Rift Station: Open Worlds
I attempt to raise my hand, applying the cheese grater effect to my wrists, and producing another solid jingle. The man in grey's eyes snap to me, picking me out of the crowd instantly. His boots squeak as he marches into position directly in front of me.
"How kind of you to volunteer," he says with a coy smile, pausing again for a name.
"Damn Weasel..." Bear mumbles under his breath.
"Weasel? That is also fitting, I suppose... Does anyone else want to take advantage of this offer?"
"Uh, I do. Name is Turbo," Turbo says, offering his name before anyone can suggest a stupid one. He might just be smarter than I originally thought.
"Bear, Weasel, and Turbo... Can someone save me from this fucking circus?" the man asks, glaring at each other prisoner in turn. "No? Fine, the rest of you can start mining now."
Guards herd the others off towards a rusted-out ship pieced together from several different models. Landing on asteroids is not an exact science, so the station uses spare parts to build automated prisoner transport ships. If the transport doesn't judge the approach trajectory right, at least only criminals die.
Three of us are left facing the off-putting tight grey bodysuit. He sighs and opens a black case provided by another guard; inside is what looks like a heat-gun with a hole-saw shoved in the barrel. I slink slightly behind Turbo, hoping to see what he does with his toy before it carves out my eyeball or something. Loading a red chip into the device, the man steps up to Turbo with an excited gleam him his eyes.
"Hold still, Turbo," he says, as two guards restrain each arm of the brute.
Pushing Turbo's head to the side, captain bodysuit presses the gun against his neck and pulls the trigger. Blood-curdling screams erupt from Turbo as the device presses the chip against his neck and glows red-hot. The smell of burning skin fills the room as the chip is melted into his neck. Seeing Turbo's neck bubble, like cheese stuck to the pan in an oven, takes my appetite away. Eventually, the brutish criminal passes out and the man moves on to me.
I wake up with an unbelievable crick in my neck but am otherwise okay, I think. Looking around, I am surprised to find myself in what looks like a hotel room. The accommodations are simple but nice, especially for a prisoner. When I get up a slip of paper falls from the nightstand, catching my attention. It is a note with a simple message scrawled on it:
Remember Weasel,
One-thousand credits by the end of the week or Ka-Boom.
"Great," I groan. One-thousand credits are worth one-hundred and fifty hours of labor, assuming they pay the same here as back on Cara X. Although, I might have some other options. I didn't work hard for my money on Cara X, and there are always wealthy volunteers on the Thimble. Then again, my sticky fingers got me here. The rift is said to transport people across the galaxy, so it could transport me out of range for the neck-chip to be activated, but the results are unpredictable. If I have to, I suppose I could also get a job...
"How kind of you to volunteer," he says with a coy smile, pausing again for a name.
"Damn Weasel..." Bear mumbles under his breath.
"Weasel? That is also fitting, I suppose... Does anyone else want to take advantage of this offer?"
"Uh, I do. Name is Turbo," Turbo says, offering his name before anyone can suggest a stupid one. He might just be smarter than I originally thought.
"Bear, Weasel, and Turbo... Can someone save me from this fucking circus?" the man asks, glaring at each other prisoner in turn. "No? Fine, the rest of you can start mining now."
Guards herd the others off towards a rusted-out ship pieced together from several different models. Landing on asteroids is not an exact science, so the station uses spare parts to build automated prisoner transport ships. If the transport doesn't judge the approach trajectory right, at least only criminals die.
Three of us are left facing the off-putting tight grey bodysuit. He sighs and opens a black case provided by another guard; inside is what looks like a heat-gun with a hole-saw shoved in the barrel. I slink slightly behind Turbo, hoping to see what he does with his toy before it carves out my eyeball or something. Loading a red chip into the device, the man steps up to Turbo with an excited gleam him his eyes.
"Hold still, Turbo," he says, as two guards restrain each arm of the brute.
Pushing Turbo's head to the side, captain bodysuit presses the gun against his neck and pulls the trigger. Blood-curdling screams erupt from Turbo as the device presses the chip against his neck and glows red-hot. The smell of burning skin fills the room as the chip is melted into his neck. Seeing Turbo's neck bubble, like cheese stuck to the pan in an oven, takes my appetite away. Eventually, the brutish criminal passes out and the man moves on to me.
I wake up with an unbelievable crick in my neck but am otherwise okay, I think. Looking around, I am surprised to find myself in what looks like a hotel room. The accommodations are simple but nice, especially for a prisoner. When I get up a slip of paper falls from the nightstand, catching my attention. It is a note with a simple message scrawled on it:
Remember Weasel,
One-thousand credits by the end of the week or Ka-Boom.
"Great," I groan. One-thousand credits are worth one-hundred and fifty hours of labor, assuming they pay the same here as back on Cara X. Although, I might have some other options. I didn't work hard for my money on Cara X, and there are always wealthy volunteers on the Thimble. Then again, my sticky fingers got me here. The rift is said to transport people across the galaxy, so it could transport me out of range for the neck-chip to be activated, but the results are unpredictable. If I have to, I suppose I could also get a job...