Match, point... game

Chapter fifteen:
Only lonely

Life was good, for the most part. The universe it seemed had settled down somewhat and the Alliance was starting to lessen up on its strict wartime policies. The threat of the necromongers was dwindling now that they were a mere fraction of their former selves, the once unstoppable army that had threatened the entirety of the human races little more than a chicken with its head cut off. Work was in ready supply, people were being fed, families reunited, and new ones starting; everything was exceptional compared to the crap shoot it had been for a good thirty years there. War times were good and all, it meant a boost in the economy and as sad as it was we need war to reboot the governments and bring people closer together again, but there was just a need for peace after so long an absence.

But even in times of peace and prosperity there still existed the need and will for death. People still wanted other people killed, whether they got in the way, or they were a threat to a business, or as simple and passionate as someone cheating on someone else and that person wanting their heart ripped out and mailed to the mistress. Murder for hire was as booming as ever, and though the higher up markings like political figures weren’t as common or as lucrative anymore there were still plenty of other pickings to choose from. Plenty to choose and stay well kept and fed. It was a shame in many aspects that when people were just starting to relax people such as killers and drug dealers and whatnot were free to do as they please, albeit more cautiously. In times of peace it was easier to be spotted, easier to be caught.

So it was a good thing that long ago she had learned how to blend into just about any crowd, otherwise her ass would have been in a Slam again within the month. Even the most capable warrior would be useless without the ability to blend into ones surroundings. She had learned this the hard way when she was nineteen… Deep, bored brown eyes flickered upwards from the glass paneled table at which the figure they were attached to sat at. Fingers laced upon a hot, steaming cup of premium New Spanish coffee that contrasted with the crisp coming fall. It was nice here, peaceful, where she could stop and collect her thoughts while getting an acute caffeine high from the beverage before her. It was so quiet here that… George hated it.

There was only so much reflecting time that she could take before she seriously wanted to hurt something to get the blood pumping again. Let it never be said that Georgina Collins was not a violent person… if anything she was exceptionally so. She thumbed the lip of her mug as she watched the streets of Helion four, one of the farthest from the sun and yet it was blindingly bright here from the borrowed solar prowess of the Prime planet. A holy planet, a sacred system, often had the most need of someone dead; George had learned. Religious politics left a bitter taste and several things to be desired but it paid just as good as any other job, it was just sometimes the convict wished that they had the decency to at least let the target know that they were going to be targeted for some form of attack. It wasn’t that George felt bad for those that were so consumed by their faith that they didn’t stop to think that they could be taken out like some common criminal or drug lord on the street, far from it, but it was the fact that she was surrounded by people who believed in a higher being. People who were better off than she had been, people that couldn’t possibly have experienced the pain and suffering she had throughout her late teens and early twenties, and yet still had everything. She believed in a God, yes she did, but she despised him, hated him, and was bitter to the fact that she had gone through so much only to end up where she was now.

She had once thought that her belief in a God would be her saving grace. It was true, George had been a very pious person when she had lived on her home planet of Artemis, had bowed to the moons and had prayed every night along with the rest of the orb. She had thought the great and forgiving lord would give her and her brother a chance, would allow them to live in comfort after such a trying ordeal as the take over of the Necromongers of their home. But he had spat in her face. He had given her only poverty and despair, her only hope to turn to killing to even make enough money to survive much less keep her brother healthy and somewhat happy. Killing someone was the highest sin in her families religion and she had no doubts that when she died she would be sported to hell along with the rest of the murderers, thieves, and dealers.

George bit her tongue to keep the hatred down within her soul and returned to sipping her coffee. She was beyond such thoughts now though. She had resigned herself to her life and ways of living a long time ago, when she had snapped in that slam, now all that was left was to live life while she could, however she could, and deal with the afterlife when it came. In the meantime she had work to do.

Her brown eyes narrowed sharply, critically, as she surveyed all of those around her. It had been interesting finding work after the death of her beloved friend Trey, as pathetic as he had been. He had been her ear to the stars, to listen to who wanted someone killed and for what price, and to even bother to tell her if it was worth while to go through with the hit. In essence he had been the driving force behind her business and why she was one of the top rated people out there today, third only to Riddick and second only to one other man that she had heard a few weeks ago was on the run from some dangerously skilled Mercs. Three years to the day that she had left him to die in that bunker outside of the capital city, spitting on his bruised, bloodied, and tattered form. She had decided not to take his life herself, that it would be too good of a fate for him, that she would be too kind to allow him death that quickly. Instead George had been cruel, dark, and twisted, like she was supposed to be in her line of work, and had left him in that place with a very prominent electrical beacon, broadcasting his location to anyone smart enough to see the signal and who it was. She had left him to the mercs that he had sold her out to.

