Running the Rapids

[Jayce]

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Cueball let out a huffing giggle as Stripes swiped the stolen badge against an e-reader, and the airlock to the Rapids began to cycle. In the passageway, Milly was quickly slithering out of her uniform.

"Slime, get over here." Shrugging off the loose-fitting article of clothing, the blonde dropped the garment on the floor, before repeating the motion with her uniform pants. The impromptu strip-show left her in tight-fitting, hole-filled jeans and an oversized t-shirt sporting a stylized middle finger. "We gotta' clean up, or someone's gonna' start askin' questions." Dropping into another squat, Milly began chasing down the long trail of blood left behind by the pair of guards, occasionally spritzing the deckplates with the bottle of cleaner that had been hooked in her non-gun pocket.

"Don't shoot your coochie again, Milly!" Stripes called from up ahead, and Milly mimed a similar gesture to the one displayed on her clothing.

"You've gotta' admit that was funny as fuck, Malone." Slime said, taking up a position behind the leader, swiping up the remnants of blood and organs left behind by Milly's rapidly-soiling shirt.

"Milly. There's only one thing I hate more than being called 'Malone', and that's being called by my first name." She paused, glaring back at a still-grinning Slime. "Don't do it."

"My bad, Millic-..." He was quickly cut off as a dripping shirt slapped against his face, adding to the greasy film coating every fiber of hair on his head. "What the fuck?!"

"I warned you." Milly said flatly, finally reaching the end of the plating. The trail of blood continued to the pair of corpses in the airlock proper, growing in breadth. They were off the station, at least. "Alright, good fuckin' 'nuff. Leave the stiffs here, nobody should be dickin' around in the airlock in transit anyway." As the youngest member of the pack cleared the first set of doors, they sealed shut, and the second set slid open. The air smelled different, indicating that they were in the Roanoke proper.

"Fuckin' Christ, Milly. I'm never gettin' this shit out of my hair." Slime whinged, smearing his face against the walls in an attempt to clean up. His own shirt was already coated in third-hand bodily fluids, hence the resourcefulness in finding another locale to render filthy.

"It's not like you ever shower to begin with, stinky." Stripes said, poking a head into the corridor beyond. She held her Eviscerator in one hand, the other steadying herself against the wall. "We'll have to fix that once we've got the ship. No more 'the one in my pad is broken'."

Milly slid in behind her female compatriot, checking the other direction down the hall. "Here's the play: we wait until we-..." The ship vibrated slightly, inertial dampers kicking in to ease the motion imparted on the crew as the Roanoke began her journey to Kusari. Gods of the street willing, they'd make it on time, and nobody would notice the change in ownership. "Fuckin' A right, we're on the move. Alright, Stripes, about how long a ride is it to Galileo? A day or two?"

Cueball spoke up before Milly had even finished her sentence, and before Stripes could begin hers. "Dependin' on how quick, fast, and in a hurry the driver is, about a day, maybe a lil' less." Milly cocked an eyebrow in response.

"How the fuck do you know?" She said, her voice dripping with incredulity. The other members of the group sported similar expressions. "You said you've never left your hab block. If you've been to the other fuckin' side of the galaxy, why the hell are you slummin' it with us?"

"I never left 'Hattan, nah. My big brother worked on a transport runnin' to Kusari every week or somethin', and he always kept in touch, 'fore some pirates got him." He paused, then continued, sporting a bit of a pouty frown. "Quit bein' such a bitch just 'cus your huffer ran out. Junkie."

"Hey. Hey!" Milly's voice took on a slightly higher pitch. "Can't help mom was an addict, so I was an addict when I slithered out of her cunt." Cradling her head in her hands for a moment, she let out a heavy sigh. "Fuck it, whatever. Listen, we made it this fuckin' far, keep it together. Everyone brought snacks 'n' shit, yeah?" Digging in her pockets, Milly produced a few sad-looking pieces of soy-jerky and a pouch of juice (notice: contains less than 2% juice, from concentrate).

