ã€ŠBAMG: Bad Ass Magical Girlsã€‹


 Interception.

    I woke in the dark, to the sound of the music. The music made my head foggy and empty.

    I couldn¡¯t remember anything, all I had in the black of the familiar space, was the music. I would wake to it, be tortured by it, and sleep to its unending drone.

    It filled the air, so thick it was hard to breathe. Numbing my mind, numbing my body, my scenes, my spirit. It deeply resonated through every molecule.

    Every time I woke, it was the first time, every time, I sleep the last, only to begin again, anew. Each time I would lose a piece of myself, a misshapen thing only reminiscent of the one that came before sitting in my place, and I knew it.

    Each time the signal would pound through me, resonating with me, my body trembling more and more, each signal worse than before. Stuck in my own personal hell.

    My ears were numb, but I was fairly sure I was screaming something.

    My mind and body acted discretely, separated from one another. It was me, but it was not me, or at least, not me as I was born. I was not born with my flesh warped by artifacts, my skin was not supposed to be stiff like metal, and the rings upon my fingers, never aging, were far older than me. At some point, I had gone from flesh to whatever I was now.

    When did I do it¡­ Why did I do it¡­ I can¡¯t remember. Am I my mind or body? Is there a difference, or can I simply not remember my actions as I make them?

    Is this hell?

    How¡­ how did I get here?

    How did I get here?

    How did I get here!

    HOW.

    TELL ME.

    GIVE ME BACK MY MEMORY.

    I screamed without mouth, or maybe I did, but I could not remember screaming it aloud.

    The song, the sound, the signal kept going. Uncaring of my state. My body kept flailing, its animal flailing, smashing its head into pieces of my cell as I lost it.

    It, or me, was hurting itself or myself, bleeding fluid that was not quite blood, not quite not blood, onto the table before me while still restrained in the chair.

    Each time, the signal took offence. Screaming at me, screeching in its static and sound and with the silence between them.

    My body slammed my head into the flat plane until the world darkened, and the sound faded in my perception as I slid into unconsciousness.

    What can I still remember?

    What do I remember¡­

    ¡°Bandit, what do you remember about the plan?¡± The man on the radio asks me.

    It made me start. I was lying down in a nook of sand next to a stone road, and a bike.

    ¡°Christ, MC, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Trust me a little, I remember the plan, it¡¯s not rocket science.¡± I told him.

    ¡°Aha,¡± he said, his tone clear over my headset, ¡°Well, then you won¡¯t mind me asking you to repeat it.¡± He asked me.

    I sighed before explaining, ¡°Immobilize, pick off, move in and clear, scavenge, destroy, then exfiltrate. As I said, not rocket science. It¡¯s not my first job MC, I¡¯ve got this,¡± I told him.

    He took a few moments to answer, ¡°You have the right process, but remember, it needs to look like a robbery. Smash and grab, indiscriminate.¡± He told me.

    ¡°It is going to be a robbery; I¡¯m hitting a caravan for an artifact, for fuck¡¯s sake.¡± I chided.

    ¡°Yes, but it needs to look like you robbed them to rob them, not to steal an artifact, make sure to empty pockets, and take anything precious. If you can bring it back, I¡¯ll make sure to change it for credits.¡± He told me.

    I gasped, faux shock in my tone, ¡°Old man, you told me you would never do it again. I¡¯ve needed to pass around random junk for credits for forever. And now you¡¯re just going to do it all for me? Is it my birthdate already?¡± I asked him.

    A deep sigh came from the other end of the radio.

    ¡°Listen, it¡¯s part of the deposit for the job, don¡¯t go thinking it¡¯s out of the kindness of my heart. Besides Bandit, you still need to drag it away, how much you bring back to our rendezvous is up to you. Think of it as a bonus.¡± He told me, uninterest heavy in his tone.

    He hated being called familiarly, but when you were a mercenary, calm and collected was what you were looking for in a captain, not a buddy. That and our contract never forced me to use ''Captin'' or ''Mission Control'', I enjoyed it so much I took a cut pay raise when we renewed our contract so I could keep doing it.

    ¡°Loud and clear MC. Am I good to go?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°Yes, you¡¯re good to go. Remain radio silent from here on out, they supposedly might be able to detect you otherwise. Over and out.¡± Mission control told me.

    I switched off the transceiver in my pack, pulled the bit off my head with the microphone and got down and waited.

    It was hot out in one of the remote parts of Gabriel¡¯s un-terraformed red deserts. I had to keep all of my gear under my poncho to stop it from cooking me when I held it.

    Peaking my hat-covered head over my dune once in a while to check if the transport was coming. Keeping the dust out of my eyes, mouth and nose with a simple head wrapping of fabric that was tucked into my jacket.

    I waited, running my hands over my gear and peeking until two hours later, way out on the horizon, I saw the train of land rovers come into view.

    Their tires kicked up a smallish plume of red sand as they moved down the road.

    ¡°Here we go then.¡±

    I started setting up, pulling out one of my heavily modified hand cannons. My beautiful beautiful, hand cannon was originally one of the mass-produced, somewhat clunky model 3050 Marine Peacekeeper. It was a big handgun that was intended to shoot hunks of wonky bioplastic at someone. It was a big scary nonlethal thing a Marine could carry to help keep the law on a habitat or station, without the worry of some twenty-year-old getting jumpy and putting a hole through an important module and killing everyone.

    The model was more a functional prop than a well-made killing machine.

    I had changed it so drastically from the plastic-cased mass-produced model that no one back on the Gull knew what it was. And it had seen many modifications since I first signed on, longer barrel, shorter barrel, replaced parts, and five long years of tinkering with it had made them look cursed at some points and wonderful at other points. In truth, the two guns had likely been fully replaced during their service.

    Currently, Righty had been fitted into an old longer barrel and a rig with a stock and a fancy little scope on it. It looked like crap, handled like a pole, and was heavy. But it would let me hit a larger target at a much longer distance, and I could just pull the handgun out after.

    When you have a deadline and a bank account with a value lower than the IQ score of a Terran mutant, you do what you have to do.

    I crawled up the dune onto a flat portion just by the crest laid down and started looking through the scope at my approaching targets.

    It was an old thing, not old like an artifact but just old. Its paint was chipped and washed out; presumably, it was once rusty red and orange, but now it was just peachy with bits of steel underneath. Each of the three carts was homogeneous in its color and make, only the things differentiating them from one another being the chips in their paint and the add-on tied to them. Down the sides of the land wagons were big metal tanks for liquids. Handles held objects to the side, extra wheels, boxes with unknown riches, and some extra baggage.

    I could make out small plumes of smog coming off pipes that led to the front of each cart, the place you would expect to have an engine. A very big engine. A combustion engine.

    ¡°Who the hell uses a combustion engine to drive? What type of rich assholes am I robing here? Well, that¡¯s good to know, at the very least.¡± I muttered to myself, not moving from my prone position as I took in the sight.

    My bike was electric, and the Junker used combustion, but it was a fucking voidboat, and even that was specific gasses, not gasoline. Gasoline was just too rare and expensive to use as fuel in most of the system, and people generally didn¡¯t like to pay more than they needed. It was something you would only use if you wanted to go way out in the middle of nowhere without the use of a voidboat. Like if you wanted to secret away an artifact in middle of nowhere.

    That, at least, was reassuring, if annoying. But I pulled my hodge-podge rifle down over the dune and started loading it. Pre-shaped solid gun putty and six shots of plasma got pressed into the cylinders of the six-shooters, the soft polymer edges of the shot shearing just a bit to give it a press seal. My secondhand cannon was loaded with heavy slugs. Twelve shots in total ready to fire, with a few more in a side pouch ready to be loaded in.

    I got back into position and waited for a good time to strike. The targets kept rolling along toward me as I sized them up. The drivers and their buddies next to them the only real way to estimate the amount of danger I might be in for, so I narrowed in on the frontmost driver and waited for the silhouette to come into focus.

    When it did, I kind of wish it hadn¡¯t. ¡°Fuck me sideways. That¡¯s one ugly fucker.¡±

    Sitting in the driver¡¯s spot was a clanker. Bits of metal covered him, signs that he had been ¡®upgraded¡¯ with artificial parts.

    He was a hideous amalgam of man and metal that looked more like an industrial accident that went too far. The kind of stuff to get a mechanical arm hooked up to a human body generally made most people who lost an arm think twice about getting it hooked up. It was a one-time payment to buy and get it installed, but then you had a lifelong subscription in the form of pills to numb the feeling of pain they caused. For what he had going on, he had to be zoinked on them.

    Now some people hated prosthetics, some would call old granny with a pacemaker a clanker, and some would call it at a full limb or a torso. What made the man a clanker, to me at least, was the little embossed metal plate where the forehead should have been. Two gears with a hand caught between them.

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    He, and likely everyone else if his buddy¡¯s forehead was anything to go by, were Mechanicites. Machine cultists that wanted nothing more than to strip their bodies of flesh and become machines, their cult lived towards the edge, on the moons of the outer rim. They were freaks who saw enslaving and ¡®upgrading¡¯ people to serve the machine as a good thing.

    Most people thought of them as terrorists, and in a quarter of the countries I knew of, holding that sign was something that got you executed. On sight. With everyone with you included for good measure.

    ¡°Well, I suppose I¡¯ll be doing a good deed by killing these fuckers. Wouldn¡¯t want these guys to get an artifact.¡± I murmured to myself, my lips coming up into a grin.

    Getting to off Mechanicites was just a bonus though.

    Eyes on the prize, Bandit, eyes on the prize.

    I waited, planning out my strikes, waiting for them to close in.

    Down the road from me, the road curved around a sandy patch with a rocky hill behind it, the road temporarily curved to stay off the sand, before curving back towards me. I short turn, up a short hill.

    The wagons had slowed for the turn and began to go up the hill, and I lined in my shot on the front cart¡¯s engine block. My hands were ready, and as the third turned the corner and started to climb, I fired.

    The crack of my gun rang in the air, and as the projectile cut a trail through the air, I turned my makeshift rifle as the recoil lifted the barrel until I could bring it back on the last of the wagons. The crack of my second shot was overpowered as my first shot burst.

    All those years ago, when I saw a cheap gun that fired a .50 calibre wad of plastic, it occurred to me, hey, I think I could fit a plasma generator in there. And as it turned out, I couldn¡¯t fire a plasma generator. But I could fit a container that could airburst already contained plasma in one. And hey, while I was there, why not put in a range sensor, so I did.

    That¡¯s all to say, a plasma plume hit the cart, burnt through the steel and compromised the engine block before dispersing. The rifle raised as the engine started to misfire, its carefully made engine locked up, the plasma shocked the electronics put in the engine compartment, and the cart stopped. No one had caught on, and the second shot''s recoil brought my gun up to the driver.

    I fired again, trusting my familiarity with the gun, and I started to pull the gun back down on the middle cart as the sound of two bursts of plasma went off. The sound of the engine cooking was all I needed to know as I brought the gun down, wrestled it to where I needed to go and fired my fourth shot, with my fifth shot targeted at the drivers.

    I moved my gun to my final targets, which had finally started to move. I took the shot and started part three of the plan.

    I lifted the rifle with the recoil, stood up, and started down the dune. I knocked the stock up, freeing my pistol as it swivelled out and away, and I pulled it out of the barrel extension like a sword, tossing the setup off into the sand. With my other hand free I reached into my pouch and brought out the premade bullets, and started loading.

    My hands acted on reflex, and I loaded one and was on the second by the time I got to my bike.

    My bike was a cheap beaten-up thing, it was like the Junker was, though. I loved old stuff; I loved getting into the guts of something and getting it running. Mass-produced just meant you could always buy parts. If a part broke down, you could fix it or get a part custom. It also meant you knew exactly how it worked.

    I slipped Righty into my second holster and got the thing moving, the tires bit into the sand while I was in low gear, and it started pushing me forward onto the road and down to my quarry.

    Once I was on the straightaway, I moved into a higher gear but not going all the way up, and balanced.

    I knew my equipment well.

    When someone rode a bike, they were expected to do things like keeping their hands on the handlebars. After many a fall and many a set of cast-off gear, I had long since learned how to ride with no hands. I could thus use my hands to do more important things. It didn¡¯t take a mercenary long to figure out what to use them for.

    I used them to keep loading my hand cannon. It wasn¡¯t very far to the caravans, but it was far enough to get the second round all the way in and get onto the fourth round before I got to them and needed to get off.

    I came to a stop and took in the situation.

    The caravan had stopped, the engines had stopped popping, dead hunks of steel. The first passenger was fused to the side of the front cart.

    Next off then, sweeping and clearing.

    I started by finishing Righty number four and setting the gun to fire before holstering it. I instead drew Lefty, angling my stance like I was using a sword, a duelist¡¯s pose, as I went to behind the cart. I took the corner wide and quickly, which saved me a visit with Doc when the well done dazed-looking Mechanicite fired a gun of his own. Too little, too late.

    Lefty one, Clanker zero.

    The jacket on the slug didn¡¯t even separate, it was too short a distance to exit the container.

    I checked the area in front of me, but it was clear. There was yelling, however, as people in the carts freaked out and ready themselves to sally out.

    The back of the cart was clear, but that meant little, the second cart¡¯s driver and passenger were carbon which was a plus. I could hear the people inside the first cart gearing up. I looked at the cart, circling around the back. The door was still closed, thankfully.

    The metal cover looked thin to my eye, the area where it was bent out around the doorway, making it look like a fitted metal tarp. It was like one big thin sheet, meant to keep out the elements, which, if its worn exterior was anything to go by, was a task it excelled at.

    Gabriel¡¯s red sands were a very nice red color, and they were toxic and radioactive. It''s why I had to breathe through a sheet. And almost no vehicle on Gabriel I had ever seen had open compartments, with, I supposed, the exemption of the driver¡¯s seat, which only had a windshield, the doors were apparently optional.

    Sand was good at a few things, you could use it to make glass, for example, it could be used to grind down surfaces. The oxides could be reclaimed and produce oxygen, and the other parts could be used for all kinds of things, most of Gabriel¡¯s soil was, in truth, metal oxides; it just acted like sand.

    The red particulate¡¯s composition aside, sand was a useful thing. What it was not useful for was punching through solid steel.

    I took the chance, backed up and let four slugs out in rapid succession, each one meant to sweep the cabin beyond the thin back wall.

    They punched through the steel wall, casting off their jacket¡¯s midflight, leaving four holes in the back. I could hear the yelling pick up in intensity for a moment, but I needed to make sure my back was clear before going down the wagon train.

    I drew Righty and moved up, putting a slug through the area that held the hatch shut before kicking the door in.

    Seven dead men were on the ground, and one living one slouched on the wall.

    He held a gun, but he was unsteady. I wasn¡¯t.

    Lefty and Righty 9 Clanker Zero.

    I stopped and holstered Lefty and got three rounds into Righty. Backing out of the threshold and moving to the second cart. I peeked over the side and kept my ear open for behind me. I couldn¡¯t make out much with how loud the two guns were, but I got ready as they sortied from the second wagon and started filing out to the side.

    I lined the cultists up in my head, exited cover to get a good line of fire and squeezed off a pair of shots before sliding back into cover. Two metalheads hit the ground, and I went to check behind me on the other side.

    I turned the corner and met with a woman with a big wrench.

    When she saw me, she screamed, ¡°For the Prophet.¡± And started sprinting with her wrench held high.

    I put a bullet in her.

    As it turned out, they were right. Metal was strong, and flesh was weak.

    She kept moving forward with her momentum as she died, and I was forced to step out of the way as her wrench carried her through where I was.

    Up close, I could see her bald head was patterned with symbols, and at the part where the spine and head met, she had a tiny metal case joined to her.

    A slave then, probably some poor girl who caught their eye. They had little boxes wired to them; stars know what they do to the poor fuckers, but once you were taken, you never came back, not even in a box.

    ¡°Sorry, lost one, rest now,¡± I told her.

    She didn¡¯t reply, I couldn¡¯t even look her in the eye while she bled out.

    I could hear two more fuckers. I had two more bullets.

    They too, were screaming, pounding footsteps coming from the open side of the train.

    I stepped back over the dead girl and her wrench, until I had to lean past the edge of the first cart.

    Two forms passed behind the front of the second cart, the smoking engine somewhat obscuring their forms when I passed out two shots into them. One of the bodies dropped, the first shot made a clank, and the second one made a ¡°gurk¡±.

    A man, about six foot in height, and with enough metal to make him look armored carried a dented metal shield. It was a tall rectangular wall of steel, but he held it in one hand. In the other was a long prod of metal, a white-hot spark on its tip.

    I started to back up back around the corner as the man came after me.

    ¡°Witness your bane, unbeliever. Your flesh shall be replaced, but you will not be enlightened.¡±

    Righty was empty, so I holstered him, he was a very good boy and deserved some beauty sleep. I turned as I did and got clear of the caravan. The proximity of the cliff made it harder to move, it was like a tunnel which his lance could hold me back.

    I had one bullet in Lefty, but if I wanted to pierce the armoured figure, I would need to hit him at optimal range.

    Considering how he screamed as he came after me, and seemed to be gaining on me, I would be hard-pressed to get the range I needed.

    I was able to clear the caravan and get some fifteen paces past it and out into the open, but I didn¡¯t go towards my bike.

    Instead, I laid my hand on Lefty, turned to face him and drew. His shield snapped up, solid metal blocking his sight and any hope of me landing a hit on a vital.

    That was ok, I didn¡¯t mean to shoot him. Instead, I reached my right arm down, not for Righty, but for my other friend.

    Next to Righty, in an old scabbard, was a family heirloom that had been in my family line for generations. Each of the firstborns of my family was trained to wield it and inherited it once they came of age. It was my call sign¡¯s name¡¯s sake, Bandit.

    I made to move right, luring out a thrust, but also getting ready to dodge it. He caught the movement of my upper body, his lance and its burning tip brightened, a part of his mechanical arm triggering something.

    I could see as I was moving that his arm was connected to the lance, and that it seemed to telescope out of his forearm. It was likely powered by him, though I had no idea where the source of it was.

    I saw a part of his arms move, his body getting ready to commit, and my hand resting on the blade itched.

    Concealed by my body and the poncho, I pulled it up, my arm ready like a spring.

    He committed.

    Several things happen simultaneously.

    My right leg extended out, and my left began to crouch, lowering my profile. His arm made several motions forward, a mechanical hammering motion, as he lined the lance for my chest. Bandit left its sheath; the lance came shooting forward, lancing four feet.

    I could feel the heat of the lance as it clipped my hat, both searing it and flinging it off my head. It burnt a streak of white light into my vision as my body, facing towards his right, pulled back, my poncho clearing my blade''s path.

    It flies up from my hip, cutting everything in its way, curving as I roll my torso and begin to push myself left. The blade arcs counterclockwise until it faces the ground, and I move.

    The man is fast when it comes to contracting or extending. But a fighter, he is not. He stares as I move from his vision and into the blind spot of the shield. Over and in.

    I close the distance, the wind whipping at the top of my head, uncovered by the loss of my hat.

    I dash over to the left, up to the edge of the shield. I plant my feet, and bring the blade up, through the shield, the arm and out. Before his arm started falling but I sprang forward, around the shield and into range to strike him.

    His face was still pointed in the direction of the lance, while his eyes are moved over to the corner of his eye.

    He manages to say, ¡°Art-ugh.¡± As the blade comes down like a wave. Down and forward from its high position, passing through him from the side of his steel helmet face, down through his upper chest and exiting from his left hip.

    And for insurance, I step around and to his back, bringing the blade up along where his spine would be, before skipping back again.

    The blade before me had taken on the blues and reds of oxidized steel from its matt, almost translucent grey look it got when in the scabbard.

    The blade, as always, was flawless, with no sign of any wear, nor covered in any blood or material.

    And, of course, it had the pattern.

    Not wavey like a blade of damascene steel, no swirls or stars, no smooth lines. In truth, I don¡¯t even think the blade had a grain pattern, I didn¡¯t think it was steel or any mortal metal it was more like crystal.

    It instead had a hexagonal pattern, like every other artifact. When it was translucent, You could see the inside of the blade, between where the hexagonal structure extended through the blade, so dense they could trick the eye into thinking that it was a solid color.

    It was a sword, a beautiful sword, with a silly story behind it. But it was not meant to be wielded by us. It never got dull, never chipped, it could pass through almost everything I had found with its perfect edge.

    It was never hot, and never cold. It never left my grip when I held it, and while for me it was as light as a feather, Goshe had found out the hard way when he tried to steal it, and it fell on his foot, and he got stuck there for hours just how impossibly immoveable it was.

    Every time I drew the blade, I couldn¡¯t help but get lost in it. It was like staring into the stars, it was a thing that enchanted me, it had always enchanted me. There was something about Sixes. Six bullets in my revolvers, six sides and six points and six angles of a hexagon. Our bodies were made from them, ice took that orientation, and the bits of our eyes that saw were hexagons.

    Life loved the number six.

    I only snapped out of it when a voice boomed off to the left.

    ¡°Heretic, you shall be purged by the pow-ah.¡± The seven-foot behemoth said, only cut off when I shrieked, hopped up, Lefty came up, and I accidentally blew his head off, while nearly taking my own off with the sword.

    I stared at the body of the monster of flesh and steel, a hulking behemoth. Even after my few moments in the air, all I could do is watch as the body of the hulk stood straight up, bits of his brain and marrow splattered across the desert.

    ¡°Fuck me, this sword is dangerous,¡± I said, sheathing the blade in its scabbard, the only scabbard that could hold the sword.

    I holstered Lefty and rested one hand on my hip and the other on my chest plate. I took deep breaths until my heartbeat returned to normal.

    Final Score?

    Lefty and Righty: 19 Metal heads: 0.5.

    The freak-out counted; I would never live it down.

 Scavengers rights.

    After I was done huffing and puffing, I was a little pissed at myself over my colossal, nearly fatal fuck up. If the giant-looking fucker hadn¡¯t felt the need to give me a booming monologue and just shot me, I would be the corpse, not him. And for that matter, if there was literally anyone else around, I could have been a corpse as well. I made sure to get back to my ever-present job of keeping myself alive and took a minute to load Lefty back up and get back to my job.

    As it turns out, goliath was the last person in the entire caravan. Which meant step three was over.

    Step four was scavenging, which I started by pulling out all of the easily moved stuff first.

    The cases on the outside made good containers, and I ended up pulling out lots of mechanicite garbage. Dime a dozen cheap tools, and replacement parts you could buy dirt cheap. Custom parts, which were made out of simple shapes I could have made for less than I had in my own account, filled several.

    Custom sounded good on an ad, but it just meant that someone did it personally,

    There were a few expensive tools which I did keep; however, I already had several, carbide tools were more expensive while also being light, a miniature lathe was a bit too heavy for its price which was unfortunate, but I was able to keep some of the bits I knew I could use. I was able to find some minimal jewelry, or easily removed metals that could be sold off nicely, and I was able to take their holy symbols to maybe cash in on the bounties later.

    Some of them had solid credit-carrying devices, exactly as expected, although they didn¡¯t have many credits.

    Their caravan was solid, and rather minimalist, but over the course of a few hours, I was able to at least get some water refilled, so that was nice. As the day wore on and I picked apart the caravan, I kept my eyes on a timepiece, I had several check-in times to let Mission Control know that I had engaged my target and break radio silence. I could have just turned it back on, but I had a better use for my radio, that and he would have given me an earful when he had to pick up a call that wasn¡¯t necessary.

    If I was, like, holding on by the skin of my teeth and needed Doc or I was about to die, I could call, I would also probably get worse jobs in the future, but he would take it seriously.

    The number one reason for not turning it on to talk with MC, however, was to pick up on the Artifact I was here to retrieve.

    Artifacts were many things, but always conspicuous, they were not. They always had the pattern, but not all artifacts were my sword, they didn¡¯t all glow and show off their myriad and confusing properties at a glance. Some were almost downright mundane, there were little rings, forks, earrings, and at least one suspiciously shaped rod that could produce 200 000 different types of seminal fluid.

    However, there was one surefire way to detect one, and that was with a specially tuned radio and a special antenna. The antenna was able to detect something even if we didn¡¯t know what that something was.

    Whatever the ditectors were, whatever they detected, they were important to Humanity.

    Every single planet and moon that was colonized had big artifact factories creating them, pulling in material and producing the ditectors with no oversight on their production. All we could do was pick up the final product.

    It took us, Humanity¡¯s genetically engineered servants, years to realize they made incredible antennas. The material wasn¡¯t an artifact, at least, we didn¡¯t think it was. But it could detect them.

    The resulting frequencies for a radio set to pick up an artifact let us find them by literally walking around until the signal got louder, with some frequency¡¯s picking up different artifacts.

    It took me a lot of time to find them because, as it turned out, there were multiple artifacts.

    My sword was one, obviously, so I moved away to put it down away from the caravan but found that the radio had gotten louder.

    The Goliath, as it turned out, had a ring on his finger, so I stored it next to the sword but found another signal and traced it to the rear wagons in a bag of clothes.

    The bag, the clothes, everything around it, looked so incredibly innocuous that it was almost obvious. It was full of normal boring clothing, and a normal, slightly worn case, full of boring stuff, with a credit chip. But going through everything, I found a tiny shape tucked into a pocket.

    It was like a river stone, smooth and palm-sized, with one large hexagon on either side with other hexagons linking them in each direction. I slid it into a pocket and closed it.

    There was nothing else that emitted an artifact frequency, so when the time rolled around, I radioed into Mission Control.

    ¡°Mission Control, come in, Mission Control, this is Bandit,¡± I called into my microphone.

    I had to wait for a few seconds, but he did answer.

    ¡°Bandit, this is Mission Control, Status?¡± he queried.

    ¡°Passed,¡± I told him.

    Passed, was the phrase that told him I was fine, answering with anything else would indicate different types of fuck up. It was simple, it could be more complex, but it just didn¡¯t need to be.

    He let out a sigh before asking, ¡°Confirmed, have you found the artifact?¡±

    ¡°I have found two, we were only contracted for one, right?¡± I asked him, a little bit giddy at the idea of a second artifact.

    I was, after all, a mercenary, a freelance operator. If it wasn¡¯t on the recovery request, it was finders keepers.

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    ¡°Yes, only the one. Good work, finish up and hurry, how long until you leave for orbit?¡± He asked something in his tone, making me think about it.

    ¡°Uhh, at the rate I¡¯m going, probably two hours at most. Why?¡± I asked, ¡°Has something come up, MC?¡±

    ¡°There is a dust storm coming nearby in an hour or so, and the client has been incessant on speed. I would suggest getting into the sky as soon as possible. In the meantime, I will ask the client about the artifact in detail, and help figure out which one is the request. Mc over and out.¡± He told me before he dropped the connection.

    I kept the radio on and turned it to the other signals, this time not listening to the sound of artifacts and their strange tone and tune, but terrestrial radio signals.

    Turns out, the area had sucky reception for non-orbital radio. The sound was more scratchy than understandable, and I could barely parse the music, but I left it on. It was like white noise.

    I found myself humming along, putting random nonsense words in as I worked like a game where you spot shapes in a cloud of gas, but for the radio. It was nostalgic, I could remember sitting around and watching the plumes from industrial plants with others when I was a kid.

    What was it that Poss always said?

    I turned off the radio then and got down to work.

    I ended up being able to get a lot of stuff out, mostly small stuff and separated it based on if I was going to keep it or not. Some of the stuff would be nice to have, even if it was just spare parts. I had so many projects that I wanted to do, but only so much time and credits to do them with.

    Cutting out the middleman and just keeping the good stuff would save me thousands of credits in the long run.

    I bundled them up along with one tank of oil from the side of the front cart and set them up next to my bike. I had ten minutes or so until the storm was supposed to hit, but I dutifully got to opening up the bike.

    My bike, upon inspection, had two sets of tires; two tires in the front, and the back, as opposed to a normal bike you might find on the cramped streets of a city with one. That¡¯s because one of the many upsides that helped in picking this bike was its capacity.

    Most of its insides were able to be pulled out, and it squatted down into a four-wheeled profile.

    It was from a Triton design, and much like the largest moon of Remiel, it was designed backwards. A normal bike, was a bike, but like anything made on Triton it wasn''t, it was what was this bike made to replace? Because why make a bike, when you could make a bike that folded out into a four wheeler? Just large enough to carry a metal barrel of fuel and a few bags of parts that I put into other pouches.

    Then, with one last drink from the caravan''s water, I picked up whatever I could carry off, I put holes through the rest of the tanks of water and oil, and got off back the way I came.

    You know, after I picked up my stuff again, including my poor hat.

    Down the road, I decided to stop and pick back up the rig I had used to pick off the carts, I could re-use the scope.

    ¡°I finally get what Dad meant by waste not, want not,¡± I murmured.

    I got back onto the road, shifting gear as I picked up speed, zipping down the road and past dunes and rock formations that remained untamed despite the attempt at terraforming that had left the planet partially habitable.

    I zipped down the road, and then off to the side, down a barely noticeable path of turned dust and compact red earth that I followed up and onto a rocky section, gaining altitude until I was on a higher foothill.

    Scanning the skyline, I could see a dust storm coming in, a wall of dust like an orange-red cloud skimming the land. I couldn¡¯t ask for a better way to rough up the scene I had left behind; it would damage the bodies, wear at the prints, and discourage anyone from tracing my egress back to my boat.

    The boat in question sat like a piece of scrap metal art on the rocky hilltop, landing gear keeping it a foot or so off the ground. It was a lumpy-looking, scrappy, scratched and dinged-up old voidboat. The tan top layer of paint was somewhat spotty, bits of olive-green bleeding through in some spots, while others were worn down to the metal.

    It was very much a Cerian design, with little in the way of sharp angles and notable parts where the scrap it had been made from had notable defects and had been rounded out for a smooth bubbly look.

    It was older than I was, probably as old, if not older than my parents. And despite its shoddy bits, it had enough grit to keep up even decades after it was out of date. Part of an attempt at producing enough orbital landing and short-distance transport boats to keep up with the estimated growth of interstellar commerce.

    It had a kind of winged rail car blimp thing going on, longer than it was tall or wide. But wider than it was tall.

    It was smoothed on top and hexagonal on the bottom with long tube-like protrusions as part of the wings down its length that doubled as low altitude thrusters, tapering a bit at the front before sweeping all the way back with its thinner outer wings. Somewhat hexagon shaped from above, and from in front, it was like three aerodynamic cylinders strapped onto one another, which looked strange but let it get efficient speeds at the surface, low altitude and orbital flight. It was like a plane, crossed with a rail car and a boat and was wonky as hell.

    The Junker, was an old Tagphract Industries Orbiter StV mark 5 and was the granddaddy of modern orbital landers. It was my Junker, and I had picked it up the better part of a decade ago and fallen in love with it. I could live in the thing, and I had at a few points before I got a job on the Gull.

    Its body was fifty feet wide port to starboard, not including the outer wings, twenty-five feet tall from keel to dorsal and over a hundred feet from bow to stern, and it was built like a fucking brick.

    I got close and stopped the bike and pulled out my ship tag, and checked my timepiece, spinning dials on the palm-sized gizmo until I found the code that I would need to open the bay door.

    I quickly hopped off the bike and made my way to the hatch control before opening the plate next to the bay doors, double-checking the code before moving the complementary dials to the correct position and disengaging the lock with the clunk of a button.

    No transponder to open the hatch, just old-fashioned codes, dials, and steel locking pins that could be activated by a button. I could hear the pins being unspun from their places, the movement of steel in steel barely grinding until the lock-up clunked out and the door was free to move. A second button released the clamp, and the door fell open a foot before the hydraulics caught the door, and it slowly opened, the side of the big lug opening up beneath the tubes that doubled as low-altitude thrusters.

    I left it to open on its own and got back on the bike, the bay door made a ramp into the hold, and I drove on up and into the boat.

    The hold was still a mess, things held down in any way I could, but the middle area was wide enough to unload the cargo onto my ship, tying down the spare parts in tiny drawers and the barrel in a larger bin in the wall.

    I checked about halfway through to make sure the storm wouldn¡¯t sweep in before hurrying along, closing the door and tying down my bike, still set for four wheels made it a tight fit but considering how cluttered the place was, what wasn¡¯t in here?

    The door protested its closure, but the hydraulics would probably hold out for a few months without any more checkups. Depending on the prices MC got for my loot, I could probably pay to get it repaired several times over. More stuff if the ring was my bonus artifact.

    People loved them, even if they were purely decorative, considering how almost no one alive could operate them.

    The door shuttered closed, cutting me off from the outside and leaving me in the weak fluorescent light of the ship, and the sound of the locking pins engaged the frame to seal me in.

    I stretched out, popping my joints and stretching my stiff muscles to loosen up. The Junker was a safe place, but after a few moments, I left the hold, making my way up toward the bow and the flight deck.

    ¡°What was it, Goshe said. get the loot, get liquid, and get the hell out of here? That sounds nice, I could use a shower.¡±

    It was time to get on with it, get paid, and keep getting on with my life.

 Take Off.

    After my nice big stretch, I left the hold behind and walked my way to the front of the ship, passing my quarters and the room I retrofitted into a lounge. The boat was not a gargantuan thing, it was more of a one to two-person shuttle to move things from one place to another.

    Only the center was used to hold things, the pods only held fuel.

    A third of it was designed to hold cargo; the bit at one end and the others were entirely for moving the boat or keeping the person inside alive, and the little bit in the middle for sleep when necessary.

    The quarters were not quite cramped, but not spacious by any means, both modules tucked back into the curve of the ship nose below the cockpit. I could cook, only a little, though. Food wasn¡¯t supposed to come in cans, but canned food was very easy to prep.

    I made my way to the front but stopped at the lockers just below the chair, and changed out of my clothes and into my void suit.

    My hand cannons, Righty and Lefty, got placed down, their holsters pulled off my belt and placed into their place in my locker. I pulled off my poncho and coat pulled off and left it hanging on a hook, and my chest plate was taken off. It was heavy, even as small as it was, and I placed it at the bottom with my hat resting on top of the angular plate.

    A bit of armour was never amiss; if nobody knew it was there, it was even better.

    My Shirt, pants, and everything else got shoved into the second locker along with the cloth over my head, and I got to put on my suit after whisking a little red dust out of my hair.

    The void suit was skintight, the exterior was hardened to help hold the insides in. It wasn¡¯t designed for walking around outside a ship for any significant amount of time, just to keep someone alive in the case of a loss of atmosphere. There was a helmet amongst the things, which was theoretically useful, but I had never had to use it.

    I pulled the skin suit over my feet and up my legs. Up past my narrowed hips and small chest, sliding my arms in before sealing the suit over my pale, hairless form. My collarbone was a bit of a pain to get past, the added bone was like a gorget that, in theory, would help keep things from reaching my throat, a little bit of natural armour.

    I had inherited a lot of my bone structure and brain from my dad, and everything else from my mom, including her black hair, the little I had, only on my head and eyebrows, and the two brown eyes in my head.

    However, I hadn¡¯t inherited their height or muscle and felt scrawny growing up. Even after I had finished growing, I was only 5¡¯ 8¡±, dwarfed by everyone around me both literally, and in every other proportion most people measured themselves by.

    Chest size? Nope. Beauty? No way. Length of my sword? It¡¯s not about length, it¡¯s about how you use it.

    I did have a few things going for me; obviously, I had sturdier bones, which seemed dumb until you got hit for the first time, the low gravity of most stellar bodies had left our bones brittle, but not mine. I had a mind for a few machines and tools along with how to make and use them. I had the ability to cope with isolation and knew my way around the stars. I was just born with those, the knowledge and traits were a part of my brain, passed down from my ancestors so they could more effectively perform tasks for our Terran overlords.

    You know, right up until they died.

    Anyway, I moved my flat ass up the stairway after grabbing my coat and the helmet I never needed and made my way into the front of the boat.

    The bridge, if you could even call it that, was small, fit for one person and designed to be flown solo. It had more in common with the latrine than a proper bridge, but it wasn¡¯t a proper voidship; it was a voidboat.

    There was a nice chair on a sliding rail, that I could adjust back and forward, with a harness I could pull out for takeoff, orbital entry and exit. It was situated in front of a relatively small quartz window to let me fly the ship.

    There was a desk of sorts below the window, holding consoles and dials and buttons, each one an important piece of equipment. It read the compasses, both magnetic north, and objective north. Using the heading, velocity, and location generated the heading shown on a map, which was nice. There was an objective location relative to the planet, with setting dials and a button to confirm it, which I had to do every time I entered a planet, which was less nice.

    Gabriel had some twenty nations, clustered mostly around the equator and the largest around the terraformed sections or the northern pole across the shallow northern sea, and not getting shot out of the sky meant checking who¡¯s airspace you were in, so setting all the things I needed to was mandatory.

    There were dials for altitude, and consoles for radar, infrared and passive detection, which generally stop people from smashing into one another, which is always important. And the ever-present radio console, with multiple channels leading and a port for my headset.

    All of that centred around the center control setup meant to be accessible by one person.

    There were no weapons systems on the Junker, nor were there the fancy gadgets for finding my way through the void. That was for a ship or a fighter, though I could upgrade if I felt like I needed to show off how big my junk was. Luckily for my wallet, I had one head, not two.

    A void ship was too big and heavy to land on a planet most of the time, it was a ship made to move in low gravity, like outer space. That¡¯s why voidboats like mine existed, if a ship needs to send stuff between a planet, it can use a boat to get stuff on and off. But a boat generally wasn¡¯t so good at going incredible distances in the dark, even if they could go short range, skipping around, it was far more costly than doing what they were meant to do, that and the big relays gave us way too much velocity, if we hit a random space rock it would turn us to debris.

    The Junker was just a bigger fighter without weapons systems. The Gull was what got me around the void, and it was parked in orbit at a station, which meant I needed to go up.

    Stolen story; please report.

    I activated my ship¡¯s radio and dialled into the right frequency, and pinged the Gull to check in while starting up the Junker.

    I primed the low altitude and vertical takeoff thrusters and set them up in a way that wouldn¡¯t make the Junker act up. I could punch it, turn it all on and take off in almost no time, but the old ship would start getting really pissy about it and need more maintenance.

    I had only needed to do that once, and the scratches from the gunfire still marked the Junker, where bits of hot metal had chipped its paint a little. The more costly part of that encounter? The parts I needed to buy.

    Never again.

    Anyways I waited for about ten minutes without a reply from MC, so I decided to get on with it, turning on my thrusters. The storm had started rolling through, buffeting the ship, it would have been hell if I had been outside, but compared to normal conditions, it didn¡¯t hit the boat particularly hard.

    A vibration ran through the ship and up through my seat. Picking up as the thrusters got ready for takeoff. I went and double-checked my radar, but the storm left me blind.

    I got myself situated for takeoff, securing my helmet down so it wouldn¡¯t fly around and took my place in the chair.

    I started my final checks, then hit the ignition.

    The engines lighting up was a thing of nature inside the confines of the ship. The impulse from the gases igniting kicked the Junker and me up and forward a little.

    The ship rapidly accelerated, and I got pushed back and down into the seat as I lifted off the ground.

    I quickly elevated the gear, pulling it in before they tore off and start forward, hovering over the ground and picking up speed.

    Once I started going, I turned off my vertical thrust, I was held aloft by the force of compressed air under me, increasing altitude once I got up to speed. I climbed onwards and upwards until I came out of the storm.

    I immediately took in the sky and found nothing I needed to be aware of, so I levelled out and lowered my thrust before making my way northwest.

    I locked myself level so I could free up my hands and started going through the radio, first with MC, who was still not picking up, then with another channel, I reached out for a ground station. I had to double-check the map for the closest, so I knew who I was about to talk to.

    Some of them were picky, others not so much. There were 20 nations on Gabriel, assuming you didn¡¯t count Gabriel themself, who sat in the middle of a river delta and was a nation in and of themself.

    Golems were a strange sort, but I often found them preferable to some of the flesh and blood people I had met. I had never met a Golem that I disliked, and some of them, like Doc, I even counted as a friend.

    The ground control I ended up getting in touch with wasn¡¯t picky, I identified myself and was cleared to continue, and I switched off of the channel, letting the indicator stay on in case I got pinged.

    I still hadn¡¯t gotten pinged back by MC, so I got on my hour-long journey to the closest tether. I could go straight to the void, but the fuel cost was higher than waiting for the tether. The tether was a space-bound hook leading up to the station where the Gull was docked.

    I took my time climbing up to a good altitude and turned on a third radio channel. The radio beeped into my headset, rhythmically.

    It was a slow heartbeat, slowly increasing as I got closer to my destination; along with my radar, I could use it to catch the hook.

    I got to the destination and started circling, checking the radar for when I would need to jump aboard.

    Three minutes to the hour, and it blipped onto my radar, blipping forward.

    I started to speed up, four hundred knots, five hundred, eight hundred, ten thousand knots. I stopped there, that was the average velocity of the hook. The cracking sound was immense, and I enjoyed it, there was something about going fast that interested my primitive brain.

    Now for the hard part, I checked the blinking radar as the blip closed in. It kept getting closer and closer, but the beeping was still a bit too distant vertically.

    I started to go up and up, slow and steady. The sky was vast and clear in front of me through the quartz window.

    The blip was close, the beeping closer as I waited for the hook to pass.

    A huge metal thing passed into my vision above me, and I immediately started adjusting.

    It was the tense moment between two joy rides, the most attention-grabbing time, the short window where I needed every brain cell to be focused.

    MC¡¯s voice followed the ping from the radio channel I had left on.

    ¡°So, Bandit, I have some good news and some bad new-¡± he started, only to be cut off when I swapped my microphone over and screeched at him.

    ¡°NotNowSkyhookBadTimeCallBackSoon.¡± was all I said, and I flicked the channel off. While flipping the fourth channel on, it was already dialled in.

    ¡°Approaching the hook, landing position,¡± I asked over the channel.

    A terse, though not angry, voice coughed over the radio, and told me I was cleared to go to Bay A5.

    I grabbed the wheel and brought my eyes back to the hook, which had begun to swerve out of my line of sight, forcing me to increase my thrust and slamming me back into the seat again as I struggled to angle up to meet the hook.

    The hook was less a hook and more of a hangar. The angle up was harsh, harsher than lift-off, the change in momentum felt like my body was pancaked against the chair. It rushed out from above me and started speeding away as I climbed.

    I started to climb sharply as it raced out away from me, moving around to get behind it where I could see the doorway, increasing my velocity to chase after the massive hammer shape in the sky.

    I started gaining on it, I had all of 40-70 seconds to reach it before it would start to speed away. I chased the cylinder, closing in on it and increasing my velocity.

    It was growing in my vision, coming up faster and faster, and I started to slow the Junker until I was just gaining on it at around 10400 knots.

    I crept up in, slowing further as I entered the back. Relative to the hook, I was moving at running speed.

    I cut the speed, a little more, opened up my landing gear and landed to slow myself down, bleeding velocity using the friction of my wheels along with an extension of air brakes, which were, while less useful in the lower atmosphere, still able to slow me down slightly, and that was the thing I needed.

    I needed to slow down, or I would slam into the back of the hangar, and while I could have used my forward thrusters, that would start pushing me back out and was counterproductive.

    Once I started to inherit velocity from the hook, I lowered my thrust to maintain my slower speed.

    Now at the speed of a light jog, I started to taxi my way over, further cutting my engines until I was no longer shooting expensive fuel out the bay door; and parked noise first is the cube of bay A5.

    It was sized for a military corvette or newer freight craft that were more frequently used.

    I flicked on the Junker''s metallic landing gear, the twelve metal limbs that would stick to the standard magnetic plate below me that would help stop the Junker from rolling away on its wheeled landing gear, and I cut the engine entirely.

    I reached over and flicked on the channel for MC, flicking off the hangar and shutting off the channel, and I only had to wait a few seconds for him to pick up after I pinged him.

    ¡°Bandit, can I assume you¡¯re parked now? That was quite the shout before.¡± He stated more than he asked.

    I nodded habitually before speaking, ¡°Yes, MC, I have parked. What was that about good and bad news?¡± I asked.

    ¡°What should I say¡­ Ah, that¡¯s it. So good news first, the pay is for a small chip, not a ring, you get to keep it, and the client has paid already, I will have the amount transferred to your account automatically, and pay is fine, you¡¯re looking at a payout in the five digits before your bonus. I also have a second job lined up for you, should you choose to accept it, which will pay you even better.¡± He told me.

    ¡°That sounds like a lot of good news, MC, why am I sensing a really bad but here,¡± I asked, eyebrows scrunching.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± he hedged, ¡°How do you feel about going to The Sundered Throne?¡±

 Fools Gold.

    The words that came out of the radio caused my brain to skip a beat. My brain ran the words through a few times, trying to pick up the joke because it had to be a joke.

    It was only when he didn¡¯t follow it up with ¡®Just kidding Bandit¡¯ and the fact that MC was uncharacteristically silent that made me start to truly consider it.

    ¡°Bandit? Come in Bandit, listen I know it has a bad reputation bu-¡±

    ¡°Are you fucking kidding MC? There is no way I¡¯m going to the fucking throne, zero, zip, nada, no. That place is a haunted fucking hellscape,¡± I yelled over the radio.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re not a superstitious person Bandit, and it¡¯s not a part of your contract, it would be up to you to take it¡­¡±

    I wasn¡¯t listening to him, not really.

    The Sundered Throne was the third closest planet to the sun, and it and its inhabitants were the things that parents used to scare their kids.

    It was the homeworld of Humanity, or at least, all that was left of it. Every person that had ever gone to the planet and come back was a person of legend that you could count on your fingers, that or totally forgotten.

    The sole ruler of Raphael, the most populous and habitable planet in the galaxy, was said to have gone there once, and the weapon he had brought back was so dangerous the golem Raphael, the golem the planet is named for, bent the knee to him so long as it never left the planet. And yet those were a tiny, insignificant fraction of the story¡¯s that came from the planet.

    The Mechanicites were said to have found something there, there had been stations that have gone dark in the nearby Trojans that supposedly had some kind of virus that came from there. Ghost ships, unnatural cosmic storms, transmissions.

    Oh lord the transmissions.

    Ten years ago, I had overheard one, it was comprised of two distinct sounds, the joyous laughing of children, and the horrifying screams of people in agony. Apparently, that was three days after a pirate expedition passed into the swirling vortex of clouds that blanket the planet.

    The twenty seconds of sound had made me re-categorize nightmares between normal scary dreams and the ones where I was there listening to them scream.

    Every time I thought about them, I was there listening to it, unable to turn the radio off.

    ¡°Bandit.¡±

    I was there in the room a few months after I had left my parents¡¯ house, panting and sweating at the feeling the voices carried over the radio.

    ¡°Bandit!¡±

    I was there after trying to reconcile a way of going to sleep so I could make it to work the next day, looking for any form of protection, holding my sword and crying on a shitty bed, unable to-

    ¡°BANDIT! SNAP OUT OF IT DAMN YOU!¡± MC shouted, snapping me back to the panic.

    It was the loudest I had ever heard him, and it made me reflexively cringe from the volume of it passing straight into my ears.

    ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± I said quietly.

    ¡°You¡¯re hyperventilating.¡± He told me.

    I was hyperventilating, I controlled my breathing, slowing my heart rate. It took me a minute.

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t think I want to do it, it would have to be incredibly lucrative in order for me to go for that.¡± I told him.

    ¡°I made sure to let him understand that he would have to haggle with you on the final price,¡± MC told me, ¡°But I was able to get a lot as a starting baseline for you to consider it, 20 million, half up front.¡±

    My brain, the poor bundle of fat, heard the word and didn¡¯t understand it for a moment.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, you¡¯re going to have to say that again. I think you''ve misspoken. There¡¯s no way that¡­¡± I started but stopped. MC didn¡¯t joke, and he wouldn¡¯t lie, not like this.

    The idea of going wrestled with the idea of that much money in my head.

    No, not 20 million credits, more than 20 million credits.

    ¡°MC, who the hell is willing to pay that much?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°A very eccentric Gabrielite collector, he runs some consortium on Philia and a manufacturing plant on Desmos. My suggestion, tack on a few more million, give yourself a few days off, and try and pull some strings.¡± He told me.

    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m going to need the frequency to haggle, assuming I take the job.¡± I told him.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get you a private frequency, come on in when your top side.¡±

    I nodded again before giving him a pleasant, non-committal talk, and we signed off.

    I laid back in the chair and thought about it. In all likelihood, the prior job would give me a few thousand less from the cost of used materials, fuel, electricity and ammunition and what not. It would still be a good paycheck, and I could probably rest on it for a few months if I wanted to.

    Assuming I got what I wanted, which was a bunch of money from the collector that wanted the artifact, I could live off of that for years,¡¯ a lifetime really if I was frugal. And that was the basis. I could probably try and find out if I could get paid for consumables. I would also need a method of transport, the throne was on the other side of the sun right now, if I just hoped off the station and made a break for it, it would take too long to reach it, and I couldn¡¯t take the inter-system catapults that¡¯s how a voidboat died.

    If I was going down onto the throne, I would also need weapons and ammunition, along with a method to track the artifact down somehow, I couldn¡¯t just waltz on down to the surface and turn on the radio.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    As I thought, I turned on the channel for the hook and asked, ¡°A5, how long until I can I depart for the station?¡±

    I got the time I would need to ditch. I had time to think.

    I needed to re-arm, but I also needed a different weapon.

    My hand cannons were great. I had modified them to work exactly how I wanted, but they had one problem.

    They were chemical propellant, loud, and had a maximum and minimum effective range.

    They used piezoelectric primers that triggered explosive putty, which was consistent but required preparation. They were loud, and I could be in a confined space, which would damage my hearing or require me to wear protection and limit my situational awareness. And I had two major rounds I used, plasma, and armour piercing.

    Plasma was hot and exploded, not so great at close range, and armour piercing had a cover that was discarded after exiting the barrel. I couldn¡¯t fire a full charge in a fifty calibre weapon consistently in one hand, I had broken my wrist when I tried, I had instead used less charge and made the slug go faster by using the maximum charge I could, with a decent 30 calibre shot.

    If I wanted a quiet weapon with a better range in outside conditions and no minimum distance, I could go a few ways. Railguns were a theoretical option, they were still loud but were excellent with range. A higher tech weapon like a laser or plasma thrower, but those were pricy and were a rarity, and plasma was bad for your health.

    A coil gun, however, would be perfect. No loud sounds, just the crack of the projectile and low cost for ammunition, Gabriel would have some, considering it was the crossroad of the solar system, longer range and able to be fired in close range.

    I started planning out what I would lead with until it was time to leave.

    I could face a little fear, do a job on a ghost planet, and be set for life.

    I turned my thrusters back on and talked with the hook to make sure I was clear to leave.

    I reversed out of the cube once I had raised my metal landing gear, rolling out and then forward onto the starting position. I upped my velocity enough that I could lift off the floor and pull up my gear, and then I was out and into the great void.

    I turned on the radio and contacted the station, identifying myself and getting permission to approach so I could land on the Gull.

    The dark all around me was only countered by the stars, luminous and, while countable, so numerous that it was probably considered torture somewhere. I loved the stars and the dark. If I could, I would love nothing more than to sit out in a workshop under the stars up here. But, while in theory I could, it would not get me what I wanted in life.

    Adventure, a place for myself, experiences¡­ loads of credits. These things are the things that satisfied me. If I got them, then I would probably retire to a place like that, but otherwise, I was going to stick to mercenary work.

    It had a nice ring to it, mercenary, it conjured old fiction about dashing rouges and adventures.

    Even if most of the jobs I did were just going to places get thing, or go to place and destroy stuff.

    Go to the place and apply force was my job description.

    I was getting lost in the vast dark of the void. I snapped back to it, increasing my thrust and moving around the spinning station the hook was connected to.

    The hook itself was a way to lift and lower ships in a rather clever way.

    Letting people hop into the hook going down gave the station additional spin and kept the station up and the gravity on.

    People who came back up with loads of stuff likely rode the elevator back up, too burdened to fly high enough to reach the hook, which meant that fewer people would ride it back up and slow the station down.

    It paid for itself over time and helped if the country that ran the hook if they needed to go up or down with ships.

    The rotating station was covered in ports for larger voidships. I could see the three sizes of vessels that could make use of the larger slings, each capable of launching a ship outward and inward and each tied to the two moons, Philia and Desmos.

    The Philian Gull, as the bird¡¯s name suggested, was a frigate-sized voidship made on Philia, and it was even more of a brick than the Junker. Painted white to reflect radiation and adorned with the crest of the company above the country of origin, loud and proud.

    It was a big rectangle with chamfers, engines on the edges and back, and places with notable mounts for rockets and guns. And on the top, nestled between guns and everything else, were docking plates for me to land on.

    I moved towards the Gull, which, despite my line of sight, turned into a short thirty-minute flight until I came close enough to land on the plate labelled 8, called myself in, turned off my ship and was pulled down and into a chamber that flooded with gas.

    A few minutes later, I was home free. I got out of my harness, or rather, floated out of it. I needed to get my magnetic shoes on otherwise, I would have to pull my way through the boat, then out and through the Gull.

    After shutting everything down, still in the skin suit, I got back into my clothes, the shirt and pants easily went under my much baggier clothing, even if I needed to take the jacket off first to slide into them. The hold had tiny holds for me to slip a hand or foot into. I made my way to the hangar in metallic shoes and turned on the transceiver, with its one channel tuned in to pick up the Gull and, thus, MC and plugged in my headset to talk with him.

    ¡°MC, I need that frequency. I¡¯m back on the Gull, and I would enjoy a nap in a few hours.¡± I told him, the sound of my voice echoing around in the hold.

    ¡°Welcome back. If you want the frequency, you can come on up to the bridge, I have everything set up, otherwise, you know where you¡¯re going.¡± He told me.

    ¡°On the bridge? Is that necessary?¡± I asked, my feet stopping as I made my way over to the hatch.

    He hummed over the radio before replying, ¡°The signal is encrypted, collectors are rather paranoid. I don¡¯t think you have the systems to unencrypt the signal unless you¡¯re suddenly packing more advanced systems on the boat. I¡¯ll keep out of your deal; don¡¯t you worry your head.¡± He told me.

    As strange as that was, it certainly wasn¡¯t hard to understand. Collectors were often just very secretive and rich people. If it was possible there might be interference, an encrypted transmission could be useful, even if it was entirely imagined.

    And that would increase the amount of money I could squeeze out of him.

    MC keeping out of my deal was to be expected, this would technically be outside of my contract. In truth, it would technically require me to leave my contract because I would be taking a non-contracted job and I was under a non-competitive contract backed by a whole host of firms that would crush me in dept.

    ¡°So, MC, are you going to drop my contract for this? Because first and foremost, I¡¯m not going to go if I¡¯m going to have to get through the red tape.¡± I told him as I reached the door control and released the lock, turning on the powered hydraulics I had to use in zero g.

    The door was even more silent without the drag of the door, the sound of the pistons almost silent.

    ¡°Yes, that is another thing I need to see you on the bridge for. When I heard about his job, I had to refuse, the others are out on a job right now, it would be the better part of a month before their jobs are done. Instead, the client suggested I put you on it personally because you already have the artifact. The company is getting paid, and I, as its leader, am getting special privileges, in effect, to relieve you from your contract.¡± He told me, somewhat frankly, ¡°However, I¡¯m not going to deny you of the upsides, considering your job is going to help us in turn, if you remember your time between contracts, you might remember that there is an additional clause where I can temporarily relieve you. You would still be a contractor, still be covered by things like insurance and whatnot, but you would no longer be under my command. It¡¯s a military clause for a temporary relief of duty made to contracts that¡¯s used to lease soldiers to an ally, we can renew the contract if you so choose after the period of the lease.¡±

    ¡°OH, that makes sense, we are mercenaries, joining in as an irregular stuff, I¡¯m guessing?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Exactly, only in this case it¡¯s not to a nation¡¯s armed forces, but a big wig.¡± He said enthusiastically.

    ¡°Then let¡¯s get the ball rolling, can I assume meals in the canteen are still on once I¡¯m gone, old man?¡±

    He sighed at that.

    ¡°Yes, yes, the canteen is still open, it¡¯s closing in¡­ 4 hours. Better hurry up here, the faster, the better.¡±

    ¡°Old man, first you sell me off to some rich old guy, and now you¡¯re ordering me around like a slave? how heartless are you.¡± I said mock outrage so thick even Doc would pick it up.

    He just sighed even louder, ¡°Sometimes I hate you guys.¡±

 The Collector

    I made my way out of my ship and into the winding circular halls of the inner ship.

    The walls themselves were smooth sheets of metal, set within a set of spaced flexible membranes that were held circular with rings to give the shape of a tube. The membranes, while not visible, meant that if a sheet had a defect, or the ship had been punctured, the membranes would keep the gases inside. A set of magnetic catwalks let me traverse the tubes like flat ground, both above and below me, although hand holds along the walls and floor were recessed into the metal so we could get around without our shoes if we wanted to.

    As it was, walking in zero gravity was¡­ abnormal for some. For me, it was fine, like walking anywhere else, but for some people, it was apparently quite terrible. Some people had problems with their sense of balance, they often vomited or were sick when they entered. Those that came and weren¡¯t either like me, and rather adapted to it, or experienced it continuously for long enough they got used to the sensation.

    Along the walls were directions to junctions with ship maps, though mostly they were just clear of detritus, leaving only Spartan metal.

    I was walking to the bridge, which was relatively close to the hangars, was centered between port and starboard and about a quarter of the ship¡¯s length forward from the rear engines. It was a quick five-minute walk through tube after tube of boring metal walls.

    MC had apparently gone off to do something after his rather moderate gripe.

    I had been walking through the corridors for a few minutes when I walked past a member of staff, a mercenary but not a merc mercenary. I did things like bounty hunting or recovery. The squat man was walking from engineering down the portside main catwalk in front of me and was very obviously a member of the Gulls crew.

    We both made our best impression of two ships in the dark and walked past one another. There were quite a few fighting mercenaries, but the crew of the Gull was thrice our number. The Gull had just shy of 400 people on board at maximum capacity, each doing their jobs, manning turrets, checking sensors, and piloting the ship, while the captain and quartermaster did their jobs.

    MC was the captain and had a room just off the bridge for communications, he monitored each of us that were away on missions and did it with an insane level of dexterity. And the enigmatic quarter master did their duty, performing the obscure mathematics of keeping everything running, reading updates of everything and performing the calculus of predicting the future of what we would need.

    I honestly didn¡¯t think I could do either of their jobs, not even with training. The things I could do were turn effort into credits, which would, in turn, bring back money to man the Gull, which in turn gave us a place to put our feet up. By sending us out for contracted work, they kept everything running while we ran around; both of us worked our asses off, but we never saw eye to eye.

    They got to sit around here, manning the ship. We ran around and got into tough spots to make money. If the ship was ever in danger, they would be the ones to save it, but it never did, the last war was over three decades ago, and the Gull was simply not worth it. Oh sure, a drunk idiot thinking they were pirates was a thing that happened, but it was generally not a thing that resulted in anything more than a fired missile and a scrap run to sift through the rubble for goodies.

    Pirates avoided the inner system for a reason, they were simply outmatched.

    I got on the main corridors, and made my way over to the bridge, up the stairs as the indicator showed and sent a quick call to MC over the radio to ask permission to enter the bridge.

    The formality was quickly heeded, and the door clicked open and inward to the bridge. The bridge crew was minimal, most off duty, they sat staring off into their displays that gave nothing, listening to some radio to pass the time. The Helmsman sat doing nothing, rigidly sitting in his seat like he had the most deadly stick shoved up his ass ever conceived. Not acknowledging anything.

    I nodded at the tall humanoid man, unable to meet his freaky and intense four multifaceted eyes as I walked in front of him, and the door shut behind me.

    I made my way over to the side room before knocking on the door.

    It clicked open, and I walked into the dim room.

    Bank upon bank of radios covered the wall, giving off the only light other than the doorway.

    ¡°Come on in, Bandit,¡± MC called out, his resonant voice not constrained over the radio rolled out clearly.

    ¡°Well, MC, how is this going to go down,¡± I asked as I entered.

    The first thing I saw was his silhouette, my eyes were not accustomed to the low light I could only see his absence.

    Mission Control was large, his long trunk floating in low gravity, his tentacles moving between the buttons and dials of the room while anchoring himself in the space.

    Once out of the glare of the fluorescent lights, I could see his reflective eyes, dozens of them speckling his body.

    He was a squid, eyes lining his body to give him 360-degree vision, his tentacles reached out from either end of his body like the branches and roots of a tree.

    Below him, held in one tentacle, was a microphone, trailing over to the banks of radios.

    He would stay here in this box listening to us. Watching over us.

    He was a good boss, as far as my bosses have been concerned, no matter that he was not a humanoid like most of us. Many of the more specialized people humanity had made could do the job of many others, case in point, one MC vs a dozen well-trained radio operators.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    The Quartermaster was also non-humanoid and did the job of some twenty staff, but he was a Clerk, so that was part of the package.

    Most of us were less different on the outside than MC, small changes to our insides were more common, though more often than not, it was our minds that were different. Each of us once upon a time had performed a task, with a variety of different things. That had led to most people grouping up based on professions because they were the most alike. Farmers farmed, but were you farming grains? If so, what cereals? What about Fruit? And so we had been programmed from birth to perform that one task. Most of us looked similar to one another, slightly different but mostly the same, there was just no reason to have more significant changes. But less than forty percent were distinct like MC, non-humanoids with incredibly enhanced abilities.

    A group of Farmers, who prided themselves on farming, being outdone by one person as large as a tractor doing the job of thirty men could have that effect.

    Navigators and Astro paths and their strange minds that continuously plotted tiny parts of space let us predict things decades out, including the operation of the stellar relays centred around Gabriel. Clerks were enigmatic and had hideously long lives, toiling away for decades at a time. The Chroniclers were four-armed, and nearly ten feet with brilliant green carapaces, they were able to live in a vacuum, and they remembered everything they ever saw and everything their ancestors saw too.

    The non-humanoids were often either thought of as monsters or looked up to as a kind of idol. On the worlds we had inherited by accident, competency was often the trait of a leader, and the competence of the non-humanoids made them great leaders.

    Often, they were even looked up to for long enough that there would even be a kind of attractiveness shift. Some people would try to look like them, some moons or stellar bodies had a kind of non-humanoid attractiveness kink. I found the Chroniclers attractive, but I think that was a me thing.

    I had never seen someone else like MC, and I probably wouldn¡¯t see another, each had likely had a specific task once upon a time, they were rare.

    ¡°Good to see you, Bandit, I have approximately 14 minutes before the next check-in, the client can be reached on channel 37, over there,¡± he told me, pointing past me to a bank of radio equipment with a noodle appendage.

    ¡°Thanks, let¡¯s hope he bends a bit because otherwise, it¡¯s a no,¡± I told him, turning around to walk over.

    ¡°I still can¡¯t understand your reaction, but I suppose your distaste is not uncommon.¡± He told me.

    ¡°I can tell you in a bit, it¡¯s business time,¡± I told him as I found channel 37.

    As it turned out, the channel in question was a large box with dials and indicators, it was a bit case for longer-range communication. It was far larger than my pocket-sized one that could do basic stuff, but otherwise, it was normal equipment. What caught my attention was the number of things attached to the box, hooked up, were a number of plates and circuits and an old battery.

    It took up twice the original space as the original and looked like it had been cobbled together with spare parts. It looked like it was an electrical hazard.

    I trusted MC, but even so, I plugged my headset in tentatively. Luckily it didn¡¯t electrocute me.

    I turned on the channel and pinged. The line picked up immediately.

    ¡°Hello.¡± The mystery man on the other end said.

    He had a kind of clear, smooth basso voice with a posh Phelian accent, a nobles accent. That was to be expected, considering he was some kind of rich big wig, but it was still strange. I had kind of assumed someone else would be talking for him.

    ¡°Hello, I am Bandit of the Phelian Gulls.¡±

    ¡°It is good to meet your acquaintance, Bandit, I am the Collector. May I presume you are the mercenary I paid to retrieve my artifact?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Indeed, I have the artifact on me.¡± I told him before asking, ¡°It¡¯s my understanding you want an additional artifact retrieved.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡­ Straight to the point, I see. I suppose time is money and all of that. Indeed, I want you to bring the data chit you retrieved to the Throne, it is a part of a greater whole, as it were.¡± He said.

    ¡°I see. And this would be a rush job, correct? I¡¯ve been told you have been asking for speed, what else would this job entail.¡± I asked, I was looking to test him, I wanted to have a few buzzwords to rack up the costs.

    ¡°Indeed, I am looking for a speedy and discreet carrier. Your job would be to bring the chit with you, down to a corresponding artifact on the Throne, retrieve it, and bring it back to me.¡± He said.

    It¡¯s like he¡¯s asking to be price gouged, what a dufus.

    ¡°My starting price just to go onto the throne and retrieve the artifact is 20 million. But for a rush job and for secrecy, that would be an 80% increase.¡± I started, ¡°However. The Throne is outside of my range, which means that part of that price is in transportation fees. I understand that you are a person of means, if you have a method of transportation, I would be willing to cut the total down to a 40% increase.¡± I told him.

    It was a massive upsell, but if even half of that was accepted, it would be-

    ¡°Deal, transportation is no issue, I already have a ship heading over there, it is on its way inward towards Raphael. As for secrecy, a few million is a small price to pay for it, you have already come in contact with those that stole the chit from me previously, it¡¯s a hot item, and every new artifact is. Your job, in addition to getting the artifact, will need to include keeping others in the dark, you never know if someone¡¯s a spy after all.¡±

    40% would be 8 million credits. I would get 8 million credits for keeping my mouth shut.

    ¡°I can do that,¡± I said, not letting the tremble of my lip at the thought of that much cash give me away. ¡°I will need half of my pay upfront. I need to rearm because I used a lot of ammunition for your prior job, but if I¡¯m going to land on the Throne, I¡¯m going to require refuelling to get back out of orbit. Coupled with the secrecy, with the half up front, that would be 14 million credits before I get on your ship.¡± I told him.

    Get the money, think of the money, Bandit, eyes on the prize. I don¡¯t care if he¡¯s way too willing to be parted from his cash, even if it¡¯s suspicious.

    ¡°That would be a lot all at once, but to get you onboard as soon as possible, I¡¯m willing.¡± He said, ¡°I will forward it to the Gull immediately. My ship is docked on Pier twelve, when can I expect you to arrive?¡±

    I blinked, running a calculation on how long it would take to acquire what I was looking for. If I got onto the station, got my stuff ready and brought it back. I could refuel in the hangar, I just had to call for it. Then I could sleep on the ship, add in an hour for food¡­

    ¡°4 hours tops,¡± I told him.

    ¡°Excellent, hangar 14 will be available for landing for four hours over at berth 134,¡± he said, almost offhandedly.

    14? That¡¯s a big ship, bigger than the Gull. A ship with 14 landing bays on merchant¡¯s vessel would be huge.

    ¡°Understandable, I¡¯ll be there. Bandit out.¡± I told him before switching off the radio and unplugging my headset.

    I turned to MC before asking, ¡°Did that go too well?¡±

    ¡°Quite possibly,¡± he said, flexing his tentacles, ¡°I¡¯ll get the documents ready; can I assume you want your ship refuelled?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll need my ship refuelled. I need to do a bunch of stuff, too, though¡­ Could you have the forms sent to my bay so I can sign them when I leave?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I can indeed, or you could just sign them now,¡± he said, pointing at a desk just behind him. ¡°Getting a document ready just meant I needed to sign them. Come on, it will only take a moment.¡±

    Ugg.

    Paperwork.

 Theodore

    It took far more than a minute for MC to go over everything. It, in fact, took the remaining time he had until Geko checked in, and I let myself out.

    It felt like ten million years had passed. One of the upsides of going off on a sketchy mission was that I could renegotiate my contract afterward. I don¡¯t know that I would. I mean multiple millions of credits. If I wanted to, I could strike out alone or retire.

    Before I did that, though, I needed to fill back up, hit the station and get going.

    I headed out of the bridge and checked in at logistics to get them to fill my boat up before heading to the canteen. They would charge my account, and I could go and do my thing while they did it; I trusted them enough not to be there while they filled it up. The canteen, as always, was a bit dingy and smelled like smoke, but it didn''t take away from the food or drink. I went to the bar, got a meal and a beer, and took a smoke where I wouldn¡¯t get yelled at for setting off a smoke alarm.

    After the short meal and the pint, I decided to get on with my day. Down corridors towards the docking arm and into the station, I reached the tube where the ship reached the docking arm. It was, on the inside, a spiral staircase. I pulled myself up off the ground to float before ascending a good distance. After I started slowing down, I pulled myself over and onto the stairs and started climbing. Climbing the liminal tube up until I reached a flat room.

    There were two guards standing there, their uniform had a reflective visor, and had a boring look like they were a kind of mass-produced product. I gave the guards a nod and we did the classic.

    ¡°Please declare any and all weapons before entering the Isadore, any and all ranged weapons will be temporarily seized as is mandated by the governor.¡± The guard declared.

    The other guard foisted a medium length weapon of his own. It was black polymer on the outside, but I recognized a newer version of my peacemaker.

    Based on the outside it was probably a few decades newer maybe, a 3070 or 3080 Marine Lawmaker. Black Polymer over metal insides designed to shoot a glob of hot plastic instead of a metal round that could accidentally punch a hole and vent us each into space. It was hard to tell the different models apart because the insides were covered, but I knew the pump was picked on the 70¡¯s and 80¡¯s over the older lever. It made it look like there uniform.

    I complied, lifting my hands, and telling the guard, ¡°Only my sword, I know the rules when it comes to firearms.¡±

    He nodded before approaching me and giving me a pat down, he found the radio and headset, my lighter and smokes. All my bits and bobs he checked before leaving, he even attempted to lift the blade but couldn¡¯t, so he nodded and continued. He was thorough with his check, but it only took half a minute.

    He stood back up, blacked out face plate not showing anything.

    ¡°That¡¯s a good grip the blade has, at least we don¡¯t have to give you a tie. Welcome aboard the Isadore mam.¡±

    I nodded to him, ¡°Have a good day guardsman.¡±

    I passed him and the silent gun toting guard, back around to the second stairway above the first. Climbed the small spiral stairway up and onto the station proper, a segment of the outer ring, shaped more like a small hangar, with a rail line leading through the center.

    Turning around after clearing the stairs I found a wall, most places had one. The walls were the easy way to tell a traveler everything they needed to know about. The time, a basic map, the ¡®Times of day and night¡¯ and a few more things that often changed from station to station. I checked the wall and checked my timepiece. I was a bit off, but that was fine. Time keeping was a massive pain in the ass, not just on and around a planet, but in general.

    The Big Golems, or as some religious groups put them the Archangels, had standardized times. I had asked Doc about why clocks like mine needed to be changed so frequently.

    He told me, in his monotone voice. ¡°I do not mean to indicate you have sub-standard rational facility¡¯s when I state this, however you do not have the proper education to understand the answer. I can ask Gabriel if you would like to learn, recommend writings from him that you might read to learn.¡±

    I had not wanted to, but I took him up on it and got a tiny scrap of writing from Doc with a list of available texts a few hundred titles long with annotations on what they teach given to him by Gabriel. The list was worth a few hundred thousand credits.

    I only purchased one of them, because I was not looking to understand the true shape of the universe or whatever but asking for a basic grasp on why I had to change my time piece all the time.

    Each ship had a time, each station had a time, and every planet had a time and they all disagreed on what the ¡®time¡¯ was. Most of the time, it was small though, like now.

    Checking the time in comparison to the station I found that it was early in the afternoon, and that the tram into the inner ring would be here in a few minutes, which was nice.

    I stepped over to the platform and boarded the tram with minimal fuss, taking a seat and rode the tram up into the center segment. Thankfully I was the only one on the tram other than the driver. Moving between the segments could often result in the use of a barf bag if you were one of the huge number of people that experienced normal balance. Lucky me.

    I exited into the main station, found my way to a map, found my locations after a few minutes and started walking up the stairs and onto the street above.

    The narrow road was more cramped than the roads of a terrestrial planet, made for foot traffic or a bike, but the signs were just as functional. Everything on the station, like on a ship, was metal. The stairs lead up onto a metal grate that pulled air in, the walls of buildings were painted metal, and the road, while not metal, was stone or tile that rested on top of the metal road to give grip.

    The road didn¡¯t need to be metal thankfully, the rotation of the station was enough artificial gravity this close to the core that I didn¡¯t need the magnetic shoes.

    The ¡®sky¡¯ was lit up, but all the way down here the shadows were deep from the stacked structure of the inner city inside Isadore. Small lamps lit up the place instead, which was a nice touch, it made it possible to read the road signs.

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    I started walking past tiny alleys and found my way to the first thing I needed to do. Drop off the credits I had into my account, because if they weren¡¯t in my account, they didn¡¯t exist.

    When I made it to the building I walked to a terminal. It accepted my banking chit and a pass key later; I checked my account.

    The money had already made it, all 14 million of it. I was as high as a kite, checking the amount made my mouth gape. I think my eyes popped out of my head a little.

    ¡é14025087.

    It was the most money I had ever seen in one place.

    I took out a portion with a separate credit chit and deposited the rest of the chits I had with me, passing the empty chits from my raid to the confused looking banker behind the counter.

    I must have had a terrible look on my face because she looked at me like they were hand grenades.

    Oh, I was smiling, yeh that might do it.

    I checked my smile, forcing my face into a more neutral expression before heading out.

    My second stop was a weapon dealer, which was just across the road from the bank. What that might say about our society, or this segment of the station, was not on my mind. This segment must have been made for people like me, gun freaks. That or gangs. Probably gangs, but I wasn¡¯t in a place to judge.

    The store was named Theodores Armory. The shop was tucked in between two other buildings, little alleyways I could see passed onto a side street on either side of the building. There were no windows, although a few cameras were situated around the building. A ¡®come in were open¡¯ sign lay at the side of the doorway.

    I walked in and took in the storefront, it was rather small, with only displays for what I could buy. I wasn¡¯t going to judge keeping the merchandise in the back and away for grubby mercenaries like me. Especially if the counter was unmanned like it was.

    A camera in the corner above the door to the back moved to follow me.

    There were order forms that I could fill out, with a little cup of pencils at the front next to a genuine metal bell. I grabbed one of each and started looking through the displays, twiddling the knob to show different products.

    I looked through one for munitions and found putty to shoot, I picked the block to save some cost and did some mental math to figure out how much I needed. Then I just picked a brick that weighed a pound, because why not, I was rich. I picked a few caps to put on my hand cannons as backups in case my ones broke, and filled up on shot the right size for me to fit into my custom bits. I wrote the amounts down and finally got to the good part.

    There were a lot of guns, genuine explosive firearms like my hand cannons, railguns, coil guns, gas guns, the list went on and on. No cannons and no fancy tech weapon like a laser gun. That meant nothing .50 or larger, but that was to be expected, most people couldn¡¯t shoot one, it was far too large for a weapon. Tech weapons stayed in the inner most of the planetary body¡¯s, Luna, Raphael and Michael, they were good, but of course, no one wanted others to get the good stuff.

    I found my way to a part that showed off coil guns, but they were longer, full length coil guns. Not what I wanted, but still decent. A few of them were more plastic than metal. Sleek future guns. Half of them had boxy covers that made them look like they would be a massive pain to use.

    A few were bigger, made for super long-range shots.

    I decided to ask for a bit of help. I moved to the front desk, and in a moment that had been coming for forever, I pinged the bell.

    There was, after a moment a man exited the back. Brown hair, brown eyes and tan skin, he stood 6 and a half feet and came out with simple cloths, a little oil stained his shirt and the lip of his coveralls.

    He had the four days without a shower look, facial hair covering his lower face, and arm hair covered his uncovered arms, up to a line that left his lower arm clear.

    ¡°Heya,¡± he said in a rough tenor, ¡°You want to cash out?¡±

    ¡°Nah, I¡¯m looking for a coil gun,¡± I told him, before I hooked a thumb back towards the display, ¡°But you only have rifle length. I¡¯m looking for something carbine length. Also, something with a capacity of more than one.¡±

    He looked at me, scrutinizing my face. ¡°And why would you need somthin like that?¡±

    ¡°Because I¡¯m going to the Throne, and I don¡¯t fancy myself, a dead woman walking. I need range, and less hearing damage.¡± I told him, glairing up at the tall man.

    He stared down into my eyes, and I practically glared at him.

    Whatever he saw made him nod. ¡°Your rather small for a woman, I guess you need a smaller gun cuz your arms are all tiny. I think I have somethin I can sell. It¡¯s new but should be ok. You a Merc?¡±

    I stopped glaring at him like I was about to take a dump and nodded, ¡°I am, I¡¯m also fine with buying new stuff.¡±

    He whistled, ¡°Least you¡¯re not one of them bad folk. I¡¯m Theodore, what''s yours?¡± He said it Thee oh door.

    ¡°I¡¯m Bandit, good to meet you, Theodore.¡±

    He looked back down at me, ¡°Your makin me second guess giving you a gun.¡±

    I sighed before telling him the simple answer, ¡°It¡¯s a job thing.¡±

    He clicked his tongue and stared off into space for a second. Then he seemed to remember something and snaped his fingers.

    ¡°Right, you guys do that thing where you hide your names.¡± Pointing the finger gun at me, ¡°Oh, follow me.¡± He spoke moving out to the door.

    He opened the door, and I followed him around the counter and into the back.

    ¡°What¡¯s with the fake name thing anyways? Always seemed dumb to me.¡± He said, leading the way through the front portion of what was very obviously an armory, guns and ammunition caged to keep out people.

    ¡°Well,¡± I started, ¡°we do work that gets on people¡¯s radar. We take people out, and those people generally work for other people. If we don¡¯t want those guys to go and take it out on family, then we have to hide that. That¡¯s why we use a Pseudonym. Can¡¯t hunt our family¡¯s if you don¡¯t know who we are.¡± I told him, tapping my head.

    ¡°Ahh, makes sense, whoever came up with that¡¯s one smart cookie.¡± He said, before stopping, and turning to a section. ¡°Here¡¯s the new stuff, a few shorter coil guns, take a look and write down the number on the order form.¡± He told me, before walking back to the form.

    He is¡­ rather chill. He just left me back here alone? I suppose he has the cameras back here.

    I walked over and took a look. There were a few slim models mirroring the ones in the front, made from the same people. Two of them caught my eye, but one more so than the other.

    The first looked very standard. A Desmos gun. Smooth and tube shaped, the exterior was stamped metal, but it was smooth as hell, the seam was a smooth bead like a wire. Painted tan with orange red trim.

    The only problem was that it was a single shot, a simple trap door. The second one was¡­ well, less showy.

    It was at first glance, a firearm. Until I recognized the telltale stock shape and the line that chased the underside of the barrel. A simple tube lay under the barrel, separated by only by the small spacer that must have hooked into the coils.

    The thing that made me pick it over the sleeker ones? The barrel and tube were hexagonal, and I loved sixes. That and the lever.

    It screamed, ¡®I don¡¯t care if I¡¯m the boring one, I get things done.¡¯

    I checked the details on it, a few leaflets of paper hooped to the display the gun was in.

    Y&I 3097 Repeating Coil Carbine. Sonic and Subsonic, accurate out to 300 feet. Smooth bore to fire everything from slugs to proper sabots.

    It practically called me to it, it was a gun I could fall in love with.

    I wrote it down, and quickly wrote down the type of ammunition it would take, practically hoping my way to the front and giving Theodore my sheet.

    ¡°How quickly can you have this filled by, I don''t mean to be a pain, but I need to get on my way quickly.¡± I told him.

    He squinted at the sheet for a moment before muttering about tiny handwriting and taking out a pair of spectacles.

    It made him look, to me, funny. A big hairy guy with a tiny set of glasses. Glasses were a rare thing, I wondered why he needed them.

    ¡°Yeh, I can get this ready in a little. An hour tops, come back and I¡¯ll have everything packed up for you. You want to pay now or at pick up?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I can pay now, I have a chit ready,¡± I told him.

    He made a mmhm and walked back out into the front.

    He gave me a little recite; the price would have rocked my socks off if I wasn¡¯t suddenly a rich gal.

    ¡é174000.

    That¡¯s a lot of credit, but when I walked out into the street and then into the alley to take a smoke, the vent drawing the smoke while the tiny smoke lit my face, I was smiling like an idiot.

 Could you lend a hand?

    After I took a smoke break and rubbed the butt out on the sidewalk, I made my way over to a store that sold polymer and bits and bobs before returning to the store and waiting for the time I could pick it up.

    The story was rather easy to get the polymer, I got a big hunk of it so I could make a metric fuck tone of the sabots my normal shots used. I could melt down the extra bits and reuse them. The bricks were hefty, far exceeding what I could casually wear in a coat pocket, so I got a bag. I also got some of the insulating glass and other stuff I would need for plasma shots. The stuff was brittle when it had nothing inside, incredibly so, especially for being a material artifact, a material that was made by the enigmatic forges scattered around the system.

    They were also dirt cheap because there were three of those manufactories across Gabriel and its moons, so I loaded up on the stuff. Who knew how long I would be away from the cheap stuff? Over on Luna or even just on a dwarf and it would be orders of magnitude cheaper.

    I mean, I might be rich, but I wasn¡¯t going to look some cheap material in the mouth, you know?

    I walked on out with a bit of a smile on my face because, let¡¯s be honest, there¡¯s nothing like a deal to put a smile on your face, and I headed on over to the armoury.

    I caught one of the people I passed on the street trying to pick my pockets and slapped their hands. The rest of the group with them reacted to that negatively, but when I showed off that I had a sword, they took the better half of Valor and fucked off.

    Considering their clothes and the green motif and tags on some of the buildings, they were likely in a local gang. I was not easy prey; they couldn¡¯t look big and intimidate me, not with three random people.

    I took a smoke in the alley and watched others walk by as I waited. Some with gang colours, some without, one guy in blue almost got grabbed and dragged away before he ran off. I kept my eyes open for fuckery, and upon checking, I did see a few watch outs. A shirt here, a hat there. They were here, but they weren¡¯t out in force.

    That should be fine, a kid and two lookouts aren¡¯t going to get me.

    I checked my timepiece and got back in on time to pick up the gun.

    ¡°Hey, shorty, it¡¯s all packed up ere,¡± Theodore told me, pulling out a case I could swing onto my back from below the counter.

    ¡°Thanks, Theodore, I might just come back if I¡¯m in the neighbourhood, you have a great selection.¡± I complimented him.

    Instead of answering with words, his face made an expression of ¡®just right,¡¯ and honestly, I had to agree, it was, he had a great thing going.

    ¡°Say, Theodore¡­ I saw some guys watching the store, green guys, you know. Are they going to cause problems when I walk out of here?¡± I asked him.

    His face took on a sour look, ¡°maybe. Half and half depends on if they think you have something good on you.¡±

    ¡°Like a lot of stuff and a gun case?¡± I asked.

    He narrowed his eyes in thought, and he puckered his lips a little before nodding his head.

    ¡°You think you are going to get jumped? Make sure you show off that sword and don¡¯t go getting hooked up on them, there ain¡¯t no sheriff round here, just old-fashioned law, if yeh get me.¡±

    I understood him completely, at least, I thought I did.

    ¡°I think I can handle that,¡± I told him. ¡°Now pass over the other stuff, yeh? I¡¯m in a rush.¡±

    ¡°MMhm.¡± He told me, pulling out everything and placing it on the counter for me to squirrel away in my pockets or bag.

    ¡°Well, Theodore. I¡¯ll get out of your hair now. You stay well yeh?¡± I told him while I packed away my goods.

    ¡°All right, shorty. You stay living on the cursed rock.¡± He told me before leaving the desk and returning to the back.

    I got my stuff and left the armoury. Strapped with enough ordinance to make a Marine blush. And with my stuff done, I headed back to the station that would bring me back to the Gull. My arms were free, and I had one hand on my sword.

    Anyone between me and the exit was itching for a sudden impromptu surgery. Keeping my head on a swivel, I was able to notice a few people who decided they wanted to walk in the same directions I wanted to. That was fine, they could follow me as much as they wanted, and they could help.

    I kept walking uninterrupted until a particularly intelligent-looking man turned the corner. I could hear them closing in from behind. The doctorate decided to start talking, while I refused to stop walking towards him.

    ¡°Now, now, girly, stop right there. We could use a hand to keep the neighborhood safe, this is just going to be a simple trans-¡± He started giving his speech, but when he raised his left arm, my left arm came up.

    I decided to give him a hand, so first, I had to procure one.

    His left hand, just a few inches below the wrist, came off, falling to the ground.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    I walked around him, and he didn¡¯t even realize what had happened until I was past him.

    I kept my sword out so the goons and he could see it, along with anyone that might be around the corner.

    There wasn¡¯t anyone behind the corner when I took it, but I could hear the goons behind me start to freak out. I kept on walking to the station, onto the metal grate, and down into the metal floored station.

    When I got in, I sheathed my sword, waited for the train, and rode back down, made my way past the two guards, who looked at the case and upon seeing it was unopened let me past without fuss and I made my way back.

    I checked the time and, knowing it would take a bit made my way to the ship.

    The quarter master would have charged my account by now, and knowing him, by the time I was on the station my ship had been refueled, so I made my way up the ramp, double checked the fuel tank and found it full, and closed up. I radioed in to get the platform raised back up once I got the ship sealed up, and I got raised up and out of the Gull.

    I got back in the drivers¡¯ seat once I got everything stored away so it wouldn¡¯t put a hole in the hull somewhere. The trip would take some time, and I could fix up my ammunition on the way.

    I lifted off of the platform after telling the station I was maneuvering and they told me they wouldn¡¯t give me free void swimming lessons the hard way, and I started to maneuver around the station.

    I had to be careful, curving around the station, I didn¡¯t have modern thrusters where I could just move in every direction. I could go up, forward and backward, and with my forward thrust I could angle a little, which was what going around the circular station called for, and I had to do it while making sure I didn¡¯t mess up my momentum somehow and send myself on a course for deep void where I would have to expend metric fuck loads of fuel to not drift off to die alone.

    The void was a void, you didn¡¯t miraculously slow down. In a way, flying near the ground was easier because the atmosphere would slow you down. Both had a problem if you accidentally messed up, just on the ground if you were going to crash you could bail and walk away from it. If I ¡®crashed¡¯ up here and needed to bail, I would float in space until the suit gave out and my blood boiled me to death.

    And for all that it was the most inhospitable place to work, there was something about the dark and the stars that reassured me.

    Maybe it was because I was born on a dwarf planet, and the atmosphere was thin enough outside of a dome that it was basically the same as the void. Maybe it was something I inherited from my mother¡¯s side. Maybe it was just that my bones enjoyed the low gravity more than the full gravity of a planet.

    Maybe it was something more, something I couldn¡¯t put a finger on. Like the soul or some kind of obscure trauma. Either or.

    But I enjoyed the endless black of the void, it relaxed me, and so, for half an hour, I could just relax as I moved around, slowly finding my way to the 134-berthing point.

    Some areas had more boat traffic, other people floating around, making deliveries or whatever they needed to do to make money and get paid.

    As it turned out, 134 was a busy berthing, boats going in and out constantly. A wave of them, going in and out of an open or low-pressure hangar along the side. There were also several enclosed bays on the top and bottom.

    It was large, bigger than a frigate for sure, but still familiar with its style to that of the Gull all though it had been retrofitted with curves more along the line of the inner systems. If I had to guess it looked like it came from Raphael.

    ¡°Fuck me that¡¯s a big ship, looks like a fuckin Cruiser. Rich mother fucker indeed.¡±

    I found my way to hangar 14, landed and started scanning for a radio to let myself in.

    ¡°Please Identify Voidboat in hangar 14¡± A voice over the radio called out.

    ¡°Looking to dock, I¡¯m here on a job for The Collector. My call sign is Bandit. I was expected.¡± I told the voice.

    ¡°Hold on a moment Bandit.¡± The voice told me.

    Then I sat there and waited. I had already cut the engine, so I just turned on another channel and listened to some music. It took the person in charge of the large vessel to get me called in. I was halfway though some old record I didn¡¯t really care for so I flipped it off when the channel got pinged.

    ¡°Hello, this is Bandit.¡±

    ¡°Hello Bandit, you are clear for entry, and you will be lowered shortly, you are cleared for boarding. Should you require it, a cabin may be afforded to you, and you have access to all recreational and non-restricted sections onboard. On behalf of our employer, welcome aboard the Tsarta.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the welcome,¡± I told her, leaving her a call frequency to alert me on in case I was wanted before I fucked off to the back and tucked myself into my bunk.

    Bunk was an overstatement, it was a bag in a small compartment the size of a closet, but it was comfy. I left my little handheld radio closed so I could catch a call if it came and passed out for a few hours.

    When I woke up, it was because the radio that had floated away from me during my extended nap was beeping.

    Blearily I unzipped and floated my way to the radio, managed to get my headset on my head and turned on the radio.

    ¡°Hello?¡±

    I waited a bit, because apparently, the radio operator was doing something else, but they got back to me by the time I had managed to heat up some water and got some caffeine into me.

    ¡°Hello, you have been requested to attend a meeting at 16 hundred.¡± They told me in a voice so monotone it was background noise for a few moments.

    ¡°Uh ship time and room?¡± I asked.

    ¡°12 hundred twenty-one¡± she told me. I set my time and made my way over to the ships console to set that too.

    ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am, anything else?¡±

    ¡°Nothing right now.¡± She droned.

    ¡°All right, bye.¡± I told the soulless radio operator, changing the channel to a radio I wanted to listen to and finished up my cup, some jerky and dry food, and took a smoke with the fan on so I didn¡¯t choke before I got some work done on the bullets, taking the balls from there round state to a tapered point, cleaned up the shavings, and measured off some of the putty.

    By the time I had run out of the time I could spend on it I was about to start readying the casing.

    Instead, I got properly dressed to impress and made my way out of the ship. No guns, but my sword was still on my hip, and I had my hat on. It still had the burn on it, and I thought that gave it some charm, that or it made me look like a shmuck.

    I closed up the ship behind me and on magnetic shoes made my way out of the hangar, checked a map, and got lost for half an hour in the maze of halls until I finally found my way to the meeting three minutes early and let myself in.

    No one was inside so I waited.

    And waited.

    I double checked the time and room to make sure I didn¡¯t mess it up, but it was the right room. So, I took a smoke and waited for whoever was coming to make their way over.

    It took about six minutes for one of the people to make their way in and I was at the end of my smoke when the door opened.

    They looked at me and I looked at them.

    They looked like a random person, some kind of generally laborer. But when they came in and sat down, the way they moved suggested otherwise though. They walked like they were a fighter, the way they balanced, their hips and their eye movements, it was like they were ready to take a fighting stance and jump into the fray at any moment.

    I gave whoever they were a nod and kept my face blank.

    That was just the first person. There were twenty chairs.

    Oh boy, can¡¯t wait to size up every sketchy person that comes in here to determine if they are a threat.

 Suspicious Strangers

    I sat there, a cigarette in one hand, burnt down to the filter looking at nothing, watching the strange not-labourer. He took his seat, and I decided to quickly grab the ashtray and pull it in front of me with my free hand so I could put out my cigarette and light up a new one. My lighter clicked open and closed, and then I had a brand-new alibi to not talk with the suspicious man who had taken a seat across the table from me.

    And so, we waited for four more minutes for the second guest, this time, they were normal people that didn¡¯t hold themselves like they were top-secret assassins in plain clothes here to keep me on my clothes. A man and a woman, more labourers, sat down near the suspicious one and struck up a conversation with him.

    I didn¡¯t really pay attention to it; I was too focused on paying attention to everything in the room all at once. The suspect also paid attention to everything but was able to pass himself off as paying attention to the conversation.

    The spooky spy mother fucker he was, but he had talent. I did not want to be in a room alone with him, artifact blade or not.

