Troy Mullins : Morning Routine

[Dogbite10]

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Morning Routine:

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In the dark shadows of his living quarters, Troy Mullins lay face down in a puddle of drool on his disarrayed mattress. Beaumont's environmental systems hummed a familiar rhythm, pumping oxygen and keeping the frigid vacuum of the void at bay.

Some unknown neuron fired deep in his brain, making his pulse race and his muscles contort abruptly. His body jolted to life and he squinted at the clock next to him as his eyes tried to focus. "Five minutes", he grumbled to himself. "Why does this always happen five minutes before the alarm." Troy wiped the drool from his mouth, as he swung his feet around the edge of the bed planting them unsteadily on the floor. He looked down at his body and noticed that he was still wrapped in his coveralls from the day before.

The overhead lighting system was synchronized with his alarm clock, so it hadn't kicked on yet. He flexed his leg muscles, bracing for the inevitable ache that would follow, and laboriously stood up. He could make out the low glow of the illuminated manual switch across the room on the wall. Clumsily, he began to make his way towards the beacon. Halfway through his trek, his foot glanced something on the floor in his path, causing him to stumble and sending the object dancing across the floor and in to the base of the wall with a sharp "Thump". Troy reached out putting one palm on the wall to catch himself as his mind tried to calculate the billiard shot that had occurred, and he flicked the light switch upwards. At his feet lay a familiar hunk of metal. Large caliber, five rounds, and with the safety off. Troy stooped down and scooped up the revolver.

Exhaustion had a funny way of making you misplace things.

As he held the piece, he remembered back to the first lessons in gun smithing he had with his father. The Junkers on Beaumont had a fairly lucrative black market arms business going already by that time, but the pride and craftsmanship of forging their own was something that had been passed down for generations.

Most people in Sirius would have considered projectile weapons obsolete. The energy based arms were more efficient, more accurate, higher capacity, longer range, and could produce a variety of effects to immobilize an adversary. The thing about energy weapons though, was that the visuals were rather dull. They tended to either disrupt a persons vital systems internally or produce a largely cauterized wound.

In the cramped corridors and spaces Troy conducted himself, when he had to take care of business it was almost always an up close and personal affair. The ancient revolver produced an ear shattering sound, blinding flash, and occasionally sent enough blood, bone, and grey matter spraying on to the other enemies present that they ran off vomiting on themselves.

Mopping up what's left of your friend with a sponge was sure to ruin anyone's day.

Creating the weapon he now held in his hand was the project he was working on with his dad right before he died. Troy remembered the determination and insomnia as he struggled to finish the gun by himself. As a final memorial to his father he carefully carved his dads initials into the grip. "J.M." Then he placed the revolver on the table in front of a framed picture of his father, proudly proclaiming to the empty room, "See, I finished it."

His fingers ran over the small imperfections of a child's unsteady hands. Grieving was a peculiar thing.

Troy walked back to the bed and sat down feeling the energy drain from his soul once again. He slid open the cylinder and dumped the metallic rounds on to the nightstand where they bounced around slightly and began to sway in small arcs because of the uneven surface. Glancing over the pile, he fumbled to catch one at random and jammed it back in. Swinging the gun closed again, he gave the cylinder a spin. Troy raised the business end to his temple. "Just a little more sleep." Then, unceremoniously, he squeezed back on the trigger.

*Click*

Just then, the sudden shrieking of his alarm snapped him out of his daze. Troy sighed.

Time to go to work.

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