[ It feels more than a little fucked up to be wearing armor when his fucking soul or whatever is stuck in a flimsy little lantern, so Sharkface hasn't been. There's really no point without anyone to fight. He was dead until suddenly he wasn't. Should have been easy, should have been a hail of bullets and something like a blaze of glory or at least some fragile peace, but no. He's upright, mobile, breathing. Not even a bruise for all that trouble.
And the Freelancers are still kicking somewhere out in the universe. Probably laughing. Probably think they've won.
He really ought to do something about that.
But that's for later, when he can get his hands on them and set those fuckers on fire. Right now there's a knife at his throat and he's got no armor at all, nothing but his survival suit and the flimsy clothes he's scavenged to cover it up with.
Sharkface grins. It hurts his face to smile, with the scars, but he does it anyway. ]
If you're going to threaten someone, commit.
[ He presses the muzzle of his pistol into her gut. She'll probably slit his throat if he moves wrong, but he'll get her too, and they'll all die hard. Won't that be nice? ]
Hallucinations
And the Freelancers are still kicking somewhere out in the universe. Probably laughing. Probably think they've won.
He really ought to do something about that.
But that's for later, when he can get his hands on them and set those fuckers on fire. Right now there's a knife at his throat and he's got no armor at all, nothing but his survival suit and the flimsy clothes he's scavenged to cover it up with.
Sharkface grins. It hurts his face to smile, with the scars, but he does it anyway. ]
If you're going to threaten someone, commit.
[ He presses the muzzle of his pistol into her gut. She'll probably slit his throat if he moves wrong, but he'll get her too, and they'll all die hard. Won't that be nice? ]