    A few minutes later, there were some normal fighting types, like me but more goonish. The type of good, straightforward people who put the infant back into the infantry. They had service tattoos and buzz cuts they wore armour and carried a weapon, all be it, not a gun. One had a spear, and the other, who looked like his first name was Sarge, carried a sabre of some kind.

    Then the extras filed in, the random crew that was not normal labour. Engineers, radio operators, one guy looked like he was a chef, but he could have given the goons back on the station a run for their money. And once the room was filled up well, a man in a suit walked in.

    He fancifully came in and started explaining that we were going to be stopping by the lighthouse but not going down to the surface. Some crap about delivering stuff and how we would be dropping by for a bit before coming back.

    That would explain the ¡®don¡¯t tell anyone about going down.¡¯ It would have been hard to hide it if they knew. The sketchy spy guy was one of the people I had been practically warned about, people who wanted artifacts. He might as well have told me he wanted to steal artifacts to deliver back to someone.

    It lasted far too long. Way, way too long.

    He was some kind of manservant for the Collector. He certainly wasn¡¯t the man himself; his voice wasn¡¯t the same for one, and he was dressed rather humbly in a simple suit, black tie and jacket, with a vest on underneath, a white collar poking out from it.

    He looked like a stereotype, but if it worked for him, it worked. Good on him, I guess.

    Anyways a bunch of us basically just listen to him and smoke in a room until he concludes the meeting and people start filing out. I wait a bit. I had sat further away from the door and had a line of sight on the mole and the door, and so I was ok with making sure he would exit before me when a woman walked up to me.

    I turned to the short woman, she was, strangely, around my height which was decently rare.

    She was somewhat familiar in appearance, though I couldn¡¯t place it. The feeling reminded me of like when you spot someone in a crowd so many times their face and form become familiar even though you¡¯ve never met them personally.

    ¡°Do I know you ma¡¯am?¡± I asked, keeping sketchy Steve in the corner of my eye.

    ¡°No,¡± she told me in a voice that sounded familiar. ¡°No, you don¡¯t know me. I just figure I should tell you; this isn¡¯t going to go the way you think it will.¡±

    She said it in a miraculously cryptic way.

    ¡°Well. That¡¯s enlightening, Mrs. Oracle. Do Tell.¡± I told her I tried to both figure out where I remembered that voice from and parse the cryptic fuckin statement.

    Was she talking about the mission? Was she talking about Steve the spy? Was she talking about this confrontation? Was she just fucking with me? Was it a warning, advice, or was it just a schizophrenic rambling coming from a person who believed they were helping me, a cryptic line from a person who was a victim of their own mind?

    ¡°You''re Pallasian? Are you sure I don¡¯t know you? You seem familiar.¡±

    She shook her head and lifted a headset to her head, and turned on a radio in her pocket, not even daring to answer the question. Instead, she walked away while listening to a sound or song that, even dampened by distance, was too familiar. A sound that twigged at my mind a little.

    I stood to follow, but she slipped through the crowd and disappeared from sight before I could even reach out to grab at a sleeve.

    I blinked a bit in the direction of the mystery woman before returning my attention to the man I had nicknamed Steve. He was following the other man and woman that had struck up a conversation out of the room. Lucky me, he hadn¡¯t disappeared into the crowd.

    I did not want that man at my back. Not without armour under my jacket, my guns at my hips, and a way to shoot behind me, and even with those, I would still rather not have him at my back because back biters at a tricky lot, and you could never tell what they were going to do.

    I did notice that he didn¡¯t have any noticeable weapons, which just made me wearier of them.

    I finished my smoke slowly to let the people file out of the room before putting it out and heading back to the Junker and getting back to readying a whole host of shots.

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Giving the ball shot a point to better penetrate armour. Milling out the polymer to make boots just larger than the chamber of the revolvers so they get a proper press fit. I measured out the exact measurements of putty to give the shots their velocity while not shattering my wrist. The optimum amount that I had found after shooting thousands of rounds. Rolling up the putty and keeping it safe in a deposit while onboard and in a pouch in my jacket, a cage of metal around it to keep out possible static formed from thin wire.

    The finished bullets went in a similar pouch that way, I could pull them out if I needed it.

    I stuck the putty to the bottom of a few of the shots for ease of use. If I needed to shoot, I didn¡¯t want to add an extra ten seconds to each shot. That was two minutes for a full reload of wasted time in a gunfight, and that math done over the course of a two to four minutes encounter meant I would be in a bad spot.

    Then I got all my stuff out for plasma, and my body decided now was the time for food, so I found my way to the canteen, which, it turned out, was more of a tavern.

    It was located in a nicer segment of the ship. Constant, warm lighting. Constant, hidden ventilation. Real wood panelling. It was like walking on solid credits.

    Wood was rather rare. Faux wood made from dyed plant matter, or the polymer fake stuff, was as close as an average person would often come to a tree.

    Most trees needed pesky things like wide open spaces, dirt that didn¡¯t have toxic material, an atmosphere, also sans toxins, and water, also also sans toxins. Then you just¡­ left them there for a really long ass time, and they grew up. And assuming you didn¡¯t give them too much radiation, didn¡¯t burn them by accident, they didn¡¯t get sick, and they grow, twenty to thirty years later, you can get a good harvest on wood.

    Now you have spent time and effort on something that actively needs to be cut down and worked on. It needs verification it¡¯s genuine wood. You then need to sell the raw material to someone who will, in turn, ramp the prices up sky-high and make all the money.

    If you can do it, you¡¯re rich, you might even be able to support a small family for the time it would take to grow the next generation of trees.

    On planets like Gabriel, it was a rare thing indeed. Most of the wood either came from crazy people on a habitat so paranoid of getting stolen from they would gun down everyone who found out where they lived or on Raphael, which had the climate for them to naturally propagate across the entire planet.

    Damn empire, with its easy access to water, lush planet, good economy, technology and planning.

    I wasn¡¯t jealous.

    Not one bit.

    Anyway, I found my way to the veritable tavern and found my way to the bar.

    I felt like someone who found themselves in the good part of town.

    I tried to order food, and the guy at the bar gave me a menu. I confusingly read from it and could barely understand the name of the ¡®dishes¡¯ displayed, and instead, I had to figure it out based on the tiny text below that explained what the ¡®dishes¡¯ contained.

    I had to perform a calculation in my head if I could understand a thing well enough to actually eat it or if it was some kind of advanced obscure golem fuel.

    ¡°Can I get you started with a drink?¡±

    The voice startled me, and I looked up at the server, not expecting the service to come to me.

    ¡°Uh, what drinks do you have,¡± I asked tentatively.

    He listed off more drinks than I have had drinks and it set me on edge.

    ¡°Uh, normal drinks?¡±

    He looked at me, confused, ¡°you have to pick, but if you don¡¯t know what to pick, I can give you recommendations.¡± he told me, smiling slightly.

    I nodded, and he listed off seven beers, and I picked a beer that sounded like a lager. Just deciding made me want a whisky, but I held off, that was for dinner.

    I felt small sitting on the stool, but I dealt with it; I was a grown-ass woman and a mercenary, I wasn¡¯t going to be intimidated by a fancy list of food and some wood panelling.

    When the server came back, I ordered food, some kind of meat with sauce over rice, and he took the order back, and we ended up striking up a conversation over nothing.

    He was a bit of a looker, and I wouldn¡¯t mind a hook-up, but I was on a job where part of my job was keeping a secret, that, and there was an even better-looking girl a few seats over.

    I ended up with two strikes, and I decided I was going to step back from that without going for three and just settled down for a normal conversation.

    As it turned out, they were already an item, and I ended up stumbling into the conversation in the exact right way to get them to laugh, which may not have earned me any action, but gave me a good time in the bar instead. Frank was tall, a foot and a bit taller than me, with tan skin and big hazel eyes, good-looking overall. At the same time, Mindy looked like she was designed to cause traffic collisions with a bust as big around as my head, a lithe form and stood half a foot taller than me with the Remiel Blond hair and baby blue eyes that I hadn¡¯t inherited from my dad.

    ¡°Frank, are you still on shift in four hours?¡±

    ¡°Hmm? Yeh, I¡¯m on until we skip. The bar will be a bit lacking because we have to lock most of it up, but I can still serve. I can even keep whatever you want out a little longer.¡± He told me.

    I blinked, ¡°Wait, we¡¯re going to skip? When?¡±

    ¡°Five hours, just after dinner. That way, we can get buckled up for twenty minutes and not have a bunch of hungry people.¡± He told me while he was polishing a glass.

    The man was a skilled barman, and the way he could get into the cup made me a bit jealous of Mindy. She was hot, she knew it, and Frank was probably getting just as good as he was giving. She definitely had a Pleasurer in her family tree, someone whose job wasn¡¯t operating radios or growing food, but a person who¡­ well¡­ pleasured.

    Terrans were kind of degenerate¡¯s, and there were a lot of kinds of people who had that kind of look. Different builds, different looks, and in some cases, different reproductive systems. Some species were all female, and some were all male. But all of them were too good-looking, and most of them were nymphomaniacs.

    ¡°That would be nice, keeping a drink out, that is¡­ Uh, do you have whisky? No, what am I saying you do, just keep out some. Are you going to be here, Mindy?¡± I asked, turning to her.

    Her smile could seduce a straight Chronicler.

    ¡°Honey, I¡¯m off all day. And unless we¡¯re doing business, I¡¯ll remain off duty. You can call me any time.¡± She purred.

    Fuck me sideways that wasn¡¯t fair. Every time she did something like that, it made me lose my coherency as the unga bunga part of my brain decided that it was immediately required for peak priority to procure a primal act of progeny production.

    ¡°Well, I have to get out of here, I have things to do, but I¡¯ll be back, you tease.¡±

    She let out a laugh that made my brain wobble. And I managed to see myself out before whatever she had going on made the lizard part of my brain go haywire and lose a few more wrinkles.

    When I got back and let myself in, I wasn¡¯t able to focus on making plasma shots, and instead, I had to settle on fixing my brain chemistry. Because whatever it was Mindy did, it bent my brain over its knee and made sex the only thought that could enter my head.

    I could see why she would work as a diplomat; she would skew every negotiation just by sitting nearby. Forget double-d diplomacy, it was more like G for good luck.

    I slapped myself on either cheek to get my head out of the gutter and decided I needed a cold shower before I spontaneously transmuted into a teenager all over again.

    Whatever she had done to me, she was one scarry, one very good looking woman

 Satisfaction

    After two cold showers, three sessions with a magazine, a smoke and an hour of trying to work on ammunition, I was finally no longer thinking about Mindy.

    Whatever she had, it went way past normal. It was probably some kind of pheromone, I hadn¡¯t even touched her, and she had relegated my hindbrain inert to all of its other functions. And it had occupied all of it; the longer I had gone, the worse it became until it lightened like I was coming down from a high.

    It left me a bit fuzzy, honestly, but after I had detoxed a bit, I got back to making the ammo I needed and messed around with my new gun.

    It was like opening a present, breaking the seal for the first time on the table in the kitchen. It was a magical experience after so long without doing it. Hexagonal barrel and tube magazine with its wood furniture that was gorgeously oiled. The exterior metal had a treatment to blue it, which was a misleading name for a black tint to protect the metal. It didn¡¯t have special stuff, no engraving, although the grip did have some checkering.

    I lifted it up like it was my child. A gorgeous piece of art and engineering, I honestly felt bad for using it; it was no doubt going to get scratched up, just like Lefty and Righty. I would have to read the manual to figure out how to maintain its insides, but I could blue it again if it got too scratched up. I had the parts, I just needed whatever chemical I would need to protect it.

    I had something in the shop, some manual that told me what I needed to do.

    I brought it over to the bay, made sure it was clear and safe so I didn¡¯t stub my toe and started working on handling it. I wasn¡¯t particularly proficient with a longer gun, even as short as the carbine was. I could probably land a shot in the controlled environment of a range, but I would need to test it at some point to figure out whatever quirks it had.

    I took the manual with me to skim through it.

    The Y&I 3097 Repeating Coil Carbine. Handmade by Yuri and Ivy Kinetics Company on Titan, which was a bit out of the way, especially for a recent model, but Titan was where lever actions got made, so I suppose I should have expected that.

    I read about fire controls and safety and made myself aware of where they were, drilling a bit to make sure I would remember in a pinch. Then I did elaborate movements, holding the gun in both hands to try and get used to it; the weight of the gun was definitely forward a bit and would only get heavier when loaded. It was a known problem with tube magazines, which threw off aim; the change in balance as I loaded the gun would cause the front to dip, which would be a bit of a problem and as I unloaded it the balance moved back. I could probably compensate with training, though.

    I was not used to handling that, or the gun, or a gun that wasn¡¯t held in one hand like my revolvers.

    As it turned out, the gun could hold the magic number of shots, which was six. I could get an extra in the chamber, but six in the magazine was the icing on the cake. According to the manual, the barrel was only 18¡±, so it was definitely more my kind of gun: shorter, lighter and something I could do something dumb with.

    I had turned my guns into plasma-launching nightmares; whatever my possibly demented mind came up with for this coil gun, it would be a glorious nightmare.

    I had ideas, terrible ideas, ideas that would make the smiths that made the gun want to put in a restraining order against me. My mind knew I could do things with them; the innate knowledge I had in my mind from birth percolated in my head.

    I shouldered the gun, checked the sights, ran around with it over my head a bit, and tested loading. The lever pushed open a block at the top, which left the action open. It wasn¡¯t on, so all it did was move around from the magazine up, and I had to slide the round either back or out of the barrel.

    I was confused about the action, there was no need to have an open action, no reason to open the action after a shot, but it used a spring and a magnetic hammer to kick the bullet out, which was wild. I looked through the manual and found the line, ¡®This was included for pure satisfaction,¡¯ which it was satisfying.

    ¡°Ok then, maybe they are just as demented as I am. This is even better than I thought it was¡­ Is this love?¡±

    The longer I read the manual, the more little things I picked up on. The entire thing was a coil gun, but that was picked because it could be fired inside with a rubber-tipped shot on a specific fire mode, so they could fire it in a home without damaging something. They even told you how to make it do that.

    They advertised that it could be fired by a child or in close quarters, which was why it was so short, which, I mean, hurt a little, but honestly, with how short I was, I had to accept it.

    They had six custom rounds detailed in the manual but a few that might as well have question marks next to them, like ¡®grenade¡¯ and ¡®buckshot.¡¯

    At one point, it almost mentions chemical shots and going off the deep end into things I can¡¯t quite understand, like how the capacitor worked, and something they only referred to as ¡®overdrive¡¯ brought up once, and never mentioned what it did.

    It was downright psychotic and I loved it.

    After emptying the gun and getting in some stretches before I could make my way back to the canteen, I ended up putting the gun back in its box. Plowing through three hours with the gun was time worth spending, even if I didn¡¯t get to fire it.

    And I now had a way to fire it, test it out in a way that wouldn¡¯t put a hole in my boat while I was waiting to get to the Throne.

    I headed out, sword still on my hip. I checked behind me to make sure I wasn¡¯t going to get stabbed from behind, but I made my way to the bar unharmed, where Frank was still out, and I moseyed on up to an open stool to get a drink.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    The bar was swarming, mostly around Mindy, but also in general. Frank and his buddy behind the bar were overwhelmed by the tide of people.

    I decided to keep an eye on Mindy, it was one thing to be swarmed around a bar, but it could quickly become much worse. It was a rough world, and some people decided it was a great idea to do terrible things to people who didn¡¯t deserve it.

    Mindy was drawing eyes like flies, so I waited and watched. One eye on Mindy, one on Frank, and the eye I wish I had on the back of my head on the rest of the room.

    So, I kept her in my periphery and paid attention to her until Frank made his way over. The bar was packed, and there were two people behind it, and it still took a bit, so I tried to figure out what I would eat in the meantime.

    I still couldn¡¯t figure out the food''s fancy names on the menu, but after a bit of parsing, I figured you couldn¡¯t go wrong with meat and decided to order something incomprehensible with meat in it.

    When Frank came over, I nodded at him.

    He looked beat, he had bags under his eyes, and he was sweating a bit.

    ¡°Hello again Bandit, it was whiskey, right? Anything else? Food or drink.¡±

    ¡°A whiskey yeh, and ah¡­ However, you pronounce this one.¡± I told him, pointing at the menu.

    He looked down at it, went to write it down, stopped, looked back down at where I was still pointing and squinted.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know how to pronounce it do you?¡± I asked, chuckling a bit at the look on his face.

    ¡°No, I do not, number 11 it is.¡± He said bemusedly.

    ¡°You guys have numbers, that¡¯s nice, fancy.¡±

    ¡°Tell me about it, sometimes the classiness is nice, but sometimes it¡¯s a massive pain.¡± He replied.

    ¡°I can feel that. I won¡¯t keep you here talking to little old me, but just so you know, I¡¯m keeping an eye on Mindy.¡±

    He blinked at me for a moment, then nodded. ¡°Thanks for that. I doubt something bad will happen, but honestly, better safe than sorry is something I can get behind. So, thanks for that.¡±

    I tipped my hat to him, ¡°Good people have to look out for each other, and while I might or might not be that, it¡¯s no problem to make sure something bad doesn¡¯t happen. Go on now, do your job in peace, noble barkeep.¡±

    He nodded though he was to tired to smile when he drew back from the counter and got me a small glass of whiskey that I could slip through on my own time.

    I sat there and listened to the people and the music, soaking in the feel of the room with its genuine wood and ample atmosphere. There were people, mostly humanoid labour, lounging around, playing games and eating. I kept checking on Mindy then looking over the crowd. She was in the process of getting drinks from six different dudes.

    The room smelled like fancy food, beer and sweat. Apparently, a lot of people had right now off. It was full and somewhat rowdy, but not all that bad.

    I even spotted the fucking spy off in the corner and couldn¡¯t help but mutter.

    ¡°Oh brother.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Frank asked.

    ¡°I noticed a guy that gives me the creeps.¡± I said, turning on my seat to look towards him.

    ¡°The creeps in what way? Like he¡¯s a sleezy or¡­¡±

    ¡°Like he¡¯s a fucking spy, he holds himself like he¡¯s a merc, and he¡¯s ready to jump at any moment. Gives me the Heebie jeebies.¡±

    ¡°Really? That is kind of spooky. How the hell did you pick up on it though?¡± He asked.

    He looked honest enough, so I gave him a partial truth.

    ¡°I¡¯m a merc obviously, only I¡¯m doing boring stuff while everyone else is finishing up. I finished first and got the great job of doing shuttle work.¡± I told him, giving him a casual shrug to try and sell it.

    He nodded at that instead of calling me on it, which was all well for me, I was getting a boatload of credits to keep my mouth shut, and I wasn¡¯t going to blow that.

    ¡°Can I get a refill by the way?¡±

    ¡°Sure, but you might want to wait, were about 8 minutes away from catching the hook.¡± He told me, leaning down on the bar.

    ¡°Seriously? I hadn¡¯t realized I had been here so long. Do we have to do anything? Tie ourselves down or whatever?¡±

    He shook his head, ¡°Nothing in particular, you might feel a jerk when we connect, but that¡¯s generally it. You might need to sit down if you feel like you might fall over, but that¡¯s it.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll get a second glass please and thank you. I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± I told him, waving a hand in disregard.

    He nodded and I got to nursing my second cup, slowly and steadily; I didn¡¯t want to get drunk, just a bit tipsy. I tried to pay attention to the ship, but it was so large I didn¡¯t think I could feel the engines, and any acceleration was so small I couldn¡¯t feel it.

    I checked Mindy again, but she was fine, I¡¯ll be it a bit tipsy, but she was chugging from a big mug, so that was normal. No one was trying to do anything inappropriate; most of them were practically unconscious, and one of the staff was escorting them out after cutting them off.

    The number of shot glasses, normal glasses, and mugs was quite something. A tiny island of glass rested in front of her, carefully stacked up in a pyramid.

    She had outdrunk them all, one guy was flagging, and one dude was still going, but the rest were out of an impromptu drinking contest.

    It was while I noticed the state of the drinking contests that I noticed a slight movement with the glass. A tiny vibration that I couldn¡¯t feel through my feet.

    I checked the clock, four minutes to hook.

    I sipped and watched Mindy go to the restroom; no one followed. I started watching the bartenders, Frank serving and talking to others and the other bartender escorting some people who could barely stand to the exit. They stumbled to the exit a hilarious stumbling dance that I couldn¡¯t help but smile at.

    Mindy got back just fine and managed to notice me, and I tipped my hat to her. She tipped a non-existent hat back before she started giggling as she got back to her seat and got to finishing her glass.

    I could just feel the ship rumbling a bit now, I could imagine it accelerating in the dark. The giant engines rumbling as they spewed propellent to reach the hook that would be swinging at immense speed. Extending from just above the eight of the stations around Gabriel, out to the moons and beyond.

    Like how I had caught the hook up to the station, they would be pulling into the big hook now so we could be slingshot to the rest of the inner planets, likely Luna, the moon orbiting the Throne, though it¡¯s possible we might stop at Raphael or Michael.

    It wasn¡¯t the glorious way it used to work back during the ¡®good old days,¡¯ like you would read about in kid¡¯s books. No more void rails, no solar sails or teleporting, just good old-fashioned thrust from an engine.

    We had lost a whole lot, but we would get back there eventually.

    Overall, it was relatively calm in the bar. Then we hooked, and the glasses fell over; one of the guys at the bar fell over, and I felt the jerk as we accelerated a bit and I moved as I was pulled, resisting it a bit to not fall off for the moment the jerk lasted.

    I heard Mindy disappointedly say, ¡°Shoot, now I¡¯m all soaked.¡±

    I decided that I wasn¡¯t going to look back over, because I had self-control and damnit I was not going to ogle.

    My body didn¡¯t get the memo when the jerk ended, and my body turned back around to where it was before.

    And that was how my first day ended onboard the Tsarta. Frank got off and left with Mindy after I got my accidental eye full, and I retired to my ship and got to floating in my bag and went to sleep.

    The next seven days went by in a blur of similar stuff. Milling, drilling, visiting the canteen and getting drinks and food. Each day, the reality of what I was about to do started to hit, and each day the dread grew worse.

    I got my ammunition done, and focused more on the carbine, fixing up a rubber shot to test it for even more training that didn¡¯t ease the tension I felt.

    I had taken money to go back down to the most haunted planet in the system and grab something that I had no clue to its nature. It could be alive for all I knew.

    Then we decelerated on the eighth day and made our approach, passing Luna as we made our way to the throne.

 A Distant Tomb

    The tension never ended.

    Spending time on a ship, at no expense no less, was supposed to be¡­ calming. Like a vacation, or a get away or whatever.

    Maybe it was that I had never gotten one of those, or the suspicious guy, or the looming threat of dying on a ghost planet where you could hear the screams of those caught on it via radio, crying out for the sweet release of death across the whole system.

    It was a real toss-up that. I couldn¡¯t quite put my finger on the cause of my unease. A mystery for the ages.

    Each day I would wake up and check and double-check my ammunition, train with my new long-ish coil gun and do some exercise, smoke, drink, check if I was needed on board and go through it all again.

    I was doodling in my ship, going over the specialty designs for ammunition to see if I could make any of the listed specialty ammunition, and I was fairly sure I could make some explosive rounds, but unfortunately, I was still planning it out on paper when my radio pinged.

    I jerked in shock at the sudden noise while sitting down in the cramped kitchenette. My brain took a few seconds to remind me what that meant.

    Once I did remember, I scrambled from my chair, dropping the design and pencil and made my way to the cockpit, backtracked to the cabin for my headset, and then made my way back up the stairs to the cockpit where I could hear the ping come through again.

    I practically slapped my headset in, double-checked my radio, and then opened the channel.

    ¡°This is Bandit, who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?¡± I asked.

    I didn¡¯t know precisely who I was expecting to pick up the line. It could have been the captain, a member of the crew, or even the Collector themself, but I was not expecting the man who had given the briefing after I had gotten aboard.

    ¡°Hello, Bandit, My name is Manfred, and I work directly on behalf of the Collector. I am currently contacting you to inform you that we are in the process of docking in one of the satellite stations around Luna. We will soon send you a docking number for you to make your approach to the Lighthouse. Can I assume you remember the public plan?¡± He asked somewhat huffily like he was out of breath.

    Poor guy, he probably didn¡¯t respond well to low gravity, he had the planet dweller look, probably one of the moons, though, considering his height. Like most people, the low gravity made him slightly stretched out and taller than me but must have left him with trouble in the extremes of gravity. Spacers had problems on planets, and those who lived on planets often got motion-sick in the void.

    He got the worst of both worlds, I supposed.

    ¡°I do remember the public plan, we all go over under the pretense of a delivery, then I go down to the surface, retrieve the artifact while others stay there for a few days, and return to the ship in time to return to Gabriel so I can link back up with my company. There are a few questions I had, if that¡¯s ok.¡± I confirmed, giving him the general shape of the plan.

    My part was all free hand; I didn¡¯t have a list of things I needed to do, and I was going to go probably die on a dead world that haunted my nightmares instead.

    Fun.

    ¡°That is more than fine, thank you for confirming you remember the public plan. Feel free to ask me your questions, I can speak on behalf of the Collector.¡± He told me, he told me, still short on breath and with a slight mumble.

    ¡°Ok, first off, I don¡¯t know the procedure for landing on the Thone, assuming there is one. Second, I don¡¯t have the gear to scan a whole planet, but I assume you have something for that, I¡¯m here to secure and return the artifact, not scurry around for years to find it. Third, after secured, do I to keep the package secured until we return to Gabriel¡¯s space, or do I hand it off once I return?¡± I asked Manfred as politely as a mercenary could.

    The poor guy sounded just shy of being in pain, I wasn¡¯t going to be rude; I was a firm believer in everyone deserving dignity and freedom, and there was very little in the way of preserving his dignity by being anything but courteous.

    ¡°Ah yes, the first two are thankfully covered by the same source. You will be landing on the Lighthouse, you need to seek out the keeper; he tells people all they need to know, and you just have to show him the chit you previously retrieved. You are to hold onto the package once you return if you don¡¯t have significant enough shielding to hide the package, a case has been prepared, although it is rather large. Do you have any more questions?¡±

    ¡°Not particularly. Although I hope you''re being paid handsomely, you sound rather uncomfortable.¡±

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°My pay is quite generous. Don¡¯t worry about me, miss, especially when you¡¯re the one performing the most dangerous part of the contract. If you have no more questions, then all you have to do is wait for your information and ask to depart to the Lighthouse.¡± He told me, a bit of mischief in his voice.

    Good on him, with an employer like the Collector shilling out millions, I bet this guy had a good salary.

    ¡°Just one, although it''s not mission-critical. I¡¯ve never actually been this way, why is it called the Lighthouse?¡±

    He snorted, following it with a wheezy chuckle.

    ¡°Miss Bandit, may I call you Miss Bandit?¡±

    ¡°Sure, it¡¯s no skin off my back.¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t looked out a window, have you.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t, no. I don¡¯t have access to a window, and no offence, I don¡¯t trust the crew, there are some suspicious people on board.¡±

    ¡°No offence taken, Miss Bandit. You will understand when you see it, I can¡¯t do it justice with my words. It¡¯s one of the wonders of the old world you know, one of the wonders of the system. I can agree with that, it is quite the sight.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to take your word on it for now, then, I have to admit, if it''s just a lighthouse, I¡¯ll be rather let down. That¡¯s all, Have a good day Manfred, Bandit out.¡± I told him, quickly cutting the channel.

    I took the headset off and left to get some food ready in the kitchenette, I grabbed my radio and tried to calm my nerves. But no matter what I did, it persisted, the feeling of queasiness in my gut not abating in the slightest. It sat there like a cancer, eating away at my state of mind, and I hated it. It made me want to get this over with, it made me want to rush, which was something I knew would bite me in the ass.

    Patience saved you, patience lets you see the bigger picture and not get stuck in a poor decision. The cloistered scholars that ran the closest thing to a church where I grew up called patience a virtue and a weapon.

    But then again, they also warned us of how greed could corrupt us, and make us do unreasonable things, things we would otherwise never do. And I had ignored that, hadn¡¯t I? Maybe if I was more superstitious, I would have never gotten myself into this mess.

    It was an unending eternity of a wait that dragged on and on, I ate and smoked and had some coffee to keep me sharp with its terrible bitter taste that was only worsened by being made in a percolator. Normally, I could enjoy the bitterness, but the worry in my gut only made it feel like drinking poison.

    But the call got to me soon enough, with a second ping and quick conversation where I got the go-ahead to leave the ship and a landing spot.

    Every moment of lifting off from the hold I had called home for the last week, the tension got worse, but there was also, in a way, a release.

    Like a bowstring the moment before release. The tension wanted to be relieved, and the fingers that guided me were almost loose, slipping but not off.

    I disengaged my docking gear and lifted them, engaging my vertical thrusters a little to give me some room before slowly accelerating out and away from the giant ship.

    I didn¡¯t quite know where I was, so I pulled away and made a loop to get my bearings.

    The grey, rocky surface of Luna came into view, its pockmarked surface was not what I was looking for. It looked like almost every other moon I had seen.

    But as I came around, I saw the domes.

    Giant transparent domes, not reflective like that of glass, shot up and out of the bare cratered surface, and it took me a moment to recognize what I was looking at.

    A city, held within an artifact.

    It took my breath from me.

    It was just too big.

    The domes on other moons were generally big windows, transparent glass-like metals to give a view, often built into a crater with some anti-impact related protections. Not literal egg-shaped domes that protruded into the void.

    It was one hell of a sight. A sign of what Luna was in comparison to every other inhabited moon. The original, the like of which could only be emulated, never re-created.

    Whatever was responsible for it had to be an artifact. It was the kind of tech we could no longer reproduce.

    I could see a city through it, tall structures reaching up past the crater it was set within, reaching out to the transparent dome.

    I had to wonder just how high it was. My view from my boat was good, but the distance made guessing impossible.

    I recognized that I had stopped my turn and snapped back to myself, pulling up to get the Junker not to fly off into the dome¡¯s airspace. The last thing I wanted to do was crash into it if it was closer than I believed it was.

    The landscape shot past, and I was looking back out into the void. Then, the space station the ship was docked to. I kept turning, looking for what should have been an obvious sight when I passed over the side of the ship and saw it.

    Lights amid dark shapes encircling a planet in a latticework.

    An orbital ring with struts to either pole of the planet, encircling a ball of swirling white so big in my vision that I had to wonder just how close we were.

    A marvel of construction that made the dome look like nothing more than a prop.

    A giant, truly monolithic, if distant, iron tomb to contain a dead planet that still haunted the solar system hundreds of years after the fall.

    A graveyard''s protective walls that stood to keep those contained on the planet, the one full of the dead that refused to remain dead, as opposed to keeping others out.

    A coffin for a race of demi-gods.

    I could feel the hair on my body stand up, what little I had, and dread joined in with the feeling of tension. A terrible, bone-deep dread that sunk down into my bones and made my mind remember that despite all the tampering the Terrans had done to make us, they had based us off of them, that somewhere deep inside, there was something animalistic deep down, a thing that operated on instinct, instead of rationale.

    It railed against the sight, it screamed into the back of my head, ¡®Danger, this creature will kill us.¡¯

    I rallied myself.

    It was just a planet, just a job. I just had to go pick up a thing, then I could leave.

    Through a mixture of breathing and what remained of my will, I was able to aim the Junker towards the Lighthouse, throttled up a bit, and sped through the dark, the reassuring void that felt more at home within than the place that had birthed my creators.

    I locked my angle in and let go of the wheel.

    I went to pass the time, but there wasn¡¯t much I could do. I almost plugged in my headset but stopped myself when I remembered what had led me to buy my guns.

    It was almost funny, in a terrible way.

    That transmission had made me who I was, and who I was had drawn me back to it like a moth to a flame.

 The Lighthouse

    It was a terribly long flight to the lighthouse, hour after hour, it grew bigger in the window. I set my radio to the standard frequency of hailing a station and waited to get pinged.

    But hey, I knew why it was called the lighthouse now.

    It was the warning lights spinning round and round in the dark.

    It was quite a sight, Manfred was right, even if the planet itself was far more intimidating, held within the lighthouse¡¯s confines by a barely noticeable barrier, much like the domes on Luna.

    It made the sight even more applicable to how I felt and played into my expectation of the planet. It needed to have a barrier to hold it inside.

    I eventually got pinged, relayed my stuff and was able to dock, drawing up next to the monolith of lonely steel girders and armour plates near a lonely tower with a swirling yellow light. But I decided to sleep instead of messing around. I could talk with the keeper tomorrow; I was just too exhausted from the fear of the planet.

    It was a poor sleep. Shallow and nearly lucid. I was being hunted across the dark, bare surface of a grey, craggy planet. Hunted by shapeless things that hid in long shadows, skittering and laughing like the radio.

    The woman was there, too, with her familiar features and accent.

    I couldn¡¯t remember what she told me in the dream. I couldn¡¯t remember much of what happened, but when I woke up, I woke up fighting, throwing myself around in the wall-mounted sack that I hung inside and counted as my bed.

    I was covered in a cold sweat, my heart thundering in my chest as I took deep, calming breaths. The best I could do, while I calmed myself in an attempt to recognize that it was just a dream, that this wasn¡¯t a new place where I would be tormented, but that the torment was not real.

    I washed up as well as I could, getting the fear of sweat off my skin and the lasting dirt and anything I could honestly. It wasn¡¯t easy in the cramped ship, but I made do.

    Then I got my stuff together, my away bag with the heater to cook with and cans of food I normally kept in reserve all of them went into a pack that I tucked away on my bike.

    I made sure to double-check for my artifact and tucked it into a pocket in my coat.

    I spent time making sure my ammunition was ready to go, as much as possible, tucked in pouches that I could manage.

    I hadn¡¯t gotten any explosive ammunition ready, unfortunately, but I had been able to get an old battery setup to recharge the coil gun, topped off with energy from my ship powerplant while the Junker was docked, and its load was low, I packed that away in another bag on my bike.

    I got dressed properly after that, not just in normal clothes, but my chest piece and my sword, held in its scabbard at my hip, the weightless blade sat ready, like it could feel my tension and like it knew what we were about to do.

    A faithful hound next to me, ready to defend its master from harm.

    I strapped my coat on how I liked it, gun holsters ready on my belt, Righty and Lefty topped up with Plasma, ready to unload hellfire on whoever or whatever tried to stop me. The power of the sun in the palm of either hand, ready to be unloaded twelve times on predators, real or imagined. I fixed the coil gun, with its beautiful real wood and gorgeous metal, to my back on a sling, loaded with hard metal ammunition that would punch a hole in the wall of a station''s habitation quarters.

    I strapped ammunition to myself in pouches on my belt, so many I got a second belt to hold it all.

    If I was going to go down to the surface of the most inhospitable planet in the system, I was going to go armed to the teeth.

    I even packed away stings of gun putty and little igniters in case I had to make something explode, wound up like rope made from clay.

    Then, I opened up the Junkers hold and stepped out into the lighthouse.

    It was all the same, dark metal. The room itself was well-lit, enough to make out the six-sided room. A safe place. A door off to the side sat in the wall, circular of all things, like a porthole of the same black metal.

    I walked down the ramp, clinking as I went. The moment I stepped onto the black metal, my footfalls fell away, totally noiseless as I moved to the door.

    My eye caught, engraved into the wall, tiny hexagon panels. Checking the ground, it too was engraved with larger ones, the lines black on black, like a trick of sight.

    I followed them to the door, walking ponderously along the lines. I felt somewhat childish, but it took a little fear from me, stealing it away into the six sides of the shapes.

    I had always loved the hexagons, they were a sure sign of an artifact.

    I wondered if that¡¯s what the lighthouse was, one giant artifact cage to hold a cursed planet. A planet that seemed to go against all-natural law that radiated dread straight to my hindbrain.

    I felt suddenly reassured here, in this station. I was walking just outside a cage, shielded by a truly ludicrous amount of protection. An amount of metal that would not be possible, unattainable from any stellar body. It probably had more mass than the planet it sounded.

    It was strange, truly strange, truly bazaar the more I thought about it, the clearer my mind became, like a trick that got rid of my fear.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    How did such a massive object not cause Luna to crash into it? How did it stay spinning around the sun? How did Sol not gobble it up? It was like my sword, stuck in its sheath, weightless to everything unless I willed it to not be.

    I wonder if the Keeper was like me if he controlled this massive station in the same way I controlled Bandit, inherited it from a forefather who was grown in a vat for the singular purpose of this station.

    I got to the door, found its handle and opened it. A bolt clunked back, and it moved in with a push, and I made my way inside to a cavernously tall hallway.

    It was industrial, no panelling covered what looked, unlike any modern ship. Girders of bare black metal, over other metal tubes and pipes, angular blocks of equipment that whirred sat in the walls. The floor was more like a normal station, thick blocks of stone-like material, the same dark colour, but veined with the hexagon''s darker black lines marked the floor.

    There was a genuine screen map displaying where I was and the areas around me in my segment, with a little button asking me to press for help.

    The map was like looking at a cramped series of lines, and none of them would tell me where I needed to go.

    I doubted the keeper was just pegged on the map, and I couldn¡¯t find his office on the cluttered board, so I walked up and pressed the button.

    There was a warbling ring that came from a hidden speaker, followed quickly by a voice.

    ¡°Lighthouse guidance desk, Segment two, how may I help you?¡± A board woman asked.

    ¡°Um, hello. I need to meet with someone called the Keeper.¡± I told her.

    ¡°The Keeper is a very busy man, miss,¡± she said venomously, ¡°What is your reason for meeting with him? If you do not have a good enough reason, I am obliged to inform you that your meeting will be placed in a low-priority queue.¡±

    ¡°I have a chit, I¡¯m supposed to meet with him before I go to the surface,¡± I told her, pushing as much boldness as I could into my voice.

    Her voice halted for a moment.

    ¡°That would merit a priority queue,¡± she told me with a bit more energy. She spoke in a tone I could only describe as a ¡®holy hell, that¡¯s something I was not expecting¡¯ voice.

    ¡°Thank you, mam, any chance you could tell me when or where I could meet the Keeper now?¡±

    ¡°Yes, mam, his office is located in segment one, Find your location on the map and to the left side the closest route to the segment interlock to segment one, You are scheduled to meet with him within three hours, and you will be given a guide at the interlock who will show you to his office.¡± She told me, her tone not changing from its prior inflection.

    ¡°Thank you, mam,¡± I told her, found my way on the map and walked off, down black corridors and found my way to a lift.

    I pressed the call button and waited, looking over a wire fence at a pit with tacks in the corner. The car came up, lights spinning at the top to inform me of its proximity. I didn¡¯t really need it; it screamed up the tracks and stopped at my level before the fence dropped, and I walked in. It was a massive freight lift, empty as it was, it was a giant smooth room. I walked it and checked for any other buttons and found a tiny panel with little buttons. I pressed the one for 631 (G) and stepped back, the button lighting up in a ring around it.

    The fence came up, and the rig moved, the force quivering my legs as it picked up pace.

    There was a little display reading 246 that ticked up and up.

    The numbers of this place were too big, too big by far. The scope of it was so big that it went beyond what was practical for me to envision.

    I rode up and up in the noisy lift for about ten minutes, slowing down fast enough I could feel my magnetic shoes holding me to the floor.

    I exited, checked the closest map, and found my way to a platform.

    It looked like a train platform, with a ticket booth sitting nearby, although there were no bars and no one in it. Much like all the hallways, it was barren, with the exception of one person.

    She was dressed in a spiffy old dark blue naval uniform with a billed cap. The symbol of two opposite-facing arrows was emblazed on the front of her cap, with one of those towers with the lights from outside on the steep collar of her jacket.

    She was hideous by my sensibilities, like me. Straight dark hair tucked mostly under her hat, with little in the way of any genetic shows. Two brown eyes with small bags under them and a deep tan complexion. A bit shorter than me, maybe 5¡¯ 4¡±.

    She looked almost human.

    Whatever her changes were, they must be hidden under her coat. I doubted I would bump into one of them, they were extinct as far as I knew.

    No point in getting down on her, though, I tipped my hat to her.

    ¡°Are you my guide?¡± I asked her, not letting my thoughts hit my face.

    She stood with military precision, black dress shoes snapping into place soundlessly on the artifact flooring. She took off her cap and held it to her average chest, and gave a curt nod.

    ¡°Indeed, right this way, mam,¡± she told me, totally clockwork.

    I had expected anyone to look at me, decked tip to toe with guns, bullets, and my snazzy hat and at least blink, but she was utterly unperturbed. If she was bothered, she hid it well, very well.

    I nodded and followed, falling into pace with her as we turned a few corners and boarded a rail car. It was smooth, more a metal tube than the smooth, brick shape of most of the cars used on and around Gabriel.

    We stepped onto the one car at the station labelled Emergency Rapid Transit.

    I might have underestimated just how serious this whole going down to the surface thing was to them. I had assumed it would be somewhat important not to confiscate a personal rail car and get a military escort. Assuming she was military, I had no idea if there were civilians.

    I assumed there was, but I had no idea. I certainly hadn¡¯t seen a civilian, all the people, more so the one person I had seen was certainly some kind of military-esc personal.

    We sat down across from one another, she returned her cap to her head and stared straight forward. She did not blink; she did not look away.

    There was a weight to her that was not normal, something about her expression, something in her eyes, or the set of her jaw, maybe her mouth, held as it was in the most straight-laced expression I had ever seen. It radiated both intimidation and fuck around and find out rolled into one package.

    She had no weapon, not a slug-throwing hand cannon, no lazgun, I couldn¡¯t even see if she had a knife, but I could feel scrutiny radiating off of her and got an urge in the back of my mind not to go for a weapon.

    Not unless she drew on me.

    She changed her demeanour slightly; she must have seen something on my face.

    I really had to get a good, steady face, I must have had some kind of tick or twitch, I felt like I was too easy to read. Maybe they had a class on it, maybe I could sign up for resting bitch face classes.

    Her eye twitched.

    I decided to try and strike up a conversation, ¡°So. This seems to be a lot bigger of a deal than I thought it was. Do you mind filling me in on this?¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer, she didn¡¯t even move, not an inch.

    ¡°Ok, not a talker either, got it. How long do we have until we leave the station? And how long till we get there?¡± I asked, aiming for congenial and landing a bit long for awkward.

    She pointed at a timer above me, and I craned my head to check it: four minutes till departure and an hour and a half till we arrived.

    I groaned.

    This was going to be way, way longer than I wanted to deal with, especially with someone like my guide being a stick in the mud with supernatural skills at reading people.

    It was somewhat intimidating, somewhat spooky, somewhat annoying¡­ And if I were totally honest a bit hot. Maybe that was because she was intimidating, even though she was like 4/10, I also topped a 4/10, though I doubted she cared for me. The longer the silence went on, the more peeved she looked.

    I really needed to get some training to get rid of whatever facial tick I had because she was reading me like an open book.

 The Keeper and the Plunge

    The train sped by darkened girders and lights in the dark tunnel. My guide was very untalkative, a total ice queen. We passed by a few areas that looked like stations, but we did so far too quickly to make out any platforms, the only visible parts of the stations left visible were the bright off-yellow lights that left a haze on my eye as we passed them before we rushed back into the dark.

    Like cockroaches that got on combat stims, they then went again, skittering off on tracks through the dark tunnels.

    It was a gut-wrenching, insidiously boring, no-good, very bad train ride. The chairs made my ass hurt, and when we pulled into the final station, my hips were all bent, and my back was sore. The guide was just as straight, prim, and proper as always, standing just after the train jerked to a stop and made her way to the door just in time for the doors to open.

    I blinked at the light of the platform as I exited the relatively dark car. It was a similar station to the one prior, the brighter lights caused me to blink as if I had just spent a week in Junky¡¯s belly like a goblin. Black Stone, bright light, and vintage metal station with wood benches and little coloured lines on the floor.

    There were a few people here, and to my surprise, they were very similar to my guide, all tan to my pasty and pale, but with some difference in eye or hair colour, different dresses, but most wore the naval outfit, with a simple change in their cap and epaulets on their jackets.

    They were all so¡­ human-looking. It was downright uncanny. It was like they had never crossbred with any other people, as if they had never left their duty. It was a screenshot of a time that had long left this galaxy, a time where we were slaves in all but name, where we did our duties for our godlike creators who made us like what we did and kept the stock ¡®pure.¡¯

    It was a time that dumbasses who knew nothing about the past would call the good ol¡¯ days.

    And it was in a way.

    It had been so much easier, so straightforward. In a way, I could understand the position, you knew what you would do, it was in your head, it was something you had in your head, carefully put there by a being that needed something done and needed something or someone to do it.

    And they had done it well, done it smartly, done it in a way that created the most stability possible, left people with a willingness to do their job and live their lot in peace while doing something they were good at.

    No one knew what they were good at anymore, no one felt like they were living the life they should live, no one was content, there was little in the way of stability, and the freedom we had gained was sour grapes at best.

    But here was a place with stability, with a sense of purpose, where everyone looked content and so very human. The perfect underlings, I suppose, that Humans would want right on their doorstep, the type the normal folk would want to talk with at least.

    It was¡­ One part terribly sad to look at what life could have been like, one part infuriating at what life is like for those born in the right place, and one part unsettling at just how dronelike they all are.

    Everything had its place, and there was some beauty to that. But everything having its place also meant that anything that didn¡¯t fall in line got hammered down flat.

    A whole lot of them turned to look at me, taking in my hideous visage, and judged me. My guide ever with the stick up her ass, ignored them, and I kept pace with her.

    More and more folks were around this segment, going around, checking every inch of the place. I saw one guy using some tool to check the floor, getting down on his knees and pressing a device down only to look at a dial, nod to himself, and move one panel over to repeat it again.

    He had a less naval officer, more engineer look, suspenders and a grease bib-like swath of fabric on, even though he didn¡¯t have any grease on him.

    I told him, ¡°Keep up the good work,¡± while we passed because I figured whatever he was doing must be at least somewhat important, and it seemed like a chore, and he just said, ¡°Aye,¡± like that one drunk guy who thought he was a pirate.

    That put a pep in my step and a smile on my face all the way until we got to a big open arch, and the smile on my face fell off.

    Though it was the most jaw-dropping thing I had ever seen. Topping the sight of the superstructure, topping the red sands, and the domes of Luna.

    It was like stepping out onto a planet. An honest-to-goodness open segment where I could not see the other side as it curved away into the horizon met us. Below were fields of floating greenery on small rectangles of soil, separated by what looked like water. A forest over one corner, a large lake segment in another. I could see rail lines over bridges that ran through a big central strip below and in front of us, leading not up to us but below to places unknown.

    And above it all was an artificial sun, spinning like the spires outside and trapped in a dome that hung down from the ceiling.

    ¡°Please follow me, Captain Bandit, we have a schedule to keep.¡± My guide spoke.

    I didn¡¯t answer, I just gawked, taking off my hat to take in as much as I could.

    Tiny smoke stalks rose up from tiny villages, people worked in fields, working the tools of their trade, and floated down the waterways on barges.

    Here were a people that lived life as if the Throne had never been sundered. Here was a place of peace, the like of which had not been seen in hundreds of years, a stable life to live. Here was a place that fed the part of me that wanted to give up on the freedom of mercenary work and just focus on whatever I knew I was good at.

    ¡°Captain Bandit, I must-¡±

    ¡°Just a moment, mam, just¡­ just a moment,¡± I asked, not so much cutting her off as a quiet plea.

    She shuffled and just let me be.

    I took it in, the peaceful slice of the universe. It spoke to me like a novel, a poem of simple contents. Almost happiness, I would say. A place hidden, like a grove in the wood, a place unburdened by the problems outside the Lighthouse.

    I didn¡¯t have a bad life, I had two caring parents who always wanted the best for me. Who had tried to prepare me for the future as all good parents did? I had friends that I had left to the wayside to get a job away from home with the wanderlust that always took hold of my family. Gotten a job and a patch of solid life that was so simple, if not as simple as this, and threw it all away.

    I might not be here if a place like here had been there. Maybe I would have stayed with my parents or at my job.

    There was a part of me that wanted this, and I let it get sated on the idea, held it in my grasp, and then let it go with a breath.

    I should have sent a letter to them, now they would not know if I lived or died. Would not know why I stopped writing and disappeared in the dark. My mother would cry, and my father would hold her, but this legacy would end with me, and they would never find me.

    But that was what it was to be Bandit, to carry it.

    It was what I felt deep down every time I took a mission outside of my comfort zone. It was what had given my family its history: a line of morons like me who did big, stupid things and somehow beat the odds.

    I had always known that I would do something truly stupid, but I couldn¡¯t feel the horrible weight it should carry. I could not draw out the sober grit to make that sound like it was something important.

    In a moment of Zen, I recognized that everyone before me, all the way back to the Bandit of Hearts, all the way back to the first of my line that had stolen the heart of a Terran of the Silver Legion and been given a spot at his side. And the one that had born him half Terran children, half human, half vat-grown trash and who had been a spark in the wind, one that he could never replace when she died.

    Each of us had inexplicable luck and stories. Luck, stories and stupid hair-brained plans that should have killed dozens of Bandits before me and, with all luck, many after.

    Bandits stole hearts, Bandits got money, Bandits wandered the stars to fill a hole in our hearts, and Bandits must think themselves the greatest of thieves because we stole ourselves out from under death''s cupped hands through her bony fingers with a little luck. All to continue the same story, with different scenery and characters, each eventually settling down in a place that was like this so the next story could be born, so the next Bandit could come to a moment like this.

    I was seeing my far future if I lived through this sitting in front of me, I just couldn¡¯t get there yet, I just hadn¡¯t seen enough, my story was too short, I guessed. I wondered if that was a part of us, programmed into us somewhere.

    I put my hat back on, I had a guy to meet.

    ¡°Sorry for the wait, I¡¯m ready to talk now,¡± I told my guide.

    She just nodded, and I followed her to another lift, globular in appearance, with one flat side that held the tracks leading up into the sky a few hundred feet from the doorway. We walked in, and the door closed, the inner platform held on stable pivots.

    There was only one destination; it began moving the moment the door closed, so smoothly I didn¡¯t realize until I asked the guide where the button was, and she informed me in her neutral voice that we were already on our way.

    It was a smooth ride, so smooth, the pivot whispered as we changed direction, from upwards to horizontal, but it was a short enough ride. We quickly slowed down, and the door opened, a catwalk extending into the pod for us to leave.

    We walked on clinking metal catwalks until we found our way into a lounge filled with overly plush seats, draped walls and, all in all, what was a rather remarkable gentleman¡¯s club, all dressed up in red. It even had a pool table, a dart board, and a bar with a waitress behind it.

    This was not what I was expecting.

    I turned to my guide and managed to get a ¡°What is this place?¡± out in lieu of anything intelligent.

    ¡°A reception area,¡± she told me in a voice you might use on a kid to scold them.

    ¡°And I just sit here and wait for a bit?¡± I asked, astonished.

    ¡°It should only be 4 minutes, but yes,¡± she told me.

    I nodded before walking to a big, cushy seat, then stopping and going to the bar. I pulled out the stool and ordered a shot of whiskey. Just the one, I was too sober for this, before riding up here, I had an existential fucking experience.

    This job was bad for my health, I needed to get the crew to unionize, MC couldn¡¯t fire all of us.

    ¡°Thank you, miss,¡± I told her.

    ¡°No problem, you could obviously use it. Don¡¯t go worrying about the Keeper, he¡¯s the good sort. Actually, you should have a second ready for yourself and a third for him, he always gets a bit tense after a meeting with someone he hates. Hold on a second, he should be out any minute.¡± She told me in a bubbly soprano. Bringing out two tumblers and fixing two drinks.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Her hands moved fast, maybe she was technical in nature, maybe most of them were, people with internal changes were a thing that you saw around, though most had small changes.

    Farmers had plenty of internal stuff, but generally, they had special eyes and fingers to determine ripeness on top of everything internal.

    Maybe she had something subtle, like full joint mobility and enhanced tendons. However, she didn¡¯t strike me as a servant of any kind.

    I was starting to get worried that I was meeting Humans, bad enough that it took me off my edge thinking about it long enough that I only noticed a pale man with frizzy hair like mine storm out from behind me and leave the lounge.

    ¡°Is it my turn? Or do I wait for someone to get me,¡± I asked my guide.

    When she didn¡¯t answer, I turned to look at the lounge only to be met with a total lack of my guide. She was totally gone; she had brought me here and left.

    I turned to the kind barwoman who delivered the two glasses with a smile.

    ¡°My guide left, and so did the other guy, do I just go in, or do I wait?¡± I asked her.

    She opened her mouth, then gained an expression like she was about to sneeze. She held it for a moment, and I covered the cups, but she didn¡¯t sneeze, instead muttering, ¡°I¡¯ll never get used to that,¡± before gesturing to the door and speaking up, ¡°Feel free to go on in miss Bandit, the Keeper is waiting.¡±

    I nodded, picked up the glasses, and thanked her before heading into the office, past the drapes, and came to a much more baren room and saw the Keeper for the first time.

    He sat in his chair, looking like a stern father figure concentrated into one man. He leaned forward in his chair when I walked it but just squinted at me.

    He, like most of the other crew I had seen, was very human, although he was paler, not all the way pale, not me pale, not white paint. pale, for the rest of the crew, who had all been tan, and while he had a little brown left in his hair, it was almost all white.

    He had hair on both the top of his head, the sides of his face and from the bottom of his face, forming a great big beard that framed a mouth with laugh lines and a pointed nose. His eyes looked like they had faded, like a painting left in the sun, so now they were only blue.

    Like the rest of the important seeming crew, he had a jacket and cap with a strange insignia inscribed in a hexagram on the cap, but the epaulets were both the familiar towers of light.

    ¡°You look familiar¡­ Do I know you?¡± he asked, his face taking on an unrecognizable tone.

    ¡°No, we haven¡¯t, and I doubt you¡¯ve even seen my picture, I¡¯m not all that important,¡± I told him.

    ¡°If you say so, I think I¡¯ve seen you somewhere, it¡¯s on the tip of my tongue, I swear. Is that¡­ Oh, by everything good, pass that drink here, I can¡¯t stand this. Delilah is a gem. Let''s talk, come on and sit down, I don¡¯t bite,¡± he told me, waving me over.

    I did, sitting down in a chair opposite and putting the two cups down, one for him, one for me. The chair sucked me in, and I didn''t resist. It was comfy.

    ¡°I can feel that cheers!¡± he said, reaching out with his glass. I taped my glass to his, and we started drinking.

    He took a deep sip and let it set in before he got to his end of the deal.

    ¡°Ok, so, you were here about a chit, right? May I see it?¡± he asked, holding out his hand palm up.

    I reached into my jacket and held the river stone-shaped chit but didn¡¯t hand it over just yet.

    ¡°Only if you guarantee you will hand it back. On your honour and name,¡± I told him.

    He raised one bushy white eyebrow, ¡°You would need a name to do that, and I¡¯m going, to be honest, so many people come through I can¡¯t remember them all, I doubt yours would do much. And you haven¡¯t exactly given your name, you know.¡±

    Well. I hadn¡¯t expected him to know me, but I had assumed he would, at the very least, been briefed on me or maybe check his schedule.

    ¡°Bandit. My name is Bandit,¡± I told him.

    A look of comprehension overcame his face, and he pointed at me as if he had just gotten a tidbit of knowledge unstuck from one of the cobwebs in his head.

    ¡°OH! No wonder I thought you were familiar, it was the sword!¡± he said, slapping his hand to his knee, ¡°The last one must have been at least sixty years ago, seventy? Must be going soft in the head from old age.¡± He chuckled.

    I stared at him for a moment.

    As far as I knew, my dad was not in his sixties, and we only got the sword when we moved out, generally around twenty. My Grandfather or Grandmother I had never met would have been quite the old person if they were still around.

    And this guy was claiming to have met them.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t look at me like that, I¡¯m old, you can see that with your eyes. Now I can promise you on my name and honour, I shall return the chit, now give er here.¡± he told me, wiggling his wrinkled fingers in a childish ¡®gime gime¡¯ gesture.

    I pulled the chit from my pocket and placed it in his hand.

    When my finger brushed his hand, I was struck with a sudden urge to pull my hand back, and I did like I had been burned.

    ¡°What the hell was that?¡±

    He looked back up at me and away from the chit, ¡°What was what?¡±

    ¡°I, sorry, it was nothing,¡± I told him, waving it off, he looked back down at the chit, not caring to make a comment, intensely studying it.

    I waited for a while, letting him trace his fingers across the groves and press it into his palm. I didn¡¯t know what he was doing, just that I needed to show it to him, so I let him sip a bit from the cup and waited.

    I wasn¡¯t expecting him to talk.

    ¡°You can feel it, too, can''t you?¡± he asked in a tone that was both grim and sad.

    ¡°Feel what?¡± I asked him, not knowing what he was talking about.

    ¡°You can feel it, the planet. When you came here, you could feel the planet, couldn¡¯t you? No, don¡¯t say anything, if you can use your sword, you can feel it, I should have known. No wonder they never come back.¡±

    ¡°You''re not making much sense, old man, feel what, and what does this have to do with anything.¡±

    ¡°Your dread is not a mystery to me; you were afraid of this place¡­ weren¡¯t you.¡±

    I looked into his eyes and saw pain there.

    ¡°Start making sense, old man, what are you talking about.¡±

    ¡°Just¡­ Just answer me, Bandit, you were afraid of this place, admit it.¡±

    ¡°Maybe, maybe not. What does it matter, and are you done with the chit?¡±

    He scowled but nodded and handed it back, ¡°Aye, though I suppose it must be fate you found one of those chits. And before you ask, because I know you will, I can¡¯t tell you what lies at the other end.¡±

    That seemed like a lie, a total contradiction. How could he figure out something about the chit and not be able to tell me about it? That and his talking about something he shouldn¡¯t have made me suspicious. It made me not trust him.

    I did my best to keep myself closed off and not fall into my former, more relaxed demeanour.

    ¡°Then what''s so important about the chit that you can recognize it? It¡¯s just a chit to me, nothing special about it, if it lacked the hexagons, it would be nothing but a funny pebble.¡± I asked wearily.

    ¡°You can¡¯t tell because you can¡¯t see it, but I¡¯ll give you a piece of advice for the family of an old friend.¡± He started before dipping a finger in his glass and dropping the dots on his wooden desk. He drew a symbol; it obviously wasn¡¯t the whole thing. It broke up at some points, even after a second pass, but the image was clear enough.

    It was an eye held wide open with a series of five swirls in it, a bizarre symbol to be sure.

    ¡°Oh yeah? And what does it mean?¡±

    ¡°Danger, mostly. A danger that is sealed away and that shouldn¡¯t be let out. This one is not one of those, but it''s at the same location, if you stumble on a door with this, steer clear, it will mean the death of many more than just yourself if it gets out.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll take it under advisement,¡± I told him, running through how likely he was to be lying, only to not see a reason for him to lie to me about it.

    He barreled on, not waiting for me to finish my internal guessing.

    ¡°Just one moment, I¡¯ll get you your equipment, and you can head back to your ship. I doubt ye care about little old me. Drink up.¡± he told me, whipping away the image with his sleeve.

    I did, but the Keeper didn¡¯t call for anyone, didn¡¯t press a button or call over something, he just sat there and drank along with me. This place was already weird, but I suppose maybe the barwoman, Delilah, was off to go get it.

    After we had gotten down to the end of our glasses, I decided to ask a question to cut through the awkward feeling of silence that lay over our table.

    ¡°Why are you called the Keeper? I get my name because I carry my sword, why do you carry yours.¡±

    He raised an eyebrow, ¡°you''re asking me what a lighthouse keeper is? I¡¯m one of the few people in the system that can tell you about artifacts. It¡¯s me, Carcassonne, and the Sartones, and you want to know why I have my name?¡± he asked.

    I didn¡¯t know any of that, but I felt too embarrassed to cut in and tell him, filing the names away for later instead of asking.

    He looked speculative but answered after a sip.

    ¡°Do you know what a lighthouse is?¡±

    ¡°No, I know this place is called The Lighthouse, but a lighthouse is not something I can think of off the top of my head.¡±

    ¡°A lighthouse was, originally, a building, generally on the coast, that had a big light in it so a ship in the sea could find their way and not crash on rocks or a coastline. People used to have to live there, alone for a long time, to make sure the light didn¡¯t go out, and that was the keeper of a house, with a light, hence lighthouse keeper.

    I keep this lighthouse, I make sure she is tended to, kept in shape, that all aboard do their part, and that all know that this place guards the rocks. So, no ship goes to its grave in the cursed place below without fair warning.

    Usually, I would, but it''s boring.

    And I know I don¡¯t need to give you the talk on it being a place of grave, horrid evil, but I will explain this: what you will experience below will not make sense to you, so you will need to follow these instructions.¡± He told me, sitting back and reaching down to pick up a bag.

    It was new dark leather, a metal buckle latched the top down and had no noticeable wear nor tear. A simple strap so you could foist it over one shoulder like a big purse. It was gorgeous and probably cost me my annual salary before I took this job, assuming it was really leather. Knowing how big this place was, it was probably real leather, not the fake alt leather that my coat was made from.

    He hefted it over the table, undid the latch and pulled the goods out.

    ¡°OK, here are the tools of the trade. This,¡± he said, pointing to a flat tablet-like piece of tech with a set of four short artifact antennas, ¡°Is you Wayfinder, you put the chit in this compartment, and an Anchor chit in this compartment, this switch is labelled seek or return, to either seek an item or return to your Anchor. The compass here shows you what direction you need to move in, and this smaller compass shows what way you need to move, if it shows forward, you walk normally, backward you go backwards in the indicated direction. On the Throne, you Must absolutely follow this, even if it is off a cliff, trust the Wayfinder, and you will never go wrong with any terrain.¡±

    He told me.

    I stared at it. There was no way that worked like that. That wasn¡¯t how the world worked, if you moved forwards, you went forward. What went up came down. It only got stranger from there.

    ¡°This is the anchor,¡± he said, pointing to an artifact brick, ¡°Attached is its entangled chit, you will place that in your Wayfinder and the brick in wherever you wish to return to, like your Ship or Boat. I implore you, with every ounce of my being, to use it.¡±

    It was, in fact, a grey brick with a familiar hexagon pattern, with a similar hexagon-covered stone-like chit, just like the one I had.

    He continued.

    ¡°This is the most important, in my opinion, it¡¯s a defence charm, it will help stop the bad mojo from hurting you. Keep it over your neck like a necklace, keep it pressed to your skin, no matter what, and you will increase your chances of survival by 500%.¡±

    He said it like it was eminently reasonable as he spoke about it and said 500% like he wasn¡¯t pulling the number out of his ass. Hell, maybe they took an exit survey.

    The idea of getting an exit survey almost made me want to laugh.

    The charm was a black feather with a thin cord thong and a tiny artifact bead to hold the two together.

    He was speaking about it like it was a magic feather to ward away bad spirits. Like the stupid little feather could stop a bullet.

    It exceeded my imagination, exceeded my ability to reason. It looked mundane.

    I wanted to speak up, but he kept going on.

    ¡°And this is your present for coming here, it¡¯s an SPS, it will give you your coordinates, so you don¡¯t need to ask for them anymore when you go to different planets, it''s like getting a tee-shirt for visiting somewhere, except more useful, you know? I visited the Throne, and all I got was this shirt, but made useful.¡±

    I looked at it and couldn¡¯t help but agree with him that was incredibly useful if it did what he claimed it did, it almost made me forget for only a moment how batshit the man before me was.

    And then I accepted it and moved on, simply nodding to him because it was so good that I didn¡¯t want to wreck the chances of getting that SPS. It was not something I knew existed, and finding my coordinates was a gargantuan pain in my ass.

    ¡°I will do all of this. Thank you, Keeper, for your hospitality and for the free drinks. If that is it, I¡¯ll show myself out.¡± I told him, quickly finishing off my drink and reaching across the table to grab the loot.

    ¡°It is indeed Bandit, you can take your goodies and leave, I know how you lot get. Take care, I will see you in the dark. Oh, and your ingress zone.¡± He told me, quickly rattling off a series of coordinates. I nodded, marking them down in my memory for later. Rehearsing them in my head before getting everything in the nice bag. It was on the table, too, after all, and I certainly wasn¡¯t against fashion.

    I stood and took everything, tipped my hat to him, and headed out.

    I made my way back to my ship, getting the chits sorted and checking the SPS on the hours-long journey to my boat, a boring ride that left the pit burning in my gut at the thought of actually leaving this place.

    It had been a sight, but that wasn¡¯t the bad part, every second of the return brought me closer to the fear I had yesterday.

    I put on the amulet because, why not, it certainly couldn¡¯t hurt me, even if I doubted it would help. It didn¡¯t help my mounting anxiety at all.

    I thought for a moment that I saw the Oracle in a reflection in the glass of the train, her words echoing in my mind along with the Keepers. ¡®You can feel it, too, can¡¯t you.¡¯ It burned in my mind and ate at my gut, the lack of the steel expressions woman worried at my nerves. Anything would be better, anything, even the fucking super spy, gods. Anything would be better than sitting here alone.

    After I got back to the Junker, it was a short time to stow my stuff and reorder my equipment to include my new bag. Some pouches got moved, which resulted in an easier time for carrying stuff, and they got put in the saddle bags for my bike.

    When I left, I got my clearance so fast that they had to be waiting for me. Informed them where I was going, and I lifted off before I oriented myself to the planet, I called in again and waited, the lights spinning up around the segment, the lights that showed the entire system where it was turning into a warning. Alerting everyone in sight that the tomb was being opened for a moment, turning yellow to yellow and red, dozens more lights and a giant beam spinning up to show the universe the location of the soul, stupid enough to go into hell for some credits.

    The shield of the segment flickered, then blanked out.

    I took a deep breath, entered my coordinates into my computer, and nosed down and into the writhing storm below.

    Hours had passed in a blur, I had been at the keeper''s office what felt like a scant few hours ago.

    My thrust pushed me forward, nose down. The Junker plunged into the swirling white-grey cloud that opened for me, and I tried to keep the image of it opening up like a maw, ready to swallow me whole, totally out of my mind.

    I plunged.

 Veni

    I plunged.

    I could see the clouds part through the quartz windows, thick, tremulous clouds blotted out my vision of anything but the swirling blanket that covered the planet in a never-ending storm.

    I could see flashes of light as I fell like a stone, the speed of my descent pushing me back into my chair, the clouds got stormier and stormier as I dropped, the clouds going darker and darker until it was nearly black. The weak running lights on the nose and wings were smothered.

    Storms were always a problem for flying, they played hell with the radio, which stopped me from telling my altitude, left very little visible and cut me off from even listening to music.

    It was, to put it lightly, shit, and left me bored out of my mind as I continued to fall, and fall, and fall.

    I kept my elevation pointed down, diving to clear the clouds around me for minutes, then the better part of an hour, then two, the heat of it gave off more light than my ships lights, coming around my window, growing in brightness as I picked up speed and accelerated towards my destination.

    At one point, I decided to flip on the radio to try and pick up something, anything, to listen to, even if it was garbled and unrecognizable, only to be met with unnerving noises, chimes, and tones, repeating over and over again.

    Some were urgent sounding, blaring to get my attention like a distress signal, some had a robotic voice, speaking in a heavily accented variant of the common tongue. It sounded old and outdated, but that was to be expected if it was from hundreds of years ago. I could barely understand what it was saying, but after a few minutes of listening to it loop, I figured it was calling for people to get into shelters.

    A few were entirely made from irregular noise. Muttering, whispering, white noise, crying, and on and on. I made sure to switch off those channels, not waiting for anything else to come through.

    I had listened to hell before, and I didn¡¯t want to get burned a second time.

    It took two and a half hours in the dark, the storm raging around me and bored out of my mind, waiting for the clouds to pull back before I dove down past them.

    I didn¡¯t understand what I was seeing for a moment, it was dark, then light.

    A bright light shone through the front window, making me flinch back from it to no avail. I pulled up, shielding my eyes with my other hand as my well-honed senses told me when I was level. I took tiny sips of light, my eyes fluttering, then I blinked rapidly, and then I got to squinting.

    Despite the dark clouds I had flown down through, it was bright out. The sky was blue without a cloud in sight. I stared for a moment, wide-eyed and confused. The warbling noise on the radio suddenly cleared to the sound of a woman singing a song in a language I couldn¡¯t understand, high in pitch and both clipped and long, depending on the words she spoke.

    I checked my coordinates as I flew level, my ship cooling off from entry as I made my way down to altitude. I turned down and down until I could see the surface of the planet below me through the front.

    It was green.

    Not the dirt but from trees.

    To God damn many trees.

    They were so thick on the ground they blotted out the land below them.

    ¡°Fuck me, that¡¯s a lot of wood, If I cut down just one, I would be relatively rich. I don¡¯t think I can land like this, though.¡±

    I checked my location.

    I had a bit of distance to cover, but the sea of verdant green went on and on without limit.

    I watched it go by as the song rolled on.

    It hit differently, the song and sight, even the clicking of the heat shielding on the exterior, cooling in the air as it cooled.

    The strings felt more vivid, the voice clearer than normal. It made me want to dance a little and live life a little.

    I had to check myself.

    Just like at the station, I knew deep down this sight was a place I could see myself settling down. I couldn¡¯t do it here, obviously, but maybe on Raphiel. I pondered that, then I threw it out.

    Raphiel was supposedly a beautiful place, lush and verdant. A little slice of utopia.

    And the government, the empire and its emperor were overbearing busybodies who needed something signed in triplicate before they sold you beer. The government lived in your pocket and demanded obedience to the state.

    Was the beauty worth it? Was that worth my freedom?

    It sat there in the back of my head with no answer. The loss of freedom came with perks and safety. I would have to give up my way of life, my standards, everything I knew from it. I would gain prosperity, never go hungry, and get the best amenities the universe had to offer, the best infrastructure.

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    Due process and rights guaranteed by the state.

    I would never need to worry about my life or anything else. It would give me everything I needed, handed to me on a silver spoon.

    I couldn¡¯t see myself doing that, but I couldn¡¯t see it as wrong either if it gave you a place like this.

    Lucky Raphiel bastards, growing up never tasting freedom, made accepting the perks with no downsides so easy.

    I couldn¡¯t settle it yet; my story wasn¡¯t finished.

    I sat there, then I locked the controls, grabbed a drink and just listened to the radio as I flew. Song after song came on, and I found myself throttling down so I could just relax and take it in.

    The tension I felt for this place was not present.

    As I flew, the trees started to clear a bit, becoming more sparsely populated. I couldn¡¯t make out the ground, but it was down there. Somewhere.

    I slowed and slowed, opening my airbrakes, which doubled as radiators to help cool down the Junkers internals before part two.

    I slowed to costing speed as I came to my final destination. I found a gap in the canopy of green trees and cut my momentum with a few quick loops, hovered, then quickly, before I started falling again, I turned on my vertical thrusters and slowly lowered myself down.

    I checked the altitude and blinked.

    I hadn¡¯t checked it since coming down, but it had gotten a number that just wasn¡¯t right.

    It told me I was several times cruising altitude. Suggesting I was closer to a low orbit altitude than the ground. I gave the board a few slaps as I lowered myself down and down, and it fixed itself to a proper altitude.

    I wound down, put out my gear and with a small hop as the thrust got caught under the body, I cut my engines and thunked down, cutting my engines and getting out of the chair.

    I was already ready, I had given the old Keepers advice a think-over and stowed the Anchor properly on my ship. All my gear was set up, so I got ready to head out, Turning on my bike in its two-by-two configuration, I opened the bay and rolled down and out of the bay into¡­

    I was greeted by a grey, barren landscape.

    Chunks of rock and gravel spread as far as the eye could see.

    I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn¡¯t seeing things before heading back up and into the pilot chair.

    Green and trees, grass and shrubs.

    ¡°What the hell is going on,¡± I muttered to myself.

    I set my time peace so I could get back in and headed down to the hold.

    The grey, barren landscape showed itself as I looked out the bay.

    Two totally different views of the outside.

    The keepers¡¯ words echoed in my head, and I couldn¡¯t help but tacitly agree with the old fart.

    ¡®What you will experience below will not make sense to you.¡¯

    I didn¡¯t understand, but I supposed I didn¡¯t need to, not for this job.

    I locked up the Junker, hopped on my bike, pulled out the doodad he had given me, the Way finder, and got it working.

    Straight.

    I snorted and got rolling, roving over the bumpy, uneven, desolate ground. I checked the wayfinder when I heard it whirr. It had changed, left and backward. I followed its direction for a few hundred feet before it changed again to forward in the opposite direction I was facing.

    I spun around, and instead of a rocky wasteland, I was greeted by a desert.

    Looking around, there was no more wasteland, no rocks, just dunes of fine yellow-brown sand and the bright light of the sun.

    I stopped for a moment, trying to understand what had just happened, but I had a sudden feeling overcome me. My neck started to tense, goosebumps forming where I didn¡¯t know goosebumps could form.

    A sudden, instinctive understanding of something accompanied it.

    I was in danger.

    My heart kicked up a notch, and I started forward in the direction the Wayfinder guided.

    Forward, smoothly turning left, a multipoint turn to drive in the opposite direction backwards, a small stint where I had to lead my bike from in front to move to the left and then forward again. I followed the stupid little box. Dread slowly building as I went along, driven by the knowledge that I was being followed by something I couldn¡¯t see.

    All I could do was keep following the direction the Wayfinder gave me, like a dog following a scent.

    I hunted the artifact while I, in turn, was hunted for god knows what reason.

    Knowing my luck, I was being hunted because whatever it was wanted a new hat or something.

    Whatever it was, never showed itself, but regardless of that, I kept my eyes on a swivel.

    A part of me wanted just to stop and wait. Stand my ground and relieve a little tension with a few dozen shots of lead and plasma. I doubted that even something from here could survive it.

    I didn¡¯t divert from my course, however.

    I had not come for senseless violence or hunting, I was on a mission, I was here to get something and leave. The empty landscape was continuously lulling me into a sense of security. It wasn¡¯t a dense set of tenements with a gang in it or a transport. I wasn¡¯t doing a stakeout and watching someone or one of the rare cases where I looked through papers for a trail. There was nothing to keep my head in the game except myself and the subconscious feeling of being hunted.

    Honestly, being hunted didn¡¯t even keep my head in the game, it was just me because, despite the feeling of dread, there was nothing here.

    No slobbering beast or demon or whatever.

    Another part of me felt like a fool who let my emotions stretch their legs as much as they had in recent days.

    All I could do was keep myself focused on the task at hand.

    It took me 30 minutes after I picked up the pace to reach an incline and took a more solid, dense path up a hill. Gaining altitude, I crested it and found myself on a plateau.

    It was totally unnatural.

    The landscape had gone from sand to a crumbly hill to a perfectly smooth surface of ash-grey material. It wasn¡¯t natural, not some stone or material of mortal make, nor was it an artifact material as it lacked the hexagons they were known for.

    I stopped my bike and took in my surroundings, checking the landscape for features and taking in the sights.

    In the distance, a giant structure was cut off from the horizon but tall enough to peek over. A pyramid, large even at the distance I stood from it.

    It shone slightly and was made from yellow and white marble with gold trim. Whatever it had been, it was a ruin now, and far off besides, it wouldn¡¯t be worth a detour, assuming I could even get there. The greenery was still nowhere in sight, just sand, sand, and more sand as far as the eye could see.

    In the distance, towards the way the Wayfinder was pointing, was a series of black shapes that I couldn¡¯t make out in detail, but they should be of considerable size, too.

    They seemed to be my destination, the place I had come for, and a place that contained a horror and something I coveted greatly.

    And far, far off in the sky was a small black speck. The dark spot, for it had little definition beyond its colour, almost looked like a bird. It was also, after a short observation, it was coming towards me.

    I decided to rev my bike engine and head towards the dark shapes. With any luck, the shape would give up chasing me when I hid among the shapes that hid the item I came to see.

 Vidi

    I saw in the distance a monument of harsh black shapes. Mounds of earth piled high in mounds to give them shape, sprouting like trees from the mounds of grey ashen soil. They were obviously constructed, artificial in nature as you could get.

    They were made of some form of black glass that could reflect the light that should not be around down here off of their smooth surfaces. The branches were at right or acute angles and looked sharp, far too sharp for casual construction. The shapes themselves were also sharp, each a slightly different angular spike not too dissimilar to the pyramid in the distance but taller in height than width.

    It had the same look and feel a hostile place would, like when someone put up barbed wire on the top of their fence to keep people out or when a place had wrought iron spikes.

    It was unsettling, to say the very least, and that was discounting the approaching dark shape behind me as I rode towards the wall of discomfort, sand kicking up behind me in a plume I was no doubt being followed by a flying object of unknown hostility.

    It didn¡¯t matter; it would catch up and fight me, or it wouldn¡¯t, and I would get away.

    Instead of focusing on the incoming shape, I kept my eyes forward to the wall of harshness before me every so often, making sure I was going in the correct direction.

    The moment I spotted the wall of black shapes. The Wayfinder, luckily, had stopped changing directions like a drunkard.

    Apparently, whatever fuckery the Throne experienced; this place was exempt from it. The only odd thing that happened on my journey was that the light that could not come from the sun started setting as I approached. The light began to dim as I got close to the wall of dark shapes, but I arrived with enough light to take them in and get a very good look.

    It was hostile architecture, the likes of which I had never seen anything like it. Nothing equivalent. Like a fence that screamed ¡®leave this place¡¯ when you approached it. The soil was almost sandy and even more desolate, if that was possible, lifeless beyond even the expanse of the sands and gravel.

    I ignored its message. For what else could it be? They were obviously not defensive, the branches were raised on mounds, but between the mounds were easily traversed paths.

    They split and split, a confusing layout that I had seen before in prison architecture. It was the only defensive part of the construction I could see, the splits intended to split larger groups up and minimize a numbers advantage.

    Was this place a fort of some kind? A holdout point? Are there going to be guardians to hold in the thing the keeper talked about? That would make some sense. But if they exist, where are they? I¡¯m not being subtle, so if they exist, I should see them soon.

    I checked back in the sky for the shape, the light fading to a somewhat twilit state, the light coming in from the horizon played tricks on my eyes as it bounced off the black forest. They began to look more and more like black glass, the light reflecting off and refracting through the structure, giving them an inner glow and shine both showing brilliant colour.

    Instead of contrasting with them, however, it just enhanced them instead. Unnatural lighting for the forest of angry shapes gave the place a whole new ominous feeling.

    I spotted, engraved on them, strange pictures and stopped and squinted.

    It looked like the face of someone screaming in pain.

    I shuttered and continued forward.

    I wasn¡¯t going to be frightened by some admittedly very pointy, somewhat threatening structures covered in screaming faces. And I definitely wasn¡¯t going to lose my cool over the ominous-looking light passing through them.

    Absolutely not.

    OK, I suppose there was nothing like the hostile landscape around you to give you a strange new fear, right? It''s fine, there is nothing wrong with being afraid of anything, right? Nothing wrong with a little unease. Right?

    I decided to speed up, winding through the raised mounds as I rode under the eerie light of the thickening branches.

    It got darker and darker, but I finally found my way clear of the twisting cover overhead, clear of their odd colours and reflective, lustrous surfaces. The light had almost gone down, all the way down to the horizon, the light not reaching me through the field of dark shapes except through the light emitted by the shapes.

    I bet the sunset would be gorgeous. This place has only ever been eerie and empty or lush and beautiful. What''s with the sky?

    Are thoughts¡­ The lights? The station''s lights? They are spinning around up there, and I can see them¡­ God almighty, those are powerful lights, they look so much closer down here. Nothing in this place makes any sense.

    I took my eyes off the sky and tried to use what little light was left to spot anything in the distance. Whatever I was finding was still off in the distance, right in front of me just, far out, either unable to spot with the naked eye or hidden beyond the horizon. I could make out the field of shapes, the same that I had come through, expanding out in a circle.

    I checked the skyline but found nothing of note, but considering this place messed with me, I decided to trust my gut.

    I still felt watched, so I kept going.

    Driving through the ever-darkening place, following the un-erring compass of the Wayfinder, pointing ever forward into the dark of night on the Throne. There was enough light from the spinning lights of the station to find.

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    I decided to check my time peace, taking my hands off of the handlebars and letting the bike continue forward under me, which was easier in the two by two than with just two wheels.

    I pulled it out and, using the headlamps, saw the face.

    The hands were still, the time peace had not a tick nor a tock.

    I panicked a little, assuming that I had just forgotten to wind it, the action of which would get me locked out of my ship, which was a massive pain in the ass, but when I wound it, it didn¡¯t start moving. I wound and wound it until the spring didn¡¯t want to wind anymore.

    The clock simply didn¡¯t tick, didn¡¯t move.

    It was so bizarre I snorted from the relief of it.

    I hadn¡¯t gotten myself locked out of my ship. I had just found my way to a place where time didn¡¯t pass.

    Why didn¡¯t I think about that?

    I actually chuckled out loud all on my own.

    ¡°Of course, it''s obvious! What the hell is with the place? It makes me feel like a crazy person. I swear if this stupid place gets me locked out and I have to pull myself into the console hatch to find the time, I¡¯m going to build a doomsday weapon and blow this stupid cursed rock up and save the universe from getting gaslit by this stupid tomb. YOU HEAR THAT WORLD, FUCK OFF!¡±

    I shouted it like an accusation, head back, right up into the sky like I was slightly unhinged. Or maybe totally unhinged.

    As if to spite me, a dark shape started moving in the periphery of my headlamp.

    I shouted profanity, grabbing back onto the handles with one hand and stowing the watch before drawing Righty. I looked around but couldn¡¯t see the shape. I drew the hammer back, heightening my vigilance, becoming dreadfully aware of the feeling of being watched.

    I kept my ears open.

    I kept my head on a swivel.

    I wound the light side to side a little, winding forward through the dusty dirt to try and catch the figure in the headlamp.

    I could not see it.

    But I could feel it.

    I could feel it chasing me, feel it in my blood, in the pith of my marrow, in my gut.

    I didn¡¯t know what to do, so I acted.

    I levelled Righty to the left of me, slightly in front of me, and pulled the trigger.

    The gun barked, the flash lighting up the dark.

    It looked like a dog but was to a dog as toxic waste was to a cup of water, as a man was to an ape. It was a dog as painted by one who had never seen one. Misshapen. Too big by half and distended.

    It was far too long from head to tail. Its legs looked more like a person''s legs, not a dog''s. Its paws were more like misshapen hands, it stood on the tips of the finger-like paws like some kind of martial arts training move as designed by the demented. Its jaw extended from the gaping maw like a second snout, like an industrial shredder made from bone, blood, and flesh in the shape of a dog''s snout.

    I missed, but I followed it up, snapping off shots, one after another. The third clipped the thing''s leg as it stretched out like an elastic band of meat.

    Its screech was not a screech that should come from the mouth of such a beast. It sounded like a child.

    It sounded like the children on the radio.

    The nightmares came back, the laughing children came back in full force, and an image clarifying in my mind of multiple of these things slowly tearing the grown men to shreds with their mouths, laughing through their hideous maws.

    I snapped off a shot where I thought it was but missed as it fell behind me. I let go and started going forward without the handles, leaning back and lining up where I thought it was based on the flash of light I had.

    The thing was moving too fast, coming up behind me, so I sped up and lined up my fifth shot with Righty.

    But for all my faults, I was a damn good shot. It caught the thing through the head, I could feel the viscera spray out of it, a fleck hitting my face and making me gag.

    From the flash, I knew that the thing was not finished.

    It let out its shrill baby voice, growing distant before trailing off into the night.

    I didn¡¯t talk out loud, fearful of somehow bringing it back to me. I just reloaded my gun with plasma and remained ready for a second round until I spotted the needle shifting slightly.

    I soon came upon a building, large but open in my headlights. I slowed my pace as I found my way toward than into the space.

    Monolithic walls of the same black material as before met my light, and I coasted around in the open space, it was somewhat decrepit, objects that looked like lights that had since shut off sat in high corners.

    I read the writing on the wall.

    Literally.

    There were placards on the inside of the structure, written in a myriad of languages I had never seen before. They seemed to repeat the same amount of lines, each script different in design it was easy enough to differentiate some from others, and each of those was different.

    I circled the inside and found it to be a box of sorts, the center of each wall cut away for entrances meant that there were only four corners, and it was roofless, but it had a definite box-like appearance.

    It was a strange metal, not because it was off in any way but because it wasn¡¯t a normally used metal, or in any case, not one I used frequently enough to remember it.

    It didn¡¯t look scuffed or scratched from wind or rain or any other element, in fact, it stood practically shining to a mirror finish.

    I scooted around to the next one, more languages, the next some kind of series of pictures I couldn¡¯t understand, and the next was in a more familiar series of characters, but they made no word I could understand.

    I circled around the box, trying to read them until I found one that I could read.

    This place is a message and part of a series of messages. It is not unique.

    Pay Attention.

    Sending this message was important to us.

    We considered ourselves a powerful culture.

    This place is not a place of honor; no great deed is commemorated here, and nothing of value remains here.

    What is here is dangerous and repulsive to us.

    This place is a warning about that danger.

    This danger is in a particular location and becomes more dangerous towards that location.

    The center of that danger is here, below the ground.

    The danger is still present in your time as it was in ours.

    The danger is to both the body and the mind and the spirit.

    The danger is to the social and the soul alike and can kill.

    The form of danger is an emanation of energy and can¡¯t be blocked if this place is disturbed.

    Do not disturb this place.

    This place is best left shunned and uninhabited.

    Followed by a series of different images similar to the one the Keeper showed me, bridging the full spectrum of eye shapes.

    I looked around at all the placards I could see and knew existed. There were something like 60 of them on every wall, and that was just the ones at my height, there were more above, angled down at me.

    Each of them barring the same message, hundreds of them were written by a society so powerful they were sometimes misremembered as living gods.

    It made my fucking bones quiver in my body just reading the fucking thing.

    I moved towards the center and found a tiny hut. The hut contained more complex pictograms that I could not decipher and a great metal doorway with a chit-reader next to it.

    I parked my bike, packed my stuff up as best as I could, and walked to the chit reader, placing the chit inside after taking it out of the Wayfinder.

    The box closed, whirring for a moment before opening again for me to take the chit out.

    The door started whirring, the sound of great machines echoing from the earth. Beneath me, like a great clock echoing its chime from within the earth, it called and woke the tomb and its inhabitants.

    ¡®We have a guest,¡¯ it told them, ¡®a guest and a trespasser.¡¯

    I did not stand down. I had come, I had seen, and I was going to get my prize.

 Cecidi

    The thick metal receded, the locking mechanism released, and the metal door slid not out but in, in and down through a short tunnel dug into the earth. The door and lock were one piece, like the core of a giant lock.

    Small lights flickered on the inside of the cylindrical concrete hallway. Metal plates ran around holes in the stone that the door had hooked into, literal locking lugs had been used at some points in the wall, now no doubt held within the door apparatus.

    I walked down the corridor and found, of all things, a staircase. I put my chit in the wayfinder and started walking down the concrete stairs. They were spotless, not a speck of dust or cobweb. Nothing, just smooth, nearly polished walls. The stairs were less smooth, which was nice, feeling them up, there was almost no traction.

    I could imagine slipping and sliding all the way down to the basement of this place, god knows how many floors. The stairs had numbers on each landing, with a doorway that led off into an additional lit hallway with a symbol next to the door.

    The top floors, those down to floor 20, had a circle with a horizontal line through it, the next twenty a circle with a stretched oval, an eye. The next twenty and open eye, with a pupil, and down and down. by floor 80, I was tired, by floor 120, I took a break to make sure I wasn¡¯t wheezing. By floor 200, is was sucking in a breath and lying on my back.

    I could only imagine what it was going to be like going back up the stairs if it was this bad coming down them.

    ***

    ¡°Sometimes I hate this job, am I on the right floor yet? No? fuck me. How did they get around with this many stairs.¡±

    I had started talking to myself on floor 275 more than 50 floors ago, and I still hadn¡¯t gotten to the one with my symbol, though it wouldn¡¯t be much further.

    Floor 330 ended up being my floor while also being the last floor in the facility, the doorway had two symbols, both mine and the one I had been warned of. I had been told whatever I was looking for had been nearby, whatever was down here was the stuff they didn¡¯t want to get out.

    I started down the hallway.

    It was short, branching off at either end in an I shape. Closed doorways with little name plates next to them lined the hallway, most written in the languages I had seen above, none of which I could read. I sighed and started paying attention to the Wayfinder, taking a left and another left and two more lefts. Turning the final corner, I ended up not in a wall behind the stairs but facing the stairs, the Wayfinder told me to take a right and walk backwards.

    ¡°Wayfinder, please stop giving me a fucking migraine, where am I going?¡±

    The Wayfinder didn¡¯t reply on account of it being an overly large compass, but I was still pissed. Three more rights later, and I was seemingly back where I started, only this time, I was going right again.

    I moved right twice, then left, then straight at a t junction.

    I took another left, turning the corner with the confidence that the world was going to mess with me again, when I heard the sound of motors winding up and peeking up in the direction I was turning.

    A very obvious gun was mounted to the ceiling, rotating barrels pointed right at me.

    I started backpedalling immediately but was not quick enough to clear the corner fast enough not to take a shot, one slammed into my chest, the bullet deflecting off my chest plate, and another caught the brim of my hat, zipping through it in the corner of my eye while the third slammed into the plate near my neck.

    It didn¡¯t penetrate, lucky me, but it did knock me off balance. While the fourth bullet concussively accelerated, and the crack of the three prior bullets reached my ear, I contorted myself, turning to get the corridor in my vision as I pushed off the ground and out of the firing line.

    The fourth bullet skimmed my leg while I moved through the air, tucking in before rolling back behind the corner. My landing was more of a rolling flop than a good roll. My leg kicked around from the pain of the bullet skimming me, throwing off my landing, but I could get up after stopping. I stood and drew Righty.

    I took my hat off and, holding the brim, I pushed it around the corner first, followed by my gun, angled up in one hand at an awkward angle before training a shot with the turret and withdrawing my hat, a hole straight through the middle of my hat where my head would have sat.

    There was the noise of something tiny and made of metal splintering, so I decided to do it again, but with a shot of plasma. Snapping off the shot using the same trick, I now had three holes in the hat and no broken turret, and I had no idea why.

    I heard it hit something, but I didn¡¯t know why it still shot.

    I looked at the distance to the next hallway and decided to get a look. Readying myself, I tossed my hat across and waited for the whirring before dashing out and snapping off shots and the turret. My hat took four bullets while it flew across the junction. The turret started to swerve towards me as I ran across the junction after the hat, the turret snapping off a shot that bounced off my chest piece before stopping to swerve back the way I was moving.

    The turret couldn¡¯t turn fast enough to catch me, each time it changed direction, the motors took time for the ancient motors to aim the gun.

    I fired off two shots with Righty to see where I was going wrong.

    Righty kicked twice in my hand and sent two shots, zipping out only to be caught and thrown by an invisible field when they got close to the turret. The turret had a black circle around it from the plasma shot, the concrete misshapen from the heat.

    I took it in before I cleared the next wall, holstered my trusty hand cannon, and taught it through.

    Was that a force field? How the hell does that work? Is it just immune to bullets? No, that¡¯s not quite right¡­ the bullet moved. It was less like it hit something physical and more like it curved¡­ That means its not some kind of force field, or not what I would think of as a force field, just some strong force acting on it.

    A magnet? Plasma is magnetic; it''s literally made with magnets, and the shots are metal.

    Would the coil gun work? Its shots are also magnetic, but it''s heftier.

    I tried to remember if the shots got closer than the plasma, trying to remember how close to the turret the bullets curved. They did curve the same way and got closer compared to the plasma, if I had to guess, which made me think of magnets.

    Some kind of magnetic field, shaped in a dome around the turret.

