PROPSITI
The COMPOSER
Stupid directors. Stupid, stupid.
They had met that idiotic flying girl. The Composer knew that for a fact. And they just let her run away, without so much as “You know, a flier would really help us out.” Stupid, stupid directors. Also, couldn't she have shot Anders with the calciophage in the process? Would have made life easier.
“Lakerine,” the Composer spat, ripping out the intestines of some stupid ghoul who had tried an ambush in an alley. “What's going on outside?”
A voice sounded inside the Composer's skull.
The Composer's teeth ground hard enough for a few of them to crack. “Because right now it's boring. No one's doing anything interesting. The cultures have fortified. I could turn them, but no, that would be genocide. You and your stupid rules...”
The Composer snorted in derision. Right, the work. Well, it didn't really matter whose idea it was, the plan was being followed regardless.
“Of course not,” the Composer muttered. The ghoul's spine was ripped out. “He's a gutless bastard.”
Lakerine didn't bother to acknowledge the pun.
The Composer frowned. “Isn't the Charon base just five guys in a lab?”
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The Composer sighed. Who cared if a bunch of stuffy scientists found some stupid meteorite? But it was important to Lakerine and the others, so there was no need to say anything.
The Composer paused. That was interesting. “How is that possible?”
“There's no reason for them to deviate. They should be exactly where they're expected. Did Vearon backtrack their path?”
The Composer cracked a few more of the ghoul's ribs. Very odd. The para were... well, honestly, they weren't really very important, but finding out they weren't where they're supposed to be was like finding water running uphill. Odd.
It was a little interesting, but not really worth worrying about. “I don't care about Vearon's stupid cyborgs, sage. Give me something else.”
The Composer took the ghoul's leg in both hands and broke it off at the knee. “Why would he be? I thought Butler always handled that kind of thing. Propaganda, information control.” At least, that was what was assumed. The Composer wasn't interested in the intelligence side of things. Killing things was more fun.
There was a laugh. “Unlikely.”
The Composer gave a derisive snort. “He's a moron. Even I know that they'll never accept help from an outsider.”
“That just means it tastes better.”
Lakerine sighed.
“Easy enough.”
The Composer reached into the ghoul's chest and finally pulled out his heart, dripping in rich blood, a little thicker than in a baseline human.
“Well, that's no fun. I don't get to kill nearly enough people.”
Then the Composer ate the heart.