An LPI-marked Grizzly settled onto a landing pad aboard Newark Station, spindly legs holding the hefty freighter steady. Aboard, three Manhattan miscreants filed towards the cargo bay doors, while a fourth shuffled into the cockpit. Her matted, platinum-bleached hair stood in stark contrast to the well-pressed station maintenance uniform she was wearing.
"Thanks for the lift, Roscoe." She said, slipping the last few credit chits from a pocket into the Officer's outstretched hand. "Hey, and remember, we were never here, yeah?"
Roscoe cocked an eyebrow. "Huh? I've never met you in my life, girl." The Sergeant said flatly, before cracking a crooked grin. His teeth matched the ragged nature of the woman in front of him. "Knock 'em dead, Milly."
"Will do, Boone. Don't bite it, 'cause you're 'bout the last good badge in Liberty." Clapping Roscoe on the shoulder, Millicent 'Milly' Malone hustled to join her crew on the pad. Roscoe hollered back in response soon after.
"Oh, I won't!" When his 'cargo' was out of earshot, Roscoe shook his head, and fired up the aging Grizzly's engines. The ship protested with a burble, before finally lifting off the pad. "You prob'ly will, though. Fuckin' tweaker."
The bay depressurized slightly once the freighter breached the atmo-shields, causing Milly's ears to pop. Trotting up to her team, she coughed once, and when they failed to respond, she coughed again... Then a third time, before sighing and slapping the largest of the three on the back of the head. "Lock it the fuck up, retards. We're here on business, yeah?"
"Yeah, yeah, Malone. Whatever. Just another jackin', nothing special." The man she'd just slapped spoke up, cradling the back of his buzz-cut head.
Milly rolled her eyes, just before her tattooed face took on a more serious expression. "No, Cueball, it ain't just another klep-job. This is the real deal. We're goin' big-time."
"'Big-time'? What are we calling 'big-time'?" A lanky, obviously-malnourished, near-as-makes-no-difference kid with greasy, black hair said, his speech slurred just slightly. This was the newest addition to the crew, affectionately (or maybe not) nicknamed 'Slime'. "I thought we were just going to boost a freighter and pawn it off to the Junkers for parts. Again."
"Nuh-uh. We're on some primo fuckery this time around, bud. I got plans, see. Roscoe hooked us up." Milly nodded, reassuring herself just as much as the rest of the crew. "That's why we're rockin' these piece-of-fuck corpo uniforms."
The final member of the group spoke up, a hot-pink faux-hawk peeking out from under the safety hood of her stolen uniform. "I was wondering what was up with the look."
"That 'look' is how we're gonna' boost a Train. No shitty Rhinos or Humpbacks or whatever. A Crane, too. Leather seats." Milly's eyes shimmered with delight. "We're about to be set for life, long as you guys do your fuckin' jobs. Everyone brought their iron, yeah?"
There was a flurry of patting and toying with zippers as every member of the team felt themselves up, making sure they did actually remember to pack heat. Jesus, these kids were dumb.
"Yep."
"Yeah."
"Always."
Satisfied, Malone nodded to the group. "Alright, here's the deal." She glanced down at her watch. She'd never had a watch before, but thought it was appropriate for their little 'mission'. The novelty had yet to wear off. "In about 15 minutes, there's an Interspace Train fixin' to fuck off to Kusari. Called 'Roanoke Rapids', whatever the fuck a 'Roanoke' is."
"I think it was a-" Slime was quickly interrupted by their leader.
"Cool, give us a history lesson after we're out of Liberty. As I was sayin', Roanoke Rapids. Roscoe said right about as soon as it's jettin' off, all the security guards in the transit tunnels hoof it to their next job. We go in nice and quiet, hustle through the doors, then find somewhere to lay low."
"Why bother hiding? Shouldn't we haul some ass straight to the bridge, zap the crew, and book it to Rochester, like normal?" For once, Cueball asked a question that wasn't stupid as fuck. The revelation left the team in stunned silence for a just a tick.
Milly took slightly longer to recover from the shock of the dumb muscle actually catching on than Stripes did, so she was the first to respond. "I think the plan is for us to keep this big fuckin' ship, right?"