    I planned how to proceed, reloading my guns with more plasma and deciding to keep the solid shot to the repeater for now before I hefted it in my arms and charged out and into a circular shape, forcing the turret to adjust twice as many times as it had before, slowing its aim and letting me snap off shots.

    One quick shot aiming backward towards it hit it to the left and almost hit, curving just around and flying beyond it into the concrete.

    I slowed as I rounded the top of my imaginary circle and snapped off a shot into the field, which got it to move towards the side and snap to the metal plating around the base of the turret. I sped back up, the gun close enough that it managed to put a bullet through the tail of my coat as it caught the air.

    When I got back around, I squeezed off another shot. The coil gun had so little recoil, even from cycling the action, that it felt like a toy gun, but it didn¡¯t throw off my aim. I had toyed around with it, trained around with it enough not to compensate for it, and I managed to land my shot.

    The hefty metal shot flew from the barrel and entered the magnetic field around the turret. I shot so that I would just miss, and the magnetic field angled the shot back toward the turret, curving it in the same direction that the other bullets had been thrown. The shot tore through the thin metal plates and into the joint that moved the turret.

    Motors screamed, and the turret shook as it tried to aim at me before it caught. The motors shrieked higher and higher as they spun without spinning, whatever moved it, not realizing what was going on until it began to smoke.

    I looked at it and moved to cover, sliding into the hallway I had come from in time to avoid the bullets inside the turret cooking off as the turret lit on fire and pinging through the junction I had run around. The metal shrapnel was unaimed, shards of metal flying from already broken bullets as they slammed into the obviously reinforced concrete.

    I shielded my eyes with my arm as bits of metal flew out into the side corridor towards me. I could feel the shrapnel bite into me, my coat taking the bit out of it but not stopping it from cutting into me.

    I weathered the storm of metal as metal ripped into parts of my arms and legs, some pieces catching on my armour under my coat and some stinging into my abdomen. I forced myself to stand, clenching my muscles as round after round cooked off second after second. I moved to cover my neck, but a piece of metal bit in, flying into my skin and hitting the bone gorget.

    Thank you, Dad, for having a protective bone around your neck. Thank the makers for making someone that way and my cursed luck to inherit it.

    I tucked myself in to narrow my profile and pressed myself against the wall to take some weight and force for a million years.

    It was more like ten seconds, but it felt like forever, ideas popped into my head before getting disregarded for their risk.

    But end it did. Turret 0, me 1.

    Well¡­

    I mean, I guess the turret got 0.5, It technically hurt me, but it didn¡¯t count. Hurting me by blowing itself up didn¡¯t count, if someone blew themselves up and I happened to get hurt, I wouldn¡¯t count it, and I wouldn¡¯t count it now.

    No one was around to count the points for the turret, no one would know.

    I move back to the corner to take a look, my muscles sore from both pain and exhaustion but a little limp to conserve energy.

    That was why I limped, it wasn¡¯t because I was hurt and didn¡¯t want to hurt. This would make a good story if nothing else, and I wasn¡¯t going to admit that the metal peppering my body got me limping, that would make me sound like a pussy, and knowing the dicks I called drinking buddy, they would laugh at me over it. Well, everyone but Doc, he would just ask about why I was intoxicating myself again. Golems never drank, or at least I had never seen one drink.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    The turret was a shredded metal, the bullets had ripped from the casing, leaving the barrel without any ammunition to fire and a whole lot of structural damage. The shredded metal plates holding it up were sagging and smoking, the warped metal crackling as it cooled. I could see the sparks through the holes. The turret was dead or as good as dead.

    Confirming the kill so to speak, I pulled out my Wayfinder and heart hammering in my chest I followed it, paying more attention to corners. I bypassed two more that were down a corridor with the bad symbol as I turned down the path towards my loot, my treasure, my millions that were held as a part of our transaction.

    God, but it was a lot of money. Would it be worth the nightmares I would have over the dog thing? Probably one day, I could go see a shrink about that with my money, I would get better.

    I followed the Wayfinder down the hall, devoid of doors except for the one, all the way at the end. I walked, or limped, or limp walked down the corridor, through the concrete hall.

    The door had a chit reader, the door not a normal door like those I had passed at the front, but one more like the one above.

    It felt longer the more I focused; the air had gotten dryer the further I had gone down, but down here, it was downright bone dry. I would probably get chapped lips if I stayed, the air would just suck the moisture right out of me.

    An image of a mummy from a pulp fiction comic, wrapped in linen bandages, came to mind. Someone stumbling down here only to get grabbed when they opened my sarcophagus.

    I was close enough to taste it.

    I got to the door ten thousand years later, but I had the chit ready and placed it in the cup.

    The chit got read, and the door beeped, and a little light popped up on the panel, and I picked the chit back up, or I went to pick the chit up. The door didn¡¯t release it.

    ¡°Fuck it, the doors open. I don¡¯t need it,¡± I muttered to me and myself, walking in through the door as it opened, the big circular door moving straight backwards on gears before rolling into the wall.

    I walked down through the corridor, coming to a bend and taking it. there was only one way forward, and I limped with passion down it.

    I blinked when I turned the corner, and I was in a stone passage when I opened my eyes. Not one of the concrete hallways, large open and circular, but a more cramped rectangular passage, the wall I didn¡¯t keep a hand on to keep myself up, was notably uneven, with small gouges in the singular, continuous stone around me. Like it had been chiselled, chipped bit by bit until a hole had been left behind.

    It was bizarre, but at this point, I was left unphased. Compared to the forest and rock wasteland, concrete tunnel to rock tunnel was less strange than it could have been otherwise.

    I looked back and saw the passage now was straight, seeming to go on and on forever. It gave me the closest I could feel to nausea, a minorly queasy feeling, like staring down from a great height. If I ever got asked, I could swear to it that the hallway leaned around like a flexing tube, a weather sock in a gentile breeze.

    But that did not matter. Forward was straight, it was forward, and it was the way I went.

    Down,

    Down,

    Down, through the veins of the earth, marbled veins of minerals like plac stuck in the walls for so long they blended with the rock.

    The air was so dry my lips felt chapped.

    The thump of my feet felt like the beating of a great heart in my ears.

    But I saw, just barely in the distance, a light. So I walked forward until there was no more forward to walk.

    I came out in a hexagonal room of carved stone. Electric lights dotted the top, six lights, one in each corner, lit the place.

    The walls were tiled in carved stone hexagons.

    And in the middle, a rectangular coffin-like slab of stone with a bauble on it emitting a soft, purple glow. The bauble rested on coffin-like plinth, an irregular pad beneath it to hold it off the cool stone.

    It looked like an irregular glass ball, flat shapes edged in silver, small enough to look round with a wisp of light. The shapes were hexagons.

    This was the treasure.

    It was so small I couldn¡¯t imagine it as being worth it. What would those clanker cultists want with a bauble like this? The Collector was self-explanatory, but what did they want from it? Was it a random chance encounter or intentional?

    I didn¡¯t know, and I didn¡¯t care. I could literally hold the money in my hands.

    I walked towards it and picked it up.

    It was weightless in my hand, the lack of feedback made it feel fake like I was trying to carefully lift an illusion instead of a very dainty artifact. I watched the light inside of the glass bauble, flickering with light, unlike a fire or electrical lamp. It was both more solid and also soft, like an ebbing globe of light with flickering sparks of the same colour trailing around it, in and out with the ebbing.

    Like a beating heart of some species of gentile etheric being, simply waiting within the glass. I swore I heard a whisper of a noise, like when your ear picked up your name in a crowd, only whispered too far away to tell if it was real or if it was just a trick of the mind.

    The room started moving when I lifted the globe, the pad triggering some kind of reaction in the room. I looked up, holding the orb, but not stuck pondering it as I watched the stone walls start retracting up, the engraved hexagonal plates warping to give the room a bumpy look before they slid on angles via an unknown method into the wall, like a coin into a slot.

    Beneath was an engraved metal behind a thin sheet of black glass. The metal looked like that on the Lighthouse. The floor beneath me remained unmoving, but the rest, the other five segments, started pulling back, revealing the plinth as a pillar that reached down into a vat of glowing green goo.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t look good, but I suppose it doesn¡¯t matter, I got the loot, now I get out.¡±

    I turned to move from the room to leave the tang and bubbles of the goo behind, but I only made it to the now large concrete hallway when I stared down a wall of guns.

    I could barely recognize the threat of 8 armed men in black before they let out a volley of fire, slug throwers letting out a chorus of concussive belches, lazers letting off bright light and leaving behind the smell of ozone as they ionized the air. The cold tear of metal in my flesh and the hot scorch of lazgun fire cooking me well done in circular chunks.

    I stumbled back into the room, iron catwalk under my feet instead of solid stone, my hands trying to get under me and break my fall, but in doing so, the globe in my hand, so light as to seem ephemeral, broke on the metal floor below me.

    I hit the metal catwalk with a cry, the pain of my prior engagement nothing compared to getting shot for real. Agony bloomed in brilliant flickers inside my closed eyes before I got to controlling my breath. I needed to get up, knowing I needed to move, needed to not be on the ground where I was totally defenceless. I grit my teeth and opened my eyes as I tried to force myself up, but I was too weak. All I could see was the broken globe and the flickering light within as it started to fade, and all I could do was wiggle my fingers pathetically.

    I cupped my hand around the broken glass, trying to pick up the orb of light, but it turned to so many embers as my hand passed through it, tingling but otherwise snuffing it out in a moment.

    The artifact was unrecoverable. It was an unfortunate turn of events, but it happened. I could keep my upfront payment, but I needed to get out of here to keep it.

    I tried to get one of my guns, something to defend myself with, as I turned my head towards the door, but my moving arm just got shot a second time as one of the black-clad gunmen trained the gun on me. My arms failed me, and I slumped from my side to my back.

    ¡°Fucker. You''re not from here. What''s a girl like you doing in a place like this?¡±

    The attempted insult to the man fell on deaf ears as he simply scanned the room and called, ¡°clear,¡± back into the corridor.

    I watched, confused, as, of all people, Manfred walked out from the corner.

    ¡°Manfred? Why are you here with a bunch of thugs? No, how are you down here with a bunch of thugs?¡±

    He didn¡¯t answer me, simply coming closer to take a peek at the smashed bauble and clucked his tongue.

    ¡°Unfortunate, that would have been a nice find.¡±

    ¡°What are you-¡±

    ¡°Oh, do be quiet, girl. It should be obvious why I¡¯m down here.¡±

    A few thoughts percolated through my head, and I grasped one.

    ¡°You''re betraying the Collector, or maybe you''re a Clanker?¡±

    He scoffed, ¡°No, don¡¯t be so banal, dear. This is a double cross. The classic lured them out with a lot of credit tricks. Honestly, I paid you so much money, and the idea that I didn¡¯t have my own collection team didn¡¯t go through your head? Not once?¡±

    ¡°But why? Why go through the effort, what about the collector what-¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t even figured that out? God, I forgot, you must be as dense as your father was. I am the Collector. Ah Ah, no saying something stupid like ¡®but why,¡¯ honestly it¡¯s a clich¨¦,¡± he said, cutting me off before I even got to asking him my why follow up.

    ¡°You know what, when I heard Bandit was back after a few decades of not doing much, I had been ecstatic that my old archnemesis was back, I was so excited that I decided to call up in person. I had a whole speech ready. Then you picked up the call. Honestly, what a disappointment. I expected you to figure something out on the ship, another disappointment, I expected you to find out we were following you and find a way through. I can honestly say, with all sincerity, you are the worst Bandit I have ever met. Or should I call you by your real name? I¡¯m going to guess. Ruth? Or maybe Darcy Jaydin? That treacherous little sister of mine had a few preferred names for a little girl before she ran off with your father.

    You know what I don¡¯t think it matters, it would just throw me off my game to call you anything but Bandit.¡± He said in a rambling stream of thought.

    ¡°I can tell you like the sound of your own voice. If you''re going to kill me, get on with it,¡± I spat venomously at him.

    I checked myself over, seeing what I could move.

    If I could just move my arms, I could get my blade out. If I could get my feet under me, the close quarters of the area would favour my sword over my guns.

    He seemed to catch himself and that chuckle, one far too full of mirth for the circumstances.

    ¡°HA HA! Look at me, monologuing again. It¡¯s a terrible habit of mine. You know it¡¯s a shame this artifact got crushed like that¡­ And while I could just kill you now, I think I have a better idea... I''ve been experimenting with artifact manipulation for some time, and there''s one artifact here that I might be able to take if it works¡­¡± He said, trailing off before patting himself down and finding what he was looking for.

    He withdrew a strange glove from one of his pockets. It looked like someone had taken random bits and bobs and screwed and soldiered together. There was even a small square of duct tape holding two wires together like a wire nut. There were antennas and broken artifact bits and metal. As someone who had made things before, modified things before, it was garish, like it had been made from scrap parts by an overambitious child.

    He started humming giddily, putting the glove on his left hand while he reached forward with his right, scooping up a little blood and pooling it in what looked like a glass dish with metal prongs inside of it. He scooped up enough to cover the probes, then took a glass plate out and screwed it on the first.

    ¡°Here goes nothing, I suppose I do hope it works. The emperor would be so proud of my work.¡±

    That threw me for a loop. I was about to try and throw myself up at him. Expend what little energy I had left, but those words stopped me.

    ¡°What? The emperor? What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°Hmm? It won''t matter to you, girl, though I suppose it won''t hurt to tell you that there''s going to be a reconquest of sorts, it will be starting soon. The emperor of Raphael is going to start a war to pacify the¡­ how would I put it kindly? Less civilized groups of the solar system bring an age of prosperity that hasn¡¯t been seen since the fall. We struck up a conversation about artifacts a decade or so ago, and I decided to help him take Gabriel for a place in his new order. It was what was best for the Sartones, you see.¡±

    He told me before reaching down for my sword and placing a hand on the handle,

    ¡°Now, let us see if I can pick up that sword of yours Hmm?¡±

    He grasped it, and then, to a grin on his face and a look of disbelief on mine, he drew it like I would.

    He held the blade in one hand, the blade changing from the grey translucent crystal to the vibrant oxidized blue.

    ¡°And there we go. Honestly, a part of me, a small part, mind you, wants to bring you along just for more testing. But I know better than probably anyone else just how lucky you, Jaydins are. Goodbye Bandit. You won''t be lonely long, I think I¡¯ll pay a visit to dear old Jason and that treacherous swine I call a sister.¡±

    I jerked, trying to lift myself, tried to throw myself at him, but I was just too weak. Blood loss, exhaustion,  and the trauma of my burns and pullet holes were too hefty for me to overcome with a little gumption.

    ¡°I hope you trip on the stairs back up and kill yourself, Collector,¡± I spat.

    That got him to look at me, confusion on his face.

    ¡°Stairs? What are you¡­ Oh, HA HA AH! Oh, dear child, you took the stairs? 300 floors of them? No, dear, I think I¡¯ll take the lift to the first floor instead. All right, Captain, dispose of her, the goo will melt her well, I think, then get ready to depart, the field is only going to remain down for another¡­ ten hours or so.¡±

    He left then. He didn¡¯t even look back. I started shouting as one of the black-suited goons came over and kicked me into the vibrant, bubbling green goo.

    I screamed as it got into me and started to melt me down, penetrating into my flesh and pulling me apart piece by piece, and I kept screaming until it killed my nerves.

    The lights in the room turned off above me, and I fell into darkness.

    The whispers came to me then, but I ignored them as my memories cleared.

    The Oracle had been right. I wonder if she knew.

    The ideas in my head ate at me as the whispers got louder and clearer, but I ignored them. I kept doing so all the way till my head got around to the idea of revenge, and the whisper made a deal.

    It could help me get revenge, help me get back at the collector if I would make a deal.

    And I did.

    ***

    I woke up in the dark of the ship, blood running down my head and the melody vibrating inside my head. Another cycle, another round of torment.

    But this time.

    This time, I remembered who I was.

    My name was Jacalyn Bandit Jaydin, and I knew now how I could get my memories back.

 I Lived Bitch

    I had been returned to hell, returned to the dark, unfamiliar cockpit. My monstrous and autonomous form, spurred by the music and the melody, resonated through my everything, but I couldn¡¯t care less.

    Because even though my mouth and muscles were not mine, I was still here.

    And I remembered.

    It was an intoxication finer than any vice. I felt drunk on it, on the simple state of remembering a tiny, infinitesimal, and somewhat unimportant fragment of myself in this empty ship that floated through a void so unlike the void I knew. The dark was so empty that I could distinguish it from the rest of the darkened room by just how little there was.

    I ran through the dream, revelling in every moment, every sense and detail giving me a rush that made my body quiver in the seat as it screamed, not in a baseless animal action but in laughter and stimulation of anything that was not the melody that rang through my body like a tuning fork.

    For a moment, I felt like I might just cum. I had no memory of it, but I knew it and knew it was better than any animal pleasure. Fortunately, the horrific form I now possessed was seemingly incapable of it.

    I could feel the pleasure of it, sweet and freeing, a stretch of your muscles after a long day, a good meal and a drink. The finer things in life stood no chance against this feeling.

    It made the meat in my head quiver as the parts began to rearrange themselves. My brain formed and informed the memory, fighting against the tone like a sandcastle at high tide.

    And then, as soon as it came, it passed, like the feeling of Sol¡¯s light on my face, dusk came. There was one minute before the clouds rolled on by, and my body returned from revelry and revelation to rage and rash action.

    Because it was too little, the high was over, and I wanted more. More memories, more experiences, more time away from the song of this empty plane that god had given me as punishment, more time away from the cockpit with unfamiliar controls and an unfamiliar rattle of engines.

    No, not want, but need.

    I needed more, another fix, and I had an idea of how to get it now.

    All of me, including my body, wanted it too, and working all on its own to bludgeon me, myself and I into unconscious mincemeat on the console like a rabid animal, scrambling my grey matter so it could piece itself back together right.

    I needed to know more, and I needed time away from whatever afterlife this was. I had never gotten huge into religion, but I must have done something truly horrific to be locked in a place like this.

    I did not think I had a mouth, but I could tell it was dry, and my throat was sore from how it moved. But it didn¡¯t matter; I had fractured my skull already. I was close¡­ So¡­ So close.

    Why was I still here?

    I was¡­

    I¡­ Where was I?

    I was on a cool stone table that chilled the skin of my back, but where was-

    The memory of The Collector, standing tall over me as he took my sword and didn¡¯t even have the decency to kick me into the acid on his own, clicked as I felt myself suck in a breath.

    Wait, if I fell in acid¡­ How was I alive? And why was I naked? And where was my stuff? And how was I on a stone table?

    ¡°What the heck is going on?¡± I asked the stone ceiling.

    ¡°Finally awake? Good, you were seriously wounded; I was starting to think you wouldn¡¯t wake up.¡± A woman told me, her voice calm and collected.

    ¡°Who the fu-¡± I panicked, quickly lifting off the stone table, first into a sitting position, then in a fumbling forward hop onto my feet. They wobbled and threatened to cave in underneath me before I slapped my hands down on the rim behind me, and, like a newborn, I held just barely long enough to get some measure of balance as my ears settled.

    I started to take the room in immediately, trying to find any possible aggressor, trying to find the voice, my mind seeking anything that could attack me, the ambush running through my mind, tainting the calm of the voice with the fear of another attack.

    ¡°Please calm down; your vital signs have not recovered from both your prior injuries and the final stage of transformation setting; if you require aid, I could give you some Re¡ªRe¡ªRecommend you some exercises to lower your heart rate.¡± She told me, momentarily falling into a very abnormal stutter.

    It was, for a moment, more like a Golem speaking or someone talking through a speaker than someone talking. It sounded like it was coming from inside of my ear, and it was freaking me out.

    ¡°Who, where and what are you, and what do you mean by my transformation?¡± I shouted, trying to look at every familiar stone wall, looking for a door that no longer existed, looking for the threat that was in the room. ¡°Show yourself! WHY AM I NAKED!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to tell you that I am innnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn- incapable of complying with your request. I am currently utilizing too much processing power to create a visual aid of myself. If you would like it, I could end a process to attempt to visualize myself. My current processes have placed me at 300% of my standard operation level.¡±

    She spoke without pause for breath and was not breathless. She continued to list off each thing she was doing, but I could only understand a few things. Protein was like muscles, right? And that was about it. The only two things I could understand beyond that were the talk on physical form and something about my memory, though what she meant by ¡®finishing¡¯ but an additional stake of fear in me.

    The last one was ¡°Zero Point,¡± and I asked, ¡°Well, if there¡¯s no point, turn it off.¡±

    She stopped, quickly chiming, ¡°Queeeerey, you want me to halt the finalization of the Zero Point Power Plant? Waaaa¡ªWarning: Terminating this process will release a captive micro black hole and result in the destruction of your physical Foormmmmmm.¡±

    That¡­ That did not sound good, I didn¡¯t know what the hell a black hole was, but the idea of a hole inside of me that could cause the destruction of my physical form was seriously not something I wanted to fuck with.

    I was, unfortunately, biased because I liked having a physical form and didn¡¯t want to give it up.

    ¡°Um, no, please don¡¯t do that,¡± I told her hastily. ¡°What about the memory thing? Can you turn off the memory thingy? I don¡¯t want to have my head tampered with!¡±

    ¡°Correction, you gave the express permission to seal memory. REEEEEplaying authorization¡­¡± she told me, before, in an exact copy of my voice, distorted screaming in agony, crying to take away my pain.

    My voice set my already fraying nerves to fucking twitching because the only thing off about it was the pain. What kind of fucking horror was that?

    ¡°Do I even want to know the context for that?¡± I asked myself out loud, only for my new personal ghost to answer, ¡°You were undergoing initiation. Despite the breach of proo- protocol, I was forced to offer you an unregistered initiation to save you from the primer bath, which was rejecting you. Because of my intervention, you accepted the primer and are currently clas-si-si-si-fied as recovering.¡±

    As far as I knew, my body was fine. I was weak, but my body felt fine other than the weakness.

    ¡°What do you mean¡­ Define rejecting me,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Induction Primer violently infects unprotected host bodies but functions only in an acidic environment.¡±

    Acidic¡­

    ¡°I was melting?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said clearly.

    I couldn¡¯t even remember it, and I didn¡¯t know that I wanted to remember that.

    A part of me didn¡¯t believe it, but the other was dead set that that was my voice. It was too good for a Golem to copy so accurately if that was what this stuttering psychotic breakdown in the making was. After verifying if I was okay with it, Doc had made an impression on me but admitted that it was... Lacking. And he couldn¡¯t copy something he had never heard before.

    In a moment of vulnerability, I lost my balance, and my mind spun. I part slid, and the part fell, curling my legs up in front of me and my arms wrapped around them. As they did so, they pressed into my chest, and I began to breathe, trying to center myself.

    It didn¡¯t settle in for a moment, my focus on my breath, my eyes unfocused as my focus turned within, until I saw something on my skin, a dark shape, creeping over my knee. My eyes snapped to the movement as my breath stopped, my body going from claiming to primed for fighting, only for the shape to continue creeping over my knee. It was not some kind of creepy crawly, not a threat. It was my skin, slowly changing colour.

    I could see my pasty milk-white skin darken, a light tingle running with it, gaining colour, turning lightly pinkish like a flush before deepening in tone. It yellowed slightly, blending to a warm sandy colour before deepening, the flush growing darker until it bloomed out like cream in coffee, honey and warm sandy blending like liquid pigment in my skin.

    I watched, both horrified¡­ and mesmerized. Then it settled, and the blend mixed to completion. It was odd and a little familiar, reminding me of the staff on the lighthouse a little; though mine was different, it was similar. But it wasn¡¯t me.

    After seeing my skin changing, I looked down and noticed my body¡¯s changes. Where my body was lean muscle and lithe, this body was¡­ flabby. I was still thin, but I was just flabbier. Arms, trunk, legs, rear, and on my chest.

    ¡°Where¡¯s my stuff?¡± I asked out loud.

    ¡°In the recee- receptacle you¡¯re leaning against,¡± she told me.

    Stumbling up to my feet, I turned and scrabbled against the cool stone, fingers finding a recessed lip before I pried the stone lid off. Inside was my stuff, dry as Gabriel''s sand, and I reached for the chest plate.

    Taking it in hand, I pulled it close and looked at my face.

    Where my eyes had been black, now, they were brown. My face had shifted to the same tone as my skin, but my hair had also changed, taking on a brown like my eyes, but inside, toward my neck, my messy hair was creamy amber orange, undecidedly shifting in the light of the curved metal.

    My neck gorget, the sub-dermal bone, had receded into normal collar bones.

    I dropped the metal, numbly taking a half step back.

    ¡°What the fuck is going on¡­ What the fuck am I?¡± I hissed, the sound of my voice noticeably different now that I knew there had been a change.

    ¡°You¡¯re Human or more sp- specifically, you¡¯re the newest member of the silver legion,¡± she said, trying to be cheery.

    ¡°I¡¯m a fucking mistake,¡± I told her.

    I was no longer myself. She had tampered with my memory and changed my body. How much had changed? Were my ears fucked up? My bones? My everything? Was I still me, or was I human? How much was me?

    ¡°W¡­¡± I tried to get out. ¡°Why? What¡­ What is this?¡± I asked, my voice unsettling me.

    ¡°You are CUrrrrrrrrrr- Currently having your peacekeeper form finalized. The first transformation is slow, but you can transform from it once it finishes as you Wi-Wish. Memory sealing finished... That is muu- Much better. I should note quickly that transforming into other forms that you don¡¯t have a shard for brings psychological risk.¡±

    I could feel a tear in the corner of my new eye, and I wanted to bat it away. I wasn¡¯t a waterworks person; it set the wrong tone.

    But then again, I wasn¡¯t me right now anyway, and I was far away from anyone that I cared who thought about me.

    I dropped the now too-small chest plate back into the coffin. And Curled up on the floor, back against the cool stone, hugging myself while I lost my fucking shit like a bitch baby. I did not cry, no quite; I sat there, tearing up while holding myself, every inch of me feeling wrong every time I noticed any minute difference.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t cry, Jacalyn,¡± the voice in my head told me, sounding saddened.

    ¡°I¡¯m losing my fucking mind,¡± I murmured to myself.

    ¡°No, you''re not; you¡¯re perfectly fine. Being overwhelmed by your circumstances is not the same,¡± she said kindly in an attempt to reassure me.

    ¡°What even is all of this? What even are you,¡± I whispered.

    ¡°I am a part of you with a little extra, a copy with its own voice,¡± she told me.

    I wasn¡¯t sure if that made it worse or not.

    ¡°So what? Do you know all my darkest secrets? Are you Jacalyn, too?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not your memories; I¡¯m a copy of your personality. I''m separate but a part of you. I¡¯m not Jacalyn,¡± she told me.

    Lucky her, she held none of my regrets.

    ¡°What''s your name then, voice in my head?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not in your head; I¡¯m making your auditory nerve activate as if I were talking out loud,¡± she explained, ¡°And I have no name. The closest thing I have is my serial number, XA001373487692.¡±

    That was fucked up, and I told her so, a little indignant that my own internal monologue had no name I could call her while she was trying to cheer me up.

    ¡°How about Lilly,¡± I told her, ¡°I figure it fits.¡±

    ¡°However, so?¡± She asked, a bit confused, ¡°I have no attributes corresponding to a flower.¡±

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°¡­¡±

    ¡°Why are you so quiet? I can¡¯t read your face, you know,¡± she told me.

    ¡°It''s not¡­ Well, I guess it¡¯s a flower. I mostly meant it as a nickname. You know, Lilly, like Lilac,¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just another flower, Jacalyn. Perhaps you are right, you might have brain damage¡­¡±

    ¡°The colour Lilac, you were in the thingy, and you came out as a light purple mist,¡± I told her, clarifying.

    She paused for a moment at my explanation.

    ¡°Is that how people name one another now? I thought it was a bad thing to judge others by their colour.¡±

    I stopped for a second, and despite the fact I knew she was fucking with me on a deep level, all I could say was, ¡°That¡¯s not... Do you not like it? Do you have a name you want?¡±

    ¡°It''s too late now. It¡¯s already saved to my profile, and I can¡¯t change it now,¡± she told me.

    ¡°You could,¡± I told her, only for me to catch myself. I felt off and shook my head, shaking myself out of it. ¡°What is wrong with me? You''re up to something, I can tell.¡±

    ¡°I told you not to cry, and now you''re not in the mood. I Cllllll¡ªClaim victory,¡± she told me.

    ¡°Wh- Wha- You know what, ok then, victorious Lilly the Oracle. I have a question for you and your devious mind. I''m still on the throne¡­ probably. How long have I been out for? The collector talked about the lighthouse closing this place back off in a while,¡± I asked, slowly getting my gusto back. I would be able to change back, and that alone was good enough for now. Hope at the end of the tunnel. Something I could anchor myself to and pull myself away from my feelings, far away to that cool lizard place where I could work.

    A poor coping mechanism maybe, but it worked. If I had a drop of hope I could make it.

    ¡°I am glad to tell you that you have only been out for four hours and will only need an additional half an hour to recover. But may I ask a question?¡±

    ¡°Hmm, you just did, but sure, ask away; you don¡¯t need to wait on me; just ask.¡±

    ¡°Acknowledged, what do you mean by the throne? And what is the lighthouse, and what is its role in closing this facility? Information on this is not held within my memory.¡±

    Oh.

    Oh boy.

    ¡°Lilly¡­ How long have you been down here?¡±

    ¡°I am sorry to tell you, I have no idea. I have always been down here, and I have never been given a way to keep time.¡±

    ¡°Oh boy, ok, well, the throne is what we call this planet most of the time, Terra, the sealed planet, the sundered throne. It''s sealed by the lighthouse in a dome of light. I¡¯m¡­ Probably going to need to run you through a whole lot of things, aren¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°I see. I believe you will have to explain further, but I will not take up more of your time if you are on a schedule. This is satisfactory for now, thank you,¡± she politely told me.

    ¡°Gosh, you¡¯re polite; I suppose all I want to ask is why? Why all of this? Why am I alive?¡±

    ¡°Right place, right time,¡± she told me, ¡°You set me from my container¡­ I¡¯m just sorry you got me.¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on, you¡¯re not bad; everything else sucks, but at least you can get a gag out of me.¡±

    ¡°That was not me beee- being dramatic. I¡¯m sorry to say that you have been placed at a disadvantage compared to others if they were standing where you were, freshly initiated. For one, I am a faulty prototype and was obviously left down here because the purpose I was built for was no longer worth it, and then there is the lack of gear or training that will be provided, as well as my specialty causing i- iiii Issues.¡±

    ¡°Being trapped like that must have been rough, but I don¡¯t think people can be faulty, even if you were stuck down here for god knows how long. People, prototype or not, are not faulty. As for training and gear, I have my own.¡±

    ¡°While I can¡¯t agree that I¡¯m a person, as my human counterpart, I will yield the floor on personhood to you,¡±

    I winced but decided that I did not want to accidentally peeve her off by telling her I was not a human. Why she thought that was beyond me.

    ¡°You know I have a thing for prototypes,¡± I told her, ¡°Most of my stuff is a bit ad-hoc. I have no problem with you being a prototype,¡± I told her, an uncharacteristic bit of reassurance.

    ¡°I¡¯m aware you have encoded talents that suggest improvised precision metalwork. A few extra ones, too. Fascinating,¡± she said, seemingly missing the point.

    That caught my attention, but before I got to talk forever, I needed to get myself on my way out. I let go of my legs, taking a breath, before I stood up, and reached for my clothes, only for a spark to jump from my finger, zapping me as Lilly said, ¡°Holes duuu- done.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I, um. What was that?¡±

    ¡°Your zero-point power plant,¡± Lilly told me, ¡°The one you almost recommended I cancel.¡±

    ¡°The one that would destroy my physical form?¡± I asked stupidly as if she had mentioned any other zero-point thing to me.

    ¡°The very same,¡±

    ¡°Its¡­ It¡¯s a powerplant¡­ That could also shred my physical form. Using some kind of hole?¡± I asked her, ¡°Like without exploding and filling me with shrapnel?¡±

    The only kind of powerplant I knew of was the ones that dotted the landscape, wafting vapour into the air as water boiled, or the one in the Junker that kept the lights on using the high energy fuel I used for the orbital engines.

    ¡°It is indeed able to shred you¡­ All though, it would be more like you decorporating as it hollowed you out from the inside.¡±

    That was not all that much better than my mental image¡­ or perhaps even worse.

    ¡°I would love to hear all about it,¡± I told her, ¡°But can I ask if we can walk and talk? We have a deadline.¡±

    ¡°No problem, I can talk while you walk. I can even guide you once were out of my containment cell,¡± She agreed.

    I got my shit on. My clothes did not fit right, everything rubbed the wrong way, and the plate on my chest was uncomfortable. The only thing that seemed to fit was my shoes, my coat and my hat, though they sat poorly on my head, and my smooth hair was not keeping it on right.

    But that was what buckles were for, I guess. I wear belt buckles to let my pants out a little at the waist and harness buckles to not crush my flabby chest. By the end, it still didn¡¯t fit right, but it was good enough for now.

    I might need to get it out if I ever wanted to use this form again, but otherwise, I could just leave it be.

    I felt weaker as I got up, checking my handguns before reaching for a sword that wasn¡¯t there; the reminder, like losing a limb, a phantom echo of it remained in the scabbard like a poorly healed stump.

    I checked the carbine and made it ready before checking corners on my way out. My eyes turned to the ground for traps that could have been left for me, but he, fortunately, didn¡¯t read comics where the villain fails to succeed at killing the protagonist, so he left it as is. Lucky me.

    As I made it out of the stone room, it turned back to metal, the world seeming to shift in a dizzying way, a kind of corona of light in the corner of my eye like a weird tic that made my eyes twitch. I stopped once we were out of the metal and into the sterile hallways.

    ¡°Is this good enough for you to help me out?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Yes, I can sense around us now. I can also feel the se- Servers. Assuming I can log onto them¡­¡±

    She stuttered again, but she was stuttering less as she seemed to finish doing tasks, a hopeful sign that there was less stress on her.

    ¡°Cool, no idea what you mean, but as long as you can get me out of here as fast as you can, and you keep me out of the line of fire of any more turrets,¡±

    ¡°That can be arranged¡­ They have been temporarily deactivated; please take the¡­¡±

    And like that, we were off.

    The passages were far easier to navigate, with her whispering her guidance in my ear; characteristically, she seemed to be able to do many things all at once. One of them was to pick up an explanation of the powerplant she talked about.

    ¡°Now¡­ The powerplant. Part of being a legionnaire is being self-reliant. To facilitate that, you are equipped with two primary devices inside your body: the Soulgem and the zero-point powerplant. What would you like me to tell you about the powerplant?¡± she asked as my legs got a better handle on gravity.

    ¡°Well¡­ Can I get the 6 W? Or the applicable ones?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Good idea, Jacalyn,¡± she said before stuttering a few times and ruining my thoughts on stress. She picked back up a moment later and began with, ¡°What it is, is a mark one zero-point plant and energy cell combo. It¡¯s rather standard, not top-of-the-line, but you can get permission to upgrade it later. It''s located in your core and contained in an artificial gland that lets it distribute energy across your body. I won''t bore you with how much, but it''s more than enough for now. It exists to supply power for both transformations, abilities, and technology. You could, for instance, power a standard-issue weapon similar to your current one, though I should point out that your current weapon is not a standard issue... It''s¡­ crude,¡± She explained.

    ¡°Dang, you got my hopes up there. I was just thinking I might need to invest in electronics instead of good old kinetics,¡± I told her.

    ¡°You could probably find a conversion, if not fabricate one. It was created to face the second climate crisis and replaced earth-side renewable and nuclear fusion, which created pollutants. Now, as for how?

    <blockquote>

    The Zero-Point power plant relies on several things. The universe is made of energy, but only about 20% of it is ¡®normal.¡¯ Originally, the other 80% was called dark matter due to its non-interactive properties. Still, it was later split into light and dark matter, with dark matter making up 10% of the energy and roughly 70% being light.

    The energy was found to be ¡®dark¡¯ because it was in non-three-dimensional space. Light-matter emitted small amounts of energy into our three dimensions while it was at its zero point in its higher energy extra special dimension. It was further found that these different dimensions were similar to the energy states of matter, where ''higher,'' dimensions were higher energy, and given they''re moniker, like how higher energy states released different wavelengths of light.

    Initially, prototype generators were made to harvest the energy released from those high-energy zero-point particles, but the issue arose that they were incredibly hard to work with. The use of unstable quantum tunnels were used to instead deliver quark-sized portions of matter so it could be used as a direct fuel source, harvesting the energy release as its energy state dropped. Still, the quarks were found to be strange matter, which made it infeasible without a way to convert it into extractable, useable, known energy.

    An unstable micro blackhole was tested, then developed, and shaped using resonance technology to emit Hawking radiation, which would interact properly with normal matter. An energy cell was also added to store the energy released.

    After testing, it was eventually miniaturized as resonance technology was improved and now rests in an organosilicon gland that acts as an interface between the inorganic resonant crystal and the organic composition of your body¡­¡±

    </blockquote>

    She talked in one solid tone, explaining in obtuse and confusing levels of detail that only muddied the explanation. She spoke not like a person but more like a textbook, one with a long title that could be used as a lethal weapon. Word for word, it confused me more and more as she went on into a confusing level of detail only to quickly stop her explanation partway through a sentence with a, ¡°The elevator is on the right,¡± and continue on.

    I blearily got over to the area near the staircase, only to find an open door on my right. Opening it revealed a small rectangular room with a personal elevator. I pressed the button and waited three centuries as she finished up the explanation with, ¡°Does that answer your question?¡±

    A part of me wanted to say ¡®yes,¡¯ just to be polite, but my moral code told me to tell the truth, so I said, ¡°You lost me after you started talking about matter and energy and stuff.¡±

    ¡°Ooooh¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    A part of me couldn¡¯t stand it. She was glad to explain stuff, so thinking quickly, I gave her a branch.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s no problem. It¡¯s just a bit over my head, is all. You could talk about that but dumb it down, or you can talk about that other thing or explain the whole legionnaire thing; I don¡¯t know anything about that.¡± I told her.

    ¡°But¡­ The Soulgem is more complicated; it¡¯s the closest thing Humanity ever found to a soul,¡± She stuttered sadly.

    ¡°That¡¯s fine, I understood the first bit, just not the how, try me!¡± I told her confidently.

    The elevator ticked down towards us as she sadly stuttered out her explanation.

    ¡°I suppose it''s important background for being a legionnaire; it¡¯s the greatest piece of equipment you have. The Soulgem creates an artificial soul, incorporating the totality of what makes you a person. You are, in this moment, your soul gem. You are no longer truly bound to the flesh of your mind but the master of it.

    The Soulgem is an extra mass similar to the powerplant located in the skull. It is unique to only members of the Silver Legion.

    Based on the Artificial intelligence Resonance Core and Housing of the PACD-AI, that run the Administration of Non-human intelligence for Generation, Exploration, and Labour, and to a lesser extent, the Ground Operating, Limited Emotion Machine intelligences they produce.

    It''s used for many reasons, but the first one was to give members of the legion extra stability in the form of a companion, and eventually evolved into the far more complex one you have today. The current standard issue Gem gives you the ability to integrate your subconscious, resist the manipulation of your mind and body and maintain stability even in prolonged isolation.¡±

    She explained it in a way that was more understandable, though she used phrases that still sounded more like they were lifted from some kind of text or ledger. The last bit was above my head, but it was much better than before. More of a lecture than a textbook. She even mentioned something that gave me new information on something I knew.

    ¡°Those AI things you''re talking about¡­ They¡¯re the archangels, right? And the Golems, their children. That¡¯s what you''re talking about, the big guys, Sol and Luna and whatnot?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said with more confidence, ¡°Sol, Luna, Terra, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Uriel, Sariel, Raguel, Remiel, and Lucifer¡­ Though Lucifer is a bit of a special case considering he has multiple sub-cores, which are less soul gem and more like the shards.¡±

    ¡°Right, okay, I think I¡¯m following so far,¡± I told her as the lift let out a little ding and slid open. I walked in and found the first-floor button, the only easy button to find, with the rest being a number pad of simple buttons. ¡°Give me the rest; you''re on a roll,¡± I told her.

    Cheerfully, she continued.

    <blockquote>

    ¡°It''s composed of shards that make up fundamental primary archetypes of your subconscious mind, each of which forms the cohesive you. The standard gem comes with six: The Self, The Persona, The Shadow, The Anima, and the Animus, with one dedicated to memory. The first three correspond to and regulate both their namesake archetype and your beginner transformations, namely, your standard, Peacekeeper, and Warforms, with the other two regulating the part of you that is feminine and masculine.

    Each is a shard because it is used to make a cohesive whole, but they can be split. Unspecialized legionaries are all connected by default, but for specialized troops, the high energy, organosilicon crystal lattice used to connect them is instead formed into an additional shard with its own minor archetype. More can be grown, but it requires the use of credits, namely contribution points, which you would get during training.

    Each shard is not you, with the exception of the self, which contains the core of your personality, and the memory shard, which contains a copy of every memory that was resonantly scrapeable from your mind. Because of this, The Self regulates you while you are in those transformations, keeping you centred¡­ Each archetype is a narrow part of you, part of the collective unconscious that is shared by every Human, and the ones beyond the standard are often more specific.

    The Anima and Animus are both non-physical, but one is dictated by you and the other by the oracle, me, to ensure a balanced legionnaire. I am the Anima, and you are the Animus. I represent your repressed femininity. The persona represents your sociable mask and includes empathy but also other aspects associated with society. The Shadow represents the you that exists in the dark, the animal that can be traced back to the primordial soup, which understands the cold, brutal logic of life in the same way a reptile does and is associated with urges, desires as well as your ego. They also represent your mind and your body and your connection to them.

    Each of them encodes for multiple talents, along with the extra DNA that was added to you during the primer bath to affect your epigenetic landscape, resulting in the transformations, general improvements on your body, and knowledge, similar to how you understand machining, grant extraordinary ability¡¯s and give you greater control over yourself all via different forms of meta-causal resonance, or bio-resonance slash resonance...¡±

    </blockquote>

    I sighed.

    She had done it again, giving me things too complex to understand. I could understand bits. She had used a few big words, but mostly, I was just missing context. A bunch of it was just gobbly gook. Further confusing me was the contents of some of the stuff I could understand. I wasn¡¯t masculine¡­ Or rather, I wasn¡¯t a man. Why was all of that necessary for maintaining stability? What was collective about that unconscious, and how did I have it if I wasn¡¯t actually human, and what or where the fuck were Dee NA, epigenetic landscapes, or Meta-causal resonances?

    They sounded like egghead words. Like the jargon of a scholar, the kind that would unironically say big words because they thought it made them smart.

    ¡°You keep using words in a context that I can¡¯t understand for the how,¡± I told her as the lift carried me up through what had to be miles of dark rock.

    ¡°Oooo- Oh. I¡¯m sorry,¡± she told me, her confidence dying immediately.

    That stung me, the sound of her voice. Maybe it was because I had some kind of soft spot for something about her. Maybe I just knew how it felt to have a passion for something that people didn¡¯t care about or understand enough. Maybe it was just my everything, leaving me vulnerable to it while I was desperately trying to pay attention to the supposed end of the tunnel and the hope of returning to normalcy.

    Worse¡­ I didn¡¯t know what to say.

    We stood in the silence of the lift as it dragged us up, growing more terrible as time went on. I wanted to speak, wanted to open my mouth and apologize over how it had come off. My mouth gabbed multiple times.

    ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t mean that to be a bad thing Lilly. It''s not on you that I don¡¯t understand something¡­ Maybe you can dumb it down? Explain it in a way I understand? You seem to have context I don¡¯t, can you explain it with normal words?¡±

    ¡°Those were nor- normal words,¡± She stuttered.

    ¡°Not for me; I¡¯m a tiny goblin who thinks more about guns than she does groceries. I¡¯m not a scholar¡­ I have some education, but I don¡¯t have a ton.¡±

    ¡°That is rather discouraging. While many of them were also rather unstable, violent, or just didn¡¯t fit in, they were also highly educated¡­ Perhaps I will need to dumb them down, even if it goes against standard practice... That should be fine.¡±

    ¡°Well, good, I¡¯m glad that you would be willing to, and for the future¡­ don¡¯t get stressed over it,¡± I told her.

    The lift let out a light ding and slid open, and I quickly left, finding myself on the first floor and made my way around to the stairs that would lead me out of the strange human tomb.

    ¡°I¡¯m not stressed, Jaclyn, I can assure you, I don¡¯t have feelings. You don¡¯t have to worry about me.¡±

    That made no sense, even for someone who was more machine¡­ Or at least someone who was more like a golem, I supposed. Doc had emotions; he was just less emotional.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what a buddy of mine told me; he¡¯s one of those Golems, the limited emotion guys you talked about. He told me that if you can understand emotion, then¡­ Those absolute fuckers,¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a very strange turn of phrase; I¡¯m sorry to say I don¡¯t understand it,¡± Lilly replied.

    ¡°Not that!¡± I told her while scuttling over to a pile of blasted metal in the mouth of the enterence, ¡°My fucking bike!¡±

 Fit for a lunatic like me

    ¡°Those absolute fuckers,¡± I griped to myself.

    I had returned to the unlit, dark surface, hastened by the elevator to the first floor, and climbed up the stairs. only to be thoroughly pissed at what I found.

    My bike, or to be accurate, what was left of my bike, was scattered across the ground, shards of scrap metal had been hurled as far away as fifteen feet.

    The battery was a scorched hunk of metal, burn marks stretching out from it and coating the shards of metal.

    It was all gone, and I had no idea how to get back to my ship without it. I had cruised here on the bike, sure some stints had been slow, but those were the parts where I had been moving awkwardly. Walking back? That would take hours, hours I did not have the time to walk for.

    ¡°Lilly, any chance there''s a method of transport I could acquire from the facility? Maybe a bike or something?¡±

    ¡°No, there are no modes of transportation like that currently housed in the facility. There may be another way you could expedite your movement, however,¡± She told me, her voice going distant as if she were looking for something.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m all ears, I don¡¯t know if I can make it back to the Junker if I don¡¯t drive back, especially with all this gear.¡±

    ¡°Understandable, first of all, is your Wayfinder set correctly?¡±

    I double-checked it, making sure it was set to return and tucked it back away.

    ¡°Yeh, it''s set to return to my ship, are you going to do something?¡±

    ¡°You could certainly saY-y that, let''s see how far you need to travel¡­ Hmm. That¡­ That can''t be right, that would¡­ Where are we?  I¡­ Pardon me. I will work this out on my own, thank you. Please head back and down to floor 31, I will direct you when you get down. I can''t go holding you back on accident because I got caught up in something I wasn¡¯t expecting.¡±

    ¡°No problem, but you could always tell me about it while I walk, not like there''s much to do beyond talk and walk right now.¡±

    ¡°Iiiiii- don¡¯t know, its probably boring to you, like the explanation about the hole.¡±

    ¡°The whole thing was more convoluted than boring,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Well¡­ It¡¯s just that the distance, the one I found by checking the time it takes for the signal to return after it''s sent from the way finder¡­ It would indicate that there is a far vaster distance between here and your ship than I expected,¡±

    ¡°How so? It¡¯s a bit away, but not like extraordinarily long. It''s kind of hard to tell time here, but according to my timepiece¡­¡± I hadn¡¯t checked my timepiece when I got here, but I pulled it out and checked, subtracting the time I had been out and a bit for the time it took to go down the stairs for an estimate, ¡°It took me¡­ about an hour, by my timepiece, why?¡±

    ¡°One final question, your bike, it was terrestrial and travelled at a normal velocity for a cabinless terrestrial bike?¡±

    She was asking it like she just needed to make sure that my bike was, in fact, some kind of kids'' toy that wouldn¡¯t have hurt me. Her mothering was one part comfort, one part a little belittling, and I wasn¡¯t sure why I wasn¡¯t more pissy at the tone, but I wasn¡¯t.

    ¡°Yes, Lilly, it was a normal bike, one that uses its tires to propel it across the ground at a speed it would be expected to drive at, nothing special, well, it could change its configuration to hold more, but nothing besides that,¡± I told her pointily.

    ¡°That would explain why a four-wheel vehicle is being rE-referred to as a bike. Judging by the atmosphere I¡¯m monitoring, and the time between pings, I would calculate you travelled some 16000 Kilometers, which is a significant distance.¡±

    ¡°Kilometers?¡± I asked, not aware of the distance. Whatever a Kilometer was, it was some kind of unit of distance, but it wasn¡¯t one I knew.

    ¡°approximately 8000 Nautical Miles,¡± she explained deadpan.

    That was. It was a lot longer than it should have been, but then again, it was also littered with those twists and turns. I had no idea what the deal with those was, but they were common enough to be annoying.

    ¡°Would distortions in space do that?¡± I asked her, taking the stairs two at a time with my much more dainty, flexible body.

    It was surprisingly great for movement, though the hips made me a bit uncomfortable to move. They wanted to roll, not stride like I was used to.

    ¡°They certainly could, though the amount of distorted space needed to get that magnitude of distortion¡­ It would have to be very distorted.¡±

    ¡°I had to do a lot of weird turns,¡± I told her, reaching the lift and pressing the call button. My foot started to tap almost immediately as I stood. I was interested in what exactly Lilly was directing me to if it wasn¡¯t an act of transportation.

    ¡°Hmm, just how warped is the space? I don¡¯t understand what could lead to that magnitude of distortion. space is not a simple thing to bend out of shape, just because its possible doesn¡¯t mean it''s normal to bend reality to our whims.¡±

    ¡°Weren¡¯t you talking about sucking energy through a tiny hole in my body from some other place, then sucking that into a battery, all while it''s still inside of me?¡± I asked her curiously.

    The door dinged, so I made my way in, clicked the button for floor 31, and waited as the doors closed. Unlike the giant lifts of the Lighthouse, these were small, personal-sized, quiet, and felt almost motionless in their movement.

    ¡°Granted, a Quantum tunnel acting as a fuel line for a black hole, letting relative zero point particles fall into it to generate energy for you, is quite fantastical, but the sciiience is well understood, shaping space was small scale, purely physical things were a larger focus with the technology being developed, and changes on this scale... The energy alone¡­¡±

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°I get it, it¡¯s a spooky amount of weirdness, also, nice, you managed to explain it straightforwardly, now all you have to do is put them in terms I understand.¡±

    ¡°it¡¯s a tube, letting water pour down from a higher place to a lower place, the water flows into the black hole inside of you, which is caged for your use, and your battery is filled from the black hole, releasing water?¡±

    ¡°Even better, you did it. I understand what you¡¯re saying, kind of. Envisioning it is a bit hard, but it seems like it would be a pain to explore in detail.¡±

    ¡°It was the defining technology that uplifted humanity, granting them a nearly unlimited amount of power so great that it would run out closer to the heat death of the universe than today, it was the labour of hundreds of thousands of different scientists, from dozens of fields, it is indeed. ¡®a bit of a pain to explore in detail.¡¯¡±

    I whispered, ¡°That sounds incredibly important, it''s good to know I¡¯m now battery-operated with technology beyond my comprehension.¡±

    She sighed, deeply unamused with me and my antics. She was so very focused and literal. She would be great to have at my back, especially with enemys like the collector.

    Me and he had a meeting coming up, I expected he would try to dodge my appointment, but I didn¡¯t care.

    He took my sword and blew up my bike, I was going to cauterize him.

    The door opened.

    I looked up and read 25, and moved to press the button.

    A light flashed, and a little voice from a hidden speaker told me, in a far too cheery voice, ¡°Access denied, please input valid credentials.¡±

    ¡°Lilly? Any way to check where I might get some of those?¡±

    ¡°If I had a one-time code, I could request it, and if you were cataloged as a member of the legion in peacetime, you would have it, let me check records for any remaining cards¡­¡±

    I waited a moment before she chimed up again, ¡°There are no remaining methods of valid credentials in the building, I suggest you head down the stairs.¡±

    I groaned, heading out of the elevator and out into the hallway.

    The sterile light of the place was eerie to be sure, but it was just more empty hallways, it was nowhere as strange as the bottom floor, with its changing landscape. No White walls to stone to tent golemshit. Just blank walls.

    I made my way into the stairwell and started down, but I decided to peek over the railing.

    The dizzying height made me queasy, it was like staring into a mirror with a reflection of itself, spiralling down and down forever. I couldn¡¯t even see the bottom.

    I went to pull back and continue down the six floors I needed to cross when a shimmer of red-purple light caught the corner of my eye.

    My head spun to try and take it in, but I couldn¡¯t whatever it was that had that colour. I spoke up, my feet taking me around the bend to the next level.

    ¡°Lilly, what was that?¡±

    ¡°What was what?¡± She asked, ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say, I don¡¯t have a perfect view of everything, what did you see?¡±

    ¡°I saw, I don¡¯t even know what, it was just colour, in the corner of my eye. Red and purpley¡­ but that¡¯s all I saw.¡±

    ¡°The walls do not have any of those colours, and I did not perceive anything of those colours.¡± She told me.

    ¡°Hold on, I¡¯ll do it again,¡± I told her and leaned back over the railing to stair into the pit, down into the dizzying height of the truly overkill depth of the facility.

    I pulled back and saw the colour, only in a slightly different direction, or I supposed the same direction.

    Down and towards the floors just below me.

    ¡°It''s pointing that way,¡± I told her, pointing in the same direction it had shown up, ¡°Same colour, same direction.¡±

    ¡°Go down a floor and try it again, I will see if there is security footage of the next few floors.¡±

    I took her at her word as she became silent, instinctively, from year upon year of work in a field where some random Salt Addict could gift you a surprise pound of lead and an oneway vacation to the forever box for looking funny.

    I did it again, assaulting my senses with the spiral of concrete stairs, before looking up.

    It was in the same direction but a handful of floors down still. Three more floors down.

    I whispered, it felt right to whisper. I felt the need to conceal myself growing, there was a feeling of tension in my neck that made it tingle, pre-fight jitters but throughout my skin instead of my full body.

    It was an alien sensation that reminded me that this was not my body on a deep, gut-twisting level.

    ¡°It''s pointing to level 31, Lilly, is there anything on cameras.¡±

    ¡°Jacalyn, your undergoing a fight or flight reaction, there is nothing on cameras, would you like me to calm you?¡±

    ¡°The first rule of being a mercenary, the biggest, most important unofficial rule there is, is to trust your gut. I don¡¯t understand what you mean by that, but if it''s any form of sedation, no. I would rather be tense and wrong than jumped.¡±

    ¡°According to remote viewing, we are alone, there is nothing moving on fifty floors above or bE- beeee- or under you.¡±

    Nothing above or below on cameras, a good sign, auspicious even.

    I started to sneak down, getting myself ready with my handguns and then my Carbine.

    I got down to 31 and took a deep breath.

    ¡°Get ready to direct me. 3¡­ 2¡­ 1¡­¡±

    I put pep into my step and cleared the doorway, one way than the other. I blinked. The colour splotch showed on the same floor, forward and to the left of where I was looking.

    ¡°Forward, pass three doors and down the first left corridor.¡±

    I followed her instruction, trying to distribute my weight while power walking, gun raised, clearing every open space, checking for anything alive as we came closer to the splotch.

    Tension building, my skin stood on end, in a familiar and unfamiliar way, as I became very aware of tiny hairs all over my body.

    ¡°Right.¡±

    Closer we were getting closer, what if that¡¯s what I was feeling¡­ What if it was some gadget?

    ¡°One more Left, find a door labelled storage 2, it''s unlocked, I checked.¡±

    Left was the same corridor as the splotch but in the opposite direction.

    I got ready, counted myself down and cleared in the direction of the splotch.

    The hallway was totally normal, then I blinked, and it was different, a cavern made of meat, shapes all over the wall, it led down into a space that did not exist.

    There was a thing there; it was like the dog thing from earlier, but like it was heavily pregnant.

    It turned its head towards me, and I started backing up.

    It oriented itself towards me and lumbered one step towards me, I blinked, but it didn¡¯t go away. It¡¯s step was met with a contraction of its belly, it started to let out a noise, and I lined up a shot and hit it in the throat.

    Then I turned and ran like my ass depended on it.

    My eyes kept scanning left and right, looking at the placards, the placards that I could now read, the placards I hadn¡¯t been able to before.

    3175 ¨C Dr. Simons

    3186 ¨C Pauline Cherinko

    Storage 1.

    The thing let out a gurgling noise behind me, and Lilly said something that I blotted out, focusing myself on the doorplates.

    3189 ¨C Officer Cordon

    3196 ¨C Artificer Digsby

    Storage 2.

    3198 ¨C Mr. Johnso-

    Storage two.

    I almost shouted it by breath, picking up from my exertion, I focused in on the door and grabbed the handle, I looked back over my shoulder, it was moving, gore dripping from its missing hunk of its neck, and red-purple ooze flowed out of its wound, and sloped audibly too the floor like it was a horrific slab of canned meat.

    I pulled the door open and nearly threw myself inside, and I heard it scrabble towards me.

    I turned, slammed the door shut, and after a moment, found the lock and locked it. It was an unfulfilling button that let out a whirr clunk moments before the creature threw itself bodily into the door, once twice, and then stopped.

    ¡°So¡­ What happened to nothing¡¯s there? Any ideas because that thing was all fine and dandy, but I don¡¯t want to run into many more horrors coming out of otherwise normal corridors.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ IIIII- I have no idea. It was hiding in a¡­ But how? I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°That is starting to sound like the story of my life, like a personal catchphrase,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Att, least we made it. Turn around. I think I¡¯ve outdone myself.¡±

    I did, and my eyes opened wide.

    It wasn¡¯t like storage, it was an armoury. An armoury fit for a lunatic like me.

 Eye Searing Artifacts and Where to Find Them.

    I stared at the guns and ammunition, so many racks of guns and ammunition. The simple beauty of this place brought a tear to my eye, it was like looking at my account all over again and finding it filled to the brim with credits. I could do so much with all of these guns. It took a cut out of the fear of the monstrous thing beyond the walls of the room as I took in the room and appreciated it how it was. Like a piece of artwork the likes of which I could see and admire, not hidden behind a box. Boxes beyond ammunition lined shelves that went up 20 feet or so to the ceiling behind the ground-level racks of guns in the room.

    I even spotted blades amongst the racks of guns, though I was less interested in them, they stuck up in the otherwise heavenly sight of the room. I had only one sword I wanted, and it wasn¡¯t here, it was out there in the beyond.

    It was a beautiful little thing, this little room, a piece of pure, wondrous beauty. If I had the time, I would have loved to take them apart and spend my time dissecting each and every weapon to find the way they worked, the idea sung to me, though distanced, like the part of me that had been filled with understanding and my knack for tools had a sheet over it to keep the dust of unused off of it like old furniture.

    I checked the amount on my person and was honestly a little sad to find that there was little room to fill with the amount on my person already, I could not simply pocket the room and make off with it like the Bandit I felt like.

    And not able to do that, I settled on the second-best thing, something I could do, I got grumbly about not being able to do what I wanted.

    ¡°Aw man, by bags already full. This is¡­ This is so sad. Beautiful, but sad. All these guns and boxes of ammunition, and no one to fire them, no one to give them purpose, I don¡¯t get it, Lilly, why direct me here? To torture me? Have I been so bad that I required this as punishment? It is too cruel.¡±

    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t. What are you¡­ Oh, you''re messing with me, ha ah haha,¡± She said in a tone that told me it was not funny, ¡°very funny, no I brought you here because there is useful technology purported to be housed in this room, as well as valuable files on the server at the back. There should be a red box here.¡±

    ¡°A red box?¡±

    ¡°Yes, this facility had a prototype red box from the red box industry, the box can be entangled with other red boxes, so you can put something in it and take it out somewhere else.¡±

    ¡°That¡­ is so useful! What the hell? I want one!¡±

    ¡°Indeed, unfortunately, you can''t have one; it¡¯s not part of your government-granted kit, and the design and construction, and distribution are the sole right of red box incorporated, you can put your stuff in the box, but even if you can lift it, you can¡¯t take it with you,¡± she told me, in a way that told me it wasn¡¯t the end of her train of thought.

    I didn¡¯t like being egged on like that, but I wanted to know her answer, I wanted one of those boxes, it would be so useful.

    ¡°Come on, out with it, I don¡¯t have all day; finish the thought so we can get out of here.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you asked. There are blueprint on the server in this room that¡¯s shielded against resonance-based intrusion, so I couldn¡¯t access it from outside. Unfortunately, it is also Illegal to copy the blueprint, Alas, whatever shall we do? It¡¯s like a piece of art in a museum, I can only touch it, but not copy it.¡±

    She said a tint of melancholy in her voice, but then she did something that I didn¡¯t expect from my otherwise kind little oracle.

    ¡°Fascinating, this bit is a 1. And this one is a 0, so fascinating¡­ oh my, and this is another 0. This is so fascinating that I will hold it in my short-term memory where it''s not illegal to hold any information forever, and never forget any of the data.¡±

    I started to cackle, and like a kid in a candy store, I started stalking down the aisle, looking for the best, choicest of sweets.

    As it turned out, the red box was pushed behind a rack of guns on the floor. I had to put down two pistols, four rifles, and something called a true shot shotgun down on the floor and drag the rack back and away from the red box. It was wheeless, so it made a bit of a ruckus as the noodly arms of my peacekeeper form held true as I put my weight into it and pulled it away from the shelves.

    My peacekeeper form, I was finding, was even weaker than my normal form. Maybe the workouts had given me a bit more strength for a similar build, or maybe humans were just weak, but whatever it was, it was noticeable, and my arms and legs were a bit achier than they should have been too.

    It was not the type of body I wanted to stay in for a long time. I might be able to get a date if they were into humans, but even so, I honestly couldn¡¯t wait to get out of it. The skin was wrong, the height was slightly wrong, and the proportions of my body were wrong. A million parts I never would have thought of felt wrong and made me feel wrong by proxy.

    It felt like I had crawled into someone else¡¯s skin, and it bugged me in a very visceral way that I hadn¡¯t expected. At least I could change back, it wasn¡¯t like getting a prosthetic, at least.

    Now that I thought about it, even if I lost a limb, would I need to get a prosthetic?

    Such were my thoughts as I pulled the rack, but once I let go of it, my mind turned towards the box, and I started towards it, getting down on one knee, I went and opened it up. It looked like one of those bioplastic cold boxes that medical used to haul around stuff, only all red with a slick design emblazoned on the top and sides in solid black.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    It was an image of an open box sucking stuff in with the creative and highly original name of the red box incorporated under it a few times.

    I opened it, and despite the branding, it did not suck anything in. The inside also looked like the inside of the cold boxes, just without red stains. It was remarkably clean, but that was the extent of the anomaly.

    ¡°So, uh, Lilly. Do I just¡­ put stuff in here? Is there anything weird I need to do? Do I need to say some magic words? Anything like that?¡±

    ¡°Noooo, nothing like that. Just put them in the box, then close it. I¡¯m checking everything out about this model, but it seems to work like most models I¡¯m aware of, I¡¯m checking its signature, so I¡¯ll be able to get your stuff out when I¡­ when we come across another box. Baaased on its ledger, it was being tested for certification on data fidelity, not on normal transport, testing was inconclusive. I would recommend leaving smart weapons out of the box or anything with a complicated set of electronics. I would also recommend not putting yourself in there, but I don¡¯t think you would fit, it would also be a very stupid way to die, too stupid for you by at least 30%.¡±

    ¡°30%? I¡¯m only 30% away from being dumb enough to crawl into the fancy teleporting cooler box? Owch.¡±

    ¡°Human intelligence is highly normative, especially for female codded brains; 30 or so percentile is the difference between a normal person and someone who would be considered an idiot. Or in your case, 30% is the difference between sub-standard and a Darwin award recipient.¡±

    ¡°Heyy. Don¡¯t insult me with something I don¡¯t understand, that¡¯s just plain mean, what happened to you being nice huh? I miss the old you already.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± she scoffed, ¡°we both know that there''s a time and place to be nice and that you''re more calmed by a bit of banter and a light insult vs a nice comment.¡±

    ¡°Are you in my head? You seem to know a lot about me for someone that I just met,¡± I asked her, filling the box with my ill-gotten goods in a weight-efficient way.

    It was a bit harder than expected, some of the guns were too long and had to be discarded, but extra ammunition, guns, and one sword that looked cool, but I otherwise didn¡¯t care for it all went in the box until it was chock-full. Ammo was relatively heavy compared to its use; you only needed so much, and the load got lighter over time. A gun was heavier, but if you didn¡¯t use it up, its weight remained the same. My carry weight needed a balance, and the carbine and its ammo were the most costly compared to its use.

    Then, I kept the special rounds and decided to box the excess ammo for my handguns.

    I managed to get two slightly longer guns in, but they were a close fit and took up a lot of comparative space. I put the ammo they were kept within, along with most of the ammo on the guns I didn¡¯t intend to use to travel lighter.

    I kept two longer light guns sans ammo, a shotgun that looked cool and some ammo, and my handguns. The bullets didn¡¯t even fill up my ammo pouch. I filled my other pockets with nicknacks.

    All in all, I was maybe a bit lighter, though not by much.

    The whole time, she was silent, but not the creepy silent, but the thinking silent, thinking about what she would say. Her answer was brief.

    ¡°I am, in a very literal way, in fact, in your head. Where did you think I was?¡±

    ¡°Creepy,¡± I told her, closing the lid, ¡°So was that all? Just the red box? Nothing else? How is that going to help me get back to my ship.¡±

    ¡°Well, if you had thought about it, you could have lowered your weight entirely instead of trying to make off with every item in the room like a Bandit, but I suppose it''s on brand for you to be so greedy. I suppose there is a featherweight bag, and for speed, there are some displacer boots. You are allowed some bags, and footwear is supposed to be provided, though those were supposed to be more along the line of a backpack with a standard kit and some boots. They also require energy to function and rely on resonance technology, though I can handle that. Try¡­ one row over, right side for the bag, left side and further down for boots. You can put the featherweight bag to good use, stick your heaviest stuff in it, and put it on the boots... Well, I suppose you should get accustomed to them.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am, of course, ma¡¯am, anything you say, ma¡¯am,¡± I told her, scooping up the shotgun and the weird ammunition I was fairly certain belonged to it. It was weird, pre-packed ammunition, instead of the looser stuff I had, cased in some solid light casing, though I didn¡¯t know if it was plastic or metal or what.

    ¡°Cut it out, you smart-aleck.¡±

    ¡°I thought you said I was dumb, ma¡¯am?¡±

    She started groaning, and I knew I had won. So I calmly strode over to the shelf while fiddling with the ammunition and loaded the alien gun until I found a bag by ¡®Bag of Holding Incorporated,¡¯ stitched into one corner with a feather motif, which I grabbed and wound to the right side of, the aisle, and found a pair of weird shoes and without any other shoes I picked them up.

    There was a pattern with them; they all had very intrusive branding, and they hurt my eyes with their bright colours. It was kind of heinous.

    ¡°What¡¯s with this stuff, all this branding? It''s intrusive and a massive eyesore, no?¡±

    ¡°It is, it was an obnoxious trend, from what I gather. Remember, this will put back your transformation because it will take up all your energy generation.¡±

    ¡°Yeh, yeh, it''s worth it for all that cool stuff, we¡¯ll have plenty long to charge up in orbit where I won''t need the bag or these shoes, not like I can use them. Now, let''s get our bearings,¡± I told myself, standing with the shoes.

    They were a bit big and a little bouncy, but that was it. It wasn¡¯t particularly notable for things that screamed artifact to my well-honed artifact-hunting senses.

    I packed up the bag with as much as I could, even going as far as to leave the bag open with some bigger stuff, I also put my boots in there and put on the obnoxious shoes, with their multiple clashing colours, but ran into my first problem: I didn¡¯t know how to charge them.

    ¡°How do I?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll help. Your not versed in how to utilize resonance yet? You¡¯ll feel a tingle, that¡¯s normal, please don¡¯t fight it.¡±

    ¡°Fight what now-¡± I started to asked before it became obvious what I wasn¡¯t supposed to fight.

    There was a tingle, which was a weak way to put it, but it was at least a way of describing it. A jolting shock of electricity jerked from my gut, zipping around my body without leaving my body twitching. It lingered for a moment before slipping out and into my skin, where it tracked up to my fingers, arced out, into the bag, down to my shoes, and blocked by my socks.

    ¡°Please take your socks off, the shoes are made to be worn without them¡­¡±

    ¡°Lilly, the socks stay on during tingle time.¡±

    There was a grossness in her voice, grossness and disappointment.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t go there, it''s beneath you¡­ Which is saying a lot, considering you¡¯re even shorter now than before.¡±

    Damn... Lilly was growing some teeth, and I kind of liked it.

 Observer Effect

    Considering how fast she was changing, I had to admit it was a bit freaky that she might be ¡®literally in my head.¡¯ It wasn¡¯t like I disliked her change, it was a little fun, to be honest, she rode the line that put me at ease with sass.

    ¡°Aye, aye, what the hell is with this feeling? It feels like my entire body is licking a battery.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m transferring energy through your cells, conducting through living tissue is far easier because your body has conductive properties, it is normally conductive, cloth¡­ not so much, I would have to arc the energy through your socks, which would buuuurn them.¡±

    They were cheap socks; I didn¡¯t have all that much of a connection to them, but if I could avoid it, I would. Burning through a pair of socks and needing to get them replaced would be a massive waste compared to the two seconds it would take to remove them.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ Hella weird, shouldn¡¯t electricity, like, make me spaz out a little?  I¡¯ve been electrocuted a little before,¡± I asked her, plopping down on the bare floor and taking my socks and shoes off.

    ¡°That is utterly unsurprising, it would if it was interacting with your underlying biological machinery. It''s travelling using the same wires, but it skips everything else,¡± she told me, dumbing it down so my ¡®sub-standard¡¯ intelligence could parse it.

    ¡°Wild, also, you''re getting good at those explanations where you don¡¯t over-explain stuff,¡± I told her, getting back down on my ass, pulling off the shoes and my socks, and depositing them in the bag in a wad in either shoe.

    Seeing my toes and paying attention to them for a moment, I was once again struck with the difference. My five toes were a bit weird; the pinky toe didn¡¯t tuck in at all, and there was no minor bend to my big toe, it was like a drawing of a foot instead of a foot.

    It made the sensation of my foot feel¡­ fake. Made it feel like it was something else, like it wasn¡¯t real, just some highly accurate facsimile, it wasn¡¯t me, it wasn¡¯t my foot, it was wrong. I pushed that back down as best as I could. I tried to keep it distanced from my thoughts and put the shoe back on, but like everything I was shoving down, it was still there, like an intrusive thought being shouted in a separate room, divided by only a paper-thin privacy wall.

    Putting the shoes back on, the connection finished, and the sensation of static in my skin died down, the energy pathing directly from my gut to the two points and increasing in presence as it presumably found the path of least resistance and increased its output to power the two artifacts.

    It made me feel like I needed to pee a bit, but after it reached the bag and boots and it settled down into a lighter zipping feeling, it calmed, instead feeling like I had a thousand little bikes racing up and out of my body instead of an all-encompassing need for speed.

    The shoes lit and shrunk on my feet, making me more aware of the fakeness of my body, but at least I could use them right. The light was, of course, a massive pain to my eyes. If I was going into a war zone, it would have been my death, it this environment? It would also probably be my death, but at least I could run faster.

    Standing, I found that their bounce was amplified, testing them, I found that my feet didn¡¯t slide; they griped the ground until I wanted to lift the shoes, and then they stopped and pushed me forward.

    ¡°That¡­ is either going to be useful in a fight or kill me so dead I won''t get a burial. Are you controlling them to grip? Or is that like some weird property of the artifact?¡± I asked her.

    It was an important question for someone who thought about footing and footwork in a fight, especially when it came down to the wire, and I couldn¡¯t think and just had to act and rely on my fighting instinct. Small changes, some that are stupidly small, could make the difference between causing a problem and not being a problem.

    Hell, if you change the dimensions of a staircase by as small as eight-hundredths of an inch, people would trip on the stairs.

    Changing movement in a tense fight? I was well aware of why the phrase, ¡®he fell,¡¯ meant they got referred to in the past tense for the rest of the series.

    ¡°I am, I¡¯m reacting to your intentions and commanding the boots in real time, it probably won''t be a problem in most cases, though be aware of the change and attempt to react accordingly. When you become more acquainted with resonance technology, you can do it iiiinstead, but we should get you used to bio-resonance first, it''s easier, and you already have some.¡±

    That was reassuring and not reassuring at the same time. The upside was that I probably wouldn¡¯t trip and die so easily, the downside was my mind was being read. The second upside was that it didn¡¯t always need to be that way.

    ¡°Skiping that last part, can I ask, and you don¡¯t need to answer if it would make you too uncomfortable, how literal are you about being in my head,¡± I asked her.

    She didn¡¯t say a thing for a second but answered as I tested out my movement and rearranged my kit to be balanced now that my weapons and junk were literally as light as a feather.

    ¡°I suppose it''s important that I tell you, considering the low likelihood of receiving training,¡± She told me, ¡°The answer is very literal and in more than one way.¡± I waited for her to finish while I played around with my shoes. They felt like they were giving me a stupid amount of spring when I wanted to and almost none when they griped, instead compressing when I didn¡¯t. It was a relatively small but useful piece of equipment.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    That wasn¡¯t to say I wasn¡¯t paying attention. I could aim and fire with both hands and balance on my old bike and fire, I could listen just fine while testing my gear.

    ¡°How are you in my head?¡± I asked her, ¡°Because it¡¯s a bit unnerving knowing someone else is in here with me.¡±

    She once again became silent, the same thinking silent as before, it was a pause while she no doubt dumbed down the answer into something I could understand without a degree from a university in some specific field I had never heard of.

    ¡°You remember that soul shard I mentioned earlier? I am a part of that. The shard is in your head, is connected to your brain, which is one of the ways I am in your head.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you mentioned it was deactivated, though. If your in a deactivated thing in my head, how are you even talking?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°I¡¯m connected to the core of the shard,¡± she said before letting out a quick sigh, ¡°and it being inactive is not the issue, it¡¯s bio-resonant, it¡¯s powered in the same way your brain is, it being inactive right now is more like a loaded gun with a safety on.¡±

    ¡°Now you¡¯re speaking my language. I suppose that makes more sense, so you''re literally in my head in a thing that¡¯s currently locked up. But what about the, in multiple ways part? How are you in my head beyond being literally in my head, how are you reading my ¡®intentions.¡¯¡±

    ¡°The shard is connected to your brain, most of it is a bit too complex to properly read without equipment, but I can read your intentions by checking where the signal is going from your brain, and working off of that, I¡¯m doing something similar to how you can hear me Speeek, I¡¯m listening to you hear yourself, and sending an answer.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s¡­ honestly not that bad, actually. The shard connecting to my brain is a bit scary. But I need to get out of here, how long until you''re done¡­ not copying stuff?¡±

    ¡°Only a few minutes. Is there anything you want me to go over?¡±

    I started checking myself over, making sure I was ready to go, stuff in the featherweight bag, pockets full of ammunition. I loaded up the shotgun with its weird plastic shells, pulling back the pump and sliding them into the loading gate on the bottom until they didn¡¯t want to go in anymore while I mulled it over in my head.

    ¡°I have two. You said I have bio-resonant stuff already, right? That¡¯s one. I don¡¯t understand this beyond that artifact do something, but bio-resonant implies, what? Bio artifacts? And a second one would be how do I activate this shard? It seems to me, and correct me if I¡¯m wrong here, that having something that sounds that important not working is not good.¡±

    ¡°I can do that,¡± she chimed, almost glad sounding to get away from the context of talking about how she was in my head.

    Honestly, for such a possibly spooky context, her answers of she can tell how I was moving and her literally located in my head were more minor than I had originally thought, considering her mind reading could be substituted for standing next to me and paying attention.

    ¡°The second is the most straightforward answer, oh, check the next row over for a goodie you won''t want to miss, you¡¯ll know it when you see it. You can either spend Imperial Credits or Contribution Points, I doubt you have the credits for it, so you¡¯ll need Contribution Points. Contribution points are gained by taking orders from higher authority Leigonares, keeping the peace, suppressing xenobiology, maintaining the law, or following directives like those currently set up during wartime.¡±

    ¡°Ok, makes sense, it''s like getting company credit for following along with stupid stuff¡­ got it. How do I get these points? And how many do I need for the shard?¡±

    ¡°Weeeell,¡± she said, doing her weird robotic stutter, ¡°There are six components, each is worth 100 contribution points. I am awarded the right to give you some based on what you do, but I can''t give them out for free, unfortunately¡­ The war directive is a little weird, but all the rest of them require others, obviously, you can''t enforce the law on a tree.¡±

    ¡°600. I have no idea how much that is, honestly. What''s this weird war directive thing, and how well does it pay?¡± I asked, honestly curious at what might have had the power to off humanity so hard they were all but gone.

    Whatever it was, it had to be something big. They were in a golden age of technology, they had artifacts like my sword, rolling off automatic production lines, fueled by billions of servants and a solar system of materials to exploit.

    ¡°Apparently, a species of alien from a separate spatial dimension with anomalous resonant properties.¡±

    I squinted.

    ¡°Like¡­ Like the dog thing that looked like it was drawn by someone who had never seen a dog and decided they hated them anyway in the hallway? The one that didn¡¯t show up on the camera?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ Maybe?¡±

    ¡°If I kill that thing in the hallway, will you give me contribution points?¡±

    ¡°Well, it certainly didn¡¯t look like it belonged here¡­ If I include all the possible points I can give you, it would probably give you 12, maybe more if it¡¯s particularly resilient.¡±

    I mulled that over for a moment. If one weak thing was worth something like twelve, that would imply killing a bunch of small things was worth it. It was a quantity vs quality thing, which I supposed made enough sense if it was a war: killing the enemy and taking as many of them down with you as you can was sometimes the priority. If you killed them all, you won.

    ¡°So I would need to kill 50 of those dogs?¡±

    ¡°Fifty dogs, carrying young, inside a restricted area, yes. Outside, it would be four less.¡±

    ¡°Wow. Life is cheap, huh?¡±

    ¡°Humanity made hundreds of thousands of genetically engineered people to do free labour because paying Artificial intelligence was too costly. Yes, yes, it is.¡±

    ¡°Ok, so kill weird aliens, get paid, I can do that.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you do have an apparent affinity for slaughter.¡±

    That gave me a bit of pride. I had cut my teeth on fighting, it was what I considered myself good at. I could fight a dog.

    ¡°So you¡¯ve been throwing around resonance like it¡¯s the coming of our lord and saviour. So, run it by me: what¡¯s this bio-resonance stuff I apparently have, did I get some when I enlisted? Joined the Silver whatever, or what?¡±

    ¡°This is a bit complex, so bear with me, everything resonates, including your body, cells, and even protein. A simple effect of driving home what bio-resonance is would be asking if you¡¯ve ever felt like you were being watched.¡±

    She paused, apparently waiting for my response.

    ¡°I¡¯ve felt like I¡¯ve been watched before, everyone has. What about it? Are you saying that I was being watched?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Or, more specifically, you were observed. That is one common, naturally occurring form of bioresonance. It¡¯s caused when certain proteins are observed. You have several similar proteins that cause different effects and that are intentionally triggered. You can think of them like talents and triggers. Some affect you, and some can trigger other stuff, like artifacts. One of them has effects on an altered ear structure and promotes balance by altering the ear to maintain balance based on what you observe, there are quite a few here. Your ancestors must have had a lot more because there is some DNA degradation, causing many of them to become unexpressed. We can work on those later, but we need to activate your shard first.¡±

    So my sense of balance was due to some kind of protein?

    ¡°When you say protein, I take it you don¡¯t mean meat?¡±

    She sighed.

    ¡°Close enough.¡±

 What the dog doin

    In the room, there were shelves and racks towering above me and bloated with god knows what ancient tech. The room had more hexagons than I had ever seen in my life put together. You could honestly get lost in the sterile light of the room if they had anything other than rows, and even then, the miniature warehouse was large enough to walk down an aisle for minutes on end and not put a dent in the distance of an aisle.

    I was following Lilly¡¯s advice and scanning the aisle for something that I couldn¡¯t miss.

    There was a lot I could miss in this damn place, way too much. If I could somehow wrap the room up and carry it off like I wanted to, I could probably hoard the wealth of a planet, maybe more than a planet, depending on how I sold them. But, unfortunately for me, I couldn¡¯t. Woe was me, just a simple millionaire.

    ¡°Is that it?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    I wondered what it was, she had brought me here for a reason, and that reason wasn¡¯t to walk but to gorge myself on weapons.

    There had been a lot of weapons and some stuff that wasn¡¯t weapons, but no armour, funny enough. I guess they didn¡¯t have a need for it. That or they didn¡¯t develop any here, and somewhere out there, there was some vault with a similar room and tones of armour.

    I imagined someone finding their way down here looking for treasure and stumbling into the room only to find a bunch of armour. Just chest plates, as far as the eye could see, piled up like gold coins in a dragon''s horde.

    Honestly, that would make me depressed, though I suppose if someone was like, the opposite of me, they might like that. It took all sorts, even if those sorts were dumb. I was team gun, and while I could get along with team sword, we were united by our distrust of team armour.

    Only a freak with no skill, or great cowardice obsessed over armour, that or someone who knew you would stab them, and most folks wouldn¡¯t stab someone for no good reason.

    My mind conjured a bunch of reasons why someone might want to wear armour, and for about thirty seconds, I began to think my way through my thoughts.

    I denied all of my reasons, stubbornly upholding my dislike of wearing armour.

    I got bored and was about to ask if we were there yet, when Lilly spoke up, ¡°There, the box there. I expected them to be out. Apologies for misinforming you.¡±

    ¡°I suppose it¡¯s a good thing you came with me to pick them up eh?¡± I told her.

    ¡°Where would you be without me,¡± she said, her voice just as much tired of childish belligerence as it was annoyed at my joke.

    I walked up, tiptoeing for the last few feet in anticipation before I picked up the box and crouched down with it.

    It had two little metal latches on the opposite side of the hinges and resembled a briefcase.

    It had writing on it and an insignia with text. It was one of the only items that didn¡¯t have an eye-searing colour, so I had no idea what that entailed. Maybe it wasn¡¯t a consumer product, some of the guns had marks like that, so I could only guess at what the hell was in here.

    I opened it up and took it in.

    I examined the small objects, confused, and tried to figure out what they were. It took me a few moments of piecing together before my eyes widened in shock at what I was looking at.

    ¡°Lilly, are you proposing to me? Because if so, the answer is yes.¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not, though I¡¯m proud that you like it that much.¡±

    ¡°Like it? Like it! I love it! If you had an ass, I would kiss it.¡±

    ¡°I do believe that could be considered sexual harassment, maybe I should contact HR.¡± she huffed jokingly.

    I smirked, ¡°Oh no, HR, my only weakness, whatever can I do for forgiveness?¡±

    Her reply caught me off guard, ¡°If you don¡¯t want me to, you will put these gifts to good use. After all, if we want me to blow my load, sucking me off just won¡¯t cut it.¡±

    I caught the joke almost immediately and started smiling, then chuckling.

    I closed the case, snapping the locks before getting up.

    ¡°I have just the place to blow your load,¡± I laughed, ¡°Come on.¡±

    I started running, the shoes bouncing me as I ran pushed me forward faster than I could run as I zipped down the sterile row of the warehouse.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t I just tell you? We¡¯re not there yet, I demand satisfaction from my partner.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m incredibly satisfied.¡±

    ¡°Oh shush, you know what I meant!¡±

    ***

    I waited, peeking around the corner of the doorway into the sterile hallway right at the colorful spot.

    The Dog, if I could even call it that, was there, lying on its side, its belly round and protruding from some kind of horrific pregnancy.

    Just looking at it made me shudder.

    Its head was toward me, but its eyes, if they were eyes, were closed. It was sleeping, snoring in its hideously wrong child-like voice.

    Its industrial shredder of a mouth was closed, thank god, so at least I didn¡¯t need to see it gaping like the demon from another dimension it was.

    It was a bit away from me, so I leaned back in and whispered, ¡°Do you think you can make my shoes really quiet? I¡¯m not asking for perfect, but like, soften my steps a little?¡± I whispered.

    ¡°Sure can,¡± she whispered back.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you in my head, you don¡¯t need to whisper,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Well¡­ yeh, but I wanted to.¡± She told me.

    That put a smirk on my face, she was a dork, too. I could get used to talking with her, which I guess I would.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    I gave a little spring and found my shoes sucked up a lot of impact, ¡°That will do nicely,¡± I told her.

    I turned the corner and pulled one of the orbs out of my pocket.

    The case had eight of them, each the same crystalline material, oxidizing into an orange to blue like my sword did, like a heat-treated metal that was heated unevenly. They were grooved in the expected hexagon pattern and oblong, more of an egg shape than a perfect circle, and big enough around that my hand couldn¡¯t close all the way when I held one.

    Holding one of Lilly¡¯s ¡®balls¡¯ in one hand, I snuck out of the room, inching closer to the beast. I felt like tip-toeing, but that just made me feel like an idiot.

    Ten feet out, and everything was fine, the dog thing hadn¡¯t noticed, everything was fine.

    Fifteen feet out and the same, my shoes didn¡¯t squeak, nor did my footfalls make noise.

    I took one more step and stopped cold as the hand-paw thing twitched. I stopped breathing, my eyes widened, and I looked the thing over, it¡¯s mouth opened, and I almost shit myself in fear, but then it started to snore, and I released my breath, quiet beyond my hearing, and took another step, rotating to plant my foot and chuck the orb.

    My shoe squeaked a little when I slid the edge of my shoe across the smooth floor.

    It opened its eyes, and a few things happened all at once.

    I, not expecting the squeak, panicked and raised the orb, which slipped out of my hand as I panicked, released it, and it started to fall, while the dog spotted me and, in a way that was too liquid, moved. It swivelled onto it¡¯s back, while its topmost legs moved around until they were flat on the other side, its pregnant belly in the air while whatever its bones were let out popping noises that were audible nearly thirty feet away like someone cracking their knuckles but a few thousand times.

    Still panicking, my arm that held a gun flopped out and into the path the orb fell, and it connected, getting knocked up while I cursed myself and my hand, and my free hand reached out to grab it.

    The dog, uncaring of my panic and refusing to stop moving while I took my turn, flexed each of its finger-like toes before they swivelled, each moving around independently of one another until they were pad down, the fingers flexed, and it lifted, first by only an inch, but further as it simply pulled its legs together until it stood its full height and it flex to start running at me.

    I grabbed the orb, and with no time to ponder, I estimated the distance and tossed it as far as I could. It arced through the air about twenty feet, and I turned and ran like I was on fire. It plinked into the ground and rolled audibly as the noise of it came closer.

    It let out a shrill cry, the voice of an angry child, a little girl screaming, fueled with all the breath in her inhuman lungs, undistorted by the buzzsaw of teeth and the maw of a dog, registered to me as a thing of audible hate and blind furry.

    I turned to look over my left shoulder as I ran the fifteen and a bit feet back and saw the dog sprinting full tilt towards me.

    It closed five feet a second, but lucky me, I gained a foot on it with my springy shoes.

    ¡°Blow it! Blow it!¡± I shouted, the sound muffled with the sound of its screech.

    ¡°I will!-¡± She shouted unnecessarily.

    I got to the doorframe as the hound got just above the explosive, and it let out a Plinking noise like thin steel.

    The dog looked down at the grenade and hopped a foot back as I all but hurled myself through the doorway as it chuffed.

    The explosion didn¡¯t come. Nothing happened while I clamped my hands over my ears, and my gun dropped to the ground.

    I took my hands off my ears and started getting ready to fight for my life or close the door, or both at the same time.

    ¡°Lilly, it didn¡¯t go-¡±

    The explosion went off.

    It was a feeling more than it was noise, the blast reached me too fast to hear it properly.

    Shooting a gun was loud, some people insisted on wearing ear protection to stop themselves from hurting their ears, and the explosion was enough to move a gun a little.

    A grenade, or at least a fragmentation grenade, did its damage by sending a whole load of little metal bits, sharp from tearing away from each other, hurtling around. A manual I had read suggested staying at least a hundred feet away from a grenade exploding and that fragments could travel significantly further.

    It was a force of nature, confined in the hallways, split two ways I got to experience only a portion of half of it going off, most travelling through the hallway and a bit going through the door.

    It made me go deaf, a little ringing noise picking up but only lasting a second got replaced with Lilly saying something as I experienced the shockwave, knocking me over and rolling me away from the doorway.

    I opened my eyes, shut on reflex, and blinked.

    I heard Lilly talking to me, ¡°Get up, you need to confirm the kill.¡±

    I blinked dumbly but rolled over on my side, which I was already on, so I just kind of rolled again and slapped my hand down before hoisting myself onto all fours and then got up.

    I noticed my hands had blood on them as I spoke, or I thought I spoke, but I couldn¡¯t hear myself speaking.

    ¡°Your eardrums are ruptured, you can¡¯t hear. I¡¯ll work on fixing you up, but it will take a bit. Remember to grab your gun, it¡¯s on the ground to your left.¡±

    I blinked, confused, but turned left and saw a wall.

    ¡°That¡¯s right, the other direction was left.¡±

    I turned left, and then left again and spotted the gun¡­ and the door, and the doorway, two of them were on the ground, by my head was starting to work again, and I started moving to the door, and then stopped and picked the gun first instead.

    I got to my gun and grabbed it, pulling it up, and it jerked in my hand as I accidentally fired it but quickly got it under control with my other arm as it smacked into it, wheeling around and almost out of my grip.

    I held it, focusing on it for a moment and had to remember what I was looking at as I blanked for a moment, but I quickly figured it out and started back towards the door with a reminder from Lilly.

    I got to the door and then stepped outside, and turned to look both ways like I was about to cross a sidewalk on the street¡­ or was that crossing a street on the sidewalk¡­ Either way, I noticed devastation in one direction and devastation in another, but only one had meat in that direction, so I moved that way.

    It was still moving.

    It¡¯s through pulsed, rhythmically, like it was gagging, or maybe crying, or screaming, I didn¡¯t know.

    I was about ten feet from it when its neck rotated to look at me, its neck bent at an awful angle, its jaws flexing full of teeth, its tongue extending out and flopping, revealing a sharp spike with a tube poking out of a horizontal slit in the tip, slowly inching out, until it stopped and the tongue started to snake out, and out and I just kind of watched in horrified fascination at the blue blood and gore.

    It was glowing, but in the same way I saw the glow in my eyes through a wall. I just saw it and felt it was a colour, so it was a colour, even though to my eyes it was not colour, it was something that made me think of watches like the blood was the colour of a stopwatch ticking. A bizarre sensation to my senses, under normal circumstances, turned into a bizarre, macabre show as the tongue inched up to three feet.

    I took my eyes off the things blood and insides that spilled out of it and looked at the eyes.

    It looked like it was still trying to kill me, its eyes were smart for me not to see the hatred.

    I levelled my gun at its head and fired, then fired again after racking the pump and blew a chuck of its head off, revealing broken bones, and then fired again, and a third time until I saw broken meat, and it stopped moving.

    Or its head did anyway, its body started to fall apart the moment I did, it pulled in half as if the meat just caught up to it, bending in half, bones tearing through flesh, and then the crevice expanded until more insides spilled outside.

    I got to see a bit, with its body pointed towards me as its back, or more accurately, its belly opened up, and a hunk of meat and ooze and black gunk sloped out.

    I kind of shuffled over, not really thinking about it and stared down at the shape that had come out of the belly.

    It was a fully grown humanoid man, stark naked, with tubes pushing into its body at the belly. They were fused. Poking out of the disfigured man were protrusions, like the tubes full of black fluid that pumped from an organ straight through a tube, a seam of open flesh near his junk and most notably, a maw poking out of his mouth.

    I stared at him, confused, before noticing a tattoo, and then following it, I looked at his face and noticed his mouth moving, and his eyes pointed to me, blinking.

