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Assassination - Part 1 of 2 |
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ASSASSINATION
The third moon orbiting Veiraganara VI circles slowly through the abyss, serving as an anchor point for a small manufacturing and research outpost belonging to the Epsilon Manufacturing Corporation. Every seven Earth years the planet of Veiraganara VI will pass nearby a small asteroid field. On the eleventh hour of this day, the moon anchoring the small EMC outpost will slip silently around its mother planet and allow for a beautiful view of the belt. One of the balcony windows on the outpost was installed as the viewing port to this spectacle behind the desk at which Kreed Izkhanilov runs his business. The belt looked different every two years. It had new rocks, new boulders of ice, and some old rocks, all constantly knocking into each other. However, this time around, there was something new. Kreed caught the glimpse of a massive hull drifting through the belt. It was the corpse hull of the Roguedrone Queen. The Veiraganaran star constantly bathed the hull in its sunlight, sporting the crimson stained goldish-silver hull that was the Queen. Also, spotted along it’s body were missing armor segments, empty gun hardpoints where the guns have been harvested, stripped metal segments, even a hollow engine slot. Kreed smirked happily and thought of his success to himself, and what might be happening to the defeated Queen.
“Salvagers…” he said to himself, with a slight chuckle in his voice. He shook his head and continues to marvel at the destroyed ship. Although it was so far away, its immense size gave it a slightly closer impression. Kreed kicked back in his chair at his desk, running through some corporate figures on a digitalized notepad. He checked his economic standings, his construction progress, his sales, and his profits, all of which were contained on the small computer-like device he was using. It was roughly the size of a notebook, thirteen inches long, ten inches wide. It was comprised of a large touch-screen, and the border around this screen was sparingly dotted with small buttons, which would turn the device on and off, adjust color quality, screen brightness, etcetera. He switched to his calendar and noticed he had an overview scheduled with the programmers on deck T7 to discuss the coded findings embedded in the Varied Crystallized Memory boards found inside what used to be the Queen’s central CPU. He checked the time and lifted from his chair, glancing once more at the Roguedrone Queen, and then made his way toward the programming lab.
The journey to the meeting was predictable at best; the corridors were lined with the same dark silver walls and the same chrome panels and interfaces, as well as the same runs of greenish-blue fiber optic and electric cables. Kreed ignored mediocrity of the interior of his station and continued to the meeting. Once he made his destination, he hesitated only for a millisecond to glance at the complex program code which had been displayed on a holographic screen at the back of the room. He looked over the coding and smiled, proud of the top-rate program structure demonstrated by the workers. As he walked in, his ears were greeted with the chatter of the programmers describing their projects to their colleagues, problems they have encountered as well as the solutions to those problems, and so on. The chatter fell as he sat in a chair at the end of a long rectangular table with widely rounded edges. The data engineers soon followed him to their places.
There was a short pause until Kreed broke the silence with his trademark method of beginning a staff meeting…
“So,” he said as he clapped his hands together once, “from what I was told in the memo, you lot have discovered a multi-layer hidden encryption in one of the VCM boards, correct?”
“Yes, sir” replied one of the engineers, the closest one to the right of Kreed. The man nodded to someone sitting at the center of the table on the side opposite him, who then proceeded to aim a small remote at the holographic screen. He pressed a button, and the remote produced a flash of laser light which only lasted for about a thousandth of a second. The screen went blank for a second and then displayed seven lines of complex abstract code. Kreed paused and looked it over.
“That’s it?” he question, leaning toward the screen in interest.
“Pretty much,” remarked another engineer in the room, which had stood up with a holo-pointer. He continued after he had positioned himself near the screen, “the language of the code is abstract by any description, and it was doing a great job of hiding. We had a hell of a time finding this strand amidst all the other terabytes of data.”
“Sort of like trying to find a mining drone in an asteroid belt?” Kreed inquired.
“More like trying to find a mining drone in a pile of mining drones. Had it been like finding a drone in an asteroid belt, we’d have had this code on this screen a week earlier. It was so discretely different that is almost blended in with its surroundings perfectly.” The presenter concluded, and paused, looking directly at Kreed as if awaiting his response.
“’Almost’?” Kreed questioned, and, this time, a different person chimed in to the discussion.
“Almost … the differences in structure between the codes were so minute that we almost mistook a ten page series of about seven code strings as a single strand. The person that wrote the programming language to drive the Queen knew how to hide.” He said.
