For Trak, firing weapons was like deleting a long-hidden virus or scratching an hard-to-reach itch.
He wasn't sure about that itch thing, but Daniel was always saying it about beer.
Given what Trak knew about his friend's need for alcohol, Trak felt the comparison was apt.
He quickly replayed his memory of the last time he'd accessed his armory.
It had been ten years earlier, the day he decided to take a vacation to the uninhabited third moon of Daniel’s home planet.
Fifteen-year-old Daniel had been attending a school virtual, and while Daniel was studying or, more likely, goofing off, Trak visited Empty, one of the small lunar bodies orbiting Fragged.
As its name implied, Empty was nothing but sand and meteorite dust.
In one afternoon, Trak turned most of it to glass.
No one died, thought his darker self. What a waste.
A guilty pleasure, he thought, correcting the voice.
But here on Stuck Station, where he was certain no one would be harmed, Trak didn't have to hold back.
Without hesitation, he activated the scorcher in his left arm and sprayed flaming gel onto the ceiling, watching the waves of fire heave above him.
The scorcher would melt diamondglass like a star would melt ice, but all it did here was make the hallway even hotter.
At the same time, Trak released a swarm of acid mites from his chest cavity. They hurled themselves onto the nearest wall.
Tiny and artificial, the metallic insects swarmed what they considered the most vulnerable point and burst, sending blobs of corrosive fluid in every direction.
He’d seen their acid eat through to a planet's core, but in this corridor that same acid fell to the ground in puddles and bubbled impotently.