Yoru, who had been walking with swift, long strides to catch up, came to an abrupt halt. Then, effortlessly, he caught the databank and looked it over in the palm of his hand. He raised a curious brow at the slightly built, red-skinned man. Who was this? Her boyf- no, who even cares right now?
"Hey," he barked, "How do I even know that this is good? Hey!"
The shuttle door hissed shut, and seconds later, the shuttle's landing gears retracted, and it took off from the refueling station. Yoru watched as Thorne and her ship zipped into the abyss of space and, with a twisted grimace, looked back at the data card in hand.
"Better be fething good."
The faint waft of an acrid sweetness stung Yoru's nose as he squatted beside a forced-open trunk. He rummaged through the contents with his right hand, and in his left, he loosely held his blaster. The man hadn't come to this cramped bungalow just for this chest, but aside from the stacked cots on the adjacent wall and pair of smoking corpses behind him, it was the only other thing in the room. Chrissake, they didn't even have a generator! Yoru's hand bumped against something weighty and solid, and he brought it to the top of a pile of clothes. Unwrapping layers of fabric, an eerie green shone against the shack's dimly lit walls and painted Yoru's face a ghastly shade. It was a dodecahedron, crystalline, and glowed a toxic green. Pang. His heartstrings plucked a melancholy note.
"Huh," He thoughtfully exclaimed and began to fold the cloth wrap back over the trinket.
Well, whatever it was, the scrapper could immediately tell it would go for a high price to the right person. It was one of those things. The type of thing that only those with niche hobbies would care about. Standing up and hooking his finger around his pistol's cosmetic lever, he holstered it with a swift flourish and pulled the satchel on his back over his chest. He exited the tight home, stepping over one of the bodies on his way out, and stowed the gem in his bag.
They must've been waiting for a day like today to arrive for... who knows how long. Maybe waiting for the man that Yoru had asked about. They drew their blasters on him the moment he posed his question. Unfortunately for them, he was quicker. Surer of his shot. They needed a second to think. He didn't.
Slinging his pack over his shoulder and fastening the strap tight against his chest, Yoru lit a cigarette as he began to backtrack through the dense jungle to return to his ship. He'd finished his second smoke and found himself dripping with sweat as he returned to the ramshackle spaceport. As he approached the local watering hole, the scrapper waved his hand and gave the bartender a shout. It was a run-down counter under a hole-ridden roof. Awfully generous to call it a watering hole.
He was completely oblivious to the sleek-looking shuttle parked nearby.
"Hey-" His throat was dry and his voice hoarse. Yoru coughed. "Hey!" He said, louder. "Drink! Cold!"
"Hey," he barked, "How do I even know that this is good? Hey!"
The shuttle door hissed shut, and seconds later, the shuttle's landing gears retracted, and it took off from the refueling station. Yoru watched as Thorne and her ship zipped into the abyss of space and, with a twisted grimace, looked back at the data card in hand.
"Better be fething good."
~~~
Months later
The faint waft of an acrid sweetness stung Yoru's nose as he squatted beside a forced-open trunk. He rummaged through the contents with his right hand, and in his left, he loosely held his blaster. The man hadn't come to this cramped bungalow just for this chest, but aside from the stacked cots on the adjacent wall and pair of smoking corpses behind him, it was the only other thing in the room. Chrissake, they didn't even have a generator! Yoru's hand bumped against something weighty and solid, and he brought it to the top of a pile of clothes. Unwrapping layers of fabric, an eerie green shone against the shack's dimly lit walls and painted Yoru's face a ghastly shade. It was a dodecahedron, crystalline, and glowed a toxic green. Pang. His heartstrings plucked a melancholy note.
"Huh," He thoughtfully exclaimed and began to fold the cloth wrap back over the trinket.
Well, whatever it was, the scrapper could immediately tell it would go for a high price to the right person. It was one of those things. The type of thing that only those with niche hobbies would care about. Standing up and hooking his finger around his pistol's cosmetic lever, he holstered it with a swift flourish and pulled the satchel on his back over his chest. He exited the tight home, stepping over one of the bodies on his way out, and stowed the gem in his bag.
They must've been waiting for a day like today to arrive for... who knows how long. Maybe waiting for the man that Yoru had asked about. They drew their blasters on him the moment he posed his question. Unfortunately for them, he was quicker. Surer of his shot. They needed a second to think. He didn't.
Slinging his pack over his shoulder and fastening the strap tight against his chest, Yoru lit a cigarette as he began to backtrack through the dense jungle to return to his ship. He'd finished his second smoke and found himself dripping with sweat as he returned to the ramshackle spaceport. As he approached the local watering hole, the scrapper waved his hand and gave the bartender a shout. It was a run-down counter under a hole-ridden roof. Awfully generous to call it a watering hole.
He was completely oblivious to the sleek-looking shuttle parked nearby.
"Hey-" His throat was dry and his voice hoarse. Yoru coughed. "Hey!" He said, louder. "Drink! Cold!"
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