Misfire Anon – Page 8

[19]

Nihlus is alone in the commons, typing away at the report. He pauses, sips the lukewarm water directly from the decanter. He should really go to sleep soon. His fingertips have been rubbed raw from the difficult descent and the grit inside his weave, and the constant typing is not helping. He continues anyway; his mind feels too numb. Numb is good. Numb is great. The hardened smile remains.

[18]

>>ENCRYPTION PROTOCOL STR0043-F-L ENABLED

>>SEND CONFIRMATION WHEN READ? N/Y: N

>>REVISION: SEND CONFIRMATION WHEN READ? N/Y: Y

>>BEGIN REPLY TO MESSAGE 00001753: RE: CITADEL

[17]

“Oh good god, that was fucking hot,” Saren read in a stony voice. “I loved everything about it.”

Nihlus had been about to throw a rumpled shirt into his little pile near the projector. Instead, he paused in mid-toss, and the shirt ended up over his face. He clawed it away. “Er, yeah?”

[16]

The spaceport was a mess.

Nihlus picked his way through the debris, searching for a very specific object. With the warped metal and carbon dust coating just about everything, this was becoming more of a chore than he’d thought it would be. And he hadn’t thought of it as a walk in the park in the first place.

[15]

He was in the general’s skycar when his earpiece gave him an alert.

“Just a minute,” he said to the lavishly dressed turian lounging beside him on the equally opulent seat. “I’ve got a call.” He turned aside, a hand over his ear. “Hello?”

“Nihlus.”

[14]

It’s been three hours now. The rain showed no signs of letting up. If anything, it poured harder than ever before. And it poured. It was less droplets of water falling gently on the hillside than a sky-sized fire hose, pointing at whatever unfortunate creature that found itself without shelter. Fortunately, he was warm and dry. Now, anyway. He’d pulled off his waterlogged weave as soon as he entered the cave. The thing was good for hard vacuum, but the water that had accumulated in the collar made him feel like a walking fish tank.