They would be no where near as gentle as she had been with him. Mercs were notorious for hating when their game broke out of the Slams; because then they lost a great deal of money, namely all of it, and were left in debt from whatever they had bought with the bounty. Considering her head had been worth three million creds and then add to that they had to be in a foul mood since Riddick’s had been worth twenty. She almost pitied that fucker for what he had to have gone through in his final moments… George had made sure to insert a heart rate monitor into his body, one that would tell when he went cold or if it was removed forcefully from his body, so his death was assured. The toad had gotten what he deserved. The worst thing you could do to a criminal was to rat them out and then you had better be wise enough and ready enough to deal with the consequences.

George blinked a moment, halfway through taking another sip of the hot, dark liquid that had energy thrumming through her veins. There was someone she had not thought about in a while. Riddick… in all of these three years she had not thought much on him, if at all, in fact after three months of having less and less concern over whatever the hell he was doing he had been pushed from her mind to be replaced with more serious matters. She couldn’t remember when all thoughts on him had ceased. With his name came the flood of his image, that same stoic face, those goggles, his large frame, and that same indefinable air that he brought with him. That sharpness, that danger, that security, and the knowledge that as long as you were on his side you wouldn’t wake up with a shiv in your back. She flexed her fingers once more on the coffee mug, stretching out her back within the confines of her drab red robes that were dusted with sand and dirt. She hadn’t wondered where he was, what he was doing, in so long that now that the questions flittered across her mind they were awkward in forming. Like it was wrong to ponder on him, like when they had separated all right to think about him had been left on that ship.

And perhaps it had.

It was then that Georgina Collins remembered just why she didn’t think about Riddick anymore. Thinking about Riddick tended to bring out the worst in her and the restlessness within her soul was suddenly paramount. She had always been a drifter, unable to stay in one spot for long, unable to just sit idle, and yet that seemed to be what she was doing lately. Not physically, of course, if she did that then she might as well turn herself in and slap on the shackles herself, but mentally she had been stagnant for a long time. Riddick, in her moments of knowing him over those last months, had made her mind work in overtime to understand how he had worked. She had learned, she had grown, she had been forced to evolve to understand the creature that was the fellow convict. Fear had melded into curiosity and then into respect, and from there it had turned into some unknown thing that had been heavy in the air even as she had walked out the door. Her mind had constantly been jumping, running, tumbling, and shifting, and it had been heaven. Never had someone intellectually stimulated the easily bored George as easily as he had, just his mere presence had been enough to make her brain kick into high gear. And when she had left that excitement was left with Riddick and she was stuck where she had been before the slam.

Her only relief was that of the sight of another persons pain… She was weak in many ways, she was not afraid to admit her faults, and this was just another thing that made her cringe in disgust. Someone had once told her it was you who had the power to change yourself, that only you could shape who you became, and no matter how much George hated what she had turned into… on some masochistic level she enjoyed it all. Deep down the darker side of her reveled in the things she did and could do. She was powerful, she held someone else’s life in her hands, whether they would live or die, and that was worth all of the personal turmoil it brought with it.

Snarling George pushed the troubling train of mind aside before sitting back in her chair and shifting in her robes. Blending into a crowd was really one of her strong suites, Riddick could learn a thing or two about it sometimes. What with being ridiculously tall, bald, huge, and overly intimidating in shear presence alone, and you could tell who he was even if he was dressed up as a clown for a kids birthday party. With her it was easier. She was small, only five foot six, and her frame was that of any other in shape woman on any cosmos, add to that if you didn’t look close enough she was average looking and that she generally stuck to not making any kind of scene and she was made for this kind of work. Namely, recon.

Though this line of gathering was boring and dull, spending hours on end just watching a target, learning their schedule, and getting to know them inside and out without ever making true contact, it was, again, essential. If you went after someone and they had company over, large, burly, hard to take down company with guns, then it would be much harder to get in, get out, and not receive any kind of damage to your person. So many things could go wrong that reconnaissance was necessary in order to stay alive and to be good at what she did, if you didn’t then the number of possibilities with you sustaining critical injuries while the ‘bad’ guys got away increased dramatically. She didn’t like to stack the odds against herself even if they made things more interesting. A clean, easy job was more along the lines of what she wanted out of this one, she could always get a challenge by going after some political train machine head with a million body guards, high tech security, and having to do an interspatial chase without her ion drive on and commsystem silent. No, this one would be short, sweet, and to the point.

