[Peter grits his teeth, tightening his grip on the man's throat. He is careful with his grip, even if he's desperate to just shake Fitzberg a little bit.

Being shot hurts. Fuck.]

You're not helping your case here.

[The quiet of the morning doesn't last long. Peter can hear movement in rooms nearby, he already knows they won't be alone for very long. Peter's voice is cool, calm, even as blood starts to stain the fabric of his clothes.]

If you're lucky, you'll be exiled to another colony. If you're not lucky, you're going to be living in the brig.