Who do you think?

The Krothian’s cybernetic eye whirred ominously as it projected a flickering hologram into the steam-filled shower stall. The image showed Susan’s face—mid-snarl, blood streaked across her cheek—with *WANTED* stamped in pulsing Galactic Common above it. Below, the bounty amount scrolled: enough credits to buy a small moon or, more likely, a lifetime supply of the kind of trouble Susan specialized in.

Adam reached for the vibro-blade on the shower floor without breaking eye contact. "That’s a really unflattering picture of you."

The Krothian's grin was a slow, predatory thing, revealing teeth filed to points and a tongue split down the middle. "Ghorrax wants you alive," it rumbled, stepping into the shower stall with deliberate menace. Water hissed against its armored chest plate, the scent of ozone and rusted metal thickening the steam.

Susan wiped water from her eyes, her fingers lingering near the vibro-blade Adam had nudged toward her with his foot. "Tell Ghorrax he can fuck off."

The Krothian's cybernetic eye whirred as it zoomed in on Susan's bruised ribs—fresh claw marks from the Voraxian standing out against older scars. Its nostrils flared. "You smell like pack," it mused, leaning down until its tusks framed her face. "Voraxian filth."