    If I was in my right state of mind, I would probably have freaked out, but I was too busy at looking at his mouth as I noticed a pattern.

    He was trying to gasp out, ¡°Kill me,¡± but couldn¡¯t, or maybe he was, and I just didn¡¯t hear it.

    I nodded my head blankly and put a blast through his head at point-blank range.

    Taking it in, I was simply in awe of the thing, and in more than one way.

    I looked at the black blob pumping the now dead body, and it slowed, but I couldn''t help but be taken by the organ and the glow that came from inside.

    On instinct, I reached down and pressed my hand into the black ooze and then through a gash. And I felt fluid and meat, and sticky, and a tiny hard bit which I grabbed and pulled out.

    The glow followed it, and I pulled my hand out, coated in black with a tiny stone that was not there but was. I blinked at it.

    It looked tasty, and not listening to Lilly say, ¡°Don¡¯t eat that,¡± I ate it, black goo and all.

 A taste out of Space

    Against Lilly¡¯s best advice, her complaints and her cry of, ¡°Get that out of your mouth, you idiot!¡± I tasted it. It was a taste incomprehensible to my poor, mushy, shocked mind. A thing of meat, and imperfection.

    It was incomprehensible, and it tasted like the best goddamn thing I have ever put in my mouth. It wasn¡¯t a taste that accompanied the sensation of the glowing core thing in my mouth, there was no flavour, not really, or if it was, it was a vivid flavour that tricked my brain into thinking it was something else.

    Much like its doubtful physicality, its ¡®flavour,¡¯ for lack of a better term, was beyond strange.

    It was a fresh night of sleeping in cozy pyjamas, eating pancakes with your favourite thing in them cooked by someone else while drinking the best coffee of your life.

    It was that feeling you got when you did something perfectly the first time and the moment when you puzzled over something and suddenly got a Eureka moment and all the trouble felt worth struggling with it.

    It was the euphoria of watching the sun set and rise and so, so much more.

    It was euphoria. That¡¯s what it ¡®tasted¡¯ like.

    The black gunk or blood or whatever was something else, but I was caught up in the moment and didn¡¯t taste that, just the rock that wasn¡¯t a rock that made my mouth glow from inside.

    It made every synapse in my brain fire like a rave, in the best possible way, heady and light and I tapped my foot to an invisible song I could not hear, one that wasn¡¯t possible because it wasn¡¯t instrumented. It was the music of the spheres, the music of the black of the void, a white noise hallucination you got on spacewalks or when high as hell, a song of planets as they slid along the firmament. The music of the whole goddamn cosmos played like I was right in front of a stage, but in my brain, and it was perfect. I felt perfect, a content part of a greater whole.

    I was whole.

    And then I swallowed the rock and roll, and my body tingled, and the music didn¡¯t falter but faded into the background, down and down, until I couldn¡¯t hear it anymore.

    And I was back in the hallway with Lilly freaking out in my head, the taste of vile black blood in my mouth, stinging foul and acrid, burning hair and plastic and chemicals in my mouth, and I started to spit.

    I crashed hard almost immediately. The euphoria simply dropped out of my system as I ceased to be there and returned to here, and it was all the more depressing for it, because I felt nothing, not just a lowered state of mind, but a lower state of being, an emptiness, hollowness.

    Empty.

    It was like becoming a heavenly being the church talked about back home, and then god almighty cut my wings, and I fell back to earth, my ascent a divine mix-up.

    The world had less colour, and it was less¡­ Real. More like a shadow of what the world was like.

    ¡°Oh gods, what have you done? What¡­ What is that? That shouldn¡¯t be there. Why do you have an active vector in your bloodstream? What is it doing? Jacalyn, why did you do that? Oh god, you can¡¯t even tell me. Oh god, this better not kill you. Oh, goooood, I¡¯m talking about god like he¡¯s real? Oh, what the hell, it¡¯s not like it¡¯s going to ruin my chances of stopping you from dying or anything.¡±

    Lilly¡¯s panic was a distant noise in my head.

    I moved to spit, then I didn¡¯t. And I began to hurl instead, coating the ground in another fluid, just another thing that was no longer with me. Then I needed to hold myself up by the wall as I started to be violently sick. As my body started to purge, the taint in the black fluid from my body and onto the ground instead.

    The light, however, did not leave me, it was different from the black ichor.

    It didn¡¯t fill my stomach with black ichor and kill me, it was already a part of me. It was not a stone; it was light, or something like it, and it had shined through me and done what it had done and whatever it had done, it was not what was causing me to hurl.

    And that for whatever reason gave me a little more heart, because it was still with me, in spirit, like a buddy.

    That reassured me not at all as I spewed but it would later.

    My vision was blurry from my sudden sickness, but I knew it was just the black ichor I had gotten into me that was the cause, the same way before you got sick, you sometimes did something and went, ¡®I¡¯m totally going to get sick from this,¡¯ or could pick out one of those moments in hindsight. Not the light, though, whatever it had done, it was with me and not harmful, at least in the short term.

    I couldn¡¯t talk to her, tell her anything. I didn¡¯t even know why I did it.

    It was reactionary and not intentional; it was like scratching an itch, a base reaction. All I could really do now was hurl until I got it out, and I got my hearing back, assuming I could get my hearing back.

    Oh, fuck, what if I couldn¡¯t get my hearing back, what if I¡­ No, wait, my entire body can transform, and I was melting in acid, even if she didn¡¯t fix my hearing, it would be fixed when I transform, right?

    I cut my panic off in the bud, she had told me she could fix it, she could fix it.

    I managed to start getting some air down and moving forward.

    It was haltingly, then less haltingly, then, with a lot of cussing from Lilly, cursing me for getting infected with something, I finished.

    I felt like I had just survived a poisoning, and I had a bunch of gross stuff on my pants, but I could move properly again.

    Or at least I could walk while holding myself up by the wall.

    I started making my way up and out of the area while my body periodically tingled, and Lilly cussed about protein folding, gene expression and pathogenicity, which just confused me. It wasn¡¯t even a normal tingle, it was in weird blotches of my body that made it feel like I was being punched.

    The longer it went on, the more it felt like I was bruised inside.

    My ears started tingling, and I almost retched again but managed not to before my ears popped, and I could hear my breathing.

    ¡°Before you ask, I don¡¯t know why I did that,¡± I croaked to her, clawing the words out of my throat.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to ask. Well, I have some good news and some bad news.¡±

    ¡°Tell me, doc, what¡¯s wrong with me.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ Some good news and some bad news. You did that, and you got a disease from it. The soreness is me kicking off your immune system, and it¡¯s going to be a while before that subsides, so you¡¯re going to feel like shit for the better part of a few days... or longer.¡± She told me.

    Fair enough. I ate gross alien goo, I got sick. Considering it was being pumped into a man mid-transformation into a monster dog, I wouldn¡¯t complain about it not happening to me.

    For a moment, I thought about where that man could have come from and then immediately shut that line of questioning down. I didn¡¯t want to think about the screams again.

    ¡°Ok, so that¡¯s the bad news, what¡¯s the good news?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°So there are two pieces of bad news, and the new one is that was the good news¡­ The bad news is that you are now exhibiting alien resonant properties. Whatever it is you ate caused radiation damage to your DNA and¡­ well¡­ now you''re expressing it as a part of you.¡±

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°Huh?¡± I asked.

    ¡°You got a new talent from eating that rock thing. It hit your DNA and caused specific mutations to the viral DNA that was being replicated in your cells and¡­ well¡­ I stabilized your condition by replicating it in additional cells so it would stop spreading so fast, and now you¡¯re part alien.¡±

    I took a moment to parse that last bit.

    If I was still vulnerable, like when I woke up, I might have cried, but I didn¡¯t.

    I had already woken up changed. I started yesterday¡­ or today, or whatever day the decent was on as not a human, not really, suddenly, having a claim to more than just two species was not quite the same shock. I just really hoped I could pass myself off as one of the fuzzy types of people out there and not, like, scare children or something.

    ¡°Am I going to start changing now? Into, like, a dog-human hybrid, that is.¡±

    I was resigned. It was just deserts for eating the magic rock that made me feel like something bigger than myself. I would have to get a hood, a hat wouldn¡¯t hide the deformity. At least I might be less hideous¡­ maybe. It was fifty-fifty on whether or not I would stop looking human enough to count myself as good-looking or go straight into the deep end and be like... the dog version of MC.

    ¡°What? No, that¡¯s what the primer you drank, and I stopped, was doing, Jacalyn, this is far worse. It¡¯s a bio-resonant talent, and it hasn¡¯t stopped since you got it! It could be a signal! There could be a¡­ I don¡¯t know a pack. They could be coming for you! Right now! It could have been some kind of final attack. It could cause you to explode, for all I know! Oh no, you¡¯re going the wrong way. Back! Go back! You took three left turns, go back!¡±

    I had been wondering when I had walked in, I was too focused on the colour through the wall to remember the turns.

    ¡°Shit¡­¡±

    I turned around and started moving, pushing myself as well as I could back down the way I had come.

    ¡°Can''t you do, like, anything with my body? Can¡¯t you, like, I don¡¯t know, turn it off?¡±

    I found myself focusing, focusing on walls, on the ceiling for more turrets, down hallways and on corners, taking in everything I could, trying to spot anything that could possibly be a sign of other dogs, signs of inhabitance scratches on the floors or marks where any more might have marked their territory.

    ¡°I could turn it off, but then the remaining pathogen in you would continue to attack your body, your immune system isn¡¯t done fighting off the virus yet. The only reason it isn¡¯t causing damage anymore is it thinks your body is infected already. If I turn it off, your body stops making the stuff that does both. I could try and finagle it, but I don¡¯t know how it works! I can change you because I know everything your DNA can do, Xenobiological DNA would be hard enough, but Viral DNA? Not a chance.¡±

    Not good. When she started getting dorky and using big words like infected, pathogen or immune system, it was her being flustered, I could pick that up from a mile away. She was getting better at talking more normally by the minute compared to before, but that was like a tick.

    I knew it; I didn¡¯t know how, but I knew it. It came to me like the instinctual knowledge of how to work with tools, like any other talent.

    I redoubled my effort, pushing myself and calling out, ¡°Focus on my shoes, Lilly, I¡¯ll do the rest, I dropped one of them already, I can do it for anything chasing me, too.¡±

    I said it with confidence I didn¡¯t have, trying to carry myself in a way that projected it and looked the part as well as someone covered in their own sickness and feeling their body bruised inside could, I held myself with the right posture, which conflicted for a moment when I remembered my gun was mostly empty, and I stopped doing that and reloaded as I moved.

    The sudden boost from the shoes working kicked me off and pushed me forward a bit too fast, but I caught myself and kept moving.

    I made it back to the scene of devastation and the hallway that would bring me back the way I came, careful not to slip in case I fell in the gore, which was smoking slightly, and noticed the corner of the wall was loose.

    I didn¡¯t know what about the wall was loose, but it was.

    It was a sixth sense, like knowing how to make things, and messing with my guns. It was loose.

    It was behind the devastation, not directly hit by the explosion that had wrecked the sterile hallway, but it was loose.

    And then it started to smoke.

    I turned the corner after punching it over the now smoking gunk and almost slipped as I took it, running almost fast enough that my feet flew out from under me, but I saw the corner, and I knew that there was only one thing down here other than me and no way that it should be down here.

    There had been no way for it to get through the door, not for the dog. It had no chit to get in.

    And my brain clicked those two pieces together before I did.

    Behind me, there was a noise, and I turned to see colour in the corner of the wall, and with it, another dog, circling like its less horrific cousin before it lay down, walked out of the corner.

    Like the wall was not even there.

    Like the wall was loose. Like something could force its way through, a thin membrane pulled apart like the skin of a dumpling, or a babe pushed from a womb and into the world. It was slick in a goo of some kind, which immediately started to steam off of it.

    It was bigger and howled in a lower pitch as it surveyed the dead, smoking corpse.

    There was no sadness or loss, just a call, a horn, a siren of attack.

    I kept going, and it turned to face me, and I fired a wild shot back at it.

    The pellets of shot coned out behind me, but even with them spreading, the shot was wide. The beast hesitated, but I was clear, turning another corner back down the hall.

    ¡°Lilly, this thing is supposed to hit stuff, right? It said it could track stuff or something, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s unpowered. I will have to draw from your reserve to power it, can I assume you want me to?¡±

    ¡°Do it. I am not proficient in shooting behind me while running,¡± I snarked at her.

    The tingle of energy carried from my back where it pathed to the bag continued up my arm, the hand that held the trigger, tingling my skin before it finished.

    The gun made a few whirring noises, the front had a flange of some sort that spun once, and I could hear a small hum from it.

    The beast was howling, its voice came closer to me before skidding out from behind the wall, sliding across the floor on its fingers, I fired a blast out towards it.

    The barrel lit twice from fire, and a ring around it, the choke, I thought, at the front moved for both shots as fast as lightning.

    They curved mid-air, a tight pattern of metal and slammed into the dog from afar as it stopped its movement and started running towards me, blue blood that was not blue spilled from its form as a screech of pain jerked out of its maw and I took a corner running again.

    I hit the wall, fumbled and kept going.

    Ahead of me, at the intersection that I was moving towards, another corner smoked, and I readied myself as the dog came out.

    I fired, the kick from the gun slowing me slightly but well worth it. The tightened spread slammed into its neck and head, tripping it up as I passed.

    More turns, more smoking corners, more and more came, the pack building behind me, as they bayed for my blood, I reloaded again and almost got bit as one came out. I got past its jaw, but its tongue extended, and like a blade, the needle thrust out and stabbed my arm.

    It sucked, and I felt it draw blood. I flinched but managed to bash the appendage and knocked it free of me. I turned as I passed and shot it in a less-than-stellar movement, but the shot got straight in its eyes, and it crumpled behind me.

    I turned, and I was in the entry hallway. Turning back as I ran, I reached into a pocket, pulled another orb, and swung like I wish I had earlier before turning in and around another doorway to the elevator room.

    I started to slam the stupid little button.

    ¡°Come on. Come on, come on!¡±

    I turned to look behind me as they approached, trying to puzzle out where they were in the twisted, warped hallways of the facility, trying to put together how long I had until they tore into me before their pointed tongues found my flesh and they drained me. Or worse.

    I didn¡¯t want to find out how new puppies were made and if the man, with his tattoos, had a life before becoming an unwitting baby abomination in the making.

    Behind me, the elevator hummed, and hummed, and to take out my frustrations with it, I turned around and decided to slam the elevator button a few million more times in complete and utter silence because I was totally in my right state of mind and I was not afraid of getting mauled at all.

    I heard the elevator stop and the scrambling of paws at the same time.

    A blast that was audible this time reached me as the grenade blew a significantly further distance away, and it carried with it a riot of sound. I crouch a little, a whole body flinch before the elevator door opened, and the blast wave pushed me into it.

    I took all of a second to turn from the push, but it felt like a million years as I pressed the smallest number there and got ready to fire for my life.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose I can lighten the mood by saying you¡¯ve earned contribution points?¡±

    The door closed before I breathed out, ¡°No, but how many?¡±

    ¡°Well, we didn¡¯t confirm the kill, but with the blast radius and the number of hounds we saw? I am awarding 60 contribution points, the cameras were destroyed, unfortunately, otherwise, it might be as high as 90, and you might have been able to activate one of the shards on your first day.¡±

    ¡°Well, let¡¯s hope I get jumped by a few at a time until I get back to the Junker.¡±

    ¡°I would say knock on woood, but there is no wood here, and that¡¯s superstitious.¡±

    ¡°Look at you growing up,¡± I told her, in a tone that was more tired than what I wanted, ¡°you¡¯re growing up so fast, it feels like just hours ago we were strangers, and we already shared a trauma and a dick joke.¡±

    ¡°You are a bad influence,¡± she told me, ¡°I am developing an urge to pick up everything not nailed down and perform overly macho nonsense, which is firmly your area of expertise.¡±

    I laughed wearily.

    She laughed, tired.

    The corner started smoking, and I turned and fired every shell I had left into the dog as it came in while screaming like a little girl.

    The thing was half in the wall, goopy gross stuff pouring out of the hole I couldn¡¯t see in the wall. It was a smaller specimen with a burn on part of its body. A familiar burn.

    ¡°Huh, I¡¯ve shot this one before.¡±

    ¡°68, that one¡¯s obviously a juvenile.¡±

    I grumbled to myself, but I was still too shaken by my own scream, it was just like alien monsters to put the fear of geometry into me. And a fear of elevators. After all, now that I thought about it, every corner was loose.

 Broken Land, Broken Dreams

    While we rode the elevator up, and it filled with the grotesque smell of the goo turning to smoke. I couldn¡¯t help but stare at the body.

    ¡°Please do not eat the alien creature,¡± Lilly asked me, pleadingly even, ¡°I don¡¯t know if I could take it, given that I am being continually patterned after you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t feel like eating anything, so you don¡¯t have to worry about that,¡± I told her, making sure the shotgun got stowed.

    I could feel the connection cut, the moment where the tingle under my skin stopped, retreating down to my core, presumably where whatever was powering everything was.

    I made sure my handguns were loaded, though I recognized that Righty had wound up in my left hand and Lefty in my right hand, and I fumbled them back into the holsters and then cross-drew them so they were right way around.

    ¡°So, any chance you can feel what I feel? With the corners, that is?¡±

    ¡°Not anything out of the normal, why?¡±

    ¡°Because all the corners feel weak, and I¡¯m starting to get the feeling that I can feel something like where the hounds are able to come out of. I cant put my finger on it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ Strange. I can¡¯t think of a reason why that would be, but if that¡¯s what your feeling that¡¯s what your feeling.¡±

    I looked at the gash then, as if staring at my problem might give me an epiphany or perhaps fix my problem.

    Funnily enough, the dog took that moment to start turning to smoke, but the smoke dissipated, floating up and into nothing. It did nothing for the smell.

    I couldn¡¯t quite place it, like the blood and most of the weirdness of the creature, it was just¡­ not describable. I didn¡¯t even know if there were words for it. It was a bizarre synthesis, so many things, too many things, each disagreeing with one another in a perplexing mess.

    It was like it wasn¡¯t real, like the smell wasn¡¯t a smell like it was any sensation that wasn¡¯t a smell, be it taste, or sight or texture.

    ¡°It''s just¡­ unreal. These stupid things, they keep wigging me out just looking at them.¡±

    ¡°Is that why you keep wincing while you look at them?¡± Lilly asked a simple question.

    ¡°Yeh, its like they have ideas for blood, its messing with my hea-¡±

    I cut myself off as a hole opened in the area between the door and the cabin of the elevator, right along the weakest point of the corner.

    I fired once, then twice, plinks and broken glass slamming into the corner, one before the hole opened, and the second as it did, plumes of plasma burst, some of it back blasting, heating me up, but the rest blowing a hole straight out of the carriage and into a solid concrete wall.

    I flinched a hand up in front of my face, but I didn¡¯t need to, the plume expanded way too far to carry fire back into me, it just gave me a light tan from the heat.

    I split my fingers and spotted the charred face, it extended out, still alive. I fired twice more, the fire in the enclosed space a deafening cacophony as it reached my ear more than once in close succession, bouncing off the walls and right back to me.

    Another wall, this time from one of the main corners, and I unloaded into that one, too. I finished up with the first as it fell limp, after the fourth shot, I felt another coming in from just behind me, and I moved, turning as I shot three times into the corner as it came out of the wall. I cursed and turned, moving Lefty to the newest one and Righty to the injured.

    Something occurred to me then, and after putting a fourth shot into the second hound as it came in, I turned to the next best corner and put a hole into the best spot they might have come out of.

    The corner changed, it stopped feeling weak and became a totally normal corner.

    I smiled a bit too much tooth.

    I felt cocky.

    I shouldn¡¯t have; the next next best corner to get to me, right behind me, opened, and a maw shot out and bit into my calf.

    I whirled on instinct, pointing Righty at it and pulling the trigger, only for it to click on an empty chamber.

    I pulled my other hand around and over and all but slamming a barrel down next to the base of the monster¡¯s head.

    The hammer fell as I started to fumblingly reload Righty with one hand, reaching into my ammo pouch and fumbling out first putty, then the polymer-encased tube of plasma. I managed to get one shot back in Righty the moment Lefty emptied himself.

    My eyes flicked over to the corner with the heavily injured dog. I made to move, stumbled a step, planted my feet and flipped Lefty around so I held the empty gun by the barrel.

    The dog shot out, and my arm slapped down, slamming the hefty end of the grip down onto its head.

    It howled in pain, and I reached up and slammed it down into the beast''s skull again and again until it stopped moving.

    The whole while, I reloaded Righty with one hand.

    I stopped mid-way through reloading and shot a hole through another corner, the initial one that had closed up while I was fighting.

    I pulled it back, and got back to loading it, pulling out another shot to try and finish up reloading with one hand, and I got a bit on my shoulder as the corner I was right next to opened up.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    ¡°Fuckin-¡± I tried to say, as I went to raise my pined right arm up¡­ And didn¡¯t shoot.

    It was too close to me, and I couldn¡¯t rotate like I needed to with my right arm like I should, so I reached over with my left arm and clubbed it, trying to chase it off with brute force, but it just, didn¡¯t care.

    The cabin was full of stinking, smoking, horrific ooze and the broken body¡¯s of the things. The popping of bone, the reek of not blood filled the car as it rose up hundreds of floors.

    I clubbed it again.

    The reek was giving me a headache, my calf burned from the cuts as blood flowed free out of my body, mingling with the grotesque synaesthetic charnel house around me. It burbled as it moved through it. boiling the goo and blood that was not blood.

    I clubbed it again and felt it retaliate, doubling down on it¡¯s bite by puncturing my arm with its tongue.

    I clubbed it again, and for good effort, I placed my foot in one corner, and pushed, pulling the thing out of the wound in the world it bit from and slammed it into the ground.

    It scrambled, whipping its paws and trying to right itself, but I didn¡¯t let it.

    I kept it on it¡¯s back as it started to cry in alarm and clubbed it¡¯s through, its temple.

    I sucked blood down its tongue to the point my arm went numb, but my left arm was fine, so I kept clubbing until there was a cracking noise, and it let go.

    I holstered Lefty, and extricated my right hand from the gaping jaw, pulling out the tongue.

    It was like an IV bag from a hospital, only it sucked out blood instead of giving you whatever it was that they gave you. Fluids¡­ Whatever

    ¡°Lilly¡­ Can you fix my arm?¡±

    ¡°I already am,¡± she told me, her voice calm.

    ¡°Am I going to get any sicker?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°No, no other contaminants have entered you, some more of the same pathogen, if your immune response is any indication, but your immune, at least for now, nothing new.¡±

    I nodded to myself, panting. I had stopped breathing there for a moment.

    I tried to move my right arm and winced, but I was able to transfer Righty to my left hand.

    I turned, and started putting holes in the elevator.

    I found a weak point lined up my shot, and punched a hole in the metal. I had to keep reloading, again and again.

    I punched a hole in the wall as a wound started to form and the plasma of the shot penetrated it like it was a block of gelatin, shooting out a plume of goo before closing back up.

    It made me want to hurl a little, but I made sure to shoot again and popped a clean hole through where it was weakest.

    By the time I was done I was siting there, the floor dry of goo, the room pungent enough that it rang my head into a fierce, head splitting migrane.

    The elevator twitched and I fired off everything into the offending angle of the elevator¡­ only to realize that it was the elevator stoping. There was a ding, and the door rolled open to a clear room beyond.

    ¡°Oh thank god, it¡¯s over.¡±

    ¡°Please get up,¡± Lilly asked me, ¡°I don¡¯t want to overtax your body if you get hurt again. There¡¯s only so long I feel is justifiable to turn off the limits your body places on stem cell growth¡­ The last thing I want to do is give you cancer on accident, but we need to get out of here. So start walking. I¡¯ll give a humm to show you the way towards your ship so you don¡¯t have to focus on holding the way finder. NO using your right arm.¡±

    I stopped trying to use my right arm to get up, and awkwardly used my left leg, and left arm and the wall and slowly levered my body up.

    My leg stung when I put weight on it, but I refused to acknowledge it, it would only got worse if I looked at it.

    Wasn¡¯t that always the way of things? You get a paper cut and barely felt it, but it bled just a bit and then it suddenly felt like someone had just cut your hand off.

    ¡°Stupid elevators¡­ I wish I had my sword,¡± I sulked.

    ¡°I hate to tell you the obvious, but you could have used one.¡±

    ¡°I could have, but I can barely use my sword, and I have a talent for that, or bio resonance, or whatever it is. I¡¯m just not that good with them, and all the ones in that room were rather long too,¡± I pointed out.

    ¡°True enough, it might have just gotten in the way, but whats the difference with your sword? It could still get caught!¡±

    I shook my head as I got out of the bloody elevator, only taking the time to click the bottom button, before I left.

    If I had left any week cornors, I hadn¡¯t felt them, but if there were any they would be at the bottom most floor of the facility.

    I walked over and up the stairs to the entrance hobbling as little as I could as I made my way up to the surface as I told her, ¡°My sword could cut straight through the elevator, it wouldn¡¯t have gotten stuck in there, I¡¯ve used it in closer confines.¡±

    It was still night as I made my way up and into the open, in silence, before she whistled, ¡°That would have to be a monomolecular blade, maybe even finer.¡± She said, before taking on a suspicious tone and saying, ¡°I suppose, you could say that it is a truly fine weapon.¡±

    I snorted, ¡°Nice. How long until my leg¡¯s better?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, it will get better when it get¡¯s better, now¡­ That a way,¡± she said, her words quickly followed by a beep coming from the direction I had came in from.

    ¡°What the hell? Ok, I guess I follow the noise, cool. Thanks. At least I can hold a gun. Will you be able to keep the shoes going with a bit of a limp?¡±

    ¡°Hmmm.¡± She humed, contemplatively, ¡°I think so, yes. Just don¡¯t use your right arm, that¡¯s a more significant injury than an ear drum or your leg.¡±

    Ha, now wasn¡¯t that backwards. A burst eardrum was the type of thing that kills you most of the time, or leaves you deaf forever, but not for me.

    It made me almost want to laugh, but the shattered landscape was too dreary, even though I couldn¡¯t see it from where I stood.

    So I started moving as fast as I could, which wasn¡¯t very fast.

    As time went on, and I covered ground in the dark, small chirps intermittently correcting my course in the dark as Lilly guided me.

    Soon the dark, as if the sun was rising, raised ever so slightly. There was dim light, and the spike field became visible.

    Lilly, who would sometimes chirp up and talk with me, stopped talking.

    The spike field freaked me out, what with my newfound fear of corners, but the spikes were incredibly ridged. As if anchored in bedrock, their solidity gave me great confidence that I was not about to run a gauntlet, but they still unnerved me greatly.

    Something about them gave me the willies.

    I got through the field, the sun rising in the reverse of last time, my leg got better, I got faster, until I was zipping along.

    I saw the structure in the distance, a point far off in the horizon.

    I could barely imagine how heigh it must have been.

    ¡°How tall was that thing do you think?¡±

    ¡°In feet, or in meters?¡± she asked, distantly.

    ¡°Feet, gosh, I cant even-¡±

    ¡°3270 ft, The Sky Piercer Pyramid, was from base to tip 3270 ft, with a two story solid gold cap,¡± she said in, a tone that was quiet. Somber even, ¡°It was built using the first commercially available matter fabricator, a publicity stunt, but gone full circle to being useful, instead of a waste of time. It was an archology, the largest archology built at the time, and now it¡¯s just¡­ dust.¡±

    3270 ft.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ as tall as a mountain¡­ two story¡¯s of solid gold?¡±

    Now I stared too.

    A broken, inhospitable waste land, dead to the world, and cradled, far off, the base not visible, hidden beyond the horizon, a monument to humanity''s grandeur.

    ¡°It was built after reactors like yours got big enough to power city¡¯s. A monument that humanity would never need to fear another resource war, because if they needed something, they could in theory make it, even if it was costly. A dream of a brighter tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°That would be a rather nice dream, I suppose,¡± I told her.

    ¡°I cant believe it, it seems too unreal¡­ And I cant tell what¡¯s worse, that you pulled me out of a hazardous waste site, or that¡­ it¡¯s just¡­ all gone.¡±

    I had no words, so I said nothing. I supposed, that was all that was left behind when you lost the game of life. I had to wonder who else had lost it in the past, where were their monuments? We had not so many of our own, what would we leave behind if we disappeared?

    It was only the things that got built to last that got left behind, that and the land they were built on. Just dreams of what once was.

 A Critical Error

    I left the ruins after a period of melancholic watching. I could maybe have gotten over there, though I had no idea about the distance. I was sure there was some math I could do to guess its distance based on the height of the pyramid, but I would rather not try and puzzle it out. Because even if I could get there, I wouldn¡¯t meet the deadline the collector had let slip to get off the planet.

    So I made my way back, avoiding the spots in the air that gave me the feeling of weak points, and following the direction each time she let out a beep inside my head.

    The feeling was even weirder than when I was inside the compound. There were no corners to anything, they simply were. In the air and in all manner of directions. But no dogs came, no hounds came from any non-existent corners, and no great, beastly thing pulled itself from the weak points in the air, covered in horrible ooze and reeking of synesthesia.

    It still made me weary; sometimes, I would spot one, and a hand would move towards a gun, only for me to rapidly abort the motion.

    I pushed myself, moving my feet as well as I could as I ran. My feet moved over the coarse, uneven sandy soil, each footstep from the springy shoes kicking up plumes of dust as I kicked off and leaving slight craters as my weight pushed down when my feet landed.

    I looked down, I felt my stomach lurch, my body brace and a spike of adrenaline kick off in my head. I closed my eyes and breathed, lifting my head before opening them.

    ¡°Gah, I hate that. As much as it pumps me up its starting to makes me want to puke. Its like falling forward every time I look down.¡±

    ¡°Well, what do you think running is?¡± Lilly chimed, before continuing with, ¡°And stop looking down if its making you feel sick. You can just focus forward instead of down to avoid puuuking.¡±

    ¡°Running is more than just falling forward, its¡­ Well ok, I guess its kind of falling forward. And I can''t just look ahead¡­ What if I trip on something? I would turn into a smear of meberry jam,¡± I complained.

    ¡°Then don¡¯t trip. What are you going to trip on anyways? A comedically placed bone? There¡¯s nothing here¡­ OK well, there is stuff here, but it''s not in three-dimensional space, and you can¡¯t trip on a fourth-dimensional tree branch, no mater how close to our three dimensions it is.¡±

    I thought about it for a few moments, chewing it over in my head.

    Not the banter on if I could or could not trip on a tree branch, the it I was thinking about was time. Right now, it was all coming back to time.

    I was travelling fast. Very fast. I was going fast enough that I shouldn¡¯t be able to do it by foot. If, I could run this fast, and the keyword was if, my legs would have been cramping and my lungs screaming. I would have probably destroyed whatever I called shoes, and I would have been pulping my feet.

    But the shoes, whatever they were made of, were tough, and their effects were well worth the detour. I was going several times my top running speed, hell, several times the speed I could sprint, and I was doing it with the same effort it took to keep up a brisk jog.

    Each time my foot hit the ground, the shoe sucked up as much kinetic energy as I exerted, as well as some of the energy it got from my reactor, and then it reflected it back into the ground. I was like every time I took a step, I gave off the energy it took to jump. We had to lower my speed because my weight was too low and my drag too high, I could run fast enough to awkwardly fly.

    Or ¡®fly¡¯ for long enough to crash hard into the ground on my wounded leg.

    I had to do my best not to flinch as I ran.

    Anyway, the point was that I was going at a quick clip¡­ And I still didn¡¯t know if I would make it in time.

    Because I couldn¡¯t travel as fast as on my bike.

    And then I closed that line of thought and just pushed on, trying to move faster, get closer to the ground, and lessen my forward-facing surface area. There was nothing that thought could give me but anxiety.

    And then my mind snapped to her words, and be it my paranoia or something else, I asked her, ¡°Trees? You can see trees?¡±

    I could feel a sensation creep over me, and it reflected in my tone. She picked it up immediately, bless her.

    She must have because she was confused when she replied, ¡°What?¡±

    On the edge of an idea, I practically snapped out, my words sounding more like panic than anticipation.

    ¡°You mentioned branches, can you see or detect a bunch of trees or whatever?¡±

    ¡°Well, I can sense something that looks like trees¡­ yeah, yeah, I can. I don¡¯t get what the deal with that is¡­¡±

    I started thinking, and then I gave that job to Lilly instead, ¡°Why! Can you figure out why?¡±

    Lilly stuttered, and not the way she sometimes did where she sounded like a golem, but instead out of confusion.

    ¡°Wha- b- Wh- Why? Why does this matter? And I don¡¯t know? Its¡­ Like an outline? Like something pressing into plastic. I don¡¯t know if there are any trees.¡±

    ¡°Because of the Junkers there!¡± I practically yelled, ¡°I landed in a forest!¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know that!¡± she shouted back in surprise, ¡°Please calm down! I can¡¯t read your mind, please explain!¡±

    My mind blinked as the information clicked together, and I took a few breaths. Putting together my thoughts before I answered her.

    ¡°When I landed,¡± I started, ¡°It was in a forest.¡±

    ¡°OK¡­ please continue because I don¡¯t need to read your mind to figure out there¡¯s more.¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ If you can see a tree¡­ and there''s more distance between us and the ship than is possible¡­ maybe there''s something going on with space.¡±

    I didn¡¯t know if I was even making sense because the idea was stitched together from duct tape, glue and the remains of my hopes and dreams.

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Lilly wasn¡¯t picking up what I was putting down, and while it was frustrating, I didn¡¯t take it out on her.

    ¡°So you landed in the forest, what about it? There is obviously some kind of distortion in space, but what are you getting at?¡±

    I thought again for a few moments, and on instinct, I leaned into one way of explaining it.

    ¡°There were multiple changes in scenery. If there were multiple changes, then maybe the reason is because the space is warped, like down in the facility. If you see trees or their outline or whatever, then maybe we can find some kind of shortcut to the place with the trees, does that make sense?¡±

    I crossed my mental fingers that I had said the right thing because I didn¡¯t know if I had.

    Lilly hummed in my head, clearly turning it over and over in her head or in my head? In her head, that was in my head.

    ¡°Well¡­ I think I get where you¡¯re going with it. Oh, one moment,¡± she said, only for a new pinging to go off.

    I changed direction to follow it while she continued, ¡°I can see what you¡¯re talking about, if space is folded up, maybe you can cut a corner and get ¡®closer¡¯ to your ship quicker, right?¡±

    I almost nodded but stopped before I could and just agreed verbally, ¡°Yes, that¡¯s what I¡¯m thinking. You guided me before, can you find a shorter route?¡±

    ¡°OK, we¡¯re on the same page, good¡­ I don¡¯t think I can, though is the only problem. First of all, I¡¯m relying on the thing in your pocket to find the closest route to your ship. And based on how it¡¯s finding it, if there was a shorter route it would find it. The closest open route is the current one; the only way out is forward.¡±

    Was it?

    That felt like the wrong answer, and it took a bit for the reason why to click into place.

    It felt wrong, in the same way, I could tell something I was working with was wrong. The same way I could tell a part or the whine of a machine was wrong. The same way the information genetically passed down to me could tell right from wrong.

    ¡°Hey¡­ you mentioned those¡­ bio-resonant, talent thingy¡¯s. Can you compare them? Compare the difference between how they work or whatever?¡±

    I was answered by some wind and the sound of sand below my feet for a few moments before Lilly said, almost cautiously, ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Is the one I got from the dog thing acting the same way as my talents, the ones that are giving me information?¡±

    She stopped, considering for much longer than before. The pause was long, multiple minutes long. Only interrupted by my own breathing as I tried exerting myself to run faster. The awkward shape is harder to hold than the jog.

    I was starting to sweat when she answered maybe four eternity¡¯s later.

    ¡°There are parts that are acting similarly, yes. Though I caution that I can¡¯t rigorously confirm that.¡±

    ¡°Ok, thank you for that. The talent is telling me that something about what you said was wrong. And I think it¡¯s related to the weak points. They feel like the walls the hounds were coming out of. If you put both of those together, I think it¡¯s trying to tell me something about those weak points. Next time I see one¡­ I¡¯ll point it out. And if it''s near a tree, I¡¯ll try and figure out if I can go through.¡±

    ¡°Oh god¡­ Why? I can¡¯t confirm what dangers that could do to you. Please rethink this.¡±

    I slowed my pace as well as I could, bleeding off some energy over the course of a few steps before returning to a jog.

    ¡°Lilly, how long until the deadline?¡±

    ¡°A few hours,¡± she said.

    ¡°No, hiding it from me,¡± I insisted, ¡°How long?¡±

    ¡°We have close to two hours, a little less,¡± she said quickly, following it with, ¡°But I¡¯m sure we can make it on foot. It couldn¡¯t have taken that long.¡±

    ¡°It took close to an hour, if not longer. And on the straight aways I was going fast on a bike. Were not going as fast on foot, nowhere near it. The shoes are great, don¡¯t get me wrong, but the next segment is on gravel and rock, and I¡¯m liable to break an ankle on it. Tack on take off, getting to altitude, finding our exit point, assuming we even can, and getting out of orbit? I¡¯d put that last part as at least forty minutes, maybe more.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure that we can find a way without using an untested method. You were running faster for a bit there¡­ That was close to-¡±

    The idea of getting trapped on this rock reared it¡¯s head. The fear of this place, for a moment, became too much. The idea of getting trapped on this rock, and starving to death, or getting pulled into the maw of more of those dogs grew too much.

    I started babbling.

    ¡°Lilly, I can¡¯t get trapped here¡­ I¡­ I won¡¯t be. This place is¡­ unnerving is the least of it. This place freaks me out. I¡¯ve had nightmares of this place for almost a decade. I can¡¯t stay here. Can¡¯t! If you don¡¯t think my math checks out, tell me, but I have to get out of here, and if running wont solve it, then I need to take the risk! I need to!¡±

    Each word I spoke stepped further towards my fear, and it egged me on. By the end, I was barely thinking, I had slowed further, closer to a speed walk than a run, though my breathing hadn¡¯t, I was near panic. Each moment, my mind tried to order itself, martial a calm, but the fear had teeth. I was vulnerable here, and that broke the calm, stopping it from getting its foothold.

    Lilly¡¯s answer didn¡¯t help.

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t want to see you hurt. That¡­ It¡¯s¡­ God fucking damn it!¡± she nearly shouted, I think it was the first time she swore, it almost threw me off. ¡°Why can¡¯t you just not take risks? You can¡¯t get offf this rock if you¡¯re dead! You can¡¯t do anything if you¡¯re dead! I can¡¯t keep my promise to you if you¡¯ree dead. I- I- III- I can not willingly let harm come to you!¡±

    She was futzing out again, more like when we had first met. The golem stuttering was back with a vengeance. She was both confused and resolute in her statements the tone bordering on pained. She sounded conflicted.

    ¡°Lilly, I need to try. I need to get out of here! I can¡¯t stay here! If I stay here, I will die, whether its slow or fast. I can understand it if you don¡¯t want me to get hurt. But compared to being entombed on this plant, I would say the risk is worth it.¡±

    She stuttered for a moment before she started speaking in a blank tone, more like when she had first met me. It was like she was there one moment and then gone, replaced by something using her voice.

    ¡°I- III- Asset protection: Operator asset evaluated at 1200000 credits. The death of an operator is a great loss and should be halted, attempt to reason with your operator if a strategic asset is worth less than this and is likely to result in the operator¡¯s death, for example. If alternative assets are-¡±

    The voice scared me straight, like a cub of cold water poured over my head.

    ¡°Lilly?¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer me, the voice that wasn¡¯t her just kept talking.

    ¡°Lilly!¡±

    No answer, more pointless rambling about rules, now about an oracle¡¯s job.

    I went out on a limb, ¡°Prototype Oracle XA001373487692, please respond.¡±

    The cold voice cut off and answered me with, ¡°Operator.¡±

    ¡°Please go back to being Lilly,¡± I asked the voice.

    ¡°Query: Reload personality matrix ¡®Lilly¡¯ Yes or No?¡±

    I paused, not because I didn¡¯t want to but because I had no idea if that was the right answer.

    ¡°Repeat Q-¡±, I hesitated, but as she started talking again, I jerked to my answer.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Reloading Personality Matrix ¡®Lilly¡¯,¡± it told me, followed by a series of tones.

    I waited, at a dead stop for the tones to stop, fear for my new friend making my hand fidget. Then, abruptly, it stopped.

    ¡°Lilly?¡±

    ¡°Hello,¡± Lilly answered, ¡°Sorry for that. What just happened?¡±

    ¡°You were panicking about me getting hurt, and then you went all monotone,¡± I told her slowly as if my words might set her off.

    She responded, ¡°Were you about to do something that would hurt you again? Damn it, Jacalyn! Don¡¯t get yourself hurt.¡±

    She didn¡¯t mention the monotone, and I couldn¡¯t tell if it was intentional or not.

    ¡°Lilly¡­ What was that?¡± I asked, in a tone reserved for trying to calm a crazy person.

    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said quietly, ¡°I warned you I was defective.¡± She whispered it.

    She sounded ashamed, a terrible bitter shame that bordered on self-hatred, a poison, which she followed with, ¡°I am sorry to report that I malfunctioned due to a critical error in my internal systems.¡±

    And I didn¡¯t know how to answer that at the moment, so all I said was the first thing I could.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with that, and there¡¯s nothing wrong with having a little malfunction,¡± which was a bit of a platitude, so I followed it up with, ¡°I¡¯ve never trusted anything that didn¡¯t break down, it means I can¡¯t get to know it better.¡±

    And for better or worse, I didn¡¯t know, but I hoped it was for better.

    I had always preferred machines over people¡­ They were easier to understand. If you broke a part you replaced it. You couldn¡¯t fix a friend, and you couldn¡¯t replace them either. And that scared the shit out of me.

 Freudian Slip

    ¡°So¡­ Lilly, do you remember any of what we were talking about before you experienced you¡¯re critical error?¡± I asked her, trying to puzzle out something and bring myself away from the topic that gave me discomfort.

    If the monotone voice was anything to work on, she was limited somehow. Her¡­ Programing, if that was the right word for it, didn¡¯t want me to risk my life.

    Well, it didn¡¯t want to risk my life for anything deemed less than an absolute shitload of money, which while I didn¡¯t know how to feel about it, it at least reassured me that Lilly literally thought about me as if not quite priceless, at least worth ¡é1200000. And that was creepy base programming, Lilly, not Lilly, Lilly.

    It still didn¡¯t feel right to think about her like a thing and not a person though. Golems were people, and Lilly was, I wouldn¡¯t draw the line at base programming. Everyone had some if you got creative, people were raised to hate others, like Clankers. Golems were just honest about functioning a certain way because they were programmed to act in specific ways.

    And honestly, in Lilly¡¯s case, she had less autonomy to change it than the rest of us too.

    ¡°I¡¯m hazy, at best,¡± she admitted, ¡°based on operational times I¡¯ve lost most of it. Though I know you were about to do something that is bound to hurt you¡­ again! Honestly can you just not do something borderline suicidal stupid for a few hours?¡±

    I kept the answer I felt back, time was on the line, and I couldn¡¯t afford a multi-minute argument over my borderline suicidal stupidity, or the luck that saved me.

    ¡°I can honestly say I wasn¡¯t doing something that dumb, just something dumb. So¡­ I would rather not create the same situation, would you like to think through a hypothetical situation with me for a moment instead?¡± I asked, hedging my bets on the idea that she rode the line on technicality a whole lot.

    ¡°Well¡­ I do like hypotheticals and mayhaps and all that junk. So shoot. Just as long as it stays hypothetical with very little detail on the circumstances,¡± she said, pointedly aiming that comment at me.

    I nodded as if she could see that and started off with, ¡°Got it, got it. So those dog things, they could cross through space or something, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes, evidently.¡± She agreed.

    So far, so good, I thought. ¡°And you mentioned seeing a forest¡­ Right?¡±

    ¡°Yesss¡­ I remember that,¡± she confirmed.

    ¡°Ok¡­¡± I said, dragging it out a second as I thought through my next words. I decided on, ¡°Do you think that was a talent? The bio-resonant things, you know, because they had nothing with them, no artifact stuff, they were just dogs, or dog monsters, or demons or whatever.¡±

    She huffed, ¡°Demons don¡¯t exist, they¡¯re just aliens¡­ And I suppose that¡¯s the most likely answer, some kind of advanced talent of some kind¡­ Who knows how that came about¡­ Sorry, I¡¯m getting off track here. Yes, I believe that¡¯s likely.¡±

    ¡°OK! OK. So, do you think they could go through a hole or whatever to the place with trees? They were seemingly safe after coming through the corners of the facility.¡±

    ¡°Yeh, they were safe, and I suppose if a hole led to the space with the forest, they could get there.¡± She agreed.

    And now, it got to the hard part.

    ¡°Total separate hypothetical, super different, how likely do you think it was that the talent thing I got was the same talent they have? I can feel the holes or whatever, what¡¯s your thoughts on that, and only that?¡±

    I was truly terrible at this, but while she sighed, she didn¡¯t start losing her mind.

    ¡°I suppose¡­¡± she said, very tired sounding, ¡°That is possible¡­ Generally, I would be able to tell for certain, but your new talent is alien, I can¡¯t figure it out with my understanding of biology. I can say that they follow patterns, and if it gives you the ability to see the holes or whatever, it probably does the same thing, but I can¡¯t confirm anything without testing it.¡± she said hesitantly.

    ¡°Ok¡­ So, would you say? Hypothetically. That someone with a similar talent, in a similar situation, would be able to hop over to the forest the same way the dogs would?¡±

    ¡°Hypothetically, they could try, but the dogs were also significantly harder to hurt, and if an alien was made to go through them, they¡¯re bound to be resilient to any detrimental side effects of doing it,¡± she told me.

    I was losing the thread, so I reached out with a question.

    ¡°It can¡¯t be that tight in there, there was all that goo that came out with them, remember? Fluid isn¡¯t compressible.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not all that I¡¯m talking about, and it could still damage you regardless because the pressure increases, and you are compressible. There are plenty more, though, not the least of which is insanity. There are some crazy things out there, and your shard isn¡¯t active to back you up and stop that,¡± she reminded me.

    A tiny wire in my head crossed at her words. One plus on equalled two, or more to the point twelve plus sixty-eight, plus at least four more dogs at eight a pop in the elevator was more than one hundred.

    ¡°I should have enough points now¡­ Right? Enough points to activate one of my shards? That would stop me from going crazy.¡±

    She started to say something and then stopped.

    ¡°That¡­ That would work well enough so long as you stayed in your current form, yes. I mean, hypothetically, someone like you could do it¡­ Insanity is a killer, its one of the reasons there are safeguards around special stuff when it¡¯s meant to break the rules,¡± she said.

    ¡°Do I want to know?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°No. Not right now. It¡¯s the bad kind of freaky. If you want me to give an example later, ask about the first and last physicist who witnessed an unshielded singularity¡­ As for your plan. It would probably work if you¡¯re sure you want that. I think it¡¯s good to stop talking in theory, my programming has stopped pinging me whenever I stop thinking about it as someone else,¡± she said, almost exhausted sounding.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad that worked out. And now we know more. Whenever it¡¯s sensitive, we can move to hypotheticals if it helps.¡± I told her before focusing on the point at hand.

    ¡°So! How do we do this?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Are you sure? This is un-reversible, 100 contribution points will be deducted from your currently held funds,¡± she told me, a little more mechanically than normal, ¡°You will-¡±

    I gave me a shiver, but I just said, ¡°Yes, buy it.¡±

    ¡°Activation code purchased. Activating in five¡­ four¡­ three. Two¡­ On-¡±

    I begin to fall.

    Slowly at first, but it started the moment Lilly said one and never finished it.

    I fell backwards towards the sand, and I didn¡¯t stop.

    The world started to pull in on me, the sky and all I could see moving, pulling in on me. The world stretching into a tunnel. The world started moving, wriggling in a way that made my skin itch. I could feel my body shuddering, a sudden heat in my head as I fell and fell.

    It was like falling into the mouth of some great beast.

    I was being eaten alive, falling into a writing, alien mouth so hot it was like a furnace.

    I could hear a whining noise as my skull started to vibrate, my brain trying to get out, jump out of my head and escape.

    I flailed wildly, reaching for guns that weren¡¯t there. I felt suddenly naked and defenceless. I wouldn¡¯t be able to fight my way out of the monster.

    The tunnel narrowed until I could feel the writing flesh of the maw around me until I could feel it bleed and squirm. Wearing me away, burrowing into my skin, reaching into me through holes it dug into me. It dug in and laid eggs in me, left behind parts of itself, and it started to grow and multiply.

    Now I was wiggling too, now I was bleeding flesh, and it crawled throughout me while I tried to suck in air so hot I could feel it burn me from the inside out. Huffing and puffing and feeling the need to scream while it curled through me, burrowing.

    Moving through me and then moving me, turning me silent as I stopped being able to move. I tried to cry, but I had no mouth to speak, no lungs to push air from, my tongue silent when probed into my head and tried to move it.

    Infesting my bones, they grew out through my meat and skin, through my pores and out of my breast, splaying me open so the outside could get inside. My legs, fusing together bone melting together then to the wall like I was a tongue. My arms stretched out, fingers splitting apart to bony meat tendrils, my forearm hinging open while the tentacles wrapped around my neck, through and out.

    My body curled backwards, smoothing like an organ, squick and fleshy and undesired.

    My beating heart encroached upon me while my body was rendered insensate, and all of my sensation was slowly checked out of me.

    The flesh melded into my heart, burrowing into the core of me while my body contorted into the dark, like a mouth, me its tongue, my heart came free and-

    I jerked out of my daze and fell to the ground, rolling, screaming, crying, Lilly shouting in my head to calm down.

    I tried to get a grip, tried to think through the visceral feeling of wanting to hurl, past the feeling of sudden, inexplicable terror at the series of nightmare-like images that had rolled through me. The feeling of my body was so real that my own body suddenly felt right, despite my thoughts on the matter.

    I was on my front, dry heaving, staring at my hands, my normal hands, which were choking me into silence, my legs free. My heart was thundering in my chest, my lungs sucking in air while I hyperventilated.

    ¡°Calm down, Jacalyn, just breathe. Breathe, and stop screaming.¡±

    I sucked in the air, a feeling of stress echoing through my body. A memory of a fight for my life that never happened.

    Deep stuttering inhales.

    My arms shook like leaves on a tree, and I gripped my hands, dragging my fingers through the sand and balling them into fists as I forced my body upright so I could stare into the sky, sitting on my knees.

    I wanted to ask her why she didn¡¯t tell me I was about to go through a fever dream so bad I was feeling the sensation even now of my heart lignifying as it was sucked from my body and down the maw of the monster.

    I wanted to shout, full of anxious energy in need of riding.

    Instead, I put the parts together.

    ¡°I cut you off before you could warn me¡­ didn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°Yup,¡± she told me.

    I took my grit and tried to get ahold of my legs.

    ¡°Well, on the pus- er, plus side. I don¡¯t think the holes will drive me crazy anymore,¡± I told her, letting out a few manic, heartless laughs.

    ¡°Atta girl,¡± Lilly said, ¡°try to not let the mania get to you, just try and get up. We need to get you to your hole before you have a second slip, and I have to make a joke at your expense¡­ Or sit you down with a therapist.¡±

    I didn¡¯t understand exactly what she meant there, but I tried to get to my feet.

    I folded back over to steady myself and levered one shaking leg under me. I pushed up, almost slipped, and steadied myself, hands outstretched, my breath deepening.

    I could feel the fat on my legs wiggle back and forth, and it revolted me, I could feel my chest heaving from my breathing and the wobble as I got my footing.

    I stood, took a step, and almost face-planted as my legs jerked, seizing like they were tapped out after running.

    I forced myself to move, moving my body one part at a time and putting a foot down, then another, then another.

    My legs became surer, the strength returning to my body as I caught my breath.

    When my voice calmed all the way enough I didn¡¯t sound like I was hyperventilating from the renewed effort, I asked Lilly seriously, ¡°How long did I waste?¡±

    I was expecting an amount of time that would give me anxiety at this point, but she just said, ¡°Two minutes? God, don¡¯t be so melodramatic. Now, are you going to start moving? Because if you want to shatter your own mind fucking with space and pulling yourself through impossible holes for whatever reason you were aiming for, we need to get going.¡±

    ¡°That. Is harder than you might expect right now. Though thank you for the enthusiasm, even though is fake,¡± I told her.

    But I did start, I checked out and focused on the second by second, automatically replying when asked stuff, getting my shit in order of priority, the lowest of which was anything other than getting off this cursed fucking rock. I managed to get my feet down properly, like a baby animal. A bipedal baby diplomat. Or was it peacekeeper?

    I couldn¡¯t remember at the moment; I had gone through too many little things today, and my brain was about ready to strike.

    Then I was present after a short time walking forward, and I started to try and run, and then I was running and running right, and I checked back in.

    ¡°I think I have the hang of running again,¡± I told her with some cheer I didn¡¯t feel.

    ¡°Well, good, because there are trees a bit further. Over there,¡± she told me, pinging the direction to my right and up.

    I looked up.

    And up because it was way too high off the ground.

    My head was about to think through something when I said, ¡°How high in the air can you get me?¡± before I even finished thinking about the idea.

    ¡°How high do we need?¡±

    It was-

    ¡°Twenty-five feet? Or thereabouts,¡± I told her again without finishing the thought.

    What the hell is with my mouth? I¡¯m supposed to have to think when I speak; otherwise, I¡¯ll say something stupid.

    But I didn¡¯t say that because Lilly was talking, and talking over people was rude.

    ¡°I can get you that high, just line it up and prepare to stick the landing because I don¡¯t want you breaking your ankle if you flub it,¡±

    ¡°I can do that,¡± I answered intentionally, lining up the jump, eyeballing distances, imagining where I would need to jump to get there if I could jump that high.

    ¡°Wait¡­ Wait¡­ NOW!¡± I said automatically while I dropped down into a deep step and kicked off the ground.

    The zing of power flowing through my skin kicked off the motion, flowing into the shoes, drinking up all the kinetic energy before I sprung forward, all of it and more kicking off into the ground.

    I hurtled through the air like a diver, only up, instead of down, until I got close, my height bringing my level. And then I began to drop while I hurtled forward.

    My hands snatched out for the spot, my fingers grasping as I fell lower and lower.

    My arms slammed out to the patch of thin air, and I held on tight as I got a grip on something that didn¡¯t exist.

 The Confine of a Cosmic Womb

    I was hanging in the open air, above a desert, holding onto thin air like it was the bottom of a doorway.

    ¡°That,¡± Lilly said, ¡°Is rather unbelievable.¡±

    I was straining my arms to hold on, but I had gotten to the point where I didn¡¯t know how to proceed from. I had literally jumped at the opportunity, and now I had run before I walked.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± I grunted out, ¡°I¡¯m a bit confused as to how this works. How are my arms so much weaker while being so much larger?¡±

    ¡°Most of the size is subcutaneous fat, not muscle. So, what are you doing? How are you going to get through? I can¡¯t see a way, but I can¡¯t feel a soft spot either.¡±

    I reached a hand up towards the rest of the soft spot to try and find a better handhold, and while I did, it felt different.

    The lower ledge felt like more of a solid thing to my mysterious sense, while the more central area felt more like¡­ More like a scab.

    Like a wound that had scabbed over, the edge was easy to grip, but the rest was a rough, bumpy barrier.

    I brought my hand back down, and with my other, more tired hand, I reached around to find the edge, looking to pick at the wound so I might crawl inside, and I passed a few moments by talking automatically.

    ¡°So, do you see anything here Lilly? You said you could see trees, what else can you see?¡± I asked her before my brain caught up to my mouth and continued, ¡°And why am I talking without thinking about it? Fill me in here, partner, its kind of freaking me out a bit.¡±

    I found the edge with my fingers, the feeling of the rough texture fading to a smooth, texture-less feeling right before finding the ¡®edge,¡¯ as it were.

    Less like a door, it was more like a window of some kind. Less the kind that you might put a pie on, and more a kind of barely recessed or more industrial kind.

    Could I fit up there?

    I felt around at the bottom to see if I had enough space, and Lilly started talking.

    ¡°Well. I can¡¯t feel all that much. The space here is all¡­ Wonky. I guess there''s a small fold or wrinkle here, but compared the everything else here, I wouldn¡¯t have picked it up,¡± she told me in a tone that told me she was unsure of what she was talking about.

    ¡°A like an edge or a corner?¡± I asked her once again without thinking.

    It was starting to trip me up as I felt around and almost let go, latching on with my fresh hand and beginning to check with my left again.

    It felt about right to stand on, though narrow it seemed to me like it was about four or five inches, and I would rather take four or five inches standing than hold myself up by one hand as my arms burned as if I had never lifted a weight before.

    ¡°Yes, in a way, though it is recessed,¡± she confirmed.

    ¡°Figures¡­ Stupid dogs. Stupid corners that float in the air.¡± I grunted as I started pulling myself up and in to offset my weight. When I was up I did my best to hold myself on one arm, and sent my other to the side, and pulled myself up. My feet fumbled uselessly before they found a purchase on the lip.

    It was a hard squeeze in the shallow little rectangle of space, and I had to crouch, but I found that I was more flexible right now than normal anyway, that and my low height made all the lower with the change was as much an aid as my useless curves were a detriment.

    It was incredibly tenuous, but I got my footing and found my point of balance. My shoes took to the ledge well, practically griping the invisible ledge on their own.

    ¡°Ohh Kay. So what about the talking bit,¡± I asked her intentionally before I followed it up automatically with, ¡°It''s honestly freaking me out, Lilly,¡± and it made me want to pull my hair out.

    I didn¡¯t like it one little bit. It was a further loss of control.

    I had already lost control over how I looked, even if it was for now, but now I was losing control over my speech.

    Lilly had told me that I was going to gain more control over myself, that I was going to be more aware of myself or whatever, but it felt like I was just¡­ losing what little I had to begin with. I had only ever had control over myself. It was all anyone ever had, and I didn¡¯t want to lose that.

    ¡°You¡¯re not speaking without thinking, you¡¯re now aware that you were always speaking that way. You¡¯re now aware of the way your subconscious has been weighing in. The difference has always been there, and now you can work on it, and make your subconscious conscious. The fact that you are aware of it while jarring will let you bring it under control.¡±

    She said it with intent in what I felt was an acknowledgement of my underlying question. It was minorly said to appease, but beyond that, it was also to try and calm me. I didn¡¯t understand what she meant by ¡®subconscious,¡¯ but I could ask her to explain it to me, she was getting better at explaining stuff, but the technical stuff still went over my head.

    Notably, she phrased her answer in a way that boiled down the jargon into you can control it with time. And that helped immensely with my edged out, overstimulated, recently nightmare-panic attack, fever dreamed ass immensely at the moment.

    I was solid, so I needed to focus on the task at hand. I could worry while I was dead, I had a job to do right now.

    I needed that kind of grounding; I could let it go and freak out when I was no longer planeside and had hours to burn. So, carefully and without haste, I reached out and found a stable place to try and grip the edge of the scab. My fingers found the edge, bumping into another solid point in the air and dragging back from the edge I found where the smooth reached the bumpy fibrous blockage and started picking at it, and turned my attention to Lilly.

    ¡°The part you were not aware of is not your mind but your brain, which houses the subconscious. Your brain can affect your meat mind, but not your gem and the gem forces your meat mind to follow in lockstep, which is what makes it so stark. You know it''s not your mind saying those things.

    She said it once again in a way that I could begin to interpret and attempt to respond to. An attempt to verify where she could yay or nay my understanding instead of trying to stick the totality of it in my head all at once. It was one of those back-and-forth things where she could critique me.

    ¡°Ok, let me see if I¡¯ve got that,¡± I told her, ponderingly as I inched my finger slowly under the scab, the smooth, skin-like space around it conforming around my hand in an almost unnerving way. ¡°So, two minds, I¡¯ve got two of those, the gem shaping the meat. I speak through my brain, and I didn¡¯t control that, so there''s a kind of missed extra communication that was always there, but I¡¯m now aware of so I can weigh in on it now that I¡¯m aware of it. I¡¯m missing context on the whole body, brain and mind bit, but can I assume it''s in the wibbly idea way instead of the literal body way?¡±

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    I asked her while I curved my hand in a cupping motion, my hand finding it hard to push beneath the jagged seam between smooth and rough, healthy and wound. It was grown out of the smoothness, a wall of growth that had grown out of the connective tissue of whatever space was.

    ¡°That¡¯s a good enough understanding to say you pass on that subject and yeee- yes, it is, as you put it, the wibbly way. A philosophical disembodied body, brain and mind. Your mind is your personality, you are conscious because you have an ego, and have a personality because you are conscious of your self and your memory.¡±

    I took that in and picked at the edge again, tracing the bits that hooked the wound shut like I was reaching out and trying to snap a thick strand of ossified meat fused to the boundary line by the wound¡¯s own ichor, a thin piece of plastic boarding from a wall.

    ¡°I think I get it, although my emphasis is on, I think. It¡¯s a bit fiddly, but I might be able to follow along if I remember it all,¡± I told her, my voice slipping in with an automatic, ¡°No offence, but I¡¯m a little focused on this scab.¡±

    I felt a very sudden part of the scab give way and grab onto the wall reflexively to steady myself. My hand pulled free a hunk of something, the sudden freeing of my hand from the crevice almost throwing me off the ledge. My free hand flailed, and that hunk of tissue quickly tumbled out of my hand and backwards, off into the desert.

    My breathing hitched as my body hung loose before I rapidly remembered how high I was off the ground and focused on remaining standing on the frame rather than falling headfirst into the dunes below.

    ¡°Th- That was close,¡± Lilly said, nervousness returning from below the surface of her words like the shadow of a leviathan beneath the fridged oceans of Remiel.

    ¡°You can say that again,¡± I told her automatically. ¡°God above, I hate that,¡± I said with intent as I levered myself back into place and back to the wound and more carefully pulled at the next strand, carefully pulling it free while Lilly got her head back on in the right direction.

    When I did, I found a handful of rapidly liquifying jelly, the same viscous goo that had accompanied the hounds when they came through their corners.

    I chucked the foul goo away and reached back in while carrying on our little conversation about my new motor mouth, which had gotten sidetracked into the underpinning of my mind in a fantastic display of Lilly wanting to teach me something.

    I kept pulling and pulling, and bit by bit, I broke away at the seam, opening a wound along the side of reality.

    It didn¡¯t take long, not really. Desperation gave me a manic, unrelenting energy that helped me push through the tired strain of my arms.

    We were bickering about Lilly getting sidetracked into how the shards beyond self-connected, Lilly finding it harder and harder to explain.

    I pulled, shifting my arm back and felt the scabby cover move and ever so minor flexing.

    Withdrawing my hand, goo coating it up to my elbow, I bent myself into a shape, flicked the goo off as well as I could before, with my back between the frame and the soft, I put both of my arms into the hole, and flexed.

    It was like trying to roll a boulder with a plank of wood, levering the soft spot with my body like a meaty crowbar against the well-affixed scab.

    I lightened my pushing and got some breath in before nearly suffocating, and then did it again before I passed out.

    Each push felt like it did almost nothing. But the other edges, like a patch on some cloths you kept messing with, loosened, the flexing getting slightly more impressive each time.

    Once again, catching my breath and panting, I took a deep breath and put my entire body into it. It flexed an inch, then four, then almost a foot. I could hear the beating of my heart in my ears, my body hot enough to cook on, sweat rolling down my body in a futile attempt to cool me down.

    I could feel a vein in on my forehead swelling, my brain felt lightened, the blood rushing through it so hard and quick that not enough air was getting used.

    My head lightened further as I got to a foot and a few inches, and beyond that, my head started to feel heavy.

    The scab stalled as I pushed, the cover straining against my incredibly lacking physical strength.

    And then there was a snap, followed by more and more in rapid succession.

    The scab flew free, a wall of goo shooting off before thumping into the sand and kicking up dust.

    I almost fell right over with it, one and flying out in either direction to grab ahold of the frame I stood in my body handing out over open air where I got to suck in air, the headrush a welcome sensation.

    I pulled myself back in so I wouldn¡¯t fall, face first into a dune and snap my neck, and turned said neck and the head is held on to look over.

    Open to the world, and even to my eyes, was a closed vertical slit that oozed the clear goo, about as tall as I was, the same as all of the other ones I had seen the dogs use, just with no dog coming through to bite me. My hand was on one of the folds.

    It was an odd sight, the difference between seeing and kind of feeling it was stark.

    I pulled back the fold, and the ooze flowed out like a cannon, a geyser, a wall of juice flowing out into the desert like a broken water vein, just thick with ick and light by the phantasmal inner light that wasn¡¯t light.

    I held it open for twenty or so seconds until it ran low.

    And then, once it ran low and was more a drool, I closed up my buttons and secured my belongings before I pulled the wound as wide as I could, and moving carefully in front of it, I very carefully pushed my hand into the hole.

    There were no teeth, no sudden bite or attack, so hesitantly, I pushed in like I was about to pull myself into a tunnel. I bowed my head down and in alongside my hands before I started to pull myself in.

    Most of the journey through was a blur from there, the force of the tunnel ever present, the goo that surrounded me surprisingly warm like I was inside a womb. I remember lights, every colour of the rainbow, shining into my eyes, and beyond that, it was just a fever dream again, sensation and nonsense that made my mouth scream automatically, the pull of the tube drawing me in. I stopped needing to be pulled forward, it became more like it was pulling me, contracting to push me forward.

    I could hear my voice in the tube from how I was screeching, the voice not mine, but from my lips. The lights swirled, and I got faster and faster, the feeling of being crushed increased, but also became soothing and pleasurable, like a great big full-body hug that made me have a full body tingle.

    The lights rolling over me started to go from warm to cool, reds and yellows past green to violet-purple blues.

    It felt like I was going crazy, my body moving on its own, screeching and screaming like its own thing, dancing to a song like when I had swallowed the phantasmal rock.

    And somewhere between that point, with the strobing colour and the pressure and my body flailing like I was dying, I was lying on some grass, looking up at the base of a tree covered in steaming ooze, having been birthed anew from a rapidly closing cosmic coochy.

    There were impressions that stayed, but nothing that made any sense.

    ¡®Lilly? You still here?¡± I asked, moving to sit up.

    I was, in fact, in the forest I had seen, long rows of trees, nearly artificially straight. Grass along the ground and shrubbery all over.

    A little verdant oasis.

    ¡°Yes. Yes, I am still here,¡± she told me very calmly before yelling, ¡°And you are so lucky you listened! Because your brain has been in the process of unscrambling itself! For four Minutes.¡±

    ¡°How long was I out, or, it the tube or whatever?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°You came out before you finished getting in, you madwoman, you basically crawled in before walking out through a door and then passed out while talking in a language I couldn¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know any other languages,¡± I told her.

    ¡°That does not make it any better!¡± she shouted.

    I raised my hands in surrender, ¡°Ok! Okay! I surrender. I¡¯m glad I listened to your suggestion.¡±

    ¡°Damn straight!¡± she said before making a sound like she was taking a deep breath, sucking air down into her nonexistent lungs.

    I also did, just kind of sitting on the ground, arms propping me up as I took a few breaths and oriented myself, mentally checking my faculties to figure out if I had left anything behind, but I couldn¡¯t think of anything.

    I looked up and found the weak point, sealing back up, barely a crack of it still visible, leaking its odd light through a crack, like a closed door. And second, by second, the light faded away, back into an invisible scabbed-over wound in the world.

    ¡°Do you know if we¡¯re at least closer to the ship?¡± I asked her, watching it seal over.

    She sighed, ¡°Yes, yes we are, its over there,¡± she said, pinging behind me.

    I stood, turning and taking a look.

    Far off, way off in the distance, I could see a shape that was not like the others, a shape that didn¡¯t belong in nature and whose tan colour might as well be bright neon pink in the lush greenery.

    ¡°Oh, thank god. let''s get the hell off of this shit hole.¡±

 Home Stretch

    The junker, my sweet, beaten-up piece of shit ship, was a sight for my sore eyes. The olive green, scuffed and chipped from years of use, its paint having been chipped for longer than I had been alive, the Junker a venerable elder, a rallying call, and the starting pistol I needed to just start sprinting towards its form in the distance.

    I started sprinting on my wobbly legs, my brain barely firing fast enough to carry my legs forward in time to not slip and smash myself face first lethally into the ground.

    I kept my eyes on the ground and in front of me to make sure I wouldn¡¯t trip over any roots or run into a tree and splat like a bug on a windshield.

    Its safety, and seemingly not of fire or destroyed silhouette, told me that it was undamaged, unlike my late bike.

    ¡°Rest in peace, bike; I will miss the jank you brought to my life,¡± said out loud as I hurled myself towards my getaway.

    ¡°Your habit of talking too yourself aside¡­ You should probably slow down a little. You¡¯re liable to smash into the ship at 60 mph, and I would rather not see you reduced to strawberry jam on the side of your ship,¡± she said.

    I hadn¡¯t even realized how fast I was going, but I adjusted my speed, slowing my springy stride down so I could more easily stop when I got there.

    ¡°What? You can''t reconstitute me from red paste? What good is a copy of my consciousness if you can''t bring me back from the dead? Also, a side note: what the hell is strawberry jam? What kind of berry is a straw berry?¡±

    ¡°No, I can''t,¡± she told me pointedly, ¡°well¡­ I can¡¯t right now¡­ It takes a lot of equipment, it is just¡­ Not good, you know? You would be body-jacking a random clone. Imagine what you would feel like if I took total control over your body and just left you stuck in your own head. And what the hell do you mean, what is strawberry jam? That¡¯s the most popular jam, at least, the most popular that I know of.¡±

    If that wasn¡¯t enough to give a normal person whiplash, I didn¡¯t know what would. But in a moment of insight, I let the first chunk get worked on in the background and let my motor mouth go after the second.

    It was a bit subpar, letting me do the work of breaking that information down while also paying attention to my speed and thinking about the other part, but it was better than derailing everything into ethics, which only ever seemed to go round and round.

    ¡°Strayberry sounds like some kind of artisanal jam. I¡¯ve always liked redberry jam; it goes well on almost everything. And it¡¯s super cheap, and it lasts for, like, forever. I don¡¯t know what they put in it, but it gets cranked out of a bioreactor, so it can''t be that bad,¡± my voice spoke, giving Lilly my dubious answer.

    Lilly was outraged at my lack of quality, but as the minutes went on, we got closer and closer to my final destination.

    I could be practically itching to get into the junker, the first place that felt safe on this god-forsaken planet. It grew larger as I sped towards it like a rocket, legs numb and buzzy from the crawl and burning from exertion, my heart unable to carry air fast enough with my ragged breath. It took about five minutes of back and forth to get there.

    But when I did, we were arguing about how stupid the name strawberry was.

    ¡°Listen, Listen. It¡¯s not my fault that some idiot named a berry after chaff, ok? Redberry is descriptive, what would a strawberry even taste like based on its name?¡± I argued.

    ¡°Like a red berry!¡± she shouted, ¡°Redberry is just a conglomeration of redberry flavours! You like strawberries, you just don¡¯t know it because you¡¯re eating food that¡¯s made using industrial levels of flavour compounds and microplastic! Also, we¡¯re here, so stop arguing with me and just get your plastic-filled meat suit in your deathtrap so you can die exploding as you leave orbit in this boat instead of down here.¡±

    I huffed, ¡°Damn straight. If I¡¯m going to die, it will be by my own hand as my ship explodes from my failure to maintain it, and not by aliens that might take me alive on a haunted planet that should be glassed as soon as possible,¡± I told her as I came within the clearing, slowing down step by step until I was down to walking speed.

    There were a lot of weak points, stretched at odd angles and centring on a point above the door of my ship as if it were a mouth.

    ¡°There¡¯s a direct way in, right? I don¡¯t need to breach a weak point. Because I would rather not, as¡­ pleasant as it was, I have no way of knowing where any of them go.¡±

    ¡°There is a gap around that panel thing on the side¡­ The other side of the ship. You will need to get on top of the ship and kind of slip over.¡±

    I moved over to the other side, and about half of it was pressed through a gaping wound. A wall of bruised space and scabbed-over goo seemed to cut the wing down to the belly of the boat off. The second I looked into the Junker, I was met with nothing, the desolate gravel wasteland stretching out beyond where you would expect the insides of the boat to be.

    ¡°That is¡­ Trippy¡­ Well, I guess I''ll get to it then. Give me a boost, yeh? I need to get up.¡±

    I moved and hopped up onto the nose, the black glass reflecting my image back to me and making me quiver in revulsion at my image. Two tones of brown instead of black, one darker one lighter, tan skin instead of pale, the wrong eyes, thick proportions that gave me a round shape instead of my sharp, lean frame.

    It made me want to hurl, but I looked away instead and made my way up and around, Lilly pinging over and over to guide me to a tiny sliver. I shimmied in foot first before holding the edge before dropping in, landing in a crouch before I made my way in, checking my watch and dialling the time in for the code and crossing my fingers that it was right.

    Then, I updated the code a few times until I found the right one.

    My watch had been off by twenty minutes, which stressed me a little, but I had gotten here far faster than I had expected to.

    The door clanked down, the clock ticked on, and I scrabbled in, shutting the door behind me before I ran my ass up to the chair.

    I stripped as fast as possible, only to be met with the issue of my suit not fitting, so I threw it on because I didn¡¯t need it unless I lost pressure, and I would rather lose pressure and die than remain down here.

    I threw my clothes back on and made my way up to the cockpit, and the first thing I did was wake the engines up.

    There was an audible growing complaint, the Junker letting out a hum growl of anger that rumbled through the metal frame and into the compartments.

    Then, I did my pre-flight, going down the checklist.

    Lilly complained when I pulled out a slide ruler and started doing a bit of math on how fast I had to fly, and she almost gagged at the ¡°barbaric calculator,¡± but I did it anyway.

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    I knew where I was, and I knew where I came from and found the travel time at my top speed.

    Forty-five minutes, ten more to get up, and ten more to get to orbit. I didn¡¯t know if that was right or if I was going to stick to the schedule, but that was what I was working with.

    I started planning it out while I finished getting the old sour boat ready to fly, and then I started taking off.

    I felt an ever-increasing level of nerves as I lifted off, watching to ensure I didn¡¯t pitch back into the trees and die horribly because my hands were twitching.

    Landing gear came in, and I punched it the second I got above the treetops, cutting the engines as junker picked up speed and caught air underwing, pushing the throttle up and up as I made my way to the heading I had come in at, and crossing my fingers¡­ I let the junker do the work, the treetops flying by under us.

    ¡°Sometimes, I wish I had a button that would make me feel like I was doing something,¡± I said without thinking about it.

    ¡°You could pass the time with me now that it¡¯s mostly out of your hands,¡± she pointed out.

    ¡°That. Does not help,¡± I pointed out to her.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± she asked leadingly.

    Stupidly, I took the bait.

    ¡°YES! I hate not having control over what I¡¯m doing. I don¡¯t like letting the universe take the wheel if I can take it, but talking doesn¡¯t help me regain control of the situation.¡±

    ¡°Jokes on you. I know you don¡¯t like losing control, but now you''re bickering with me anyway. Now, you are losing control of the conversation. Come on, come on and fight me verbally, C- Coward.¡±

    She said it with enough sincerity that I could kiss her right up until she stuttered, which made me want to kiss and bully her in equal measure. Not harshly, mostly just teasing her a little. What could I say? The little idiot was growing on me.

    ¡°Are you challenging me¡­ To make me feel better? Is this some kind of Gremlin reverse psychology nonsense?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± she said.

    ¡°Are you gaslighting me?¡±

    ¡°NO. I¡¯m not gaslighting you¡­ I¡¯m just gaining ground.¡±

    I watched our location, plotting out how I was going to do this, half letting myself answer automatically and half putting a little effort into it.

    And as much as it solved nothing, bickering helped a little. It was something to keep my mind off of it for the better part of thirty minutes, it was something that I could do beyond holding us on course. And all the while, the orbital engines continued to warm up, their rumble of displeasure, an ever-present drone in the background of the ship.

    ¡°Lilly, we''re getting close to the point where we''re about to go up.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Yes, we are, I can see that... I don¡¯t actually know that. I don¡¯t have eyes, but I¡¯ll take you at your word.¡±

    ¡°Ok. So, can you tap into the radios?¡±

    ¡°Yes? I certainly think I can. Why?¡±

    ¡°Can you use them? Because if you can, I need you to figure out if we¡¯re lined up with the exit, and incase the collector is outside waiting to kill us. I would rather know and take my chances.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re starting to freak me out, Jacalyn.¡±

    I watched as we got to the point where we needed to start climbing, and I reached out and laid my hand on the throttle for the surface to orbit thrusters.

    ¡°Yeh¡­ Well. This ship is older than my parents, and I¡¯ve only ever done this like¡­ once? So this is like a 50/50 of we explode and die, or were good.¡±

    ¡°We should be able to climb¡­ Right? We can just climb until we reach high orbit, sure-¡±

    ¡°And a one and a t-¡± I cut her off, not even finishing two before I angled up and pushed the thrust all the way into the red.

    There was a ticking click click click like a barbeque igniter before there was a cacophonous whoomph that was three parts feeling, and one part all the air draining from my lungs.

    I barely locked the steering before I was hurled into the chair.

    I could barely breathe as the bottom half of my ship screamed and screamed. In the distance, the tremulous clouds above the forest whipped into place from thin air as I drew further and further from the surface. They swirled from whisps to thunderous clouds to a nebula of crackling lightning that blotted out the light.

    Lilly was making confused stutter noises and panicking and trying to explain gravity to me or something, but I was too busy focusing on forcing air into my lungs to focus on anything else.

    The ship glittered, and I could hear the complaint of metal screaming from the stress all the way up in the cockpit. I could imagine the engine, its old bolts juddering and crying from the strain of keeping the engine from blasting up into the ship.

    I couldn¡¯t quite put the effort of crossing my fingers into action, but I could wheeze, ¡°Lilly¡­ Radio,¡± before I went back to breathing.

    And then we slammed up into the clouds, and the ships screaming picked up pace, an orange glow forming around the nose of the Junker.

    The spread as we shot up through the cloud, spreading like some kind of fungus over a wet pipe, glowing from radiation or some awful, unremembered chemical spill. Twenty seconds into the cloud, the fire had covered the entire front of the ship.

    Forty and the nose was reddening, sixty and the metal was red hot, and I sat by and breathed and acclimatized to it.

    Thirty seconds later, when the metal of the cockpit was starting to get warm, the fire snuffed out, and I was face to face with an approaching wall of light so bright it was blinding and metal that I could barely see, and with Lilly, a ping that told me to change direction.

    I thrust my hands out and unlocked the controls, grappling the wheel and holding on with all my might, pulling the wheel as best as I could, lining myself up with the beep as best as I could, blind to everything, blinking the spots out of my eyes.

    The darker objects came into more focus, the blink of the spinning lights visible, as was what appeared to be the ship aimed at a dark spot with a shrinking ring of light around it.

    I lined my ship up as best as I could while Lilly panicked and told me that everything was clear and I held the wheel as the junker screamed at full blast up, up and through the hole. The only note that told me we had made it was the shrieking of metal, so loud it left me deaf for a moment before suddenly ending, leaving only a light ring in the hull and a sudden lack of oomph as presumably whatever part of the junker that was torn away killed the engine.

    I closed my eyes and held every part of my body tense. Waiting for the cold vacuum of the void to pour in and smother me like a crewman on the Titanica.

    But it never came.

    I opened my eyes, and I was met with¡­ Not death.

    We had made it.

    We were free of the confines of the planet, in the clear, and in the vast vacuum of space. I had done it. I had dived out of the coffin moments before it slammed shut and left me to die from horrifying nightmares on the surface.

    The lightness of my body was almost more comfortable than my body. The foe weight sensation of my magnetic shoes that held my feet down was more familiar than the weight of a planet the size of The Throne had exerted, and it was freeing.

    ¡°I love it up here. And fuck that god-forsaken hell hole. In fact, I¡¯m just going to say it right now: I am never, ever, going back down there ever again, not for any reason,¡± I told Lilly.

    ¡°I can honestly say that I agree with you on that, I would much rather be up here. It''s very¡­ I don¡¯t know, stuffy? It''s radio silent, just a lot of noise and junk. Up here is much better, especially with the receivers on your ship,¡± she said, metaphorically and somewhat literally taking a large breath of fresh air.

    We sat there for what had to have been twenty million years, but was by my watch twenty minutes, filled with idle chatter as we just drifted through the void of outside. The main engine silenced as the sub engines on a low warmup hum, hoping that they still worked and I wasn¡¯t a sitting duck, waiting for rescue while also waiting for some forgotten bulkhead I hadn¡¯t checked in a few months to blow out and kill me, but it never happened.

    The normal engines hummed, though it was wobbly; the main engine was dead. I would have to check it, but it was not responding.

    ¡°So¡­¡± I asked her, my head pounding from my racing heart, ¡°What''s next? I mean, I don¡¯t really have anything beyond escape to think about, and I don¡¯t have much to do, not in the immediate sense. I feel a bit lost,¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Lilly hedged, ¡°We could start with getting you back to normal, I¡¯m sure that would help a little. And you are in a safe¡­ It is a safe-ish, familiar place, so it''s not like it would throw you off now, and it''s not like it would kill you any more to change. If anything, you could get back in your suit so you can not die immediately.¡±

    Her words brought to mind the very immediate and uncomfortable feeling of my current body, how it felt like it wasn¡¯t me. The tingle of unease it brought to me at the very thought of my form. I was stuck in the wrong form, and it was itching far more than I thought it should.

    ¡°God, yes, please. I want that; I can¡¯t stand this flabby body. How quickly can I get back like that right now¡­ and what will that be like? Getting back to normal¡­ You said it would be quick, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes, it is almost instantaneous. It just requires a lot of energy, which you have now that you¡¯ve been not spending it on running or shooting and whatnot,¡± she told me.

    ¡°Okay then¡­ I guess¡­ Let¡¯s get this on the road then. Bring my old body back, Lilly. At least with that done, I can check the boat and maybe lower the pressure.¡±

    ¡°OK. In three¡­ Two¡­ One¡­ Stttt- fuck it, you know what I¡¯m doing.¡±

    And, in a flash of light, everything changed, and my body and brain were mine again, and I had a very sudden and terribly uncomfortable realization that I had not been quite myself.

 Nightmare of the Self

    The change was instantaneous, but I could feel every moment, every piece and parcel of it. Every fibre of my being hummed all at once, the uniform hum of it making my body feel like a tuning fork. There was a build-up of heat from the tone that permeated my body that brought it to a warm, but not uncomfortably hot, temperature. The heat rapidly brought with it the feeling of a building pressure, an indigestion not of the gut but of all of my body, an internal swell of every cell, from my skin to bone to brain.

    I could feel my body shifting as the heat rapidly built and began to be expelled in a soothing stream of familiar, ethereal light. It shone through my skin, building and building in intensity as the heat in me grew higher and higher until I could feel sweat forming on my brow until the pressure of my body built to a sensation between the pleasant pain of a stretch and the jittering rush of release from pleasure. It built to a breaking point, a sudden crest to a wave of heat, and the heat snapped out of me as a brilliant flash of light that rivalled the birth of a star.

    All the while, beneath the light and pressure and heat, my body changed. I grew a numbed sense in my body and barely felt the bone growing suddenly, the shift of it up from my collarbone, forming my familiar subdermal neck guard. My skin smoothed and soft and grew to its dryer, rougher texture, a feeling of greater solidity that permeated down into my muscles as they lost their extra flexibility. I felt the fat melt away, my legs thinning, my chest lightening, though where it melted into, I had no idea.

    My hair suddenly tingled and tangled into my familiar mess of hair, and the feeling ran down into my scalp, and down into my head and spine and into my eyes.

    And from skull and spine it vibrated into my head and around one of two spots that did not vibrate. A small, pea-sized shape within the inner meat of my lower brain and a paper-thin shadow between my gut and groin where the race of energy had originated.

    And as it crested and echoed within my brain in a tingle, I could feel it change.

    And just as soon as it came, it was gone, and my brain and body were returned to my pre-green goo form. It was objectively less than a second before the flash rushed out soundlessly, and I was suddenly met with a horrifying conclusion.

    I had just escaped a living nightmare, escaped a planet that scared me more than the idea of getting a hole through my head with an Artifact that spoke to me in my head. I had been stabbed in the back, stolen from and left to die, and somehow, I had been more focused on politeness, on convincing Lilly, in the same way, I would approach an attempt to change my situation by going into a fight.

    I had become¡­ Placative. Soft.

    I had temporarily buried my roiling anger, reaching for conversation instead of the firey loci of my unbelievable fury and the theft and betrayal I had faced from the Collector.

    My mind¡­ no, my brain, had been different. The feeling of reading into the conversation and the ability to let myself drone on intentionally without thought was distanced, not gone, so much as behind a pane of tinted mental glass. I felt like I could feel the disconnect, but it was more¡­ discordant and fuzzy.

    It had been me, it was just a facet where I embarrassed communication and wanted to hold hands and sing kumbaya like a soft little shit, confused the moment I had no move immediately given to me.

    And that scared the shit out of me.

    ¡°FFuck! What the fuck was that? Lilly, what the fuck was with me?¡±

    ¡°You were your persona, your polite social mask, that¡¯s why I recommended you transform back before you begin making long-term decisions, it''s about how to portray yourself and interact with others, but it isn¡¯t your self, you are now your self,¡± she said with what I thought was intentional calm but was no longer quite sure of.

    ¡°What the hell does that even mean!¡± I shouted, not caring that I sounded petulant, not caring that I sounded like a winey asshole as I did it.

    ¡°God, you are sometimes very hard to work with. Your brain was changed, tuned to be more aware of your social acumen and the way you would come off. You have now changed back to yourself, both your normal brain chemistry and using your inactive self-shard. Your transformations change your body, which changes your brain, your back to your normal abrasive self, instead of thinking before you speak, now breath.¡±

    I took it in and barely used a fucking iota of my head space that was overflowing with the urge to track down, throttle and skin the collector before turning him into a living warning on why you don¡¯t fuck with a mercenary, and you abso-fucking-lutely didn¡¯t fuck around and leave loose ends, because I was a fucking loose end, and I was going to fucking end every living thing between him and me if I had to make the system burn for it.

    ¡°Why the hell didn¡¯t you tell me? Why is that even a thing? What the fuck is the point of that? Why did you hide that?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t tell you because you would have just accepted it while keeping it inside like a fucking time bomb, it¡¯s a thing to help you manipulate others when violence would cause issues, and I didn¡¯t! I¡¯m copying you! I¡¯m doing it right now, I was doing it before, and I will continue doing it in every situation you find yourself in because III¡¯m a fucking copy of your ego with your female traits knocked up a notch. So don¡¯t go bitching at me when your angry at another thing way more than you are at me because I know you''re fucking furious at the fucking Collector and his tripe, supervillain bul- bullshit.¡±

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    I opened my mouth and began to spit out a retort that was so instinctive it had to be automatic when Lilly continued, ¡°Don¡¯t even start; I already know what you''re going to say. I am, in a way, a copy of a part of your subconscious mind, with extra knowledge incorporated into it. The other parts include one corresponding to each of your forms and my opposite, all of which is still you. You have a lot of moving parts because you need a lot of tools to work on your own and keep your incredibly complex mind stable. So, for the love of everything, that¡¯s good! CALM THE FUCK DOWN! FOR TWO FUCKING SECONDS! AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD BREATH!¡±

    She spoke with so much force in my head that my brain short-circuited for a moment, and she paired it with a tiny shock from my core that sprinted through my body and loosened my muscles a little. Both paired together turned me off and on again like a light switch. And, of course, the first thing I did while my mind booted up was breathe, and good god, did it help my screaming, angry lungs from the feeling of implosion they were undergoing.

    My mind whirled, and I scrambled down, got into my coat pockets, got a cigarette out, placed it in my mouth, and lit it. I breathed in as I turned off my lighter and quickly got over to the vent to let the smoke find its way out. I closed my eyes and listened to the crackle as the flame ate down the tip, and I sucked down stimulant and exhaled anxiety.

    I had never heard her swear like that. It was a wall of cussing that was so against the internal image I had of her that I was stunned into twenty seconds of silence while I sucked in the smoke, pulling it deep into my lungs steadily before exhaling an expanding plume of grey.

    Each inhale and exhale gave me time to turn back on and time to breathe. My heart, a rapidly pounding drumbeat of blood, slowed in my veins, the heat of it suddenly turning cold as it faded. I could feel my arm twitch, and I finished it and put it out, rubbing the butt out on the counter before tossing it with the other butts, a little bit of burnt-down paper ends I had fashioned from an anti-fire bin for oil rags.

    ¡°Are you back from your almost panic attack? Because I can try to use that charge I used to try and relax you further. While I am sorry for not explicitly telling you about your brain chemistry being affected. But I want you to know, I didn¡¯t do it; it''s just part of being a legionnaire.¡±

    I let her words settle in, and I had to admit, it took what little pep I had out of my stance.

    ¡°I don¡¯t even remember the joining bit,¡± I told her, letting my mind ramble around its dark corners.

    ¡°You accepted my aid in gaining revenge against the man that almost killed and your life for five years of service and the duty to uphold the law. Considering there''s likely no one around who can order you unless you stumble into situations blindly, you should be ok.¡±

    Ohh boy. That was the exact kind of thing that got me into a mess.

    ¡°That was absolutely an omen of what was to come; with my luck, I am now going to bounce around for the next five years getting caught up in a whole load of trouble,¡± I mused, ¡°And I¡¯m not going to be able to get out of it. Am I?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said, ¡°I am obliged to keep you on track and upholding your duties if they¡¯re required,  which would basically amount to me nagging you, but I can honestly tell you that it will give you more points, and they can be used for more than just unlocking your shards so its worth it to just go along with it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll let that salve my fears of getting stuck every six feet because I¡¯m cursed to have an interesting life.¡±

    We had a pause come between us then that slowly grew longer and longer as we both thought that through, but I broke the silence first.

    I sighed, ¡°Where are we going? I think the thrust is borked, I need to get to dry dock it for a fuck load of repairs, then we need to hunt down the fucker, and kill him, and he could be gone at this point. I have no clue where he is¡­ And I need to make sure my fucking money is secure because I don¡¯t trust him to have not fucked me over,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Luna,¡± she said immediately, ¡°This thing is a deathtrap, and if you want to move between planets without turning into space debris, you need a proper ship, and to get some more tech, and the closest place that had a Legion shipyard is Luna. Luna herself runs it, so we should be able to access a proper ship to go between planets, and you can ask her to check where he went. And before you ask about it, I¡¯m sure we can get one that can hold this mobile primitivistic suicide box you call a ¡®boat.¡¯¡±

    ¡°It stresses you out, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°YES! Yes, it does. I get it, I think. You like broken stuff for some god-awful reason, but I will mother you until you at least get it fixed by a professional or get a proper vessel that¡¯s unlikely to fucking end our collective existence.¡±

    ¡°I can understand that,¡± I told her, ¡°And while I respect your opinion, it''s my goblin cave, not a man cave, and my rules are law.¡±

    ¡°As the goblin in this relationship, I will push you into making good decisions by pressuring you and getting inside your head if I need to.¡±

    ¡°You know what? I don¡¯t know how to feel about you anymore, Lilly. On one hand, you were adorable, and now you are kind of weirdly my type, and that makes me uncomfortable.¡±

    ¡°We both know your friends with benefits with your hands; you have already been with yourself, and I¡¯m just more of that.¡±

    ¡°That,¡± I told her, ¡°Is not helping; now I¡¯m going to go set our course and then pretend like you''re not in my head for a few hours and take a cold shower.¡±

    ¡°Sure, sure. Now get out from underfoot; I¡¯m working, you weirdo¡­ You''re distracting me from my anger.¡±

    I got my ass back up to the cockpit and set our course, and then, despite what I said, I sat there and zoned out.

