The Beast

The Beast - Part 39

Verona and the unknown guy took the skiks away leaving him alone with Taro and Chip. She took that opportunity and started reviewing the armor's footage after helping Gabriel to take it off. Taro didn't care about the details; he knew the mission was a success. Instead he chose to talk with Gabriel.

"Well, done. The footage, plus the princess will legitimize my rule in no time."

Gabriel answered: "It sure was...fun. A little bit too fun for my taste."

Taro let out a silent chuckle at that: "Violence is only fun if you're not in danger. You're just lucky enough to have nothing to be afraid of."

"That BG-V2 was dangerous. It almost killed me down there." Gabriel said those words when he remembered that a bullet was still in his stomach but he didn't feel it. In fact he felt no pain.

Chip interrupted: "Wrong. Your suit damage records don't show penetration and I don't think being slammed against a wall is enough to take out whatever you are."

Gabriel didn't know how to respond as far as he was concerned, he should've passed out from blood loss by now but he was absolutely certain the bullet hit in the stomach.

Taro continued: "Just don't get addicted, it would be a shame to lose you like that."

"Did you?"

"What?"

"Did you get addicted to Violence?"

Taro sat down, his back against the hull: "No, I have too many things to worry about but some of my men did once. I only noticed after they went wild on a space doc. It was a grim and expensive day."

"Do you think I will?" Gabriel was concerned, this whole killing thing was new territory to him.

"You didn't even kill that stupid girl with the knife, so no.", Taro shook his head and stood up. "I'm off to make sure I own a planet by the end of the day. Enjoy your alone time with the Psycho."

Chip waited for Taro to be out of earshot before complaining: "Don't worry, I'm not a Psycho. He just has a personal problem with me."

"Not like you killed someone since you joined his crew." He watched her facial expression confirm that his verbal stab hit.

"Hey, that was an accident! I was brewing the fuel to your secret flamethrower and when I went to check on him he was already gurgling out his lung. There was nothing that could've been done." A theory quickly formed in Gabriel's head.

"Did you wear a hazmat suit?"

He got a reluctant answer: "Yes."

"Did he?"

Chip spit out her answer: "No but he was in a different room."

Gabriel followed up: "You have to admit that Taro has a reason to be mad at you."

"He doesn't. I lost more in that accident than he did. I had plans for that nian.", Chip turned a screen in his direction, showing video from the inside camera of his suit, "Plus, I don't have to take lessons on good and bad from someone that pulled someone's guts out."

They continued their back and forth until the ship arrived in the hangar. Chip was unable to accept any blame at all and Gabriel desperately needed a distraction from what had happened but to his dismay they landed and Chip left, leaving him to walk back to his room alone. The familiar hallways were a comforting sight, as he found a liking to the ongoing mass of nians before him. Blood was still dripping from him, explaining the unusual respect they showed him. It was a good feeling, getting the recognition he deserved.

He continued deeper down the ship to his room. The density before him decreased with every story he got deeper down until he was in a particularly abandoned path. The dust didn't hide the fact that he was the first one to take this way in at least a week but was just a funny afterthought to Gabriel.

Then next to a storage room it happened. First his feet refused to continue, causing cold fear to sprawl through his body. Unnatural Sweating was followed by glassy eyes and a running nose, spiraling the suppressed concern into uncontrollable fear. In his state he reached down intending to move his legs manually but he never got that far. As he leaned over a drop of sweat rolled down his cheek and fell to the floor. Only that it wasn't sweat. It was pitch black. His shivering hand wiped over his face. It was cold, ice cold. He stretched out his hand but the cold would slip between his fingers insisting to stay on his face. That was enough to panic him. He screamed but stopped when his saliva started crawling out of his mouth. Terrified he pressed his lips together as hard as he could but the cold liquid that had replaced his saliva pushed its way out. And so did his tears, sweat and snot. Except it was all this cold black liquid. Any remnants of logical thought that hadn't left him by now deserted him. His legs gave in. He hit the floor but didn't feel it, as his only resort was to claw at his own face trying to rip off the layer of liquid that started to form on it. It was in vain as the liquid evaded his attacks with ease, thickening it's grip around his head with every second that passed. One particularly scared attempt clawed its way deep into his cheek skin but he wasn't met with the hot blood he expected. His blood was the cold liquid. That's when he lost all hope, he stopped clawing at his face, instead he rolled up and waited for the horror to end him. He begged, prayed and pleaded to no avail. The cold layer reached his ears, methodically filled them and with that his hearing went out. He screamed but couldn't even hear his own voice. That's when he realized that he also couldn't smell or taste anymore, forcing him to come to the simple conclusion about what was about to happen next.

The layer closed in on his eyes. The last thing he saw was the dusty floor before it all went black. He froze for a moment expecting the sweet relief of death to end his torment but wasn't granted his wish. A wave of uncontrollable sweating overcame him. Every cell of his skin started squeezing out the ice cold liquid. Blind, deaf and paralyzed by his fear he cried silently, waiting for the torture to end. The liquid finished encasing his body and not a second later he felt the floor below him fade away. It was as if he was floating but in all his fear he still knew that he wasn't, whatever it was had infiltrated his senses. Then the black before his eyes was replaced by a featureless face a foot away from his face in an endless void of black. He could turn and twist himself but the picture before him didn't change. A hand formed out of thin air and caressed the part of his cheek he had injured.

Then a soft voice spoke from inside and outside him at the same time: "After all this time. An Original."