“I run a cargo ship, Xyn. Why in the hells did you call me for this?”
The round little Ixthian put down his datadex and scowled. He wiped sweaty silver hands down the front of his…
His palette was black night and red blood and sharp, broken white bones. His music was muffled screams and the sound of bodies hitting the floor. He stared down at his canvas of twisted bodies and broken glass.