Prompt: Write a story in the epic genre. It's about a ruthless murderer and should include a milkshake. Also use the sentence 'You shouldn't have heard that.' Bonus prompt: The story takes place in space.
It was twilight on the station when he slipped from his quarters with the intent to kill Chancellor Green.
The station was always in some sort of twilight, whether the fading light came from from the dying star which illuminated this system or from the automatic diodes that flickered to life at the end of every revolution.
Zai didn’t much care where the amber glow came from; twilight was the best time for killings. Something about the end of a day striking a parallel with the end of a life, perhaps. He passed by locked doors and bars with patrons drinking away their last remaining credits out of glasses that shone and gleamed like jewels. He didn’t sneak though the crowds. Sneaking implied the need to sneak. It implied that the sneaker was up to nefarious deeds. Striding with confidence, however, implied the strider had purpose. There was a balance, of course, a perfect pace that let Zai become nearly invisible: an even gait, a dash of lost-in-his-own-thoughts, a sprinkle of happiness that forced people to forget about him, because happiness inspired jealousy which, without fail, inspired introspection.
No one remembered an unremarkable man after they had a good bout of wondering why they weren’t happier themselves.
He got as far as the chancellor’s doors without being noticed. The guard wasn’t an issue—Zai ended that life with a finely-placed jab from a concealed dura-blade in his sleeve. He hefted the slack figure over his shoulder.
The station was old. In its construction, the architects had planned for numerous screens and controls through every hallway: drink dispensers, communications monitors, instrument panels that dialed out and allowed conversation through highly dated systems. By the time the station had been fit for habitation, all of these concepts had become obsolete. The empty spaces still existed though, as large gaps behind loose slabs of steel.
Zai shoved the once-guard into one of them.
He entered the chancellor’s quarters in the midst of a conversation. Chancellor Green was holding a palm-sized sphere from which projected a three-dimensional rendition of a woman. The image was transparent, and Zai could see her rub her forehead even though she was faced away from him. Green hadn’t even noticed Zai enter.
“Come on,” the chancellor said. Cloying, pleading. “It’s one detention center. Who’ll miss ‘em?” He grabbed a large glass filled with murky brown liquid from a nearby table.
A milkshake, Zai thought. He wondered where the milk had come from. Or the chocolate. Green slurped noisily, not even seeming to appreciate what he was ingesting. That one slurp must have cost over two hundred credits.
“I’ll do what I can,” the woman said, resigned. “Give me a few cycles.” Her projection quavered and disappeared.
Then, finally, Chancellor Green glanced up. It took a moment from when he saw Zai for the comprehension to settle. The milkshake fell out of his limp hand and shattered, spilling milk and chocolate and sweet fat over the floor. Liquid money, all wasted.
“You shouldn’t have heard that,” Green said. His cheeks trembled, his nostrils flared. “I’ll call for my guard and then they’ll kill you before you can think of telling anyone ab—”
“Your guard is dead.”
Green didn’t even bother to stand. Milkshake coated his slippers, matting the fur of whatever poor beast had been skinned to keep his wrinkled toes warm.
After, Zai wiped his blade and cleaned his shoes. The hallway held the same amber glow as when he had entered, not five minutes earlier. No one saw him leave.
No one ever did.
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