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    Summary

    “Is this what you wanted?” Hyperlaser says, dryly, and Katana can’t tell if he's teasing, or being serious. Maybe it’s a mix of both. Despite the fact they’ve barely drunk anything, he can still taste the warm remnants of whiskey on Hyperlaser’s breath.

    Any response Katana would have made is cut off by sudden sharp cold weight on his neck. He fights the urge to shiver, exhaling a strained breath instead. The gun is pressing down hard enough to leave a bruise, Katana almost hopes it does.

    Or, on the dead planet of Eden-227, a little show of the gun turns friskier than intended.

    Language:
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