Muses, Mishaps, and Murder!

Chapter 2 How To Command a Crew of Idiots

Muse Paisley, Days Later

I came back from my break. I follow all the rules, including Muses should never state their gender inside the booth. Okay, sometimes I even mess that one up. Contrary to popular belief, not all Muses are female. Our voices are partially distorted through the creative's head, but Mason can hear us more clearly.

There are hundreds of rules regarding Muses. Informing Mason he was meant to die didn't violate any of them despite what the new Apollo thinks. His predecessor added the rule three years ago. She was a real leader and a better Apollo.

He is a weasel and can't fire me.

I turned the projection on.

Over half the crew abandoned their cabins and dorms for the luxury of the Stingray.

Everything from the cobbler shop to the mess hall appeared as if it were an empty husk.

The dimly lit hallway offered comfort and solace for Mason, and I bet he pondered his existence as he walked the halls, trying to evade his attackers. He tucked postcards in his pocket. Part of his little collection was always somewhere on his body.

Each card was white with red, black, and gold lettering with an official government seal.

Musty aromas wafted from the paper, but it wasn't unpleasant, more like old books or a garden after the rain. We needed the ability to smell our subject's world, in case they were a chef or perfumer.

Large banging steps followed him, becoming louder and louder with each clang. Mason swung around.

Red eyes peered at him behind their plastic masks.

"Who are you?"

No voices answered, but small screeches filled the air. The two masked men chased after him. Both grasped laser daggers in their right hands, their arms moving up and down in awkward, puppet-like movements.

Each potential stab inched closer and closer to Mason's flesh.

Mason glanced around and headed to the entryway, and he used the heavy gray door to strike the closest man in the face. Mason snatched the glowing blade's handle before it fell to the floor.

The other man lunged at him, and Mason rammed him into a pipe that ran along the wall.

He dragged them to the Damage Locker, and the assigned officer removed their masks, revealing dented robots.

Mason filled out paperwork and said nothing to the clerk. He walked briskly towards Commander Nickel's office. A robot dressed as a human scratched at his throat. He kicked the machine, denting its torso. Its twisted metal husk landed in front of Nickel's desk.

"Not again!" She kicked it into the corner.

"Sorry, Commander. Robot assassins attacked me."

"If my superiors gave me the power to fire you, I'd do it in a heartbeat. It's not that you're incompetent, but trouble finds you even when you don't carry the short straw. Promise me that you'll quit."

"Sorry, I'm still under contract with the government, but I'll consider it after the weekend."

"At least let me upgrade your weapons," Nickel said.

"No, like you, I'm uncomfortable with guns that go past stun mode." He winked at her.

Nickel shrunk back. "The idea of ending a life frightens me more than dying." She shoved a stack of self-help books into one corner of her messy desk, titled No Wonder Your Friends Hate You and How to Command a Crew of Idiots. "Pumpkin, do you have any idea who sent these fiends?" she asked.