Every move the nanobots took brought a new wave of torment, while they tried to repair the missing muscles that once covered his ribs. Several times in his life he’d felt the sting of nanobot healing. He’d seen them repair wounds that would have easily killed a man. Those had been the advanced Velothian ones, the bots working on him now, were the lesser grade Republic models. It was the best the damned trader’s ship had stored in the med pack. Lynch took those and a few synth pads to replicate his lost skin. There was no escaping a scar this time. He took another swig of whiskey, reminding himself a scar was a small price to pay for still being alive.
The ruined armor he’d worn for so long, he discarded for a more comfortable black shirt and jeans. Without the familiar weight, he felt almost naked. For years he’d worn the armor, now it was gone. Damn how he felt vulnerable. Free from the debilitating pain, he forced his mind back on searching the news vids for any sign of where the Arook brothers were hiding.
No matter how much he stared at the screen, he still couldn’t gleam any new information. Almost as if the bastards had vanished. In the middle of a promising story, the door to the office slid open, revealing a weasel of a man in a faded tan suit. The harsh morning sun burst into the small room, concealing the man in shadow. Only when the door closed did he see the abject fear etched on the man’s face. One look at the man and Mason knew he wouldn’t like him. What the bastard wanted was another matter altogether, more than likely something about the slaves.