I just send knives at the fucker with my eyes and refuse to move. A pointless endeavor, but I have a habit of making a point where there's no need to make one.
Bored Slime presses down on the control to punish us and the noxious gas fills the cell once more, eliciting tears and snot to run down my face, before he pushes another button to make it recede.
He gurgles another order, more forcefully this time.
I flip him the bird, and he froths over with anger and pushes buttons on the control in a mad rage.
More gas fills the room.
I wipe the tears from my eyes and almost go back to sassing them before the sound of hacking and coughing beside me reminds me I'm not alone here.
Shit.
I look over at Ree and let out an inaudible sigh. This crap doesn't just affect me. She's a victim as well.
I have no right to let her suffer because my jarhead stubbornness wants to rear its ugly head like it always does if left unchecked.
She catches my stare.
"I'm with you, whatever you decide."
Alright, she has a lot more grit under all that pretty packaging than I would have thought.
I feel respect flood my system and it's a far better feeling than rage.
They send in more gas and when it lets up, I glance at her before turning my attention to look at the slime and their flipper hand hovering over the controls.
Man, fuck this guy, I grumble to myself.
With those cheery words of motivation, I get to my knees easily enough, letting out a long exhale to expunge any remnant gas in my lungs before I wipe my features and get my head in the game.
No clue how, but I am going to make these fuckers squeal.
I turn to Ree. "I'll see you soon."
I turn and sweep my eyes across them, settling on Bored Slime.
"You're dead," I promise.
Then I stand up, climb back in, and stab out at a screen that readsfreezein some other language with squiggling, ugly lines before he has time to stop laughing and use his controls.
There is a hiss of gasses and then slowly the world fades out of focus around me.
The last conscious thought I have before darkness takes over is the possibility of spit-roasting a live blob over an open flame as I stare with dispassionate eyes.
This time, I let myself grin.
4
Drasuk
The world flickers back into existence in agonizing waves. A wave of nausea washes over me, forcing a guttural groan out of my throat.
I lay still for what feels like an eternity with the tangy taste of something metallic clinging stubbornly to my tongue.
Slowly, ever so slowly, my body rights itself. A low rumbling gurgle erupts deep in my stomach, accentuated by a stabbing pain in my liver that quickly eases up the longer it hammers on my nerves.
Slowly, like an ancient vehicle slowly stirring to life after years of inactivity, the obnoxious sensations leave me.