Shaking off her withdrawal-fueled jitters, Malone offered a nod of approval. "Yeah, exactly. So, here's the deal: Interspace doesn't actually own this Train, they just insure it. It's like... You know, when your noodle cart pays protection money, or whatever, and then you sell it to some other goof. Long as they keep payin' protection money, the boss doing the protectin' don't even notice the change. We keep payin' the note for insurance, and Interspace won't mark the difference."
"And what about the missin' crew? We are gonna' zero 'em, right?" Another stunned silence. Milly's watch kept silently ticking, counting down the time until the action happened... And lots of it was being wasted as the gang dealt with the ramifications of Cueball not being as stupid as he looked, or sounded, or dressed. Shiny, gold-colored puffer jackets, all the goddamn time. What the fuck?
"Uhh... Yeah, flatline the crew once we're in Galileo or something, then dump the bodies in a cloud. That's what Roscoe's for. Paid him off to zip the families a note sayin' the investigation didn't find shit before it even starts. The Police is so fucked up with calls on 'Hattan and Houston, they won't give a fuck about ten or twenty missin' corpos." Ten or twenty... That's what their info-guy had said, anyway. Admittedly, the last time they boosted a ship, it was just supposed to be one dude. Turned out it was three, the pilot and two bodyguards. Jason was a royal prick, but he was decent in a gunfight, and this job was going to be a bit rougher without their fifth pair of hands. "Whatever. Listen, time's about up. Let's fuckin' make history, yeah? But let's do it right. Listen to my calls, and we're all gonna' walk away stacked."
"You got it, Milly." Stripes spoke up, one hand hidden in her jacket pocket, wrapped tightly around the butt of a Detroit 'Eviscerator' shot-pistol.
Millicent turned to regard the other female member of the squad. "Knew I could count on you. Queens of the galaxy. Slime, Cue, you all good?" Turning her attention to the Y chromosomes, Milly's eyes darted between both men. She really needed to lay off that good shit, but, fuck, she couldn't even feel bad without the stuff, much less good.
"Ready as we'll ever be, I guess." Slime spoke up for the both of them.
"Alright, tunnel's this way. Rock 'n' roll." Pulling a paper filtration mask up over her face, Milly took the lead, glancing around the deserted bay to ensure the quartet weren't being tailed. Reaching one of the elevators that would take the team to the mooring spars, she flashed a cobbled-together RFID badge towards a scanner. It wouldn't pass muster under close examination, but it was good enough to get her and hers where they needed to go... In theory.
A few none-too-tense minutes later, near mooring pylon AA-19...
"...so anyway, Roanoke Rapids was supposed to be this little town in some old American state near the-..."
"Slime, listen, choomfie. I really, really, really like the head on your shoulders. I do. You're a real goddamn brainiac." Milly paused, rounding a corner. The three-axis elevator had delivered the quartet near Newark's mooring spars, and the occasional porthole gave a view of the Manhattan skyline, framed by Trenton, Long Island, and Albany. And, just a few hundred yards away, a Crane lay at rest, safely adhered to the station. Heavy Lifters swarmed around the craft, thrusting red-and-grey cargo containers into waiting cargo links.
"I hear a 'but' coming, Milly." Slime responded, looking ever-so-slightly downcast. Admittedly, that was his usual expression.
"But now really isn't the time, shorty. We're about to be in some shit. I need your A-game, yeah? Yeah. That goes for all'a you." Slowing her roll just slightly, Milly glanced at her watch, then stole a look out a passageway window. The Lifters were backing off and trundling over to the next waiting transports. Running lights began to illuminate aboard the Train, and a few shudders could be felt through the deckplates as the Roanoke began to power her engines. "Alright, chumps, now or never. Keep the street-shit to a min', and follow my lead. We're a lost maintenance crew, not fuckin' boosters. Not yet."
At precisely that moment, a pair of corporate security guards rounded the last corner, locking eyes with our motley crew of protagonists. The two groups began to close, heavy bootfalls echoing along the corridor. The larger of the opposition spoke first.
"Where are you four headed? Tunnel's closed and locked. Ship's getting ready to leave." His voice was smooth and elegant. No doubt the man had never seen any real goon shit before. He was about to. "Nothing down there but a door and open space."