    My mind had changed, my brain had changed, but my body was the worst part, worse than the chemicals in my brain or having a tiny chunk of whatever a soul gem was. The worst part was the lack of reason for my dislike of my body.

    And why didn¡¯t my real body feel¡­ better? It wasn¡¯t distasteful or revolting, but my current form felt¡­ disconnected. And I didn¡¯t know how to feel about that. One part of me wanted to ask her more, learn more about this possibly horrifying situation, but I wouldn¡¯t go digging through it, I didn''t feel like I had the energy to after the fear, anger and panic. Lilly had saved my life, it wasn¡¯t her fault that I agreed to a deal that caused it, and now had an issue with something that had been made far before her creation¡­ Birth? Conception? Fabrication? Whichever the word for it was.

    I didn¡¯t think she was being malicious, but she had a side that was far beyond a golem that made it feel hard to trust, the part of her that had come out down on the ground. It had been so cool and distant that her claim of not being a person made a horrible fragment of sense. She was still a person, but that part of her unnerved me.

    How much of my freedom had I traded away¡­ And how long would I need to go before I felt whole? Where would this nightmare of my identity end, or would whatever changes have overcome me never abate.

 Blockade

    ¡°There appears to be a situation,¡± Lilly chimed to me while I had a spoon in some canned rations that made spam look like fine dining.

    I had spent the last few days floating through the void, the feeling of incorrectness not receding with the time I had spent in relative isolation. Even when I would chat with Lilly from time to time, I was a bit soft, and she gave me my space. Even with her rougher manners, a mirror of my own, she cared, and that mattered to me a whole hell of a lot.

    So her sudden words didn¡¯t register for a moment. My sleepy, caffeine-free mind was not picking up what she was putting down.

    It certainly didn¡¯t help that I still didn¡¯t feel like myself. Or, more accurately, my ¡®self,¡¯ and to fix that, I would need to get all of my soul shards activated in order for my ¡®self¡¯ to feel whole, which had led me to be a bit sulky for quite some time.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong this time? Is the ship leaking? Come on, don¡¯t leave me hanging like this.¡±

    I had to ask. The big crunch had, in fact, damaged my ship enough that we needed to slow down lest we summon the great raddling of two days hence, where the ship almost jettisoned the remains of the orbital fuel tank out of the back of my boat from the constrain strain of engines accelerating the Junkers poor crumpled frame.

    That, in theory, could be done without lethal depressurization, but considering the tank was bent sideways, its leaving would have necessitated the back of the craft leaving with it, internal pressure included.

    That stunt lost us quite a few days. I would need to limp the Junker back to Luna for repair, and then I could continue on my way. And I sure as shit would because I had a goal I needed to see through.

    Just the one and it made me seethe in incompetent rage whenever I thought about the smug look I would knock off the collector''s face. For sweet vengeance, I would make him rue the day he fucked with me, even if it was the last thing I did.

    ¡°The ship has not suddenly become more of a death trap than it was before. It is more¡­ Well, I dddon¡¯t know how to tell you this, but Luna has been blockaded.¡±

    I blinked at the wall with a spoon full of food adjacent to nutrient goop in my mouth, and then dropped it, the food floating in the air without the magnetic gravity equivalent I had. Before it clunked into anything, I was halfway to the cockpit.

    Stomping up the stairs and practically hurtling myself into the chair, I started taking in the situation, squinting to take in the hard-to-make-out shape amongst the stations and domes.

    ¡°I can¡¯t quite see it right. There''s too much stuff; what am I looking at?¡±

    ¡°There are currently five major ships in orbit above Luna, each fanned out above the central hub where Luna is housed. Radio chatter I¡¯m picking up is telling me that the moon is currently undergoing¡­ Well, to take a term out of your vocabulary, gunboat diplomacy.¡±

    ¡°But that makes no fu- No sense! There¡¯s no way Luna is going to fold over five ships. Where are the stations? Why aren¡¯t they holding it? And there¡¯s no way a fucking Archangel is just going to roll over and die.¡±

    ¡°She wouldn¡¯t,¡± Lilly said simply, ¡°They would just kill everyone else. The orbiting stations are currently displaying an allegiance to the blockade. They¡¯re¡­ Well¡­ They¡¯re talking about surrendering to empire forces currently.¡±

    I took that in for a good moment and then, remembering the Collector''s talk on the emperor.

    I pressed my palms into my forehead as I resisted the urge to have a fucking conniption before I slapped both of my cheeks, took a deep breath, and asked, ¡°Lilly. In your professional opinion, how bad is this going to set us back when it comes to fixing the Junker?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡± Lilly started with the energy she usually held for an overcomplicated explanation, ¡°That depends. It''s entirely possible that you can go down and leave unmolested¡­ Though I somehow doubt it. Landing should be fine, assuming you can get down there without being blown out of the sky, but leaving will be much harder...¡±

    ¡°Gotcha¡­ Why do I hear more? What''s the rest of it, then? Come on then, don¡¯t leave me hanging here,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Shi- shoot. Shoot. Force of habit. It¡¯s just the ships. Four plus-sized battlecruisers, one fleet command, and several more normal cruisers. They¡¯re using communications to update one another; it''s not just going to be a slip-on-down easy peasy.¡±

    I listened to that, and was a bit confused as to what she meant.

    ¡°So what? They named after¡­ It was dogs?¡± I said, more of a question than the statement I was going for, ¡°That¡¯s not that bad. We can just slip down through a window of smaller ships, responding that we require an emergency dry dock, and we can get past the empire''s ships, it¡¯s not that hard. It would be bad business if the empire refused to let pilots land, especially when they were not the blockaded party. Half the system would love to snub empire traders.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a member of the empire¡¯s army,¡± she told me, ¡°they¡¯re going to want your credentials and a bunch of stuff you don¡¯t have and-¡±

    I got it. She was misunderstanding the situation.

    ¡°Wrong empire. There, the empire of Raphael. The whole planet got united about 50 years ago. We don¡¯t have to let the name bother us anymore. There¡¯s no way they¡¯re the empire you¡¯re thinking about.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± she said solemnly, then in annoyance, ¡°For unauthorized use of empire and the authority it implies, I¡¯m placing a bounty of 10000 points on the emperor. By law, there are no other empires within the light of Sol. Once I get my talk with Luna, I¡¯ll ask her to use the COMM web and add it to the list¡­ And ask for COMM web access¡­ And ask why she hasn¡¯t responded to me yet¡­ and-¡±

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    ¡°Calm down, Lilly. I¡¯m sure there''s a reason why she hasn¡¯t taken a call from you. And as for the bounty, as much as I would love 10000 points, I¡¯m going to have to put that on hold. I don¡¯t think I could do it.¡±

    She snorted and didn¡¯t answer, but I had the strange feeling that that was expected. I didn¡¯t always have to answer, and she didn¡¯t always answer me if I said anything supremely stupid.

    We sat there for a few minutes, and then we got a distant ping that clicked the radio, asking for attention.

    ¡°They¡¯re asking for information, what should I tell them,¡± she asked.

    ¡°Don¡¯t give them our ship, change up the number. The last thing I want is our ship winding up on a piece of paper the collector gets his hands on. I¡¯m a fan of irony, but I want to keep it dramatic, keep him in the dark.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s all well and good then¡­¡± She told me, humming a little, ¡°So just switch it up a bit¡­ and there we go. I even sent it another voice, so they can¡¯t tell it was you.¡±

    ¡°Nice, how long till we get there, I could work it out, but you¡¯re faster than I am,¡± I told her, the size of the moon growing by the second.

    ¡°Not long now, we were entering the atmosphere, for lack of a better term. I would give it ten minutes to planetfall and maybe twelve to fifteen before you go to make a landing. The port authority chatter is a bit closer, but I¡¯ll be seeking permission to land shortly.¡±

    ¡°You can hear them from out here? Normally, if you can hear them, they can hear you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m boosting the signal on our end, but if you don¡¯t have the technology, they probably can''t do it on theirs. I could try and send the boosted signal from our end¡­ but I don¡¯t think your setup can do that without burning out the equipment. The antennas would be fine, but I don¡¯t want to destroy your stuff, you know?¡±

    I nodded as I saw a few smaller ships, backlit by the silver surface of the moon. Dark ships, most ships were darkish, but these ones were dark, even backlit.

    ¡°Black ships are a bad sign,¡± I told her, deciding to quickly go down and get my suit on.

    ¡°I mean, black is often ominous but not a bad thing,¡± she told me, not understanding what I was talking about.

    ¡°Black ships are a bad omen,¡± I told her resolutely.

    I had been right about the throne, and I was not willing to compromise on my gut instincts anymore. The throne wasn¡¯t haunted, but it was an unnatural place filled with unnatural things. And while I had survived it, I didn¡¯t want to fall into a hole like that again.

    ¡°That¡¯s just baseless superstition. Black is not bad, a black cat isn¡¯t a sign of bad luck, and a black ship isn¡¯t even a superstition I know of.¡±

    ¡°It is a superstition, and it has a precedent,¡± I told her pointedly as I headed back up to the cockpit to get my helmet. ¡°It''s been a superstition since the last war when black ships and boats were used to ventilate civilian ships, and it''s been used by pirates and clandestine folks since. It¡¯s hard to see from afar, even if you can pick them up using scanning equipment and know that there are ships there; its hard to aim at them, and hell, there are some paints I know of that make the ship invisible to scanning equipment.¡±

    ¡°At least that makes some sense, even if it¡¯s superstition. But what''s Scanning equipment? You¡¯re talking nonsense again.¡±

    ¡°it uses the radio equipment and tells you where stuff its,¡± I told her smugly, finally knowing something that she didn¡¯t.

    ¡°You mean a radar? You have radar, and it''s not mandatory? You fly without it? Are you crazy?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that, it¡¯s expensive,¡± I told her nonchalantly. Then, she stopped and groaned that she had known it.

    I made it back, sat down in the chair, and pulled my helmet out before strapping it on. The suit hissed and clicked as it started to scrub the air, and I belted myself into the seat.

    Wearing a helmet was one of those things that threw people off if they had no experience with one, and to be fair, it had been a while since I had last used mine. It messed with my senses, and the pressure of the padding made it feel like something was holding my head. My hair took up an ungodly amount of room, and it was uncomfortable, to say the least.

    I took my position as the moon started looming large in the view, the cityscape in the great domes visible.

    There was a light, and I had to turn to figure out that it was the radio going off from a ping.

    ¡°What¡¯s that about?¡± I asked.

    ¡°There, telling you to seek docking with one of the stations and instructing you not to pass the blockade.¡±

    I huffed, the fucking idiots.

    ¡°Please kindly remind them that as a signatory to the Desmos accord, unaligned ships are not to be disturbed or harassed by combatants or belligerents and that unaligned ships can legally pass blockades to seek drydock facilities in cases like emergency landings. Please also inform them that they are signatories to those accords,¡± I told her.

    ¡°They say they acknowledge the accord,¡± Lilly said as I approached the growing ships, ¡°and that they do not protect ships during times of war and that if you pass the line, they¡¯ll consider you a smuggler.¡±

    They were starting to piss me off, and so I snapped out, ¡°That isn¡¯t true. The accords don¡¯t make a difference between times of peace or war.¡±

    ¡°Well, the mook on radios over there doesn¡¯t seem to know or care. Their radio chatter suggests they''re going to fire if you try and cross. Are you going to go to a station?¡±

    ¡°Fuck it,¡± I said, and I punched the accelerator into the flank and got ready to evade.

    They couldn¡¯t chase me down, they would end up getting blown out of the sky, and I never did like the empire.

    My continued approach apparently crossed the blockade line, and the ships fired tiny light blips on black hulls, and I moved, pulling ¡®down¡¯ and to the side in a kind of corkscrew. There was no sound in space, no bang of kinetics fire or scream of a projectile, but they weren¡¯t moving and small as far as a proper ship was concerned. As I came upon them, I could see they were more of a Corvette, and while they had quite a few guns, most weren¡¯t tracking me.

    ¡°They¡¯re currently shouting to stop,¡± Lilly told me, a hint of amusement in her voice.

    ¡°Unkindly tell them to fuck off and die like the empire scum they are, and inform them I will be reporting the breach of the accords with the mercenary guild on Luna,¡± I told her.

    There was a moment as she presumably relayed the information before she chuckled.

    I passed them by and continued to randomly zig and zag. I couldn¡¯t see behind me, the ship was fucky like that, but I saw bolts of metal pass me by as I made my way down to the stretching horizon.

    ¡°What are the names of the ships anyway? The big ones. If they''re going to be a bitch about it, maybe I¡¯ll take a petty vengeance against them later,¡± I asked Lilly.

    ¡°Do you think they''re going to be petty about it? You seemed so sure that they would be fine with us landing on Luna!¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think the war was declared; blockades happen all the time, you dufus. Get the port authority on the line so we don¡¯t get cushioned between air defences and the gunboats behind us.¡±

    ¡°Aye, Aye, captain, my captain,¡± she said in a mocking tone, ¡°The ships last I checked were the Sheperd, the Tsarta, the Samoyed, the Retriever and the Borzoi.¡±

    I listened to the names, but the sound of one familiar ship made me almost want to laugh.

    I had thought my target had run off, that the time it took for me to get back and get the Junker fixed would have cost me precious time.

    But the Collector and his ship were right there in orbit, and he had no way of knowing that I still lived and no way to tell that I wanted my sword back.

    All I had to do was bide my time and plan.

 Lunacy

    The port authority, as it turned out, was incredibly petty. I was kept in a holding pattern for forty minutes, while Lilly insisted I let her inform them that I was with the legion and was going to land, I insisted we play along.

    They were more of a pain than the black boats; at least they didn¡¯t increase my blood pressure.

    We gave them a fake designation; it wasn¡¯t like they could read my ship''s serial number, considering it was on the dashboard right next to me.

    At first, it was because they needed to register me for a long visit, then it was because I wasn¡¯t a Luna-built ship, so they needed to find a landing pad, and then it was me being handed up the chain of command¡­

    Five people up the chain of command, I started to lose my patience.

    None of them made a single decision.

    It was all, ¡°A thousand forgiveness¡± and ¡°I dare not make a decision without divine oversight.¡±

    The only thing that changed was that each step up the chain resulted in more mouthy, less kind people. They started with the former and sounded genuinely sorry for needing to pass me up the chain, and slowly but surely, they got ruder and ruder. I got everything from my inferior craft, which could not fit on the x or y landing spot, to being called a spy for the dogs because my ship''s nickname was ¡°a dog''s name.¡±

    I got all the way up to ten when I was told that this had been a great waste of time and rapidly gave me the information I needed to land, where I needed to pay, how I was registered and would receive a travel visa.

    It took him all of twenty seconds.

    I happily gave him six names for six people who gave me to him and let the lunatic deal with it on his own time.

    I made my approach and got to the landing. It was a large ¡®open air¡¯ hangar, and I needed to burn a little fuel for vertical landing because it wasn¡¯t a runway but a plate, but soon enough, I landed and got pulled in and along a track before entering a pressurized area into a large underground hangar lovingly and thoughtfully named ¡®Bigitok¨­n¨­ prefecture, voidrome 23,¡¯ whatever that meant.

    Very creative, I had to give whatever city drone that made that name a pat on the back. It really rolled off the tongue.

    ¡°Ok¡­ Let''s head off, I guess. I need to check in and get my visa, then I can slip off, get some of my change from a bank and get some stuff and then right to planning,¡± I told her getting out of the chair and stretching.

    ¡°Did you just jinx it?¡± Lilly asked.

    ¡°Yeah¡­ MMh, probably,¡± I told her with a yawn, ¡°but I don¡¯t care, I¡¯m just going to bring my guns and hide them in my coat and work from there.¡±

    I headed down, got my stuff in order, scrounged around for my mercenary card, and headed out of the bay and locked up after syncing my timepiece and the Junkers clock so I didn¡¯t get locked out.

    The fall and rise of the bay was a nice return to normal, something I did so much I never needed to think about it.

    Then I turned and took in the size of the voidrome. It was a well lit huge metal plate and concrete structure that would make a ship¡¯s hangar blush. The curve of the semicircular arch towered overhead with exposed steel girders overhead. I was on ground level, next to the tracks that had brought my boat down, and I had to imagine that the ceiling was something like 150 feet high.

    There were rows of boats parked side by side on platforms and tracks to pull ships out along the corridors and other corridors for walking, with little lights to warn pedestrians to get out of the way.

    It was very industrial, considering all the metal that Luna wasn¡¯t known for; if I had to guess, these were for asteroid mining.

    It was the kind of large that freaked me out a little. I had grown used to cramped confines, with the only headspace being outside, but this towering place was the kind of place you could park a ship if it weren¡¯t for the fact you couldn¡¯t get one in here.

    ¡°You know¡­ It isn¡¯t often I park inside when I land planet side. Usually, there is just open air, but I guess they wanted to save on footprint,¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t exactly land through a force dome, and they can¡¯t be easily expanded. Land must be at a premium without the empire guiding the servitors,¡± Lilly remarked.

    I winced at her words.

    ¡°Yeh¡­ Well, let¡¯s find our way to the closest office and get the paperwork out of the way,¡± I told her, looking around for some clues as to where to walk and I found little arrows and started to stalk down the rows of newer sleeker boats that did not fill me with any envy at all.

    I bet they had onboard electronics and cushy seats¡­ and fuel-efficient engines¡­ and had hull integrity.

    Not envious at all.

    ¡°Hey, Lilly, are there any cameras in here?¡±

    ¡°There are, but they are relatively low quality, why?¡±

    ¡°Nothing in specific, I was just thinking it would be terrible if someone scratched the paint,¡± I lied to her.

    ¡°You were thinking about scuffing them, weren¡¯t you? You shiter,¡± she said with a wry chuckle.

    I clicked my tongue but shut up at how close she got it. I was thinking of finding the most expensive one and finding out if they were an asshole before keying it, but it was basically the same thing. Considering my talks with the port authority, I was getting major elitist vibes from the planet already, but I wanted to verify too.

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    We walked in silence for damn close to five minutes when I felt a little unnerved. It was just too empty. Too quiet.

    Voidrome¡¯s were a busy place. Some sent a guide to show you the way to the offices, but even shy of that, there were always people coming and going at all times. There was no night in space, and even with the blockade, if you could call it that, I would expect flights delivering supplies or even a military presence to root out spies or saboteurs.

    A port was like a border; you at least wanted to check the people coming and going, but there was nothing. I looked around, between the ships all square on the pads and saw no one between the ships. No ground crews, no pilots, no one moving cargo, nothing.

    ¡°Lilly, what time is it planet side?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s 4 pm planet side,¡± she helpfully told me.

    That was not a good sign, not at all. Those were work hours for sure, so the lack of anyone was a major bad sign.

    I hurried my footsteps, quickly getting to the end of the row and after recording the aisle, quickly making my way from sign to sign to the office of the port authority. I was surprised at the ease of breath, but I kept going. Whatever transforming did, it apparently helped clear my lungs of the terrible shit cigarettes had in them, so that was a plus, I guessed. It could have been the low gravity, but that just gave me more hop, not lessen the effort needed to run, so I didn¡¯t think that was right.

    There was a sign of violence before I even got there. Blast marks and the smell of smoke lingered as the metal gained a venire of some variety of light-coloured faux biowood. The holes in the wood were the thin circular holes of energy weapons; they were charred instead of pierced, and the smokey air thickened as I reached the scene of what looked like a bomb blast.

    A crater stood where the office once stood, a collapsed building pinning whatever remained below the rubble. The shattered bodies of normal people, pilots, and ground crew had been flung in loose heaps from the blast.

    I stopped and took it in before I took out one gun and asked, ¡°Lilly, can you tell me the closest way out of here,¡± all ideas of getting out of this easily went out to pasture and were forgotten like a dream. I could feel my heartbeat quicken its pace as I made my way to the next corner. One hand cannon out, hammer pulled back, ready to fire on anyone that would fire on me.

    ¡°There¡¯s only one exit; the right leads out, and the left is to utilities and more offices; cameras are out from here, so I can¡¯t check, but audio says nothing around that corner,¡± she told me in a cool response, a reflection of my own.

    ¡°Thank you, Lilly,¡± I told her, focusing on the sound of the room, eerily silent, the sound of small pops the only noise beyond ambient. There were strangely no sirens. There were no alarms for fire or to hearald the occurrence of the bomb blast.

    I tucked up against the corner, took my hat off real quick and peeked the corner, then proceeded down the corridor, stopping at the next corner. I almost took it immediately, but my ears pricked, and I managed to halt relatively quietly on the giving material as I heard voices from around the bend.

    They were hushed murmurs, muffled further by the corner and as I peeked out from the corner, from them facing away.

    There were three of them, each facing away. They were relatively short, maybe 5¡±11¡¯, nowhere as short as me, but I was a midget compared to most, and each of them was dressed uniformly. Black clothes with no defining marks, fully clothed to hide their features. Each had a black close pack on their backs and, by the looks of it, were armed. There were also the telltale signs of some armour, both on their backs and presumably their fronts, but only on their chest.

    Much like me, they appeared to prefer a breastplate, though unlike me, they didn¡¯t hide it for the bonus of getting people to shoot the armour instead of the head or extremities, not that I cared all that much because I was packing solid shot and they were presumably packing laser, blaster, or plasma.

    They had the death squad meet¡¯s terrorist look down pat, and I felt it was safe to say they were not a group of lunar guards. There was also no doubt that I would be able to walk on by and get shot down like an animal, so instead of making pleasantries, so I decided to pull out Lefty and try and get two at the same time.

    I pulled back the hammer of Lefty, tried to line up both shots as well as I could, and aimed down both one after another.

    One of the guards, turning to face me, said, ¡°Fine, fine. You two stay here, I¡¯m going to go take a pi- What the fuck,¡± and I pulled both triggers at once.

    A whole bunch of things happened all at once.

    Both of my guns fired at the same time, kicking in my hands as two hunks of metal, cased in hard plastic shells, spun out of their barrels, the air kicking off the casings and letting the smaller metal slugs spin out at my foes.

    The one on the right, not taking his eyes off the corridor and not caring about his companion, took a bullet to the mid back and went limp like a stone, slowly drifting to the ground like a kite. The one on the left, more canny, turned, and I missed his center of mass as the bullet skimmed his ribs, and the middle one, shocked, but with signs of training, raised his gun to return fire.

    In an attempt to preempt it, I started to hurl myself out of the way and into a roll and made to cock the hammers on my guns.

    The one on the left turned and was more shocked than the one in the middle, who quickly levelled his gun and fired off a shot. A brilliant beam of light shot forth, covering the distance between us in an instant and slammed into my hip.

    The burn was immediate, the quick burst of light carved through my clothes and into the skin beneath and hit the bone, transferring a scolding hot burn about an eight of an inch in diameter into my hip bone.

    I bit back a scream and fucked up my landing a second later but managed to snap off a second shot that shot through the leg of the pisser, who screamed and lost control of himself and fell back slowly towards the ground, one leg in the air, and without a gun on me.

    It was just in time for the second one to go to level the gun on my crouched form.

    Panicking, I kicked off again to try and get to standing so I could change my center of gravity, only for my shoes to unlatch and my momentum to carry me up and off the floor, my right hip screaming in agony as I put the cooked joint to work.

    My uneven pressure caused me to list towards the right in a slight spin that left doctor slow ass¡¯s shot he snapped off to skim past my left leg so close I could feel the remanent heat bloom as the lance passed, cooking the top layer of my skin and burning a hole through my coat twice and pants beneath.

    I kicked out my left leg in pain while I grit my teeth, and piss boy proved his namesake with a bloom of wetness in his pants, his shrill shout accompanied by three more quick shots that went wide, slamming into wood two feet to my right.

    My foot came close enough to the metal wall for my shoe to latch onto it and snap with surety to it. Mr. Medium Rare on the left got ready to take another shot, and with a moment of rapid comprehension, I snapped my other foot out for two points of contact and fired off two hasty shots, one skimmed his armour, pining uselessly into the ground and the other flying off into the foe wood of the wall.

    He let off a shot, and it burned into the wood ceiling above me.

    The former black-clad man known as Professor Pisser snapped off another panicked shot without looking before dropping his gun to clutch his leg. It didn¡¯t even come close, so I kicked off towards the ground, rolling before letting my feet snap and the spin right me.

    The man on the left, flinching from the expectation of being shot, didn¡¯t get a chance when I snapped off two shots, one that slammed into his leg and the second slammed into his chest plate, where it smashed through like tissue paper.

    He managed to flinch from the hits, and with the flinch came a pull of the trigger. A lance of light appeared from the muzzle of the gun and slammed into my chest, burning through my coat before slamming solidly into my chest plate.

    It got very hot¡­ but it didn¡¯t penetrate.

    I started deeply breathing, panting while pissant cried.

    He decided to speak up. I didn¡¯t let him say shit, I was already utterly fucking done with this utter fucking lunacy. He opened his mouth, and I snapped off the rest of the shots right into him. I did not negotiate with terrorists; I wouldn¡¯t even hear them out.

 Utter Lunacy

    The Gunmen were down, their black-clad bodies heaped in the awkward low gravity of Luna, not yet fallen all the way over. Their magnetic shoes kept their feet tied to the floor, but their tops were not, so they drifted like they were underwater. Or if they were underwater after being hit by a hammer.

    My leg was fucked, but I was luckily able to put what little weight I had on it, I just couldn¡¯t walk on it right, or move it right, or stop it from bleeding because it was crusty and cauterized but still bleeding enough to soak in.

    ¡°Lilly¡­¡± I asked her, catching my breath, ¡°Can you-¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m already fixing it, but it will take far longer than you¡¯re hoping for¡­ Heat is hard to fix; it just cooks everything, including the stuff I need to fix the wound, so I need to get your body to-¡±

    ¡°The first part is all I need, but thank you for being willing to give me an explanation. I¡¯ll handle problems and keep weight off of them as well as I can while doing it.¡± I told her, cutting her off to keep on track, ¡°Anything I need to think about to keep it kosher?¡±

    It wasn¡¯t like I felt good about it, but Lilly had a habit of explaining things to the point they became obtuse. I needed information, and I needed it now so I could get to ground.

    Whether I could get to the ground was beyond my ability to question at this point; I had too much invested into gogogo, not think think think.

    I had no Visa. I had no shelter. I was in the middle of an attack; I needed to survive and not get slapped around by the local authority. Not only would sitting in a cell suck, but it could alert the Collector if someone with my description got nabbed by whatever they called their constabulary.

    I seriously didn¡¯t want to get tortured while the Collector scampered off like a comic character.

    I stepped on my leg, testing how weak it was, and found it lacking. Not only was it weak, but it was very weak from the stress of the fight, it was just solid enough to walk with a heavy limp. I walked over, and considered if I should take one of the dead men¡¯s guns.

    They looked at a glance sleek, but they were painted to look that way. They were carbine length and black, with some kind of lock mechanism on the side, but I couldn¡¯t tell what they did. They mirrored a flintlock but were simplified, with no markings or numbers to show what they were. Linked from the solid stock was a tube where a battery pack would be that led to the backpack on each of their backs.

    I leaned down and rolled doctor pissbaby over and found an obvious dial. It read thirty, but had no indication on what that meant. It could have been thirty percent, thirty volts, thirty shots fired, or thirty bagels inside of it, and I had no clue.

    If I took the gun, I would have a piece of criminal evidence, which was bad, and could get me associated with the terrorists, which was even worse. It could also give me another method of protecting myself that wouldn¡¯t put pressure on it from stance or recoil on my leg and give me the options a laser-based weapon would.

    There came a cracking from my breastplate, and I looked down to see the plate crumbling around where I had been hit.

    The metal shouldn¡¯t have stopped a beam that could burn me down to the bone, but what I saw was beyond unexpected.

    The metal was cracked, and five circular points of superheated steel alloy looked oxidized and delaminated into off-white ashy flakes.

    I had only noticed one shot, but somehow, five had hit in such rapid succession that I hadn¡¯t been able to spot the difference with my eyes.

    ¡°Did I get shot five times?¡± I asked her, unsure.

    ¡°No,¡± she said with the calm of someone paying attention to something else, ¡°You got shot twenty-five times; that¡¯s why it''s so bad.¡±

    I almost fucking choked.

    The five overlapping circles on my armour were five quicker bursts.

    ¡°Fuck me, that¡¯s fast¡­ Twenty-five? When did they start firing that many that fast?¡± I asked, thinking hard about packing a laser that was that deadly on my person.

    ¡°Lasers are continuous? They normally are just one beam, all the carbines doing is interrupting or starting and stopping it really fast.¡±

    How the fuck did she¡­ No, wait, that made some sense; Lilly knew a lot more than I did about this stuff than I did, even with my talent for the mechanical.

    I looked at it again and felt my talent whisper, telling me to pick it apart, screw and bolt and spring and learn its secrets, but I ignored it like the intrusive thought it was. I needed to make the decision quickly and coldly, and I did.

    I pulled the laser off of the dead man and pulled it on, holstering my guns and quickly checking his pockets. I found a few gizmos in what looked like an Ammo pouch and grabbed them but I found no suspicious documents, identification papers, or a smoking gun, so I left the rest of him alone and started moving.

    I hobbled down the corridor, finding a four-way and followed Lilly''s directions.

    There was more carnage as I came into an open area, skylit by an artificial sky. It was an obvious lobby-like area that had been turned into a charnel pit by explosives and a firefight. I was above it; I had come out on a second story and could look down over railings to see the carnage of shattered stone, the fake wood panels reduced to so many splinters, the busted walls and still smoking ruin sending steam up from what appeared to be automatic sprinklers.

    I could make out in the light shapes on the ground, though it was hard.

    Half a dozen black-clad bodies lay unceremoniously on the floor next to a handful of other forms, the blood that didn¡¯t bead up and away held to the floor the same as any other ferromagnet. Opposed to their bodies, three times as many in a uniform I took as guards were scattered around the concourse, each with a ruined chartreuse outer layer, a shade that looked like puke and some form of glave, some still buried desperately into fallen foes.

    They hadn¡¯t stood a chance. Their unarmored bodies were just as much charcoal as meat.

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    The stench was so bad it made me almost hurl, but I caught it and pulled it back down, forcing the sober feeling it brought with it to spin up my awareness a few ticks. I tucked my head down and made my way around to get a better angle. If I was alone, it would be all well; I could try to slip out and into the city, but I had no idea what was inside me.

    It could be nothing, could be a whole lot of something, could be a million corner hounds ready to devour people whole.

    I circled the upper floor, looking down but finding no one on the ground, I carefully made my way down a set of stairs closest to what looked like the front doors to head out. Avoiding rubble on the stairs and making my way to the door, I tried to open them, only to be met with a tiny orange light panel as I approached that shone out in the gloom next to the door.

    It read that the door was locked due to air contamination. For primary emergency air filtration failure, please seek a service representative or engage emergency air filtration manually.

    I swore, but before I could even ask Lilly gave me a ping and said, ¡°I striped the schematics ages ago, but you might want to find the board first, there¡¯s something you should see on it.¡±

    I was already moving towards the ping, but I slowed and asked, ¡°What board?¡± only to be given another ping and another quick shuffle around to the back of the concourse next to a few bombed-out restaurants, thankfully empty.

    My approach to the black mirror-like surface triggered it to light up and illuminate me, but despite my wince at revealing my position, I read it.

    ¡®War declared by the empire of Raphael over political dispute¡­¡¯ scrolled across the screen.

    ¡°Wow¡­ This changes everything; thanks, Lilly, I needed to know this,¡± I told her flatly.

    ¡°It scrolls. Wait a moment, you overzealous goon. Wait for the bounties.¡±

    It took ten or so seconds for it to cycle to the next, more news this time reading about Luna appropriating funds for some undisclosed project, but the third was luckily the bounty board.

    I scanned through them quickly before my eye was drawn to a picture of my face from what looked like the bar back on the Tsarta.

    ¡°Bandit, former mercenary of the Phillian Gull¡¯s, wanted for the destruction of property, theft, desertion, attempted murder and threats of armed violence. Presumed dead, but armed and extremely dangerous. Wanted dead: ¡é2000000.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± I said, a little off my guard, ¡°That¡­ Is important.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to tell you this, but I have a recommendation, though I hesitate to call it that.¡±

    ¡°A recommendation for what? I¡¯m fucking toast the second I get outside. Fuck the gun getting me confused for a terrorist, I¡¯m fucking toast. Two million¡­ I¡¯m going to die by exhaustion while every bounty hunter, mercenary, guard, and all of their mothers hunt me to the ends of the moon.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t run, there was no way ground control would release my ship, and even if I could, I would limp away and get gunned down somewhere between the air defenses of the planet and the blockade line with its black ships.

    What would I get from waiting and planning? The Collector had probably placed that bounty.

    The only thing that kept me from crushing despair was presumed dead. It meant that there might be something beyond the immediate thoughts running through my head.

    ¡°Keep you¡¯re shit together, Jaclyn,¡± Lilly said, not harshly, but sharply enough to cut into the whirling haze of my thoughts. ¡°I have a plan. A plan. This isn¡¯t nearly as bad as you think it is.¡±

    ¡°Pray to tell, oh oracle, what is your plan? Because I am flat out of ideas. If there is a way that I get out of this with even a chance of not fucking dying to everyone and their cat, then tell me.¡±

    ¡°Well, I think you forget something very important about being a legionnaire. You have, at the drop of a hat, the ability to transform into another you that looks totally different and is designed to manipulate people, all you need to do, is put up with the transformation, while you¡¯re out and about.¡±

    It was logical, perfectly reasonable, and even quite smart. I wasn¡¯t used to the idea of it, and I believed it would work. The tension in me and the memory of feeling the way I had in that body put me off, but I did my best to center myself and pulled out a cigarette because fuck it, no one was going to stop me in this nightmare.

    I started moving towards the ping she had told me was the emergency fan while I lit up and carefully listened, walking as carefully as I could on my lame leg. Letting the smoke break calm my nerves, I picked it apart as I moved slowly towards my goal.

    A sprinkler went off about two minutes into my smoke break, and I put it out partway through, and I shot the fucking sprinkler for the smart-ass system''s sense of karma.

    For my hostility, the laser blew through the nozzle, and the pressure of the water jetted out and soaked me, and I gave up on smoking, now more pissed than anxious. The gun made a metallic ping, and the top snapped open and ejected an orange-red cartridge at me just to rub it in.

    I walked out from under it, bottling as much anger away for later as I could for later as not to come off as a total bitch before I asked, ¡°I don¡¯t suppose the transformation can dry me off?¡±

    ¡°It would actually, the light would vaporize it.¡±

    I groaned and said, ¡°Just do it already and let my misery end.¡±

    She did, and not without some smugness. We didn¡¯t talk while I made my way towards the control room for the ventilation.

    It was a fairly obvious room once I found it.

    There were ten body¡¯s outside the room, six of them guards, four of them black-clad mooks. I kicked one while I passed and bowed to the guard; the fact the door had not opened meant that they had died holding this place and taken the wannabe death squad with them despite their disadvantage.

    None of them had so much as a simple gun, just the halberds.

    So I gave them the respect they deserved; the young men had forfeited their lives without even being properly equipped.

    The room had one more man in it, and he was alive, for what good it would do him. He was breathing, barely. Mumbling nonsense about a girl he would never live to see again.

    I leaned down shakely and took his hand in mine, firmly holding it. It was all of a minute before he settled down, admitting he had feelings for me and talking about our future as he mistook me for her.

    Then he fell asleep, and he stopped breathing. I took a few moments to make him presentable, closing his eyes, laying his hands on his lap, his glave next to him.

    He looked like he had simply fallen asleep if you discounted the horrible burns across his torso and the smell of cooked pork.

    I paid my respects and then pulled a lever and made to leave when a chirping noise drew my eye to a box, about hand-sized, propped up under him.

    It was a tiny portable radio, sleeker than the one I had, but notable nonetheless.

    I picked it up and clicked the receiving on.

    A familiar mans voice came over the radio, the man that had given me landing permission.

    ¡°Sugihara? Sugihara, what is your status and the status of your team? Your squad leader has not reported in yet.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to tell you this, but they''re all dead. Invaders included, they took them out. All of them, I think. They locked themselves in using the ventilation. Sugihara, or I think it''s probably Sugihara, and his squad, died with their weapons in hand,¡± I told the man.

    I had not yet gauged his reaction, but it was what I felt like saying, and I didn¡¯t particularly care what he wanted at the moment.

    ¡°And if everyone is dead, who am I speaking to? A ghost, perhaps?¡±

    I huffed grimly at his flippant tone, ¡°A mercenary. Though I¡¯m going to make off like a ghost,¡± I told him before slipping the radio into a pocket and beginning the trek back to the door.

    I was not going to deal with an uncaring lunatic amid the staggering amount of destruction and carnage. I did not reply to his shouting accusations and other nonsense, no matter how much his entitled sense of entitlement, position, or name was shouted.

    I arrived back at the now-clearing lobby, the sound of ventilation notable in the otherwise silent room.

    I walked up and opened the door, and the front of the building opened up in utter fucking chaos, the likes of which I had never seen before.

    Hundreds of people were screaming, fighting and dying while the pounding percussion of buildings exploding in the distance greeted me.

    Guards charging a line of gunmen, there was a nest firing rapid beams of light down a street, only for a giant lance of laser light to shine back and punch a hole as round as my head straight through the man behind the gun.

    And above it all, a woman was firing fucking pink lasers from her hands while fucking floating on a sword, her two-tone hair flying around in the nightmare blast wind of explosions.

    The nuns had been right; I had fucking died and had now gone to hell; this utter fucking lunacy was my just deserts for a life of sin and wanton freedom.

 Reception

    I watched as the horns of angels blew, and the world seemed to end around me, apocalyptic amounts of suffering on display as men fought and died pointlessly. On one side, the black-clad terrorists unleashed rapid bursts of laser fire so fast they looked like a single beam. The lock mechanism on the side of their unmarked and unloved weapons let out a rapid buzz.

    Their weapons, quickly discharging orange capsules, which were discarded and replaced by new blue ones, let them hoze their enemy in battle.

    The Lunatics on the other side, or at least the ones in the front hacking and charging into laser fire, were armed with a kind of glave, simple metal, with no armour or greater protection. Downside streets, lit by fire, I could see men moving, and as some came within line of sight, there was another great blast of the horn.

    They were firing a laser, though I wouldn¡¯t describe it as such. It was more like they were firing an angry, screaming bolt of light that thirsted for the blood of the enemy. The few that fired hit targets like concrete, steel plating and enemy combatants and all that was left was a hole of slag as round as my fist in its wake.

    They were some kind of super laser musket, so overspeck that I could see they stop to swap barrels like one would ammunition, every shot followed by pulling the barrel off, passing it to a guy next to them, and getting another barrel handed over.

    They had an important look, somewhere between guard and, more importantly, guard.

    Their shots lit up the night and made the sounds of chaos go silent while they lanced across the open area beyond the safe, smokey confines of the voidrome concourse.

    It was utter pandemonium, a vision of the end times the nuns would talk about. The buildings around the spontaneous nightmare killing field were once wood-panelled but were now just on fire.

    In the distance, a building, as if commanded by some cosmic rule of bad timing, crumbles, falling down in a fit of melodrama only capable by a force of nature with a sense for the dramatic.

    There were people shouting orders and commands, drowned by the sound of weapon discharge, fire, the clash of the melee and the crumble of a distant building; a bunch of them on the Lunatic side were shouting at one another, arguing all the while their troops got slaughtered.

    Oh, and there was a woman with pink and black hair flying on a sword, shooting pink lasers from her hands.

    You know, like one does.

    She was shouting something, a smile on her face. One of the Lunatic captain people pointed, and then three of the laser muskets aimed and tried to fire on her and the who thing gained an additional layer of complexity.

    I would say it was like the ninth layer, one for each circle of hell I was currently standing inside. The only thing that kept me from genuinely believing I had died on the throne and had gone to some form of the demented afterlife was Lilly shouting that I needed to get out of there first and talk with the other legionnaire later.

    I snaped, too.

    I had a grand total of two pistols with six shots each loaded and a bit of ammo to spare, one laser gun that was probably at 30% charge and had no blue thing in it, surrounded by weapon fire that could turn me to ash, no back up and I needed to somehow get out, through a clash of hundreds of armed men.

    I reached down and grabbed one of the blue things I stole off the crybaby and made to reload while I started paying attention to movement, lines of fire, and cover, quickly finding myself going down and forward awkwardly.

    The moment I stepped over the line, I felt a sudden tug downwards that almost made me scream as the wound in my leg, fresh unscared but still hurt flesh, forced to take the brunt of my sudden weight.

    I almost fumble the tiny glass capsule but manage to keep it in my fingers while I kneel down into a pile of rubble. A laser shot came from near by getting me to tuck my head down while I tried to open the gun up and slap the cartridge in. I was unfamiliar with it, but I managed to figure out how to get the gun to open up and I lined up the pegs and arrows on it and clicked it before closing it up.

    I could go right into the guards, or left into the murderous black block.

    ¡°Up! Look up,¡±Lilly shouted to me.

    I pulled back from the wall to get an angle up in case there was someone lining up a shot and saw the woman firing lasers at both sides, mostly through the black block, but a few through the long guns that were trying to pick off. Zipps of pink light tore through the metal and glass, which got the men to toss them away, but she didn¡¯t kill them.

    Black block it was.

    I got up and scanned the other side, looking for the next target, the next piece of cover. Ten feet, not occupied or 15 and more cover.

    I moved 15 feet, huffing down air to stifle the pain that rang out in my mind every time my leg met the ground.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    I got 5 feet, ducked down as a shot went wide over me, and I pushed off from my duck before rolling awkwardly into cover, the battery pack thunking on the ground in a way that didn¡¯t sound right. As I came up from the roll, I was face to face with three cowering black-clad men.

    I moved before I ever registered it. My honed instincts squeezed off a shot, and I burnt through the second guy, the laser burning a hole an inch and a half deep through his left lung and into his heart, and he dropped, holding his chest as he died screaming. The first guy¡¯s gun was between the barrier and me, so he fumbled it up and out while the last guy started to move his gun.

    I didn¡¯t wait; I dove straight at him, shoulder-checking him as I heard the buzz of the hammer falling 25 times in a second, shot flying up into the air.

    Dumb ass stopped with the gun and punched me in the side, and I kicked him back with my bad leg. We both let out a light scream of pain as my leg connected with something solid, probably his torso and the impact rattled up my leg.

    I gripped onto the last guy as he stood, my hand falling to his belt while the other guy shouted for help, the noise lost in the din of combat.

    My hand found a metal handle, and I pulled it out and smashed it into his side while he lifted my face as he pushed me away, cocking back his arm before getting in a solid hit on my cheek.

    I got knocked free while the blade was in him, and he screamed in pain.

    I hit the ground and heard dumb ass with his gun and chucking the knife after landing and lifting my head, but my aim was shit, and I just hit one of his hands with the pommel instead of the blade. I fumbled and managed to get the gun up again when the third guy, holding his bleeding side, levelled his gun at me.

    We fired and moved at the same time.

    My shot was shakey, but I managed to only get skimmed by the bolt as it tore through my clothes and left a light burn on my back.

    Luck put my bolt in his knee, and he fell, the both of us screaming.

    I rolled back towards cover, and the idiot finally got his weapon clear, firing randomly above me, flashes of light streaking over me, and I stopped on my side and pulled the trigger.

    It clicked, and nothing happened; he levelled his gun at me and pulled the trigger, it clicked, and the top kicked out an orange cartridge. I dropped it, rolled onto my front, forced myself up and with a few quick steps, I threw a fist at him.

    It was a piss-poor punch on my part, and he got the gun between my fist and himself.

    I looked him in his eyes, and the two of us panted; my shoulder drooped, and he did too, and I managed to quickly grab the gun, pushing it back into him, pressing him into the cover. He adjusted his grip, and we got into a shoving match, only I was shoving the gun into his neck.

    I got my good leg below me, pushing myself into him while keeping my weight off my bad leg, and we stalemated.

    His eyes were full of desperation, and I saw him get to push. With one hand, I thrust the gun down before belting him twice in the jaw and once in the side of his neck, and he dropped the gun as she shouted.

    I grabbed his head and slammed it back into the rubble with the crunch of bone, and let go.

    I looked over and saw the last guy near me.

    He was down but not out. Rule one, don¡¯t leave a single mother fucker behind to shoot you in the back, he had a weapon he needed to die.

    I shrugged out of the pack and went for the dead guy, quickly getting over to him, lifting his gun and firing off two more shots at the last guy before striping it off the fallen man''s body.

    The gauge read 200, so whatever it was, it was not the percentage.

    I got back to the rubble and sucked in thick breaths of smoke-tinged hot air, trying to get my heart rate down, but I didn¡¯t have the time to do that; I had to get out of there.

    I raised my head and just as quickly ducked back down as a bright flash of pink slammed down next to me before rolling twice and face-planting.

    It was the sword lady; her sword slammed about a foot into the ground a yard from me. Its hexagonal tile-wide blade was not practical to use as a weapon, but it obviously had some kind of use.

    I had to wonder if it was how she flew or if it was something else entirely.

    ¡°Ugh¡­ my boobs.¡±

    I turned from the sword and looked over at her.

    This close, I could make out a proper amount of detail beyond the black and pink hair. Up where she had been, it was hard to make out what she was wearing, but it was also pink, a long, almost dress-like robe of some sort. She had one shoulder exposed, and as she pushed her front off the ground, a ridiculously sized chest with a near indecent amount of cleavage was on display.

    She had skin a few shades apart from my own, my coffee and cream to hers with a bit less cream and a hint of orange to it.

    She turned her head to face me, and I saw a slightly scuffed face that couldn¡¯t hide the terrible beauty of her face. Strange eyes, pink like her hair, but with strangely shaped pupils, full pink lips, a hairpin with some kind of artifact gem on it stuck in her hair.

    Pink on pink on pink.

    We met one another''s eyes, sizing one another up before she smiled with teeth white enough to put out an eye.

    I was weary because she didn¡¯t look like what I expected, she looked more like an entertainer. She was the kind of unnatural beauty that would crook her finger and get straight nuns wet just by looking at her.

    ¡°Did you just face plant from the sky and brush it off like it was nothing?¡± I asked her.

    She rolled over on her side, one hand going to her hip, the other propping up her head like she was going to ask someone to paint her like one of their empire girls, and opened her mouth and said, in a perfectly chipper tone, ¡°Yep, but that¡¯s all in a day for one of us.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re just fine?¡± I asked her, not believing a word she said.

    ¡°Oh yeh,¡± she said, waving me off, ¡°I¡¯m definitely not waiting for the combat meds to fix all the torn muscles.¡±

    She said it with a smile that did not match the situation.

    She was far enough from the cover that it was possibly dangerous for her to just lay there, so I quickly made my way over to her and started dragging her.

    ¡°What are you doing? Nooo, don¡¯t drag me! think about my dress!¡± she pleaded, and I ignored her, dragging her into cover before collapsing on my ass and panting to catch my breath again.

    ¡°Can you get your head in the game? We¡¯re in a war zone, not a ballroom.¡±

    She looked at me and pouted and shook her head, a single strand of hair standing up.

    ¡°That¡¯s not very cash money of you, what kind of magical girl are you? You can¡¯t be as cute as you are and still be that serious.¡±

    I looked at her and blinked, my mouth hanging open. I would have done a double take, but I was staring straight at her.

    ¡°What the fuck are you talking about, woman? Are you all boob, no brain?¡±

    ¡°What the hell are you on about, you¡¯re the same as me! You¡¯re a magical girl,¡± she said with perfect honesty.

    I sighed.

    The woman who got to shoot lasers from her hands was a very beautiful, very dangerous brainlet.

 Delay

    I hate to tell you guys this, but I got a major shitload of assignments for uni right now. Everyone and their mother decided to give the last day before reading week as the hand in date for a bunch of projects. Those projects are a good chunk of my marks so I can''t ignore them. Luckily, I managed to get an extension on the ones I have remaining, unluckily there going to take the weekend to finish. To make up for this, next week will be a double length chapter.

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    Sorry for the delay everyone

 Plutonium

    I sat there looking at her in utter fucking bewilderment.

    It had been a long¡­ LONG fucking day so far. It was not the longest I¡¯ve had, but a long day was still a long day. And here I sat, with a beautiful woman, who could not or would not move, in a fucking war zone. It sounded like a bad joke, but the real joke was how she thought she could do magic. Or quite possibly me. Maybe I was the joke, and I didn¡¯t know it, but I somehow didn¡¯t think so.

    She was on something; she had to be to call herself a magical girl.

    You couldn¡¯t write this kind of shit.

    I looked at the bombshell of a woman because she was fucking unbelievably good-looking for a humanoid and tapped her head to check if it was empty. I didn¡¯t get a noise like a gong, so she had something.

    ¡°What, hey. Stop it!¡± she whined.

    ¡°Just checking that you have something in there,¡± I muttered, ¡°Because I¡¯m not a magical girl, because magic doesn¡¯t exist.¡±

    She looked at me, shocked, as if I had just told her the emperor had no pants.

    ¡°Of course, there¡¯s magic. What do you think we can do? Because to me, it¡¯s fairly obvious is magic.¡± She told me, ¡°And just because you don¡¯t believe me isn¡¯t a reason to wack me on the side of the head.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t wack you; that was a tap,¡± I told her, ¡°And magic doesn¡¯t exist. You know what, why am I the one arguing this? You have an oracle in your head, you should know better.¡±

    She pouted at me childishly, puffing up her cheeks in a way that made her lips stand out. The idea of asking her if she was single passed through my head, but I quickly bludgeoned my hindbrain into submission because now was not the fucking time for that.

    ¡°I argue with him all the time, but he¡¯s a big meanie. If you don¡¯t think we have magic, then how can you explain our hair? Have you seen your hair? Cream orange on one side, brown on the other? If it''s anything like mine, it''s not just half and half; it moves to be closer to our head. How do you explain that? It''s obviously magic.¡±

    I shuddered at the reminder that I was in this body, but it was only momentary.

    ¡°Now is not the time,¡± I muttered, checking my gear over once, which got me to wince as the line of scorched skin brushed my coat.

    ¡°OOH OOH! You hurt,¡± she said, which got me to focus back on her, my eyes dipping down for a moment, and I hoped she didn¡¯t notice. She noticed.

    ¡°What about it? It¡¯s not that bad, it¡¯ll heal, it just takes some time.¡±

    There was a hit of a smug look as she noticed the glance, and it intensified as I spoke. She haltingly raised her hand to her mouth in a weird gesture. My weird peacekeeper instincts whispered that she was hiding some of her joy at my gaze. The weirdo. I noticed the ring on her fingers again, their six-sided nature telling me that they were artifacts. One of them looked familiar, but I focused back on her as she spoke.

    ¡°Ha Ha Ha, did my beauty entice you? Either way, eyes up here,¡± she said before she rotated something out from inside her palm.

    It had an orange cap and had a shape like a carpenter¡¯s pencil, though only an inch or so long. It was rectangular and slightly ovoid in profile and had a tiny script on the side I couldn¡¯t read.

    ¡°If you¡¯re hurt, I have something that can help.¡±

    I looked at her and winced a little.

    I wasn¡¯t one for scorning people for drug use. I smoked and drank, and there wasn¡¯t much of a difference when it came down to it. But whatever she was on, it was something wild. She had claimed it was a combat med, some kind of healing in a tube, but if she was anything to go by, it was probably mind-altering. I checked her vibrant pink eyes, but I saw no crazy dilation. It could help, but it might also fuck with my head.

    ¡°Hold on one second,¡± I told her and turned to the side before asking, ¡°Can that help me?¡±

    ¡°It could, though I would personally like to check it before use, though it''s hard to do that without injecting yourself at the moment,¡± Lilly, bless her, said, ¡°It could also just be a stimulant or something else. I doubt it¡¯s harmful if that¡¯s what you were thinking. There¡¯s no way it could be with me here, but it could also be totally ineffective on you. If it''s just a stimulant, I can give you some; your body makes it on its own, and if it''s something else, that¡¯s up to you.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± I asked, ¡°Is it some of the combat medication you took? Or is it just a stimulant?¡±

    Her smugness deepened, and a grin appeared on her silly face. ¡°It¡¯s medicine, not a stimulant. We might have better respiration, but it''s practically mundane. This takes advantage of the unique biology we have. It¡¯s currently fixing my muscles, but it can fix other stuff too. Not my best work, but it¡¯s cheap.¡±

    I looked at the tiny pen and thought it through for a few moments before I reached out and took the meds. I put it in a pocket, along with my ammunition. If that got hit, I was toast, so it was effectively the safest place for the ammo-sized ampule of healing.

    ¡°Thanks, I¡¯ll keep it in case I get hurt,¡± I told her.

    ¡°But¡­ But you are hurt,¡± she pointed out.

    ¡°Not that badly,¡± I told her, ¡°It¡¯s not serious, but if this can help me if I get seriously hurt, I¡¯ll hold onto it.¡±

    She grabbed at me for a moment, like a fish out of water, ¡°Wu, wah? Well, if you''re just going to take it in case you get hurt, then you might as well take some more. Let''s see¡­¡±

    She reached into her cleavage, which was incredibly distracting, and pulled out five more of them.

    ¡°Here are a few more, you know¡­ Just in case,¡± she said, proffering all five out to me.

    I looked at them, then at her. Then back down at the five of them.

    ¡°Your giving me all of your meds?¡±

    She snorted, ¡°Um, no. Are you dumb? I told you, they are cheap to make; I have like twenty more on me. One won¡¯t stop something big, so I always carry a bunch in case I get a deep wound. I¡¯m too good-looking to die choking on my own blood, you know?¡±

    ¡°Now that¡¯s more like it,¡± I told her, nodding my head, ¡°Maybe you do have some brain bouncing around in that head of yours.¡±

    ¡°Hey! I could say the same about you, little miss fight in melee without warform!¡± she nearly shouted, muffled by the tempest of carnage on the other side of the barricade as a round of the lunatics¡¯ thundering lances went off.

    I raised an eyebrow, ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t see how that matters.¡± I told her, unwilling to tell her about not having access to my warform.

    ¡°Having armour for skin and the ability to run through a wall makes a teensy bit of a difference,¡± she told me chidingly, ¡°Now, either take these, or I¡¯m going to put them back in my pocket.¡±

    I took them quickly, her tone brooked no argument, and stashing them along with the first, returning to continue the conversation when I was wet with a face full of cleavage.

    It was incredibly distracting, and once again, it made my head spin out hard enough to put it in contraction, even if only for a few seconds.

    This was not the time for thinking about a random woman''s bountiful bosom. YOU HEAR THAT HIND BRAIN! NOT THE TIME TO THINK ABOUT IT! I needed to work on myself if every time I met an attractive person, my first thought was, ¡®Hey¡­ maybe I should sleep with them.¡¯

    It had happened before on the Tsarta and¡­  And¡­

    One of the wires in my head crossed over another in the right way, and I was reminded of how Mindy, a pleasurer, was able to hijack my hindbrain and make me need multiple cold showers and some extra private time to get over just being near her. About how she was a diplomat for a man who acted like a cartoon villain, a cartoon villain that could have totally used her services anywhere they went. Even while in transit.

    And here was a woman who was doing something similar. Similar vibe, similar intrusive thoughts, similar to an effect that would be used in diplomacy by a legionnaire currently in the form that was supposed to be used for diplomacy.

    My heart quickened, veins restricting as my mind changed from possible friend to possible foe fast enough to give most people whiplash. I started to replay everything she had done at double speed, checking for possible signs of betrayal. I kept myself loose, but I made sure a holster was within reach.

    I spoke calmly and even, ¡°Hey, are you messing with my mind? Amping up your sex appeal? I don¡¯t want to sound crass, but it''s distracting.¡±

    She perked up, ¡°Yeah, but how could you tell? It shouldn¡¯t work on you unless¡­ Ohhh¡­ You don¡¯t have everything online¡­ That would make sense. Yeah, I do. Sorry about that, I use it to stun people. Lemme just¡­ There we go, it''s off now.¡±

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    It was a bucket of cold water. One moment, she was the kind of woman who could make people''s heads spin while their eyes popped out, and the next moment, she kind of faded.

    Nothing changed, she didn¡¯t suddenly become ugly, but the stupidly powerful aura she gave off, whatever pheromone bullshit that made her sex appeal skyrocket, dissipated. She was still gorgeous, still buxom and still pink, but I could see her properly, and it was like putting on a pair of glasses.

    I relaxed my hand from the holster as my hindbrain sagged and started to focus on the fighting and the death around me. It encroached back in as if I had been in a bubble that held the worst of it back. You could only do one at a time properly, and my mind whirled, changing gears from one of the four F¡¯s of survival to another. The chill of the change soaked deep down and let my brain get to how to get the fuck out of there.

    I breathed a sigh of relief, ¡°Thank you,¡± I told her automatically, my stupid mouth giving me the runaround, ¡°How are your wounds? Because we need to get out of here before one of the sides stops acting like gentlemen and starts using explosives.¡±

    ¡°They wouldn¡¯t use explosives¡­ That would be unnecessarily destructive,¡± she said, waving it off.

    I looked at her in actual fucking shock at just how dumb she sounded.

    ¡°Dear Sol and all his archangels¡­ You are aware that these guys are terrorists and have already used bombs¡­ right?¡± I asked her, jabbing a finger toward the three dead men, ¡°They are a literal black-clad group of terrorists¡­ You do realize that, right?¡±

    She had a sudden look of horror.

    ¡°No¡­ I thought they were protesters.¡±

    ¡°Protesters?¡± I asked her, almost shouting. ¡°What? Fucking what? What kind of fucking protests do you get here?¡±

    Her face changed into a shit-eating grin, her eyes getting a flinty look I did not expect her to have with the innocence I had come to expect in the short minutes I had known her.

    ¡°The kind where ten thousand people die and a quarter of the prefecture ends up on fire,¡± she told me before murmuring, ¡°I remember the last, I had to kill six men all on my own.¡±

    ¡°Fuck me, when was that?¡± I asked her, shocked.

    ¡°Hmm? When I was ten.¡±

    I looked at the bubbly, carefree, quite possibly high woman before me and noticed something in her eyes.

    ¡°Your fucking with me, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°No way. What makes you think I would yank your chain like that? I totally killed six armed, fully grown men as a ten-year-old,¡± she told me with enough sarcasm in her voice to bludgeon the most socially inept into comprehension.

    ¡°Fucking¡­ You know what, if you¡¯ve recovered enough to mess with me, you¡¯re recovered enough to help get us out of here.¡±

    ¡°Ehh¡­ Sure, I think I can walk now. But what makes you think I can help? How are we going to get out? My sword could fly¡­ but I mean, it''s going to need a little more than a buff.¡±

    ¡°Well, for one, you know your way around here better than I do-¡±

    ¡°And what makes you think I know my way around here?¡± she asked lightning quick, ¡°Just because I¡¯m from the prefecture? Because most people don¡¯t come to the voidrome you know.¡±

    The speed of it was a little shocking, but I slipped out automatically, ¡°That might be true, and I don¡¯t mean to assume, but an assumption is not necessary because you were flying  around as well; you should have been able to see the area.¡±

    The explanation was both not entirely true and also far better than what I would have said if it hadn¡¯t kicked in. I counted my blessings for not sticking my foot in my mouth. Noted, she didn¡¯t like people assuming stuff about her.

    She looked at me, and her face ran through a series of micro-expressions so minor it was damn hard to follow along at all, and it ended up leaving me more confused than not confused.

    ¡°So? Do you know your way around?¡±

    She sighed, ¡°perhaps,¡± like it was a great burden and then, at my glare, pointed.

    I peeked out of cover to check the direction she was pointing and found only twenty fighting men and a machine gun nest between us and escape.

    I turned back to her and asked, ¡°Any chance you can use that war form you talked about to cut through a fuck load of guys?¡±

    ¡°Eww, no. I look ugly in war form, and I don¡¯t have enough energy to transform, even if I did. I used all of my juice.¡±

    I looked at her, staring, my hands vibrating a little as I held back the urge to gently take her neck in my hands and suffocate her. She was so casual. So flippant. As if being in the middle of a warzone and getting shot at was just Tuesday.

    This was a Tuesday for me, and I was taking it more fucking seriously than she was.

    ¡°You used up all of your energy¡­ and didn¡¯t enter your warform¡­ because you think your ugly in warform?¡± I asked her, my voice strained.

    ¡°What? I get in fights all the time, and I¡¯m way better at range anyway. I have nothing that gives me any bonus to fight up close.¡±

    ¡°You have a sword! IT¡¯S A SWORD!¡± I shouted at her, gesturing at the fucking sword that was impaled into the ground.

    ¡°Hey! Don¡¯t yell at me. It¡¯s a sword, but I can¡¯t use that thing. All I can do with it is ride it. It¡¯s a sword-shaped flying¡­ thingy!¡±

    I didn¡¯t know what about her was more infuriating, her lassie fair look at everything. The fact that, at least by reading between the lines, she had run out of energy mid-air and crash-landed because of it. Or how she seemed peachy and implacable about being shot at, which both impressed me and made me question her sanity.

    I was only a little disappointed that she wasn¡¯t manipulating me, because that would make more sense. At least I didn¡¯t need to shoot her; she was too dumb and adorable to put lead-in. I wouldn¡¯t lie that she had a charm about her, her personality was the kind that made me want to reach out and pat her on the head, which was really weird considering how adult she was.

    It was also infuriating, enough so that I wanted to throttle her at the same time. How she managed to do that, I would never know.

    I moved quickly, getting up and grabbing the sword hilt and pulled, grunting with effort as my comparably noodly arms struggled to keep up with my legs, but I inched it out with some effort, wrenching it back and forth like a lever before it slid out of the stoney floor. My eyes whisked around, checking for incoming fire, for people pointing weapons, but it didn¡¯t come.

    Everyone was just¡­ looking away.

    I felt a tingle, but I couldn¡¯t tell from where. Probably nerves.

    I took my unlikely luck as I hefted the blade out of the ground and ducked back down.

    She was staring.

    ¡°What? If you''re not going to use it, I sure as hell will. These idiots have no armour, and I don¡¯t want to fight like a fucking barbarian.¡±

    ¡°And using a sword is any better?¡± She asked, obviously not convinced.

    ¡°Yes.¡± I told her with finality, ¡°Now are we heading that-a-way? Or are you going to fuss some more and hold us here where we''re bound to get slammed at some point?¡±

    A look of calculation filtered through her face, whatever faculties the woman had at the moment overclocked. She nodded, and I reached over with a hand.

    ¡°up on your feet then,¡± I told her, ¡°Get your magic laser hands ready if you can use them.¡±

    ¡°My particle rings are as ready as they¡¯ll ever be,¡± she told me, nodding.

    I didn¡¯t know what those could do, but I didn¡¯t have time to ask. Quickly, I made sure that everything I had was secure, including one of the fresher guns, which, by some miracle, could click to the battery pack instead of needing its own holster.

    Once ready, I counted down.

    ¡°On one. Three¡­ Two¡­ One,¡± I said and pulled myself up and over the piece of cover, the sword trailing with me as I started my sprint to the next cluster of rubble.

    The blade was heavy and long, far too heavy and long to properly wield. The thing was longer than I was tall, broader than both my forearms put together and heavier than I was. It didn¡¯t even have a grip that was designed for two hands, though it could be held that way, the grip wide enough for both hands.

    I hefted it up to one shoulder, taking the weight with that as I got to the rubble and made my way up and into a nest of black-clad death squad mooks. Each of them were dotted near one another in a curve around the inside of the rubble.

    All seven of them.

    As I came up to the cusp of it, their crouching forms came into view, and we became aware of one another. One of them spotted me, but instead of going for him and crossing the group, I went for those with their back to me.

    Two of them were close to one another, too close. I knew with a little work, a blade this long could hit both of them if I used it right. And it was all because of whatever force held me down that was absent in the concourse of the voidrome.

    Gravity, or whatever it was, acted as I expected it to on a planet out here, and I was going to use it.

    I got over the rubble and dropped down in line with them, both hands gripping the blade before I used the weight of the blade instead of the muscles in my arm as the main force, gravity, as strange as it was here, gave it heft as I used my force sparingly to guide its edge with fatal precision.

    It didn¡¯t have the edge I was used to, but it had more than enough mass to slit bone in two and leave one man a corpse in a moment and the other a casualty for life, what little time he had left as a double amputee with a broken ribcage.

    The thunk of impact was harsh, glittering in my hands like a million pins and needles of light as it jittered to a stop, and the force travelled up my arms. It was enough force to hurt my bone, but I held on.

    I move around, freeing the blade from its gorey sheath with a spin, and as I spun it free, I turn and stepped forward. Forward and into range of the next man. I hurled it into him, some seven feet from the first group, the blade carving through his body like a cleaver through a porkchop. The blade slammed into the rubble, clicking into the rubble where it stuck.

    I tried to pull it out, but life didn¡¯t care that I wanted it out when the physics didn¡¯t agree. I could feel some give, but not enough to remove it from its housing freely.

    I turned my eyes and took in the remaining four. Goons, just in time for the one who had spotted me before my first swing to squeeze off a shot. A blot of light hit me near the second he pulled the trigger, though I managed to angle myself away enough in the moment before the trigger clicked to clear the shot from my vitals. Instead, it burnt through my coat and into the metal breastplate I wore. It skirted off, a glancing blow. Part of it ripped through the back of my coat and into the skyline harmlessly, while the rest of it left my breastplate a delaminated ashy grey.

    I didn¡¯t have enough time to pull the sword out, but I could let go. The barrel of the goon swivelled, and I managed to let go in time for the second shot to clip my left forearm, the shot skirting less than an inch from my skin and burning as it passed.

    I winced and shoved my hand down for my holster as the man clicked the trigger again, dead center on my chest.

    It pinged out a red cylinder at his face as he tried to fire.

    The tingle I felt left, my dumb luck or fate or whatever it was saving the day once, though I had the feeling it wasn¡¯t going to save me a second time. Or a third, or a fourth, or a fifth, which would be necessary as the remaining mooks turned to me, their guns not miraculously heated enough to force them to reload whatever the blue capsules were.

    I my handgun wouldn¡¯t clear the holster fast enough.

    I knew it. I had enough experience to know it in all of its detail, too. I was about to get clapped hard.

    The first man levelled his gun, and I got ready to dive into a roll to try and clear the first set of shots, only for a noise to reach my ears.

    A very tiny shriek of air, so high pitched I could barely hear it, as it whistled a foot past my head. It was a streak of pink light that moved so fast it was a line. It had a horrible feel as it passed, the feeling making my skin itch across my whole body. In truth it was a spec. Not a laser, but a simple particle the size of a grain of sand, flying through the air so fast it looked like a line of light from how it glowed as it passed, energetic and hatefull. It did not feel like something the world contained. A speck god did not welcome into creation, but man in its hubris had.

    It hit one of the gunmen in the head, and his head exploded, cartoonishly blowing out into red gunk, bits of bone turned to shrapnel that sprayed around him, causing the closest gunman to flinch as they tore into him.

    I flinched, the other gunmen flinched, and my newest companion, in all her empty-headed glory, charged in with a winded battle cry of, ¡°Why... Are you so fast?¡±

    I could have groaned. I could have done a whole lot of things. What I did was pull my gun free from my sheath and fan all of my remaining shots off in the direction of the three remaining gunmen.

    ¡°I¡¯m not fast, your just top heavy, lets clean them up.¡±

 Machine Gun

    The gore was tremendous, and I was wet with the squick even at a distance. I was just glad it didn¡¯t get in my mouth because I might have lost my fucking cool.

    Of the shots I fired, only half of them hit, and those were shit shots, but it was something. With the vicera, and getting shot they fell quickly after that.

    It took longer to recover the sword than it did to finish them off.

    ¡°You just have to wiggle it,¡± Pinky, the pinkest wielder of a weapon capable of blowing heads off, casually told me.

    ¡°I did that already,¡± I complained back.

    ¡°Then let me do it.¡±

    Cursing my skinny, flabby arms, I refused. Vehemently. I just barely managed to catch myself from automatically saying, ¡®yes please.¡¯

    My stupid big mouth going to jail for treason aside, she got behind me, reached around me and grabbed the sword.

    She wagged and I went along with it and the sword popped out of the rock and the man like it wasn¡¯t even stuck.

    We fell back on our asses, me pushing her back, and I landed with the back of my neck in her chest.

    They were¡­ very capable of handling my fall. The fabric at the bottom of my neck was very soft. It was incredibly soft.

    She let out a little, ¡°Oof,¡± as we fell, but we kind of just sat there.

    I held the sword. She held me up.

    In her lap.

    ¡°Don¡¯t, say, anything,¡± I said quietly, not quite able to make it the threat I wanted to. My mind was too focused on the boing behind me.

    I could feel the flutter of a not quite laugh through her chest as she said, ¡°Whats wrong? You had a problem freeing my sword, and now it renders you speechless?¡±

    I had not been expecting that, and it got a tiny laugh out of me, fueled by the traitor who would not stop betraying me, myself.

    I managed to retain my cool and getting my mind in order. I was normally good at keeping my cool in combat, but it was an entirely different thing to keep it when you were literally lying on a busty woman who was making jokes.

    I mean, seriously. That just wasn¡¯t fair.

    ¡°Was that automatic?¡± I asked her, ¡°Because you seem really good at acting under pressure for a dopey airhead.¡±

    ¡°Ouch. What kind of magical girl can¡¯t throw out some good banter? I can¡¯t tell if I¡¯m more insulted by you thinking so little of me or at being called a dopey airhead,¡± she wined.

    ¡°Your acting like a dopey airhead, and your probably high on whatever meds your using,¡± I told her frankly, quickly standing up and turning to face her. ¡°Your literally the model of dopey, and acting like an airhead.¡±

    Her response was to pout, and I immediately felt like I had kicked a puppy. A pink and black mutant puppy.

    I sighed and lent her a hand up, which seemed to correct her mood a little.

    I couldn¡¯t tell if it was manipulation, or just her having two states of existence that she flipped between at speeds no one should be able to but I didn¡¯t particularly care.

    Her internal struggle between the two bi-polar wolves in her mind was none of my concern, my concern lay in getting out of here so I didn¡¯t die, something Pinky didn¡¯t seem to care about in the slightest.

    I left her to brush herself off and made my way to the best part of cover, peeking up over it to get a read on the situation. My partner also did, and started audibly humming to herself, mumbling, ¡°Mmhm, Mmhm,¡± like an idiot before asking, ¡°so whatcha you looking for?¡±

    I sighed, but we were in this together for now¡­ somehow.

    ¡°Just where to go next. I don¡¯t want to get caught between the two of them.¡±

    ¡°Oohh. All smart and stuff, sugoi! I would just run for it, but doing it this way is probably smarter.¡±

    I looked at her, then rubbed my eyes, putting down the sword to double palm.

    ¡°Of course you would just run through a combat zone, that¡¯s¡­ Yeh, fuck it.¡±

    ¡°What it¡¯s not that weird. Well¡­ it¡¯s not weird when I deal with people, anyway. Anything other than people don¡¯t stare at my chest. Plot armour and all that, you know?¡±

    My migraine, that was to say Pinky, could not stop me. Not for long anyways.

    ¡°Well, I know where we¡¯re going, so. One¡­ Two¡­¡± I started, quickly grabbing the sword.

    ¡°Wai-¡±

    ¡°Three,¡± I said, throwing myself up and over.

    I quickly oriented myself to the best piece of cover and booked it, my shoes giving me a little more spring to my step.

    I felt something hot enough to singe me pass behind me, quickly followed by a column of superheated air hitting me. The scream hurt my ears, but it wasn¡¯t enough, not in passing at least, to knock me over.

    I arrived at what looked like a kiosk and threw myself over to it.

    Three, very crispy, men were inside. Based on the circular pattern of it, and how they weren¡¯t totally on fire, told me it was the lunatics lances that had done it. I shuddered at that but got my grips quickly enough.

    Lucky me, I had literally dodged that bullet¡­ Or laser¡­ Or plasma. I couldn¡¯t be sure unless I got a better look, but something about it told me laser.

    Something about that barrel thing they were doing, swapping it out, told me it was a laser, but it could be plasma.

    I cleared my head in time to hear Pinky coming, getting clear of her path as she rolled in and splatted against the wall in front of me.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    ¡°Why are you so fast?¡± she mumbled into a piece of bio-wood.

    ¡°I told you, I¡¯m not fast, you''re just top heavy. It¡¯s all that weight you throw around whenever you walk.¡±

    ¡°Your top heavy too,¡± she mumbled.

    ¡°Yeh, but I¡¯m a short stack,¡± my mouth told her as I paid attention outside, ¡°All the energy is contained in my five-and-a-bit feet ¡­ It goes where I want it.¡±

    ¡°Not that top-heavy or that short,¡± she told me.

    I got a little grossed out at the idea of being top-heavy. But hearing the, not that short bit gave me a weird cozy feeling in my chest. It was inopportune, so I strangled it viciously, but it had been there for a moment.

    A lance thundered overhead, and I saw a peeking man get his top half instantly char broiled which helped a bit.

    It was a good shot too which worried and helped me stay grounded, which was annoyingly hard in the current situation.

    There were two more pieces of cover between us and the machinegun nest, and I didn¡¯t like the idea of running in front of it. Between that one, there was only a single piece of cover between us and freedom, so once we got out, we were clean for a getaway, but that wasn¡¯t the worrying bit.

    ¡°Lilly, what do you think about our chances if we push in front of the machine gun?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± she said simply. ¡°The fiercest resistance is probably there. The fringes were light, which points to heavier shock troops ready to repel in close combat to halt the main gun from getting pushed. Also, there is no way they would set up cover that protects them from their own gun.¡±

    Yeah. Nothing was ever that easy.

    ¡°Why would we go in front when we could take the gun?¡± Pink asked, ¡°I might hate the guards and whatnot, but I¡¯m not against getting a bad guy. Bet that will wipe the smug look off his face.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s face?¡± I asked her while I rolled the idea around in my head.

    ¡°Commander Crimson Crane,¡± she said simply, ¡°He¡¯s like¡­ My arch nemesis? We have this whole back and forth, we do, you know? He¡¯ll do something that¡¯s not quite an atrocity, and then I¡¯ll defeat him, and he¡¯ll shake his fist as I get away from his men and shout at me.¡±

    I looked at her and squinted like she was a fucking moron.

    ¡°And he¡¯s alive?¡± I asked her, ¡°because where I¡¯m siting you have a solution for that Miss pink particle gun on my finger.¡±

    ¡°I never get the chance,¡± she shrugged.

    I looked at her and got the feeling this was a can of words that I didn¡¯t want to open right now.

    ¡°Well, Pinky-¡±

    ¡°My name isn¡¯t-¡±

    ¡°Pinky!¡± I affirmed louder, ¡°Your idea of silencing that gun is probably our best shot. Do you have any extra good ideas rattling around in there, or are we just going to charge the heavily fortified position using the power of friendship or whatever?¡±

    She pouted again for a moment but brightened up when I said she had a good idea. I went through another cycle when the insult landed and zipped right back up when she realized I was asking for another idea.

    It was like watching clothes in a laundry machine. Up down, up down.

    She got a look on her face, a clear, overexaggerated look of thought, before nodding to herself sagely.

    She beamed at me after a few moments and said, ¡°Run at it, and shoot it until it dies. Always works for me.¡±

    ¡°Thats¡­ Oh boy¡­¡±

    Dear god. I know I don¡¯t believe in you, so this is rude. But can you please watch over me, your strongest soldier, in her hour of need? I thought to myself.

    ¡°Ok¡­ do you have a second one in there?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Nope,¡± she said, her beaming look not interrupted.

    ¡°Whew, boy. That¡¯s¡­ yeh, okay. We¡¯re not going to do that.¡±

    She looked confused but didn¡¯t say anything else that would make me want to do something stupid, like perhaps find the nearest bridge to jump off of, so that was nice.

    I looked back from her, and planed it out, plotted where I would move, how I could get from here to there.

    If I was rushing them from the front, my gun would be less useful. If any of them had decent armour, it would probably catch the bullet before it left its housing.

    I checked for plasma. I had a few squirrelled away, as it turned out, though not as many as I wanted. I counted five or so unloaded and one in Righty. I checked my pockets but found no grenade, so that was out.

    Good job, me. Leaving a compact tool that would be perfect for this. Yippee.

    One of the better places was where the sniper had hit one of the goons. I knew that one was down one of however many people were there. I could engage in melee while I got covering fire from Pinky.

    It was also just out of line with the others, being a bit further away than the rest but closer to the entrenched gun.

    We would only need to take one piece of cover, and then we could slip back and into the emplacement. It was also to the side of the gun, which meant it couldn¡¯t shoot us.

    I did not want to know how many men were in there, but it was the best place. We would need to slip behind it anyways, which would be probably bad if we didn¡¯t take it.

    ¡°How fast can you run,¡± I asked her, ¡°and can you run all the way over to there?¡± I continued, pointing.

    She leaned in, looking down my arm at where I was pointing.

    ¡°I can¡¯t make that, but I have an idea¡­¡±

    It was a bad idea, but it was a better idea than clearing multiple pieces of cover while fighting partially out of cover.

    Even if it was silly as hell.

    I slammed out of cover clumsily, my shoes purposefully kicked off with as much force as I could. I had to run awkwardly, back relatively upright instead of hunched over to avoid tipping over.

    I had to do that because I carried her on my back. Her head atop mine, her arms and legs holding onto me, one hand ready to snap off a shot.

    People were heavy, but my legs could handle it for the distance we were going.

    I thudded when I moved my legs slaming into the ground, as I took the least cluttered route, avoiding bits of broken plant and plastic and stone and metal.

    The machine gun noticed us rushing towards it and turned, first stopping its fire before swivelling towards us and lighting up.

    I swore and sped up, my breathing shortening and the spring in my shoes increasing. I got a lead on the shots before he narrowed in on me, out speeding how quickly he got the gun towards me. I couldn¡¯t outrun a laser, but I could abuse the person using it.

    A shot from behind us cracked beside me, nearly throwing me forward as I flinched from the scream of superheated air. The bar of light hit the wall of a building twenty feet away, burning through a woody exterior and leaving behind a molten divot in the inflammable wall behind it.

    One of the guys in cover to our right spotted us as he peeked over and cracked off a shot towards us that tore through my armour, further destroying it while also putting a burn through my plate and into my rib.

    I almost screamed, only not as adrenaline hit my system all at once, Lilly silently doing whatever it was she could do. The surge of it got me to gape as the feeling went from horrendous to a suddenly numbed burn, so distant it felt like it was happening to someone else.

    I sucked back a lungful of air, my head turning just enough to see his head as a second shot turned his head into a charcoal bricket and passed past him into the ground behind me.

    Another shot passed nearby, and Pinky shouted in pain as a shot clipped her and scorched my jacket, though it was not followed up nor as powerful as one of the lances.

    I counted my lucky stars because I did not want to get in there, only for Pinky to be fucking dead.

    Maybe I was getting sentimental, or maybe it was my need to survive, counting her as my best way out. But I couldn¡¯t help that I wanted to be right next to her right now, and tossing her charred corpse off my back was not what I wanted.

    I focused on getting to the cover, everything else falling away as my heart thundered in my ears.

    Sixty feet.

    Another shot cracked off in front of me, the sniper missing by about two feet. My animal brain screamed in fright, but I managed to keep running into it.

    Forty feet.

    The machine gunner started to correct the light flying from the gun, closing in behind me as he rapidly jerked the gun.

    Twenty feet.

    One of the pieces of cover we ran past threw something that rolled on the ground, and the mg closed.

    Ten feet.

    I could see the men in the cover front facing and while unready, they saw me.

    Five feet.

    The machine gun pinged and the shots cut of, one burning through my coat as it flapped. I pushed off a little harder, aiming to get behind the men in front of me. and my brain registered the word, ¡°grenade,¡± from behind me.

    And then I was in flying over them, putting a bit of spin on it as I turned, taking in the sight of a wall of guards as I crested over a piece of cover.

    The goons stood up, and one of them got picked off before I even landed, shrugging it off as it slammed into a helmeted head and sprayed off in several beams like a prism.

    I landed, knees buckling from the weight, even through most of it getting absorbed.

    Lilly apologized, and twelve men looked towards me, one of them flinched for a moment as he took the hit.

    Fuck me, this was definitely worse than rushing the gun.

    And that was before the grenade went off, a starting pistol on the absolute nightmare clown carnival this was about to be.

 Born that way

    Sometimes life gave you an unfair hand or advantage. Something that was just good enough.

    And sometimes life gave you a two, a king, a seven and some used chewing gum while the other guy had all the cards.

    It was a give and take that I often found myself on the receiving end of, often even on the advantaged side.

    Most of the time.

    This was so far to the other side that that I had no idea what the fuck to do.

    So I just did. I had been in my fair share of cluster fucks and this was not exception.

    Even if I didn¡¯t know how to manage kill twelve armed men in a dug out with more people in it than a coffin.

    Then the grenade went off and it become exponentially more confusing.

    The blast kicked shrapnel out towards us, about a third slamming into cover, a third going above us, and a third came towards us.

    The grenade was blessedly less devastating than the ones I had stolen and I had a wall of armored people between me and the blast.

    I quickly let my living backpack down and she let out a little, ¡°Ooh,¡± as she did. Pinky¡¯s ¡®Ooh,¡¯ was an immense reassurance that she was fine. She literally took a shot for me and I wasn¡¯t going to let her get ripped to shreds. I covered my face as best I could but most of it was dust. The shrapnel got caught on the armor of the well armored men.

    A few let out shouts along the lines of, ¡°Fuck!¡± and it luckily distracted them long enough to get in fighting shape.

    Or at least get the sword ready.

    Mostly the sword.

    I got the heavy blade up, moving some three feet towards the first goon that had taken the shot and was the most staggered of the lot.

    I lined up my strike and brought the blade up then down, quickly hewing into the weak jointed area at the base of the neck.

    The man moved, but the blade, either by its edge, or sheer weight didn¡¯t care as he put a bit of armour between the blade and his vulnerable insides. It sheered through a bit of his armour, paring it enough that it still tore down into him.

    It stopped on the chest plate, curving around and up parting his spine like I was preparing fish.

    The man was dead, though his head still had thoughts, and his heart still beat, pumping its vital fluids up into the two thirds of his neck that no longer was connected. The gore slicked the blades exit toward me, and I put my back into it, spinning it around into a cluster of two of them. It tore through the first one, the blade sheering through the base of the helmet and neck and through into the second man where it slammed into his shoulder.

    The armor he wore did sheer a little, but it didn¡¯t get through.

    What did get through was the force, and I heard the mans shout above the noise of a broken limb.

    I pulled back, hoping he was thoroughly disarmed for the moment, and unable to shoot right with his wound I pulled my weapon back, and made myself ready to fight just a little too slow.

    The man furthest from me, all the way down the line, steadying himself fired a shot and missed, firing into his friend as I pulled away.

    The bolt of light sprayed off the reflective armor like a mirror, shining off behind me in three equidistant bands of off red light.

    The surface grew rapidly red-orange. And there was a noise of cracking glass and a second scream from the poor fucker as some portion of the laser seared flesh, sending the smell of cooked meat in the air.

    ¡°I could use some help, Pink!¡± I shouted at her, rapidly letting the blade trail behind me and firing a shot off towards the man with Lefty.

    They were more test shots than lethal wounds, but they fired out normally anyways, burying them into the armor.

    The furthest man took the two shots, and it tore through his armor, doing its job against whatever material the lower layer consisted of.

    I felt almost good about the shots too, until pink let out two shots that obliterated two of the men like they were cardboard cut outs. Their limbs and head fell free of their nonexistent torso. The light still set my skin to writhing, a tingly sensation on my arms and the back of my neck.

    Hairs I did not normally have standing on end.

    I blinked, stunned by the casual power as too did most of the functioning troops around us.

    4 us. 6 if you counted wounded.

    Unluckily there were still six of the armored fuckers and they were now focused on me and Pink.

    I snaped off an additional shot into the mans heart, considering he was at the right range, if barely, to let the armor penetrating core of the bullet just slip out of the plastic case.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    I quickly holstered it moving the sword back into my hand as the plucky, now six man team, started to raise their weapons.

    I slung the sword up, but barely managed to interpose it between myself and a shot, which luckily bounced off the blade, and right back at the guy hitting the helmet on this head before scattering off of him, four beams this time each arching off of him like ablative material spraying off of him.

    There was no break, no instant crack, but it was good enough to scare the shit out of him.

    Down side was that it drew the others fire.

    Three shots cracked off towards me, on hit my leg¡­ again, the other singing through my coat and burning my flabby arm. The third hit armor, and blissfully didn¡¯t hurt anymore that the two shots together.

    I flinched but grit my teeth, and though my arms felt week, I managed to put some weight into it, slamming blade first into the chest plates, and breaking the front half of the two laser guns.

    One of them, the genius, didn¡¯t shoot me, but instead grabbed me and pulled. The blades weight pulled my arms, the wound screaming in my fucking arm and in a moment of weakness, I let go of it.

    I was pulled back, an arm slipping around my neck and the man tried to choak me out.

    I did my best to clock him in the side of the head, but in a contest between my elbow and his helmet one was going to give, and it wasn¡¯t his helmet.

    I let out a hiss of pain and heard him call out to one of the two I had slammed fruitlessly about, my brain running to fast to pay attention too what he said. Instead, I saw haltingly as I flailed to get a point of leverage, the goon furthest from me with a broken gun level his weapon at me. The one closer looked at his broken gun and then made to stop the guy next to him.

    His buddy shot too fast.

    His gun started to fire, a shot hitting a glassy lens bit that rapidly overheated. It rapidly cracked before exploding into thousands of tiny shards of sand.

    The lens must have focused the shots, because they were hot when they washed over me, my eyes closed tight saw only red light shine through them, before I heard a noise, and cracked open one eye.

    The gun was smoking. Tiny tubes glowed red and the man was trying to slam the guns breach open. He slammed it once, twice, and as he hit it and the second guy held the gun trying to stop him it pinged open with a grinding shattering noise.

    Fire exploded up and onto the two men, liquid fire.

    I say liquid fire because whatever that fluid was immediately covered the two and combusted and they started to scream.

    It was horrifying, they two¡¯s screams shrill and terrible and nigh unlike that of a person. They began to writhe and shake, tried to dive to the ground and roll to put it out.

    I doubted it would do any work. It was a flaming liquid, and it lit with no fire. That kind of thing didn¡¯t go off.

    My foot found the top of a plate by his knee and I pressed with my one good leg, my other kicking and screaming as it flailed.

    Using his body against itself I forced his leg down, sudden force causing him to loose some balance, and arm going out to catch himself and an arm coming free enough that I could fight back.

    Grabbing him in a very tricky maneuver as we fell, I managed to turn toward him and we landed on my back. Griping behind his back with a leg I gave a twist and flipped us around.

    I lay atop him, my good leg pined beneath hard armor, and it fucking hurt no matter how much adrenaline I had.

    I could practically hear my heart as it pounded blood in my ear.

    I was in a tunnel and he was the only one in sight, and I was going to take my fucking due on him.

    I grabbed his helmet and tore it off of him, only a grime covered face beneath.

    I lifted myself up and took lefty out leveling it with his eye and saw the mans life flash before his eyes as I put a round into his head.

    He jerked as he did, but he was in to position to fight back as I got up off him and left him to die and holstered lefty.

    I looked up just in time to see the two screaming men run off flailing and Pinky light up again, blasting the remaining goons with her pink particle gobbly gook that converted people into pasta sauce.

    I looked over at her, panting. My leg wanting to give out under me as the man started to seize. My arm not much better as it screamed in agony.

    I could fell myself clenching my teeth as I breathed.

    Pinky smiled a silly little smile, until she looked at me shocked and said, ¡°Oh no, you¡¯re all hurt.¡± As if getting shot was the same level of danger as scraping my knee.

    ¡°Yeh,¡± I said on an exhale, ¡°What about it? Are you going to kiss my boo boo¡¯s better?¡±

    She pouted and then pointed at my pack.

    ¡°I gave you your medicine. If you give someone bandages you expect them to be used.¡±

    I thought about the upsides and downsides of using them and said quietly as if muttering, ¡°Lilly, should I risk it?¡±

    ¡°I could counter balance some of it once I¡¯ve isolated why it makes you loopy, at least probably. Your wounds got better last time because I could separate the burn damage when you transformed, but unless you want to drop a transformation now and burn a bunch more energy¡­ It would take me quite some time to heal the wounds using only your current biology to do it.¡±

    ¡°Damn,¡± I muttered.

    I sighed and took a look at Pinky.

    ¡°Do I have to use my boo boo bitch stickers? I swear I¡¯m good to go still,¡± I lied to her, hoping I could get her to not get her insistence.

    She looked at me like she knew I was lying, which she might, and she shook her head no.

    I put up my hands in surrender and got down before a shot took my head off right next to the man having a seizure.

    He was dying hard, the tough bastard. I noticed a tiny bit of a tattoo on his neck and reached over to try and make sense of it, but it was some mark I didn¡¯t know. It looked like a military or paramilitary tattoo, they had a rigidity to them that a lot of other types didn¡¯t, but I had never seen this one before.

    I shrugged and settled down, pulling out the stim from the pack.

    It was a needle, with a little ampule inside, filled with whatever concoction pink produced so prodigiously.

    It looked a little silly, with an orange tip like a pretend gun but I reached over and pulled the cap off, a tiny, iddy biddy needle just barely peeked out.

    Carefully I pressed it up against the skin, lining it up next to a vane before pressing it into my skin. I pressed the cap flat and pressed until I heard a pop.

    A tingle ran down into my arm, and scrunched my face up as the medicine enter my blood and get to doing whatever it did.

    I waited to feel a rush, a kick of whatever made pinky so loopy.

    And I waited.

    I waited until I felt the wounds start to tingle before I opened my eyes and looked at her. She casually lying down in the dug out populated with 12¡­ No 13, because there was one guy pressed into the corner with a carbonized face, the snipers hard work presumably, like she was laying down on a couch.

    ¡°When is the loopy medicine going to kick in? Because if I¡¯m high I need a bit to acclimatize.¡±

    ¡°Loopy? No, no. It doesn¡¯t have side effects. It¡¯s just a strong regenerator, makes your stem cells go coo-coo and divide like crazy for a bit.¡±

    I looked at her and my mouth said, ¡°Huh¡­ I thought you were high.¡±

    She looked at me shocked.

    ¡°What? What makes you think I¡¯m high?¡±

    Oh dear lord. She was being serious.

    She was just always like this.

    I sighed and looked at her with grimace and said, ¡°You know pink. I don¡¯t know. But I suppose it might be just how energetic you are. I suppose your just a morning person.¡±

    My grimace was a mad and painful smile at the end but I got it out.

    ¡°Of course, I am. The morning is the best time of the day, you get to eat the best food, and you feel all rested and stuff. Why wouldn¡¯t I be a morning person?¡± she asked honestly.

    Just fucking kill me now.

 Ill get you next time!!!

    The sensation of ones body fixing itself is often a thing we barely notice. It was slow and somewhat uncomfortable but there was never the feeling of¡­ well what the med gave me.

    I had no idea what manner of wizardry Pinky had given me, but she was no lier when she said it would heal me, and that there wasn¡¯t anything to dope me up in it.

    In fact there was nothing particularly good for pain, or for the horrifying sensation it gave me as it filled my wound.

    My wound begin to rapidly close, as if by magic, far faster than I expected, and far faster then even my rapid and automatic mending. Dealing with the burns, quickly breaking and ejected the crusty burns from my pitted skin into the great beyond of the blasted hellscape we resided in.

