"The safety is off, Malcolm."
Kira leveled the pistol at the center of his chest. The click of the weapon engaged echoed through the quiet command center. She stood near the armory door while her hands trembled against the cold polymer grip.
Malcolm did not flinch. He did not raise his hands in surrender or beg for his life. He stood beside the polished mahogany desk and looked at the dark barrel of her g*n.
"You possess a logical survival imperative," Malcolm stated. His tone remained devoid of emotional fluctuation. "General Varga offered you a full military pardon and a warm bed. I am offering you a dead engine and a monolithic tungsten wall."
My lungs are burning, Kira processed the suffocating anxiety closing her throat. Pains radiated up her bandaged thigh and sent a wave of raw
