Bringing you tales from the darker side of the universe.
For the previous chapters:The Kerrigan Chronicles Chapter 2: Don't BlinkThe Kerrigan Chronicles Chapter 1: No Longer Original
And now I present...
The Kerrigan Chronicles Chapter 3: Meeting of Sahtogas
* * *
Hooran Davesghad sat back in his swivel chair, gazing intensely at the Fedo cleaning bacteria from the outer window behind his desk. Such a filthy, disgusting creature it was, but useful in its task. Every station and ship in the region made use of its unique qualities--resilience and a stomach for garbage--to deal with waste products and to keep the outer hull clean. A foul stench was the only downside, worse even than the cabbage-scented Minmatar
, but ventilation shafts circulated fresh air regularly. Were it any other day, this Fedo would have been the last thing on his mind. But now he was confronted by a rare situation, one he hoped could be resolved without too much trouble. Not six feet behind him, his visitor waited patiently. I'll delay as much as I flaming want. Notorious pilot or no bloody notorious, I call the shots around here. With a position as decorated as mine, I make any mortal man wait 'till his teeth rot out his flaming head.
Dim lights and the faint tune Quaesitum Finished
in the background gave a sinister feel to the largest personal office on the station. Relics in glass cases atop bone-crafted pedestals adorned each side from the doorframe, and red Blood Raider tapestry hung loosely from the walls, white skull silhouette signifying the purity of the blood. At the far end of the room, Hooran's desk stood out like a throne in an unholy palace, lights angled to illuminate his guests while he himself remained in patient shadow.Time to get this bloody business over with.
The dark-hooded Ni-Kunni, long-time security agent for the Blood Raiders, turned slowly to stare eye to eye with his visitor. "What brings you to Sahtogas?" he inquired sharply, stifling a curse. Propped idly against the high-backed chair, arms crossed comfortably under her b
reasts and right leg equally twined across the left, the red-haired vixen, Sara Kerrigan, smirked in spite of his tone. Her cold brown eyes glistened under the questioning lights, and despite the intensity, not a drop of sweat fell from her body. The dark two-piece latex attire and matching boots accented her figure.
"You know exactly what I came for, Hooran," she teasingly remarked. "Weapons, supplies, implants... any new technology you have, I want it." The ingratiated smirk seemed to grow larger, and willfully beautiful. She knew Hooran. A man hardened by endless grief and loss, but even he could not shed his soft spot for a pretty face. But this was business and she would play him as a furrier-boned flute. He held the tools she would need to rebuild her destiny--a destiny based on power and greed--and she was determined to have her way, no matter the cost.
Hooran's brows lowered questioningly and he shifted in his chair, though his eyes remained transfixed. Sweat beaded his face now, but he hoped his guest would not notice. "Why," he began, shifting his position once more to battle the discomfort--those flaming cold eyes will be the death of me
, "should I bloody help... should the Blood Raiders help you?" He knew Kerrigan's game--she dealt her own cards, plotted and planned her own rules--and she always got what she wanted from him. She wasn't the sort to lose, but he would fight it to the end. Those eyes...