Acrid rork weed hung heavy in the air, puffing from the four lips of Kymar the Yubbler in front of Bodega. Bodega hated Kymar, smug bastard with his purple chins bouncing carelessly as he spoke. "Bodega," the Yubbler gargled, "I got another task for you, I think you'll find it right up your alley." "If it gets me the Universilons, I don't give a damn what it is. Spit it out, Kymar." Bodega replied, leaning back in his chair, letting the Jub Jub wood creak and groan. "Stubborn as always, huh Bodega? Well here, take a look, You'll love it I'm telling you." Kymar slid a piece of paper across the desk, green tendrils flicking the edges. Bodega leaned forward and scanned the text closely. It was written in Forson, a language Bodega was rusty in but could just about decipher. It seemed good, and payed more than an up-jumped Friggina on a ship full of Roopers. Bodega took the paper and left without another word, exiting the office into the foul smelling reception, a young Humber at the front desk smiled at Bodega and he smiled back, giving her a wink. She slurped a typical Humber giggle and went back to work, leaving Bodega to his own.
Kymar's office was in the scummiest alley of planet Hyul of the Rethan-92W system. A muddy green sky just barely let the sunlight pierce through, and tall black buildings created an imposing maze for Bodega to wander before he found his ship. The rust bucket he was driving was nothing like his last beauty, but that one was blown up on his last mission by an angry Flimble he forgot to pay so Bodega's making do with Um-Tan's old Neermulon Moon Hopper. A kid's ship, but Bodega couldn't complain, it was all he had. The landing stick was as stiff as a Tremmerous' sense of humour, but he forced it to lift of with a shout of "Come on, you piece of Crunt!" and a kick to the anti-loop drive. The job was on Torgan-9, a backwater dwarf planet which was notorious for being a hideout spot for the infamous "Blood Warblers", a gang of Tunups who got their kicks from spitting their victims blood into each other's Kork sacks. Truly disgusting beings, it was Bodega's job to clean up that garbage.
An hour of flying and another half of vaping later and Bodega made it to Torgan-9. He landed in an empty field of Bradle, their sickly grey stalks cut short from the recent harvest. An old, stooped Gup-waddle looked up to Bodega and nodded as he passed, barely up to Bodega's knee the little creature knew better than to mess with the best sniper from here to Luxon. Las-gun slung across his back, Bodega strode up to his look out, and old abandoned tower just two hurg's south of the gang's hideout. They made their home in an empty Bradle mill, the great hulking carcasses of the Jugglans still laying beside the building where they once walked in their wheels, preserved by their ever flowing flap-juice. Bodega sat in the top of his tower waiting, thinking about his life, his ex-wife, the younger Humber in Kymer's office and just how good it'll be to melt those Tunups.
Bodega lay there patiently for a good three hours. He had to fight the urge not to vape, as his cover had been blown that way one too many times before, even if it was as smooth as a Kim-bat's juice. But, as he was fantasising about the Kim-bat juice all over him, he felt a cold, wet hand on the back of his neck. He froze, muscles tense, eyes shut. He recognised that hand, that gritty skin, that clammy oil... A Tunup.
Will Bodega get out of this alive? Will his blood be poured into a Kork sack? Will he ever get that Humber girl to sleep with him? Find out... At some point!