Whiskey Eyes

The subtle red light above my head bounced off the wall across from me and dimly cast its warm glow on the mirrored wall opposite my bunk. The digital room timer read 05:14. Next to me lay an empty bottle of Thukker Fire whiskey that I had claimed from a recent trip into the Great Wildlands. The glass glistened ruby under the light. The room was filled with cold air, the sweat stained clothes on my back clung to my skin in an uncomfortable fashion.

I shut my eyes again to block out the thumping in my head. My implants twitched and I felt the need for a re-tune.


09:36


I woke with a jolt. The red night light in the room was now the working hours bright yellow issue and my eyes hurt. I fumbled around for my shades and out of sheer luck I managed to grab hold. I put them on and managed to pull myself from my slumber. My body ached and I muttered to myself no more liquor, for a few days at least.


The hangar was empty. I readied my Rifter and made my way over to pod immersion. As I walked past the huge window of the hangar I noticed nothing but emptiness out in the space lanes. In front of me lay days of border patrols and hunting. It was now time to pillage and burn, murder and lock horns with the Elite and also the unsuspecting kind.

As I exited the station I jammed open the warp drive and bolted into the distance.


MB.