XXXXIt started with warmth. The kind caused by racing heartbeats and flirtatious smiles. The kind caused by fingertips on skin typically untouched. The kind caused by mouths meeting in feverish kisses and exchanges in the dark. All at once that warmth vanished and was replaced by cold tables, latex covered hands, and pain as sharp as a knife. It cut into her spine, her wrists, the left side of her head. It was everywhere.
And then the warmth returned, but it grew hotter until she was burning from the inside out. Flames flickered beneath her skin and sharp searing pain stabbed through her until she arched upwards, gasping for breath, awoken from the nightmare. She dripped with sweat, sheets tangled around her. Beside her was a dark head, long hair fanned out against the pillows. Meg's head pounded hard enough to tell her she'd been drinking too much again.
That and she had no idea who the woman was.
She suppressed a sigh at her predicament and rose to dress. She slipped out of the room, leaving nothing behind, and the door silently wooshed shut behind her. At this point, she remembered where she was: Space Station Argeus--the meeting place for their next job. Probably the most dangerous she had accepted and she had yet to inform her crew.
Apparently, she had been too busy drinking and fucking to do her damn job. Frustrated with herself and her aching head and roiling stomach, she looked for the first, dark place to sit. She quickly found a sparsely lit cafe, still open and mostly quiet at this time of night, with soft jazz flowing from the speakers. She sat down at a table in the corner and asked for whatever concoction they could make to cure a hangover. There was no way she could face her crew like this. Especially if they rejected their new mission.
The god damn Solarflare, she thought with a rueful laugh that did nothing for her head. The waitress returned with a green shake-looking beverage that smelled like grass and lemon. Meg wrinkled her nose. After Meg declined interest in anything other than this odd concoction, the waitress held out a thin metal object. Meg held out her wrist for the woman to obtain her credits. She nodded her thanks and returned to her work.
Meg took a moment, steeling herself for the drink, and thought about how much she appreciated the implant beneath her skin there. They had begun the implementation after she had changed her name and ran from... them. She shivered, remembering the cold table and the many hands from her nightmare. Well, at least she has a way to collect her credits without them finding her. She lifted the drink to her mouth, plugged her nose, and chugged until she could no longer take the cold, slimy substance working its way down her throat. She slammed the glass onto the table, using all her concentration to keep the thick drink down, and swallowed. She shivered again but for a completely different reason.
There was a series of tones coming from her jacket's inner pocket. Too tired and pained to bother with the light from her Chatter so she pulled her earpiece from the small breast pocket. "Hellfire." She rasped.