"Eh? Really? I thought this was AB-23. Isn't the, uh..." Milly stumbled. She hadn't checked the manifest for the rest of the traffic hitting the station. "Isn't this the spar for the 'Kingsport'?"
The shorter of the two guards surveyed the quartet warily, a gloved hand drifting towards the butt of his own energy weapon. "'Kingsport'? No ship on Newark by that name, not today." His eyes narrowed, eventually drifting across the poorly-inscribed tattoos framing Milly's eye. The particulate mask was only halfway doing its job, seeing as it only halfway covered her gaunt features. "Let's see some identification, all of you."
Fuck. Bitch. Piss. Et cetera. Milly was the only one with a badge, and it was a slap-job designed to get her and her squad past the security scanners. "Oh, yeah, sure!" She said, faux-cheerily, as she began to rummage around in her pockets. Her fingers brushed past the prickly, bare wire-laden piece of equipment. As she did so, the shorter guard thumbed his holster, dropping the retention strap and disengaging the safety in one fluid motion. Despite the size difference, this one had some years under his belt, and knew something was up. His hoity-toity cumrag, ahem... Comrade, though, was just as soft as he seemed. Crossing your arms like that was a good way to get lit the fuck up. Watch.
Sliding past the ID card, the woman's slim, nicotine-stained fingers wrapped around the grip of her own heat, a Daumann-produced "Kuhmörder". She'd learned nice and quick that station sensors always picked up energy discharges, but good old-fashioned iron, that was another story. Timeless, but still relevant. She caught Stripes performing much the same motion through her peripheral, though her piece was stuffed into a breast pocket, necessitating the unzipping of her uniform jacket. The movements placed just a touch of tattooed cleavage on display, much to the appeal of the taller guard. Good shit, girl, make 'em drool.
Then, all at once, shit went down, and went down hard. Popping into a squatting position to present a smaller target, as street kids are wont to do, Milly quickly yanked her pistol from her pocket, or tried to, at least. The suppressor attached to the muzzle of the weapon snagged on unfamiliar fabric, and it discharged with a muted 'click' directly into the deckplates. 225 grains of subsonic, flat-nosed lead slapped against the steel floor, and ricocheted around the hallway, taking with it bits of paint, metal, electronics, and a thin strip of singed leg-flesh, before finally coming to rest right at the feet of the larger guard. The entire group stood there for a few precious seconds, utterly dumbfounded at the fuckery on display.
"Cunt!" Milly roared, flecks of blood beginning to stain her trousers. "Fuckin' flatline 'em!" The command was entirely unnecessary, as Stripes hadn't encountered a wardrobe-related malfunction. Her Eviscerator spoke once, then again, blowing two rough, ragged-edged holes in the chest of smaller guard. He hit the deck hard, drawing the attention of the larger man away from the the breasts (and his radio!), and towards the carnage.
"Wuh-..." Was all he managed, before his head disappeared into a chunky emulsion of brain matter, skull, and entirely too much snot. With the action drawing down, Milly's hand shook uncontrollably, a combination of withdrawals and adrenaline. Jamming a finger in one of her ears to soothe the ringing brought on by Stripes' piece, the woman began to note what sounded like screaming echoing from behind her. That was odd, considering neither guard managed to clear leather. Seconds ticked by, and she returned to reality proper. Glancing back, she quickly noticed Slime and Cueball rolling on the floor, presumably in agony after some unknown trauma.
Or, as was actually the case, they were both pissing themselves with laughter.
"Ho-ly shit, Milly! 'Bring your A-game', she says! 'That goes for all of you', she says, and then about goddamn near shoots her own fucking snatch off!" The buzz cut-wearing man hollered, tears streaming down his face.
Slime joined in on the ribbing, his face red with exertion, barely able to stutter out his sentence. "Fuck me, what a hatchet-wound of a pussy that'd be! Ahah!" Gone was the mopey, downtrodden facade the boy normally wore, replaced with a visage of utter glee.
