He could only imagine how they looked to the overseer; a ring of stinking, dripping rictuses, staring down and growling. It nearly ended there, quick and bloody as it had done for the ray. The overseer only lived through the first ten seconds because the others were waiting for Wrack to take the first bite. And although his belly was full of beluga meat, his mouth urged dreadfully to bite: to tear, and gnash, and take back every act of Tavuto’s sneering cruelty with his teeth. But he couldn’t, because the overseer was terrified, and helpless, and—mad as the term was on this ship—human. Just like they were. “Please don’t eat me,” she whispered, like a little girl trapped inside a steel drum. “Please don’t eat me, please. Please.” Yellow tears pooled in the corners of her eyes as she stared into Wrack’s face. “Please,” she whispered again. He clenched his jaw, and understood there had to be a reason, and quickly, for this not to end in torn meat. If he didn’t want to preside over the dismemberment of another human being, no matter how callous they were, this had to become an opportunity.
