Teal is the treason
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. And I can tell you they’re right. I don’t hear one decibel from Jenzy, not one sigh, after I puncture the left elbow of his space suit with a pencil-sized laser. He sways slowly left and right, and with his luminescent helmet, all tangled in cables, poor Jenzy looks like one of those long-horned summer stag beetles, struggling for footing when turned on their back. He stops trembling in a few seconds but I know he isn’t dead yet, he wouldn't be until all his body fluids boil and hiss their way out of ruptured tissues.