"Awh, fuck you too! Come on, we're wastin' fuckin' time here!" Shoving her pistol back in the pocket it was unceremoniously born from, Milly kicked at the body currently missing a head. "Hey. Hey, you two! We can't just fucking leave these guys here, or the rest of station security is going to throw a fuckin' shitfit. Find an access card or somethin', and then let's hump these bodies onto the ship."
Stripes was soon at Milly's side, rummaging around in the pockets of the shorter guard like an expert pickpocket. In half a minute, she produced a bloodstained identification badge, and waved it practically in Milly's face. "Got it!"
"Fuckin' A, alright, let's... I said quit dickin' around, and let's move!" The blonde screamed towards the two men slowly hauling themselves off the floor, her voice quivering slightly.
"I'on know about you, Milly, but I'm not down with humping bodies. Different strokes, though!" Cueball retorted, shuffling over to the larger of the two guards. Snatching hold of one ankle, the burly man began to drag the still-leaking corpse towards the airlock, leaving a big ol' schmear of blood and viscera behind, and giggling all the while. Milly let out a sighing raspberry. It just keeps getting worse.
Cueball let out a huffing giggle as Stripes swiped the stolen badge against an e-reader, and the airlock to the Rapids began to cycle. In the passageway, Milly was quickly slithering out of her uniform.
"Slime, get over here." Shrugging off the loose-fitting article of clothing, the blonde dropped the garment on the floor, before repeating the motion with her uniform pants. The impromptu strip-show left her in tight-fitting, hole-filled jeans and an oversized t-shirt sporting a stylized middle finger. "We gotta' clean up, or someone's gonna' start askin' questions." Dropping into another squat, Milly began chasing down the long trail of blood left behind by the pair of guards, occasionally spritzing the deckplates with the bottle of cleaner that had been hooked in her non-gun pocket.
"Don't shoot your coochie again, Milly!" Stripes called from up ahead, and Milly mimed a similar gesture to the one displayed on her clothing.
"You've gotta' admit that was funny as fuck, Malone." Slime said, taking up a position behind the leader, swiping up the remnants of blood and organs left behind by Milly's rapidly-soiling shirt.
"Milly. There's only one thing I hate more than being called 'Malone', and that's being called by my first name." She paused, glaring back at a still-grinning Slime. "Don't do it."
"My bad, Millic-..." He was quickly cut off as a dripping shirt slapped against his face, adding to the greasy film coating every fiber of hair on his head. "What the fuck?!"
"I warned you." Milly said flatly, finally reaching the end of the plating. The trail of blood continued to the pair of corpses in the airlock proper, growing in breadth. They were off the station, at least. "Alright, good fuckin' 'nuff. Leave the stiffs here, nobody should be dickin' around in the airlock in transit anyway." As the youngest member of the pack cleared the first set of doors, they sealed shut, and the second set slid open. The air smelled different, indicating that they were in the Roanoke proper.
"Fuckin' Christ, Milly. I'm never gettin' this shit out of my hair." Slime whinged, smearing his face against the walls in an attempt to clean up. His own shirt was already coated in third-hand bodily fluids, hence the resourcefulness in finding another locale to render filthy.
"It's not like you ever shower to begin with, stinky." Stripes said, poking a head into the corridor beyond. She held her Eviscerator in one hand, the other steadying herself against the wall. "We'll have to fix that once we've got the ship. No more 'the one in my pad is broken'."
Milly slid in behind her female compatriot, checking the other direction down the hall. "Here's the play: we wait until we-..." The ship vibrated slightly, inertial dampers kicking in to ease the motion imparted on the crew as the Roanoke began her journey to Kusari. Gods of the street willing, they'd make it on time, and nobody would notice the change in ownership. "Fuckin' A right, we're on the move. Alright, Stripes, about how long a ride is it to Galileo? A day or two?"
Cueball spoke up before Milly had even finished her sentence, and before Stripes could begin hers. "Dependin' on how quick, fast, and in a hurry the driver is, about a day, maybe a lil' less." Milly cocked an eyebrow in response.
"How the fuck do you know?" She said, her voice dripping with incredulity. The other members of the group sported similar expressions. "You said you've never left your hab block. If you've been to the other fuckin' side of the galaxy, why the hell are you slummin' it with us?"
