Talk with the Kid.

The Kid paces back and forth in the small space between your bed and the bubbling stovetop. You hated it when he did this but it was the only way he could "think under stressful situations". After a while of him pacing silently and you taking imaginary swigs of your empty whisky he stops and pounces on the bed next to you.

"I just don't get it, Gael. This just sounds like slavery with extra steps."

"Well, yeah."

"And you're O.K with that?"

Was I O.K with it? You weren't too sure but there wasn't another choice in the matter. It was either starve to **** or embark on this morally questionable job with your new, eccentric employer. After a bit of silence, the Kid rolls around, scruffing up his already messy hair. You absent-mindedly stared as the bits of dust danced around the setting sun rays.

"I mean, it is wrong. Right, Gael?"

"It's backed by the Federation."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want to know what you think."

"It doesn't matter what I think. It's what I have to do now."

You knew this isn't the answer he wanted. Maybe you were avoiding the question yourself in a feeble attempt to cope. Maybe you shouldn't have told the Kid anything. Maybe the less he knew, the better.

"I hate this." The Kid slid off the bed and headed towards the door. "If you want to know what I think, I think this whole thing is fucked."

You shrug which makes him roll his eyes. He closes the door behind him and you can hear his footsteps echo down the metal stairwell. You could have probably used his company tonight more than ever but you didn't blame him for leaving. You haven't felt this alone in a while.