"Uhh... You never filled us in on what was going down, Milly, other than 'bring your piece' and 'this'll be hot shit.'" Stripes retorted, finally taking someone's side other than the one the 'boss' was taking. Damnit, girl, you were supposed to have my back.

"Ho-... Kay. Alright, new plan. Panty, eh- pantry raid. We dig up the chow hall, snag enough of a meal to last a day. We run across anyone, zero 'em nice and stealth-like, hump the bodies back-..." Milly was rudely interrupted by the Y chromosomes snickering. Again. "I don't fuckin' swing that way!" She slapped a hand against the wall, loud enough for the sound to echo out of the airlock and through the corridors. "Fuck that. You three dig up the chow hall and get something to eat."

"And you're gonna' do... What? Sit here and shake?" The heavily-muscled man retorted, crossing his arms.

"No, fuckface, I'm gonna' go find whatever passes for a pharmacy on this shitheap and get my fuckin' fix before I gnaw your fuckdamn head off. That okay with you? Huh? Is it!?" She snarled, flashes of faux-silver decorative canine implants catching the dim light of the airlock. Milly Malone was not the most pleasing sight at the best of times. An assed-off Milly Malone? No shot. Even the mountainous Cueball leaned back slightly as the scent of cigarette smoke, sweat, and what might've been urine tickled his nostrils.

"I-uh, no, no problem at all, Millic-... Milly." He responded sheepishly, taking a step back from his platinum-blonde partner in crime.

"Good. Piss off and go find somethin' to eat. And for the love of Christ, don't let every prick on this ship find out we're sneakin' around, yeah?" Without waiting for a response, Milly turned and picked a direction at random. Left is good. Her footsteps weren't quite quiet, what with her jitters, but she tried her very, very best to remain somewhat stealthy, even if heavy-heeled combat boots weren't ideal for her situation. They fit pretty nice, though: the Police corporal that wore them prior broke them in good. Shame he fell off that balcony and painted the hab-block stairwell a new shade of red and blue. At least it got Milly out of a court summons for another week.

A flash of red soon caught her eye: an arrow pointing down the hallway, the words 'MED STATION' standing out in bold, white letters. Fuck yeah. "Bonedust, here I come." Milly silently thought to herself, out loud. Following the arrow was fairly easy, and Milly caught herself thanking the designers of the ship, corporate stooges or not. Lines leading her straight to her fix, and limited crew requirements? Fan-fucking-tastic. A twisty-turn or two later, and the woman was standing outside a red-framed door. Pulling her piece from where she'd tucked it into her waistband, she flattened up against a wall.

"Alright, girl. Think tactical. Cams. Scanners. Locks. Need whoever's in there alive, for now." Sluggish as her mind was, it was building up steam, getting close to what could, in a pinch, almost, very nearly, be described as 'racing'. Rapping on the door three times, she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Actually, it wasn't that long of a wait at all. The hatch slid open, and a a female voice spoke. "Hello?" She called from just inside the frame. "Hell~o?" The woman crooned again. Glancing down, Milly watched as a white bootie stepped out, followed by another. The woman, her well-kept hair stitched up in a neat bun, glanced to her right, away from the unwelcome visitor. "Stupid door-..." She was interrupted by the sound of a hammer being thumbed back. The gaping chasm that was the muzzle of Milly's weapon stared her down hard.

"Shhh. Easy. That's right." The blonde kept her voice low, and a touch of hoarseness crept in. She needed a drink, but that could wait until she got her fix. "My name's Milly. What's yours?"

"P-please, I've got a f-family, kids-..." The raven-haired woman stammered. Of course she had a family: she was fine as hell. Retired supermodel type beat.

Milly cracked a toothy grin, trying her best to look friendly. Her eye twitched. "That's great. That's... Really, really great. You've got a family, and I've got a problem. Let's get it fixed, and then we can talk about your kids."

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