"I never left 'Hattan, nah. My big brother worked on a transport runnin' to Kusari every week or somethin', and he always kept in touch, 'fore some pirates got him." He paused, then continued, sporting a bit of a pouty frown. "Quit bein' such a bitch just 'cus your huffer ran out. Junkie."
"Hey. Hey!" Milly's voice took on a slightly higher pitch. "Can't help mom was an addict, so I was an addict when I slithered out of her cunt." Cradling her head in her hands for a moment, she let out a heavy sigh. "Fuck it, whatever. Listen, we made it this fuckin' far, keep it together. Everyone brought snacks 'n' shit, yeah?" Digging in her pockets, Milly produced a few sad-looking pieces of soy-jerky and a pouch of juice (notice: contains less than 2% juice, from concentrate).
"Uhh... You never filled us in on what was going down, Milly, other than 'bring your piece' and 'this'll be hot shit.'" Stripes retorted, finally taking someone's side other than the one the 'boss' was taking. Damnit, girl, you were supposed to have my back.
"Ho-... Kay. Alright, new plan. Panty, eh- pantry raid. We dig up the chow hall, snag enough of a meal to last a day. We run across anyone, zero 'em nice and stealth-like, hump the bodies back-..." Milly was rudely interrupted by the Y chromosomes snickering. Again. "I don't fuckin' swing that way!" She slapped a hand against the wall, loud enough for the sound to echo out of the airlock and through the corridors. "Fuck that. You three dig up the chow hall and get something to eat."
"And you're gonna' do... What? Sit here and shake?" The heavily-muscled man retorted, crossing his arms.
"No, fuckface, I'm gonna' go find whatever passes for a pharmacy on this shitheap and get my fuckin' fix before I gnaw your fuckdamn head off. That okay with you? Huh? Is it!?" She snarled, flashes of faux-silver decorative canine implants catching the dim light of the airlock. Milly Malone was not the most pleasing sight at the best of times. An assed-off Milly Malone? No shot. Even the mountainous Cueball leaned back slightly as the scent of cigarette smoke, sweat, and what might've been urine tickled his nostrils.
"I-uh, no, no problem at all, Millic-... Milly." He responded sheepishly, taking a step back from his platinum-blonde partner in crime.
"Good. Piss off and go find somethin' to eat. And for the love of Christ, don't let every prick on this ship find out we're sneakin' around, yeah?" Without waiting for a response, Milly turned and picked a direction at random. Left is good. Her footsteps weren't quite quiet, what with her jitters, but she tried her very, very best to remain somewhat stealthy, even if heavy-heeled combat boots weren't ideal for her situation. They fit pretty nice, though: the Police corporal that wore them prior broke them in good. Shame he fell off that balcony and painted the hab-block stairwell a new shade of red and blue. At least it got Milly out of a court summons for another week.
A flash of red soon caught her eye: an arrow pointing down the hallway, the words 'MED STATION' standing out in bold, white letters. Fuck yeah. "Bonedust, here I come." Milly silently thought to herself, out loud. Following the arrow was fairly easy, and Milly caught herself thanking the designers of the ship, corporate stooges or not. Lines leading her straight to her fix, and limited crew requirements? Fan-fucking-tastic. A twisty-turn or two later, and the woman was standing outside a red-framed door. Pulling her piece from where she'd tucked it into her waistband, she flattened up against a wall.
"Alright, girl. Think tactical. Cams. Scanners. Locks. Need whoever's in there alive, for now." Sluggish as her mind was, it was building up steam, getting close to what could, in a pinch, almost, very nearly, be described as 'racing'. Rapping on the door three times, she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Actually, it wasn't that long of a wait at all. The hatch slid open, and a a female voice spoke. "Hello?" She called from just inside the frame. "Hell~o?" The woman crooned again. Glancing down, Milly watched as a white bootie stepped out, followed by another. The woman, her well-kept hair stitched up in a neat bun, glanced to her right, away from the unwelcome visitor. "Stupid door-..." She was interrupted by the sound of a hammer being thumbed back. The gaping chasm that was the muzzle of Milly's weapon stared her down hard.
"Shhh. Easy. That's right." The blonde kept her voice low, and a touch of hoarseness crept in. She needed a drink, but that could wait until she got her fix. "My name's Milly. What's yours?"