“But, nevertheless, you found it. Good … but why this particular strand?” Kreed inquired, leaning back and looking over the code string carefully.
“We stumbled across it. The only reason we found it exclusively was because it was stored in a separate vein on the crystal board. The vein had been put there especially for this code, and was hidden efficiently enough to look like nothing during a full board scan. The first few times we scanned the board for data, the vein wasn’t there … and then we removed it from the slot and noticed that you could just barely see the edge of the slot refract in a spot which seemed empty” explained the first presenter, the one who had been standing.
“We localized the scan to that area inside the crystalline matrix, tuned the scanning precision, and sure enough, there it was, hidden in plain sight.” He concluded.
“Alright … so why is it there? If the drones went to all that trouble to hide it, it’s got to have some valuable information on it.” Kreed deduced. The engineers exchanged glances, they looked nervous. There was a short yet unnerving silence, and then a young savant programming engineer fresh out of the college spoke up.
“It’s a distress beacon.” He remarked, and Kreed almost did a double-take in his direction. The young man blinked, and continued quietly, “The code was put aside to hide its existence, obviously. But there’s no denying that it’s there, it was put there to use any reserve power necessary to send a simple binary blip to some undisclosed location.” He explained. The room was silent, dark and silent. The only light was being generated by the soft bluish green glow of the holographic screen.
“It was calling for help…” Kreed said, and he sunk into the seat he was in, resting the side of his head on three fingers. Then, a spark of hope;
“What about the nanites I inj--…” he was cut off as the graduate interrupted him.
“The code was written to begin the distress sequence the very millisecond something breaches through the ships hull.” He said. More silence, this one being even more nerve-racking than the last. Kreed stood slowly.
“Where was it broadcasting to?” Kreed requested smoothly. More silence … he repeated himself, slightly more sternly, “Who was it calling?”
The man sitting to the left of Kreed shifted uncomfortably. Navigations expert, what was he doing here? Kreed thought about that for a second and sat back down, regarding the man with an inquisitive glare. The man stopped moving and blinked, then reluctantly began to speak.
“… We traced the signal route to a remote location that nobody thought was capable of supporting even station life, because its in the middle of a nebula cluster.” He mentioned, shifting once more. It had become obvious to Kreed that he became incredibly nervous when speaking to superiors. He continued, although uncomfortably, “We sent a scout probe into the area about four days ago, and we expected to start receiving information three hours ago, the only thing we got was a blurred photograph of a well-aimed photon round. After that … the scout went dead.”
“Any vectors?” Kreed wondered hopefully. The navigations official gulped almost inaudibly and managed to choke up an answer.
“Ethsaris-P11+0.0743AU starbound…” he said. At the word “Ethsaris” Kreed stood again, staring at the code in awe.
“There’s a pocket at the center of the nebula cluster in the Ethsaris system, if you had electromagnetic shielding you’d be able to make it through the gas clouds without losing power. Every Syra ship comes fitted with such armor to make it virtually invisible on most types of scanners. I’m willing to bet with nine-out-of-ten assurance that that photon round was fired from a Syran station.” Kreed explained. The programmers began to exchange glances again, and then they all looked to Kreed. One man who had been quiet the whole meeting finally spoke up.
“How are you going in?” he asked, and Kreed answered simply with a smirk.
It was now 2:10PM, Galactic standard time. It had been nearly an hour since the meeting with the programmers, and Kreed still hadn’t left. He figured that the Syra method of security goes both ways; hiding and defending. After all, if the Syra were so apt to concealing themselves, than they wouldn’t want anyone making it in and out of their hiding places in one piece. He needed time to plan, time to think. Thinking was easy, for Kreed, it always was. Kreed had a general idea of what his goal was, but he never knew exactly how to go about it. He had thought of an excellent idea right as the meeting had ended, that’s what produced the smirk. He wandered from the meeting after dismissing the members back to their work or whatever other business they might be conducting, and found himself mulling over his attack plan in the station’s observatory. The observatory was the only place other than his office at which he could think clearly and focus on a single topic without any other thoughts finding their ways into his mind. It was an immensely large plastisteel viewing port, easily four stories tall by six stories wide. It was curved gently, and gave a ninety degree view of the segment of the system the station was facing.
