On The Run Again

Veraxus. It wasn’t a pretty planet, by any standards. The seas were composed primarily of sewage, and the cities – such as they could be called – were built mostly from ruined starcraft, either crashed here or abandoned too long in one of the so-called spaceports this planet was known for.

It was not a fun place to grow up. In fact, the main life objective of anyone raised on this planet was singular – to get the hell off this hell-hole. This was a place where people came to die, not live.

Jake Hawkins felt about the same when he attempted to order his third drink in the Bilkneel Inn.

“Hey! Look! My credit’s good, I swear! There ain’t nothing wrong with my –“

He was cut short by a rather large hand clamping down on his shoulder. It was accompanied by an incredibly unwelcome voice, which boomed in Jake’s ear.

“Oh boy, glad we bumpt inter yer, me lad. Der boss been wannin’ ter see yer.”

Jake made to sit up, but was forced back down. One of the arms of the great four-appendaged behemoth was keeping him stuck to his seat, another was scratching his arse, and the remaining two were lighting some foul cigar of sorts, which he abruptly exhaled in Jake’s face.

“Cough,” said Jake, pointedly.

“Yeahh, boyyyy, he been wannin’ ter see yer for a long time now… where been ya, Jakey-boy?” The creepy, slimey lizardish lookin' fucker that had accompanied his dear old friend poked him in the chest, as though he knew something. Which he probably did, thought Jake, to his regret.

NOTES FOR ON THE RUN:

hey how's your missus? or is it his?

punch between the two

duck out the way as third tries to stab him, ends up stabbing second

runs