"Goodbye Curly Head"

"Docking the Pod"

“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!”

As Andy opened his eyes, a bright white light assaulted his sight, the morning sun seeping in through the open windows. The three men from last night were all standing around his bed, clad in raggedy tactical gear and light armor. Gin tapped the boy on the forehead and spoke up again, using that same overly sweet voice.

“C’mon princess, the early bird catches the worm, right? And we’ve got some bugs to catch and cargo to move! We’ll be waiting for you outside, don’t forget your rifle.”

And with those words, they left, Shine giving a wide, silly grin along with an energetic wave, and Bourbon shooting him a surly glare. 

So this was really happening. Moving cargo with a bunch of ragtag mercs. Sarkaz, no less. Same kind of people who ripped apart their outpost and sent both Droz and Ricketts six feet under. Or, have they? Their corpses probably haven’t had the chance to be properly taken care of, not in this place. Not a single one of those bloodthirsty brutes would ever think about giving a sankta their well deserved funeral. Droz got a little ceremony of his own, but Ricketts? The ones who took the outpost might’ve found his body... And if they did, they probably burned it or strung it up somewhere near the outpost for everyone else to see. A sign for anyone stupid enough to approach and try to reclaim the damn thing. 

Andy shuddered at the thought of his late guardian angel being used as some cruel precaution, like a lifeless puppet hanging from some flagpost. Just to take his train of thought off this dreadful track, he hurriedly threw on the last layer of his attire and left the room. Passing by the bar downstairs, he noticed just how quiet and cold the entire place seemed to be now, that the ruckus from yesterday was nowhere to be seen. With no patrons around and the icy light trickling into the interior from outside, the place was enveloped in an incredibly unwelcoming mood, sending icicles down his spine. 

“Shh! Shh. Hey, Andy!”

As he made it outside the “DEVIL’S HEEL”, Andy was immediately welcomed by a completely white smokescreen of thick, milky fog and the charming man shushing down his comrades. There was a large, hound operated sledge filled with crates standing right by them, with no beasts around to man it. The aforementioned “less than legal contraband”, he reckoned.

“Hey. We’re setting out like this? In this weather?”

“Uh-huh! Don’t worry, though, I’m a master navigator! As for the sledge, we’re not gonna make you wear a collar and drag it around, that’s Shine’s job, so no worries here either.”

Both him and the tall strapper gave a heart chuckle, seemingly content with the way things were. Bourbon seemed less than amused, nervously checking his watch every few seconds.

“We’re already fifteen minutes late. Should’ve been somewhere around Uri’s Creek by now. Plus the fog, that’s just…”

“Yeah, well, shit happens.”

A sly grin stretched on the Gin's face as he gathered his navigating tools and let out a lengthy yawn.

“But since we’re all here already, I guess it’s as good a time as any to set out. Anyone, objections?”

Shine raised his massive arm in an attempt to interfere, but was quickly shushed by Bourbon.