They were in. The smell of slavery, fear and torture was rife aboard the bows of the ship, filling the air in an almost tangible odour that Relia felt she could almost touch. Relia felt she could almost cut the tension with a knife. The cuffs were too big for her slim, pale wrists, and it was more of a job to keep up a convincing charade of having them on. But she managed. Tavion had managed to fool the men; they were little more than hired muscle paid to punch the occasional troublemaker or subjugate the unruly slave. They weren't paid for their brains. Despite the surroundings, Relia looked around with interest; this was the place of her conception. Vile as it was, it was still a serious issue for her. It would also be the place her father would die. Relia was under no illusions, under no false pretences. She was here to kill Ruulak and make sure she and Tavion got off alive. As she was escorted down the corridor, there were very little, in terms of people, she saw. The slave cells must be somewhere else on board the ship.
It was then she saw the man.
Surprisingly, considering she would appear as a slave to him, he tipped his hat to her. Courtesy, from a slaver? Perhaps this man was something different. If she was able, she wouldn't kill him. He seemed nice enough. To be fair, he could merely be doing it to pay for a family, a lifestyle somewhere else. Vile as it was that he was still making a living from the misfortune of others, she could understand it. She killed for a living; that was bad enough. Although the people she killed, in general, deserved it, you could never be sure. And she wasn't paid to question. No. She sternly slammed down iron walls of professionalism, the same ones she used when on the job. No doubts. No questioning. Just you, the weapon, and Ruulak. There'd be no time for a slow death, and she didn't know if she'd be able to do that. A quick shot, an explosion of a body, and it'd be time for them to jump ship. That'd be it. Yes. Nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps take down a few bodyguards first.
She was ready.
The reassuring weight of the blaster at her hip, the one she planned to use, helped her in her meditation. They hadn't thought to search her, thinking her so called "slave master" would have made sure she wasn't able to turn on him first. Little did they know that she had no intention of doing that. As they reached the bridge, Relia looked around inquisitively, before remembering she was a slave. Eyes down. She thought, sternly, doing just that. Her hair shielded her face, and she blushed a shade of crimson as wolf whistles echoed around the bridge. Will he recognise me? Doubtful. He may have done this to many women, and Relia's father was the probable source of her red hair. Her mother was a brunette. Finally looking up, she gazed around. The first thing she saw was her father. A grey beard, tinged with red, a lined face, with creases round the eyes. Those piercing, green eyes. Those same eyes she had. A muscular, armoured body, a weapon at his hip and weapons on the bodyguards around him.
This was the aim of her plans of assassination.
The die was irrevocably cast. Even if she wanted to turn back, she couldn't. It was kill and escape or be enslaved. She couldn't risk it. Not now. She would not be enslaved, and treated as abysmally as the mother she knew had been long dead. This was her lot; she was the venging arm of her mother, stretched down a generation. Just two bodyguards, although there were four other men on the bridge. She wondered where the rest were; perhaps nearby?
"What have you brought me?"
The voice was hard, arrogant, leering; with a jolt, Relia realised that it was very similar to her own. His mannerisms, his locution, his general speech... Were they so different? Was she more like this monster than she thought? Yes. She cared for people! Could she do this? Yes. Of course. With a snap movement, Relia hurled the cuffs at a bodyguard, and drew the blaster.
Before firing towards her father's face.
It was then she saw the man.
Surprisingly, considering she would appear as a slave to him, he tipped his hat to her. Courtesy, from a slaver? Perhaps this man was something different. If she was able, she wouldn't kill him. He seemed nice enough. To be fair, he could merely be doing it to pay for a family, a lifestyle somewhere else. Vile as it was that he was still making a living from the misfortune of others, she could understand it. She killed for a living; that was bad enough. Although the people she killed, in general, deserved it, you could never be sure. And she wasn't paid to question. No. She sternly slammed down iron walls of professionalism, the same ones she used when on the job. No doubts. No questioning. Just you, the weapon, and Ruulak. There'd be no time for a slow death, and she didn't know if she'd be able to do that. A quick shot, an explosion of a body, and it'd be time for them to jump ship. That'd be it. Yes. Nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps take down a few bodyguards first.
She was ready.
The reassuring weight of the blaster at her hip, the one she planned to use, helped her in her meditation. They hadn't thought to search her, thinking her so called "slave master" would have made sure she wasn't able to turn on him first. Little did they know that she had no intention of doing that. As they reached the bridge, Relia looked around inquisitively, before remembering she was a slave. Eyes down. She thought, sternly, doing just that. Her hair shielded her face, and she blushed a shade of crimson as wolf whistles echoed around the bridge. Will he recognise me? Doubtful. He may have done this to many women, and Relia's father was the probable source of her red hair. Her mother was a brunette. Finally looking up, she gazed around. The first thing she saw was her father. A grey beard, tinged with red, a lined face, with creases round the eyes. Those piercing, green eyes. Those same eyes she had. A muscular, armoured body, a weapon at his hip and weapons on the bodyguards around him.
This was the aim of her plans of assassination.
The die was irrevocably cast. Even if she wanted to turn back, she couldn't. It was kill and escape or be enslaved. She couldn't risk it. Not now. She would not be enslaved, and treated as abysmally as the mother she knew had been long dead. This was her lot; she was the venging arm of her mother, stretched down a generation. Just two bodyguards, although there were four other men on the bridge. She wondered where the rest were; perhaps nearby?
"What have you brought me?"
The voice was hard, arrogant, leering; with a jolt, Relia realised that it was very similar to her own. His mannerisms, his locution, his general speech... Were they so different? Was she more like this monster than she thought? Yes. She cared for people! Could she do this? Yes. Of course. With a snap movement, Relia hurled the cuffs at a bodyguard, and drew the blaster.
Before firing towards her father's face.
