[center] [h1] Closing up Shop [/h1] [/center] 

By the time Nisvillia made her way down into the Catwalk, the air of Outpost 57 was thick with black smoke and crackling fire.
 
“Whatever your brother has set in motion, the people of this station are about to pay the price.” The obese redhead scowled, giving Typho a sharp prod forwards. 

“I can be accused of a great many things,” the lean figure spluttered in a sour tone “but I cannot be expected to accept responsibility for my brother’s actions!” 

“Perhaps not,” Nisvillia cracked a wicked grin “but you’re about to pay the price for them.” 

The twin mechanical doors slid open, and soon the huge ginger was puffing and panting and squeezing her way back through the all-too-familiar narrow tunnels, this time guiding a pompous gamble with her. 

“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you back here so soon.” Thermatus said when the pair came stumbling into the cramped little chamber he called home, raising one eyebrow. “Who’s your friend?” 

“Typho Almano,” Nisvillia smirked by way of introduction “lesser-known older brother.” 

“The amount you back-alley scum have been throwing my name about the place, I’m not even sure if that’s true anymore.” Typho grumbled. She thudded him in the back of the neck with her las pistol, causing him to let out a little yelp and then fall silent. 

“Well, well, well,” Thermatus grinned “It does appear you’ve outdone yourself, Blissponis.” 

“And maybe handed us a way to keep out of this Emperor-dammed gang war…” he added after a brief pause. 

“Please! You can’t do this!” Typho squawked frantically “It’s completely immoral!” 

“One man’s life to save several?” Nisvillia chuckled “I’m sure I’ll live.” 

“You aren’t doing this to save anyone other than yourself, you great greasy ball!” The gambler bellowed, going red in the face. 

“True, true,” she gave her broad shoulders a shrug “Still, there’s always the chance your dear sweet brother will keep you as his personal pin-cushion instead of actually killing you.” 

He tried to push back past her, but her heavy fist went barrelling into his mouth, knocking him to the floor. 

Typho lay in a heap on the ground, sobbing bitter tears whilst he clasped one hand over his jaw. Blood was pooling out of his mouth and splattering on the floor, landing with a wet pitter-patter. 

“What are you wanting in return, Blissponis?” Thermatus, ever the entrepreneur, asked astutely, ignoring Typho as he blubbered and bled and wailed. 

“Enough Thrones to buy my way off of this station,” She said firmly “and maybe a little something on the side to help with future endeavours.” 

“Done.”