I yanked her wrist towards me and leaned in to whisper, "pickpocket someone else."
She tried to rub her bosoms in that form fitting dress against me.
Damn sticky bitch.
I side stepped to stop her from brushing against my body. Not good if she found out about my hidden weapons strapped on my body.
Nothing worse than being treated as an unsuspecting moron.
Everything about the female reeked of a slave owned by the criminal syndicates. Her pimp lurked nearby, monitoring all her actions.
Live flesh traders, slavers or pimps are a common sight in almost every planet and commercial space stations. They brought their herds of both male and female slaves to serve every biological need of their customers.
Flesh trade is illegal in Eden. Yet transacted in plain sight. Made possible by the criminal elements connected to powerful politicians.
My optical implants zeroed in on the minute fading but uneven surgical scars on her face, probably a surgical change of her species' unique characteristic performed illegally by unregistered surgeons, under her owner's instruction.
Her brown hair stunk of cheap dye to mimic a Haolean female.
If she hawked her services, instead of trying to steal from me, my refusal would resolve quickly this situation.
These types of females annoyed me with their desperate seduction attempts to the point of an insatiable urge to smash their faces into some hard object.
They overestimated their use of face and body as charms to wiggle their way out of trouble.
Permanently rearranging their facial features, or maiming them, served as the best form of punishment. Her slaver or pimp will just replace her with another female.
Unfortunately, this was neither the place nor the time. That didn't stop my eyes from studying her perfectly slender neck for the sweet spot to snap it.
Necks are one of the most vulnerable parts of almost all species with a central nervous system, humanoid bipedal or animals.
The most satisfying way of snapping necks was to aim at the weakest connecting point, often mid way of neck on most humanoid species. Then twist it with force.
Those arduous years of memorising several species' anatomical structures for weak points came in useful for combat.
Most species can not regenerate serious injuries on their neck and spinal cords.
My instinct to kill at a slight was far more heightened than most mercenaries.
Of course, it depended on the individual.
To my knowledge, my kill counts surpassed the common serial-killer-for-hire on Narakan system, even without assassination jobs.
Most of my kill counts came from shooting down a ship or blowing up a fleet in the military. Shooting down ships felt less personal. More like gaming for high scores on a simulator machine.
To snuff the life out of able individuals with my own hands stirred up unexplainable feelings in me. A spur of a good fight started my heart pumping. Heightened senses and smell of blood and sweat in the air never failed to increase my euphoria.
Hopeless despair gleaming in their eyes when the prey realised their life was like a flame, easily extinguished.
Those feelings make me feel alive.
The teenagers earlier won't give me that same thrill - there was no joy in picking on the weaker.
However, like her, the Thorian at the border might, if not for the limited space which would disadvantage me in the fight, and the thought of spending time in a detention center.
Never get caught red handed in killing was a habit the military imprinted on me.
And now I have a prey struggling in my hand.
"You're fast," she smiled, trying to ease her wrist out of my grip.
I tightened my grip while her body released a sweet pheromonal perfume to attempt an escape from her predicament.
Unfortunately, those don't work on me.
The pheromones worked on most humanoid male species.
I may look male, but it was how the geneticists engineered me, and how the military painstakingly trained to act like one. The Kamuy military factored in the honey traps when they first created the military class, like me.
She tried struggling and raised her voice, "HOW—"
"PICK—" I cut her off while matching her volume.
"Alright, alright!" She turned and looked at the passing travellers who kept on walking, pretending not to look at us.
Then her face turned to the side where some of the shady males stood.
I side eyed towards the direction of her focus. One male turned around, pretending to look at another female in the square.
Her wimpy pimp wasn't coming to her rescue.
The rest kept their eyes on the other wandering females under their control, approaching travellers. In mercenary slang, those females are hustling a mark, a horny male as the slang goes.
Driven to desperation of mating pheromones, the standard tight revealing but gaudy clothing with the swaying hips on high heels, often worked on tempting the mark's brain to the mushy hormonal side of mating.
I often wondered about the consequences of interspecies mating through this primitive method.
And shuddered at the thought.
Then again, I never met a hybrid. Maybe they exist, or maybe they don't because of biological incompatibilities.
She switched to a harder tactic.
"Well now," she licked her lips slowly as her other hand wandered back towards the opening in my black coat. "I think you're a fun guy to hang out with - I do offer normal fun time or some freaky fun services."
Potential witnesses and hidden surveillance cameras stopped her from flipping on me, by changing her status of perpetrator to victim.
I released my grip to get her away from me. She took a little stumble and quickly steadied herself with hands on the hips to emphasise curves, instead of fleeing.
"Walk away now," I warned.
"Look, I'll be in deep shit if I don't pull," she pleaded with me while trying to keep up with my pace.
No point using the pity card on me.
"SURVEILLANCE DRONES… THEY ARE COMING!" A sudden yell rang out across the square.
Panic ensued among the dodgy looking loiterers and the sound of pitter patter resounded while the other travellers, like I, watched them flee in bewilderment.
I looked up at the far away round black dots emerging from the clouds, growing bigger as they flew nearer towards us. They looked too high to be surveillance drones.
Surveillance drones hardly turned up in droves. My optical implant narrowed on the approaching drones.
I turned my head to where that bothersome female was earlier. She disappeared together with the rest, including the shady males.
[Alert: 60 armed drones heading vector 34.5, altitude degree 69, angle 32]
After the calculation, the optical implant in my eye further narrowed down on one drone for identification.
The approaching drones are not the usual round surveillance drones but the much bigger winged military guard drones with rounded heads. They are flying in formation, heading somewhere over the square to a place some distance away.
The optical implant narrowed in on the Perunian symbol, a double horned axe, in the middle of the Great Swirl's Council logo on the military drone.
[Armed Drones: plasma disruptor detected]
[Propulsion: Ion-Plasma engines]
My optical implant highlighted the plasma disruptors mounted on the wings and the engines on the drones with red circles to warn me.
There are many categories of armed drones, depending on their mounted weapons. They ranged from the smaller single target to the larger area-wide drones.
Plasma disruptors are the deadliest category of shoot-to-kill weapon to install on a drone. Their burst created a wide radius of collateral damage.
Why would the Eden authorities allow this type of drones to do a fly over crowded areas?
Patrolling guards around the area appeared unfazed by the passing drones, while some visitors and travellers rushed to the square and took out their devices to record the drones flying over us.
A rumbling sound like thunder grew louder in the cloudy skies from above.
That didn't come from the drones.
Some in the crowd grew uneasy with the growing sound and scrambled back into the mall.
I could feel the vibrations on the ground increasing from the sound.
What in the galaxies is going on?