He would need to approach the nebula in Ethsaris without even the slightest chance of being detected. The Syra aren’t only galactically renowned for their ruthless lawbreaking philosophy, but also for their technology, and the security measures they take to protect that technology. The Syra have the most sensitive scanners, the most accurate weapons, and even their own cutting-edge ammunition. But, above all else, they are famous for one soul reason … their cloaking device. They have a very good reason for maxing out their security, and the cloaking device they developed is that reason. The Syra, after all, are the only group to have successfully created a flawless cloaking panel. Others have had glitches which didn’t really cloak the host ship, as much as it did just distort it.
Kreed had been thinking now for about fifteen minutes, mulling over every possibility that would grant him safe access to the Syra station and figure out exactly why the Queen broadcasted there, of all places. Then it hit him. It all fit, the plan was virtually foolproof. He had been staring into space for almost sixteen minutes through a window so clean it was nearly invisible. Invisibility, the word cycled through his mind, it was the one and only plausible solution. If he could somehow obtain a Syran cloaking panel, he would have a good chance of making it into the station undetected.
“How the hell am I supposed to rip off a cloaking device from the most skilled pirates in space?” Kreed asked himself, inaudible to anyone else that might have passed by. He thought for a short while, then, another epiphany. The Syra would probably come snooping around the wreck to find out what happened, after all, that’s what the distress beacon was for. He broke his attention away from the spacescape before him and headed to the docking bay. When he was up to something, everyone in the company knew. He had that characteristic expression which let everyone know that he was doing something, and what ever it was, it was far too important to be interrupted. He made his way out into the ominous chamber which was the docking bay and crossed the edge-lit walkway to his ship. He slipped into the command console seat and gave the computer the ‘All Go.’ The computer could sense it too … he was definitely up to something.
“Kreed, what have you been up to?” Aura, the shipboard computer said, acknowledging his presence. Kreed smiled and replied in a confidently happy voice.
“The usual … financing, manufacturing, mining, preparing to break into a Syran station. You know, the usual.”
“Usual for someone like you, Kreed, is momentous for everybody else.” Aura replied sarcastically. Kreed knew she was just poking fun at his bumpy lifestyle, so he brushed it off with a chuckle. He gave a signal to the dock officer, who proceeded to withdraw the docking clamps from the hull of Kreed’s cruiser. Kreed took manual control and pushed easily forward on the two control sticks on either side of him, causing the thrusters to pulse, moving the ship gently forward out of the station.
He tilted the left stick back, and the right stick forward. The thrusters angled their burn in the responsive directions, causing the ship to turn. He pushed the stick pads forward, away from his body, causing the thrust valves to open slightly allowing more power to release. The ship accelerated, and flew straight and true toward the Queen’s wreck. He reached up and grasped two small red levers, turned them away from each other, and pulled then downward from the ceiling. A small red insignia resembling a thruster with an extended burn trail appeared somewhere on the console. The ship hummed with power.
“Grab hold of something, Kreed. Burst accelerator shells firing in five, four, three, two…”
Kreed fastened his harness and reached up to the goggles hanging around his neck, he never left them behind. He lifted them from his neck and placed them over his eyes, then bracing himself for the imminent inertial spike.
“One.” Aura warned softly, the silence before the explosive sound of the shells made the ignition seem many times more ominous. The ship ripped forward toward the wrecked Queen at breakneck speeds, because Kreed knew, judging by the amount of time that had passed between the scout’s doomed message being received and now, the Syra enforcers were most definitely close by. It was a race against time, and Kreed was one of the only two contenders, so he either came in first or last. “Waypoint reached, shell sequence ending.” Aura remarked quietly, just loud enough to get her point across. And sure enough, a moment later, silence. The shells went dead and the control sticks lit up again. Kreed took hold of them and reeled them back slightly … the ship decelerated. He hadn’t quite got the chance to take in how immensely huge this wreck was until now, and he was almost caught off guard with the size of it. Nevertheless, he gathered his senses and made his way to the cavity where one of the engines had been harvested. He carefully maneuvered his modest cruiser into the massive cylindrical gap, aft first, and there he waited. Once he was satisfied with his position, he reeled the control sticks back as far as they could go. They gave a slight bit of resistance and clicked into the full stop position. The ship slowed to a stop and rested silently inside the engine slot, waiting. Once his prey had jumped unsuspecting into the trap he had laid, they would last no longer than it had taken them to get there.
