His shadow loomed over Matt, casting his only companion in darkness. Stryker was greeted by snores.
A trickle of drool slipped out of Matt’s mouth, over the stubble of his chin, only to end in a wet stain on his collarbone.
Incompetence. First Gunner and now Matt?He lifted the heavy metal band that hung around his neck and sealed it over his nose and mouth.
“Watering your shirt again, I see.” His voice deadened by the barrier.
Matt twitched awake and lifted his head, meeting his eyes, crusty with dehydration and bloodshot.
His last remaining crew member groaned and cupped his forehead. “Watering anything and everything. What the–my head–bloody hell! I hate these lights.”
Stryker glanced away from Matt, who was grumbling himself awake with a series of expletives. The man sat in a cushy chair at the front of the habitats with a semi-circle of consoles and screens around him. Each screen linked up with one enclosure.
“I hate this chair. I hate this quiet. Ireallydislike you,” Matt continued at his back.
“I dislike you too.”
Matt rose and stood by his side. “Are we having a moment, Stryker? Because if we are, I didn’t plan any lies.”
“You reek of body odor and grease–go shower before I throw you out of the airlock. You’re stinking up my ship.” Like all shifter Cyborgs, Stryker had a great sense of smell.
“Aww man, you’re gonna make me blush.” Matt snickered then sobered, “The Wieraptor won’t go down.”
They stared in unison at the monster that, in turn, watched them back. It was a beast that weighed several tons and had four hooked horns that speared out from under its gigantic head. It had more teeth descending its throat in nasty rows than a legion of sharks had.
No amount of tranquilizers seemed to pacify it.
They had to combine the two largest enclosures to hold it. If one could see hate, instead of justfeelingit, the Wieraptor would be what it looked like.
It watched them with the promise of death in its eyes.
“Double the dosage,” Stryker said absently as he walked around the reinforced glass.
“Already have.”
“Double it again.”
“Shit, man, we’ll run out of the stuff before we get back to Earth.” Matt walked back to his throne of screens and typed something in. A mist filled up the cage until the beast vanished. “Dumbass scientists think they can subdue this thing. Dumbass scientists going to get us all killed.”
“We’ll make sure the check clears before we let if off the ship then.”
Stryker had wondered the same thing.
The Wieraptor had almost beaten him and tarnished his pristine record; if that were possible, then how could some of the weakest humans hold it down? Scientists exercised their minds, not so much their bodies.
The mist cleared to reveal the beast sleeping, not peacefully, in the middle of the enclosure.
He looked down at the jagged tears still healing across the backs of his hands.
The Wieraptor had made the mistake of eating him, tearing his muscled body to shreds, thinking it had won against a Cyborg. But its stomach wasn’t protected like its outer shell was and when Stryker removed the band from his face, while in the beast’s gut, the Wieraptor vomited him up and passed out.
He was flawed. Stryker grimaced, his lips downturned behind his metal mask where no one would ever see. If he took off his band, people died, plants died, everything died. The Wieraptor didn’t die.
“Those dumbass scientists built the universe we live in today,” His voice was muddied and low. “They also pay your salary.” Stryker continued to stare at the closed slits of the monster’s eyes, wondering if it feigned sleep. “They created the meds you need to function while drunk.”
Matt slumped back into his worn seat. “They also built you–and what does that say? Never thought I’d grow up to be bossed around by a robot. I shall celebrate the day your record breaks.” Matt lifted up a flask in a mock toast, downing whatever was in it.
The monster’s eyes twitched.