Her target was a simple man, made of common thread as any other on Helion five, who had become something uncommon and quite special in the community in which he resided. Ishid Aljahard was a religion phenomenon that had come out of the left field with his radically different views on Muslim beliefs and how they should be interpreted into every day life. His lacks views in view of the normally strict religion as well as tolerance and preached charity towards other faiths had struck a cord with many and he was gaining momentum fast with his modified version of Christianity and Islam, a dangerous combination that the dual parties that had hired her didn’t want. His ideas were sound; they spoke of peace and understanding and reminded her much of her own faith back on Artemis, they also emphasized on pity towards your fellow man and to always search for a nonviolent resolution to any problem. He saw religion as something that should not restrict but free, heal, and soothe the soul. There was no true hell, that you could be forgiven for anything if you just repented and tried your hardest to make up for it, and that God was kind and all understanding.

She personally liked his code of ethics and thought that someone like him had been a long time in the making in the current upheavals that were taking place between the two old religions. But… George’s eyes once more darkened as she sipped at the strong, dark liquid that burned on its way down, warming her from the inside out. It was a shame that she had to kill him. He struck her as a man she would one day might have sat down to have an intellectual conversation on Gods and faith and how it all played into the political machine that was the Alliance. Money was money and she had been hired to take him away from the realm of the living. Who knew, maybe he would become a martyr and his cause would gain all that much more steam. Look at what happened to Jesus and Gandhi.
Another thing that could be said for Helion five was that it was freaking hot. It was like a desert. One would assume that given how much light they received from Prime that they would stop and hold it back, keep it to where it was bearable. George could only guess that they were trying to recreate that Middle East as much as possible here.

Three years….

She sighed and gave up though keeping her ears and eyes sharp to those around her, constantly aware. She had changed much in this time and yet had stayed the same in many aspects. She had become harder was one she would have to say, physically that was, with her muscles having been worked on day and night after getting out of that Slam for a good six months to get them into even better condition than when she had gone in. She was also smarter. Her new runner had never met her personally save a few times in emergency situations, he didn’t know how to personally contact her except an untraceable line that she kept on her at all times inserted inconspicuously into her ear, and she had done fourteen different background checks to make sure he was clean. Trey had taught her to be much more cautious in whom she chose. She had not, however, changed in the fact that she distanced herself constantly and created a self stifling solitude that would last for as long as she lived. Her misery was her own. She was too dangerous to be around other people. Her anger issues had gotten somewhat more pronounced lately as well, it only took small things to set her off when she was not on a mission. However, George still hated the thought of needless violence, and though she might give a person a harsh tongue lashing if they did nothing to threaten her personal safety or move in on her territory then she would let them keep their fingers and life.

She was more controlled now but what was bubbling under the surface was just as angry and powerful as ever. All that didn’t matter now though as her target suddenly turned the corner and came into view. Tonight would be her time to strike. She had been watching after him for a good two months now, learning all of his mannerisms, what nights he had his estranged wife and child over, which evenings his disciples at dinner with him, and thank god he didn’t have any body guards to speak of. He really was a simple man. This would be far too easy and she had a feeling that these would be one of the cases that would stick in her memory beyond the sea of hits she had taken on with her. Placing her coffee cup deeper into her grasp and appearing to take a deep gulp she watched as the dark skinned man of Middle Eastern decent from earth itself came shuffling into the crowd of people hustling down the street.

He looked frazzled… as he often did at this time of day when passing this café to get to his home and to his papers and research for his up and coming temple. His dark red and golden robes were askew as he rushed and pushed passed others within the throng, muttering apologizes, bowing to a few, and then continuing on his way. With deep brown, wild and frayed, hair and black eyes that had puffy bags beneath them it was no wonder that he looked so bedraggled. He was a very busy man. Being a religious figure head must take more work than it had always looked it to be. Did he know that someone wanted him dead? Did he know that his views were so threatening to so many other strong religious players that it was going to end up in his death at the hands of someone like George? What could he do if he did? There weren’t many places to hide and he struck George as the kind of person that would think it cowardly to run from ones problems even if they were unsolvable.

It didn’t matter if he knew or not, he was going to perish tonight and she would get her money. Then she’d move onto the next bounty. Life as a hired killer was so glamorous sometimes.