It took the enforcers about fifteen minutes to reach the wreck. They’d packed light; apparently, they didn’t expect anyone to be there. The contents of the tiny fleet were two scout fighters, a light gunship, and a surprisingly sophisticated scanning platform. The scanner ship was the largest out of the group, long and sleek, sporting an intimidating array of long, slender antennae angling outward in a somewhat conical pattern. All of the ships in the recon squadron followed the same, typical Syran theme; smallish, sleek and arrow-like, and colored to a shiny coat of jet black to blend into the starscape even without the cloaks up.
Behind the left control stick aboard Kreed’s cruiser there is a small glass panel with a tiny red joystick inside it. This small thumb-controlled device manages the tiny precision control thrusters mounted at the nose, the aft, and the wingtips. These thrusters exist to make tiny adjustments in the ships flight path, or move silently through the abyssal sea. Kreed flipped up the small glass cover blocking the precision control stick, and tapped it forward with his thumb gently. The tiny thrusters mounted at the back of his ship popped, then went dead. He tapped the stick again, and the thrusters popped once more. Slowly, silently, the ship slipped out of the engine slot and into open space. His adversaries were slowly circling the wreck, and had passed in front of the engine array. They were moving slowly as to not attract any attention, and avoid missing any detail, and were incredibly hard to see with the naked eye, thanks to their jet black paintjob. They drifted slowly along the torn hull of the Queen and slowly came to a stop to examine a small fighter which seemed to have been embedded in the hull of the gargantuan ship. Kreed circled right, tapping the tiny control stick gently, firing the precision rockets in bursts. The Syra, minding there own business, were blind to the sleek, dark silver cruiser which had snuck up behind them. Kreed silently targeted the engines of each ship, armed the hybrid ion blaster turrets mounted on the midsection of his ship, and waited … he couldn’t see them.
“I’m locked … but where the hell are they?” Kreed murmured to himself. He saw a very slight unnatural twinkle out of the corner of his eye, and remembered something. The Syran paintjobs protected the ships from being seen when there was no light, so they stayed in the dark. Kreed reached up and flipped a small switch on the overhead control board, and as he did, a set of six lights mounted at the nose of his ship sprung to life. The scene was illuminated, and the Syra enforcers had been exposed, the light gleaming off their fashionably polished hulls. Each turret had targeted a ship, loaded a round … and fired in unison. The viewport exploded with sparks as the engines (and undoubtedly the pilots) of the scout ships were decimated before Kreed’s eyes. All that was left were four half-hulls and a drifting reactor core, ruptured and destroyed on impact. Kreed scanned the wrecks with his eyes, and noted curiously that the wreck belonging to the ex-scanning ship had begun to fade in and out of existence randomly in a secluded spot on the hull. This signified that one of the cloaking panels, though it had been tripped in the explosion, was still intact. Kreed approached the wreck to harvest it. He gathered it successfully and continued back to the outpost.
Instead of entering the station through the normal docking port, he entered the maintenance bay. He exited his ship, stepping onto a small catwalk, and approached a mechanic. Before Kreed could utter a word, the mechanic had already acknowledged his presence. Kreed requested that the mechanic place hardpoints at four places among his ship to accommodate the cloaking panels. Meanwhile, while that job was being completed, he took the cloaking panel to the reverse engineering department aboard the station. All he could do now is wait … three hours later, news arrived that the hardpoints had been installed, and his ship was ready to support the cloaking panels. The only problem was that there were no cloaking panels. They weren’t scheduled for completion until then next day. Kreed found quite uncomfortably that he could not sleep that night. The stress brought on by the wait for the cloaking panels got him thinking about the reaction the Syra must have had to the destruction of their scout fleet. Although entry would be easy the next day, now that he could do it in a highly stealthy fashion, getting away might prove to be a bit messy.
The following day, Kreed awoke and, before anything else, left for the engineering bay. The workers had programmed assembly bots to run the job for them. Once they put one panel through the process, they simply told the bots to re-run what had been placed in their activity log for that project. He had the fitted as soon as possible, and was soon once again in the console seat of his ship.
“Aura.” Kreed said.
“Yes, Kreed?” she had replied.
“I need you to calibrate and, if necessary, troubleshoot the cloaking panels. Could you do that for me, please?”
“Certainly. One moment.” Upon acknowledging his request, a few quiet beeps had emanated from the console. Kreed didn’t have the luxury of letting the fitting superserver input the drivers, because the server didn’t have them. He had to extract the drivers from the operational matrix of the cloaking panels. Every fitting station is hooked up to this superserver. Normally, when a module is fitted to a ship, the ship’s CPU links with the server, and tells it to search its module database for the corresponding drivers. The server then sends the correct drivers back to the ship, and the CPU installs them.