"P-please, I've got a f-family, kids-..." The raven-haired woman stammered. Of course she had a family: she was fine as hell. Retired supermodel type beat.
Milly cracked a toothy grin, trying her best to look friendly. Her eye twitched. "That's great. That's... Really, really great. You've got a family, and I've got a problem. Let's get it fixed, and then we can talk about your kids."
Why was this chick tripping the fuck out? As long as she needed her fix, Milly wasn't just going to zero this really, really, really pretty doctor... Nurse, whatever. Hell, she might even get some herself, given half the chance. "Quit cryin', you're gonna' ruin your makeup. Got any security in there? Cams, voice, anything?"
"N-no! No, nothing. Everyone aboard is supposed to be vetted. No addictions, no thieves, no-... Anything. Please, I'll do anything, just-." The doc' was about half a second from breaking down in tears. Staring down the barrel of a gun held by some tweaker street-thug has a tendency to do that to soft people. People who'd never been there, lived that life.
"Good. Let's get inside, take a load off." Leaving her weapon trained on the woman's face, Milly thumbed the hammer back down slowly, still holding that trying-to-be-friendly smile. With a nudge, the blonde ushered new friend inside. "Lock it, pretty please." Rather than ducking out of the way immediately, however, Milly waited for the physician to lean over and around her captor to punch a code into a panel by the door, stealing a deep sniff in the process. "You smell nice." It was supposed to be a bit of friendly banter, and the doctor visibly cringed at the comment.
"T-thanks." Quivering slightly under Milly's haunting gaze, the scrubs-clad female quickly retreated away from the new arrival, fidgeting with her fingers nonstop. "What-uhm... How can I help? I can help."
Stuffing her heat back into her waistband, Milly began to dig in one of her pockets, eventually producing a battered and scratched inhaler. Not the type that was prescribed for people with asthma, or some other legitimate disease, no. As Cueball mentioned, this was her 'huffer', the preferred method of delivery for Manhattan street drugs. Sturdy, refillable, and cheap as chips. Half the time, they really were reused medical devices, the other half were produced purely for the purpose of delivering near-fatal doses of drugs like Hush, X-yz, Cyclocane, or, in Milly's case, Bonedust.
Twiddling the well-loved device between her fingers shakily, Milly soon cornered the scared-shitless woman. Bloodshot eyes wandered from her face to the tray of medical implements a foot or so away. "I need a refill, Doctor- you never said what I should call you." Holding a hand against the doc's chest, inhaler sandwiched firmly between her palm and what felt like a very perky double-d, the shipjacker couldn't help but cop a feel.
"Ariana." She shut her eyes, trying to tune out the unwanted attention. "Ariana Vollenhoven. A r-refill? This isn't a lab, and I don't even-..."
"You can figure it out. Bonedust. The good stuff. I know we're not in Lawry's cook-joint, but you can get me fixed up, right?" Leaning closer, Milly's eyes bore twin holes straight through Ariana's skull and into her soul. "You'll take care of me, right, doc'? I know you will." Milly's voice was growing more hoarse by the minute, her teeth grinding against one another whenever words weren't escaping her lips.
"I don't-..." Reaching up with both hands, Ariana's fingers slithered beneath Milly's, encouraging the criminal to release her grip. As she did so, Milly retreated just slightly, allowing the doctor free reign over her huffer. "I don't know anything about street drugs." Examining the device more closely, the well-kept woman noticed tooth-marks on the nozzle, the occasional smear of lipstick, and the occasional sensation of grease against her digits, eliciting a retching cough.
"Now's good'a time to learn as any." Milly shot back, the grinding of her teeth growing in volume and intensity.
The doctor flinched at the gruffness in the voice of her 'patient', before an idea sprung to life. "I could-" She paused, slowly gesturing over to some sort of device along one wall. "I could scan this for residue, check the chemical makeup." Ariana began to shuffle towards the device, and Milly's hand matched her speed in wandering back to the butt of her gun. "No security, it's not going to..." The device pinged as it detected a warm body in the vicinity. Power-saving measure, and it added to the chic of the contraption, dropping the requirement for a dedicated power switch. Ariana jumped slightly, her incessant quivering intensifying as Milly drummed her fingers against her weapon, putting markedly-diminished dexterity on display. She shut her eyes tightly, and continued. "It doesn't report outside of the medical wing. I can delete the records, and you can... Get back to whatever it is you're doing. My lips are sealed, I swear. I just want to see my husband again. Please."
