The spacecraft’s engines generated a symphony of echoes as they weaved through the urban landscape, bouncing off the spiral, steel-peaked buildings. With its circular helipad adorned with gleaming glass walls, the new P.J. Waxit headquarters received Melekh’s jetted space vehicle. A gentle whirring sound reverberated as the landing gear touched the pad.
The lanky humanoids, dressed in blue and black bodysuits with knee-length black boots, approached the vessel with purposeful steps to clean, refuel, and unload luggage. They chatted with each other with a robotic tonal sound.
Melekh’s demanding baritone voice resonated around the cabin while he returned messages. Two humanoid staff scrambled to finish their jobs, heard his voice, stopped, angled their heads, jerked, and slipped out the exit.
A ringing tone echoed. Melekh touched the screen, and a man appeared. He kept his face focused on his employee. He placed his coffee in the cupholder.
“Are you sure the idiots detonated my refiner?”
“Yes, sir. Flames and smoke billow through the atmosphere. Accident personnel helped to recover the dead. The men betrayed your contracts, knowing your power to kill.”
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