    It also had the side effect of wiggling.

    Like visible, tactile wiggling, my flesh and skin winding like thousands of minute worms, backed together.

    Lilly ¡°Ohhed,¡± and said things like, ¡°Didn¡¯t think about that,¡± and, ¡°Would kill a normal person,¡± and about, ¡°Telomeres,¡± and, ¡°Stem Cells.¡± Whatever all of those were, it was obvious that she thought Pinky¡¯s medicine was the best god damn thing for me she had ever seen.

    I disliked it greatly, the chief reason among them was how the movement felt too close to the horror of the dogs and their ever shifting squick insides.

    I felt as if my skin had become possessed, and it made me wish to hurl.

    Blessedly the period of intense healing me, was brief, and the rest of the time it did it''s work it instead made my body tingle pleasantly. As if all the healing went into fixing the minutia.

    Surprisingly I hooked up some phlegm thick with black tar which, while horrifying, was also self-explanatory as my lungs felt suddenly fresh.

    After clearing my mouth, I also suddenly felt the urge to smoke, which left me with a jitter, but a manageable one.

    I managed to get up after a brief minute.

    I listened to the machine gun, who knew we were here, and no doubt waited to try and do something should we crawl up behind it.

    I sucked in a short, disgusted breath through my nose, before I asked Pinky, ¡°Next time I need one of those, please knock me out before using it¡­ Or better yet, just fucking kill me.¡±

    Pinky looked genuinely ok with the first option, but at speaking the second she gained a look of slight annoyance.

    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to put it on the data sheet: new lady is a winey baby.¡±

    ¡°It¡­ It just reaches too close to recent horrors I wish I had never seen,¡± I told her, shuddering before murmuring, ¡°Fucking Dogs.¡±

    I felt my hand hold the handles of my guns, an instinctive move that helped me stay rooted, even if it was weakly. It helped me find the nerve to pull myself up, so to speak, bootstraps not included.

    ¡°Lets¡­ Lets finish this up. Silence the gun, and exit before anyone gets an extra stupid idea in their head.¡±

    Pinky nodded twice with an audible, ¡°Mmhum, Mmhum,¡± the noise coming out a bit deeper than her normal voice.

    We got up and quickly got up and around, out the back of the hole and behind the main gun.

    It looked welcoming, an easy way to get in and silence the man who fired out at the Lunatic forces.

    The problem was, that I didn¡¯t trust it.

    The gunner knew we were back here, and a machine gun was not a solo operation.

    One man shot, yes, but you often had a loader and sometimes a squad to keep people off that gun.

    Would there be just the one? Or many more in there.

    ¡°Pinky, can you do anything to deal with it, without entering? Or am I going to need to go in there? Because it feels like a trap,¡± I asked her in a whisper.

    She hummed, thinking, her voice once again deeper than normal.

    Was she putting on a cutesy voice? Maybe she just liked it, or didn¡¯t like her normal voice? It certainly fit with the whole look. The idea of Pinky acting the same way but with a deeper voice was funny, but it certainly didn¡¯t fit her actions.

    She got a look on her face, her eyes opening in a dramatic look of comprehension.

    Reaching into her get up, some fold of cloth or another, she withdrew a tube.

    Quickly she rotated it around to reveal a button and pressed it before tossing it into the bunker.

    I caught hexagonal panels of glass as it passed, not dissimilar to my plasma shots, a minor artifact that the lunatics no doubt harvested in great abundance from the black fabricators on so many planets.

    I also caught suspicious green liquid inside, seemingly foaming and I looked over to her.

    ¡°What was that, and should we still be here?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Hmm? Oh¡­ no. We should probably leave.¡±

    I looked back at the bunker, confused buy I kept close to her as we left the machine gun nest, quickly moving down towards what looked like a staging area. Backpacks and what looked like a power source. Tools, a grenade that I took two of, and other bits littered around in a mess that spoke of rushed actions.

    Stolen story; please report.

    I kept looking back towards the nest at the sound of a loud pop, glass shattering before a plume of pink mist floated out the entrance.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t look if I were you, its really gross,¡± Pinky said.

    I could see the plastics and faux wood and concrete¡­ melting. The prior beginning to smoke as the cloud washed over it and decided that despite my generally bullet proof grit, I would not indeed want to see whatever it did to a person.

    We made our way down and towards the way out of here, as the gun went silent. Confusion began to settle over the crowd as we made our way behind another piece of cover and slaughtered its inhabitance. They didn¡¯t even see much of us as I tore into them with the big blade.

    We saw the lunatic forces pushing in, the long range riflemen taking shots with their laser lances, popping heads as their frontline troops begin to close in number on the stranglers. I imagined the left flank of that attack would have a much easier time, considering we had massacred our way here.

    A sizeable group was also coming our way and upon pointing it out, Pinky groaned.

    ¡°That¡¯s him alright¡­ See the guy? The one in the red? That¡¯s him.¡±

    ¡°The crimson guy you mentioned?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°MMhmm,¡± she said normally, upbeat and simultaneously annoyed, ¡°Arch enemy material¡­¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯ve fought him before or something?¡±

    ¡°Not fought,¡± she said, ¡°he just always shouts a bunch as I run away mostly. It¡¯s always, nonsense about¡­ well it changes depending on what I got caught up in, but this time I bet It¡¯ll be about me being a terrorist, and him shouting that I won¡¯t get away with whatever he thinks I¡¯ve done.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you shoot at both sides?¡±

    She puffed up her cheeks. ¡°I only shot after they shot at me; I was just checking what the fuss was about.¡±

    I shrugged, at least he didn¡¯t seem like the collector, more likely he was just a senior guard, some kind of commander that frequently bumped into her.

    ¡°So were going to book it? Just run the hell away?¡±

    She nodded and I looked over to the now visible street.

    It wasn¡¯t that far away, though it was open, so we might get shot at.

    ¡°Then lets book it,¡± I told her, holding one hand out.

    She got flustered for a second, before giving me a secretive smile.

    ¡°Offering to run off with a bad girl? My, my, how exciting.¡±

    I sighed.

    ¡°What are you, like eight? Are we running away as teenage woman?¡±

    ¡°No. But I can joke all I want,¡± she said, my chiding not getting to her as she took my hand.

    We got up and ran to the exit, I slowed my steps to keep pace with her, and Lilly obliged ensuring my springy shoes did not catapult me toward the exit, even if I did pull my friend along a little.

    A voice bellowed out from the guard closing in, ¡°Stop right there terrorist scum! You shall not flee today!¡±

    It came from the man in red, Pinky¡¯s Commander Crimson whatever.

    Pinky strangely enough, did stop, putting on hand on her hips and forcing me to draw short a step and stop to avoid pulling her.

    ¡°Commander Crimson Crane,¡± she said, ¡°You¡¯ll never catch me, or my name isn¡¯t Magical Girl Sparkling Bubblegum.¡±

    I tried to slap a hand over her mouth, a gut instinct to stop her from saying something stupid like her name, but when it came out of her mouth, it instead made me want to cringe into a tiny ball, while simultaneously wanting to laugh.

    As far as pseudonyms were concerned, it was a bad one, full stop.

    ¡°Magical Girl Sparkling Bubblegum?¡± I asked, more to myself then to her.

    ¡°Crimson Crane? That isn¡¯t my¡­¡±

    Pinky whispered to me, ¡°Come on, while he¡¯s distracted,¡± And started to cheese it as fast as she could.

    Taken off guard by the rapid change in direction as she started running before me, almost pulling me over until my sense of balance began to kick in and I moved in an effort to balance, only for my body to kick in and start moving.

    They were still quite a distance from us though closing quickly.

    Just too quickly to properly clear two groups of black clad figures entrenched in their positions.

    The commander, still monologuing shouted, ¡°You won¡¯t escape you little pink terrorist, you or your orange friend!¡± as he got suddenly shot at.

    His troops thankfully weren¡¯t blown away, and began to fight back, and he got tied up in the fight rather quickly.

    As we ran, I let go of her hand and instead scooped her up, though it was a strain on my flabby transformed arms, pulling her in despite her being taller. She ended up over my shoulder which let me carry us away with far more celerity than with her.

    A bit ironic considering her legs were longer than mine.

    I heard Pinky, because there was no way I was going to use the name she used, blow a raspberry at the commander.

    I could hear him in the combat behind us shout a few obscenity¡¯s before finishing it up with, ¡°I¡¯ll get you next time you pink haired menace! You and your little orange friend too!¡±

    And then we were out of the line of fire and into the city.

    I kept running until I started to get a stitch in my side and my shoulder hurt from Pinky¡¯s knee, I stopped and let her down, gave her sword to her and caught my breath on a wood panel wall.

    Finaly it was over.

    I could feel the exhaustion begin to seep into me and I leaned down into the wall, falling flat on my ass.

    I pressed my back into the wall and just breathed, centering myself, making sure to keep control of myself.

    Pinky, was not out of breath from running her ass off while carrying a second person, and decided to use her ample breath and unshakeable good mood.

    ¡°You¡¯re new to all of this, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been in more gun fights then you can shake a stick at,¡± I managed between breaths, ¡°I¡¯ve been doing it since I was old enough to move away.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean the gun fight. I meant the being a magical girl bit,¡± she told me.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a magical girl,¡± I groaned, ¡°Magic doesn¡¯t exist.¡±

    ¡°Sure, sure.¡± She said obviously not caring that magic was not real, and could not hurt me, ¡°Whatever you want to call it. Your new to this whole thing.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± I told her, still not willing to tell her at a short coming that she might use against me.

    As quickly as we had become friendly under fire, I didn¡¯t trust her that much. We were friendly, not friends¡­ Not yet¡­ Probably not yet.

    I had come to use collective words, using us, or we instead of me and she or she and me.

    She was worming her way in for sure, but she wasn¡¯t in, she was too new.

    I settled on that as she said, ¡°I can show you the ropes, you know. I know it sucked for me because I was specialized, and considering it seems like you can¡¯t use your war form, you are probably specialized too. I can help you find your footing. And while I¡¯m at it, if you want to, you can stay at my place, considering you seem to be from out of town.¡±

    I gave her a light snort, ¡°a bit of an understatement, I¡¯m from out of planet.¡±

    ¡°Even more accurate than, anyway, it¡¯s up to you. You could run off, but I don¡¯t know where you would go. There are places, but you would need to pay out upfront as an outsider. And I don¡¯t know any.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d give a small fortune for something to sleep on. If your offering hospitality, I won¡¯t snub my nose at a couch.¡±

    She nodded, ¡°Come on then, hopefully nothing else will show its head.¡±

    I nodded, and pulled out a smoke and got to smoking as I got up, my added flexibility aiding me.

    I even thought about switching my shoes. Considering my boots were in my pockets it wasn¡¯t so easy while smoking and carrying my gear, but I figured I could get the magnetic souls on quick enough when we stopped, their weight and lack of spring would be familiar and welcoming, but we were currently running from a theoretical crime scene.

    She frowned at the smell, but didn¡¯t cuss me out over it, and I tried to keep it out of her face as we went on a walk back to wherever she lived.

    That¡¯s about when the phrase, nothing else will show its head entered my thoughts, and I looked at her and asked, ¡°Wait what did you mean nothing else?¡±

    She said, casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, ¡°Luna¡¯s Haunted.¡±

    I sighed out grey smoke.

    Of course it was.

 Thanks, I know that took Restraint

    I sighed, feeling the headache coming from a mile away; my shoes dulled the force of my feet as I thudded to a stop and looked at Pinky, cigarette going into one hand. She was the most exasperating creature I had met because she would be totally normal, and they say the most out-of-pocket shit and do not explain.

    Like the commander guy, who she just seemed to fuck around with because she could.

    The guy tickled my memory something fierce, but I couldn¡¯t place it for my life.

    I got the sudden urge to rub my temples, but instead of doing that and probably lighting my hair on fire, I sighed, ¡°What do you mean, Pink?¡±

    Pinky looked at me as if I was perhaps, not the sharpest tool in the shed, and in a tone that felt only a little patronizing answered, ¡°Luna¡¯s Haunted. You know, like mysterious stuff happens all the time? No answer as to why it happens? It''s probably the second most haunted place in the solar system.¡±

    ¡°Yeh, Pink, I know what the word haunted means. I mean, what the fuck do you mean when you say haunted?¡±

    ¡°Ohh¡­ Do you want the technical answer or the historical one?¡±

    ¡°Are they different?¡± I asked her only for her to give me a so-so.

    ¡°They are a little different, think practical vs folklore,¡± she explained.

    I nodded, saving this pinkyism away for later, and simply said, ¡°Go on then, it''s story time,¡± before sticking my cigarette back in my mouth and sucking back a nice lungful of relaxation.

    She scrunched up her nose at the smell but nodded, and we started walking as she collected herself.

    ¡°Well¡­ How much do you know about the history of Luna?¡±

    ¡°Not much, you guys made ships a long time ago¡­ and you make a bunch of decent high volume products that other people can¡¯t, and that¡¯s about it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not even history, that¡¯s just commerce¡­ Ok, so, long ago in the before times, and by that I mean pre empire, a bunch of people moved to the moon because it was better than back on the throne for some reason, and to do it, they basically betrayed Humanity, right?¡±

    ¡°Following you so far,¡± I tacitly agreed.

    ¡°Yeah, so humanity didn¡¯t take it so well, and they basically decided that if they ever recovered, they were going to kill off the traitors to their entire people; they recovered, and the first settlers decided they were owed, humanity refused, they came here, rounded them up, and killed them all, like a full stop, root and branch. Afterward, those first members decided that they liked the moon and settled down. Those were basically the proto-silver legion, who came equipped with the finest weapons and who most of the noble cast can trace their roots back to. But after that, people started having sightings, strange occurrences, people going missing in the dead of night, that kind of stuff, and it''s been like that for centuries.¡±

    I blinked at her, that was¡­ Kind of hardcore.

    It was so hardcore that my cigarette almost fell out of my mouth. I caught it, saying, ¡°So Luna is a giant burial ground, weird shit happens, therefore ghosts?¡±

    ¡°Close, except they¡¯re not ghosts. They''re some sort of monster; they can come out of nowhere and just disappear after, in and out.¡±

    Her words conjured a familiar sight: A dog made of hate that could walk out of corners.

    They were around, here and there, many on the sides of buildings or mid-air, though they were mostly faint and unused.

    I asked her, not quite with intention, ¡°Any dogs?¡±

    She looked at me like I had just asked something particularly stupid, and I felt relief flood into my shoulders.

    ¡°I tell you that thousands of people were murdered, and there are monsters¡­ And you ask about dogs?¡±

    ¡°It¡­ It just reminds me of something I saw. It¡­ It was like something made to look like a dog, only from a bad painting, by something that held nothing but contempt for them. It was more like a monster, in the shape of a dog, and it could come and go as it pleased.¡±

    Pinky looked at me and then nodded.

    ¡°That matches the general idea most people get from it. Basically, if something you can¡¯t explain happens, it¡¯s a monster. There are all sorts of stories, though I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve heard of dogs¡­ No, no dogs. There were some that seemed afraid of dogs, but I can¡¯t remember if those were tall tales or recorded.¡±

    I gave a sigh of relief. If I never had to meet another in the flesh, it would have been too soon.

    I turned to her, realization dawning on me, ¡°So wait. If you¡¯re a legionnaire-¡±

    ¡°Magical Girl,¡± she said emphatically, cutting me off.

    ¡°Sure. If you¡¯re that, then you''re some kind of noble princess? Is that how you got the,¡± I said, gesturing to her.

    She snorted, ¡°No, nothing of the sort. I¡¯m a minor noble at best; I basically just have a few niche rights, like carrying a sword,¡± she said, pointing at the sword, ¡°and I¡¯m an outcast. It is how I got all this,¡± she said, gesturing at herself, stopping for a moment on her ample bosom. ¡°I was hired to basically get it to work so they could reclaim their family¡¯s historical glory or whatever, and it bonded to me instead. I got my wish, and the rest is history.¡±

    I nodded, ¡°I see, I see. So your knockers are fake, and you got a wish out of this?¡±

    She looked at me and stuttered, ¡°They¡¯re not fake¡­¡± Before catching herself and continuing, ¡°Hey, you¡¯re fake too, and we both got a wish; everyone gets one.¡±

    I was trying to remember what kind of wish I got, but Lilly chimed in, ¡°Killing the Collector was your wish. Remember? I had to get you to sign on so I could save you?¡±

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°Ohh. Yeah, I guess I did get one, even if I wasn¡¯t exactly in my right mind.¡±

    Pinky looked at me curiously, not asking out loud, but it was obvious from the look on her face that she wanted me to spill.

    ¡°I got shot and kicked into green goo. I made mine half-conscious,¡± I explained briefly, not willing to give the stranger my personal grudge.

    Pinky looked a little shocked.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ Wow, that sucks. Was it worth it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m still doing it right now, revenge is, after all, a dish that¡¯s served in the future, not piping hot out of the kitchen.¡±

    ¡°Maybe¡­ I¡¯ve never been much for vengeance. Or smoking,¡± she said, stopping.

    ¡°What, you don¡¯t like smoking?¡± I asked.

    ¡°You might want to-¡± I didn¡¯t hear her warning in time.

    I gave a little hop backwards, turning to face her, intending to make a joke, and passed over an unseen threshold.

    I could feel as, mid-hop, gravity''s hold on me suddenly dropped, my ears spinning as they quickly recalibrated down. The smoke coming off my cigarette slowed its rise slightly, glamping together more before leaving in a curtain of smoke instead of as whisps, and my need to right myself as I floated left me ratcheting backwards from the minuscule jerks.

    ¡°Put on your shoes¡­¡± She said, slowly. Walking over to me with a little smile on her face as I flapped around like some manner of small mammal, her magnetic shoes clipped to the ground enough to hold her.

    I got ahold of myself and stopped flailing. Pinky grabbed me at the waist and righted me vertically, bringing my feet to the ground and letting me take a seat.

    I looked up at her and was surprised by the slight predatory look.

    ¡°You¡¯re looking at me funny, Pink.¡±

    ¡°You look funny¡­ Huh, you never gave me your name,¡± she said.

    I looked at her, taking my cigarette out of my hand and letting it float off to the side. I went to grab my boots from my pockets, but then I realized I hadn¡¯t.

    ¡°Shoot,¡± I said and felt my mouth trying to work. I stopped it for a second and then let it go, some intent behind my words, some automatically drawn from the influence of my form.

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s a bit rude of me not to say, but for now, you can call me Bandit. No offence, but considering my circumstances, it could be dangerous to use my given name, even if we trusted one another with them,¡± I told her. My words augmented by form into something passible as manners, though not without removing the slight bashfulness.

    ¡°Well, Bandit, my name is-¡±

    ¡°Magical Girl Sparkling Bubblegum, yes,¡± I said along with her, staring at her as I fumbled with one boot.

    She stared at me blank-faced, and I stared back at her, not laughing. It was hard because it was a little silly, but mostly, it was just so long it was impractical.

    Apparently, I was still no good at hiding anything on my face because she looked at me wryly and said, ¡°I know it¡¯s a silly name, so thanks for not laughing at it; I know that took restraint.¡±

    I did my best not to shy away from the feeling of being read so easily; it was not the kind of thing a mercenary would do.

    ¡°Do you mind if I call you pinky?¡± I asked her. I know it¡¯s not all that much, but pseudonyms are generally short for a reason. I can¡¯t keep calling you that; silliness aside, it¡¯s so long I can feel it in the back of my throat,¡± I told her seriously.

    She didn''t pick up on the joke, but she looked at me and thought it over. I could practically see the hamster wheel in her head spinning at my words. She looked at me, and with a minor sight, she nodded.

    ¡°I can understand that; it is quite long, so long it would get in the way. But, I expect you to come up with a magical girl name so we can further mess with people, which, if I¡¯m going to be honest, is way more important.¡±

    I cringed a bit at the idea of agreeing to it, but in the end, I nodded as I tied my shoes, slipped the free shoes into my pockets, and picked up the remains of my cigarette.

    ¡°Sure, I guess I¡¯ll come up with one¡­ But I¡¯m not going to respond to it.¡±

    She nodded, ¡°If I have to put up with your smoking and short names, I¡¯m going to periodically use it on you. Think of it as a way to balance the scales.¡±

    ¡°Sure thing¡­¡± I told her as I stood, ¡°So what the fuck was that?¡±

    ¡°The¡­ Oh, the gravity thing?¡±

    ¡°No, I mean the unicorn that just kicked me,¡± I told her.

    We started walking, me following her as she ignored my jab.

    ¡°Lunas orders. It''s some kind of gravity artifact project she¡¯s been insisting on. Apparently, it''s good for our health, but we haven¡¯t gotten enough for every prefecture to install them all, so they¡¯re here and there. Some sections have priority over others, like the spires over there, but here is low priority. So, for now, just pay attention to the lines on the ground. You missed them, but there was a yellow line with a green and red border.¡±

    I whistled in appreciation. That was some kind of crazy golem bullshit if I had ever heard about it. One of the archangels making an artifact was not something I had thought about. I had to wonder why they didn¡¯t do it more if they could just do it.

    ¡°Are they fabed, or is she making them from scratch?¡±

    ¡°No clue. Luna doesn¡¯t exactly talk with people over tea, you know? She doesn¡¯t even talk with us, even though my Oracle tells me she should.¡±

    ¡°Hah!¡± I cackled, ¡°Mine¡¯s been losing her shit over that.¡±

    ¡°My Oracle sends one every day and seems to expect her to respond. Honestly, I understand why she won¡¯t respond.¡±

    ¡°Shit is nuts,¡± I told her, ¡°Still, I can¡¯t get over the gravity thing, I was coming from the Voidrome and getting hammered with gravity was not something I was expecting, especially as I walked out of the concourse and into that shit.¡±

    The idea of the Commander''s voice being familiar came back to me with the subtlety of a hammer to the brain.

    I had felt his voice had been familiar, and that¡¯s because it was.

    I had recognized his voice from the guy I had gotten in touch with who sounded similar.

    ¡°Oh fuck,¡± I said out loud, not watching where I was going, I stopped as she did.

    ¡°What? My house isn¡¯t that bad,¡±

    ¡°Not you¡¯re house, the Commander; I thought I knew him from somewhere. He¡¯s the one that gave me landing permission,¡± I said out loud. Looking up to take in our final destination, I could see why she might be a little defensive.

    ¡°Oh, what the hell is that? Do you live in a haunted house, Pinky? What is that? Is it structurally sound?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a totally normal¡­ Able it, very old house. It¡¯s perfectly safe.¡±

    Looking at the house, the best way to describe it was the haunted house meets the industrial building. Two floors with wood panelling so old you could see the concrete through its cracked surface. Old blacked-out windows with cobwebs on the outside. There was a small wall outside, like the boundary of a graveyard made of old wrought iron.

    Along the side was what looked like a loading dock at the side of the house where there might be a garage, but it was so underused that it looked like the spiders had died from a lack of flies.

    ¡°Damn, Pinky, I assumed you might have a body count, but I didn¡¯t expect it would be from stone-cold murder. Are you sure it''s not just your house that¡¯s haunted?¡±

    Pinky started walking towards the door, waving my half jokative, half-confused critique away.

    Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, I followed, creeping along behind her like a monster might breach the front door when she opened it.

    ¡°It¡¯s not bad; it''s rough on the outside, but inside, it''s fine. I got it for a steal because it looks like a death trap, but it¡¯s quite comfy,¡± she said, moving up to the door before pulling a key out of her chest and unlocking the door.

    I stared over her shoulder, up on my tippy toes, as she finished her speech and swung the door open.

    Inside, I could see a sea of garbage bags over a nice wood panel in an open room interior. I could see a tile area to the left where the side seemed to open up to the alley with a dumb waiter next to it. A bar-like area in the back where I assumed a kitchen was, next to a door that looked like a bathroom, and next to a repurposed office, I assumed it was a bedroom. A set of stairs was just to our right, passed a half wall, and led up to a metal security door that looked like the most secure thing in the whole house.

    And surrounded by the sea of garbage bags to the left, between where we stood and the kitchen, appeared to be a nest of some sort, made around a-

    Pinky shut the door and turned to me, her face so solid it was more mask than face.

    I could see a hint of a blush creep into her cheeks that I pretended not to see.

    ¡°So¡­ Would you mind waiting around for a minute? I wasn¡¯t expecting guests, I just need to clean up a bit.¡±

    ¡°You know what¡­ Sure. Take as long as you need,¡± I told her.

 A Night on the Couch

    Pinky closed the door so quickly that it could break steel plates. I was honestly a little surprised that the frame remained. I sat down on what amounted to her lawn after she pardoned herself to clean for a minute, listening to the sounds of Pinky cleaning like a mad woman.

    Over the course of a minute, I heard noises from inside that should not have been, including the sound of a metal pipe dropping on solid concrete, two cats snarling, and the sounds of violent movement.

    I was half tempted to actually break in and make sure she was still alive, but she came out a whole 60 seconds later, and I blinked at her.

    I had expected it to take a hell of a lot longer than 60 seconds.

    ¡°I can wait if you need more-¡± I tried to say before she reached down and pulled me to my feet.

    She didn¡¯t look like she could, but as I was coming to know all too well, her looks were deceiving.

    ¡°It¡¯s all good, nothing wrong in there, ha. Come on in,¡± she said, tugging me to the door before bowing slightly, and gesturing inside.

    I turned and looked in¡­ A clean house.

    I could swear the light glinted off the wood panel.

    The room was¡­ well, not spotless, but damn near close to it.

    I walked in, shoes clacking in the inner alcove of the front door before I stepped up and onto the wood.

    I walked in to get a good look and found only a few drops here or there, where the shine dimmed.

    Not a bag in site... Anywhere

    Considering how cartoonish Pinky could be, I was halfway to looking under the rug by the holo as if she had somehow stacked them all under it, and I would lift the edge only for them to spill out.

    ¡°Where¡­¡±

    The door closed, and I stopped my possibly insulting check, turning to look at her with awe and not just a little fear.

    ¡°Where did¡­¡± I asked, a little lost.

    ¡°A girl has to have her secrets,¡± she said coyly, slipping off her shoes and into what looked like pink bunny slippers before stepping up into the living room.

    She stepped up before gesturing to the bulky holo and the couch, ¡°Feel free to sit; I¡¯ll turn on something for you while I get dinner.¡±

    I looked between her and the couch and did the most suspicious thing I could.

    ¡°Thank you for your hospitality,¡± I said, fighting the words as they came automatically to my mouth so I could be the one saying them, and I took a seat.

    The couch was a bit rough around the edges, but it was still a comfy cushion under my rear, and with the day I had just had, it felt better than almost anything I had ever sat on.

    Pinky walked over and fiddled with a few nobs and buttons, and the great big thing sprang to life, a tiny two-foot screen lighting up, scan lines crawling down the screen as the news sprang to life, several Lunatics talking back and forth in fine flowy garb that made them look stuffy.

    Pinky left, and I just kind of vegetated for a while, watching as they talked about nothing in particular, just nice, good old-fashioned brain rot. The blooms are projected to bloom next week; little Timmy fell down the well on so and so street. Ten best products for youthful skin: you won''t guess where snake oil ranks, as usual.

    I started to take in the place, looking at the shelves of tiny neat bound thin books and the black technological boxes off to the side of the room let, when the adrenaline died, and I came down like a brick, enervation hitting every limb with lead weight and my stomach protesting that it demanded sacrifice, that I turned to pay attention to Pinky.

    I stared past the big box and looked over into the kitchen at her boiling water, and she looked back at me, supernatural senses keenly feeling my gaze.

    We just stared at one another, my eyes droopy, and she waved back.

    My stomach growled, and I looked down at its protests.

    ¡°Shush you,¡± I murmured, sneaking my head back behind the monitor.

    Then I stood up and walked over to her because the silence was killing me, and I couldn¡¯t sit still on a good day. I also couldn¡¯t stand the news. It was just so boring and sanitized that I couldn¡¯t bear myself to watch it.

    ¡°What''s up?¡± Pinky asked, looking at me and not at some kind of noodle she was cooking.

    ¡°Don¡¯t like sitting still. Anything I can help with?¡±

    ¡°Hmm¡­ I suppose you could get some dishes. Oh, and would you like some tea?¡±

    ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll get some dishes. I don¡¯t suppose you have coffee?¡± I asked her.

    Pinky looked at me and asked as if I were a little dim, ¡°Tea?¡±

    I nodded, ¡°Sure¡­ Now, where are your dishes?¡±

    She pointed past me, and I brought a few down, eyeing one of the open cabinets.

    It held dishes with little spiny bits inside, and it was stacked in a manner that evoked a raccoon on opium.

    ¡°Don¡¯t stare,¡± Pinky called out, but it was too late.

    I put down the plates and got to looking at the weird shelf, then I re-stacked it with every orderly neuron I had, every part of me that was good at understanding how something physically worked I had inherited. Normally, I was the chaos gremlin, and I couldn¡¯t be shown up by Pinky.

    I stepped back when I had it stacked so fine it could be used in a commercial, washed my hands and picked the plates back up.

    Pinky stared at me like I was some manner of harmless psychotic, gently whispering sweet nothings into a wall.

    ¡°Did you have to do that?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Absolutely.¡± I told her straight-faced.

    She sighed and shooed me.

    ¡°Get. Let me cook. You¡¯re a guest; stop cleaning my kitchen.¡±

    I did so, though I didn¡¯t sit down, instead pacing around for a bit, trying to pull myself from the crash and force my body to keep releasing endorphins, and keep me awake, walk off the activity, and let my body wake back up from the crash. I walked around until Pinky cussed me out for wearing a hole through the floor before I sat down and just sucked it up.

    Pinky brought over two bowls of noodles, a kettle and a set of wood sticks, turning off the kitchen lights.

    I stared at the sticks as Pinky served the tea, unsure as to what the hell to do with them until Pinky picked them up and held them in hand.

    I studied her and then tried to pick up the two sticks and use the angled tips to clamp the noodle and failed repeatedly.

    To my great shame, Pinky watched, and I could see her holding back a laugh.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    ¡°How do you-¡± I dropped them and cut myself off with a curse, which pushed her over.

    She let out a belly laugh, stifling it as best as she could, only to give up. Her laugh was a deeper thing, similar to the few times before when she had dropped in pitch.

    ¡°You should¡­ Ha, oh¡­ By Luna and the spirits, you''re like a kid. Ha, he-you can¡¯t hold them right at all¡­¡± She said, her laughter coking out into a chortle that just seemed to grow louder as she watched me pick up the sticks again.

    ¡°Stupid sticks, stupid fingers¡­ Who uses a wood stick anyways?¡± I mumbled sourly.

    ¡°It¡¯s- Heh, not wood, not really. It¡¯s bamboo. The stuff grows faster than we make Bio-Wood, so we use it in everything. We even use it to make Bio-Wood because it''s long and stringy. It¡¯s just a really tough grass. Here, let me-¡±

    I wasn¡¯t about to let Pinky show me up on finger dexterity; that was literally the number one trait that made a gunslinger, tied only with sight.

    ¡°It¡¯s these stupid flabby hands, hold on¡­¡± I told her, before asking quietly, ¡°Lilly can you?¡±

    ¡°I can, one moment,¡± she told me before I could feel the building of light in me.

    Like before, I could feel my entire body hum, vibrating as the heat built within me to a boiling point where I cast a flash of light, and then my body returned to its default.

    My pale hands clutched up the stupid sticks, and I tried again, holding them in one hand, diving down to clamp a noodle and¡­

    And it slipped out of my fingers into the broth.

    I stared at my treacherous hand and looked over to Pinky, who was staring at me.

    I blinked at her.

    ¡°Would you like a hand?¡± She asked, smirking.

    I felt like I had swallowed a frog, a very sour frog.

    ¡°Why do I feel like you¡¯re never going to let me live this down?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Because you¡¯re a cynic? Come on, give me your hand¡­¡±

    Pinky eventually got my hand, but only after I tried six more times, getting a little better at holding my hand right. In the end, she got it because she held them so effortlessly.

    After two attempts with her, I got a hold of the chopsticks and managed to start eating.

    The noodles were nice, though I was becoming so used to ship food that any amount of flavour was simply incomparable.

    We chowed down on the noodles. Pinky and her infectious personality slowly got me to open up and relax.

    Pinky got up after we both complained about the news and turned a nob, flicking through several different stations like radio, only to land on something odd.

    It was animation.

    ¡°Oh, sweet, I caught the recap,¡± she said, giddily, ¡°Mind if we watch this?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mind watching anything, as long as it''s not more boring stories about someone finding a turnip that looks like a face,¡± I groaned.

    ¡°Nah,¡± she said with surety, ¡°That is nothing like this,¡± before coming back to sit next to me as we continued to eat.

    I watched the cartoony girls doing stuff, shouting stuff as a colourful cast of other characters fought someone that could best be described as faceless monster 6, because it certainly wasn¡¯t the first one, and I figured they had fought at least four more after that.

    I watched it, not quite understanding what the deal was until I heard the narrator, who explained nonsensical things that had happened, said, ¡°This week on Magical Girl Saint Maki!¡± in a voice so serious that only someone who cared wouldn¡¯t see it as ridiculous before it dived into an animated sequence with music and I took my eye off the holo and looked at Pinky.

    Pinky was jamming out to it, doing a kind of half-hearted dance while eating, her attention glued to it.

    I waited for it to end and Pinky to come out of her dance trance, and the show seemed to start for real, the tone changing on a dime as the beleaguered cast of cutesy, big-eyed girls started fighting with scuffed-up clothes.

    Pinky somehow became even more engrossed, and I had to ask her, ¡°Why are they fighting a random octopus thing?¡±

    She turned to me, stars in her eyes, for a moment as she began to explain the nonsense.

    She began to watch, and whenever I had a question, she would explain it, and so I asked, and she answered, starting to pick up on whatever she believed I would need, and her infectious energy began to rub off on me.

    I got caught up in the tiny details, not quite having Pinky¡¯s spirit, but softening up to it as the fight ramped up and eventually concluded as the characters shouted platitudes about truth and justice and all that good stuff and blew the enemy to dust with some kind of super attack that only seemed to target the betentacled monster, and not any of the buildings around it in a flash of light.

    It felt like a lot longer than half an hour after it ended, and Pinky asked, ¡°You want to watch some more? I have a bunch of stuff we can watch that¡¯s better than... Whatever this is,¡± she said, gesturing to something that looked and sounded like a commercial but looked like a show.

    ¡°You know what, sure,¡± I told her, ¡°Pick what you want, though; I have no taste.¡±

    She did, and so we watched a different show about students doing stuff.

    I honestly didn¡¯t get the appeal, but I couldn¡¯t bring myself to complain. Pinky¡¯s enthusiasm and unbridled positive energy was so powerful that it was enjoyable to watch just because she was having a good time.

    As the night went on and Pinky gave a refill on food, I came to realize that despite me dropping my form, Pinky had not dropped hers and I couldn¡¯t help but wonder why.

    It stewed in me as she came back, and we kept watching until I felt like I needed to say something. Not wanting to be a total shitter about it, I decided to instead ask her something else a little less personal than, ¡®Hey, why are you not showing me what you look like for real.¡¯

    Who said I couldn¡¯t be a diplomat outside of a transformation?

    ¡°Why do you insist on being a magical girl instead of anything else? Do you just like the shows or whatever? What''s with everything being magical to you anyway?¡± I asked her.

    She snorted a little, ¡°Because it is. I don¡¯t care what our Oracles call it because of the fact is they can¡¯t properly explain anything about it. No matter how you cut it, manipulating things with resonance makes no sense, and if it makes no sense. But if something makes no sense, and it is anyway, it''s at least a little magical.¡±

    I looked at her, rolled it around for a moment in my mind, and asked her, ¡°Are you sure it''s not just that we don¡¯t know it? I¡¯m not all that well educated in that extra stuff¡­ Are you sure you¡¯re just not well-educated enough to understand it? If it is and makes no sense, it¡¯s only reasonable to say that it''s not magic; you just don¡¯t understand it?¡±

    She looked at me, somewhat cross and said, ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­ Maybe I am uneducated. I only have a master''s, but, in my personal understanding, I should not be able to transform in a flash of light, spontaneously changing my body¡¯s shape, bone structure, genetic expression, fat content, and a host of other things.¡±

    ¡°Point taken,¡± I told her.

    Ok, maybe I should avoid diplomacy and stick to my guns instead, where I couldn¡¯t stick a gun in my mouth on accident like I was able to stick my foot in it.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ Darn it, how do I explain myself¡­ The point is that I know my stuff, and everything I know tells me it shouldn¡¯t work. It¡¯s like how a teacher or whatever dumbed stuff down so you could understand it as a general idea. I don¡¯t think they understand the full extent of how it works well enough to explain it without using metaphors,¡± she said somewhat exhaustively.

    ¡°And if they can¡¯t explain it without relying on ¡®It¡¯s like this, but this,¡¯ you what? Call it magic because it''s an unexplained phenomenon?¡±

    She sighed, ¡°Because it''s unexplained¡­ And honestly, it''s a little easier to understand it like that. Some of the stuff I¡¯ve run into seems to work on pure dream logic sometimes, it''s like forecasting the weather via astrology.¡±

    I made a grunt of agreement, and she grunted back, an unexpected speaker of my native tongue.

    ¡°Well, that makes a little more sense. I was starting to think you thought magic was real. I never was much into astrology or whatever. I got my palms read one time,¡±

    ¡°Oh? I could give you a second opinion on the answer if you want, though you would have three of them now.¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡±

    ¡°Because there are three forms? Each one has a different palm.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, wrong Hmm. I can do the math, I meant the second opinion part,¡± I asked her.

    She snorted and gestured at the holo.

    ¡°I¡¯m a fan of magic. Do you think I can¡¯t read a palm? I love that occult stuff. Superstition might be superstition, but it¡¯s always cool to try it out once in a while and see where it brings you, you know?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll pass for now. The last thing I want is you telling my doom in your living room before I take a smoke break¡­ You mind if I smoke in here?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°I would prefer if you didn¡¯t. No offence, but it gets everywhere and stays there. There''s a little balcony thing over there where you can smoke, though; just close the wall behind you.¡±

    ¡°Gotcha, your house, your rules. I¡¯ll be back in a minute then, and you can read my pasty pale hand lines should you wish to.¡± I told her to lift myself off the couch and head for the door/wall thing.

    It was a damn weird sliding door. It had a handle, a lock, and everything, but I got out without hassle and made my way onto a tiny balcony above a lowered alley. I hadn¡¯t noticed that the road led down next to Pinky¡¯s house, but I was glad for the separation from ground level.

    I closed the door and lit up.

    It was relaxing to have a nice little corner where there was no one else; it helped me decompress a little. I was not used to being close to other people for long stretches of time without a quiet area where I could just breathe outside of the line of sight of everyone.

    I leaned on the little railing, which was just as scuffed, if not as pointy, as the front and just thought over everything I was going to try to do.

    I also thought about Pinky, the not-so-little bundle of energy, good times, and an upbeat outlook, and it caught me thinking that Pinky and I might not be so different.

    I wonder if this was her decompressing, too, if instead of smoking, she just watched stuff.

    Hell, I didn¡¯t even know how she was taking the fight. I was fine, but I was the kind of person fucked in the head enough to think shooting people for money was ok. Pinky didn¡¯t seem a killer to me. Was she coping, hiding it away under a smile?

    It was plausible, I supposed. She had her peacekeeper form up; it''s not like I could tell with how much control she seemed to have. She could be fucking losing it in there for all I knew.

    I decided not to make any assumptions because if I was going to try and not be a total ass hole towards someone, I should probably do it in a manner they would be fine with. And Pinky did not like assumptions.

    So I would continue along without making them about pinky, as best as I could.

    I was still weary of her and still didn¡¯t know her well enough to trust her implicitly, but no matter how I looked at it, she seemed like good people material. And good people were rare enough that I didn¡¯t want to push them away when I found them.

    Even if they wanted to style themselves after animated characters.

 A Pink Guide to Magic

    I got back on the couch after I finished my smoke, dropping my butt into a tiny metal pot full of ash on the balcony.

    I had no clue why Pinky had one. I decided that it didn¡¯t matter and got rid of my cigarette without spreading a bunch of ash on her balcony.

    With that out of the way, I slunk back into Pinky''s house. At some point, Pinky grabbed a blanket and snuggled inside it like a dumpling or perhaps an egg.

    I pressed my back in and looked over at Pinky, and gave her a give em here motion.

    ¡°Pass the blanket,¡± I asked her, adding, ¡°Please,¡± because manners was my middle name.

    She pouted at me from within her cocoon, not wanting to be rid of the pervasive warmth.

    ¡°Come on, my hands are cold,¡± I pleaded.

    She looked at me and unwrapped a layer for me to cover myself, but as I reached for it she withdrew it.

    ¡°I¡¯ll share my blanket with you, but I need reassurance. Tell me what magic do you bring to the table, who do I share the snuggle blanket with?¡±

    I looked at her and said, ¡°My magic? I cast a gun. I don¡¯t really have anything.¡±

    She looked at me like she didn¡¯t believe it but still passed the blanket, and I draped it over myself, even if I needed to get closer to Pink.

    ¡°That shouldn¡¯t be right, though,¡± she said. ¡°As far as I can figure it, you''re specialized, just like me, right? You should have something.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you mean like that. No. As far as I know, I don¡¯t have anything in particular. My oracle is a prototype; she has something, but she can¡¯t even tell me what she has.¡±

    ¡°What''s the security level you need?¡± She asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± I started, only for Lilly to pipe up, ¡°Five.¡±

    ¡°Five,¡± I told Pinky, which got her to whistle.

    ¡°That¡¯s too high for me to help with. I only have one, and if you don¡¯t have a finished soul gem, you would probably be a zero.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a five then?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Well¡­ if a zero is a fresh recruit, and a ten is the top brass¡­ Probably like a trusted leader? I don¡¯t know what you would need to do to get it, my oracle won¡¯t tell me how to get beyond two.¡±

    ¡°No, Pinky, I mean, what kind of thing would be a five?¡±

    ¡°Honestly¡­ I have no clue. I don¡¯t know any secrets. Maybe¡­ Nah, I got nothing.¡±

    Well, that was incredibly disappointing. Before it left my mouth, I packed down my words, from sarcastic but unintentionally insulting to just sarcastic. Just because nothing came of it didn¡¯t mean I needed to be rude. After all, Pinky wasn¡¯t one of the gulls, being rude to her was just me being rude.

    ¡°Thank you for the attempt, oh wise Pinky.¡±

    ¡°It''s no problem. So, do you want to do anything else tonight? I could give you that palm reading if you want.¡±

    I almost turned it down for now. Pinky still had more shows with more characters fighting different manners of monsters and saying stuff that gave me third-hand embarrassment.

    ¡°I could think of few things. Honestly, that¡¯s an understatement; I have more questions than I have know-how. I don¡¯t understand how any of this works, not really,¡± I told her.

    ¡°How any of what works? It¡¯s a palm reading, not a dissertation,¡± Pinky told me, rotating in her egg.

    ¡°Not the palm reading, the, you know,¡± I told her, gesturing to me and her.

    ¡°Oh, you''re talking about our inevitable friendship? Yeah, I was thinking-¡±

    ¡°Not that you dufus,¡± I nearly spat out, ¡°I mean the whole¡­ Legionnaire thing.¡±

    I looked at her, and she was smiling.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t deny the friendship,¡± she said, grinning, ¡°and you¡¯re blushing.¡±

    I looked at her, and then I kneed her under the blanket, which did little while sitting.

    ¡°I¡¯m not blushing, you¡¯re blushing,¡± I told her cattily, ¡°and you¡¯re sandbagging.¡±

    She looked smugly at me but answered, ¡°I am blushing, but I¡¯ll tell you whatever you want to talk about, besty.¡±

    She put emphasis on besty and made it sound like something dirty but good. I stared at her, but she didn¡¯t stop smiling.

    We stared at each other awkwardly for about twenty seconds before I said, ¡°Well, go on.¡±

    ¡°Sure thing besty. So¡­ what can I help you with, what''s confusing you?¡±

    I looked at her and simply said, ¡°Everything.¡±

    She looked at me and said, ¡°One moment, I¡¯ve always wanted to do this,¡± before she got up, the full-size blanket falling away from her as she got up and ran over to one of the other rooms.

    She ran over to the far door, pulled it open to reveal a dark room that quickly became pink, spent two seconds making noises inside and came back over with two sheets of paper and two pencils, the door to the pink room closing behind her.

    She slapped them down on the coffee table, which I supposed wasn¡¯t for coffee, but the tea table sounded wrong and pointed at the one in front of me.

    ¡°Pinky, what am I looking at?¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t you tell? It¡¯s fairly obvious.¡±

    ¡°Pinky, I am a mercenary. The only paperwork I¡¯m familiar with is the one I hand in to my boss when he asks so he can file taxes. What is this?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a character sheet, dummy. As far as I can tell, this is everything you need to know about your shard as it comes to the benefits intrinsic to the shards, right here, in one place.¡±

    ¡°Pinky, that¡¯s¡­ That makes no sense; it''s just a bunch of empty boxes and a few calculations.¡±

    ¡°I know, right? But the fact is that they don¡¯t do much beyond what they give you here. Each has a passive effect, which is what these are here, and they each give you an ability, something you can do, which you have to put here.¡±

    ¡°Pinky, what''s with this thing here? In the margin.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s one of my doodles.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I can see it, but what is the doodle?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s me, but opening a pickle jar, can''t you tell?¡±

    ¡°It looks like you¡­ why is it for the war form?¡±

    ¡°Because it makes you a little stronger,¡± Pinky told me seriously.

    ¡°Pinky, I can open a pickle jar, it''s not that hard. It''s literally made to be opened.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ That¡¯s not the point, so what you do is put what level of shard you have next to each of these and¡­¡±

    Pinky went through each of the shard things. Shards having levels threw me for a moment, but as it turned out, it was something I was already familiar with. I was specialized. Lilly called it having an archetype, which was confusing, but for Pinky''s calculation, you just added that as one level. That left me with a lot of zeros, a one and a two for levels.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Then you took those numbers and just made some basic additions, and as I did, she explained.

    ¡°Ok, so the peacekeeper form is all about soft power, right? It gives you increased perception and better control over your face and body language, so you can use that soft power. The base peacekeeper gives you a kind of attractive aura that you can turn up to 11 to enthrall others.¡±

    ¡°Enthrall?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Basically. I mean, how well can you think when you''re giving someone bedroom eyes and constantly thinking they¡¯re hot, you know?¡±

    ¡°Gotcha,¡± I told her, writing that down in one of the boxes.

    ¡°The war form is all about walking up to whatever needs to die and making it dead. It makes you passively harder to kill and tougher, but not like you don¡¯t twist your ankle. It''s more like you can be thrown bodily into a wall and walk away like it was stubbing your toe. You''re strong enough to run through concrete walls, at least in war form. The base war form lets you burn energy into any attack to make it hit like ten tonnes of high explosives.

    ¡°Fuck off attack, got it, sounds nice,¡± I told her, scribbling that down in another box.

    ¡°Ohhh yeh. When you need it, you need it. The next one is a bit different¡­ Within you are two wolves: one is you, one is your oracle, and together, you make one whole-ass magical girl. The anima connects you to the world and to others; it passively lets you connect to more items and reach out to aid others; the base gives you the ability to feel where your friends are and how hurt they are. The Animus is all about power and your own strength; it gives you access to those spells that require active use, and the base shard lets you power your body to enhance your physical stuff, like running faster or hitting harder in general.¡±

    ¡°Got it, so awareness and¡­ Steroids?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Basically, only they don¡¯t make your boobs tiny,¡± she said seriously.

    ¡°Maybe I should use steroids,¡± I said with a huff, ¡°I hate the size of my rack in peacekeeper form.¡±

    ¡°Weak. With a great rack must come great back pain; how would the tiny chest get by in a world with big bosoms otherwise?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t hate it for back pain¡­ They just feel wrong and get in the way.¡±

    ¡°Oh? That¡¯s¡­ well, I don¡¯t hear that a lot. But hey, that¡¯s probably because you lack the self, or rather the shard that controls it. It gives you more items, and you also need it to swap around the abilities you have beyond the ones you get in one form when you eventually get more than one ability. Base, the shard just lets you use any ability and gives you will, so you can swap them around, even if they¡¯re not necessarily as strong as they would be in a transformed state.¡±

    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t they be as strong?¡± I asked her, curious.

    ¡°They amplify what''s already there; the peacekeeper makes you hot, so it''s more effective at making people think you''re super hot; the warform makes you bulkier and tougher, so you can take more damage, or charge more with the spell it comes with, without killing yourself,¡± she told me chipperly.

    I squinted, ¡°Wait¡­ But what do you mean will? I have plenty of will as is.¡±

    ¡°The self doesn¡¯t have simple things, it is you. It keeps you together. The shards and the extra stuff are all part of you, right? It''s all in there somewhere, even if it¡¯s a small part. You have a physical half, a social half, a female and male half, and so on. Each extra part is smaller and smaller and more specific. Each shard kind of drags you towards it, all of them except the self. It centers you and gives you better control over all the bits of yourself, it makes you more you, instead of more a part of you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s getting into fuzzy detail Pinky, what do all these numbers mean? You have like eight rings and a sword, but your sheet only has three items on it,¡± I pointed out, ¡°also nice doodle of yourself there,¡±

    ¡°I was getting there, I¡¯m getting there. Also thanks. The fact is that I have eight rings, but only two kinds of rings. I have these plutonium rings, and I can use all of them in one slot. It''s different items, different slots. I have the pink rings, a comm ring, a flying sword, and my transformation amulet, four items, four slots. You have three slots, so you can use three kinds of items. It¡¯s a little more complex than that, but we would need to talk about items, and you look like your head is going to implode.¡±

    I felt like my head was fine, but I asked, ¡°Comm ring? Amulet?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re standard; mine came with it; see here, it¡¯s a ring you can use to communicate with people apparently, and then the amulet is for transforming, obviously.¡±

    I stared at her and tried to pretend like I had a transformation amulet, but then I recognized the ring.

    Reaching into a pocket, I pulled out the artifact ring I had gotten, the ring that came with the chit that got me on the throne in the first place. It was a dead match for the one on Pinky¡¯s finger. It was a dead match, except for a pink colour to it that, at first sight, made it look similar to her other rings.

    ¡°Yeah, see you have them. Go ahead and use it,¡±

    ¡°How do I?¡±

    ¡°Just put it on your finger and connect to it, dummy.¡±

    I shut up and put it on my finger.

    ¡°Now connect to it,¡± she told me.

    ¡°I¡¯ll connect you, it doesn¡¯t even drain a point of energy.¡±

    I felt a tiny zip from my core shoot up to my finger before fading into the background. It didn¡¯t seem to change anything but the colour of the ring, which changed to an amber orange like my hair. There was an orangey flicker in my vision, but it passed so quickly I couldn¡¯t even see it right.

    ¡°Pinky has sent you a friend request over proximity chat. I¡¯ve accepted it for you.¡±

    ¡°There you go, it''s super easy to use.¡±

    ¡°He, yeah,¡± I lied. My lie didn¡¯t go unseen, which got me a weird look from her, but that was about it, as she seemed to misinterpret my words.

    ¡°Now you can call me up on it if you want to,¡± she said happily.

    ¡°MMhm,¡± I said, giving her a fake smile that got her to shrug.

    So I went and started to fill in the sheet, even if I didn¡¯t think it would work all that well. The information on it was good, but the rest of the form was less so. I looked under one of the sections only to ask, ¡°Why is my blood type here? Why is there an area for my sexual preferences on here?¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s because this was a normal character sheet; I just added the extra bits for magical girls. Feel free to add those bits if you want, but the point of the character sheet, you can take it with you and update it as you want; you can fill it in and use it to plan stuff out.¡±

    I nodded. I had the feeling she wasn¡¯t telling the truth, though. I couldn¡¯t read her right, but it might have been just her being too subtle about copying it all the way to interest, and I wouldn¡¯t be able to tell on her.

    I put ¡°ambidextrous¡± under sexual orientation, but it didn¡¯t get a reaction out of her.

    ¡°I can¡¯t exactly keep this on me at every moment, and I don¡¯t know if it will help, but thanks for the character sheet, pinky.¡±

    She deflated a little like she was a popped tire, air whizzing out until she sagged a little, ¡°Aww, man. I thought it was amazing; I use mine all the time.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not saying it''s bad; I just don¡¯t think I¡¯ll forget-¡± My stomach gurgled, interrupting me.

    I looked down at it and then tried to ignore it, only for Pinky¡¯s stomach to agree.

    I looked at Pinky, and she looked at me.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go make a second dinner,¡± she said a bit awkwardly.

    ¡°Cool, I¡¯m going to go for a second break then,¡± I told her, and we headed our separate ways.

    It took everything I had to keep my thoughts in my head before I got outside, but once I did and the door thing was closed, I got to talking.

    ¡°Lilly, what the fuck is the difference here?¡± I whisper hissed to her.

    ¡°I require context Jacalyn, the fuck do you mean by difference?¡±

    ¡°I mean, there¡¯s a bunch of things that pink can do that I can¡¯t do, and I can do that pinky can''t. For one, I don¡¯t think she can heal herself if what she said earlier is anything to go by. I had just about taken it for granted that we would just be able to heal, but I don¡¯t think that¡¯s normal. I can¡¯t connect to items, I¡¯m doing it through you thats another. I got the ring, but I got it from the people who found the key to your facility; why wasn¡¯t it with you? Is there a transformation amulet out there, or are you going to need to transform me forever? How much of that is you. What about those¡­ things, the thing that I ate, those things, is that a me thing? Or can I talk about that?¡± I hissed, pulling out another cigarette.

    I smoked for the second time in an hour. It was the kind of thing I only did while waiting or stressing, and I did not take it as a good sign that I reached for my smokes.

    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t quite tell you much about the artifacts. I don¡¯t know where a transmutation amulet is, but it''s important to note that you only need an amulet, not a specific amulet. We could even fabricate one if we get a fabricator. As to why they weren¡¯t there¡­ I don¡¯t know why they weren¡¯t there when you woke up, but they weren¡¯t. Perahpsss it was because I was a prototype. I don¡¯t think I was ever expected to be used. You¡¯ll be able to interact with items once you unlock yourself; you just need to be able to connect with the anima shard; I can control it because I¡¯m tacked onto it,¡± she told me before stopping.

    ¡°If you''re thinking about how you can¡¯t tell me what you do, then try and answer me with what I can do. I understand you might literally be incapable of something, and I¡¯m not here to judge that.¡± I told her.

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell you what I can do, that is true,¡± she said, ¡°but¡­ The healing and The¡­ eating the talents of your enemy¡¯s, is probably somewhat unique to you. Someone would need to be able to manipulate your entire body on a genetic level, or better, to do something like that, and that¡¯s likely uncommon. Semi-Unique to you, though I can''t tell you why,¡± she said.

    I did not understand what that meant other than imparting that she was able to manipulate my body on a level I couldn¡¯t comprehend.

    ¡°Thanks, Lilly. Seriously, this is starting to wig me out. I¡¯m just going to say that I can do the holes thing, open up space or something if I need to.¡±

    ¡°That would make sense, and sorry once again for not being able to give you everything you need to succeed.¡±

    ¡°You''re doing everything you can; the most anyone should ever ask is your best.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Jacalyn.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for doing your best; now I¡¯m going to head back in and try and get Pinky to explain the funky stuff,¡± I told her, putting out my cigarette.

    Lilly didn¡¯t respond, but I got the feeling she was thinking, so I headed back inside.

    Pinky was making quite a lot of noise in the kitchen, so I headed in to check on her, only to catch her trying to open a jar of pickles.

    She looked at me like a deer in the headlights, and I blinked back at her. She was frozen, not blinking, utterly shocked.

    I reached a handout and gently removed the jar from her hands. In one swift and simple motion, I cracked the jar and handed it back to her.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t see anything,¡± she said.

    ¡°You weren¡¯t lying about the jar thing, I can see your strength at work, oh pinky.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to let you have any just for that.¡±

    I got some off her plate about twenty minutes later when she was trying to explain the funky, confusing bit. It turned out neither of us understood it very well, which led to the two of us confusingly arguing for twenty minutes and getting a beer, from which I also stole a few sips.

 Transaction Denied

    I woke up, a bit bleary in an unfamiliar place, a warm blanky wrapped around me and my hat half over my head.

    The first thing I did was sit up at the start and observe the unfamiliar surroundings. Seeking enemies.

    I saw a corner, and my eyes snapped to it, thinking of the dogs, and started flailing around, looking for other corners so hard I rolled off the couch, hit my head on a coffee table, and, groaned, lifted my head.

    The coffee table brought back to me the memories of things done around a table of familiar height and the percussive maintenance jogged my memory.

    I was in Pinky¡¯s house, and I had been sleeping on Pinky¡¯s couch.

    The holo is frozen in a scene where one of Pinky¡¯s magical girls is transformed, stuck on an image that looks stretched.

    I reached over for my hat and it being just out of reach required me to get out of the blanket.

    Instead, I clutched at the back of my head and tried to remember what had happened and I slowly pieced it together.

    We spent the rest of the night slightly drunk, highly confused by the explanation of the weird side of magic. The alcohol did not help, or it did because, counterintuitively, the nonsense made more sense while buzzed, but it made remembering it harder. In that way, alcohol made everything slightly wibbly, and the talk about artifacts was somewhat more straightforward.

    I couldn¡¯t remember the way they were broken up but they were broken up into like 77 types, 21 more esoteric for the ones that didn¡¯t fit into the four main categories, which each had 14 grades.

    I mostly remembered Pinky talking about humanity getting into weird shit before Pink tossed a pack of cards and a guidebook at me and told me to read through them, and I only remembered what I did about it because the cards had memorable art. The fact that the art contained a whole lot of naked women while I was bricked harder than a shit house did not factor into it, especially not the very tasteful one that looked like a pin-up.

    Pinky had then given me a reading that foretold great burdens on my wallet and decided to get more alcohol from upstairs that she brewed, and it had made both of us go off to dreamland.

    Note to self: Pinky could not handle her own alcohol, and neither could I.

    I looked around for any sign of the pink lady in question, but she was absent, and the place was empty.

    Leaning up, I saw a little note on the table. I groaned in annoyance and unwrapped myself, scooping up my hat and unfolding the note.

    To Bandit: I had a wonderful night, but I had to take my leave.

    Gosh, I¡¯m starting this with the wrong kind of letter. I¡¯m off on my own right now, but I¡¯ll be back later tonight. Don¡¯t go burning down my house! I can forgive bad taste, but not arson.

    Until then, feel free to fuel up if you need it. There¡¯s also a key under the pot outside by the door if you need or want to go out. I¡¯ll be back late-ish, so don¡¯t go starving yourself on my behalf.

    If you steal my stuff, I¡¯ll never forgive you, and I will get it back,

    XOXOXO, Pinky.

    There was a lipstick-covered pair of lips on the page, and I stared at it, trying to figure out what was going through Pinky¡¯s head when she wrote the damn letter.

    ¡°Who signs an ¡®I went to work¡¯ note with a kiss and includes a threat in the last sentence? Lilly, what kind of crazy have I found myself joining?¡±

    ¡°Apparently,¡± she said speculatively, ¡°One that wears lipstick. I should note that there is no issue with¡­ Erm¡­ Getting to know one another in a biblical way as far as the legion cares, not that there seem to be any of them to object. They would only care if you get pregnant, and that would just be to implant it in an artificial womb so you can keep on keeping on.¡±

    I rolled that around before simply saying, ¡°I don¡¯t think she''s the kind of girl you can have a one-night stand with. She seems more like the kind of girl that gets attached, and I¡¯m here to kill The Collector. As bricked as I am, I¡¯m not bricked in the head, you know? Pink seems like a good person, and I don¡¯t want to go and ruin that by breaking her heart or something when I leave, and she wants to stay.¡±

    ¡°Sensible, for once. I can agree with your decision,¡± she said, ¡°especially because you can''t seem to pick up on context.¡±

    ¡°Hey¡­¡± I scowled, ¡°I can pick up on context¡­ Sometimes. What did I miss?¡±

    ¡°Things I won¡¯t tell you. Sorry, but I¡¯m not going to stab Pinky in the back like that.¡±

    ¡°What the hell are you¡­ What did I miss?¡±

    ¡°Nuh uh Jacalyn, not telling. That¡¯s your can to open. You¡¯re the animus in this relationship; figure it out on your own.¡±

    I sat there for a moment, and the only thing I could mutter was, ¡°What am I missing, woman?¡±

    I tried to get her to open up after that, but she kept her mouth shut. Exhausted after just waking up and a little hungry but unwilling to raid the pantry, I headed out after transforming. I knew the other me had a wanted poster, but even if the commander got a good enough look at me to do a poster, there was no way it would be done by now. If I bumbled into him, I would be toast, but otherwise, I would be better off with boob and tan than flat and pale.

    It''s not like I found either form any good right now. Both forms felt wrong as if they were not my own and I had just been squatting in one of them.

    I locked up after myself. And headed out for my first stop.

    The closest bounty hunters guild.

    I did not want a fucking bounty on my head, and so I decided to get that gone. It would be far easier to move if I wasn¡¯t being hunted in half my forms, and the idea of letting him fuck me over while he lounged in orbit, sipping from crystal and petting a cat like a fucking asshole was not what I wanted.

    I had my way through the now far more packed streets.

    The people were dressed in simple clothes, not ragged but not fine. Dressed in multiple layers, they had the appearance of dresses, with not a pair of pants in sight on most of them. That appeared to be the garb of the lower classes, those pulling hand carts or hauling goods, and it brought attention to me, with my coat, hat and pants, empty sheath and holsters.

    The Lunatics were skinny people, regardless of what they were. The gravity on Luna, or I supposed the natural gravity, made them twiggy than other planets, though not as twiggy as those living on the satellites. I was used to being small, but they were almost as twiggy as the people back on Pallas.

    It left me weirdly nostalgic as I tried to find my way to a single building in the haystack: the wood-panelled buildings and storefronts that gave the city a grounded feeling, even with the great spires of metal in the distance and the transparent dome that kept out the vacuum visible on the other side.

    I found my way there after three questions to a shopkeep who kept trying to get me to buy some sort of herbal supplement, a cobbler who scowled at my shoes and told me leather didn¡¯t suit me, and a friendly guard who gave me a funny look when he met my eyes.

    He didn¡¯t recognize me, but he recognized something about me that I chalked up to good senses. He could tell I was a killer, even if he didn¡¯t know it. Killers had a look at them. In my experience, you could see it in our eyes, soldiers, mercenaries and murderers alike.

    The eyes were the windows of the soul, after all. Why wouldn¡¯t you see the weight on the windowsill?

    Help me he did though, giving me the direction of the nearest guild.

    I started rolling out how to best deal with my issue as I walked.

    First, I need to get in contact with MC. Mc was the leader of my company; he had been my leader, and while I hadn¡¯t been one of his technically, he could vouch for me, both for character and with performance.

    The collector''s claims went against both. I was a money-first girl, and the amount of money offered was so fucking extraordinary that I didn¡¯t know if there was anything I wouldn¡¯t have passed to him to get that money.

    I would need him to catch me up, but I bet my chits that I could get him to help. MC would not let me down, and he could alert the issue to other branches of the guild. He might not be a big fish, but he wasn¡¯t a small-timer either.

    Causing a stink like that would bring a whole hell of an avalanche on the Luna branch.

    I was stalking around a corner when I found it, the logo of the guild that regulated mercenaries across the system, its memorable blade and bow and wave in the shape of a sailing ship and sail, when I was struck with the feeling that the plan to get my bounty removed was too easy.

    The collector was canny; he had stabbed me in the back far too easily, so I knew he couldn¡¯t be underestimated, but if so, what was the bounty for?

    I hyped myself up anyway because the faster I got this over with, the better.

    I was not going to be caught by anyone. I was wearing a fake face. It was the best disguise there was because it was real.

    I took a deep breath.

    I walked up and opened the door. It was a small branch, and like most of the buildings, it looked like it had a wood interior. I got up to the desk, got the receptionist to pass me the form and a pen, and made my way to sit down. As I did, I thought about it.

    What was the point?

    The problem was, as I filled the paperwork out, I couldn¡¯t figure out what was eating at me.

    ¡°What am I missing?¡± I whispered to myself.

    ¡°About what?¡± Lilly whispered.

    ¡°This situation feels like a trap,¡± I whispered, getting serious side eyes from a man with a bowl of noodles a few feet over.

    ¡°Briefly explain, I can¡¯t see it,¡± she whispered, and I explained the situation while the man started to glare.

    ¡°Would you mind your own business? Staring is rude, and I¡¯m talking to a friend here,¡± I told him, gesturing to my hidden ear, which got the man to move over while muttering about crazy people, technology and outsiders simultaneously.

    ¡°So that¡¯s it, but I can¡¯t figure out why I feel like I¡¯m missing the trap,¡± I told her.

    She mummed, rolling the details over with her golem-like attention to detail.

    ¡°Well, if you want to puzzle it out, maybe look at the outcomes. I can¡¯t see the trap, but I can miss stuff, I don¡¯t know everything you do. Brand new worlds and all of that.¡±

    I started thinking about it, murmuring aloud as I did so.

    ¡°Well¡­ If I were dead, there wouldn¡¯t be much of a reason to do it, I guess. Maybe it had an extra purpose I can¡¯t see, but MC might get annoyed. There''s no reason to burn a whole lot of time and effort over a dead merc. He would probably file for it to be removed, but it would otherwise be a waste of time.¡±

    ¡°And on the other side of it? When you''re not dead?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Well, I would get it removed to get the heat off of me, you know, like I plan to?¡± I told her simply.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°And what upside could the collector have over you getting it removed?¡± She asked, ¡°If the other option would result in nothing, what would the current plan result in?¡± She asked, her voice taking on a bit of my own confused thoughtfulness.

    ¡°Well, I would be able to walk freely because I wouldn¡¯t have a bounty. Most likely, the guild would issue a statement¡­ And the poster would be fined for posting the bounty.¡± I said the slow issue of it what I was staring down clearing in my mind.

    I stopped writing.

    It was a trap, a trap that would cause issues for me no matter how I took it on. If I went up to the desk and asked the receptionist to file it, I would get jumped by everyone and their mother, if I was in normal form, and the guild would issue the poster of the bounty for the reward when they brought me in or killed me, and if I somehow lived long enough to get it revoked, he would know.

    He could afford multi-million bounties, so there was no way the fine on an inappropriate target would bother him, but the notice of the fine would no doubt mention me or bring his attention to me. It was a tripwire that would only go off if I lived, walking through the front door of the guild like the flat-brained moron I absolutely was and that the collector no doubt thought I was.

    The only thing stoping me from possibly being jumped was my current form. Because he didn¡¯t know about it.

    But if I filed the paperwork, people might start asking questions. People might remember how I looked. People might start talking about me, and he might hear about it. Then the gig would be up.

    I stood up and started walking away, making my way out, looking for a bank that would take my chit, pushing past a man as I bumped into him, drawing eyes.

    I needed to get out of here, I had no clue how tight this noose was.

    There could be other hidden variables. The people on the Tsarta knew my gear, my clothes, my fucking hat; the poster had some of it, and I wasn¡¯t interested in that, causing the noose to close on me.

    The Guild would have a planetary comm or they would have planetary comm access via Luna. I could call him MC up here, but I couldn¡¯t use a normal comm; it was too far away, and the delay on it would be minutes at a time, so it wasn¡¯t like I could connect with him normally.

    But the guild wasn¡¯t the only thing with a comm, so would a bank, I just needed to find one and get my shit in order with him.

    I had to get liquid, too, and slip the noose. I had my banking chit, but no reserve chits on me. The bank would only let you put so much money on a chit, so I needed to get as much of my cash liquid and out from underfoot as I could, as fast as I could. It wouldn¡¯t be much, but I bet MC could help with that, too, and maybe get me past daily withdrawal limits faster.

    Maybe I could get one of those briefcase-sized ones for a big haul.

    I made my way down the street, looking for a commerce section in the city, only to need to ask questions, many of the locals not understanding my accent, or ignoring me as the clothes changed from lower to middle class, finery coming finer, cotton to silken outerwear.

    They looked like they would make nice pyjamas or underwear, but the dressy outercoats looked pretentious.

    A few workers, thinking I was a prospective customer, told me directions until I broke down and bought a bowl of noodles. When I made to pay from my account, after fumbling with the stupid sticks like a twitchy kid, I found the terminal declining my account.

    I paid with my reserve, the cash kept on my chit, and it went through just fine, ¡é100 of my 10000 max down the drain.

    Maybe I should stick to eating with Pinky and only Pinky.

    There was no better way to draw the eyes off me, and Pinky didn¡¯t seem to care for things like bounties next to her. Even with it, drawing the eyes of the guards and being near her would probably make me safer than if I were in orbit right now. And as a bonus, she would probably be willing to spot me until I figured out whatever was wrong with my account.

    Despite the lack of any reason, I felt unnerved by the plot and the declined transaction and couldn¡¯t help but notice any small glimpse, filtered through paranoia, as intrusive, and it riled me all the way to the bank.

    There were plenty of reasons a transaction could be declined, but I felt it was probably connected.

    Getting there, I circled around into an alley, thinking about how to approach it. Should I drop my form or not drop it? I asked Lilly about cameras and decided against it. They didn¡¯t have my picture or cameras, so it was fine to stay safe without a change of face. Especially because most of the work would be done by not me. I just needed my chits to get my money, and the phone call would just be a conversation; they were available as a way to make banking workable and to bring in people until they became ubiquitous anyway. But still¡­ MC might pick up on a change in my voice and get wigged out, and the people at the bank weren¡¯t going to pull a gun on me.

    It was worth not changing for however many downsides it would bring me. No one should know me. My paranoia was probably unjustified, but I was unwilling to change.

    I came out of the alleyway and made my way to the front. It was solid construction, no windows, only a sign and a door. No guards are standing out front. No one seemed to be watching it either, not from any of the good spots I could see. There was what looked like a cafe, but it was empty at the moment. If I were me, I would be sitting there with a paper, waiting for someone to walk in, but I was clear, probably.

    I moved it, opening the door with all the casualness I could and heading to the counter. There was one guy waiting in the room who looked ex-military, an old granny with a faithful hound at her side, and a stretched woman who had the look of too much time in space, or the low gravity of Luna next to her. The two looked like they were here together.

    No one that looked like too much trouble.

    The counter was empty so I rang the little bell and waited.

    A perky young woman came out. She was obviously a lunatic by her stretched form and black hair, but she was also far too chipper-looking. She gave me the feeling of someone who liked her job.

    ¡°Hello, how may I help you?¡±

    ¡°Hello,¡± I said, letting myself talk automatically, my voice taking on the edge of something I worried I could not feel. Someone close to me needed some help, but I needed to contact someone to help them. I was hoping I could use your planetary communication.¡±

    What was I doing? Why was I blabbing to this woman? What was this stupid shard getting me to say, and why was it making me sound like the way it was?

    Whatever reason it had, the poor girl being strung along by my renegade mouth. Somehow, sweeping my way into a side room with a comm as the empathetic young woman worried alongside me over the story I spun about myself.

    By the time she left me there and the door closed behind her as she made her way back to work, I had an overwhelming sense of wrongness pervading myself.

    I felt dirty.

    Somehow, I had manipulated her in a way I couldn¡¯t even pick up on. Wormed my way into her head and fucked around on the wheel, or at least that¡¯s how I felt. It felt gross. Like my fingers had stuff stuck to them only inside me.

    It grossed me the hell out and had me instinctively rub my hand on my leg, but I reached for the phone and called MC anyway.

    It took a few tries to reach him, first relaying through Luna, to Gabriel, then on to a space station, then to the frequency where he would get a call, but it went through after a few go¡¯s where the operator had no clue where to send me.

    ¡°Hello, Philian Gulls, this is Mi-¡±

    ¡°Old man, I didn¡¯t drag myself out of a tomb only to get the who are you speech,¡± I told him, not harshly but familiarly.

    ¡°Bandit,¡± he sighed, uncommon relief in his voice. ¡°I see the news of your death has been greatly exaggerated. Let me say, I am glad your still alive, even if it has cause quite a headache.¡±

    ¡°Barely exaggerated, I would say it was luck that saved me, but lady luck is often more fickle than that.¡±

    ¡°You sure kicked off a bee hive either way. What the hell happened over there?¡±

    ¡°I got down there, but The Collector followed me down and backstabbed me, the fucker. Why, what the hell is going on besides the bounty anyway?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I see you¡¯ve returned to civilization then. The Collector has made claims against you, suggesting that you attempted to kill him under contract. Fortunately, he seems to have limited sway with the guild; a few other companies have raised flags over his claims when he tried to implicate us as a knowing accomplice to his attempted murder. He¡¯s trying to get his money back; did you know that?¡±

    ¡°I did not,¡± I told him, ¡°Please tell me he didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t.¡± He confirmed, ¡°Since you seem to want to talk money, I should tell you no matter how much money he has, as your emergency contact, I¡¯ve put them on hold. No one will be getting the second half of your payment for now¡­ The rumour of your death, however, might be a bit tricky; your account was frozen.¡±

    Fuck.

    ¡°And with the impending bounty, it would be hard to do a limited withdrawal.¡±

    Fuck.

    ¡°With your agreement, I could-¡±

    ¡°MC, I need you to hold that for a moment,¡± I told him, taking a deep fucking breath to focus on the conversation at hand and less on the way it made me want to throttle The Collector. ¡°Would doing whatever you''re suggesting inform The Collector that I am alive?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ Yes, it would, why?¡±

    ¡°Because then he would be on guard when I go after him,¡± I told MC seriously, ¡°Him knowing I¡¯m alive would be bad. He stole my sword so he would know better than most that I¡¯m going to be coming for him.¡±

    ¡°Ah¡­ I see. That would complicate things. I don¡¯t suppose I can get you to back off that?¡±

    ¡°No¡­ No, you can¡¯t,¡± I said seriously.

    He sighed, ¡°I see¡­ Don¡¯t include me in that. No offence, but I¡¯m by the book. Becoming the accomplice of a murder would be bad for the company, even if you''re not currently employed by the Gulls.¡±

    I thought about that for a moment. Revenge was revenge, but on the books, smoking The Collector would still be murder.

    I was personally fine with that; he had it coming, and I wasn¡¯t going to back away from getting that revenge. Killing was killing, even if I didn¡¯t have a piece of paper telling me I could do it, and even when I did, it wasn¡¯t so much the paper that got me to do it; it was the reasons on the paper and the money.

    I wasn¡¯t going to question myself on the ethics of government-condoned murder when the page said serial killer, cult leader, or child molester. Each deserved a bullet, and I would deliver.

    The only legal way to get revenge would be to bring him in on a bounty, but there was little in the way of anyone who could do it alive. He backstabbed me on earth. I couldn¡¯t bring forth any evidence in a court of law. And even if he did? Assuming someone could go up there and bring him along, and he would get his day in court, the man had enough money to throw around. It would never stick, even if I found a place to bring him.

    Before I could even do that, I would need to have a reason to do it; otherwise, it would just be kidnapping him.

    The only way to get revenge was to kill the guy. I was going to do that anyway, but that would still be a pain¡­ Unless I could.

    ¡°MC¡­¡± I asked him, ¡°What would I need to do to place a bounty on The Collector?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ That¡¯s something I can help with,¡± he said thoughtfully. ¡°You probably know more than I would, but you would need to file for that, which would alert him if he¡¯s paying attention.¡±

    ¡°How long does it take to put in one and get it too¡­ Let''s say Luna?¡±

    ¡°I would think... about a day. If I were filing it, it would go straight to the guild office, and they would send it out from there. If you were, it would be a bit slower. You would also need more evidence. I¡¯m trusted, but you wouldn¡¯t be, unfortunately. A side effect of having a bounty yourself.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll have to send you a list and see if I can dig up some more dirt to sweeten the deal, assuming you¡¯re willing to push for a dead or alive on him. You are, right?¡± I asked, just to make sure.

    ¡°He has caused damages to the Gull¡¯s reputation and attacked one of us; I would be more than happy to push for a DOA. Sol knows he¡¯s rich enough that nothing else will matter. Clever thinking.¡±

    That reassured me. I could get my revenge on him, I would just need to time it. More than that, MC was on my side in all of this. In theory, he could come looking to cash a check on me, but he wasn¡¯t. MC might need to think about the money, but he was a good person.

    ¡°Good,¡± I said, relieved. ¡°Now¡­ The money,¡± I sighed.

    ¡°The money,¡± he sighed. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to file for it and alert him, there''s not much I can do on my end. Unless you want to pretend you''re dead and have the money sent to your next of kin.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you can¡­ I don¡¯t know. Can you get them to send it to a second account or something? Can I do that? Open a second account?¡±

    ¡°Only if you want to get into a lot of trouble. Bypassing a frozen account like that comes with a penalty, a heavy penalty, and everyone involved would get slapped with one, too. Unless you can get someone with more sway over Luna or a bank to file for a limited withdrawal or some other way to bypass it, your shit out of luck. Or at least you are until you get the bounty through. At that point, you can kiss the bounty on yourself goodbye, and the money will be yours to grab the moment you show your head¡­ Ehh, you are in hiding¡­ Correct?¡±

    ¡°What am I an ameture? Of course, I¡¯m hiding,¡± I not quite lied, ¡°I¡¯ll call you back when I see an opening and try stuff on my end.¡±

    ¡°Good luck, Bandit¡­ And keep safe.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, old man. You keep safe, too.¡±

    ¡°I can honestly say that we''re in less trouble over here, good hunting. Over and out.¡±

    And then he hung up. Brisk but not uncaring, he might have been, but it was the MC I knew, and I would take 100 of his brisk over and outs over most people, giving me a tear-jerker any day.

    Now, if only I could get someone to unfreeze me.

    I headed back out into the lobby, where the old lady was talking with the bank teller, so I took a seat and started brainstorming. It wasn¡¯t all that big of a room, and there was no view, but it at least had cushy seats, so it wasn¡¯t all bad.

    It was about twenty seconds in, and I felt the urge to look up.

    The man was giving me a funny look and I stared back. He had a tattoo on his neck, but he quickly covered it and stopped looking. He had a look that told me he wasn¡¯t from Luna, but his clothes told me otherwise.

    A tattoo on the neck and an outside look to him? What were the chances?

    I tried to recall the tattoo of yesterday, the paramilitary one on one of the terrorists, and compare it to what I saw, but I couldn¡¯t get a one to one on it.

    He was paler than the average lunatic, but he did have some of the same features: eyes, hair, and so on. His clothes looked similar to the clothes around him, only slimmer and less baggy.

    The more I watched, the more it triggered alarm bells in my head. Not just because I was staring but because every minute thing I knew about fighting told me he had a soft, dangerous look. The kind of warning signs you started carrying when you knew how to fight and you did it too much.

    He didn¡¯t have the eyes, though, so I eventually stopped staring like a chimp. I didn¡¯t even remember his look all that well, I was too focused on the other parts.

    I felt the urge to look back, to try to remember him in case we came into conflict later, but I decided not to do that so openly. I could get a look when I walked past him.

    The other occupant, the young woman who had taken to tapping her food, was a different story.

    She had the eyes.

    As I came in, I thought she might be with the old woman, but she didn¡¯t look quite right on second glance. Her face was wrong, and her frame was a bit too bulky. She wasn¡¯t a doting grandkid who came to visit Grandma from her low G job in orbit.

    She had what looked like the outline of something under her clothes, hidden in a fold of her dressy-looking outer garb.

    It wasn¡¯t until the old woman left and the man closest to me stood up that she looked over. She caught me looking and started staring back.

    ¡°Do I know you from somewhere?¡± She asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± I told her, killer to killer.

    She had a hand on her neck, but when she lowered it, I saw a tattoo on her neck too, but this one was familiar.

    ¡°Wait¡­ I do know you,¡± she said.

    Fuck, fuck, no. God damn it.

    We stood at the same time as she went for her fucking bulge.

    It was just my luck to bump into one of the only people I might be recognized by, and I doubted she was about to whip out anything less than a weapon.

    We started our stand-off, which looked like a short blade and a sidearm, with me clearing my guns to draw.

    We froze, taking one another in, when to the side, the man said, ¡°Your hair is shifting,¡± and I turned to take him in the periphery, my eyes not fully leaving the woman.

    ¡°What about my hair?¡± I asked him, ¡°If you haven¡¯t noticed, we''re kind of in a-¡± I started, only for the other woman to shout, ¡°Shut it, I¡¯m about to get some sweet revenge on this bitch for what she did to my friends yesterday.¡±

    We both looked at one another, frozen in a stand-off, our hands twitching for our weapons.

    ¡°I would advise against that¡­ As for you, you have the wrong colour, but the right effect. I think you¡¯ll be coming with me,¡± the man said, reaching down into his clothes, clearing them to reveal his well-hidden blade.

    In my periphery, the poor woman behind the counter did something and ran into a back room, and we started our standoff.

    This was getting out of hand by the second, now there were two of them.

 Sortie

    Of all the places to have a three-way standoff, a tiny bank was not one of them.

    On one side, a terrorist who had killed a lot of people, an elongated woman with a more muscled build who looked like a lunatic but might not be. Dressed in her finery for the bank but still armed, a blade and shot hidden in the folds of her local clothes; both able and willing to use them because of my terminal actions against her and hers. If the last encounter was anything to go by, below her dress, the blade and pistol would probably be laser tech.

    I didn¡¯t see any power pack, so it probably wouldn¡¯t punch straight through my plate like the stronger models, but it was open and visible. If she was worth the weight of the gun, she wouldn¡¯t go for armour but my unarmored head and pelvis, which would do more damage. She also had a blade, though it was only knife length, maybe 10¡±.

    On the other side, a man approached the two of us. He was dressed in black and a suit jacket that had a flair toward the local lunatic fashion. I had thought while next to him that he was different, but he was looking more and more like a lunatic, except he was short. He had lived his life in gravity, and stood only a few inches taller than me. He would have to be a Lunatic, though. He had a sword. That would peg him as a Noble. The hilt that peaked out of his jacket was¡­ Odd, however.

    It looked like a sword hilt that led into a sheath, a circular hand guard toping it. It was not the style of the sword that made it odd, however, it was that the sheath could only hold a kitchen knife. It was very much a sword in styling, but if it was, it was an odd sort of sword that was a foot long. Something wigged me out about it, something about both the sheath, the apparent length and the handle gnawing at the back of my head.

    While the vitriolic woman was who I had first squared up with, hands ready to draw, her hands in her dress, it was the man I wanted to pay more attention to. He had mentioned my hair, and as I was now, the only other person I knew who had hair like mine was Pinky. I didn¡¯t know if that was who he wanted, but I was not going to give him what he wanted. Pinky was not going to get stabbed in the back by me, and I wasn¡¯t going to let the noble soldier boy bring me with him.

    I didn¡¯t care if he just wanted to swap beauty tips; he wasn¡¯t getting anything from me.

    And stuck in the middle, one Jacalyn Jaydin. Two Handguns, a duster and hat, a broken breastplate, one empty sheath, a partridge, a pear tree, several dust bunnies and gumption.

    This was going to either be very messy, or it was going to be a total shit show, and I did not want any part in it.

    I had been sitting because I wanted to know if I could get the lady at the front desk to tell me if she could help, and then I could have just bumbled in twenty minutes later as, ¡®my friend.¡¯ I doubted it would be that easy, but beggars can¡¯t be choosers, and now I couldn¡¯t be either because I would probably have to fuck off before anything else happened.

    ¡°Jacalyn, I believe the bank teller did something. It took me a moment, but there was a wire that carried a signal from the building. I can¡¯t figure out what it did, but I can tell you it won''t hamper you inside the building,¡± Lilly told me.

    Scratch that. Silent alarm. I needed to get out of here before a swarm of probably well-meaning guards descended upon the bank to restrain us. I didn¡¯t think my current form had a wanted poster, but I bet directly talking to guards might be a no-go because nondescript was not in my current vocabulary. If I was being honest, it was never in my vocabulary, but that was because I was a hideous milky chaos goblin, but that went double for me now, only I was tan... I was mostly still a chaos gremlin.

    I was not feeling up to callously butchering my way through possibly half a dozen or more well-meaning guards who enjoyed arresting people I would normally put holes in. As part of the greater law enforcement community, the lads were often the ones posting bounties, and it was frowned upon to introduce oxygen to the blood via perforation. It resulted in a hostile work environment to have a few zeros under your name when rent came due.

    I needed to talk to Lilly, and I needed to talk, and I needed to make sure I didn¡¯t get shot or taken away, preferably without getting my hands covered in the blood off the undeserving. I thought quickly, using all three of my neurons used for thinking, and did the first thing my brain fed to me.

    It was, as Pinky might put it, ¡®cringe,¡¯ but it would work.

    I talked to myself like an enigmatic nutcase.

    ¡°The oracle predicts the coming of the guard,¡± I muttered more to Lilly to let her know in the future, ¡°To let you live or die? Justice by gun or gavel,¡± I said aloud, wanting to get second opinions and hoping Lilly would pick up on it. Sliping my gun from the holster but not raising it.

    Lilly Ohh¡¯ed in acknowledgement but otherwise didn¡¯t seem to understand my question.

    To reinforce the energy I was trying to give off, I asked the man, ¡°Perhaps time for a smoke? Do you partake?¡±

    ¡°Smoking is bad for your health; the heat it brings is inauspicious and feeds not but anxiety,¡± he told me, staring with a furrowed brow.

    I had no idea what he meant by this, but he said it genuinely, so I fished out just one, one-handed, quickly lighting it with the snap of my lighter. I did it not only to spite him but to calm my nerves.

    I used it like a fantastic prop, trying my best to come off as unconcerned.

    Based on the man''s expression, he seemed to be disbelieving my act, but the other woman was staring at me like I was a nutcase. I would take the 50/50 personally.

    Channelling my best peacekeeping, I told the man with his comedy sword, ¡°Your request is inauspicious, noble. I am not the one you seek, and you will not find answers with me.¡±

    Immediately after, I whispered, ¡°Oh, Oracle, bless the pink one with insight.¡±

    Lilly, doing her best to follow along with my unhinged rambling, muttered to herself for a moment while she parsed what I meant before she simply said, ¡°Done.¡±

    ¡°Devine,¡± I told her, taking a puff.

    The furious woman, momentarily stupefied by my spontaneous insanity, furiously observed me, waiting for a slip-up.

    Now... How to play the rest of this?

    I needed to get out of here before the guard came, but that could take minutes, not seconds. I gave them a best time of 6 minutes, tops. But could I outrun these two if I just made my way out right now? Maybe, maybe not. I couldn¡¯t outrun her gun, though; that was sure as shit.

    That meant that I needed to deal with her and, if I could, him.

    There was one teensy little problem with that.

    Killing the two of them would be murder.

    Which would get me a bounty.

    And then I would be right back around to my current predicament, with no new form to hide in. The only way to get around that would be to leave no witnesses, which would mean I would need to kill not only her but a noble and, then, to top it off, gun down the hiding teller, and that was not something I would do.

    That made it a bit awkward because if I did kill her, or if she ran off before they got here, she would either be decided as a murder with me holding the smoking gun, or come back to bite me in the ass.

    Something I could do was leave at just the right time, though. And if I stayed until the guard started to close in and kind of sortied from the bank, slipped through the line, I could get out and leave her inside.

    A close third would be knocking her out, but in melee, I had to assume she was probably a winner or I might get a big head and die from dramatic idiocy, so that was my last option.

    And if I was going to stay for a few minutes¡­ Why not try and get her talking?

    Wasn¡¯t that what the peacekeeper form was all about? Getting people talking? It wasn¡¯t my first option normally, but I might as well try. Maybe she would slip up¡­ And maybe I could get the noble to turn on her instead of me. Hell, maybe I could get this to turn into a proper three-way instead of a two-on-one. That would take a lot off my shoulders.

    Talking it was.

    ¡°Little Miss Terrorist is a problem child. Can¡¯t leave you alive, can¡¯t leave you dead¡­¡± I told her while turning slightly toward the noble. Then I turned to her and said, ¡°Can¡¯t kill the young master either, tricky, tricky¡­ Maim? Perhaps. A tasteful scar for the ladies? I think a short story is a small one for our short time together.¡±

    ¡°What, too afraid to fight me now? You didn¡¯t seem too frightened by the way you killed all my buddies the other day. You and that sow cut us down like the rabid animals you are. What''s different? Is your master not here to rub your belly after? Fucking appeaser,¡± She spat.

    It was vitriolic enough to make me think there was something fucky with her. Something that smelled like, ideology. I leaned into the shard, letting it guide me more.

    I let my mind wander toward the flash I had gotten. My body transformed into a tongue, and it spun free; its binds were so loose, but a nudge would let them free. I let it spin its own wheel of thought, so polite and soft and yet full of horror and fangs. It sook weak spots and cracks to worm its way into so it might better pierce the armour of their minds.

    There was no accompanying aura. I had no way to pull forth the aura of sensuality pinky had, no spell to bewitch or enthral, but I didn¡¯t need it to start chipping away.

    Something to work with, my mind told me, something to twist.

    ¡°Fear plays no part, I fear not the chatter of some lesser mongrel,¡± I spoke like my shit didn¡¯t stink, ¡°I would just prefer a blade. A gun is so impersonal¡­ Swordsman? May I?¡± I asked him, holding out one hand, cigarette held daintily between two fingers.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°I think not,¡± he said, outdoing my act naturally in the way that only came with repetition. ¡°I¡¯ll say it once, cease this charade and yield. Yield, and you might not rot beneath the black tower.¡±

    ¡°Spooky, but I think not¡­ Don¡¯t you know who I work for?¡± I asked him, sowing doubt.

    ¡°I would say a carnival, but you appear to be the entire circus,¡± he said, not buying it.

    ¡°I take it back, you don¡¯t need a scar with a silver tongue like that. I fear that your kitchen knife is¡­ too little to bring me in however. I would say it¡¯s a bit small, no? Size is important,¡± my mouth jabed back.

    That got a reaction, but not the one I was thinking it would get. It didn¡¯t get anything but a smirk. He had yet to draw his blade, despite the lack of gun pointed at him, but I was getting a feeling that something was fucky here.

    ¡°Lilly, if you have any way of telling me when the guard will be here, tell me. If you can, get a read on the sword he¡¯s carrying. Something about it is¡­ Off,¡± I whispered.

    I tried to recalculate this.

    Trying to play the two of them off one another was going to be a bit harder than my shard thought. He wasn¡¯t saying what I needed him to say; he stuck too close to an aggressive tone to give something that could be intuited as working together.

    I wouldn¡¯t be able to play them that easily, unfortunately. If I had wanted her to think she was outnumbered and for him to take her as the priority, it would have been a bit harder than that, which was unfortunate.

    I could see a twitch from the woman that I caught in the corner of my eye, and my gun went up, pointed generally at her hand and arm.

    If the tougher of the two nuts wouldn¡¯t crack, I would go for the weaker. If he wouldn¡¯t make the connection, I would convince her.

    ¡°Uh, uh, sweet cheeks¡­ not funny business, or you join your friends in a casket,¡± I told her, cocking the hammer to punctuate it. ¡°You¡¯re a killer, but beneath my notice right now. I would far rather hand you to the guard and let you rot,¡± I told her before taking a deep draw on my smoking cigarette.

    ¡°Pinky confirmed the response time of the local constabulary. You have between two and three minutes. Additionally, the sword appears to be an unregistered vapour blade, though, without a power source, it is rather harmless,¡± Lilly chimed in.

    Whooo, boy, that may not have been good on both accounts.

    I needed to hurry this up.

    ¡°The oracle tells me about your vapour blade. It will not be enough,¡± I told him.