“Thank you, Aura.” Kreed responded. He flashed a thumbs-up to the docking manager through his ship’s canopy, and the docking manager returned his signal. The docking clamps at the starboard side of the hull unlocked, and the ship drifted slightly from the dock. Kreed flipped the engine trigger switch, and the two engine columns at the back of his cruiser came to life. He pushed his sticks forward and drifted swiftly and gracefully from the station. He gave the ship autopilot control, and sat back in the command console chair.
“Destination?” Aura prompted. Kreed tapped in a simple line of descriptive starbound-format coordinates.
“Estharis system, planet eleven plus 0.0743AU starbound. Coordinates set, jump coils active.” Aura acknowledged. The ship swerved and began on its way toward the Estharis system. Upon reaching the system, the computer paused for a moment. It didn’t usually take any time to ‘think’ about things, but mapping a new coordinate in an area as vast as a solar system takes a certain amount of CPU power.
“Final destination mapped, jump coils charged and active.” Aura noted, and as soon as she did, Kreed responded by tapping in a command on his console, prompting the cannons on his ship to load up.
“Cannons loaded.” Aura noted as the cannons had finished doing their job.
“I would like an ammo quote please, Aura.” Kreed requested.
“Certainly, six guns fitted and active, eighty rounds per gun. You have an additional 3,020 rounds in your cargo hold.”
“Thank you, Aura.” He replied, taking hold of the console as the ship dropped out of warp. The ship automatically handed over manual control as he unlocked the control sticks. Before even thinking about it, he cloaked, and proceeded toward the sinisterly huge Syran outpost. Getting to the station was easy, it was getting inside it which was difficult. Kreed had orbited the station vertically and horizontally several times each before finding a viable entry point. He settled with a small service dock which was apparently used to directly transfer ores from mining ships into the station’s material stores. He positioned his ship over this bay and stopped.
“Aura, keep yourself and life support running, but shut everything down.” Kreed requested.
“But the cloak will drop.” Aura informed him.
“I know, but as long as we don’t have anything running, the ship will appear as nothing more than lifeless debris, if it even appears at all.” Kreed ensured. The lights in the console immediately dimmed and went dead, the entire ship soon following. The cloak dropped and the ship, attached to the dock, sat lifelessly, the only lights on being the small buttons and screens on the computer console. Kreed noticed a rather ironically flashing red warning label inside the computer screen. It was somewhat bright and easily caught his attention. It read “FULL SYSTEM FAILURE.” Kreed laughed. The humorous side-effect of leaving your computer running while disabling the entire rest of the ship is fooling the computer into thinking your ship has just failed miserably.
He very carefully boarded the sinister station and got his first glimpse of Syran internal operations. He had appeared where he expected to. There were towers of organized ore cubes set through the bay he was in, which was dimly lit. He found his ay to the door and stopped to look around the corner … nobody was there. As quickly, as stealthy, and as quietly as human possible, he made his way toward where the signal from the Queen had been broadcasted. On his way there he passed a relay room, and nearly double-took at the plug board. No electrician was in the room, so he figured he’d take a look. He scanned over the board, accented by the light of his goggle lamps, looking at the labels; there was one label per plug. He stopped at a label which read “TRACKING ANTENNA – SIGNAL OUT.” He carefully traced this cable to its other end at the base of the wall, and cut it. He figured it would make his escape that much safer. He was about to exit the room when he heard distant footsteps, and froze. He carefully peered out of the door, and saw what looked like a mechanic walking in his direction. Luckily, the man was looking at a computerized clipboard and didn’t see Kreed’s head. The man was getting closer every second, and Kreed had to act fast. The cable room was dark, there was no lighting, and one of the corners was pitch black because of this. He turned off the tiny light strips on his goggles and stood in the corner. The mechanic turned out to be the electrician responsible for the switch board, and turned on the lights to the room, but did not see Kreed. He was focused on the board. Kreed remained absolutely silent, and very carefully slipped through the door. The electrician turned his head just late enough to let Kreed escape safely. Kreed quickly, silently made his way to the destination of the signal, which was recorded on the computerized film behind his goggle lenses. His heart was pounding, because he was fully aware that there were Syra all over this station who would not hesitate to kill him at even a glimpse.
