Even an idiot could discern a sound pattern on replay.
The passageways crossed at several points and as he moved through the ship—which he was certain was some hybrid between a freighter and a badly re-fabricated weapons unit—he was surprised at how easy it was to navigate through the interior.
The tangy stench of badly crafted food and rehydrated vegetables—probably grown years prior—led him to a secluded room. The grated floors had smoothed out into pounded metal panels. Gunner closed his eyes and listened.
The static of a tele-feed and those of a man breathing quietly in a state of relaxation filled his ears. The electricity that flowed from within was strong and he soaked it up, letting it fill the currents throughout his body. He puffed out his chest, feeling his undershirt strain against his muscles.
There was a groan and a grunt. The power was no longer as thick and vibrant as before now that he’d fed off its stores. The voices on the tele-feed crackled, righted, and crackled again.
“Shit, stupid tech!”
Gunner heard the man get up and his eyes found the grey, almost gleaming metal wall across from him. The red of his eyes was smudged in the reflection looking back at him. He didn’t know what Ely saw in the murky sheen of the walls.
All I see is red.
He let his eyes fade back to white.
A thud and several curses brought him back to the present, and with his knuckles settling against the door, he old-school knocked.
“This better be about the fucking power surge!” Footsteps drew closer. “Fucking cunts can’t even keep a signal.” It was spoken under breath but Gunner heard it loud and clear.
The door opened and he had the man by the throat and back within the room before it latched. It shut behind him, trapping the gurgled yell inside.
“I told you I’m doing much better on my own.”
He walked his target into the adjoining lavatory, enjoying the dead fish dangling from his hand, and dropped him in the upright shower receptacle.
“How? How...” The pirate’s hands rounded his throat, bowing into himself. Gunner took a step back.
“How,” he taunted. “How.”
The man wheezed and grappled to his feet. “How’d you get out?” he said, coughing. “Who?”
Gunner shoved him back into the unit when he tried to step out. “You need to stay in there,” he warned, watching him gulp and sputter, cheeks turning beet red.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Telling someone like me—”
“Someone like you? A god?” His target grabbed the spout and tore it out by the cord and when he tried to leave, Gunner pushed him back in. “I really need you to stay.” He looked down at the dangling cord and shrugged. “Thought you said we could work together,” he added for measure, stepping back again. He looked around and found a dirty dog tag lying over the sink. Brent. “God’s name is Brent,” Gunner chuckled, “How disappointing.”
Brent digested his words in a way only those pumping with adrenaline could: without much thought.
“I beat you to a rotten piece of pulp! You should be singing your last rites at the gate to hell right now. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Gunner sighed and pulled his shirt off. The man slammed the showerhead into the side of Gunner’s head, but he was braced for it. He let him get in another hit or two before he wrenched Brent off him and pushed him back into the stall.
“You don’t like listening, do you?”
They shared a look and Gunner could see the crimson of his eyes in the man’s gaze.There’s only so much adrenaline in each of us.Neither broke the contact for what seemed like a dawning eternity.
“What’re you doing?” Brent asked.
Gunner smiled. He tossed his shirt into the room.
“We can work together...” the pirate swallowed, beginning to figure out the predicament he was in.
Gunner unclasped the hook of his pants and let them sag on his hips. “Wecanwork together.”
Brent nodded slightly and straightened his back against the shower wall. He didn’t release his useless weapon but Gunner didn’t expect him to. He wiggled his toes and stretched out his fingers, rolling his head and cracking his neck.This feels good. The man’s fear smells good.