Milly glanced back for a moment, before jumping up to sit on a counter with a 'hup' and a sigh. "Make it happen, cap'n." The doctor gave a half-hearted nod of assent, before popping the sample tray of the medical scanner open. Fumbling with the huffer to find a suitable location to take a sample, Ariana simply deposited the entire assembly into the receptacle and shut the safety screen. The scanner hummed quietly, an occasional beam of light tracing across the foreign object. Near-immediately, warnings began to flash on the touch-display, indicating the presence of, in no particular order: trace neurotoxins, industrial- and residential-grade solvents, heavy metals, and inorganic salts. This was supposed to be the 'good' stuff, according to her captor, as well. Ariana was shocked, appalled, even, that a human being could survive inhaling this poison once, much less often enough to create and sustain an addiction. Disregarding the warnings and alerts, she drilled down further, until she was presented with the medically-significant components of the stuff. Antidepressants, low-quality, high-strength amphetamine-based stimulants, and a dosage of antitussives that would be well, well beyond safe for consumption.
Frankly, it looked like something someone whipped up under the landing pad of a starport using a propane stove, because that's precisely what it was.
Ariana was so engrossed in watching the horror-show displayed on the screen, she failed to notice her captor had crept up from behind, until she finally spoke, a hand resting firmly against the rear of her scrubs. "Come on, doc'. Don't leave me hangin'." Milly was dangerously, deviously, uncomfortably close. Hot, wet breath splashed against Ariana's ear, cheek, and neck, and the woman could feel her skin clamming up. "Can you do it, or nah?" Ariana could only nod, her entire body tense as she eyed an array of fresh scalpels down the counter. "Great. Get to work." With a final squeeze and a pat, Milly stepped away. She spoke over her shoulder: "And 'member, 'do no harm!'"
Bringing the device to her lips, Milly depressed the small, pressurized canister mounted to the top of the assembly, and breathed deep. A quiet hiss filled the medical bay as she greedily guzzled down the heady concoction of drugs that would be deemed hideously dangerous to imbibe together by any medical professional. In fact, the medical professional in the room said as much, mere moments ago. Her lungs burned, and with a rattling exhalation, a small cloud of off-white vapors formed around Milly's head. Barely a moment had passed before a second, needy breath was accompanied by that same hiss, and Ariana's eyes widened at the sight. This woman was going to kill herself in the once-pristine medical bay, the doctor was certain of it.
Milly's lids fluttered shut, and, again, she held the breath for as long as she could bear to. It had only been a few seconds, but the woman could already feel her once-chugging brain finally catching up to real life. Focus long lost since childhood returned with a vengeance, to the point where it became difficult to concentrate on more than one train of thought at once. Ideas, commentaries, concepts, they flowed in and out of her mind at a breakneck pace.
And, upon opening her eyes, the shipjacker was greeted with the most wonderful sight she could imagine: color. Proper color. Not the muted, matte greys and browns and blacks of Manhattan hab-blocks, nor the uniform metallic shades of the Roanoke Rapids, but real, nigh-blinding color. Shades of blue and green and orange danced in her field of view. Where once there was nothing but depressing and distressing uniformity, now there was life. Honest-to-god life.
As she exhaled the second huff, the pain that wracked her left knee went with the vapors, as though the knife-tip lodged in the joint had magically dissolved. Little aches from a life of sleeping on concrete, twinges of agony brought on by an upbringing of malnutrition and abuse, the itches of a dry scalp, and the raw depression of an existence in the slums of the Capital all evaporated in that one, joyous, gleeful moment. Milly couldn't help but smile at the doctor. She felt good, she felt right, like everything was going to be A-okay after all.
Milly Malone felt positively human again. Her heart rate was increasing, throbbing with life within her breast. Clenching her hand into a fist, there was a strength long thought departed. Empty beakers and flasks in the room brilliantly shone with reflected light, their edges twisting in upon themselves just slightly, were she to stare for just long enough.