The station layout was predictable when it came to Syran design. A central reactor core area, from which there were four paths which branched out at 90º intervals, connected by a rippling series of circular hallways which surrounded the core area entirely. Kreed got closer and closer to his destination, although slowly. He had to maintain stealth while trying to reach his goal, so there was a lot of stopping and waiting involved. Finally, after nearly an hour of sneaking through the station he reached the I/O communications room, which was unfortunately manned. He slipped into a maintenance closet at the back of the arched room and pulled out his burst pistol. He attached his pistol’s phasedown silencer and pushed in a small key on the side of the gun. A tint port on the opposite side swiveled open and a photonic fuel cell slid out. He removed it and replaced it with an electronic bolt cell, which acts as a nerve tazer. He aimed the weapon at the back of the neck of one of the communications operators, and fired. The silencer eliminated any noise accept for a small click. When the shot hit, the spine of the man arched and he fell to the ground. He was not dead, only knocked out and temporarily paralyzed. The other two operators turned to him quickly and drew their weapons. Before they could so much as stand up, Kreed hit them both. The two men fell before being able to fire, draw their weapons, or even so much as call for help. Kreed hurried over to the panel and typed in a command line which prompted the computer to bring up the packet log. He looked it over and saw a packet which was received two days prior, labeled “ATHENA_DISTRESSPACK.” He initiated the distress beacon in an attempt to scramble, and possibly delete it, but as soon as he tried, the console went dead, and the door to the room shut and locked automatically. An unnamed, looming voice which was rather deep echoed through the chamber.
“Well done, mister Izkhanilov.” The unnamed voice boomed, “You have done quite well to make it this far. I must admit I am rather impressed.”
“Who are you…?” Kreed replied, standing perfectly still, scanning the room.
“You will know soon enough. It is interesting that you know nothing of me, while I know a few things about you.” The voice said.
“I ask again, who are you?”
“You will know soon enough.”
“I want to know now.” Kreed demanded. He holstered his weapon and turned, scanning the room again.
“Impatience will get you nowhere, mister Izkhanilov. I will reveal who I am in due time. But, first things first, it is time to address why you are here. You obviously traced the signal which I planted in the Queen of my machine children--…”
Kreed jumped in astonishment, and blinked furiously.
“Geovardi…” he said.
“What? Oh. I do apologize. I have said too much.” The voice of Victor ‘Havoc’ Geovardi replied.
“You’re supposed to be dead. Long dead! You killed yourself, didn’t you?!” Kreed was furious with panic by now, and was slightly shouting at the voice.
“I was fictionalized to be dead. I created that hoax so people wouldn’t come looking for me.”
“What could you possibly want from me? Why would you rig the Queen to call for help upon destruction?” Kreed inquired.
“A beautiful creation that was … I didn’t build it, my drones did, which only made it more beautiful.”
“You’re not answering my question!”
“Such a rude attitude, mister Izkhanilov, I do not answer to shouting men. Please lower your voice.” Geovardi replied, almost sarcastically.
“Don’t patronize me, you madman…” Kreed replied.
“It takes a bit of madness to be truly genius doesn’t it? Ha-ha.”
“I don’t find that the least bit funny.”
“Oh? That’s unfortunate. You’re beginning to bore me, mister Izkhanilov. I dispose of people that bore me. Perhaps it is time to dispose of you.” The voice assured. And as soon as he finished speaking the room went dim. The console shut off completely, and there was the sound of a lowering object somewhere off in the distance. The proximity analyzers embedded in the computerized rim of his goggles began mapping, three photon security turrets had lowered, and were locking onto Kreed. Kreed reached over his shoulder, quickly removed the pulse rifle which rested there, and removed the safety. He heard one of the guns fire, and quickly dived. The shot grazed him. He jumped to his feet and fired in the directions of the turrets, destroying two of them before they could fire. The third shot cut through his shoulder, the impact of it causing him to spin forcefully 180º. He shouted in pain, and was bleeding badly. He saw a man in the doorway. He was mid-height, had gray, chaotic hair, and a nicely groomed beard. He wore a devilish smile on his face.
“Hello, mister Izkhanilov.”
To Be Concluded.
[[ιzкнαиιℓσν]] ‹—«¨«•яєνєяѕє єиgιиєєяιиg•»¨»—›   Kreed Izkhanilov · Tue Jan 13, 2009 @ 09:52pm · 0 Comments |
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