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- Ignatio Delgado ducked behind a bulkhead next to a set of cargo containers, the red paint peeling off their ribbed metal surfaces, just as a burst of plasma hit. The dull metal he hid behind glowed-hot tiny molten gobs dripping then spitting as they hit the cold deck near his feet.
- The spiny quilled mohawks on their skulls twitched. The sound of plasma shots hit the other side of the container and reverberated through the hold.-Prologue
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