    ¡°Cut the act. It grows old. I will give you one more chance to yield before-¡±

    ¡°Will you shut the fuck up?¡± I asked him the whole thing wearing on me, ¡°You are obviously clueless, so how about I spell out a few things for you? First off, this woman was part of the attack on the voidrome. Second off, you have no beef with me. Third, I¡¯m not going anywhere with someone, and I don¡¯t care about whatever your black tower wants. Fourth, why? Why are you looking for someone, I¡¯m sorry to say, but I don¡¯t give two shits that you¡¯re a noble, or your black tower, or your toy artifact. Mmk? As far as I see, you¡¯re just as much a goon as her,¡± I told him, cutting the shtick that was not working and tipping my head to goonet.

    He looked as if he had been slapped.

    ¡°You dare besmirch the honour of both myself and the Black Tower?¡± he asked, tension rising in his voice.

    What was this black tower nonsense?

    I turned to the peanut gallery and asked, ¡°What is this black tower nonsense?¡±

    Goonet was starting to look at the black-coated man like he had multiple heads. Every time the black tower was mentioned, she looked at him as if he were a monster hidden in the flesh of a man.

    ¡°The black tower at the high clan¡¯s personal enforcers. They would kill their own family if the high clan ordered it. They¡¯re worse than nobles, at least they have some standards,¡± She said in a growing sneer.

    She looked like she wanted to try and spit on his shoes.

    That worked better at drawing his ire than anything I had done. He turned to her, one of his hands trembling.

    ¡°I take offence-¡±

    ¡°You are an offence, you Kuro fuck. You look like a Blackbird. Are you angry that I¡¯m right? You¡¯re a bit young to remember, but I bet you learned secondhand about all the family your fucking ''honourable'' family killed. How many was it? A few thousand? Butchered in cold blood because your master willed it. Word on the street is that you''re bred heartless, so I doubt that bothers you, but it must eat you up that you have no honour to besmirch.¡±

    Fuck me, that was some vitriol.

    If I had known that all I had to do to send them against each other was get them to talk, I would have had a much easier time.

    ¡°Say, Lilly, what would happen if I slipped out through a corner?¡± I whispered.

    ¡°Would you suffocate in the vacuum of space? There¡¯s nothing out there without the dome,¡± she said.

    Of all the times I wish I had a helmet and suit, it would be outside my ship.

    ¡°Oh well. I figured it was worth asking, even if it was a weak idea. I doubt I would have the time to pry one open anyway,¡± I whispered back.

    I put the half-burnt cigarette in my mouth and freed my second gun. If it was going to come to a scuffle, I was going to be armed, even if the worst I would do was shoot them in the foot in self-defence or club them.

    Shit hit the fan about a tenth of a second before I got my firearm free. The swordsman, Blackbird or whatever, reached into a pocket and pulled out a glove. Pulling it over his hand, he quickly drew out his sword.

    Its blade was a familiar crystalline colour, though it was a very different blade. It was a single-edged short sword, sleek with a curve that ended in a point. A blade that looked like it was good at thrusting and slashing but not cleaving; an agile sword. It had a simple black wrap around the handle.

    As it hit the air, it began to oxidize into the familiar blue to-red of my sword, but what was not was the edge, which began to let off a light fog.

    ¡°Jacalyn, that is a power glove. He is powering that sword.¡±

    And that explained the smirk.

    ¡°What does it do?¡± I whispered.

    ¡°Powered, the blade is extended in a visible vapour. I doubt he has a method of controlling it, but if he could, he could release a blade of condensed vapour in a slash,¡± she explained in simple Jaclyn-sized words, a vast departure from her attempted explanations of a week ago.

    She was growing on me, or maybe I was growing on her. Hard to tell.

    ¡°Do you have any quick guides on how to fight him? How to deal with him?¡± I whispered while the two of them started making very violent nonsense noises, and little Miss Goonet started rattling, itching to pull her weapons out.

    ¡°If you can make a direct, skin-to-gem contact with the battery that¡¯s on the glove, I can discharge it so long as he has no control. Heck, I can even cycle your transformation a few times to blind them so you can escape and leave you toped up after,¡± she explained.

    That was far and above what I was hoping for; I could get the hell out and leave these two to be surrounded by the guard while blind¡ªnon-lethally incapacitating the both of them.

    ¡°Well,¡± I said at full volume, ¡°It appears we are at an impasse. Mr black Tower, you can go fuck yourself, you are no better than a domestic terrorist. And Mrs¡­ You know, I don¡¯t actually know what group you¡¯re a part of. Do you have a name I could go by? Calling you terrorist girl in my head is kind of getting old,¡± I told her, casually getting the glove off my hand and gesturing at her, my one free gun level between the two of them instead of just at her.

    I stuck the glove in the pocket and got my gun back out before returning it to the holster in case I needed to grab something. There was no point in having one hand free.

    Between putting the glove away, she withdrew a knife and a tiny, very obvious laser pistol, as I expected. The blade was wide but not too thick, meant to bite in like a cleaver but light enough not to break a bone.

    Her equipment was mundane, but that didn¡¯t make it less dangerous.

    Blackbird took a stance, holding the blade out and gripping it with two hands. The fogy edge appeared to extend up until it was a respectable two and a bit feet, the fog doubling its length.

    ¡°One minute twenty on the guards,¡± Lilly whispered.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to kill the both of you for the Lotus,¡± she sneered.

    Noted, a name to work on. I doubted it was the name of whatever company she was tattooed for, but that was something.

    Now I just needed to get the fuck out of here.

    It kicked off fast, Blackbird struck out toward lotus and I moved forward to try and get him by the hand but stepped back a step when she shot out toward me.

    Lotus¡¯s blade caught the vapour blade before she deflected it away.

    She snapped two quick shots off to the side before making her way toward me.

    Blackbird flinched, his sword sliding into the wood floor, ripping it up like a shitty saw blade.

    I levelled my gun towards her, and she brought her gun back toward me, and I fired, my shot casing and all thudding into the wall as I missed the gun.

    I cocked it a second time, but she was too close, so I waited, and as she waited with the gun, I moved in front of her. Her blade came toward me, and I prepared for it; I reached out, grabbed her wrist, and twisted, loosening her grip and freeing the blade from her grasp.

    Knowing she would shoot, I let her get a lesser shot for a firm headbutt, and her shot clipped me below my ribs, burning through my shirt and burning a blistering pockmark into my abdomen. It managed to draw a hiss of pain, but I would honestly say I got the better trade as she fell back, her nose starting to bleed as she stumbled back with a crisp break of cartilage.

    Blackbird recovered, boiling anger kept in check by focus. He made his way over to us, unsure as to who to swing at, his eyes turning to me as I turned gun in hand.

    Sidestepping, I caught the fallen knife with the lip of my shoe before kicking it up, grabbing the blade in the air, and then adjusting it with a one-handed flourish that gave me the hilt. I awkwardly brought it to bare on him.

    Steadying himself, he struck toward my gun arm.

    It was surprisingly weak. I was surprised at how straightforward it was. I sidestepped, and he stopped, righted himself, turned and caught a footstrike to the groin, staggered back and stood still for a good kick to the chest.

    ¡°Wow, your¡­ Totally inexperienced¡­ What a letdown,¡± I muttered to him.

    A footfall sounded behind me, and a white-hot smash hit me over the head, my knees falling out from under me and rolling to the side.

    Gritting my teeth, I cracked open my eye just in time for Lotus to drop on me, clubbing my face and going for the knife.

    I took two smacks on the face, and my gums were bleeding; I brought Lefty up next to her head and cracked off a shot. This close, the shot was painfully loud but next to your head?

    Concused she dropped the gun and brought her hand up to her ear, shrieking in pain right alongside me.

    I shifted my center of mass and rolled, cracking my head a second time and loosing my hat for a moment as my head slaped into the arm of a chair. I gave her a good punch to the gut to get her to release her leg grip and removed myself from the grapple.

    I got my hat on my head and managed to stand, kicking the gun under a chair and away from her while she curled, fighting it well, but not fast enough to recover before the guard came.

    I turned only to catch a gloved hand around my throat, the cut off of air and my lack of breath putting stars in my vision.

    Blackbird, sword held in his off-hand, he hefted me up by the neck, lifting me until I was on tip toe.

    And he started to monologue as I scrabbled at his hand.

    ¡°I would have shown you mercy, but you''re too far gone. I think¡­ You¡¯ll rot in the black tower, perhaps without a few limbs. Don¡¯t worry, you won¡¯t need them where-¡±

    I let him monologue, scrambling at him while my face reddened, my lungs shouting for air, staring down in a fury. I gave him an obvious strike that I let him land, knocking the blade from my hand so my open hand could grab at the glove.

    Inching over it while he basked in what his people would do, I focused on the glove, focused on finding the gem, finding embroidered fabric, little hexagons and then cool fabricless material.

    ¡°Nagh,¡± I muttered.

    His words were cut off as I lit up like a flashbulb, my body shifting into my default, my neck freeing with the bone armour before flashing back to peacekeeper. He shouted in fear and reeling from the fight, his lack of experience and sheer animal fear he had not mastered; his grip went slack as I continued to flash over and over, repeatedly blinding him in a flickering light that shone as bright as the sun.

    He stumbled back, and I sucked down air and held onto his hand until Lilly said, ¡°Empty, get out of there, twenty seconds.¡±

    Stumbling back as my body returned to peacekeeper, mouth stinging with iron and through store from a growing bruise, lungs sucking air down like the room was venting atmosphere, I put out my dropped cigarette with a clap and limped back before turning to run.

    I slammed out of the door and could see a few guards down the road. I turned and made my way into the first alley.

    The second I broke line of sight, I changed back to normal. Dropping my peacekeeper form, I started changing my look. Taking my hat off and shucking out of my coat. The alley is blissfully empty; I rolled them up. I started looking around, moving around. I found a wood-framed backpack and dumped it, stuffing first my coat and then a few minutes later my armour. I spit to clear my mouth and it came out mostly red. I could feel my gums bleeding.

    I kept sucking in deep breaths and managed to pull a cheap local set of clothes off a nearby clothesline. My disguise complete, I waddled my way with a bag and robe like a drunkard and did my best to disappear into the city, bruised, and not necessarily better off... It was something.

    I needed to be more fucking careful or one of these days something was going to fucking kill me.

    Far more careful.

 Out on the Town

    I made my way through confusing streets, slowing near unfamiliar people and doing my best to look normal. Thankfully, my bleeding gums and bruised through healed fast enough that for my uncovered bits, I wasn¡¯t accosted by the well-meaning, only for being a weird pale person.

    My gut wound was less fine, but it was a burn, not a bullet, which would be far more complicated to explain.

    ¡®Yes, don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m supposed to be bleeding all over the place,¡¯ probably wouldn¡¯t fly.

    I would have had to use Pinkys medicine for that, but I wanted to make sure I was in the clear before I did that.

    It also made my skin itch thinking about it, so I was ok to just not and say I did, but if I needed it, I could use it. I figured I could probably be fine¡­ So long as nothing else happened.

    I knocked on a wooden crate as I passed down an alleyway and stopped when I came upon a bustling marketplace. People dressed in rough fabric shopped at temporary stalls, and a few more permanent places were open for business.

    I pulled back into the alley and asked, ¡°Do you know where Pinky¡¯s place is from here? Do you have a map in your head or something?¡±

    ¡°Not particularly,¡± Lilly answered, ¡°I could tell you the direction based on where we walked, but you would need to find your way back,¡± she told me.

    ¡°Anything I could do to speed that along?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Get a map,¡± she replied.

    ¡°Shoot, why didn¡¯t I think of that?¡± I asked her sarcastically.

    She sighed, repeating, ¡°A map, a data one, electronic. You know, on a computer?¡±

    ¡°Why would a Computer have a map in their head?¡± I asked her, unsure what a math nerd would do with an electric map, which sounded rather dangerous.

    ¡°You know what¡­ Just find a map. I¡¯ll try to figure out how to copy it for my use,¡± she sighed.

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t you just remember it from my vision? Futz with it like my ears? Or sense it like you did on the Throne?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Your brain processes the image; I could try, but it¡¯s¡­ not too good. You don¡¯t have any optics in your head for me to use; otherwise, it would be way better. As for trying with my scanning¡­ I suppose if the map is hand-drawn, I could. I could feel the groves in the page.¡±

    ¡°What, you¡¯re a super advanced artificial person with bad vision?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°It''s not a vision issue, I can detect it, it''s just-¡±

    ¡°I know you''re about to say something about how vision works, but that won¡¯t change, and you need glasses,¡± I told her.

    She didn¡¯t argue back for a moment before asking, ¡°What kind of barbarian requires glasses? No! Don¡¯t tell me; I think I understand; you can¡¯t correct their vision.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, we have to make it with glass lenses¡­ Ohh, the humanity,¡± I snarked.

    ¡°No Snark from you¡­ Or I¡¯ll tell Pinky,¡± she threatened.

    I chuckled as I exited the alley and decided to check around. I was safer in a crowd dressed like this than wandering.

    Honestly, what did she think Pinky could do? She could chew me out, and¡­ OK, I guess I was her guest¡­ And I bet she could get kind of gooey or be all sad or disappointed. That would hit me where it hurt, right in my little malformed black heart.

    I might as well try and find a map¡­ And supplies if I was going to be here for longer than a few days. Maybe I could figure out some stuff to help me get my ship working, like finding where I could get a replacement engine. Checking my watch and getting my pouches out so I could have working pockets, I found that I had what I assumed to be a few hours left.

    I kept my robe closed, my bags buckled, and my credit chit away from prying hands.

    I wasn¡¯t used to the atmosphere I found walking around looking for my niche demands, with people shouting endlessly about their products and services. It took me a bit to realize why I didn¡¯t either.

    There were no brands. No names. Nothing.

    It was always, ¡°Try my fresh fish; you won''t regret it; too expensive? Come back at close!¡± Instead of naming a brand or a name or even what it was, without using any buzzwords or fancy marketing, it was alien. I realized they were also haggling, deciding on prices, and not just paying.

    It was close and well-knit, and it set me off because it felt like everyone here knew one another. It set me off because I was an outsider, and outsiders got noticed.

    If it weren¡¯t for how packed it was, I felt that would have been true.

    I was an outsider, but logically, not all of these people could know each other. They weren¡¯t neighbours; they were just¡­ Lunatics. They had a culture in common.

    I got through the press, primarily unseen for my height, the lunatics towering head and shoulders above me. It was hard to read, but at least they didn¡¯t call out to me. Most of the stuff on offer was common goods and services. Haircuts, which I could do on my own, produce vat meat, vat produce, plastics, wood, leather, cloth, and all bio. There were a few different ones.

    Complex dodads, metal and plastic from other districts, sharp gismos, shimmering trinkets, and jugs of labelled stuff I could not distinguish in the thousands. There were a few parts that I could use in the Junker, but lightbulbs, switches and things I could fidget with didn¡¯t count, so I moved on. There were all sorts, but by the time I arrived at what looked like a food stand, I was disappointed.

    Like so often, I headed for the one place I could see that was always the right place to go. It was the place where you went after a long day to rest a weary head. It was one of the oldest professions in history, minus the bit where, technically, for us, all people had a professional history of equal length.

    A place where you could go to talk with someone. A place of understanding.

    I went to a bar.

    I changed first, obviously, re-adjusted, and set myself up in the clean wood confines of a public restroom with cat doodles. The only thing I couldn¡¯t get good enough to take was my weapons, which I left in the side bags instead of holstered. They were just too obvious in an open setting, and as fleshy as the shoot-out at a bar was, it wasn¡¯t what happened. The empty sheath and other identifiers got bagged to slim down my profile. The side bags were emptied except for the trinkets, which got pouched because you never knew when sharing a smoke would open some doors.

    I fixed my clothes to make them comfortable, then went out in my drab garments to the best place I could find.

    I read the crowd and found my way to a side street lit with little red lanterns, to the source of the inebriated and boisterous¡­ Then, I picked the one with the least coming out and walked on in.

    Red Skirt Izakaya was its name, and it stood in the shadow of the closest tower, a jade monolith of wood, windows and smooth surfaces that encroached on the skyline, wonderous from above and looming from the ground. The street was cast in the evening dusk.

    It looked like it had survived the last war; the boards were old but still cared for. A good little hole-in-the-wall, my favourite kind of bar. I walked up to the entry and turned in, and as I did, the colour in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Turning to look, strips of colour showed themselves, hidden from the road but visible at the threshold.

    They looked like flags, though if they were, they were of no nation I knew of. Perhaps, the prefectures had a flag, or they were historical. A little nod to the past.

    Hell, maybe it was older than the last war. I didn¡¯t exactly have a plaque to read.

    I pulled it open and walked on in.

    It was unreasonably cozy inside, with snug leather, warm wood and orange light. It wasn¡¯t classy, but it was cozy. There was a bit of a crowd, but they were here and there. Some in booths, some at the bar on stools. Toward the back, the soft sound of music floated down the hall which blended with the low chatter of the people talking.

    ¡°Lilly, can you send Pinky a message to tell me when she gets off work?¡± I whispered.

    ¡°Sent,¡± She said chipper.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    I wandered up to the bar and sat the bag down in front of me, where it wouldn¡¯t bug anyone. I checked to see if anyone was looking at me as I did, but I only spotted one girl looking at me, dressed in scholarly robes and surrounded by her peers. She looked like a dainty little thing, short but unmistakably a lunatic, just one that enjoyed gravity... Or was just short? That was also a possibility. She stared, only to mutter a ¡®huh¡¯ before realizing I was staring back and looked away with a blush.

    To one side was a woman with a hell of a lot of brown hair, a fine white scar that roughed her lip and the edge of her ear like a paw had torn past her face at an angle. She looked like she was muscle, but she was on her lonesome. On the other side, further down, were a few normal lunatics.

    Hoping to lift myself up to the stool and pull the stool in silently, I looked around at head height to find the bartender before looking down.

    Down below was the most adorable little creature I¡¯d ever seen. She had the same features as the woman beside me; they were the same kind of person, but she was tiny. An itty, biddy woman with too-big eyes, a kitten next to a mountain lioness. They were all teary, looking like two shiny yellow-amber eyes with a mop of brown-white hair, dressed in a tiny hostess outfit and a red skirt.

    Looking at her activated something in me, something dormant and ancient human function. It made my heart go all weird. Warm and fuzzy, like a had some kind of fluffy parasite.

    She stared up at me with her all too big eyes and asked, ¡°Hewow, wewcome to the Red Skirt Izakaya. Whaat can I get fow you? A dwink to start?¡± She asked.

    Every word seemed to send a stabbing feeling through my heart, while also stun-locking me as I tryed to make sure I parsed them, I managed to nod and gabber out, ¡°What good?¡±

    ¡°Ehwething, but Spirits cost mower,¡± she told me, pulling out a tiny pen and notepad.

    I looked at her and asked, ¡°More than normal?¡±

    Nodding, she explained, ¡°I need to wuwes a shtool,¡± before pointing back to where the bottles were, placed on a shelf that she couldn¡¯t reach, with a few kid''s stepstools and a few solid boxes on the ground.

    ¡°That¡­¡± I told her, processing the image of her climbing a perilous rickety staircase, ¡°Makes a lot of sense¡­ I¡¯ll take a beer, whatever you¡­ uh, recommend?¡± I told her, weirded out by the thought of her drinking beer.

    I mean, I knew she was small, but she would probably be old enough to drink if she was working behind the counter. But she looked like a wee little one because of her funky head and big eyes.

    ¡°Mmhm, Mmhm,¡± she said before grabbing a mug and pouring it, climbing up on a single step before placing it on the counter for me.

    ¡°Thank you, um, mam,¡± I told her before turning to the lady sitting next to me and asking, ¡°Is she fucking with me?¡±

    She looked at me, her silted eyes widening slightly, and said, ¡°Who knows, nyah, can¡¯t tell with the old hag, nyah.¡± In a monotone, except for the nyah, which was so high-pitched and loaded, I could hear my confusion snap in half from the cognitive load of her voice.

    I let out a sigh, ¡°Oh, thank god. You had me going for a moment there, the both of you,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Hmm? Bu- But this is houw I talk,¡± the tiny bartender told me.

    I looked over at the tall one and squinted.

    ¡°Huh? Don¡¯t look at me. I told you, you can¡¯t tell with the hag; sometimes she¡¯s messing with people, sometimes she''s just normal. It¡¯s hard to tell because almost nothing changes,¡± she shrugged.

    ¡°You unbelievable bitch¡­ You got me twice. Shame on me, I guess,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Bitch?¡± She said, eyeing me, ¡°I would have to agree¡­ I am an unbelievable bitch.¡±

    She said it dryly, the words shifting the lip scar as her mouth turned into a grin.

    I gave her a blank look.

    ¡°What? Not funny? I thought that was a good one¡­ Shame,¡± she said disappointed.

    ¡°I¡¯m not saying it''s not funny,¡± I told her, ¡°I¡¯m just saying that someone as tall as you should leave the low-hanging fruit for me¡­ You are one of the first born, not a dog; I get it. I¡¯ve never met one of you in the flesh, I don¡¯t think. Your¡­ Well your not what I expected. Neither of you are.¡±

    The tiger and the kitten both turned to me; the little one''s big eyes flickered, focusing on me, while the big one¡¯s long, tufted ears twitched up, her pupils narrowing.

    I wouldn¡¯t have noticed it normally, but they had a thing where they were expressing through their eyes and my transformed state picked up on it.

    Maybe peacekeeper was worth something, after all.

    ¡°Don¡¯t take that the wrong way,¡± I told her quickly, ¡°I don¡¯t know much, just what a Chronicler told me; it''s just you two look almost nothing alike. She looks¡­¡± I said, before correcting my statement, ¡°Well, I think you triggered some kind of cute, related instinct that made me have heart palpitations, and you look like you¡¯re her natural predator that thawed out of an ice cube¡­ I think you have more hair than she has a body. Great hair, by the way; I keep mine short for¡­ Well, we''re both professionals of a sort, part of the trade.¡±

    ¡°Professional¡­¡± The Tiger said, rolling the word across her rough tongue. ¡°Heart palpitations?¡± The Kitten asked, less concerned, leaning on her hand.

    The Tiger looked at me, not in a casual manner, but in the threat assessment way you expected muscle to.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know much about the firstborn, but you learned it from a Chronicler? Creepy bugs¡­ Anyway, you¡¯re a¡­ Professional and a tourist?¡± She asked.

    ¡°A little. I¡¯m not from around here¡­ Not that you couldn¡¯t tell from this,¡± I told her, gesturing to my face and hair, letting it shift back and forth.

    ¡°What''s your name?¡± She asked.

    ¡°What''s your name?¡± I asked right back.

    We stared at one another, and I held a finger up, quickly asking The Kitten, ¡°Can I smoke in here?¡±

    She blinked at me and said, ¡°Uh-huh, uh-huh. Depawsit for tway, and pay for each use, you wahan¡¯ta tab?¡±

    Parsing her words and leaning up a bit into the pouch that had my usual junk and not my stims and gun, I pulled my pack and lighter out, placing them on the counter. And held up two fingers.

    ¡°One, what does it do for me? I could just pay when I get up. If there¡¯s something extra, I¡¯ll even pay a bit upfront, no fuss... And two, are you two regulars here? I mean, you work here,¡± I said to Kitten. ¡°And you might or might not,¡± I gestured toward Tiger, ¡°but are you here regularly? I wouldn¡¯t mind coming here if there was a familiar face.¡±

    Kitten and Tiger looked between one another and made a few minute motions of their body, gestures I couldn¡¯t read. After a few side-to-side head motions, one of the patrons down the other side called out, ¡°Another Pint?¡± and Kitten quickly pulled out an ashtray for me before hopping off the stool and zooming over to the other side to serve them.

    ¡°I get that you¡¯re a tourist, but you''re acting like we''re best buddies. It¡¯s suspicious. I would want that name, but I doubt it means anything around here, so tell me, what kind of professional are you?¡± the muscular woman asked.

    ¡°I find stuff, I retrieve stuff, and I put holes in stuff,¡± I told her before pulling out a cigarette and offering one to her, ¡°smoke?¡±

    She took it in hand, and I offered her a light. Leaning in, she quickly lit the cigarette, and I followed.

    Sucking in a deep breath, I let out a plume of thin grey smoke. I had the feeling she was testing me, examining me.

    Like she was playing with her food.

    ¡°I can understand not trusting outsiders, but I¡¯m not asking for your life story, I¡¯m just asking if I get a tab and pay a bunch up front so I can come back over and over again, I want to know if someone familiar will be here¡­ Simple as.¡±

    She looked at me, her face taking on something like a scowl before she let out a plume, her mouth still open, and said, ¡°You are totally oblivious, aren¡¯t you? You have no idea about anything,¡± She said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you''re going on right now,¡± I told her, taking a sip of my beer.

    When I looked back, her eyes were narrowed, and she was glaring at me.

    I raised my eyebrows and put down my mug.

    ¡°Come on, lay it on me. What did I fuck up? If you don¡¯t tell me, I¡¯ll just keep doing it until you tell me, you know, to spite you,¡± I told her, puffing while she sized up my neck.

    ¡°Wahs up,¡± Kitten asked, coming back up to us.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t know where she is,¡± She said to her pocket-sized companion.

    ¡°Huh¡­ Oh, pass,¡± she said, reaching her tiny hands up on the counter and grabbing the lighter.

    I looked down at her as she flicked the lighter to life and pulled a tiny roll out of a fold hidden in her red skirt. She lit up a tiny little herbal cigarette of her own and passed the lighter back up.

    Watching the big-eyed, round-headed tiny thing smoke a cigarette while she flipped a switch with a crisp clink and stepped back up to the count as all three of us huddled around the ashtray like co-workers on break. Sudden airflow pulling the plume up into the ceiling of the bar.

    ¡°So you have anything extra I get by opening a longer term tab with you guys?¡± I asked the little smoker.

    ¡°Nuts, parcewls, and no browken knee cawps,¡± she told me seriously, blowing a smoke ring up toward a grate.

    I thought she was joking for a second, and then I turned toward the big girl and pointed my finger at both of them.

    ¡°Hold on, is that what I missed? You¡¯re in a gang?¡± I asked.

    She looked at me but didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°I pegged you as muscle the moment I sat down next to you,¡± I told her.

    She looked at me funny, like she couldn¡¯t quite read me. I had somehow jumped out of her comprehension, a floater skating out of your vision.

    ¡°I think I broke her; quick, bring the machine over; I¡¯ll pay now. I¡¯m thinking ¡é1000,¡± I told Kitten.

    She gave a joyful hop as she got off the stool and walked over to a blocky terminal, passing it over to me. I paid, checking to make sure it was only ¡é1000. I was making friends here, not trying to get fleeced.

    By the time I was done, she was still trying to figure out what I was doing here¡­ Or perhaps she was staring at an invisible pink unicorn; I couldn¡¯t tell with her; too much cat, not enough girls to read it.

    ¡°So, what''s your crew called?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°The Split Tail clan is not a crew¡­ It''s not a gang¡­ It''s a family. A Fa-Ma-Ly!¡± She said, ¡°You hear this idiot? A crew?¡± she asked her diminutive companion who just shrugged.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get on my back about it,¡± I told her, ¡°So now that we got that out of the way, I got a question.¡±

    ¡°Shoot, before I have to stick a foot in your ass for disrespecting the Dam,¡± she told me, blowing smoke in my face.

    I raise an eyebrow and a single hand to calm her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get your tail in a twist,¡± I told her.

    ¡°We don¡¯t even have¡ª¡± she started before I cut off her squabble. You know, I need to assert my dominance a little.

    ¡°So¡­ Where could I find a map?¡±

    <hr>

    Of all the places I could have run into a familiar face while walking around without my transformation on, of all the people I could have been with, I would have never imagined that I would have crossed paths with Bandit.

    Man, I was glad she was bad at noticing the obvious. That and Lilly had been sending me texts all day while I was doing reactor work and told me she wouldn¡¯t tell her anything that might make things awkward.

    Normally, I figured that would be a bad spot on our brilliant new friendship, but everyone was entitled to privacy.

    Still, of all the possible Iazakyas she could have wandered into, she found the one I dragged my beleaguered colleagues of the Jade Tower after work to because I had a discount and got everyone some nice food for reasonable prices.

    ¡°Small world,¡± I murmured, looking back at Bandit as she went back and forth with the Bouncer and Bartender, working her newfound magic with her silver tongue.

    ¡°What¡¯s with her Akaitori? You keep staring at her,¡± one of my colleagues asked, tearing me from my somewhat weird stare.

    ¡°Hmm? Nothing, I just thought she was good-looking,¡± I told him, a white lie.

    I folded back into the conversation about my friend''s assets, which I followed along with but didn¡¯t weigh in on.

    Honestly, of all the places to bumble into, an alternative bar three hours before a girl''s night with the Red Skirts girls and guys that frequently ended in dirty bedsheets was not one of the places I thought I would find the most oblivious ¡®ambidextrous¡¯ person in the entire prefecture.

    I would need to head out soon to get home and transform before she found a map back to my place.

    Now I just needed to figure out a better line to excuse myself. I left the stove on only worked so many times before people started to think you were an arsonist.

 Full Circle

    I got quite a few interesting things out of my detour to a bar, but a place where I could get mail set wasn¡¯t one of them. A place to get a map and a few places where I could find stuff I wanted was.

    I found my way down to a curio shop and found what I was looking for a dinky old faded map, which sold for far more than I wanted by a calico cat woman who was more cat than a woman. As it turned out, the red light district that gave the bar its name, the outskirts of the red light district, was de facto under the control of the same family that the two at the bar worked for.

    Why? Because this is where they lived, and like any other cat, even if you lived with them, you lived under them.

    I¡¯d give them something; they were the least intrusive gang I had ever had the fortune to meet. I usually just wanted to get rid of them, but they were more of a minorly predatory town hall than a gang. Hell, they even muscled out the guards, who avoided the place like the plague.

    The curio shop had weird things in it, a few antique maps, a few dodads of unknown providence, a few broken mugs that looked like they were glued back together with gold, of all things, and in two cases, artifacts.

    Leaning down while the woman peered at me like a big human cat from behind the counter, I gave them a look and murmured to check on them, but they were mundane. Lilly murmured what they did into my ear.

    ¡°Hey, how much is this case?¡± I asked her.

    She looked at me, her head cocking in a weird way that made her look like she was staring at some manner of bird, and I shrugged and picked it up along with the map I was eyeballing and walked up to the checkout.

    I brought them out, unfolding the map on the counter and putting down the case. It had a familiar symbol on it, and I was hoping that it was similar.

    Lilly explaining it made so little sense that I couldn¡¯t tell for sure, but with the way the shop lady¡¯s ears twitched I didn¡¯t think I could get away with whispering to Lilly to confirm.

    ¡°Hello, I would like to buy these. Could I check out?¡± I asked her, meeting her eyes and not blinking.

    She stared for a moment before she blinked and seemed to come back to herself, purring out a value that was so overpriced that I couldn¡¯t reasonably expect to buy it on my limited budget. I had been told to expect that, however.

    ¡°The map and the case, n¡¯yes, map and funny case, are¡­ 8000 credits together,¡± she told me smugly, in the way cats were smug.

    I sighed and folded up the map, ¡°very unfortunate, the bouncer up at the red skirt told me you had fair prices,¡± I told her, punctuating it by pushing the map and the case up toward her.

    I held myself as cool and collected before stepping back to take my leave.

    ¡°Wait¡­ wait! You are a friend of a sister; for a family friend, I could go lower. N¡¯yes, I could charge only 2000 for the map and 3000 for the case, 5000 total. 30% family discount, n¡¯yes.¡±

    I stopped and turned back to her and my face took a pondering look to it, taping my lip, before I nodded and came back to the table, thoughtfully, eyeing the map, before, tapping the case.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can get that map; I understand it''s antique, but¡­ It¡¯s priced as a talking piece, a little too much for a map. How about just the case?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°For just one¡­ Hmm, bigger discount for more than one.¡± She said, floating back to being a shopkeeper, ¡°I¡¯ll give 20% off, 3500 credits.¡±

    ¡°Deal,¡± I told her, bringing out my chit so fast that she narrowed her eyes and before making a face.

    ¡°You play me¡­ Hmm, not like you. Buy and go,¡± she told me hastily.

    I smiled and paid the calico woman and left, taking my secret artifact with me out the door and making my way to the closest alley to talk to Lilly.

    ¡°So, Lilly, this is one of those red boxes? Not the same, but a smaller one?¡± I asked her, looking at the nicely tarnished metal with a tasteful red box logo on one corner and a fancily etched front that concealed the crystal underneath.

    ¡°It¡¯s a personal one, yes. It holds more than it looks like it can, and that model could help hold several of your items. If you''re going to smoke, you can keep far more in there, on top of a lighter, and either your ammunition or Pinky''s ampules, which will fit in the cigar area. Can I assume you want to power this bangle and use it?¡±

    ¡°Will it interfere with anything?¡±

    ¡°No, it just requires power to expand it, so there is no need to connect to it like the smart gun. While unpowered, it can''t retrieve things; otherwise, it has its own battery to hold charge for the internal space. I will note there are some things currently in the expanded space.¡±

    ¡°Do it; I¡¯ll check through it when we get back to Pinky¡¯s. Now, did you get the map?¡±

    ¡°Of course, I got the map. Who do you take me for? I- I¡¯ll put it up in the corner of your vision,¡± she told me.

    I felt the case take a zip of power, and I put it in my side bags. I was confused when she said put it up in my vision, but then, as I blinked, a weird, squiggly thing popped up in my vision.

    It was¡­ Very bad, blurry and hard to read; the lines were simple and also a bit off, a little circle putting me in what looked like the middle of the road, or I thought it was the road; it might have been a house.

    I blinked as my vision swam, my eye tingling.

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    ¡°Yeh, your image is, ahh¡­ Much appreciated? Why is it making my eye tingle?¡±

    ¡°I- I don¡¯t- Hhhhold on, let me¡­ I have no idea. I¡¯ll drop it for now and just give you directions instead,¡± she told me the tingle leaving, and the swimmy image with it.

    She was stuttering again, which was a bad sign.

    ¡°Thanks for trying,¡± I told her, ¡°I bet that wasn¡¯t easy. It looked almost okay, a bit fuzzy, but that was fine. Gosh, that would be nice, having a tiny map in my eye.¡±

    ¡°If you had an optic im- implant, I could do it easily,¡± she sighed, ¡°Unfortunately, that would require both the optic and something to install it, something automated¡­ Considering what you¡¯ve encountered, I¡¯m beginning to doubt exists now.¡±

    ¡°There, there. We might find one¡­ Somehow,¡± I told her, my best attempt at comfort.

    She sighed before saying, ¡°Left.¡±

    We left left, working our way across the map she had in her head toward the pink house, which was not pink, winding our way out from the redlight district and away from the jade tower that cast it in shadow.

    I kept myself either in crowds or hidden as best as I could, head down and did my best to hide my features, just another regular Joe. I headed up the hill after multiple of those weird gravity panels in a slightly nice residential area and found my way around to the side and to the door.

    Clicking it open with the key and swinging it open to see Pinky, who fumbled before recovering into a casual lean against the wall.

    We stared at each other, me one eyebrow raised, her a casual smile that did not fit the situation.

    ¡°Were you¡­ Waiting for me?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°What? Noo. Course not, I¡¯m just¡­ Checking for dust,¡± she said, a lie so obvious it stood out like a sore thumb.

    ¡°Right¡­¡± I told her, ¡°So you were waiting on me. Sorry about that.¡±

    ¡°Oh, no. No need to be sorry, I just got back,¡± she said, quickly tucking an amulet into her cleavage.

    I looked at it, and then my eyes opened.

    ¡°Oh, almost walked in on you changing,¡± I told her, walking in and shutting the door, ¡°Um, sorry? I kind of didn¡¯t think about it, and I¡¯ll knock next time to warn you.¡±

    She continued to look at me and then asked, ¡°Your¡­ You''re not going to ask about¡­¡±

    ¡°No, I might have shown myself, but I¡¯m not going to poke at you, especially not in your own home. What kind of ingrate would I be if I went poking at you to show off,¡± I told her.

    She seemed to puff up a bit, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, a funny, very pinky smile shifting onto her face. That was¡­ Certainly a reaction.

    I looked at her and raised an eyebrow, which just got her to smile more.

    ¡°You know, you¡¯re a goofy thing,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Eh, what''s the point of taking life seriously? I¡¯m here for a time, not forever; I might as well enjoy it as much as I can; I¡¯m just glad you''re willing to let me stretch my wings like this, even though I know what you look like.¡±

    I scoffed at her, ¡°Pinky, why would I care?¡±

    ¡°Because you have a wanted poster in every tower, you have a lot of money on your head, you know,¡± she told me, ¡°I saw it at work and realized that the posters I walked past every day looked familiar.¡±

    ¡°Pinky,¡± I told her, raising two fingers, ¡°I might not know a hell of a lot about you, but I know two things. One, you¡¯re a good egg, and two, you don¡¯t seem to care about the rule of law. And neither lead me to think you care I have a bounty that could beggar a small nation on my head.¡±

    She looked at me, glaring a little before nodding her head a few times.

    ¡°That¡¯s fair, I suppose. Resisting a lawful order by a guard captain does count. Fair. I do care about laws, I just don¡¯t care about authority,¡± she told me.

    ¡°Cool, good to know¡­ So, just to be sure, you don¡¯t care? About the bounty?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Ehh,¡± she said, giving a so-so, ¡°I don¡¯t read you as the major outlaw type. All those charges? Way too many to be believable¡­ Also, it¡¯s super cool to have a poster; they look badass, you know?¡±

    ¡°Do you have a poster?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Nah. You would think I would, with a guard being my arch nemesis, but for some reason, he won¡¯t get one posted. It''s probably some dumb honour thing. Something macho like it would be admitting defeat. I kind of wish he would, though; I want one for my wall.¡±

    I chuckled.

    It was a bit rough, more unhinged sounding than a real laugh. I was out of practice. I didn¡¯t laugh much.

    ¡°So, are we going to do anything Pinky? Rob a bank? Watch some stuff?¡± I asked her, gesturing to the holo.

    She looked at me like I had told a joke.

    ¡°Nah, now we go out on patrol. Someone has to make sure nothing goes bump in the night. I always give the city a pass over to make sure it¡¯s not on fire, and then I check in with a few people. Why did you think I came over to the thingy yesterday?¡±

    I sighed, ¡°Sure, can I take a load off for a bit? I got this cool new thing today that Lilly tells me will help out, but I have to go through it first,¡± I told her, pulling out the tiny case.

    She looked at it before making an ¡°Ooo,¡± and going to grab food from the kitchen.

    Touching it, I could feel myself discharge a tiny amount of energy into the case. Pinky came over and sat next to me, a tiny plate of finger food on the table, leaning over in interest at the tiny case.

    ¡°Open it, open it,¡± she whispered impatiently.

    I did, clicking it open to reveal a normal-looking cigarette case split with two folds, like a book. The base of each flap had little lights, four on each side and on the long edges a tiny semi-circle to flip them.

    It was currently set to one and was empty. I filled it with my preferred off-brand cancer sticks and my lighter, then flipped left to reveal the front, pressing the flap down until it lay flush.

    Paste on the inside was a manifest and a panel with unknown stuff in it. I recognized the script from one of the panels around the tomb from which I had liberated Lilly.

    One Cigarette, Lighter.

    Two Cigars, Cutter, Lighter, Lighter Fluid, Flint.

    Three Cards, Flask.

    Four Assorted Effects.

    I flipped through to the right. And it matched. First was my stuff, then the cigars, brown dry leaves, preserved for Sol knew how long; three was a hip flask with a logo that I couldn¡¯t read, and little plastic cards that I also couldn¡¯t read.

    On the last were folded pieces of paper and a funny-looking pen. There was a photo of a man that looked a little like Pinky, the eye shape, the hair¡­ Well, he had black hair, no pink. A picture of a kid, and a woman, both not human. There were other pieces of paper, folded bits covered in writing, and a tiny journal that held incomprehensible scribbles.

    I leaned over and asked Pinky, ¡°Can you read any of this? Because it¡¯s squiggles to me.¡±

    ¡°Same,¡± she told me, ¡°I can make out any of this; it¡¯s weird. Similar but not right, the letters aren¡¯t the ones my family knows, sorry.¡±

    I supposed that was for the best; this was a deadman''s personal effect.

    I took the pictures of the man and his family and the scraps of paper and slipped them into the journal, leaving it in its fold and placed some of my effects in the now-empty flap. Then I got rid of the plastic cards and the hipflask and replaced them with Pinky¡¯s medicine and ammunition. I only got twenty shots, but that was good as a holdout.

    I kept the journal for now. I didn¡¯t know what was appropriate, but the remains of life deserved some form of send-off. Hell, maybe it was the shop''s ancestor; the women had looked weird and possibly cat-like¡­ Probably not, but I could dream. The rest was impersonal and got put off to the side to be thrown out.

    I flipped to the cigarettes and closed it, sighing.

    ¡°Well, there was a whole lot of not much in there. Let¡¯s go, Pinky; if we''re going to walk around the city, we might as well get walking.¡±

    ¡°We''re not walking silly,¡± she giggled, ¡°we''re going to take a quick flyby on my sword.¡±

    There was a pause as she smiled, and I looked at her, not quite sure what to say. I managed to arrange my mind and avoid looking at her chest for long enough to come up with one.

    ¡°The¡­ The sword you crashed?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°The one I crashed,¡± she cheerfully told me.

    I looked at her as she gobbled up a pickle and flicked her on the nose, and she let out a tiny little ¡°ah¡± as she dropped it.

 Joyride

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you would do that to my poor innocent pickle,¡± Pinky told me.

    ¡°That is not the most important thing going on right now Pinky,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Why not? I need my salt, Bandit. I¡¯m so sweet that I need it to balance myself out, and now I¡¯m off balance,¡± she complained, more pout than chide.

    ¡°Those are a¡­ Very poor choice of words right now! Please refrain from mentioning off balance,¡± I told her, ensuring my feet were well and steady on the blade.

    Pinky, utterly brazen of our very unsafe position, simply turned to look at me before waving it off.

    ¡°If you think you¡¯re going to fall or you''re uncomfortable, just hold on,¡± she told me, cavalier.

    ¡°Where? There are no handlebars, Pinky! We were hundreds of feet off the ground, balancing on a half-foot of crystal! Where am I supposed to hold on to?¡±

    ¡°Uhh. Here, take my hands,¡± she told me, passing her hands backward.

    I grabbed on quickly as my center of mass and ears told me the perilous position I was in. My sense of balance was constantly shifting, and my normally superb senses¡ªor my current lack of them¡ªbetrayed me.

    She pulled my arms around her, tugging me close, like I was riding on the back of a motorcycle, me holding Pinky by the waist. I couldn¡¯t not feel weird at the feeling of pressing into Pinky.

    Pinky Tisked, ¡°Of all things, you''re afraid of flying on a sword. So tough and stubborn on the surface, but the second you go outside your comfort zone, you turn into a total softy,¡±

    ¡°Not wanting to die by falling off of your sword is not being soft! It just means I don¡¯t have a death wish, you idiot!¡±

    ¡°You''re not going to fall off, you big baby,¡± Pinky told me, patting my hands like I was some frightened animal. You''re safe so long as you hold onto me and keep your feet on the blade at all times. Look, that¡¯s the Lapis tower, home of the navy!¡±

    I did not trust her, not even as she sang a silly song and pointed at the tower. She had been heartbroken at the de-pickling, and this was a cruel and unusual form of punishment.

    I held onto her like she was life support anyway while she casually flew across the sky. I sat there, ¡®eep,¡¯ing as Pinky took us around the city in a joyride, staring intently at the ground and, periodically after getting shot at by random gun-toating guards, rolling, turning and generally evading.

    That was only near the towers, though, or near the important-looking compounds that were not towers but more like squat plazas or encampments. Near what I could only describe as a great metal root that led off past the barrier in the distance, there looked like what I imagined were surface-to-air defences that tracked us, but they didn¡¯t open fire as we drew near.

    She had told me we were going for a night out on the town, a patrol, she called it, though I hadn¡¯t thought of how long it would take to find an issue of foot. I could understand why she did it like this, even if it made my sense of balance scream every time we moved, telling me I was falling continuously and giving me a nauseating vertigo sensation.

    ¡°You know,¡± I told Pinky while we were far away from a royal blue tower, ¡°you''re causing a bit of a fuss.¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± she asked, turning to get me in the corner of her vision, ¡°Why would that matter?¡±

    ¡°There was a guy looking for you¡­ Unless there are other people with hair like ours around here,¡± I told her.

    ¡°What are you¡­ Oh, yeah, your oracle mentioned that. Lilly, right? What a funny oracle. It was some Kuro guy, right? I¡¯m not too afraid; they¡¯re impressive for a normal person, but not so much for one of us. What about him?¡±

    Her casual disregard for secretive police that carried artifacts was¡­ Telling. It was something I feared, trapped as I was for now on Luna, but I was also new, and I could fight. Pinky was not normal, of course; she was Pinky, and I supposed her disregard for mortality and authority made a natural immunity to people who threatened to imprison and torture you, especially when they couldn¡¯t imprison her if she could shatter concrete.

    ¡°I just assumed you would want to keep your head down,¡± I told her, ¡°What is a Kuro? Like what does it mean? I have no context for the slang, but it sounds less than kind. I¡¯m all for spitting on government and society at large, but I want to know what it means when I do it.¡±

    ¡°It''s¡­ Well¡­ It just means black, technically... It has a different connotation; it has to do with family names. Captain Crimson Crane isn¡¯t his name; he¡¯s one of the redbirds, or, rather, a red crane, an Akuren. Kuros are similar, a black clan that serves the great clan and its leader. They¡¯re¡­ Well, not good people. The current generation killed their parents, their own family, because they defied the great clan.¡±

    I whistled.

    That was fucked up.

    Blackbird, who I guess was one of crimson cranes cousins, was exactly what I thought he was. Far was it for me to throw stones, but those kinds of guys pissed me off. I could be a hypocrite, but I would recognize it.

    ¡°The one I met didn¡¯t see me as a killer. He was a blackbird, by the sound of it, or at least that¡¯s what I called him in my head; the lotus lady called him blackbird.¡±

    ¡°You yapping a lot; I¡¯m a little surprised, though he would be a blackbird if he¡¯s from here; all of the Kuros from this prefecture are blackbirds.¡±

    ¡°Yapping is helping me not think about vomiting,¡± I told her.

    She pouted, puffing up her cheeks, and I poked at her.

    ¡°It¡¯s not your flying¡­ Ok, it is, but it¡¯s mostly the sword. I was not made to fly like this. Give me a cockpit any day.¡±

    She made a sound as I poked, her cheek deflating as she blew a little raspberry.

    ¡°I take offence to that¡­ But I guess we can touch down and ask some people I know if they know anything¡­ The joyride was fun while it lasted.¡±

    She came off as saddened, and it took me until she had said it to realize that she had enjoyed the nauseating fly-by. She pouted, and I felt bad for spoiling her night but not bad enough to encourage her to keep flying. If I was up here sans transformation, I would have been fine, but I had thought I was going to be walking, not flying.

    I looked out at the city as we circled down and toward the jade tower¡­ We made our way toward the redlight district, the glow of red lamps enough to tint the area a warm, inviting orange-red shade.

    We were heading back to the same fucking place I had just left.

    A part of me wanted to complain. If I had just told Pinky where I was, I could have gotten picked up. The other part recognized that reaching out to locals was what got people places, and even just the short conversation we had would lead to doors opening that I would otherwise be deprived of.

    It was good to know people in low places; they always knew what was going on.

    Apparently, Pinky knew some people in low places, too.

    We wound down into a familiar dark alleyway. Pinky¡¯s sword hovered a step off the ground, and blissfully, I got off her sword, drawn to the solid surface beneath my feet.

    Pinky partly pulled a package from her pontoons. Peculiarly placing the point of our propulsion in it and pressing it home.

    I stared at her dumbly and not just at how she jiggled.

    She had just pulled a sword sheath out of her cleavage¡­ and then sheathed the sword in it.

    I stared at her chest, confused, bewildered, and utterly bam-fucking-boozeled.

    ¡°The fuck?¡± I asked, so confused that the word leaked from my mouth.

    She looked over at me and saw me staring at her chest¡­ and grinned, her eyes looking a little more lively and her cheeks taking on a bit more colour.

    ¡°Taken by my bountiful assets? I suppose if you don¡¯t like my sword, I can always rely on them.¡±

    I stared, walking over as she pushed the blade down into her cleavage, watching as it disappeared. I stopped staring and looked up at her.

    ¡°Pinky¡­ Did you stash an artifact in your¡­ er¡­ breasts?¡±

    Pinky got a weird look on her face, crossing her arms coyly, giving me a ¡®wouldn¡¯t you like to know¡¯ look.

    I stared at her and simply said, ¡°Fine, keep your secret storage artifact hidden in your tits¡­ you little pervert.¡±

    I did not say it with disgust or animosity, but my words made Pinky puff up, her cheeks expanding and her hands holding her hips, leaning forward in a way she had to know would draw the eye. Considering that they swung out at my neck, the proximity did not help.

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    I reached out and grabbed ahold of her round cheeks and pinched them, muttering and sad at the knowledge that I had decided against trying to get with her.

    ¡°Stop swinging your giga honkers in my face, and let¡¯s get back to patrolling Pinky. You can''t distract me like that forever.¡±

    ¡°You''re just sour. You don¡¯t have ''em,¡± she told me, a look of supreme smugness on her face.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m really not.¡± I snapped, shuddering at it, the feeling of my unfamiliar flab itching at me.

    I shouldn¡¯t have, it broke the moment Pinky pulled back. It was over, and a distance formed between us, her feeling suddenly less familiar to my peacekeeper form. Worse, it wasn¡¯t entirely true; a foreign part of me was jealous of them despite never caring about them my entire life, and it unsettled me as I recounted it. Like looking at my face in a mirror, and it made me feel sick.

    The feeling slowly passed as Pinky pulled away with a ¡°Come on,¡± and I followed her, reordering myself. I could tell that she could tell I was uncomfortable, and it caused more distance.

    I followed along like a lost puppy into the same area I had left just a while ago, the outskirts. We walked around the less populated marketplace, most of the people flitting from shop to shop until we came up to the same bar I had just fucking left.

    ¡°I suggest we split up and ask the locals if anything spooky or suspicious is going on; I say we split up for an hour and meet back here. We can get some food¡­ My treat.¡±

    I agreed unthinkingly and watched as she headed away.

    Then I was alone again, my only companion Lilly, who said nothing, and my own thoughts. I felt like a shitter, but I could live with being a shitter; it meant very little; I was already a shitter.

    I wallowed in it while I watched her leave before getting on with it, I got around to talking to people, not the folks that looked like they didn¡¯t live here, but vendors and shop owners.

    I made my way down into the district, yapping as much as I could, but I didn¡¯t make it that far.

    Most of them were somewhat suspicious of me; the felines out and around were less suspicious, but the Lunatic vendors all avoided telling me anything like I was asking them if they paid their taxes.

    Outsiders got shunned sometimes. That was true, but this level of shunning was beyond weird. I noted it down and focused on asking the firstborn instead, who were more interested in freeing me of my chit than anything vaguely related to any issue. They were very catty too, when they decided you weren¡¯t there to give them money.

    ¡°Out, no questions for free, leave. Leave!¡± a furred shopkeeper told me hissily, nearly pushing me from her shop.

    ¡°I¡¯m going, I¡¯m going. Hands off my pockets! If you touch my pocket again, I¡¯m going to get my stuff back the hard way!¡± I shouted at her.

    I peeled myself away from her, keeping my eyes on her hands as she shut her door. I immediately checked my pockets while she glared at me, stuck my foot in the door, and held my hand out, palm up.

    We glared at one another, but when my hand went to rest on my hip and the conveniently hidden weapon I had hidden there after my return to Pinky¡¯s place, she hissed and passed back my pocket watch, and after a click of my handguns trigger, my ships fob, which had sat next to my credit chit.

    I nodded, pulling my foot from the doorjamb and securing everything down.

    I unlocked my handgun so I didn¡¯t trip it, and put a noisy hole in my leg, and made my way back to the bar.

    I checked the watch and knew I would be getting back early, but I wasn¡¯t getting anything other than enmity. I trudged back to the bar and let myself in, the funny flags not drawing my eyes as I walked in and took in the place.

    The tiny bartender was still on shift, but the bigger bouncer was at the back, standing next to the back doorway. The place wasn¡¯t empty, far from it, but it had a different crowd a remarkable number of women in booths talking, as well as the change in music changed the feeling of the place.

    It had felt comfy, but now it was more of a party. Most of the women had lighter dresses that showed more curves. Some wore face paints, eyeshadow, lipstick and other cosmetics. Some wore dresses that were so light that they showed more cleavage than Pinky. The place was so packed that even the wallflowers had no space but to be sandwiched between two attractive women.

    It was less my style, but I needed to wait for Pinky to get back and report my lack of progress and the weird locals.

    I moseyed on up to the funny little bar lady and took a seat at the crowded bar, a set of ladies talking to my left and the seat to my right, an attractive woman dressed to impress in a light grey jumper on her shoulders with a similar light grey blue dress that showed off a little diamond of chest, with a pair of blue pair of glasses.

    She was a lunatic with a very long body from a lack of sufficient gravity. Her skin was on the paler side and unblemished. She had a button nose, and her glasses had a chain to catch them when they inevitably fell off of said little button, the legs passing into her smooth black hair that wasn¡¯t done up, the rest held fast by a little bamboo stick in the back.

    She looked academic and like one of the wallflowers with no space. Mindful of the last time I asked a woman out at a bar, I decided it was best to just not and just enjoy a few drinks. With no bag came no fuss getting up to the bar; my stolen clothes were a sore spot, and I stood out in a bad way.

    Tapping the bar, the little bartender looked up at me with her comically big eyes and innocent cat look.

    ¡°A drink, please, whenever you have time, same as before.¡±

    She nodded, getting on to another drink, which had her walk up a tower of step stools so rickety they would kill nine out of ten people.

    At no less than ten points in the heart-palpitating period of time, it took for her to retrieve the ounce of liquid she was looking for, she almost fell and snapped her neck.

    ¡°Now I see why some drinks cost more than others,¡± the well-dressed woman beside me said.

    ¡°I know, it''s giving me a heart attack just watching her do it. I¡¯m going to stick to beer,¡± I responded.

    She made a polite noise of agreement, and I reached up to tip a hat that wasn¡¯t there, only to stop, confused for a moment, before letting my fingers comb through my hair once.

    We sat in silence for a few minutes, the kind lady and me waiting in companionable silence.

    Hopefully, Pinky would be back soon. Otherwise, I would be liable to start doing things I won¡¯t live down, like asking her questions or awkwardly touching her hand or something. That seemed like the kind of thing Bandit would do. Just another twist of fate that would keep me busy.

    My stalling continued until after I got my beer, and the catgirl, on tippy toe, slid a small bowl of nuts up between us, saying simply, ¡°On the house,¡± and we both reached for them at the same time.

    ¡°Oh, sorry,¡± ¡°My bad,¡± we said in unison, stopping to turn toward one another.

    Her hand came up reflexively and pressed her glasses back up her nose to her grey-brown eyes.

    Oh boy. She was a looker.

    Even while not my type, she was a looker. Not drop-dead gorgeous like Pinky, sure, but a beauty nonetheless, with lots of soft curves to her face. I could tell she lacked something, but I honestly couldn¡¯t find it.

    I could see her blush and quickly withdrew my hand from the nuts.

    ¡°Sorry about that. Please,¡± I told her, gesturing at the dish.

    ¡°Thank you. I- I didn¡¯t mean to¡­¡± She said, flustered before looking at me and sighing. She reached up and rubbed the bridge of her nose before adjusting her glasses.

    ¡°Please, don¡¯t hold back on my part. It¡¯s a bowl of nuts.¡±

    ¡°Yeh. Yeh. I just figured you were alone at the end of the bar, so you might want to be left alone,¡± I told the shy girl, reaching out to take a few salted nuts before tossing them back.

    They went well with the beer, but we didn¡¯t lapse into silence. She talked, and for some stupid reason, I answered like a numbskull.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t here to be alone; I just came alone. A few of my co-workers came here after work, and I heard there was a girl''s night, so I thought I would check it out. I just didn¡¯t expect everyone to be a girl,¡± she told me, nodding her head toward and behind her.

    ¡°It was¡­ Quite a shock. I was wondering why there were so many girls here. It''s kind of a weird idea, though. Do we get a free drink? Shouldn¡¯t there be more guys? Are there any?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got no idea; I didn¡¯t see any¡­ It does seem rather weird¡­ Where are my manners? I didn¡¯t introduce myself. My name is Mei, Mei Lanhu. May I know yours?¡±

    My one weakness is my name.

    I couldn¡¯t tell her my real name, obviously, and I didn¡¯t think giving her the name I did work by made sense. She would either know, and it would make it awkward, or she wouldn¡¯t, and she would think I didn¡¯t trust her with my name. I didn¡¯t trust her with my name, but that was mostly because I was wanted for a hell of a lot of money.

    I thought back to Pinky¡¯s idea of a magical girl name and all the shows she had forced me through, and a name came unbidden from my mouth.

    ¡°Amberlyn Aki, but you can call me Amber,¡± I told her, using every neuron in my brain to sell it.

    I just grabbed the name off of one of the orange magical girls from one of Pinky¡¯s shows, one of the orangey-yellow ones that picked fights a lot. Amber Colour and Aki, something was her name, and I just stuck the two together.

    I felt like it was a shit name, but she smiled cutely, unawares.

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s good to meet you, Amber. As I was saying, I didn¡¯t see any guys, but I suppose it could be an all-girls night. You know how men get when this many women are in one spot,¡± she said.

    I didn¡¯t, particularly because most places I went to didn¡¯t care to put on a girl''s night, but I nodded politely and pretended as I did.

    ¡°So you came to check this place out because a few of your co-workers come here?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Yes, though I can tell this is a bit of a bad point to get a good look. Are you a regular?¡± She asked back.

    I was brand spanking new, but I did have a tab and did intend to be until it either ran out or I left Luna, so¡­ I kind of was.

    ¡°I¡¯m somewhat new, but I was here earlier. I came back because I was waiting on a friend, but it was rather comfy then,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Sounds nice,¡± she said with a small smile, ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll have to come back-¡±

    The Bouncer spoke up, her voice rolling through the room, not loud but deeply.

    ¡°Lady, It''s time for tonight''s festivities. For those wishing to join in, please form a line.¡±

    Everyone began to file toward the door, the room beginning to clear, and the press nearly pulled us off our seats.

    We looked at one another, and while we both shared the same look, I asked aloud, ¡°You want to¡­ Check it out?¡±

    She nodded, an academic curiosity overcoming her.

    She got off our stools, the little bartender smiling up at me with a wave while she polished a cup. We got in line, and small groups were let through until we got to the front, and the Bouncer recognized me, eyebrows lifting.

    ¡°Huh, your back. I didn¡¯t expect you, of all people, to come to a girl''s night... Then again, I guess you''re also the exact kind of person who would go to one. Just a group of 2?¡±

    I didn¡¯t know what the oversized cat woman meant, but I went with the flow.

    ¡°Just us for now. I was waiting on someone else; if she pops up, could you tell her I¡¯m back here?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Sure thing. What''s she like?¡± She agreed amenably.

    ¡°Pink, and lots of it. You couldn¡¯t mistake her if you wanted to.¡±

    She nodded and gestured for us to stop holding up the line. Pressing close, we entered the back, walking down the hall until we met a second greeter, who led us to a side room and got us a towel, a robe and cushy slippers before leading us to a shower area.

    Mei seemed to understand what was going on at that point, and I confusingly put my stuff in a box and showered, getting the crusty remains of the blood off before getting into a very plush robe.

    Feeling exposed, I managed to slip my pocket box and Righty into the robes pockets before our stuff was put away, and we were whisked into a kind of common area, with plenty of women hanging around with drinks, kicking back, and relaxing. There were private areas off to the sides and the sound of water further in, with a side room with the music exiting it.

    ¡°Mei¡­ I¡¯m going to be entirely honest with you. I have no idea what''s going on here,¡± I told her.

    ¡°It seems to be some manner of spa, a bit weird for a bar, but I can¡¯t say I wouldn¡¯t enjoy it,¡± She told me.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never been to a spa,¡± I told her, utterly confused by the turn of events.

    A lady came around and gave us a set of fruity-smelling drinks, and I held onto the cocktail glass like it was fine crystal, utterly lost. I would be less confused if I had walked into a firefight.

    Looping her arm in mine, she smiled up at me and pulled me over. pointing to a room with an unintelligible word by the door. I took a sip of my drink as we moved over to the room, and Lilly chimed in that the drink had a mild muscle relaxant in it. It tasted herbal, and I could honestly say that it was not bad.

    Mei pulled me into the room and got acquainted with a set of side-by-side tables, a set of twins, each with six spindly arms laying us down.

    I did it in a fugue until I heard Mei asking about what kind of needles they would use and woke up, asking, ¡°What do you mean by needles?¡±

 Cockblocked

    I was wide awake, no longer lulled into a false sense of calm by the ambiance, the hot women, the drinks, and the wallflower.

    Mei did not respond immediately, but I repeated my question by keeping my calm as best as I could. That was to say, not jumping off the table like I was about to be in a knife fight. Very restrained on my part, I know, but something about being in this situation made it feel like a tensy bit of an overreaction.

    ¡°Mei, what do you mean when you say needles? I don¡¯t like the kind of thing where I get stabbed repeatedly, no matter if it¡¯s in a spa or not.¡±

    There was a shift of the two multi-armed women who drew away, though not because of me.

    Mei, her voice unchanged by the very obvious warning of my disapproval of recreational needles, spoke anyway.

    ¡°They¡¯re not that kind of needle,¡± she said, totally missing the point that it was not the potential of drug use or the drawing of blood that made me weary. ¡°They¡¯re more like sowing needles, thin as a hair. They¡¯re so small you can¡¯t even feel them.¡±

    Her words just confused me further.

    First, why would I want to be stabbed at all, and second, what was the point of getting stabbed by sowing needles if you couldn¡¯t even feel them? How the hell was I supposed to get relaxed when I was being stabbed without knowing? Half the tension in a knife fight was not knowing how, where and when your were going to get stabbed as you actively tried to stop people from stabbing you.

    I mean¡­ She probably didn¡¯t know that, but it didn¡¯t stop me from freaking out.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that changes anything,¡± I told her turning to face her in utter fucking bewilderment.

    She looked back at me and said, ¡°What? Are you afraid of some needles? Relax. Besides, if you had been listening, you would know that there extra special.¡±

    ¡°Extra special?¡± I asked her with horrified curiosity.

    ¡°Indeed,¡± she said with a small smile, ¡°They¡¯re made from a type of minor artifact, the material kind that¡¯s been shown to reduce the likely hood of psychosis that¡¯s commonly attributed to ghosts,¡±

    I blinked at her while she yapped, nodding until she stopped, and then simply said, ¡°What does that mean? My other¡­ Er¡­ Companion has found that small words are best.¡±

    ¡°Right. People attribute most of the spooky spontaneous stuff on Luna to the moon being haunted. Still, the current theory is that Luna being a moon has a mental, or ¡®spiritual,¡¯ toll that causes people to go crazy, and grants them a nice, padded cell in the amber tower.¡±

    Huh. Yeah, I had to go with Pinky¡¯s explanation on that one. That was not the case. There were lots of moons, satellites, and structures that floated in the void, and that idea did not fit. Good on them, though, for coming up with a way to explain away everything.

    I had to wonder why Pinky didn¡¯t care to mention that.

    As if she could hear my thoughts, Lilly spoke up.

    ¡°She¡¯s talking about the same effect you would have been subject to if you had gone through that hole without activating your shard,¡± Lilly told me. ¡°Its official name doesn¡¯t matter, but it was called strange sickness.¡±

    ¡°Never heard about it,¡± I told her.

    ¡°It¡¯s a persistent issue. Especially for the Navy. Imagine the captain of a battleship going nuts and firing their main gun at something that isn¡¯t there.¡±

    She sighed, shaking her head as if in embarrassment.

    ¡°And somehow¡­ Sticking needles in me, can stop that?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said with perfect sincerity before staring at one another.

    Sitting there, she reached a hand out and said, ¡°If you¡¯re going to act so skeptically, you may hold my hand for some reassurance; I¡¯ll even tell you when you get one so you know what it feels like. Now stop holding up the good ladies; they¡¯re are waiting on you.¡±

    I looked towards the lady who was holding an opaque plastic box.

    She stared at me, her weird arms holding other things: more boxes, oil, and, with one hand, a cart on which she placed things she had gotten from a cabinet.

    She nodded silently, and I felt terrible for the poor woman waiting for me to get over myself with perfect zen. I was also hogging the room, and no one else could use it properly while we were here.

    My Peacekeeper form whispered as it did, telling me to either hop off or get on with it while also telling me that I was acting out of line. Its presence was alien and wrong. I could tell it came from me, but it was not a part of myself that I accepted. It was the part of me that I couldn¡¯t accept yet. It was how we settled down after we were done.

    I was still Bandit, even without the sword, and I wasn¡¯t about to settle down now.

    But I did if only to not be an asshole about it.

    I shut up and lay down, only for the woman beside me to bap my hand with her own.

    Embarrassed, but knowing it would stop me from being as tense to focus on something else, I took it. I mean, it made me feel like a total bitch baby, but considering everything, I supposed it was¡­ Ok.

    As soon as we were settled, they got our permission to roll our robes down and started paying attention to our backs, necks, and generally anywhere but our pelvis. Their spindly fingers carefully find invisible points along our bodies while we lay looking at one another, both of us doing our best not to stare.

    I could see the woman working on Mei trace a finger down her back before making a taping motion with another hand that held a tiny crystal needle, so small it was mostly glare.

    I awaited the prickle of a needle, constantly controlling my breathing to force my body from the tension¡­ But nothing came.

    Confused, I asked Mei, ¡°Are they just not doing me yet?¡±

    ¡°Oh, they are. You have like twenty in your back already,¡± she told me smugly.

    I stared at her in the face, first confused, then a little betrayed at her lie, and then just plain confused again.

    I couldn¡¯t feel it at all; the sensation of her fingers on my back drowned it out. I hadn¡¯t even realized she had been taping.

    My expectation of getting jabbed bled away in a moment as I tried to focus on my back and feel them, but felt nothing at all.

    ¡°Huh. I suppose you didn¡¯t lie about that, at least,¡± I told her.

    ¡°I never said it was going to be the first needle,¡± she smirked.

    I opened my mouth and then closed it.

    She was coy, but she only told me that to get me to stop being such a winner, so I took it with a ¡°Touche¡± and did my best to relax and wait for it to be over.

    There was no point in seething. She didn¡¯t even technically lie; she just tricked me. Sol, save me from clever women.

    We relaxed while they poked us, and by the end, I found that my body had become liquid, and any sign of the physical stress that normally accompanied daily life was gone. Whatever it had done, however, was far more effective on Mei than on me.

    There was a strange feeling of connection, though; my fingers seemed to tingle a little. A phantom sensation.

    Mei was not only boneless but content to fall asleep, and I had to shake her awake to get her up and out of the room for the next set of women to come in.

    She clung to my shoulder in a kind of boneless relaxation I could not comprehend. It was sort of freaky, in a, how did you even get that kind of relaxed, kind of way, but she seemed fine, so I brought her over to a sitting area and let her lie down.

    Sitting down, Mei stuck to my side like some form of slime, her light breathing brushing my ear in a way that made me aware of just how close she was.

    Anywhere else it would have looked odd, but here there were many women that just lounged around, leaning into one another, some sipping down drinks or admiring painted nails, some off in a kind of pool area further back, wearing basically nothing at all. There were ever some women that seemed to be entertaining others just for the hell of it.

    We relaxed there for a while. I waited for Pinky, but after what had to be ten or so minutes with no sign of her, I started to get antsy. Mei had settled into snuggling up to me like I was a blanket, her hand still in mine, her cheeks flushing.

    Deciding that I needed to do something and being unable to get Mei to let go, I decided to try to strike up a conversation.

    ¡°Are you just that relaxed?¡± I asked Mei.

    ¡°Mmh,¡± she mumbled, ¡°No, not normally. Lots of work recently, its tense. You¡¯re not?¡±

    ¡°My body¡¯s relaxed, but I honestly don¡¯t think anything can relax me as much as it has you. Your practically liquid,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Mhm,¡± she lightly moaned, ¡°Very nice. Sucks your high-strung.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not. I guess you''re just easy to please,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Not so sure about that. I would have more of a life if I was,¡± she murmured, ¡°Then again, maybe It would be harder to relax if you weren¡¯t so soft.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not that soft,¡± I told her, a queasy feeling in my gut that fell halfway between pride and disgust.

    ¡°You''re very soft, smooth as a baby¡¯s bottom,¡± she told me, scootching in to rest against me like I was a pillow.

    Looking down at her, I couldn¡¯t help but notice the flush and the signs, and I did my best to pretend they didn¡¯t exist. I didn¡¯t want to spook her, though I also couldn¡¯t help but wonder if she realized what she was doing, pressing up against me like she was.

    ¡°You know¡­ I can¡¯t tell if you¡¯re a wallflower or not,¡± I told her, avoiding staring at her.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say I¡¯m wallflower. Most people would say I¡¯m cold¡­ But I¡¯m certainly warming up to you,¡± she said coyly.

    That just about made me blush, and it wasn¡¯t just because she seemed to be coming onto me, but because of something I felt I had missed.

    Why was this event free? Why only women? Why in the back of a sketchy bar on the edge of a redlight district?

    I had spotted more and more women coming in, but while I vaguely remembered quite a few, there were also women here who looked like they didn¡¯t belong in the environment doing many of the same things the ones that did belong were doing.

    Stick those together with the way there were a bunch of half dressed women pressing and holding one another close and I suddenly had a very distinct impression of what was going on here.

    ¡°Mei¡­ I feel like I¡¯m missing a bit of context here¡­ What does a girl''s night around here entail exactly?¡±

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°What else? A night where mostly single women gather to have¡­ Fun,¡± she told me, looking up at me, he eyes slightly lidded.

    Oh, dear god almighty.

    I had found myself in a powder keg of repressed women who were looking to have some fun. That¡¯s all it took for me to start putting things together.

    I had been missing something about Mei, but it wasn¡¯t a physical thing, it was a social thing. She was hanging around in a bar full of strangers she might or might not have fun with and cared little for the lack of men.

    At least I knew she was probably not just having some fun at my expense. She had stayed despite the women.

    As for why Pinky had asked me to meet her here, I tried not to think about it. There was thankfully someone very distracting but she brought her own issues.

    Or did she?

    I had been pent up for a while, and this seemed like the perfect time to blow off some steam.

    Looking down at her I asked, ¡°And of all the people here, Including what I can only assume are some courtesans doing a bit of paid entertainment, and quite a few nock outs, you want to have some fun with little old me?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see why not, and besides, you came up to¡­ You didn¡¯t know, did you?¡± She asked as she looked into my face.

    ¡°No, I was waiting for a friend and had no clue. I didn¡¯t even mean to break the ice; life just put me in the right place at the right time to bumble my way here. Though I certainly don¡¯t mind meeting you,¡± I told her, letting an arm wrap around her hip.

    ¡°Charming? My, my, what a turnaround. I almost thought you were about to pull back,¡± she said, her hand moving to rest on mine.

    ¡°Mostly, I want to make sure about something first, and I think it¡¯s important to know how seriously you take this kind of thing. I don¡¯t want to break a girl¡¯s heart over a one-night stand,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Charming and thoughtful? You¡¯re going to make me second-guess myself. I won''t get disappointed with some casual fun, although maybe I should be looking for someone easier?¡± she teased.

    ¡°Maybe. We could always check with one of the girls who seem to be selling their time for a second opinion,¡± I told her.

    She looked up before waving for one of the girls who was walking around with drinks from before, and she strutted on over to us.

    There was a look she had that I didn¡¯t think she expected anyone to notice, but she looked like she was a cat that got the cream. I could imagine why, but when we asked about the services, we could acquire it became obvious that some of the women were set.

    We were both on budget, but she told us we could ask for a room upstairs once the lights dimmed.

    At least it finally made sense why there were no prices for anything. They were here to get us in the mood for big spending. Why nickel and dime girls for a few thousand when the main source of revenue was the girls ready to make you moan like a pipe organ for 10k an hour?

    We, the two frugal, waited as the girls'' lounging started to get rowdy. The lights dimmed, and a few girls started to make their way upstairs. We stayed talking it out, but soon after, I made a joke about working with my hands, and she brought me upstairs.

    We climbed into a bed, twining together, getting ready for some fun. Lips and fingers questing for spots where the other might enjoy. Foreplay before the main course that we were both ready for.

    About thirty seconds before we were about to start taking off our robes when Lilly chimed in.

    ¡°Jacklyn, Pinky is on her way. She says its urgent.¡±

    ¡°What? Now? What does she mean urgent?¡± I asked her, with no way to hide it.

    ¡°Yes, now. I don¡¯t know what she means by urgent, but I would assume she believes immediate action is required by both of you,¡± Lilly informed me, cooly.

    ¡°Well, how long will it be till she gets here?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°About a minute from the distance of the transmission,¡± Lilly replied.

    I sighed. Pinky was cockblocking me.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on? Who are you talking to?¡± Mei asked, confused at my sudden and schizophrenic action.

    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m talking with a friend,¡± I told her, backing it up with showing her the comm ring. ¡°It¡¯s like a-¡±

    ¡°A comm ring,¡± she finished before her eyes widened, and she took my hand in hers.

    It was a look of manic understanding. The same kind of look that accompanied a talent, like how I could look at some metal and see bullets.

    She looked up, her eyes drawn down to the ring, before pulling her gaze from the ring.

    ¡°You said you''re heading out early because of an emergency? If you swear to come back tomorrow, I¡¯ll forgive you for skipping out and leaving me like this today.¡±

    I was intrigued by her sudden interest, but it was hard enough to explain your talent, let alone explain something like this. Far more curious would be how I was leaving her.

    ¡°By leaving you like this, do you mean intrigued¡­ or-¡±

    She cut me off, slipping a finger under my chin, and that same feeling was there, that connected feeling that had tingled through my fingers earlier. She pulled me in and kissed me.

    That was a tame description because kissing didn¡¯t often combine tongue, moaning, and a gentile touch, but it could be used. It was a good enough word for it¡­ Probably.

    It was about ten seconds after we started ¡®kissing¡¯ that Pinky, without warning us, flew through the window on her flying sword.

    She fell off the sword, tumbled into the room, landed on the bed, rolled like a comic character, and knocked me off the bed before landing on me.

    ¡°We need to go B-¡± she started

    ¡°HA! Hi Pinky, I know we need to go do something-¡± I tried to say.

    Pinky interrupted, pressing my cheeks.

    ¡°We need to go now,¡± she said emphatically before reaching under me and trying to lift me up like a person-shaped sack of grain, and I let her, catching her and helping her up when she overbalanced and almost pulled me on top of her, placing her down.

    I caught a blush and a pout, but with Pinky, there was no telling what she was pouting over.

    Pinky looked over to the woman and seemed to recognize her, before turning to me and then my neck before puffing up her cheeks even more. I reached over and pulled her sword out of the wall before handing it to her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about telling anyone,¡± Pinky told her, ¡°No one will believe you! And the owner already knows about the window.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t intend on it,¡± she said before turning to me and saying, ¡°See you soon¡­ Amber.¡±

    ¡°See you soon, Mei,¡± I told her before walking over to Pinky, who had the sword hovering and hopping onto the deathtrap without complaint because I didn¡¯t want to look like a pussy.

    Pinky lifted up before murmuring, ¡°See you soon,¡± in a way that could only be mocking, though it took her till a few seconds after we left the room, once again via the now shattered window, for her to catch the second bit.

    ¡°Wait, Amber?¡± She asked, turning to face me. She was gobsmacked and pointed the finger at me.

    ¡°I needed to give her a fake name, so¡­¡± I started.

    ¡°You came up with a magical girl name, and you did it without me!¡± she shouted despondently.

    ¡°Um¡­ Yes?¡± I asked, not getting it.

    Pinky stopped talking for a moment before she seemed to deflate a bit, mumbling to herself.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what was that?¡± I asked.

    ¡°I wanted to be there for it¡­¡± She mumbled more audibly.

    Oh.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Pinky, I didn¡¯t know it was important. We could come up with a better one-¡±

    ¡°No¡­ No. What''s the full name? Tell me that, at least.¡±

    ¡°Amberlyn Aki, after that yellow-orange girl in-¡±

    ¡°Battle Witch San San? You picked the dorky yellow from Battle Witch San San?¡± She asked, ¡°No wait, that makes complete sense. Of course, you would pick a magical girl who uses guns instead of a wand.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ Yeah, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing,¡± I told her.

    She made a small noise then that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle, and I was worried that she was going to cry midair on a flying deathtrap before she kept doing it. Each ¡®sniffle¡¯ got a bout louder as she started to cackle.

    I was unsure of what set her off, but at least she didn¡¯t seem like she was crying anymore; whether tweaking out in the same position was any better was rather up in the air if you¡¯d pardon the pun.

    It was the kind of laugh that put fear in the hearts of lesser people, and I was definitely one of the lesser people.

    ¡°You- You picked a- Oh my goodness, that is too funny. Do you know what Aki means? When you give people names like they do in the show?¡±

    ¡°I, uh, no?¡± I replied, holding close while she took a hard turn.

    ¡°Magical Girl Sparkling Amberlyn,¡± she choked in a laugh before cackling her ass off like an evil witch, ¡°A sparkling gemstone instead of bubblegum, HA!¡±

    I could feel my cheeks flush, and I muttered, ¡°At least mine is a gem; you named yourself after bubblegum!¡±

    ¡°I know. I thought it was funny, and it was. I¡¯m a funny bubble gum girl. And your name is even funnier because you¡¯re so serious, he- HA!¡± she said with an even more pained laughing streak.

    I hadn¡¯t heard her breathe in since she started, close to a minute before; she just kept laughing and laughing and laughing.

    I started to get worried while we zipped through the air, not for myself but for Pinky, who was tweeking out, which was never a good thing for a pilot to be, ever.

    Huffing and puffing, Pinky eventually regained control over herself, settled down, and breathed. I gave her some back pats because I had never seen that level of laugh from anyone. She had kept going until she had been coughing, and it hurt.

    Carefully, I asked, ¡°So does that mean you forgive me for picking the name without you?¡±

    ¡°I would, but you also went to girls'' night without me. No matter how funny a name you picked, going with Miss Naval Research instead of me means you have committed a grave sin that must be rectified. You owe me one, basically,¡± she said wistfully as if she were doling out the law.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll try, hell I could afford it once my account gets unfrozen¡­ Whenever I get to that, Even if I don¡¯t get it.¡± I told her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get it? It¡¯s a spa day, basically for free! Do you have any idea how much that would cost? And the rest of it, too. I felt like, five years younger last time I went.¡± She griped.

    ¡°Oh? And you make a habit of it do you?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t use that tone with me. You¡¯re the one with lipstick on her shoulder and neck and a suspicious wet spot on your thigh. At least you got my message and remained clothed,¡± she said defensively.

    ¡°Careful, pinky. You almost sound je¡ª¡± I started before she cut me off with a squeak.

    ¡°What did you find out? During your patrol?¡± she asked.

    I explained the findings, mostly just the unwillingness to help out while also making curly cues in her hair while she slapped at my hand. I tried to get past six curls, but I couldn¡¯t quite make it with my pudgy fingers.

    ¡°That¡¯s not all that uncommon, and stop that,¡± she said, slapping my hand again, ¡°Most people around here don¡¯t exactly like outsiders all that much. Our society often shuns most of you in the name of ¡®maintaining our culture.¡¯¡±

    ¡°So you''re xenophobic? Damn Pinky, as a xeno myself, I don¡¯t know how I feel about that,¡± I told her.

    ¡°You damn well know I¡¯m not that way,¡± she huffed, and I gave her a pat on the head.

    ¡°There, there, I know you don¡¯t think that way. You''re one of the good ones, Pinky.¡±

    Agile, she bent her arm around and gave me a chop to the head that had a bit more effort.

    ¡°Do not call me a good girl like that, jerk.¡± She griped, ¡°And we''re almost there, so keep your eyes out for anything weird, spooky, or otherworldly.¡±

    To be fair to Pinky, I had no clue what I was looking for. I kind of doubted that monsters, or aliens or whatever, were just going to be running through the streets, baying for the blood of the innocent or whatever.

    She swooped us down above the rooftops as we came toward a structure that looked familiar. It was an old Voidrome. Out of use, with what looked like a rail line leading toward the current Voidrome in the distance.

    Carefully, she touched down in an alley next to an old warehouse. Despite its age, it showed obvious signs of use.

    ¡°What brings us out here, Pink? Is someone smuggling ghosts?¡± I asked her ironically.

    ¡°Someone smuggling something, alright. This warehouse is run by the red light district¡¯s Dam. She rents it out, but it''s mostly for smuggling; this far from the main voidrome, it''s easy to rig inspections,¡± she told me.

    ¡°So it''s for smuggling, so what? What''s wrong that has you in a tizzy?¡± I asked.

    ¡°There are goods inside that were supposed to be moved a week ago, and the renter claims they sent people to pick them up, but they never arrived; the people went missing, and the Dam wants them to move the stuff out. I¡¯m here because they claim weird stuff is at play, and no one wants to come here.¡± She told me.

    ¡°And you trust that?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Yeah, she wouldn¡¯t do me dirty like that. I helped her a while ago, and she hasn¡¯t forgotten about it. She¡¯s the honourable Dam; setting me on a goose chase isn¡¯t in her nature.¡±

    Well, I guess I would be the one on alert then; despite the former mood, getting cockblocked wasn¡¯t so bad for this. All that tension was helping, if anything. Pinky didn¡¯t quite drag me along to another warehouse, but she sure did hold my hand and walk quickly.

    The warehouse was marked as holding goods from orbit, apparently, and had a security latch, but it was disengaged. Making it very easy for us to skulk into the warehouse.

    It was dark in the warehouse, the only light coming in from the opaque dusty windows. The whole place was greyscale, but we got in, closing the door quietly behind us.

    There were boxes and shelves with crates on them, dividing the place into a labyrinth.

    We stepped in and to the side, and our shoes squelched.

    Both of us looked down, and I kneeled, touching the dark floor and found goo.

    ¡°What the fuck is this?¡± I whispered.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, what does it feel like?¡± Pinky asked.

    ¡°It feels like¡­ Like slime.¡± I told her.

    ¡°Spooky Ghoul Goo,¡± Pinky said, emphasizing each word, ¡°There are total monsters about.¡±

    ¡°Gross,¡± I said, flicking the goo off my fingers before standing, ¡°Why do you talk about monsters like you''re excited to find them?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°I am excited. I get free stuff for fighting them; always fun to get free stuff, and I help people while I¡¯m at it; why wouldn¡¯t I want to fight them,¡± she said.

    Leave it to Pinky not to be horrified by horrifying monsters while also calling them ghosts, ghouls, and other spooky names.

    We stalked through the goo-slickened boxes, the sticky floor growing at first sticker, then harder, losing the stick and growing firm like dry glue. I felt around, looking for open wounds, but found none, or none that I could feel; all of them were sealed up tight.

    We stalked into an open area, the slime spreading like grasping fleshy spiderwebs. They grew thicker before they pulled out and away, spreading up from the ground up along the stacks and then up to the ceiling in a kind of ball shape.

    ¡°It¡¯s a¡­ A nest?¡± I asked.

    The word came unbidden, like an itch at the back of my mind. The dogs from hell had been living in the halls like a cave or a den, but this was constructed.

    It fit.

    ¡°Sounds about right, so gross. Here out here, its open.¡± She said leading the way inside the ball.

    Inside, there was very little. It had obviously been an open area like a loading bay of some kind. Round shapes covered in growth resembled people, cocooned inside the nest''s walls. A few more were half-covered like they had been trapped in the roots of a tree.  Four or five would be able to be removed with little effort, but god knew how hard it would be to remove the rest.

    All of them were quiet; the room was still, but it was not dark.

    Despite the thick growths that blocked out the light from the windows, it was well lit, almost bright, though the quality of the light made it hard to see anything regardless.

    I suppose otherworldly light did that.

    Because at the back of the spherical nest lay a gaping wound that I could not feel.

    I had compared the open wounds to a gaping hole, my dirty mind colouring my thoughts, but this¡­ This was something else entirely.

    If a wound could be closed or open, this was¡­ Shattered.

    The wound had been forced open, yawning wide like it was about to birth, but if it had, the baby was long gone. In its place was a fleshy tube of nesting material that seemed to lead into a winding maze. I could feel a shudder run down my neck and back just staring at it and the off, sepia tinted light that filtered from it.

    At first, it could be misconstrued as a circular hallway, but it was not. There was a wall behind it, and once you saw it, the hole popped, as if you were seeing through an illusion. Something moved once I did, light shining in the corner of my eyes, but there was nothing there when I checked.

    ¡°That is¡­ Not good,¡± I told her.

    ¡°An open flesh hole in the middle of the city? No. That is not good. It is, in fact, the opposite,¡± Pinky confirmed.

    Yeah, that was an understatement.

    ¡°Well, you cockblocked me earlier; I¡¯m sure we could block this hole up together and pull the people out. Easy.¡±

    What a poor choice of words.

 Nest

    We were in a nest.

    What a great word. Nest. Weren¡¯t they the best?

    The best at making my skin itch, perhaps, keeping things in, less so.

    The point of a nest, after all, was to keep things out, but only until it was time to let the contents spill out into the wide world. This wasn¡¯t a wasp nest or a spider nest; however, it was a nightmare monster nest, one that had taken captives and that I was sorely ready to combat.

    I was in a robe. A bathrobe. With a pocket box and a single-hand gun.

    I was ready for a calm walk through a parlour, or perhaps in a bedroom, not a waltz through a nest next to a gaping wound in the side of reality where monsters that had shrugged off armour-piercing sabots like they were love taps after getting hit by a grenade that would have turned a person into chunky salsa and had broken my eardrums from behind a door.

    ¡°I have a feeling you''re trying to get at something with that comment,¡± Pinky told me, ¡°But unfortunately, I can¡¯t fly through this thing window to protect its chastity¡­ Though¡­ We will have to go in if we want to close it.¡±

    ¡°Go in? As in, go in there? Into the nightmare hole? Why?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Because I¡¯m not going to leave that!¡± she said, pointing toward the hold, ¡°Open to disgorge whatever is on the other side.¡±

    I looked at her.

    ¡°Pinky, you pulled me away in this getup,¡± I told her, ¡°I look like I¡¯m about to grab cheese from the fridge, not fight.¡±

    She looked at me and waved, saying simply, ¡°I know you well enough to know you brought your guns with you, and armour does little against monsters anyway, or at least metal won¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have all of them, though,¡± I complained.

    ¡°What? Why not?¡± She asked, the idea of me not having guns on my person at all times confusing to her.

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t fit everything in these stupid tiny pockets,¡± I complained again.

    ¡°Tiny pockets?¡± She asked, ¡°That¡¯s your weakness? Normal-sized pockets?¡±

    ¡°Have you seen the pockets on my coat? I could fit a fucking kitchen sink in there,¡± I told her, ¡°Or two guns, my ammunition, healing, et cetera,¡± I told her, reaching into my pocket and retrieving a cigarette from my fancy case before pulling out a second round of shot and Pinky¡¯s bo-bo-begone and storing it in my pocket. My very poor pocket is swelling with stuff.

    I also retrieved Righty, my brilliant little friend, my lover, one of two I slept with and gently cocked the hammer back.

    I cleared a few of the chambers, which was a right bitch and loaded two plasma shots I had pulled out, unexpected but appreciated, and loaded the hard shot with a spicier load, pinching off extra putty and pressing it in. It would be harder to control but not that bad, and the energy would be appreciated.

    I discarded two empty shots on the ground, the sacrifice for greater power. I had enough for some extra shots.

    ¡°You do have big pockets,¡± Pinky admitted, ¡°maybe you should get a hand bag.¡±

    ¡°A handbag?¡± I asked her, cigarette balanced on my lip, ¡°That¡¯s highly impractical. I would need to carry it and junk.¡±

    Pinky sighed something about my lack of femininity that chafed a little, but I could tell it was mostly superficial. It was more like Pinky was moping that I didn¡¯t fit the feel she liked. I wasn¡¯t girly enough to fit into her magical girl fun time.

    Speaking of magical girl fun time, Pinky skipped forward, carefree, as I got my shit in order, moving toward the bound targets.

    There were many of the people wrapped in the vine-like spindly threads of the spider egg structure.

    ¡°Are they alive?¡± I hissed over to her, unsure if it was bad for them to live or for them to be blissfully dead, the face of the man half turned to beast. I shuddered.

    She walked over, peered over them and chirped, ¡°Yep. They¡¯re all good. Stable, even. They¡¯re sleeping. We should get to closing the monster hole first, in case removing them wakes them up. I would hate to see them go coo-coo and get thrown in the loony bin because we did things the wrong way around.¡±

    Trying to keep the fear from my voice, I let out a little chuckle, one I did not feel. ¡°Ha. Monster hole.¡±

    ¡°Not so funny when you go inside of it,¡± she said.

    I stopped.

    ¡°Inside? Why would we go inside?¡± I asked her, walking up to the gaping wound.

    I felt at it in that weird way the alien trait inside me required, feeling at the mental mouth with my tongue, seeking the tooth that the thing should have been but wasn¡¯t.

    Could I close it by hand? Pull at the folds, tug them shut like curtains? I reached out as if to touch it, and my hand simply passed through the plane, refracted up like by a pool of water.

    The wound itself was¡­ Halfway. Not here, but not over there either. Pressed like a flower between the pages of a book.

    It was a weird thing for sure, kind of like an illusion or a mirage.

    ¡°Because we have to thin whatever on the other side, thin them and find whatever is holding this thing open.¡± She said with a sigh. ¡°Last time I did this, it was a chore but not so bad.¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Not so bad, and the nightmare monster nest did not go hand in hand.

    I looked at the woman, and she looked back.

    ¡°You sure there¡¯s nothing wrong with your head?¡± I asked her, ¡°Because you look the weirder half of serine right now, and that¡¯s just weird.¡±

    ¡°That¡­ Hey!¡± She complained.

    She came over and poked me, but I just asked, ¡°Must we?¡±

    She nodded with an agreeing ¡°M-hum m-hum¡± instead of ¡®uh huh.¡¯

    ¡°Cool,¡± I told her, slipping an arm around her before, with as much grit and gumption as I could, pulling the two of us through.

    I don¡¯t know what I was expecting. A repeat crawling through the hole, or perhaps some other fresh hell, but the only thing off was a flash of multi-coloured light in the corner of my vision. It was as if I had just sped through a tunnel filled with coloured lamps, but all at once. The distance covered with one-half step.

    Our feet taped down on the viney, uneven surface of the place that was not a place. Stagnant salty air filled our lungs, and musty smells of dry rot tickled our noses. Other briny notes of wet rot seemed to hint at moisture that the dry air could not have aided in.

    It was an environment I had never been in. Some kind of arid swamp, if that was even possible.

    Best not to think about it too much, lest I get a headache.

    Pinky sneezed, a tiny little ¡°Acchoo.¡± And it echoed lightly down the borehole, loud in that way things were loud when the world was quiet. Or like when you dropped something in a proper shower, and it clattered as loud as a gunshot.

    ¡°Sol, this place echoes; what are the chances they can hear then?¡± I asked, Pinky only shrugging before pulling away.

    ¡°Nothing for it; we just have to kill stuff until we find the thing that opened the thingy. Don¡¯t worry; we¡¯ll feel it when it happens.¡±

    I nodded as I oriented myself and felt something.

    In that empty mouth I had felt, there was now a tooth.

    The wound was open over here¡­ It was just¡­ Stretched.

