Cigarette smoke hung over the room, a dense and strong miasma.
A single bare lightbulb illuminated the table, hanging from a worn-looking insulation cord. The furniture had seen better days, as well, and
there weren't enough chairs to go around - more than a few of those at the table were sitting on packing crates.
One of the men rubbed his pale face, then adjusted the tinted goggles covering his eyes. He breathed a deep sigh, then laid his cards on the
table, alongside his meagre collection of chips. "I'm out," he said, "I give up. Frank's got a better hand."
The player beside him gave a nasty snarl, the sound coming deep from his throat. "What," he barked, "how the hell do you know
that?"
"Easy," replied the first man, "your tail's wagging."
Laughter went round the room.
"He's got you there, Frank," someone else pointed out.
The Warwolf huffed. Shoulders slumping, he huddled down, clutching his cards close to his furry chest. He growled something incoherent. The
others ignored him.
"Well," the dealer said, "while Frank works off his latest snit...everyone else still in, right?"
"We will never surrender," intoned the Galaxy at the other end of the table, eyes glowing purple beneath his
cowl.
"Jeeeesus," complained another player, "would you cut that out, you're putting me off my beer."
Another argument started to break out - until a loud knock came from the door. The soldiers at the table exchanged a glance.
"Frank's turn," half of them said in unison.
Frank the Warwolf grumbled, but didn't protest. He set his cards neatly on the table, daring the others to touch them with a baleful
eye.
He started to rise, just as the knocking resumed, a loud and insistent pounding.
"Alright, alright," Frank roared, "we're coming, we're coming."
The Warwolf rummaged in his pockets as he stomped up to the door, looking for the bills he'd set aside as pizza money. He extracted a
messy bundle of notes from his pants, picking carefully at the elastic band with his claws.
Then he went for the doorknob.
He never got there.
Before he could reach it, the door smashed inward in a sudden spray of splinters, the wood giving way as a hand burst through at neck level.
Gloved fingers closed round Frank's throat.
The Warwolf only managed a confused and rather choked-off sound before he found himself being pulled forward, straight through the remains of the door,
blasting what was left off its hinges.
The friendly card game dissolved into chaos as beer cans dropped from hands and chips fell to the floor, their owners going for weapons
instead.
The players watched with growing apprehension as a figure appeared in the doorway - and it wasn't Frank.
"Heya, boys," Syndesis said, leaning against the broken frame.
A broad smile crossed her face, her lips pulling back to show two rows of perfect teeth.
"Trick or treat?"
* * *
Mag Flashlight entered the Legendary workshop, heading for the crafting bench. With expert motions, the armoured engineer set up the nanotech
fabricator, then turned his attention to the raw material bins.
Then he stopped. Behind the visor of his helmet, both eyebrows rose.
Mag stared for a while.
Finally, he dialed into the base computer and checked the storage logs.
Wandering out of the work area, he searched the base until he found Syndesis.
She was reclining at a table near the bar, playing a quiet game of solitaire.
"Hey, Syn," Mag called.
Her eyes remained focused on the battered deck, as she flipped a card over. Brown flecks of blood marred its face.
"Yeah?"
"Why are the salvage bins full of Council stuff?"
"Enh," Syndesis replied, "candy's fattening."
Mag considered this. "I've seen your file. You don't get fat."
She didn't look up. "So?"
-- Acyl
A single bare lightbulb illuminated the table, hanging from a worn-looking insulation cord. The furniture had seen better days, as well, and
there weren't enough chairs to go around - more than a few of those at the table were sitting on packing crates.
One of the men rubbed his pale face, then adjusted the tinted goggles covering his eyes. He breathed a deep sigh, then laid his cards on the
table, alongside his meagre collection of chips. "I'm out," he said, "I give up. Frank's got a better hand."
The player beside him gave a nasty snarl, the sound coming deep from his throat. "What," he barked, "how the hell do you know
that?"
"Easy," replied the first man, "your tail's wagging."
Laughter went round the room.
"He's got you there, Frank," someone else pointed out.
The Warwolf huffed. Shoulders slumping, he huddled down, clutching his cards close to his furry chest. He growled something incoherent. The
others ignored him.
"Well," the dealer said, "while Frank works off his latest snit...everyone else still in, right?"
"We will never surrender," intoned the Galaxy at the other end of the table, eyes glowing purple beneath his
cowl.
"Jeeeesus," complained another player, "would you cut that out, you're putting me off my beer."
Another argument started to break out - until a loud knock came from the door. The soldiers at the table exchanged a glance.
"Frank's turn," half of them said in unison.
Frank the Warwolf grumbled, but didn't protest. He set his cards neatly on the table, daring the others to touch them with a baleful
eye.
He started to rise, just as the knocking resumed, a loud and insistent pounding.
"Alright, alright," Frank roared, "we're coming, we're coming."
The Warwolf rummaged in his pockets as he stomped up to the door, looking for the bills he'd set aside as pizza money. He extracted a
messy bundle of notes from his pants, picking carefully at the elastic band with his claws.
Then he went for the doorknob.
He never got there.
Before he could reach it, the door smashed inward in a sudden spray of splinters, the wood giving way as a hand burst through at neck level.
Gloved fingers closed round Frank's throat.
The Warwolf only managed a confused and rather choked-off sound before he found himself being pulled forward, straight through the remains of the door,
blasting what was left off its hinges.
The friendly card game dissolved into chaos as beer cans dropped from hands and chips fell to the floor, their owners going for weapons
instead.
The players watched with growing apprehension as a figure appeared in the doorway - and it wasn't Frank.
"Heya, boys," Syndesis said, leaning against the broken frame.
A broad smile crossed her face, her lips pulling back to show two rows of perfect teeth.
"Trick or treat?"
* * *
Mag Flashlight entered the Legendary workshop, heading for the crafting bench. With expert motions, the armoured engineer set up the nanotech
fabricator, then turned his attention to the raw material bins.
Then he stopped. Behind the visor of his helmet, both eyebrows rose.
Mag stared for a while.
Finally, he dialed into the base computer and checked the storage logs.
Wandering out of the work area, he searched the base until he found Syndesis.
She was reclining at a table near the bar, playing a quiet game of solitaire.
"Hey, Syn," Mag called.
Her eyes remained focused on the battered deck, as she flipped a card over. Brown flecks of blood marred its face.
"Yeah?"
"Why are the salvage bins full of Council stuff?"
"Enh," Syndesis replied, "candy's fattening."
Mag considered this. "I've seen your file. You don't get fat."
She didn't look up. "So?"
-- Acyl