George stared at her table as the man rushed by her, running by the café with little care as of who or what could be sitting there watching him. She stared at him out of the corner of her eye, careful not to give away her station or purpose, and followed him until it would take eyes in the back of her head to continue. Setting the hot cup down, well lukewarm now, she stood and straightened out the dusty clothing she wore. The reassuring press of her daggers sheathes against her hip bones under the draping red was all she needed to know that she was ready, a gun strapped onto her thigh and an emergency comm set up in case anything went awry. Giving one final look down the streets of Helion five she turned and set off down an opposite dirt path than the one he had gone. Time to make her living.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Helion Five’s night was as dark as its day was bright. The power stations no longer working over time to receive the imported beams of solar power it was reduced to pure darkness besides the street lamps that were scattered along the dirt and cobbled stone roads providing spotty illumination. It was dangerous on the streets at this time of day, even for a holy planet such as this. Crime existed wherever humans did; they were selfish creatures, thinking only of themselves and of their needs. Vicious animals that did not think twice about ordering someone’s death… humans were such idiots. Rapes took place here after dark, just like any other system, muggings, burglaries, murders, all violent crimes and all causing harm to another living sentient being. Religion was hypocrisy in its purist form.

George leaned up against the wall next to a French door, the glass shimmering in the star light that pierced through the inkiness around her. Her dark eyes narrowed down into the streets below, having made sure to knock out the one street lamp in the entire block that lead up to her targets house, waiting patiently for his only visitor to leave him for the night. Today was the day that his most trusted disciple would bring him the numbers of converts and would update him on the movements of the church, almost like a military campaign. Her mouth quirked into a bitter frown at the thought of just who had hired her… that very same disciple. Why was it the most trusted were the first to fall into betrayal of those they were supposed to love and care about like family? It was obscene. Shifting against the sharp edges of the poor quality terra cotta exterior she slid over to the knob of the glass door, glancing over her shoulder once to make sure that the room behind her was still dark and that the hallway that its door was opened to was uninhabited.

Crickets sounded in her ears from all over, mixing with the summer cicadas that had traveled to this planet from a merchant ship from Earth. The noise was almost deafening, add to that the croaking of damnable frogs in nearby manmade ponds and the murmur of others within their homes and it was proving somewhat difficult to block out all other noises and to focus on the goings on within the house beneath her. The only light that existed within the near deserted home was that of a few candles within the living room on the first floor where Ishid and her employer were going through the finer points of the newest temple in this part of town, picking out tiles, prayer tables, and what the alter should contain on it. The signal came with the door to the front sliding open and the voice of both her target and hiring scumbag still chatting amiably. Goodbyes were uttered and the door once more was shut down and locked up tightly, but she was already within the home and shutting the door in time with his, locking it back behind her. She didn’t’ need to see him to know that the traitorous disciple, really a Christian convert, running from the home, not wanting to be put to this murder.

Moving across the room the convicted killer side stepped a small, close to the ground bed, around a large stretching green leafed plant, all the way to the ajar portal that lead to the hallway before. She paused, leaning against the wall and closing her gaze off to her eyelids, allowing the sighing and shifting of the house as well as its inhabitant to invade her senses. He was still down stairs, going through his usual routine of putting out the candles before he would get his prayer beads, holy book, and head up to bed where he would complete his day of holy worship before slipping under his sheets and into the dream world. One thing could be said for the pious it was that they were predictable, and that meant that they were easy to take down.

Assessing it was safe George slipped out into the hallway, her jacket just barely scrapping against the door jam in the process. The corridor was narrow and cramped, meaning that should hand to hand ensue she would be at a minor advantage since she was smaller than the male’s bulky form but at the same time it would be easy for him to overpower her. She had to remember to make this take place in an open area, to make sure that this coming struggle would not fall into this passageway, or it would complicate things far too much for her tastes. Walking quietly down the polished wood, making only the barest of creaks upon the worn surface, she made her way deftly to the final door that was, also, left open upon her own credence, having broken in earlier when he had gone out to speak with an ailing woman about her final fortune going to his cause. He was sweet, he had urged her to give it to her children, but she was refusing, and he had no choice but to accept. She wondered briefly if this would all fall apart without him or if one of his close pupils would find it within himself to carry on.

Ishid’s bedroom was just as deserted as the rest of the house, quiet and lit by nothing but starlight, which meant heavy shadows and very little streams of brightness. This was too easy… George’s ears twitched as she heard her target right on time ushering himself up the stairs, arms laden with book and beds and flaming candle and preparing to bed. Sliding back, keeping her eyes on the door, she immersed herself within the blackness of a corner, where the candles limited light would not hit.