"Doc." She said, peering through the swirling hues and bouncing clouds that partially obscured her vision. Where the well-kept doctor was gorgeous before, she looked positively stunning through this new kaleidescope of color, her frame emanating a positively-angelic glow. "Do~c, hoh fuck." Clapping a hand over her eyes, Milly obscured her vision for a few long seconds, if only to experience that initial rush of life once more. A smile graced her angular features, exposing teeth that, for someone of her station, were remarkably well-kept. That was the one part of personal hygiene the street urchin had never skipped out on: her mother let her dentition rot into useless nubs well before she was 30, and, as always seemed to be the case throughout history, a dentist visit was always just a little too expensive. So, Momma Malone suffered through the pain the only way she knew: the same drugs to which her daughter was addicted.
"Is it-..." Doctor Vollenhoven paused, eyes wandering over the rail-thin blonde in her medbay. While she originally assumed the rat currently infesting the ship would have keeled over dead at the dosage of amphetamines, there was a twinge of medical curiosity brewing. "I assume that was a good 'hoh fuck'."
"Good?" Sliding from her perch, Milly padded across the room towards the ship's doctor-come-surgeon-come-nurse-come medical advisory board. "You think this is 'good'?" Filthy-nailed hands reached out, skipping straight past that exceptionally-appealing pair of breasts, coming to rest on the stark-white shoulders of Ariana's attire. "Doc, Ariana, I'm on cloud-fucking-nine right now." Slipping from her shoulder-clasp into a proper hug, Milly buried her face in the woman's neck, without any of the particularly-creepy sniffing or groping. "Honestly, I was going to off you pretty quick, but..."
Ariana went rigid at the thought. Would this woman genuinely have snuffed her out, just like that, without a second thought? She liked to think that even the Rogues, or the Outcasts, or the Xenos would never be that callous. "But?" She stammered out, her own hands uncomfortably snaking their way around Milly's back. Her fingers brushed over the firearm tucked into the woman's waistband. The steel had absorbed a bit of body heat, and now it had begun to radiate it once more. The sensation was almost pleasant.
"But, if you can keep cooking like that, nh... Doc, don't even think about it. I can feel you back there. I'm a hood-rat, not a quad-... Queh-... I'm not broke-neck." Milly squeezed the doctor just a touch more tightly, and Ariana's hand slowly retreated from the firearm. "Good girl. Now, I'm gonna' key you in on what's going down." Pulling away from the embrace, Milly sized up the trembling doctor properly. "We're stealing your ship. Yeah, that involves zeroing your buddies upstairs, sure. Can't have any leaks, feel me?"
She was so casual about the whole ordeal. Where once there was a quivering, twitching mess, Milly had transformed into a relaxed, too-serene state. Ariana was unsure which version of the criminal she was more afraid of.
"But, none of us are worth a fuck with a scalpel, at least when it comes to real medicine. We're more the stabby-type, y'know? Back-alley poking and prodding is more our thing. You solved my problem, and I'm good for my debts. So, how about this: you pretend you never, ever, ever saw me, or anyone else." Here it was, the ultimatum. Maybe Ariana could see her husband again, and all it would cost is a bit of weight on the scales of her conscience. "And I'll make sure your paycheck keeps comin', plus a bonus, and you get to see your boo whenever we're in town. Pretty sweet gig, yeah? All you've gotta' do is keep those pretty lips zipped."
"Wait... You're not terrorists, if you're not going to use the ship for some kind of attack. You're not ransoming us off to the government or Interspace, and that makes you, well, not really pirates." Milly had mentioned a paycheck, too, which meant... "Are you just-."
"Keeping the ship, yep. Change of ownership, without notice!" Milly beamed, seemingly exceptionally proud of herself. "Already covered most of our bases, too. Keep kicking up to the bosses, make our schedules just right, maybe cut a few deals on the side. Nobody'll notice the difference!"
Ariana's jaw nearly hit the floor. This had to be some sort of twisted joke, a Halloween prank. She honestly, truly believed that she could just waltz aboard a Crane, kill the crew, and keep on trucking like nothing ever happened. Like nobody would ever find out.