agent. It had been easy enough work early on, as his own contacts had fed him bits. But then the underworld decided that life wasn't that easy, and they went AWOL. So he got it himself. the more information he needed, the harder it got. He finally got careless and showed a camera his face, forcing him to leave for Mos Espa.
Finally home, but it doesn't feel like home. Mos Espa was my home. Not these streets. Not anymore.
He headed towards the city square, to the Spynet building.
 
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