Shafts of slanting moonlight made pale blue pools, crisscrossed with the shadows of overhead wires, on the concrete path beneath the soles of the Glukkon's heavily polished black shoes and the squeaking feet of his Slig valet's mechanical pants. Seeing a dim yellow glow and neon sign announcing the entrance to a 24-hour market further along the street, Bob dragged his mind away from his current financial crisis. Turning to his valet the chump said, "Well, I guess we'll be needing to get some fleech food. They were lookin' kinda hungry this morning - it was creepin' me out."
"Sure thing, boss!"
"And uh... you wanna grab some brew Satodday?"
"First one's on me, boss!"
They entered the seedy marketplace, filled with shadowy stalls and even more shadowy stallholders. After checking his purse - which weighed dismally little - and haggling for some time, Bob managed to pay for a bag of the discussed fleech food, a can of cheap oil for his valet's pants and a couple of paramite (mostly) pies for their dinner. Strolling back to their run-down apartment and trying to ignore the taste of the food, the loudspeakers that stood at the street corners blared more warnings about Abe, the Mudokon terrorist. General Dripik, once he remembered his name, spoke briefly on the situation, and Bob and his valet shook their heads at the idiocy of it all. The valet considered that the big cheeses were being very inefficient at getting hold of Abe but did agree that the terrorist should be caught and shot; Bob, however, wondered. He himself had met only one Mudokon in his life, on a 'Bring your Pet to School Day' many years ago. To Bob he had seemed a very pleasant sort of a fellow, and the bruises across his back still brought a tear to the big Glukkon's eye. Glancing up at the moon above them and seeing the Mudokon handprint across it, he knew that he would do anything he could, whatever it cost, to free all Mudokons and put an end to their slavery for once and for all.
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