"Kalashnikov's", Zvezdny Gorodok

[Koolmo]

As the next song comes on, Eugen leans back expansively. "You see, comrade, Totenkopt isn't like the rest of us. He's been in the revolution longer than some of us have been alive, including myself. He was detached with his fighter wing to aid the Order during the nomad war, and that was before Anyone had even heard of the SCRA. Don't ask about his mask, either, he's kinda touchy on the subject..."

"Well, uh, compadre, why do I recognise you? I don't think I've seen you, but your voice... I know I've heard it."

"Comrade, asking questions like in the middle of a pub full of semi-corked, well-armed, and usually violent coalition soldiers is like sticking your co-"

From the Elevator foyer comes the sound of several rapid, loud shots. In their echoes, Totenkopt comes striding back into the pub, blowing smoke from the hand-cannon in his gloved fist. His mechanical eyes seem to flare an even brighter red, and if an innanimate mask could grin like a cheshire cat, it would've.

"Well 'Lucky', here's your piece back, I think I blew through the whole clip though, but it was worth it. Damn cargo-haulers, thinking they can park in your spot. Now, move your fighter, before I have to blow a hole in it, too."

Afonso's eye bugg right out of his head at the mention of 'Lucky', but before he can open his mouth, Eugen's boot slams into his knee, and he refrains.

"M'okay, Sir. I'll get right on that. Say, you want to get a brew with me and... Red, wasn't it? He's been runnin supplies for us for a good while, apparently."

Totenkopt's face turns towards Afonso, and back to Eugen. "Weise, it's bad enough that you and Al'Rahan have to shack up, but picking up a... civilian? Honestly..."

"Hey!" Eugen stands, and begins to reach beneath his fashionably hip-long cloak. "I resent the implication that I pick up random..." He peters out as his hand comes back empty.

"Looking for this?" Totenkopt spins Eugen's distinctively large pistol offhandedly, then tosses it to him. "Saftey's on. I hope you have some more rounds, the cargo-hauler's union is going to react badly to this one..."

"Godd*mn Unions! Afonso, you don't know anything, and if you do, keep it to yourself! Seen?"

"Uuuh... Seen, comparde?"

"Good! Keep it that way! Now, if you'll escuse me, sir, I need to go shoot something wearing an orange flightsuit."

"Uum... I think cargo haulers wear yellow. Orange is flightdeck crew."

"Whatever, I'm colorblind anyways. I'll just shoot the nearest flourescent thing, and go from there..."

Afonso stared in horror as Eugen strode towards the elevator, stepping over the yellow arm draped across the doorway. It was doubtful whether or not it was still attached to it's owner, but the owner certainly wasn't still alive. It couldn't be, jusdging by the amount of blood pooling onto the deck.

"Oh, by the way," Toenkopt said, "you might want to watch out if you're going to 'spend time' with Eugen. He has a strange penchant for whips and biting... people think I'm a vampire..."

He gestured to the barmaid and left, leaving Afonso wishing he'd just stayed aboard ship.

---

<span style="color:#FFFF00">&quot;General Solo, is your strike team assembled?&quot;
&quot;Barely, they're pretty drunk.&quot; </span>
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I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world, because they'd never expect it.