Gavin Wralls, callsign “Gunner,” was in his dingy bunk, etching tally marks into his flight helmet. There were no lights on in his cabin, he’d always found that he saw just fine in the dark. He’d been that way for as long as he could remember. There was always a warm comfort to darkness, away from the harsh prying light of doctors’ and psychiatrists’ offices. They always had lights. Lights that were too bright.
LPI interrogation cell lights though? Those were the worst.
Gunner made a mumbling, raspy sound to no one in particular at the memory.
That’s why he was so good in a cockpit, he figured. There was darkness everywhere, only the pinpricks of stars cutting through the blackness.
He couldn’t wait to get back out into the darkness of space. Raven had told him that there might be more Rheinland refugee ships on their way through Hudson soon. Maybe even a Bretonian mining vessel or two! Police were better though. Offered more of a fight. More of a challenge.
“Yes…better,” Gunner agreed with himself.
The door to his cabin was suddenly swung wide.
“Gunner! Gunner!” Hatchling Metcalfe was eager and zealous in all the ways a Xeno should be, but he still didn’t fully understand how dangerous Gunner could be when interrupted.
“SHUT THE F*CKIN’ DOOR, YA FILTHY SH*T STAIN!” Gunner roared and hearled the knife he’d been using to mark kills towards Metcalfe.
The knife missed Metcalf by centimeters.
“I…I…I…I…” Metcalf mewled while wetting himself.
“Well?? Out with it! What was SO F*CKING important that you needed to interrupt me?”
“They…we…” Metcalf struggled to regain composure. “We think we know where she went.”
“Who?? Out with it, you pathetic excuse for a hatchling!”
“Mel…Alliance command thinks they know where Mel went.”
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