Within seconds of her taking cover the kindly man entered into the room, sheltering his light from the winds of the air conditioning that ran throughout his home. George flattened herself against the wall, pushing her coat back to where her hands felt upon her daggers cold metal hilts, thumbing the edges with reassurance. Setting down his book down upon the bed stand table inside the sparsely decorated room of only a bed, a plant, and the night stand, before setting down the glowing candle and letting out a frustrated noise. George held her breath for a few moments, muscles tensing and her entire body going rigid and perfectly still, watching, waiting for the right moment. Situations such as this counted on the right timing or there would be hell to pay for it.

With a puff the candle was blown out and Ishid moved over to the closet to get ready for bed, looking haggard and tired. George felt heavy hearted as she moved from her corner and moved after him swiftly to where she was behind him within seconds, her daggers drawn and their metal whining from the sudden action. The victim blanched at the sudden noise and turned, his eyes wide upon seeing an intruder in his home while his hands flew up in defense. George raised one arm behind her, bringing the dagger down in a speedy stab while the other sliced across his abdominal, cutting clear through the wall and piercing into several of the organs in the area. Before he could even let out a scream the stab had hit his vocal cords and severed them, letting out little more than a gurgle while red seeped from every wound in copious amounts. Bubbles formed from Ishid trying to breath through the hole in his throat and the blood backing up into his mouth and dribbling down his chin in thick red streams.

His dark eyes beheld George one final time, standing back from him and staring, her daggers by her side but ready and a steely, hardened look to her dark orbs. All that he could see was the burning of those brown eyes, the flame of her rusty red hair, and the glimmer of the blood covered daggers in the steepness of the bleakness. George watched as his vision clouded over, undoubtedly starting to darken around the edges, and listened to the steady flow of red either drip from his chin onto the ground into a gathering puddle or seep down his leg and stomach to pool at his feet. It was over in seconds, for all of her months of planning, and soon the holy man’s ones life filled eyes, so full and headed for a bright future, filmed over, rolled into his head. His body fell with a thud, hitting the wooden floor with a sickening slap in the now splashed red, and his last breath came out in a slow, long hiss.

The killer stood back from the pool and watched the gathering darkness, her mouth in a firm line. This kill was not as exciting as most others were. This one was leaving a sore taste in her mouth, something bitter, unworthy, this was one that she had found she had not enjoyed at all. The thrill wasn’t there. The joy of the hunt had been absent. This was just a paycheck, this was not her usual entertainment. She only had to stay a few more seconds to make sure that he was truly dead and that came in the form of urine mixing into the blood and the stark smell of human lower bowl waste assailing and burning at her nostrils.

With a final look over the dead form she turned and exited just as quickly as she had come in, wiping her daggers upon the inside of her coat before sheathing them back into the hilts on her cargo’s. She slinked off into the night with a sinking in her stomach, something forming in the pit of her stomach that proceeded to gnaw there annoyingly. Something was not… right. George had never felt this way after a kill, what was wrong here?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Huh, a convict, eh? Wanted for three murders… she doesn’t look like much, does she?”

“Nah, she really don’t, but then again the captain said that this one is a crazy, that something isn’t right with her. We should leave her alone.”

“No way, it’s protocol for everyone entering into this branch of the army, willingly or otherwise. The Wailing Wars isn’t a place for little girls that can be broken easily,”
George sat in the very corner of her cell while the guards spoke in none too hushed voices. She ran her hands up and down her arms, chilled compared to the heat that had existed deep within the crust of her former Slam. Her eyes flittered from the ground up to the combat boots of the one closest to her and cursed herself for being caged up in all things as a dog cell. It assured that all she could was sit down, curled up, and that she couldn’t fight back or injure anyone too badly from here. They had even taken her shanks. The bastards… They were talking about her like she wasn’t even here, like she was some kind of piece of meat for them to decide if she was worth it or not. Her eyes narrowed at the thought that she had been taken from the Slam by guy such as this.

One of the guards, the original speaker, crouched down to her level though keeping a safe space between the cage bars and himself. He cocked his head to the side, watching as her brown eyes slid up from the ground of her rusted cell up to him, their brown hue blazing with ire and defiance while her face remained nothing but calm. He scoffed before waving his hand at her, looking at the other three guards that had accompanied him. “She’s a woman. What could the boss be thinking?” there was contempt deep in his voice for the fact that she was female. That made George’s anger boil more.

