A gout of warm, sticky fluid splashed across his face and hands, and he scampered to his feet with a grunt of disgust, backing quickly away from the body until he struck up against the wall by the fridge once again. The blood continued to pour from the hole in her throat, the intensity of the stream increasing and decreasing with each beat of her still pumping heart. When the muscle gave out a few seconds later, the pulsating flow was reduced to a slow but steady trickle.

Pel returned from the back room less than a minute later. He raised one eyebrow at the blood covering Grayson, but didn't speak. Moving calmly, he approached Keo's body on the floor and bent down to check for a pulse, stepping carefully over the expanding pool of blood so as not to stain his shoes. Satisfied, he stood up and settled back into the seat he'd been relaxing in earlier.

"Nice work, Killer," he said with a soft chuckle.

Grayson was still standing against the wall beside the fridge. He had watched Keo's life rapidly bleeding away without moving, transfixed by the gruesome scene.

"Menneau's dead?" he asked. A stupid question, but as the adrenaline rush of his first kill faded his mind felt dull and slow.

Pel nodded. "Not nearly as messy as this, though. I like to keep my bodies neat." He reached for the headphones still sitting on the seat beside him.

"Should we clean up the blood?"

"No point," Pel informed him, sliding the headphones over his ears. "Soon as we rendezvous with the pickup team, they're just going to dump this whole ship into the nearest sun.

"Don't forget to claim your trophy," the big man added as he closed his eyes, his body beginning to rock in time to the music's rhythm once again.