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"Rise and shine, scumbag."
The big man awakes. The 'cage'-chair he had been on releases him from his chain, but his hands remain tied. He stands up, only to face the muzzle of a heavy blaster rifle, aimed carefully at his chest.
"You might want to be careful with that, Crane," he says to the man holding the rifle, unimpressed. "You could hurt somebody."
The other man, Crane, just points him towards the small ship's exit. The ramp lowers, revealing a dusty, grungy plateau of rock high in the mountains of Rattatak.
"The Abyss. You know, you always take me to the nicest places, Crane."
Obviously feeling uncomfortablein spite of his dominating roleCrane forces the broad shouldered Rancor of a man to step out, and answers, "I hear the food's good as well. Can't say I'm gonna miss you, Tite."
The tall, brawny man, Tite, doesn't reply, and Crane continues.
"Hox is a businessman. Now, play nice and we can get this over with quickly."
"It's already over, Crane." Tite nods towards
A plethora of rain is pouring down my visor while I'm running as if a loose reek was after me, making it hard for me to see where I'm actually heading to. That field of man-tall stems of some Yuuzhan Vong-bred type of crop does not quite aid to that, either.
But it's not as if I actually need to see what's ahead of me, anyway. Most of the time, I'm turning my head to see what's behind me.
And behind me is a relentless horde of enraged Yuuzhan Vong, throwing thud and razor bugs, coufees and even their amphistaffs after me. Much to my well-fare, most of them are either badly-aimed because of the heavy wind and rain, or are absorbed by the dense crops. I, too, am trying to get a shot at my chasers every now and then, but I can't take the time to aim, run and watch my steps simultaneously, so only few shots hit the aliens chasing me down.
I've been running like that for nearly half an hour, now, and it's getting me quite out of breathdespite my intensive training for th
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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