SADY SALU

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Action and Adventure  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sady Salu: Interstellar Bounty Huntress is on a track and kill or capture mission.

Submitted: December 23, 2014

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Submitted: December 23, 2014

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SADY SALU

In space, in the Jorn Galaxy, is Harpa. An isolated, brown planet in the shape of a cone.

In a small, empty saloon that is dim, fluorescent and dirty with damp, moldy, peeling walls is a POCKMARKED BARTENDER. He is 50, white and fat with red hair and red stubble and sweat and grime in the folds of his neck. He is wearing a brown vest, a black, torn T-shirt with red neck hair sticking out of the collar, brown cargo pants and hunter orange boots.

POCKMARKED BARTENDER
(shitty)
What do ya want?

SADY 
A blowjob.

After a pause:

POCKMARKED BARTENDER 
Excuse me?

SADY SALU. She is 29 (but looks 22) and black, wearing heavy neon pink eye shadow, her hair is rainbow and cut in a bob and on the right side of her neck is a tattoo of a cube. From her breasts, up to her shoulders and down to her shoulder blades is smooth, plastic, nude-colored body armor. Underneath it she is wearing a gray leotard. Around her waist is a white utility belt with pouches and a laser gun that resembles a flashlight. On her feet are smooth, plastic, nude-colored boots that match her upper body armor. Her right arm, from the elbow down, is white, grey, sleek, glass and cybernetic with a built-in computer console.

SADY 
It’s a drink.

POCKMARKED BARTENDER 
Never heard of it.

SADY 
How ‘bout Rude Real Rim? You heard a him?

POCKMARKED BARTENDER 
No.

SADY
Yeah. He’s here. I know he’s here. I broke two arms and tore an ear to know he’s here. So have me ask you again. I dare you. Please.

POCKMARKED BARTENDER 
Fuck you bitch.

SADY
Don’t call me bitch. No one calls me bitch. Don’t be silly. You know better.

POCKMARKED BARTENDER
Oh I do do I? And why’s that? Bitch.

SADY
Because I’m me.

POCKMARKED BARTENDER
And who the fuck are you? Bitch.

SADY 
You know who I am. 
(twists head to reveal cube tattoo)
You know the cube.

The Pockmarked Bartender glances at the cube tattoo on the right side of Sady’s neck. His eyes reveal he recognizes it. This gives him pause.

But nevertheless:

POCKMARKED BARTENDER 
Go fuck your cunt. Bitch.

Sady smiles.

SADY 
You talk tall. Now. But waste my time more and we’ll just see how intimidatin’ your words sound when you ain’t got no fuckin’ tongue.

The Pockmarked Bartender pulls out a long knife and with severe intimidation he stares Sady down. Sady counters with a cold, neutral stare. And over the course of the next minute she sticks out her tongue, makes sexual gestures, makes a taco shell, licks the side of her mouth, puts her tongue back in her mouth, winks, burps, makes beeping noises, gestures: I Love You, kisses the air twice and returns to the cold, neutral stare that morphs into severe, intense, disturbed intimidation as her blue pupils dilate and turn black, haunted and glassy.

Five seconds pass.

POCKMARKED BARTENDER 
(mumbles quietly) 
Backroom.

SADY 
What?!

POCKMARKED BARTENDER 
(louder through gritted teeth)
Back. Room.

SADY 
Good for you yo.
(pause) 
Now gimme a blowjob. Bitch.

CLICK HERE

In a dark corridor Sady slowly makes her way, holding out her cybernetic arm, like a traffic cop gesturing you to stop, as she points her palm at the walls. From her cybernetic arm’s built-in computer console: a holographic projection of an infrared 3D view of what is behind those walls. So far no one. Sady turns the corner. Sees a door. And points her palm at it as she approaches. The holographic 3D infrared projection shows, behind the door: someone sitting at a table. Sady lowers her arm and draws her laser gun.

In the room, which is dark, full of crates and chairs, is RUDE REAL RIM. He is 40, hairless, white as in the color not Caucasian, has yellow bloodshot eyes with white pupils, is junkie thin and is shirtless, only wearing white shorts, white socks and white sneakers. He is miserable, drunk and droopy-eyed, staring at a liquor bottle and a shot glass on the table.

The door is kicked in.

Rude Real Rim does not flinch. Too out of it he remains ever still as he just stares.

Sady enters the room. Flips the table up, over and out of the way and points her laser gun at Rude Real Rim. Who is staring where the liquor bottle and shot glass were on the table.

SADY 
Rude Real Rim. For the collection and transportation of underage sex slaves over three star systems: you’re wanted dead or alive. Take your pick.

Rude Real Rim does not acknowledge Sady so she snaps her finger in his face and he slowly looks up at her with his mouth agape and his composure and acuity disoriented.

RUDE REAL RIM 
… uh… aliv—

BLAST! A flaming, electric laser ball enters Rude Real Rim’s chest and exits out his back.

SADY
I’m sorry what?

Rude Real Rim dead, still sitting in his chair with his head leaning back. Sady holsters her laser gun and with her left hand opens Rude Real Rim’s left eyelid and holds out her palm of her cybernetic arm to scan the pupil. From Sady’s cybernetic arm’s built-in computer console: a Cha-Ching! noise sounds as a holographic 3D projection pops up that reads:

$30,000
GREAT JOB! 
NEW BOUNTY?
YES | NO

Sady glances at dead Rude Real Rim before pressing: YES


© Copyright 2017 Kevin McCray. All rights reserved.

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