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Artuhr's (limited) POV

edited March 2018 in Roleplay
Artuhr stands in an engineering bay of one of the tunnels of one of the large asteroids. The bloodshot man rubs at his chin, grease spreading all over his face as he looks at his work, before stepping back up and welding a piece on.


  • The man flips his welding goggles up onto his high forehead and has his mindsim scan his work for imperfections. After a brief pause, it informs him that the weld is well-within acceptable parameters. Grunting softly with satisfaction, he carefully packs his welding gear away, gazes at the weathered picture of a man he can no longer remember one last time, picks up his bolt-gun, and fires a single, fatal slug into his brain.
  • edited March 2018
    Artuhr jumps as the person next to him commits suicide, blinking for a bit. Flaring his nostrils in annoyance, stepping around the corpse to steal some of the man's tools, as well as his material. Before going on, working on his BEAST.
  • As Artuhr walks away the dead man’s body begins to convulse on the floor. A sickening crunch reverberates down the hall as the man’s rib cage outwardly tears through his bloodied chest. Talon-like hands grip tightly to the exposed ribs. A slender demonic creature effortlessly hoists itself out of the corpse and onto its feet.

  • Artuhr stares in horror before his gaze drifts down to his own writhing abdomen. In stark contrast to the corpse on the ground, this abdomen splits along what almost appears to be a predefined vertical seam; two smaller, olive drab hands pull the flesh apart,  followed by another small snarled creature. Artuhr gives an inaudible scream before the lights in his eyes go out, and he collapses.

    "What the frig are you doing?  You know damn well we don't have any spare bio-suits."

    YL a'5TYi. Qkk'r'de'bba 7t-Makaq. 

    "Great, and you blew a hole in your translator. We don't have any more of those either, you know. This is coming out of your half."


    "No, I don't think they'll send us one by the time you're supposed to report to your persona's next job."


    "This one barely fits me! What makes you think...."

    5^*Gt&pdfw?bvz19. YL. //ttZxAiy.

    "I don't give a frig how much it stank, it still had a good twelve qolcycles in it before we needed to get a new one. You didn't even unseal it  before you ripped it open!"

    H%5ghhggiu, ^5ZZ jd7wjYh7ejs.

    "Fine, fine. I'll ask the Caul to send us another suit when we dock, but you have to hide until then. It's both our jadbozes if we screw this up."


    "No, not in mine. Go find some sort of small pet these things keep around, something that doesn't piss on the rug."

    A few seconds later, the second creature climbs back into his suit. Minutes pass before a hissing sound whines, and the split in Artuhr's abdomen disappears. Another second or two later, he stands up, dusting himself off and staring at the corpse before him. A skittering above him in a vent distracts him for a second before he reaches for the intercomm, reporting the suicide to the asteroid's security. 
  • Meanwhile, in a shady cantina called, “The Dying Gasp”...

    A stocky Krona mercenary barks loudly, “I told you Triana, this is the last f*ck*ng straw!”. Triana adjusts the holster of her laser pistol and breathes deeply. Triana says smoothly, “Listen Grak, you’re going to get the money big guy, listen.. I know people and well.. we’re going to work it out right?”. Grak growls then swaggers around the bar, the gritty patrons not even noticing the ongoing dispute.
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