“Probably that since she’s a felon that she’s expendable. Send her into the enemy camp, kill as many possible with the rest of ‘em that we picked up, and when they’re all dead we rush the remaining suckers and take the base. Thundercraker’s, not a job I would want,” one of the others murmured while kicking her cage and causing it to jostle violently. George didn’t so much as look at him but continued to stare at the man that had dared to get onto her level.

“Doesn’t matter if she wants it or not, she’s gonna take it. Besides, a murderer like her should be happy for the chance to kill without consequence, right hun?” the one crouching asked. He turned back to the red head with a sneer on his lips, his face unshaven and covered in the grease that came from not bathing regularly.

George studied him a moment stoically, not saying anything. Weak of mind, big talkers usually were, and with an old injury to his left shin, could be used for later. What to say, what to do, to throw him off of his game…? She rolled her head to the side slowly, a flicker of a smirk forming on her lips while depraved thoughts ran through her mind. The Slam had not been kind. She had been altered there, a mere nineteen, newly separated from her brother, and it had changed her for the worst. Sure, she had survived. But now where her heart had been she couldn’t feel it, all that was there was a cold hollow sensation. And she liked it… Some had called her crazy in there, that hell hole that was a constant sweltering hundred degrees. Insane because she was so quiet, so demented, human life didn’t mean anything, and when someone dared to try to touch her, to hurt her, they usually ended up with their eyes gouged out and their stomachs ripped open… Stomach, her favorite spot.

There we are, she thought with a sickening sneer. The guards were watching her with slightly unnerved looks and she realized that she had been laughing coldly at them the entire time she had been thinking. Good, let them think she was insane, let them underestimate her, it would come back to haunt them… each and every one of these men were going to get a knife in the back or a bullet in the brain. Time, patients… time would bring them their deaths soon enough. Though in the mean time:

“The stomach, so many vital organs there you know. So weak, so powerless. If you go after a certain area, just above the bellybutton, where the muscle is thinnest and joined with all of the others, then you can slice it open easily. Upwards is my favorite, cut deep enough and not only does the person bleed to death but their guts come spilling out and red flies everywhere. Have you ever tasted blood before? Not pleasant, but not bad, it’s an acquired taste really, very metallic. You’d like it,” she directed her gaze, half lidded with a disturbing sneer pulling her mouth until her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed from the force, towards one of the standing guards. He was a sadist, she could tell just by looking at him, only issue was… he didn’t know. She had seen his captivation at her being in a cage, bruised from her time in that Slam, a healing scab on her forehead, and her body filthy from lack of a good shower. The War would be good to him, he would enjoy himself, and he would die. Soon, so soon. She barked a laugh then, seeing each of their faces having gone ashen at her speech before she settled back into her corner and licked her lips darkly. “Want to know what the human liver looks like still living out of the body, freshly spilled and making a slick thunk noise? Its red, dark red, rust, like its poison itself, and shaped so strangely with crags and scars from years of abuse…”

“Enough! This psycho bitch is trying to scare us,” the sadist to be bellowed and kicked her cage hard, causing it once again to tilt threateningly. George grunted when it slammed back down onto the haul of the ship she was captive in, but the second she was stable again a big, booming laugh ripped from her lips, filling the large space and hitting against the walls. All three were now standing and staring at her as if she was the scum of the universe, fear unadulterated flickering in their eyes.

George calmed herself down before lowering her head but her eyes still were locked with the one that had crouched. She clicked her teeth momentarily, settling back against her corner while rolling her shoulders. “Losing control like that, a bad sign for a soldier. How many people have you killed just for the sight of blood? So you could get your rocks off? And you fuckers call me psycho? Strange, they called me horrible names when I did it, but under a contract and war they call you hero’s… how the universe is partial I suppose,” she murmured before once again returning to staring at the floor, shutting her mouth and refusing to say another word.

The guards shifted, glancing at one another in nervousness. She really was insane. She could hear their thoughts, wondering if it would be better just to kill her now than to chance her getting out, slaughtering them, and then driving their ship off into freedom. Luckily for them she had yet to find a way out of this cage and as they walked off, their boots hitting against the floor loudly, she ran her tongue over her incisors slowly, eyeing their feet anxiously. Her mind began to whirl, putting the aspects of her escape into slots and ticking by the possible scenario. The only issue was… the military had to have a trump card on her to dare to take her out of the Slam. A wild thing like her couldn’t be controlled unless they had a chain that she actually would allow on, so then what could they possibly have on her…?

At least she was out of that Slam. Now the question was what did they want with her in the Wailing Wars? A thundercraker…