“Un-fucking-believable,”
Colonel Dagon grunted while staring at the ashen-faced Ensign Balin. “You let
him die because you wanted to watch the fireworks show?”
“No,” Balin
forced himself not to shout, “you misheard.” He huffed, “he’s passed out in the
Break Room. He needs a doctor.”
“Then why is
he here?”
Unable to
control himself, Balin blurted, “he and his bird freaked in the hospital. Demanded
to come here. Thinks he’s being hunted.”
“He is.”
The cousins silently stared at each other, heads tilted at matching angles.
Balin’s shoulders
slumped as the weight hit him, “war…” trailing off, his lips slammed shut
forming a thin line of regret.
