Seven hundred years ago, Haadam Base had been a thriving medieval city-state, whatever that was (he’d hardly paid attention in the primer class). The high-climbing city walls kept the guards in and curious tourists out, and the fields and vineyards surrounding the mesa provided food and covered the entrance to the dock. They kept the atmosphere intimidating, with formal threatening signs in different languages on the few roads leading there. It could have been the military base of some barely friendly foreign nation, and they made sure to act that way any time a group of soldiers ventured off base (which was almost never, and things got so boring sometimes).

There was a quarter on the corner of the carpet.

The noise it had made when it struck.  The blood that was rapidly spreading across his clothes.  The raspy way he was breathing and the saliva slowly trickling from between his lips.