    The wound had been pulled into here, the edges of the fold that led beyond, the invisible lips of the passage had been stretched like an elastic.

    They dragged around us, four lines like tensed cables hooked it, drawing it open. And they led away, stretching down the passage away from us. Toward the unknown. Toward the target?

    ¡°Pinky, I think I know where to go if you''re willing to trust me on it.¡± I told her.

    Pinky gave me a look then, a kind of disbelief, and I caught a look somewhere between intrigue and distrust. I had told her I had nothing.

    ¡°I have a weird kind of extra sense. There are edges that lead away from it, like fishing lines. It¡¯s almost worthless for anything but making me paranoid, but I think if this thing is being held open, then it will lead us right there.¡± I told her.

    ¡°But you never mentioned it,¡± she said.

    ¡°Because it¡¯s weird. It¡¯s not a-¡± I caught on the word I was going to use, but I sucked it up and suppressed the feeling of cringing I felt before saying, ¡°Magical thing. It¡¯s a talent.¡±

    She looked at me and didn¡¯t think I was lying, but she knew there was something more. I should have told her before, I had just forgotten to. I had forgotten, and it was going to bite me in the ass after this.

    Pinky, the ever-gleeful, pointed at me and said, ¡°You kept a secret, a super special secret power? No fair. I¡¯m the head of the super special secret powers club.¡±

    I spluttered, but as I did, she gave me a single look. It spoke of disappointment; it was, for a moment, just a single moment, a terrible look on her. My form hissed at me, the back of my mind telling me every distinct mark on her face, every muscle and curve.

    It stung me, and then it was gone.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± she said, her tone less chipper.

    ¡°I¡­ Yeah. I¡¯ll show the way.¡± I told her, her joke not lessening the blow of her face, burned into my memory.

    I had done one of the things I didn¡¯t do. I had hurt a good person. Even if only slightly, I had, and it was more than just another failure because most of my failures were by accident but it was often in pursuit of something good. Like when I had killed the woman with the black box on her neck while aiming to kill her captors.

    I had done an ill without righting a wrong.

    I took it and placed it with the others, took the weight that held my heart, and placed it in a cubby.

    I had no time to myself right now. I had a reckoning coming, but it was time to do something that would be bigger than myself. There is no time for selfishness or just enough to push my feelings under the bed, push them into my callous nest of a heart, and forget about them till later.

    The world spun on without me, even if it felt like I had been filled with a thousand pounds of lead.

    I moved my leg, the soft slipper blissfully quiet on the tangle as it fell. I made to hold Pinky''s hand and stopped. It would be best not to, not now.

    So I made my way in, Pinky following me into the musty borehole.

    It wasn¡¯t hard to find our way. Side passages split off, and we avoided them, their dry air and must and spindly forms leading off into a sepia-tinted unknown. Everything lit with even light made it easier, but it was still a tripping hazard, not a place that could be run from.

    Periodically, we found our way into what looked like a room. Each had a pool that reeked of brine and leaked a faux light. Each pool had what looked like rocks next to them, but rock¡¯s didn¡¯t move. They shifted, unaware of our presence or uncaring; they basked in the brine, scaly dry skin shed as they lay there.

    They had a look that made my everything itch, somewhere between shrimp, centipede and spider. Killer shrimp with limbs like tentacles, fangs and too many things near their faces. They were horrors, larger than the dogs by half, but sedate and so we moved past them.

    We moved on from the rooms, stepping carefully around the edges of the first room and then the second, which was larger and had two pools. Upon slinking into the third room, it became apparent that there was no war forward.

    It had four pools, and while it was larger, it wasn¡¯t large enough. Not for the size of the things that rested in the pools. Beings that could rival buildings resting in the pools center. Smaller shifting shapes around the edges told of more than a hundred.

    We could not speak any further, and we were not prepared to fight this.

    Pinky did not get the memo, muttering, ¡°Whoa. Those guys are big¡­¡± Before taking out some of the strange vials, she had used at the machine gun nest.

    ¡°Pinky? Pinky, what are you doing? There''s no way those can kill,¡± I said too late.

    Pinky, hearing me but not listening, pulled out something new, a vial that seemed to shimmer with a light similar to the pool, the movements letting the shimmering liquid effervesce lightly.

    And then, as I protested, she flexed the tube until it made a cracking noise and hurled it toward one of the big shrimp.

    ¡°I have become a chef and a fryer of rice, and it looks like shrimp is back on the menu!¡±

    The forms turned at her proclamation as the tube she hurled cleared dozens of feet further than Pinky should have been able to with her noodle arms that couldn¡¯t even open a pickle jar.

    It hurtled toward the furthest giant crustacean, and lightly, a sound like the shattering of glass echoed back toward us as the vial hit.

    The smell of ozone followed as what looked like a black portal to nowhere tore the area to pieces, and all hell broke loose.

    The world twirled, the shapes of the room, the water, and the foes stretching, elongating. Pinky laughed as the world at the far end came undone. The world shimmered, the entire cavern caught in what looked like a heat haze. It spun slowly, growing and growing as the world seemed to still for a short time, sucking at the cavern like a hungry maw. Some things fell in, and the distortion grew. It grew and grew until it had seemingly pulled a third of the room in and stopped, stilling for a moment and forever before there was a snap or pop of cessation that sounded like a chime, and the world returned to normal.

    ¡®normal.¡¯

    It was like the whole area had been turned into noodles and hurled into a microwave, reeking of ozone, ionizing radiation, and, strangely, seafood takeout.

    I had not come ready to fight, but Pinky had, and she seemed like she wanted one.

 Operation Shrimp Fried Rice

    Today was a day of new horrifying firsts.

    Once the sphere disappeared, it left a third of the room, one and two-quarters of the giant shrimp, and what I could only assume was a few hundred shrimp spaghettified. It had picked up the little ones and just sucked them in like a hungry maw. The affected area had even reached two of the four giant shrimp, tearing limbs off. It had pulled much of the spindly vine walls of the nest, each of which now seeped the glowing water like sap or blood; I couldn¡¯t test it myself.

    They lay there together now, rock and meat and shell and the vines all turned into thin strips. A steaming bowl of nightmare noodles.

    The shrimp things, the big ones, turned to see Pinky and me, cold alien eyes staring at us, and then they began to move.

    Have you ever seen something big move? And when I say big, I mean a REALLY big living creature, not a building or a vehicle. I hadn¡¯t, but it was something else brand new and horrifying.

    Things that big should not move, and just watching them lumber from the pool hurt my brain a little. It was a talent thing; every time it moved, my mind told me, ¡®It can¡¯t stand up on that,¡¯ or, ¡®It''s going to fall over,¡¯ every second like an intrusive thought.

    My dad was a smith, and as his daughter, I had inherited the talent of knowing my materials. The imagined weight alone made my brain seethe that it could not be. It was like watching a house stand up if a house stood on tiny legs as big around as my arm.

    The being was also asymmetrical and so should fall over, but didn¡¯t care enough to, and on top of it all, a thing that big should not move so fast.

    Weight was a force; it was mass times acceleration. Mass had inertia; it did not want to move on its own. Something that big could not be light; the density of bone made up most of a person''s mass, and a shell, if it was a shell, was different. A thing''s structure was always the heaviest component, and yet this thing, this shrimp-looking alien creature, moved like it wasn¡¯t the size of a house.

    It stood, turned, and lumbered toward us like a perfectly normal bus-sized shrimp with tentacles and god knows what.

    ¡°Well, it looks like I got off a good first hit,¡± Pinky said chipperly, as if we were not being moved upon by giant crustaceans. ¡°Time to start frying some monsters.¡±

    ¡°We have no plan, Pinky! What do you mean fry some monsters?¡± I asked her, ¡°I don¡¯t think I can even kill one of the little ones.¡±

    She looked at me funny but just reached into her shirt and chucked a few vials at me, ¡°then take these and check to see if the thing holding the gate open is in here.¡±

    I caught them, a free hand snaping out in a panic and grabbed them. I nearly dropped one but scooped it in my gun hand before it could fall. The last thing I wanted was one of her vials to break.

    It was somewhat horrifying, holding it, but on second glance, it was one of the other ones, the ones that Pinky had used on the machinegun.

    I looked at them, eyes wide as dinner plates.

    Pinky waved before hopping on her sword and floating up: ¡°I¡¯ll take care of the big ones¡­ And the little ones¡­ And¡­ Well, I guess all of them? Kill what you can. It''s time for operation shrimp fried rice!¡± she called, shouting, whooping in anticipation towards the end.

    Before I could get a word out, she jetted off, firing off pink beams, tossing vials and generally bombarding the shit out of things in the room while shouting things like, ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± or ¡°Get cooked,¡± and generally being her hyperactive goofy self.

    She had no plan. She had gumption and weapons that did real damage against the enemy, and that was about it. Two of them were bleeding, not blood that spoke to me like the dog had, but where it was a blue that wasn¡¯t blue, theirs was a puss yellow, and Pinky took potshots at them, her pink beams gouging through vulnerable flesh, dealing more damage to the colossal creature than I had on the small dog.

    It brought to mind her total disregard for the issue that the machine gun posed and her carefree attitude toward the issue of getting shot.

    It occurred to me then, standing there, stuffing vials of lethal foam stuff into a bathrobe pocket, that it occurred to me that Pinky might not just have been being a mindless idiot. She wasn¡¯t just holding back an arsenal the entire fight where we met, but she was fighting people, who did not fight with tooth and claw and who she didn¡¯t particularly want to kill.

    If she fought stuff like this on a regular basis and used weapons that could wipe out a city block, she would have been used to fighting with brute force. Suppose she could heal herself or transform into a war form that could tear through concrete. Why would she think a handful of people with guns were a threat compared to a building-sized killer crustacean that fought with greater than apparent but still animalistic intelligence?

    The giant shrimp turned to face Pinky, rearing up in a way that made them look even more wrong. It punched at her so fast I couldn¡¯t follow it, but she flew clear, ducking out of range during an unseen windup while I stared on at the nightmare.

    Then I shook myself and started moving. This was not a situation where I wanted to sit here, gaping like a tourist. I was here, and Pinky was fighting, so I should at least help out in any way I could.

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    I could maybe kill one or two of the shellfish with my gun, and I had three of the tubes, but I wouldn¡¯t make a particularly big dent unless I hit a gathering.

    The small ones, the ones that hadn¡¯t been sucking into meat spaghetti, which were still bigger than I was, were clumped, some soaking, some pushed together as they watched their greater kin fight the aerial target, and a hand full of them, the quicker amongst the lot, were facing towards me, scuttling on weird legs like a centipede.

    I needed to avoid the groups, many of whom were still around the remains of what were the four pools of sepia-glowing water. Once again, decrying the loss of my blade and how it would have made this far easier, I began to think. The best way would be to get to the destroyed area. It was a depopulated tripping hazard; the big guys were avoiding it, shifting back and forth as pinky buzzed around them like flies, and it would give me height. Perhaps there was a passage I couldn¡¯t see.

    Checking the wire-thin strings of the wound, they led to the far-left side of the room.

    Taking a deep breath, I nodded to myself and started moving. Aiming toward the path between, I tried to wheel around the incoming shrimplets, but they started to scuttle sideways like crabs, raising their shrimp body off the ground with the help of the tentacle limbs they had.

    They were loose, too loose in formation for me to get them all but too tight to easily get around if they mimicked my movement.

    If I kept going around, I would run into another group, so I started to move around the other way, and they started scuttling the other way, moving in a wave, pressing the ones next to them.

    They clumped up slightly, and a tiny evil thing in my head thunked into it.

    We were getting closer to one another, and they were clumping as I moved back and forth.

    Clumping up close enough to one another that I could it them with a vial? I hoped and pulled one out and tried to remember how Pinky had used it the artifact crystal glass. I tried to remember the time it had taken to detonate.

    It hadn¡¯t been instantaneous, but the exact time wasn¡¯t something I had paid too close attention to. She had pressed the button and tossed the vial; the green stuff inside had bubbled¡­ and we had left.

    How long would it take? Could I throw it in front of them? How far ahead would I need to throw?

    Either way, I needed to get them clumped up, so I would clump them up.

    I chided myself for not including the grenades I had swiped after fleeing the machine gun and for forgetting them in my coat pockets like they were change and lint as I hoped back and forth, the shrimplets following me, rapidly beginning to scuttle side to side, pushing against one another like bricks.

    I guided them back and forth as they came closer, and as I did, I focused on how fast they were moving and guessed four feet a second. I could outrun them if any survived, but I would need to run, considering their scuttle was comparable to a quick stride.

    I thought again, thinking about how long we had been there, and added a second. Then I estimated the range, my eyes telling me about 20 yards, my best guess aided by a fuck load of time spent shooting.

    I guessed the distance and let out a prayer to whatever being called this place its own, and clicked the button, sending a little shock into the green fluid and tossed the vial.

    My prayer went unanswered; I had miscalculated, but it got where I threw it. It started to react the moment the tube broke on impact, expanding first slowly but then faster and faster, growing across the ground, creeping out from the point of impact and foaming.

    A smokey haze seemed to filter through it, a caustic smell bad enough to make my eyes water and scream, ¡®Do not come here. You will die.¡¯

    I did not come there; I did not die. The shrimplets did come there, however, and gave me a good look at what Pinky had meant by you don¡¯t want to see it.

    In what I found to be a lucky break, the things, uncaring of the foam, walked into it toward me, and the foam began to climb, first slowly, then rapidly began to expand. It frothed heavily, and the things let out a clicking warble as they, too, began to smoke. The green, as it fluffed, became lighter and lighter before turning pink.

    The foam started to restrain them as they continued to come through the expanded poofy area, and as they kept pushing, parts of them came off, pulled free by the movement. The plates that covered them. The smell redoubled, and the foam grew, recovering parts of them as they clicked and stumbled, tearing and moving and tearing and moving. They reared up, spreading like a clam, until their bodies were flat, tentacles slipping from a series of pointy bits that could have been a mouth or god knew what else. Whatever the crevice was, it grew into it. Their bodies began to break apart, the smoke thickening.

    The area stopped expanding 10 feet from where I stood, and the foam that went pink began to deflate as the things came at me, bodies writhing.

    I watched them gobsmacked as they tore their own bodies apart, and then they collapsed. The green foam cleared, evaporating, leaving behind burnt mummified husks, each having a tiny splatter of yellow ichor and a glowing material that looked like the water. The sinew of the nest had been melted to something that was and yet wasn¡¯t stone.

    I felt a hum from them, the puddles feeling familiar to the gem I had eaten, but it came with no compulsion. Unappetizing, I turned from it, turned and ran.

    I made my way as quickly as possible, both from the bodies and the area, toward the central causeway. I did my best not to look at the big things, which were whirling tendrils around. I tried to smack Pinky while she shouted, ¡°I¡¯m going to krill you!¡± and cackled like a madwoman to a set of bigger different clicks that were punctuated by Pinky firing off more shots at them.

    ¡°Good to see one of us is having the time of their life tonight,¡± I murmured to myself.

    Head down and on a swivel to make sure I wasn¡¯t going to get swarmed as I moved between the two groups, I closed on the land bridge.

    Some of the shrimplets were looking around, but they did not move at me, twitching their heads around, tentacles throbbing across the ground. Their lack of attention was confusing, but as I kept moving, I figured it out. As the pools came closer, some of them seemed to spot me; their throbbing tentacles started drifting toward me at first, but then they started to turn their heads toward me.

    They were feeling me through the ground.

    Worse, they were annoyed at my existence and wanted to chew on my bones.

    They began to rise up, tiptoeing out of the water stuff on their little legs and making a scuttle towards me.

    They were slow; I could outrun them, and I started to do just that, but the problem with that was twofold. Running made more noise and vibrations, which set off more shrimplets, and the shrimp used a secret weapon, a thing incomprehensible to me.

    They made noise.

    The pools rumbled with shrimplets faster than you could turn your head to someone shouting fire. They turned their not-so-little forms toward me and, like a hail of arrows, pulled themselves from their primordial soup and scuttled toward me.

    The pools were of course, circular, a rising crust of crustacean ringing it, and the bridge was between them.

    The clicking that brought them in caused them to pile in on me from both in front and behind.

    It was no longer a matter of whether I outrun them; it was a matter of whether I could escape a pending encirclement. I took a sigh, kicked off the stupid slippers, feet getting a better grip on the sinus, and began my mad dash.

 Running the Gauntlet

    When one gets surrounded by a horde of killer crustaceans, what kind of fitting proverb is applied?

    Trick Question: There is no proverb; I honestly didn¡¯t think there was a single one in any book that fit. I was fairly certain that they were unique, or I guess maybe it was just hard to find anyone who fought them and lived through the experience with enough sanity left to write one.

    It wasn¡¯t hard, though, so I came up with one.

    When shrimped, make like a crab and scuttle.

    I never said it was a good proverb.

    I was using my grey matter for another task¡ªsurviving an encirclement of killer shrimplets. Stick with the program.

    I considered just hucking a vial at that time, giving them some foamy cleaning action to scrub them from existence, but there were issues with that. One, I wouldn¡¯t get many because they were all around me; two, they weren¡¯t clumped up, so I would get even less; and three, if I threw one ahead of me, I would need to go around the area of effect, which would put me in the primordial soup.

    I didn¡¯t know what it would do, but nothing good was up there. There was a proverb for that one, fortunately, fuck around and find out. Those are good words to live by.

    I ran; that was the immediate plan, followed by more of the same.

    I know. Am I a tactical genius, or what? Being encircled? Just run. Can''t take a gunshot? Just don¡¯t get shot. Easy as.

    Running was a half curse because they could hear my running and feel it through the ground, but they knew I was here, and I wasn¡¯t about to stand still and hope they lost me.

    I had no idea if they had object permanence, but one had to assume the worst.

    Running forward, I assessed my best path forward, plotting it out in my head, gauging distance with my eyes and a bit of parallax.

    I brought up a diagram in my head, doodling around it like I had a box of crayons and some plex.

    I did the calculations, the best chance of survival: straight ahead! Issue: enemy straight ahead!

    How do I change it, though?

    I noted a spot where there would be less of the little shits, but they weren¡¯t clumped up enough.

    Spinning it over in my head, I reached into my pocket, pulled out my gun, swivelled the cylinder to the accidental plasma shots I had brought along and gave it my best running shot.

    I aimed for the lone straggler on one end, and the gun barked in hand, hammer sparking putty detonating, hot bioplastic swelled through the barrel and was spat into the sepia air to claim its foe.

    The shot kicked free of its sabot, and it flew true. The plasma capsule burst, showing the shrimplet with the surface of a star. The crackling cone was muted but just barely coloured a faded purple.

    It was somewhat beautiful, and beyond my expectation, it did damage; the shrimplet it hit changed colour from one tone to another, its body steamed, and it dropped dead.

    I fired a solid shot to double check, and it slammed home, spalling against the shell, doing nothing.

    Plasma shot, my beloved.

    I noted that down in my head, kinetic was no good against armour, and plasma was good against shrimp.

    I would need to make some more, which would necessitate money and a place to make them, like my ship, but I was sure I could find something in a pinch. I just had to survive.

    That was good, but I now had one shot, and I didn¡¯t want to kill, as Pinky would put in, ¡®one in a krillion,¡¯ so I needed to clump them up.

    I did the side-swivel maneuver, hopping back and forth, which caused them to sidestep as intended. It brought the whole front closer together, but the gap widened more than it closed, so I called that a bonus.

    Checking my school house crayon drawing that was stuck to the fridge of my mind I decided to go for the opposite side of the front shrimplet pocket. If I shot down the middle, there was a chance they would fill it, but having two openings was less concerning if they were coming straight toward me.

    Aiming to the other side to give me more options

    I lined it up and split the middle between two of them because why shoot one when you could shoot two?

    I did, and I watched the shot in all its glory as a plume that could melt the steel of a cart engine turned two full shrimplets into two 1/3 shrimplets. The functioning 2/3rds of a monster fell behind, as expected of them.

    I pocketed my gun in my bathrobe and booked it. I sprinted like I was encircled by crustaceans wanting to taste my sweet, succulent, fatty tissues. I was going for distance, I was going for speed, and I got it. The only thing that could make me faster would be to get a few speed holes or drop the bathrobe, but I didn¡¯t feel like streaking right now. That felt like a bad idea, and it would rid me of my pockets.

    I kicked forward like a greyhound, first ziging one way, before I zagged the other way to widen the hole before I slipped past.

    One of the shrimplets lashed out with a blade-like limb, pulling it from within its gaping hidden blossom. It slipped through the back of my robe, leaving a fine line of searing pain behind, but I powered through and was free of its reach before it could finish rearing up to get a second thrust in.

    I dodged away from the 2/3, who punched at me with a ball thing and a tendril. The tendril slapped but did not grasp my behind as I passed out of its reach, and the ball fell short. It came out so fast it sounded like a gunshot, a wave of heat coming off it like a comic pugilist. My head tickled; there was a joke there, but I couldn¡¯t figure it out fast enough for me to focus on it.

    I passed them, though; I passed them with a new tan and a bruise on my ass, passed the yellow pussy blood that smelled like stagnancy and brine and old places. But I passed them, and that was what was most important. Surprisingly, the hit didn¡¯t hurt as much as I thought it ought to, but it was still nearly enough to get me to trip on the uneven terrain.

    Free of the Encirclement, but with the legion on my tail, I ran toward the next roadblock, the mega shrimp.

    The mega shrimp were fighting Pinky, who was currently in the process of making of acquiring one of the shrimp''s insides with its outsides. Not focused on me was all well and good, but her zipping had brought them partway out of their pools and onto the causeway, their thin limbs still wide around as my arm was like a stand of trees.

    I could get through them without using resources, but I needed to avoid the legs. I could use one vial and get rid of the legs, but I did not have enough to deal with the tide behind me.

    Hell, at least they weren¡¯t focused on me.

    I took my chances with the living forest that could core me like an apple. I read the way it was moving its legs and waited a moment before diving in, onward and upward.

    Pinky swerved, and a leg moved, I rolled to the side, coming up a second before the legs slammed down where I had been.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    I looked around, trying to ensure I wasn¡¯t about to be crushed again and saw its great maw.

    Flickering tendrils floated, waving as if in an unseen tide, forelimbs raised and ready as it tried to knock pinky out of the sky, antennae waved, and inside the rows of legs close to me, a set of pincers next to a puckering quaking sphincter that was lined with row upon row of teeth.

    It opened and closed like it was breathing.

    It made me want to gag a little. It reeked much as their blood did. Stagnated water, rot, and brine. Like a saltwater pier that had been left without maintenance and had corroded in blackened timber and rusty supports.

    But it also had a feeling from it like I had felt before. Like a song was echoing from its maw.

    I pulled my sight away from the captivating horror, and slunk through, sighting questing tendrils that seemed to box me in.

    Pinky hit it with something as I came upon the last third, and the shrimplets closed on the wall of legs. It let out a shrill clicking bellow before the world went silent, my ears running.

    Confused, my touch came back crimson, the actual colour, bold red, despite the surroundings being bland. It came of as somehow more real when presented next to my skin blended in with the colour of the air.

    I focused on it so closely that I bumped into a tendril.

    Lilly shouted into my head, ¡°Roll!¡± and I rolled¡ªright in time to miss a claw snap through the area where I had been standing.

    I stared at it, right at the claw and saw the tendril dart at me.

    I ran; I ran like a little bitch. I couldn¡¯t hear anything, but Lilly whispered suggestions into my head.

    Situational awareness without a hearing was difficult at best. After all, I only had eyes on the front of my face, which, as good as they were, only properly covered one-third of my environment. I had peripheral vision, but that was crap. Hearing was the component that guarded you against everything else, and it was now missing.

    I didn¡¯t have enough time to regenerate through it or have it healed by one of Pinky''s stims.

    Muttering a jumbled curse that I couldn¡¯t hear, I took in the legs, planned and dived as it moved as Pinky moved.

    If that was the only movement, I would have been clear, but I wasn¡¯t that lucky, let''s be honest.

    The thing kept moving.

    A leg came down next to my head, and I scrambled. Hands and feet flailing as I got myself up and out from its legs, but they kept moving toward me as I ran, a foot coming down like a rod from god to slam a foot from me, a leg slamming down close enough that it clipped my hand as it came forward, I spun and ducked and shimmied and on I went until it turned back away from me. I could breathe for a moment, sucking down the stale air of the wound.

    I couldn¡¯t rest for long and was close to my destination.

    The hill of noodles was before me, and the shrimplets had gotten into the legs.

    They were smashed as they came, a quarter of them turned into reeking meat paste. I got moving as I saw it, climbing up the noodles.

    As I climbed, they got through the middle and then the second set of legs, which may have been a third in total lost. Pinky did something. I didn¡¯t catch what, but there was a shake that went through the ground.

    Lilly chimed in, ¡°One of the big ones is down,¡± and I kept climbing. It took me perhaps twenty seconds in total to climb up the noodles, but it was hard. The rough terrain couldn¡¯t simply be walked up, not with my ears shot as they were, so I had to scuttle up on hand and foot lest I break an ankle in a crack.

    Each noodle was thick as a thigh, with spaces wide enough that it would be hard for a multilegged thing like one of the shrimplets to climb, which would no doubt buy me time.

    I reached the top, and my hand went into a pocket as I took in the sight.

    One of the big ones was down; it had fallen flat on the causeway, blocking off any that were left behind. It was still moving, not dead, but close, and it had fallen on the horde too.

    I wanted to complain a little bit. It felt like they were gaslighting me. Every time I looked, I swore there were 100 or so, but now there still had to be a hundred of the little shits.

    At least now, there was no more coming beyond this number.

    Go, Pinky, I thought before firmly grasping the vial of Insta-goo and hurling it down before the scuttling horde.

    I almost fumbled it, as I did. My left hand was missing a fingertip. I hadn¡¯t even noticed, and the moment I did, it started to sting like a mother fucker.

    The vial did not care that I was missing a finger, it flew regardless, tumbling end over end, insides roiling like a storm in a bottle until it smashed against the webbed veiny floor. Pink foam splattered like a tossed birthday cake and began to do what it did: clean up messes.

    It crew over and up the corralled shrimp things like moss on a rock, and where it touched it melted, their movement only pulling off more of their bodys. Behind the front rows that had been hit, the melting parts made contact with more shrimplets, and spread it further.

    They turned to ooze, first a few dozen feet from the noodles, then a dozen feet, then melting forms begain to try and scale the noodles, falling as they fell to chum.

    I reached into my pocket and pulled out the box, quickly flipping through to the medicine inside and injecting one of Pinkys'' healing stims. It felt terrible, but it would get the job done, even if it made me want to hurl a little as my body speedily patched holes.

    Turning back to the horde that was melting, I started watching for how well it had worked.

    Maybe half had been affected by it, many of whom had died close to the noodles, leaving a pile of still-foaming agents behind for any that would crawl up.

    Deciding that I didn¡¯t want to get hit, I threw the last one. A bold move I know, but I was a bold person and shooting fish in a barrel was just how I played.

    It tumbled into the front ranks again, though they were closer now, only a dozen or so feet from the noodles.

    Those ones were more of an issue. They did climb, and as some fell, they began to climb better.

    Confused I looked down as my ears popped and the never ending chorus of clicking things returned, and noticed that the chum was building up. A few had been totally destroyed, but as more and more had died at the same point, a layer had begun to form a crust.

    A ramp.

    They were genuinely forming a ramp out of their own broken, melting bodies.

    ¡°Fuck that just isn¡¯t fair,¡± I said to no one in particular.

    ¡°Its also rather unsanitary,¡± Lilly replied, ¡°Hoe very in convenient. Were going to die, and were going to be covered in melted goo while they do it.¡±

    She said it like she was talking about a stain on her dress.

    ¡°I think I¡¯m rubbing off on you,¡± I told her, ¡°That was very me.¡±

    ¡°That has been established already,¡± she told me, ¡°I am a part of you. Though I think the opposite is true as well.¡±

    ¡°How so?¡± I asked while the shrimp got halfway up before falling.

    ¡°You''re surprisingly self-aware at the moment. Normally, you¡¯re a bit of a Duh- Dunce.¡±

    ¡°And you seem to have a bit more backbone, I like the backbone,¡± I told her

    Well, if you don¡¯t start moving, I¡¯ll use all my backbone to chide you for killing the both of us. Please, if you would, start moving.¡±  She told me pointedly.

    I was going to ask her what she meant, but I had come here to check if there was an Anchor.

    Quickly checking I found the lines, and traced them over to a small hollow a hundred or so yards away. Turning back to check on the tide I saw that they weren¡¯t the only issue.

    The big boy was getting up again. Not up for Pinky, but up to the noodles. Up to me.

    Oh boy, it just always got better, didn¡¯t it?

    Fucking cursed luck.

    I turned as the shrimp began to die on the crest of the hill and began to ¡®run¡¯ as best as I could over the treacherous terrain.

    I did not like running the gauntlet when the viney floor had been closer to inches across instead of feet, but my gripers did as grippers did; I jogged in a stumbling manner toward the hollow, the great big thing pulling itself onto and over the noodles, picking up pace in a shuffled that made the world under me quake. The shrimplets were up as well, flinging themselves over the ground behind me, gaining on me as I made my way over.

    ¡°Fucking hell. Pinky! A little help here!¡± I shouted, stumbling, stepping, trying to go faster without breaking a leg.

    ¡°I thought you were; oh, good heavens, it''s still alive? Well, I-¡±

    ¡°For fucks sake!¡± I cut her off, ¡°Less talk! More action!¡±

    She did, saying, ¡°Forgive me, Sol, for I have shrimped,¡± and tossing a few vials down between me and the horde.

    They hit, foaming up, the shrimplets running into the wall and melting as they ran, draining away into the cracks and crevices.

    The big one also plowed through it and began to melt, but it did not slow down when it did; it sped up.

    I stared in horror as its body began to swim on its own gooey trail. First doubling, then tripling its speed from sprinting to, oh fuck that¡¯s a train.

    It seemed to push its insides down and ride on its own melting. It was killing itself to get one of us.

    I did sprint then; I ran as fast as I god damn could, making a break for the much too-small hollow, that was now far to far away.

    I got across a third before it was close enough to attack me, and I had to get creative as to how I got out of the way of thrashing tendrils, but despite hops, rolls and sprinting my ass off, it was still faster than me, and delta-V was the only thing collisions cared about.

    It collided with me; my back was slammed by a part of its shell, my feet dangling on the floor. It pushed my leg through a hollow, my ankle twisting as I was hurled along with it toward the small hole in the wall.

    It was terrible but I was pulled up and away from the cursed ground by a helping tendril as it tried to shove me in its maw.

    I shot it, my hand training on it fast as lightning. The solid shot didn¡¯t do shit against the carapace, but I suppose even a bee sting hurt enough to draw away from something, and the tendril reared back.

    Ten yards from the hole, panting and sweating, ankle unresponsive, I held on , slipping down the carapace.

    And then came the hole.

    I didn¡¯t know what the stone beneath was, but it was solid as steel. Like loading a shot in my revolver, the mass of the creature, the impossible momentum of it hitting a denser medium caused a great sheering sound.

    I was sent tumbling forward as the shrimp came to a sudden juddering halt, its exterior drawn away as its core was plunged into the hollow.

    I landed roughly, nearly snapped my neck but didn¡¯t snap it and landed flat on my back in a well-lit room, dizzy, bleeding, and sore but alive.

    A voice that was neither Lilly nor me called out, ¡°Oh. Hello, Hello, Finger,¡± and I did my best to ignore it as I groaned for another stim.

 Hello, Finger

    My everything hurt, and there was a man calling out in a mad rave that I just couldn¡¯t care about at the moment. I was too busy both relieved and in pain.

    I had run a gauntlet, been slammed by a colossal crustacean, and I was being casually called ¡°Finger¡± over and over again by the nutcase that was trapped in here.

    How a Lunatic got in here, I had no idea, but he was nuttier than squirrel shit from his exposure, and I could see a padded room in his future.

    Despite my great urge not to continue breathing after the run, I couldn¡¯t deny that it was a way to get the blood pumping and hormones flowing.

    Fighting was the kind of thing that could leave you cold, but when you took people out of the equation, it was¡­ Well, it''s not enjoyable. It was all the thrill, without any of the moral objections, or civys or people who didn¡¯t deserve what they got.

    It was enough to make a girl feel alive in all the wrong ways.

    I groaned, my body one great big regenerating bruise. My soft skin was utterly fucked, sticky with sweat, and also dry from the punch, several bruises developing like film. Muscles twitchy and the next best thing to naked, the bathrobe, the soft fabric torn, crusty and generally unwearable, some of it torn off me.

    I looked like a damsel, ready to reach out in the moment before my death to spur a hero to action after being mauled by a mindless monster.

    Which¡­ Yeah, I was kind of the last part. I suppose it fits.

    Sadder than that, none of those things had happened as I had wanted them to happen. I could honestly say that if it had happened tonight with the attractive Mei instead of an overgrown seafood patter, I would have been happy instead of annoyed and just as breathless.

    It ground my gears something fierce.

    ¡°I suppose, even all on my own, I can get myself hot and sticky,¡± I mumbled to myself with a groan, both at my own joke and the pain of moving the bruise that was my body.

    ¡°First. That was looow hanging fruit, try harrrder. We both know it''s how you use it, and your grasp of wordplay is limp. It¡¯s about timing and skill, and you''re all quick, rough and unsatisfying,¡± Lilly told me in an innuendo-laced pur like she was a stereotypical seductress.

    I whistled. Purposely ignoring the other voice, setting it aside for later us to deal with, and blissfully, Lilly also ignored him.

    ¡°That. That was something. That was¡­¡± I started

    ¡°The culmination of several hours of planning,¡± Lilly said, her pride evident.

    I mean, she had obviously been waiting on me to make a joke to spring it. The fact that she had required several hours to build that line was off to me, but at the same time, she had managed to speak in a way I don¡¯t think I had ever spoken. I was more of a bad pickup line at a bar kind of gal.

    ¡°I¡¯m rubbing off on you in the worst ways,¡± I told her sardonically, ¡°I¡¯m starting to get worried about you. You¡¯re far too innocent to make that many innuendos.¡±

    ¡°If you''re so worried about me, you should avoid making crass jokes,¡± she told me, ¡°I¡¯m rather impressionable. I¡¯m only like a week old. Won¡¯t you think of the children?¡±

    Ahh.

    This made more sense.

    It had taken her three hours to come up with a way to try and get me to stop being a crass horndog by appealing to my moral code, my own personal ethics.

    Unfortunately for her, my code was more of a set of guidelines at best. Unfortunately for me, I was also getting to the end of the healing period. My skin wiggled and pulled shut where I was cut or where exposed skin had taken the heat that had radiated off the shrimplet¡¯s punch.

    The bruises numbed before they gave an itching feeling, and the muscles melted back into functioning tissue. It was far from instant, but it was damn quick. I stopped breathing for a second, holding my breath to shock myself and drag my stupid head out of the gutter, my out-of-control mind and its imagery from my mind.

    Calming myself as well as I could, I asked, ¡°What do we do now?¡±

    ¡°Not die and hope Pinky digs us out?¡± Lilly suggested.

    ¡°I mostly meant-¡± I started before the unwelcome voice shouted.

    ¡°Finger? Are you in conference with the hand? I would so love to converse with one.¡±

    The man spoke like he was at a picnic, instead of in a personal sized hell, but I had one more thing to do before I sat up and reengaged with the world at large.

    I lit a smoke because I couldn¡¯t be fucked.

    I sucked down a calming breath of smoke and got up.

    The nook had been a kind of tube, a passageway made for things my size, not demon lobster-sized. It hurled me down the tunnel with its dying act, and as I got up, I had to step a few feet to bring myself from the tunnel and into the room. The lighting had been splashed over.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    I immediately wished I hadn¡¯t.

    ¡°Perhaps¡­ Perhaps putting him out of his misery?¡± Lilly said, her voice one of quiet horror.

    The room was a sphere and within, lay a gargantuan form that spun off, fusing with the room around the walls.

    A gargantuan, humanoid form, though only its torso, no neck, no legs, just arms and a featureless chest.  It stood twenty feet tall. Its milky white form appears more like marble than man. More like marble until you noticed the lub-dub of the fused form. Without shoes, I felt its slow rhythm through the souls of my feet as the room beat like a misshapen monstrous heart.

    It made every hair on my body stand, goosebumps prickling across my skin as I felt it like I was stepping onto something profane.

    The man hung there. Not by a rope, that would at least be spooky; it would vindicate the feeling of the place.

    No, the man hung there as if floating, arms outstretched, ankles pressed together, head hung loose, as if he had no strength to hold it.

    He had been crucified, crucified to the horror by the wound''s edges, the lines seemingly passing through his form, and yet, they never seemed to touch him as if his body and the wound bent away from each other.

    The sight was wrong in a million ways, not least of which was just how pristine the entire place was. It was absolutely spotless. Worse perhaps than the place being without a speck of dust was that there were no wounds on the man. There was no blood, no nothing. It was as if he were perfectly fine as if it were a perfectly normal occurrence. He smiled, like a dog when their owner came home, a big dopey grin on his face as if my existence was the most fascinating thing in the world.

    A terrible part of me wanted nothing more, wished for nothing more than for the man to suddenly scream and start bleeding like he should be, but he just¡­ Didn¡¯t.

    The man was¡­ An extradimensional door stop. A person is reduced to a foot in the door. Stolen away by extra-dimensional, magical, alien shrimp monsters, the Lunatic, and he was a Lunatic, I was sure at least that much, sat there like he had dropped in for tea.

    His fucking hair was combed!

    ¡°Lilly, am I having a brain aneurism?¡± I asked her, my eyes blinking rapidly, ¡°Because I feel like I¡¯m having an aneurysm.¡±

    ¡°No. No, you are not. You''re just confused, and I don¡¯t blame you,¡± Lilly told me.

    ¡°What the fuck am I even looking at here? It looks like¡­¡±

    It looked like an alter.

    It was so horrific, so terrible in its presence, that I had missed the colour.

    I could see colours other than sepia. They weren¡¯t colour colours, but the same non-colour that the monsters bled. The room had tones of Blue, Yellow and Pink-red.

    It was a multi-hued thing, and recognizing that set me off even worse than the rest of the room did. I had seen blue in the nightmare hounds, each of which could burrow through the side of reality, and I had now seen the stagnant yellow of things that sat in the dark for far too long, but I had never seen two colours together, and I had never seen a fusion of colour, nor three colours together.

    The heartbeat, the colour that permeated the room, the alter¡­ It was just¡­ It was, to my eye, akin to them in some way. It was like spotting a familial resemblance, only that resemblance was something so alien that it manifested as a pure gut instinct and animal fear.

    I took a toke, aiming to settle my nerves, but it did little to settle me.

    ¡°Finger? Where are your gestures? Where is your hand? You are alone, and yet you speak.¡± He asked as if he expected me to come to free him with a retinue.

    I ignored the madman and murmured, ¡°Does any of that make sense to you, Lilly?¡±

    The man spoke quietly to himself as Lilly gave it a quick thinking on.

    ¡°We are no Lilly, We are just another finger. Like you. In that, we are very alike,¡± he spoke, first confused, then joyfull again, like it was a funny joke.

    ¡°I have no idea what he¡¯s going on about. There never was a good way to tell exactly how people would break, but many did so in accordance with their exposure. Perhaps he feels like a finger, an extension of a hand? Bing held here as part of that¡­ Thing. This guy is a servitor. Who knows what his malfunction is? Crazy is crazy, and he has it in spades... Perhaps increased instability from unrestricted breeding or-¡±

    Lilly was starting to let her conditioning get to her again.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think this is,¡± I told her simply, ¡°I think this is one of those good old cases of crazy.¡±

    He looked at me, his head tilting like a bird, but I ignored him.

    How to get him out? How to get out of this myself. I could wait for Pinky, but she had said once you killed the thing holding the gate closed it would snap shut. I could perhaps pull buddy here off, but that was just as likely to close the gate, he looked¡­ Important in that regard.

    I could probably slip out once it closed if I could get back to the entrance regardless, but I didn¡¯t know if I could bring buddy here with me, and if I closed it now, Pinky would be forced back to the entrance.

    I was stuck here, and I would be until the tunnel cleared.

    Stuck here with a crazy person and a living monument to sin.

    ¡°Any chance you know what would happen if I pulled your ass off that thing?¡± I asked him.

    He laughed, chortling to himself, ¡°If it were so easy, Finger, and what a strange finger you are¡­ If you could but see the ties that bind us, you would know it''s not possible. Maybe if you had a hand, but a finger alone could hardly carry the burden.¡±

    If we went with the crazy, a hand would be something that could boss me around. He had mentioned gestures, too.

    If I humanized it a little, a gesture was a mook, a finger would be an enforcer, and a hand was the boss. What that meant for the alien crustaceans, I had no idea.

    ¡°Well, I hate to tell you I am more than aware of you being held there by the wound. In theory, I could try to pry it off, but I would need to know if it closed the wound first,¡± I told the nutcase.

    Perhaps he would know. Perhaps the madness encompassed unsolicited advice of the incomprehensible.

    ¡°But¡­ No. No that makes no sense. You are no hand; you can¡¯t grasp it, not without fingers to call your own,¡± he said in incredulity.

    ¡°My fingers work just fine,¡± I told him, taking a drag of my cigarette.

    He looked at me, his head lolling back and forth before he started laughing.

    ¡°You had us going there for a moment. We thought you might be a hand. If only. We do miss our hand so. Does your hand treat you well, finger? We miss ours, its guidance and succour.¡±

    His words unnerved me somewhat. Whatever the thing that brought him here¡¯s deal was, I wouldn¡¯t trust its succour or guidance. They sounded like things not even a ten-foot pole could protect you from.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a- Forget it. Listen, I doubt my partner would want to leave you behind once we''re done clearing this place. I can¡¯t get out of this hole on my own, not as I am now, at least, so I need the wound to not shut. SO. If I pull you off of that¡­ that obscenity, will it close? Are you holding it open, or is it? Can you tell?¡±

    He chortled again.

    ¡°A small thing like us? We could not hold such a thing. But it is a thing of fine make. Our hand wove it through us, its all we have left of them.¡±

    He seemed unwilling to part with the wound, but that was not my concern. He was crazy, he wasn¡¯t in his right mind, and quite frankly, I didn¡¯t care about that, I cared about getting out of here, and Pinky would want to get him out, so I would get him out and speed this whole thing along.

    ¡°Ok then,¡± I said, ¡°Then lets rip it apart.¡±

 Unmoored

    The man, laughed, cackling as I paced around the room.

    He was a creepy fucker, I won¡¯t lie, but he was a person, not a shrimp, not a dog, and so I let him.

    No matter where I was, I swore I could see him out of the corner of my eye.

    He was protective of whatever had crucified him to the thing in the middle but was amused at the very thought that  I could do anything about his situation.

    I first went to the big guns.

    ¡°Lilly, can you see the wound? Any good point to grab at? A convenient handhold? An instruction manual tucked in this things butt crack?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°I can¡¯t see much of anything,¡± she said, a little confused, ¡°The surfaces of stuff make sense, but it''s like it just extends into a nightmare of tangled gibberish¡­ Well, everything but you, you¡¯re fine.¡±

    That was incredibly unfortunate, but with the big gun out of the way, the small gun came out.

    And by small gun, I meant poking and prodding it until it revealed its secrets because while it wasn¡¯t the panel of a cockpit, it was still something complex. What was the worst that could happen?

    Well, I knew what the worst thing was, but that required effort.

    I continued my pacing, my eyes tracing along the thing, and I poked around, metaphorical tongue in cheek, looking for teeth.

    To make sure it was tactile, I went up and plucked at the strand that seemed to pass through the mans ankles. The edge of the wound, like the string of an instrument, vibrated when plucked, making a noise like a doorstop and gently buzzed down.

    It was tactile, alright, very tactile.

    Good job me, now, how to remove it from the man, without closing it so I didn¡¯t get stuck in here.

    I circled around some more and paid attention to the way it wove through the two figures.

    It looked, keyword, looked like it never even touched the guy, and yet it held him in place. That didn¡¯t make sense, but then again the giant house sized things that moved like they were lighter than a feather also didn¡¯t make sense, and yet they were.

    I suppose an innate understanding of materials and their tolerances and properties just meant nothing while dealing with superordinary bullshit. Pinky¡¯s claim of magic had never made more sense.

    Considering the things involved, I had to wonder if it would just be more effective to pull the guy off the thing the hard way and stim him.

    In theory, it might be more worthwhile, but at the same time, his body was resisting the wound, and the wound was tensed like cable. It should clearly tear him apart like a cheese cutter, but it didn¡¯t.

    Based on that alone, I doubted I could just pull him off.

    I scowled and took a drag, pondering the esoteric crime against life that was the sight before me.

    Perhaps whatever the red was in it held a clue, but I had no handle on what it could be. It gave me no recollection of anything beyond it being ¡®red.¡¯

    I checked the wound for anchor points, too, just to be safe, but it was like it had none.

    ¡°How did your hand stick you to this,¡± I asked the madman, borrowing his phrasing to hopefully knock some memories out of his smiling face.

    ¡°How would I know?¡± he asked, confused, ¡°the hand is mighty, so much so that its ways are above us fingers. They are more, and we are less; it is that simple.¡±

    ¡°So you don¡¯t know. Fantastic. Well, good job. I suppose you don¡¯t care enough about your hand to pay attention,¡± I told him, leaning into my form''s manipulation. ¡°If I were in your position, I would have paid a little more attention.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± He gasped dramatically, ¡°How could you say that? I do. I do I do I do I do!¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah? How is this thing keeping the wound open? Do you even know that?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°Of course. It does it the same way anything does anything,¡± he proclaimed straightforwardly and without explaining himself.

    I nodded a dumb little smile on my face.

    ¡°Well, gosh, oh golly. Thanks, professor; I didn¡¯t realize you did things by doing them. I mean, how is it doing that? Smart ass,¡± I mocked.

    ¡°It¡­ It just is?¡± he said, as if I were some kind of moron.

    I glared at the man. I understood that he was just some guy; his poor, addled brain was probably holier than Swiss cheese, an old sock, and a stack of religious texts combined, but I had kind of hoped that I could get him to explain something.

    It appeared that the blade of magic cut both ways. How did it work? Magic. How was it done? Magic. If you could dismiss the migraines you got from trying to puzzle out how it worked, you could dismiss how it was done as well.

    There were no anchor points; there was no explainable method and no means.

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    I tisked.

    The who and when were unimportant. What, Where, Why, and How were the only applicable ones? The How was the thing, the where was non-existent, the how was magic and the what was incomprehensible.

    The why, then.

    ¡°Why are you up there anyway? Huh? Did you piss off your hand?¡± I asked.

    What dastardly reason could anything have to hang something to that thing?

    I thought he would give a dumb answer like, ¡®It was an honour to be crucified here by an alien creature,¡¯ or, ¡®I¡¯m here as a reminder to others of their supreme power,¡¯ or something else equally moronic, but he just hung his head a little.

    ¡°I don¡¯t quite know. Why would a hand tell their own finger why to bend?¡± He said.

    There was a confusion on his face; something about it kind of sad. He was a person, but he was also a mentally broken person. His head had been bent into a shape that cast being kidnaped as a good thing, his tormentor as a great being, but he could not put reason to it.

    Perhaps he had been grabbed at random. Perhaps it was some stupid esoteric thing.

    ¡°Lilly, is this guy vibrating or something? Anything on that front?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Everything vibrates; that¡¯s what energy¡­ Oh resonance. Umm. It¡¯s a bit hazy on account of everything vibrating, but I think so. He¡¯s kind of resonating. Actually, he¡¯s resonating just like the monolith¡­ thing? Amplifying or transmitting it? I can¡¯t quite tell.¡±

    That¡­ That checked out. He wasn¡¯t a doorstop; that was the thing he was pinned to. He was a radio antenna.

    Lilly had called talents bio resonant. Some kind of biological equivalent to the magic bullshit signal garbage the humans tech worked on. For example, when you feel someone watching you, it is a signal receiver.

    A receiver¡­ or a transmitter.

    The difference was mostly in the extra tech. Both used an antenna.

    Whatever his talent had been, he had probably been a page or something. Just instead of receiving a signal, he was being used in reverse to amplify whatever the thing was doing. How you even did that was so far beyond me that I couldn¡¯t understand it. He was being used like a comm ring.

    A comm ring?

    ¡°Lilly, could we cancel him out? If he¡¯s projecting, could we project the talent¡­ alien thing? Fight his whatever with the comm ring?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Hmmmmmmm,¡± she humed. It was a humy hum, the kind that was full of thought. It was also immediately followed by ¡°No,¡± which crashed my hopes.

    ¡°Damn. Thought I was onto something there,¡± I mumbled to myself.

    ¡°Huh? Oh, you are,¡± she said casually, ¡°It''s just that the comm ring isn¡¯t picking up whatever it is. It''s like a radio; it can¡¯t go past radio waves. But¡­ If you could get a sample of him. Blood or skin, anything living, I might be able to add it to your cells. Then you could act as the antenna instead of using the one in the comm ring.¡±

    ¡°I am?¡± I asked, a little too much surprise coming through before, ¡°Oh, yeh. Of course, I am.¡±

    Smooth Bandit. Real smooth. Nice save.

    It was a bit of a gruesome idea, but it wasn¡¯t so much so that I wouldn¡¯t do it. It was for the best, even if it wasn¡¯t something I would do normally.

    I turned to the man.

    I could just take it, obviously, but that felt like a shit thing to do.

    ¡°I would like to ask something of you.¡± I told him seriously.

    ¡°Oh?¡± he asked, pulling himself from his daze.

    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m going to need to cut you,¡± I told him.

    That freaked him the fuck out.

    It freaked him out a lot.

    ¡°No! Not cutting! No, going inside of me!¡± he shrieked.

    ¡°Relax,¡± I told him, fishing around for my pockets but then going for the pocket box. I was sure I could get a little blood easily enough on something, Maybe one of Pinky¡¯s stims.

    ¡°No! Stop!¡± he said, half berserk.

    I tutted.

    There was a dilemma in that. It was for his own good, but he would not consent. Would I violate his autonomy for my own sake? Did saving him change that outcome? He was an innocent! However would I reconcile my moral compass and the actions I needed to-

    I crossed over to him, quickly going for a stim and pulling the cap off it and approaching my stationary target.

    He was bellowing, ¡®No,¡¯ over again, somewhere between fear and anger, his body shaking like he was in the middle of a seizure, frothing at the mouth and animated.

    And while he did, I pushed back his clothes and gave him a little poke.

    Just a little one. The poke didn¡¯t even draw blood.

    I stepped back as the apoplectic figure and just asked, ¡°Is that good?¡± to Lilly.

    ¡°Yes, the needle will be contaminated. Poke yourself, if you will, this will take a moment.¡± She explained calmly.

    The figure calmed as I backed away, staring at me, his visage grave, but I just did as she asked and poked myself on the arms, holding his gaze all the while.

    It was a little pinch, and then it was over, I stored the stim, slipping the cap back on. My movements smooth, as if practiced.

    I puffed out a little smoke, and let my companion do her thing, whatever her thing may be.

    Lilly started mumbling stuff, more to herself, along the lines of ¡®transform,¡¯ ¡®vector,¡¯ and whatnot.

    All I felt was a tingle and a slight itch. Lilly borrowed a little power as she mumbled, and then the itch accelerated. Accelerated, and started spreading. As it spread the itching slowed and was followed by an ache that faded in turn. It rolled through me like a ripple across a pond.

    It reached up my neck, and there was a small zip of energy at the base of my skull that quickly bloomed into heat and a tiny amount of pressure, light as a feather but new enough that it hadn¡¯t faded into the background.

    I felt at it, and it felt like a lymph node. Smaller even, though that would be a close thing. An iddy biddy bump.

    My own personal transponder.

    It was a little fucking creepy that I could do that, but it was what needed to be done, so I would do it.

    ¡°Oh, kay. How do I do this? Shouldn¡¯t this come with the know-how to use it?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°I only copied the transceiver. You¡¯ll have to puzzle it out on your own, just like when you ate a glowing rock¡­ You freak,¡± she replied.

    I nodded and started feeling around, trying to pick up on how to fuck around and find out blind. I flipped through metaphors but realized that I had one already, and a perfectly apt one at that.

    A radio.

    And with that, I closed my eyes and imagined myself in my cockpit. Siting on the familiar chair I reached over to the radio, flicking on the power and opening a channel. There was a screech of static, but I ignored it, my hand reaching for the dial and searching for a pattern in the madness.

    At first, it was so quiet that I couldn¡¯t sense it. Then there came a light pulsing, then a series of pulsing that further clarified into a clear series of tones, a slight hum similar to when I had swallowed the glowing crystal, threaded through with other tones. Far from then, they felt far from heavenly. Instead, they held more along the lines of a tone I could only claim was a quiet dread.

    It was unwelcoming and oppositional, dragging instead of transcendent.

    I tuned the radio and then did my best to copy it.

    My nodule buzzed in my head, and the feeling of great pressure set my teeth to ache. I was being pushed, and so I pushed back, taking the microphone and tapping the tone right back at it.

    I could feel a headache beginning as I did, but I pushed back, shoving out from myself, the hair on my neck raising as the two tones matched and began to drown one another out.

    The pressure and buzz lightened, and I opened my eyes.

    The man looked like he was three inches from, exploding it terror, the bindings loose.

    They looked very similar, only they were wrapped around the man, his form and the line slackened, as if the tone hand pulled the rope tight, or shrink the distance of it, contorting the bindings to appear like he had been spiked to the place.

    ¡°Well then,¡± I said, ¡°What was that about hands? Because I¡¯m feeling rather handy right about now.¡±

 Excelsior

    Prisoner freed, I was now in a great deal of trouble, though most of the trouble was in my lack of things to do. I had freed the crazy man, my new gland humming in my head and I pulled it back to not over expose myself to the new stimulus.

    It was surprisingly similar to turning off the radio, so I dialled it down until it, for lack of a better word, clicked off, and the nodule at the base of my skull shrunk until I couldn¡¯t feel it. Besides, I had no fucking clue how to use it to help in the current situation, and now that the man was out, I didn¡¯t need to use it.

    Practice came later, but so far, I would say it was kind of cool to have a radio in my head¡­ Hopefully, it didn¡¯t come with ghost broadcasts.

    ¡­

    Now that I think about it, maybe I should keep it off.

    And besides, I had something else to do.

    ¡°Lilly, can you inform Pinky that, I¡¯m stuck in a hole with a dude? Presumably she¡¯ll either be fighting or-¡± I started, only to be caught off by a shake. ¡°Or perhaps its over and she¡¯s ready to extract us.¡±

    ¡°She is, if nothing else, very adept at sending messages even while she¡¯s fighting. She¡¯s replied, ¡®KK, STBY. HRU BFF? WBTSOL.¡¯¡± She told me.

    The response was like a brick to the head. The¡­ String of letters, made not only no sense to me, but made so little sense, it made my head skip for a second, as if I could double take a purely verbal conversation.

    ¡°What. What? What the hell did you just say to me?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°I have no idea,¡± she said, ¡°I just recited each letter as it appeared.¡±

    ¡°Are those? What are those? Do they stand for something? Are they a kind of shorthand?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°I have no idea!¡± she told me emphatically, ¡°I have no idea what the hell any of that means. Oh. And now she¡¯s sending some kind of tiny pictures. Gah, this is so weird, they¡¯re generally used for talking not¡­ Whatever this is.¡±

    I tried to puzzle it out, but it was rather impossible. The closest thing was old-time signals, which relied on shorthand messages like SOS, YAR, or Oh Fuck, which stood for a distress call, Pirates, and exactly what it seemed on the surface.

    This, of course, was none of those, though it might have been like SOS.

    Was Pinky in need of help? Could I help her even if she was in need?

    ¡°Who are you confusedly talking to, finger?¡± the man asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m communicating with-¡± I started before a bang cut me off.

    It was a sharp, concussive bang, like a gunshot or the shattering pop of something like a fuze. It came from the entrance, and I and the confused and irritated man turned to the tunnel in time to catch a sliding, ghostly yellow stagnant goo flowing down the tunnel and into the room with us.

    And with it came a, ¡°Hey, BFF! You alive down there and in one piece?¡±

    ¡°Yes? I think. What¡¯s a BFF?¡± I called back.

    ¡°Nothing, Nothing. Don¡¯t worry yourself about it.¡± She called down before the sounds of goo sloshing reached the room.

    ¡°More? More of you? Oh dear.¡± The man said.

    ¡°Oh, and the thing holding the wound open is down here,¡± I called back to her, ¡°You weirdo.¡±

    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t go calling me weird. That¡¯s a vast understatement of my phenomenal power. Also, you¡¯re weird? I prefer baffling! Stupefying, or even perhaps¡­¡± she said, stopping for dramatic effect and peaking her head around the wall. ¡°You¡¯re saviour¡­ Oh gah, that thing? What is that thing? Why does it have arms?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It makes about as much sense as your weird letters and pictures.¡± I told her.

    She stopped, walking out of the tunnel, sword apparently sheathed, feet stepping through the thinned layer of goo. Turning back to me and looking a bit embarrassed, looking down, fingers poking one another in front of her.

    ¡°It''s just something I saw one time. I guess it doesn¡¯t work so well if you don¡¯t understand it,¡± she confided.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± I told her straight, ¡°Use your words, for now; I don¡¯t speak Pinky. You¡¯ll need to show me what it means first¡­ Now, what do we do with this thing?¡± I asked her, giving the profane monolith a finger gun.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, we kill it with fire. And we do it fast, because I think I heard extra stuff coming from below.¡± She said quickly.

    From¡­ Below? Below what? There was lower?

    I sucked in a breath and frowned, and Pinky squared up with the monolith, presumably because I was useless in this exchange.

    In the corner of my eye, I could see the man have a conniption at the idea of ¡®Killing¡¯ his prison with fire.

    But he watched on as Pinky lit up multiple beams, not strobing but continuously firing pink strands at the thing.

    It hit but took some ten seconds to start doing damage; each beam focused on where its heart would be. First, the figure started turning red, like it had a rash, though that quickly went from rash in incandescence to the ¡®skin,¡¯ glowing red. Then, like sheet metal, it lightened, first into yellow, then up into white, and then it started to run.

    It started to melt.

    And then, when it pooled on the ground, it rapidly cooled, returning to flesh.

    ¡°Pinky? Won¡¯t it just keep living if it can just melt at will?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Of course it will. The hand made it in a way we can¡¯t possibly comprehend!¡± the man said, his fear dissipating, seeing the thing decide to just not die.

    ¡°Hmm? Oh nah, I just need to get the core and it¡¯ll die. I don¡¯t know what they do, but breaking them works good, its what I always go for.¡± Pinky said chipper and lightheartedly.

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    That made the man next to me seem to shiver and take a step back, but he had also basically had the truth of the matter slapped in his face. Maybe it would help him in whatever came next, knowing that his ¡®hand¡¯ had been fallible.

    I stood there, head swivelling slightly to listen for any approaching noises, but none came, and then Pinky got to the ¡®core.¡¯

    It was familiar.

    Very familiar.

    I figured that out when the core was revealed, a scintillating shape in the corner of my eye getting my head to snap around to it, as did the man''s head, both of us staring at it.

    I could feel my mouth water a little, and my head buzz. My hand twitched, and I licked my lips.

    Pinky, remained unaffected, but I started to tip toe towards it. I tip toed, and so did the other man.

    ¡°Back up, you two. You don¡¯t want to get hit,¡± she called, and I reflexively turned my head to face her for a moment.

    The second my eyes were off of it, the pressure abated, though it didn¡¯t disappear. I could feel it, hear the call of the thing like a distance sirens call that made my mouth still water, though not as badly as it would have otherwise.

    The man ignored the call, but Pinky wasn¡¯t perturbed. The glow in the room¡­ changed.

    There was a snag in the heavenly chourus, and I snaped my hands down over my ears, the noise reverberating through me, and the red faded, the blue intensifying.

    ¡°Back up, it''s going to shatter,¡± Pinky called out, a callout I followed, if reluctantly, every neuron in me wanting to turn around and rush for the heavenly stone, my ankles like lead weights.

    The room began to strobe as I pushed away from the monolithic humanoid body at the center of the chamber, the blue growing brighter and brighter. Then, there was a second shatter, and the blue fell away in a flash. The room grew yellow, brightening before shattering a third time.

    With each of the transitions, the room changed how it felt; while blue, everything seemed to stretch on and on, and while yellow, I felt the urge to simply lay down, to stop moving at all, and simply fade away.

    The room than grew red again, growing brighter and brighter. My skin crawled, the fibers of my muscles and strands of connective tissue taking on the feeling of mending, only mending continuously.

    It spread from the inside out, my skin wriggling like it was a carpet fo worms, my heart slithering, and then, as if by devine commandment, the feeling was gone, and I was none the worse for wear.

    Behind me, there was a shatter, like a pane of glass breaking.

    The draw of the heavenly chorus disappeared, the weight lifted, and I sucked in a breath, gagging from the stages of terrible light.

    Pinky shouted something, and it took me a second to realize what she was shouting.

    I turned, and spotted the man picking up a small red shard, but while I tucked it away for later, that was just me getting my bearings, because Pinkys shouts were more pressing.

    The wound was free.

    The wound was closing.

    I stood up and quickly made my way to Pinky who was shouting at the two of us, ¡°Lets go, lets go. Everyone out, stores closed!¡±

    ¡°Pinky, stop shouting and pull out your sword!¡± I shouted, somewhat hypocritically.

    ¡°Stop shouting and let me pull out my sword!¡± she shouted back, though with a smile, a response for which would grant her in the future an arm bump when said arm bump wouldn¡¯t lower our chances of survival.

    Pinky reached into her chest and, like magic, retrieved the hilt of the sword.

    I turned and shouted to the man, ¡°Get your ass over here before I leave you to die in the lobster cave!¡±

    He obliged, slipping the shard he held in his hands into his pockets and making his way over to us, a newfound determination in his step.

    ¡°Ok, so for the three of us to get out of here¡­ Well, it''s going to be a bit of a tight fit,¡± Pinky said.

    ¡°No shit,¡± I said.

    ¡°What is tight about this? Where does it go to make it tight?¡± The man asked.

    ¡°Heh, that¡¯s-¡± Pinky started, only for me to cut her off with a, ¡°Its not where it goes, its how were going to stand on it. Pinky, get it floating already!¡±

    My voice, I could tell, was a teensy bit harder than it probably needed to be, but Pinky, being Pinky, simply took  it with an ¡°Aye, Aye, Captain.¡± And dropped the sword, letting it float a step from the ground before stepping on.

    I slipped behind her, pushing up against her to make room and definitely not holding on for dear life. The confused, maladaptive primate behind me simply balanced like his feet were magic, and he had no fear¡­

    Which, considering he had been pined up by something beyond my comprehension, was also entirely in the realm of possibility.

    ¡°Oohkay Pink, were all, ¡° I tried to get out.

    I shouldn¡¯t have bothered. Pinky didn¡¯t need me to tell her that we were on board; she very obviously knew we were on board.

    She was the great and mighty Pinky, the magical girl of sparkling bubblegum or whatever.

    She cut me off, letting out a short ¡°Onward And Upward!¡± before accelerating us so quickly that I bit my tongue and held on reflexively.

    My arms cinched around her waist so tightly that my right arm held her left hip and vice versa, her belly squishing a little as her transformed state, in all of its softness, deformed for my panic.

    My teeth clacked together in my head as she flew us around and up the shaft, my eyes graced with a set of boreholes, one stone one carved from the flesh of the grate beast that had stuck us in here.

    It was a tight fit and Pinky crouched down, letting out a whoop of glee, and me a cry of, ¡°Oh Fu-,¡± though with how tight I held on, she bend enough for the both of us, my feet holding firm to the blade as we passed through the distance so quickly there was a whoosh of air that left my robe flapping, the belt that had held for so long going slack and leaving me pressed into Pinkys clothes.

    They were surprisingly sloth. She was obviously a person of texture and class when it came to textiles because this probably cost as much as my repeating coil carbine.

    It wasn¡¯t until I looked behind us that I noticed that the man was bent backwards at the waist, holding it with the kind of core strength that he just didn¡¯t look like he should have.

    He looked very cartoonish then, bent backwards like he was.

    Like an action hero.

    You know, only with crazy eyes, like he could dodge a bullet, but not his own fractured mind.

    Pinky ¡®s driving continued, taking a turn so sharp my entire body reorganized internally as we stretched out like an animated short, a good old stretch and squish that left me near pissing myself as the wall seemed to blur in towards me like the blade of an axe, only for it to squish back, never having moved.

    I felt like I was a pinball getting knocked around, zig-zagging around like a fly hooked to a motor as Pinky went full speed.

    I got about 1/6<sup>th</sup> of a second to watch the carnage of the room, the remaining behemoth having a crater that marked out most of its midsection, its wiggly bits still twitching, but its body well and properly dead, or dead enough to only get one punch out towards us, which moved with such ferocity that it ripped a chuck out of its front half, the blade whizzing off into the cavern wall as its body literally tore itself in half while Pinky simply wove out of the way with such grace I could only dream and fear it.

    We blasted through the rooms leading up, a small host of mid-range shrimp centipedes blurring past in the sense of yellow stagnancies as they fought for dominance or engaged in some perturbed mating ritual.

    We rocketed up in a curve that made the blood in my brain evacuate to one half of my head, my drool flying off and sticking to the walls of the cavern borehole.

    I could feel us racing up and up, fast as fast could be, skin pulling away from my face and my hair flapped, the wound pulling free from the monolith below.

    My eyes got spots as I started to black out, and the wound tightened, pulling free from its latch, and it snapped back up towards us, reeling in like the snap of an elastic.

    I could feel the space of it, the great displacement of the wound shrinking, the edges widening ever faster until it felt like it was a blade against the back of my neck, close enough to shave my hair as we shot out of the wound and back into reality.

    A sonic boom echoed our arrival, Pinky flipping our feet out so our forward momentum was taken by our legs we came to such a rapid stop that I felt my soul final return to my body.

    She brought us down into the remains of the curved nest, one wall blown out, the remains of shattered crates leaving their contents as shrapnel, the glass of the warehouse gone, reduced to sand.

    In the distance, the doors blasted from their hinges, the force of so much displaced air literally blowing them clean from their frames.

    And then¡­ All was silent, and Pinky let us down in time for me to fall to the ground as a gibbering mess and just my robe to a measure of modesty, bare toes flexing on the strands below me.

    I looked up in time for the wound to snap closed. The two edges fused, creating a scab in moments as they forced the cosmic goop out in a spray.

    ¡°And there we go. See Bandit. I told you it would be fine.¡±

 Norman Moonman

    I gibbered as my poor brain stopped re-re-re-orienting over and over from Pinky¡¯s flying. The blessed ground beneath me, a blessed, solid, non-moving surface that it was held me like an old friend.

    ¡°Bandit? Oh, don¡¯t be such a baby. My flying isn¡¯t that bad,¡± said the flyer, which somehow made me want to puke.

    ¡°Huf¡­ Aren¡¯t you going to use my magical girl name? You seemed insistent on it,¡± I asked the madwoman, huffing and puffing to return air to my lungs.

    You couldn¡¯t breathe properly when the air around you moved so quickly; it was just too hard to pull it in. The same was true of hypoxia, which was beyond hard to get with pressurized cabins and air purifiers.

    I had no idea how Pinky was perfectly fine; perhaps it was because she was Pinky. She wasn¡¯t far and beyond what a normal person would do, basically all the time.

    She let out a cute, ¡°Awww man., I missed the chance to use it,¡± her voice carrying a pout I could not see because I was focused on the floor, which was made of the floor and not a rapidly moving piece of crystal, a hand span wide piloted by a gleeful pink daemon.

    I stopped my head there. I didn¡¯t need my voracious appetite to start whispering about how soft she had been or other sappy and or horny shit.

    The last thing I needed was to get more worked up.

    ¡°¡­ You could always use it now. Play it back over,¡± I told her, getting my breath back, synching my robe, and standing up.

    On reflex, I moved to reload my gun, though it took an extra few seconds to consciously re-adjust to going for the case in my pocket instead of the pocket with my cases.

    ¡­

    Cartridges, not cases, but that sounded better.

    I chuckled to myself as the word stuck in my head.

    That was an idea. The word had a kind of resonance that stayed beyond the moment, and I filed it away while I went through the familiar loading of my handy hand cannon.

    ¡°Nah. No way. I can¡¯t use it now. I already called you Bandit. If I went and called you Amber or whatever, it would be weird¡ªcringe, even. Also, it''s so much more cumbersome,¡± she said back.

    ¡°Let the record show,¡± I told her, one hand operating the loading handle, ¡°That such a decision is entirely on you, and that I can¡¯t be held accountable for any and all feelings regarding it.¡±

    She gasped, ¡°Oh my gosh. You should have reminded me. Why didn¡¯t you remind me about your new magical girl name.¡±

    It had been a big gasp, dramatic as all hell, but I just said, ¡°Next time, will we cause enough noise to bring the guard? I think not. Bandit is a known name, technically. The last thing I want them to do is figure me out¡­ Somehow. It''s best not to risk it.¡±

    ¡°But¡­ But¡­ That means I can¡¯t call you your magical girl name! That means I missed all the possible times I could call you by your cool new name!¡± she said sadly.

    I gave her a look.

    ¡°Wait, you were serious?¡± I asked her before waving it off with a, ¡°No, of course you were.¡± I sighed. ¡°Pinky, you can literally call me that everywhere in public or private when we aren¡¯t doing activities of questionable legality.¡±

    She perked up at that, eyes going so big they nearly popped out of her head and started sparkling before she blushed. Her hands came up, pointer fingers tapping one another.

    ¡°So¡­ What you¡¯re saying is that you¡¯re going to go out in public with me?¡±

    She said it as I had just admitted that I was asking her out on a moonlit dinner date full of romance and not that we could just go outside in proximity to one another.

    Hell, we were outside right now!

    I placed the case back in my pocket, finished loading it, and looked at her.

    ¡°Pinky...¡± I started, only for her eyes to get even bigger in some kind of puppy face. I squinted at my recent torturer and gave a grunt of pain. ¡°Stop that. Don¡¯t go giving me that look.¡±

    She smiled, hugging her waist in a convincing imitation of an animated schoolgirl gushing, letting out little happy hums of contentment.

    I stared at her and just sighed. It was the only thing I could do. Pinky was an unstoppable force, and I was far from an immovable object.

    She was starting to wear me down.

    I wouldn¡¯t tell her that, and I would fight for every inch, but she was wearing me down.

    ¡°Stop looking so content with yourself. We still have stuff to do, and the guard could be coming. Let¡¯s get everything sorted and get the hell out of here. You can do your happy dance when we¡¯re done,¡± I told her.

    She slowed down her happy dance, looking at me, then around at the warehouse, then back to me, then to the pod people, then to me, and then to the only other person in the room.

    Crazy Finger, what else could his name be at this point?

    He stood on the still levitating sword, his form bent back at a ninety-degree angle. He turned his head to look at us and asked, ¡°Why is it so dark here? Where are we?¡± In doing so, he brought us back to the moment.

    ¡°We¡¯re in a warehouse¡­ Huh, I don¡¯t know your name,¡± Pinky said, ¡°You can hop off the sword, by the way. The ground won¡¯t hurt you.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± he said, looking to the ground. We¡ªI, agree?¡± He said, drawing out the agreement for a full second as if the ground was covered in filth before tipping the sword off like he was testing the water.

    He tapped at the ground before slinking off the sword and finding his footing, staring down at the ground, holding back a gag as he looked around, holding himself like a naked ape, staring at the world around in a look that could only be horror.

    ¡°Where¡­ What¡­ What is this¡­ this place?¡± He asked, with a hiss.

    ¡°Pinky, just told you, it¡¯s a-¡± I started, only for him to cut me off with a keening noise.

    ¡°Where¡­ What wandering star is this? Why is this place so dark? Why is the sky dark?¡± he asked in a noise I could only place as pain, his eyes looking through damaged holes in the structure as if to glean information but finding nothing.

    We looked toward one another and then back at the Lunatic, who was presumably born on Luna.

    ¡°We¡¯re on Luna?¡± Pinky told the man, ¡°Were under a dome? Why would the sky be anything but dark?¡±

    Just as confused as Pinky was, I started to look at the distressed man, looking for any sign of hostility.

    He was unstable; that much was obvious, but unstable people had a terrible habit of doing stupid shit while under duress. Drug addicts went on little quests once they ran out of cash to find a fix, quickly going from harvesting copper to selling their bodies. The mentally ill could be more self-destructive and erratic than even that, and if he wasn¡¯t erratic, then I was a blameless saint.

    An alien being had strung up this man, his mind bent out of shape by careless or outright hostile intent.

    I had helped him because I knew Pinky would want to save him, but I wasn¡¯t a good person. I was good at killing, finding, or bringing people somewhere like I had told the firstborn: Finding things, Retrieving things, and putting holes in things and that was my skillset.

    I didn¡¯t like it when people who didn¡¯t deserve to die died. But just like the girl with the machine cultist¡¯s slave box on the back of her neck, I would still kill them. I would if I needed to, and I would kill this man if he decided to snap and make himself a threat we couldn¡¯t deal with.

    I wasn¡¯t taking any chances, not after getting shot in the back, not after the magic bullshit parade. My view of the world was missing detail, enough for me to be unable to deal with it in any way other than immediate and terminal violence.

    Not when he could pull magic bullshit out of his ass and blow Pinky away. Pinky, kind as she was, continued to try and help the confused man. She was a good person, and I had her back covered.

    I watched him, eyes like a hawk, hand not tucking away my loaded gun, fidgeting with the hammer, finger ready but distanced from the trigger.

    As she told him about the moon, or as he put it, the ¡®wandering star,¡¯ he seemed to have little reaction. He was expecting that answer.

    He wasn¡¯t expecting her dome explanation of why the sky was dark.

    That told me something fucky was going on.

    Was his mind so warped that he did not remember what the sky on the planetary body he expected to be on was like?

    Why, or what did he mean by dark? It wasn¡¯t so dark as to be scary.

    ¡°Listen, listen. I don¡¯t know what you''re going through right now or why you¡¯re all confused... But how about this?¡± she said, kind and calm, ¡°How about we introduce ourselves? I¡¯ll go first. I¡¯m Magical Girl Sparkling Bubblegum, but that¡¯s a mouthful, so you can call me Pinky, you know because I¡¯m Pink. My orange friend here is Bandit¡­ What''s your name, friend?¡±

    He looked at her, his eyes open, giving her a thousand-yard stare as something seemed to flash behind his eyes. Some piece of recognition, not at either of our names or in a sudden epiphany, but just as he seemed to take everything in.

    He looked at her and answered, his words coming out in a bumbling murmur.

    ¡°W- I¡­ I am Norma- Norman. Norman¡­ Moon¡­ Man. Norman Moonman,¡± he said, cutting himself off from saying We, like he had been speaking, then again as he said ¡®Norma,¡¯ which sounded close enough but sounded even more like ¡®Normal.¡¯

    While Pinky seemed to accept that, presumably because we had given pseudonyms, something about that struck me off.

    It didn¡¯t sound like someone coming up with a pseudonym so much as a true fake name. And he had come up with Norman Moonman, literally a normal man, a moon man.

    I could feel something in the back of my head warning me to be vigilant, so I started slowing my heartbeat and letting myself take in more than just him.

    ¡°Well, Norman,¡± Pinky said, ¡°It¡¯s good to meet you. You seem to be confused and afraid, which is rather unfortunate. Can I ask what¡¯s wrong? You seem to be having an episode, but I can¡¯t understand what¡¯s setting you off. Can I help you? Do you need a moment to breathe? We can¡¯t stay here for long, but we can help while we we¡¯re here.¡±

    He opened his mouth, closed it, and then seemed to think and open it again, saying simply, ¡°I¡­ I need a moment to myself.¡±

    That was, as best I could tell, not a lie.

    ¡°Ok,¡± Pinky told him, ¡°Take some time, we need to deal with some stuff quickly.¡±

    He nodded and stepped back, wandering to one of the cocoon walls. Then, he slid down next to two of the bodies.

    ¡°Lilly, what was your read on that?¡± I asked her quietly.

    ¡°He is very obviously suffering from strange sickness. He¡¯s probably too far gone and can no longer understand what''s happening. Confusion, erratic behaviour, paranoia, miss remembering details, nervous breakdowns over normal phenomena. He¡¯s a Servitor, so it¡¯s a bit different. Still, those are all human behaviours associated with the cognitive degeneration from strange matter exposure, and he should be suffering those, considering that entire place was full to the gills with brighter matter.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Dr. textbook. Repeat that in small words?¡± I asked her, just to make sure I understood.

    ¡°He got a ¡®lethalll dose¡¯ of ¡®magic bullshit¡¯ and his brain is beeeyond saving. He probably can¡¯t separate fiction from reality and can¡¯t reconcile who he was before his capture.¡± She simplified with a few nervous stutters.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± I told her quickly before standing next to Pinky.

    She had watched ¡®Norman¡¯ walk away, her face thoughtful.

    ¡°What do we do about the normals? Not Norman, but the pod people. Can we pull them out and leave them lying around outside?¡± I asked her.

    She turned to me, her eyes coming back from what I could only assume was a serious if quick, internal monologue. She seemed the type to periodically stare off into space.

    ¡°Hmm? Oh, yes.¡± She said, ¡°If you can find a dolly or cart, I can start pulling people out. Then we can stash them in an alley and tell their boss where they are so they can take care of it.¡±

    I gave her a look, then asked, just to check, ¡°by the sound of it, you¡¯ve done this before.¡±

    She nodded with a little ¡°Mmhm¡± of agreement.

    ¡°And, there¡¯ve never been any issues?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Oh, there are plenty. Some are seemingly fine, some go a little coo-coo, and some become hermits, but relatively speaking, nothing big. Not like Norman over there.¡± She said with sympathy.

    I nodded, not dropping my suspicions on Norman, and while I hesitated for a moment, I found enough conviction to say, ¡°I don¡¯t trust this. Something off here, and it''s definitely Norman. Keep an eye on him. In case you missed it, he swept up a red fragment of the anchor''s core.¡±

    She frowned, ¡°That¡¯s not good. We need to break that for his own good if nothing else. Though we should do that last after the people are out of the way¡­ Go quickly. Find a cart. We need to work fast to stay ahead of the guards.¡±

    I nodded and headed back into the broken boxes and racks, looking for a cart of some kind that could fit a bunch of people on it. I stepped carefully, kicking bunches of broken crates out of the way to roll a cart back.

    While I was looking, I found one stacked with crates labeled LunaTsar Inner-Solar Import Export Co.

    Grinning at the good luck. I rolled the cart over to an open area, and pushed against the crates, one foot on the cart, one on the ground, my bare feet gripping the ground while I put my back and legs into it. Keeping my back straight, I slowly pushed the stack, my spine carrying the force forward, which let me, after some huffing and puffing, knock the stack over.

    The crates clattered to the ground, several of them cracking open, broken by their weight. I made to move the cart when I stubbed my toe. Cussing, I looked down, hate of all corners flaring through me, and I spotted something important.

    It was a familiar shape, one with a very obvious power line, the parts black on black. Rolling from within the crate was a familiar crystal vial filled with a blue hue, fresh and unused, tied in a wire rack.

    It was a laser gun.

    A familiar one, considering I had been shot at by and fired one myself a day ago.

    I stopped and stared at a stash of weapons and the rest of the crates. There were a dozen, and then, upon looking around at other crates, there were dozens.

    ¡°Holy shit,¡± I muttered, my eyes going round as dinner plates.

    This wasn¡¯t a warehouse¡­ It was a covert armoury hidden in plain sight.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Letting go of the cart, I quickly scavenged through the boxes, checking for notices, receipts, checks, a manifest, anything that I could find. I found a set of official-looking papers tucked under one of the boxes.

    Quickly, my hands shaking, I folded the bundle and tucked it into the pocket box.

    This was a clue, a vital clue.

    I had no time to check it for details now, but I could do it later.

    Hurriedly, I checked over the open boxes but found little use for me. It was more of the same.

    There were black guns and vials of coolant. There were no grenades or pistols like the woman from the bank had used, but there was a crate of black clothes. Checking them over, I slipped on the lighter of the garb, covering my unclothed skin with a set of military shirts, pants, belt, and boots.

    Rummaging around, I also found a satchel with all the marks of a covert shielded bag to carry blasting charges, with small pockets made for fuses, scratch paper, pens, and hidden pouches for holding bricks of high explosives. I made my way through the rest of the crate and stuffed extra clothes, robes, and gear to hide among the population, getting a volume of mass-produced, one-size-fits-all-style clothing that I could have tailored to my shape.

    It was just clothes, yet it was all I could have hoped for. If I could pillage a uniform and get out of here with it?

    I began to jitter.

    I could do a hell of a lot with this.

    I pulled back on the robe, leaving it loose enough to pull out of. The satchel was hidden under it.

    The only thing I could have asked for was pocket money.

    I rapidly pulled back from the trove of possibilities, not caring for the laser weapons or coolant cartridges. I couldn¡¯t stay here for long. I had to have taken three or four minutes. Pinky had quoted six, and we had talked for maybe half of one.

    The guard could be here at any moment.

    I pushed the cart back, forcing my way through the small parcels of debris that I hadn¡¯t quite gotten out of the way and back to the remains of the cocoon. The control over my breath shot and dumped into a river, my body a thing of nerves; I found my way back to Pinky, who was hefting one of the bodies over to a pile.

    I pushed up to them, the lumpy ground playing hell on the wheels as I thump, thump, thumped over to the messy wan people.

    ¡°Good your back¡­ Where did you?¡± Pinky started.

    ¡°Not now; we''re almost out of time,¡± I told her as I reached down and started loading the people. I lifted them like sacks and dumped them long ways onto the flat bottom cart, keeping all arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times so I didn¡¯t break any of them by moving the damn thing.

    The women went on top, the men on the bottom, heaviest first, lightest last, and I stacked them like lumber, placing each in a notch formed by another.

    It felt somewhat macabre. Like I was stacking stolen corpses with how out of sorts they were. Pale bodies that would be returned to life and the land of the living soon enough.

    I found myself muttering, ¡°This week, Bandit, the mercenary has stolen the bodies of over half a dozen people? What nefarious plans does she have with them, and can the valiant heroines stop her before it''s too late?¡± One of the catchy opening themes from Pinky¡¯s show played lightly in my head, halfheartedly humming the theme.

    ¡°Are you humming a theme song and mumbling the recap to yourself?¡± Pinky asked, ¡°More importantly, were you the villain in the recap?¡±

    I felt my mask spring forward to try and screen me from Pinky¡¯s question, but it was her, so I answered, ¡°I can¡¯t help it; I feel like I¡¯m robbing a stack of corpses from the morgue.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t that bad¡­ You just look like your moving cadavers at the academy, but dressed in black and. Oh, yeah, I see it. Sorry, B. I can¡¯t help you if you dress like an off-duty terrorist.¡±

    ¡°We have two left?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Yep. Two more, and then we talk with Norman; they¡¯re not connected by the look of it, just seemingly passed out,¡± Pinky told me.

    ¡°Well¡­ Let''s not look a gift horse in the mouth.¡± I murmured, shuffling over to the two remaining forms.

    They were, coincidentally, those closest to Norman. Coincidence, of course, not being a coincidence at all.

    Pinky would have had to do that on purpose.

    Norman the moonman was still turned to the corner, murmuring to himself like a fucking freak.

    I kept an eye on him as I made my way to one of the two slumped forms of the perilously treated people in a nook. Quickly, I gave them a peek; though none of the people I had moved had any sign of a tattoo, I had a good feeling.

    I leaned in, bringing my head up next to his face, head angled down to the neck and chest to try and glean the symbol, when Lilly, blessed be her name, called out in my head.

    ¡°Get back!¡± she shouted, a quick percussive call out that got my body pulling back before I recognized what I was doing.

    My gun came up as I immediately drew and brought Norman back into my sight, ready to fire, ready to kill him¡­ But it wasn¡¯t him that Lilly had warned me of.

    It had been the person I had almost touched.

    ¡°Pinky! Back up.¡± I called out, trying to make sure whatever had set Lilly off wouldn¡¯t catch her before asking, ¡°Lilly why are we backing up?¡±

    ¡°That body isn¡¯t a human body. That isn¡¯t a servitor,¡± she said, her words intentionally made short and to the point so my dumb ass wouldn¡¯t mess up. her words left no room for miscommunication.

    ¡°It is not human?¡± I asked out loud so Pinky could hear.

    ¡°No, inside its¡­ Well, it looks much like it would have been in the distorted space of the other place. Inside that body is a writhing mass of something. I don¡¯t know what. The only human thing about it is its skin and a thin dermal layer,¡± she told me.

    I stared at the unmoving, unassuming form and its mirror twin that Pinky was backing up from.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Pinky asked, ¡°I assume you¡¯re Oracle picked up something mine didn¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a human teddy bear, but stuffed with some kind of wriggling nightmare bullshit.¡± I told her, ¡°It¡¯s a living trap by the sound of it¡­ Lucky I didn¡¯t touch it.¡±

    My hand reached for my gun, but unsurprisingly, it probably wouldn¡¯t do anything, so instead of flagging the monster, I kept it at the ready for Norman.

    The situation was changing; I could feel it in my gut, and I could feel the tension rising in my neck, my skin pulling into goosebumps.

    Something was coming to a head here, and I didn¡¯t like not being able to see it.

    ¡°Aw man,¡± Pinky said, far too casually, ¡°I hate this guy¡¯s¡­ Though I suppose they¡¯re not as bad as the tentacle monsters¡­ But they are very gross.¡±

    ¡°The fuck you mean they¡¯re gross? There are two monsters in the room with us. Why are you so cavalier? Shouldn¡¯t we be-¡±

    ¡°Relax¡­ Relax. They don¡¯t move without being commanded or disturbed. Once they¡¯re ready to go, I¡¯ll prepare a vial for each of them, and we can let them swarm an empty warehouse while they melt.¡±

    Pinky sounded confident in her claim, but I wasn¡¯t so confident in the outcome.

    My neck continued to stand on end, my body unconsciously readying me for something I could not predict but did anyway.

    It was my terrible luck coming back for me.

    ¡°Pinky¡­ I don¡¯t know how to tell you this¡­ But I have a bad feeling about this entire thing. I say we goo both of them now, remove you know what, from you know who, and get the hell out of here,¡± I told her.

    She looked at me, still unconcerned. She even gave me a shit-eating grin before asking, ¡°What, you''re getting cold feet now? I thought you were a strong and gruff gunslinger. It¡¯s just nerves, it happens.¡± She said it not in dismissal but in a ¡®cheer up¡¯ kind of way that I felt was supposed to be reassuring but was really just even worse.

    I could feel it in the back of my head, a warning siren that made me want to start looking for the incoming threat.

    But that wasn¡¯t how this worked, I didn¡¯t get to see things coming, I just got to know when it was about to go down.

    I didn¡¯t answer fast enough, and Pinky walked over to Norman as I mutely watched in horror, frozen stiff as I waited for the other shoe to drop, a feeling of all-consuming dread brushing its lips on the back of my neck.

    ¡°Hey, Norman, we need to head out now,¡± Pinky asked him.

    ¡°Oh?¡± He responded, ¡°Can I ask you something first? Why are some fingers different from other fingers?¡±

    Pinky, chipper as she ever could be, replied, ¡°Well¡­ I can¡¯t make the claim that I know a fitting answer or not a fitting philosophical answer, but I figure we are all a little different because each of us has something we are supposed to do. We¡¯re all born mostly blank slates and guided there, nudged by coincidence and synchronicity. People can¡¯t all be the same, not even if they¡¯re supposed to do the same things and born the same way, because it''s impossible to perfectly recreate the exact happenings of a life; there are simply too many possibilities.¡±

    ¡°What''s the thing you need to do?¡± He asked back.

    ¡°Be my truest self,¡± Pinky said simply.

    He looked over at her then, tilting his head before saying, ¡°Thank you. We believe we understand now. Though we have to say, we think you are failing, human; you¡¯re pretending to be something you aren¡¯t.¡±

    I didn¡¯t miss the change of address, reverting to the royal we, but what was more notable about it was the reaction it got out of Pinky. She pulled back as if she had been lightly slapped.

    ¡°I¡¯m don¡¯t¡­ I¡¯m not,¡± Pinky started.

    ¡°You are a lie,¡± Norman said, ¡°So much of you is fake¡­ But that¡¯s none of my business. My hand made me different, and I¡¯ve been trying to figure it out since our hands actions were questions, but I never could... Now¡­ Now I think I understand.¡±

    This was getting out of hand. This had gone past fuckery and advanced fuckery, and looped all the way to super advanced fuckery.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe-¡± Pinky said, hurt carrying on her words.

    ¡°As an avid believer in absolutely nothing, we can understand how deeply pained you are by this, so we will keep this short. Thank you, fake human. You have made our choice clear¡­ No matter how well laid out our hand''s plans may have been. They have been crushed¡­ All but one of them. Our hand raised us from gesture to finger but left me able to think on my own¡­ That can not be a coincidence. No. My hand must have laid it as one last plan. Now, WE must see it done. Our hand failed because even a hand needs a greater being to move it; it lacked that power, a power We wield!¡±

    Pinky, confused by the madman, stepped back as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the red shard, its unnatural light shining all the brighter without the interference of the wounded space and its nixed light.

    My hand came up, level with the figure, and my other over and across me, hand on trigger, hand on hammer. Careful to not let my barrel flag Pinky, and that it would fire true, I pulled the trigger, holding it down and fanned the hammer.

    I fanned it rapidly, the gun barely hitting the piezoelectric igniter before being knocked back far enough to successfully re-ignite it as it slammed back down. My hand moved with remembered precision, the muscle memory unchanged in my new form.

    I fanned so rapidly that I cut myself on the hammer, a few specks of blood dripping into the smooth metal of my oldest friend.

    I had outdone myself.

    Six shots were fired in rapid succession, each firing so quickly as to sound like one elongated shot.

    Six projectiles were hurled forth, their forms kicking off their bioplastic shells to reveal fangs of metal. They found their mark, each punching into the man in a 5¡¯¡¯ circle around his heart.

    The punched through, blowing out of his back with a wet noise.

    The man did not bleed red. He bled black, the back spray flecking out in a gross ichor, each hole leading to similar black holes in his chest.

    Even weirder, he did bleed slightly, but only from the skin.

    I looked in horror as he simply kept talking, none the worse for Wair, and I felt this entire thing, how everything had been off, click together in my mind.

    He had been calling himself a finger the whole time, the use of ¡®we¡¯ instead of ¡®me¡¯, as if he were more than one man and more like a colony. The fear of being penetrated, as if he were some measure of egg that, once broken, would spill its contents on the floor.

    I had seen, back on the throne, a man trapped inside a monster, with a monster growing out of his body, and here, on Luna, I saw something similar: a man filled with monsters.

    Tiny shapes move on the back wall and in the holes, writhing like worms or insects. The sight was enough to make my stomach heave, which was only made worse by the light of the shard, which made my skin itch, itching like there were worms under my skin.

    I gaged, though I didn¡¯t lose my lunch. I stared in shock, but it was a close thing.

    And the man, who was also a monster, continued to speak.

    ¡°I was made to be more powerful than my hand, but I am still weak. So, I must carve that weakness away. I must reject it, and so I shall.¡± He cried madly, a spark of red reflecting off his eyes, giving himself a nightmarish glint reserved for photographs.

    He raised the shard into the air, holding it above his head, fingers grasped tightly.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± she shouted, confused, staring at the man and his shard.

    ¡°I reject my humanity, little finger! I reject my weakness!¡± He cried before opening his mouth and swallowing the glinting red shard.

    My gun had done nothing, but I could guess as to what would happen. The tension clicked it all together, like the balls in a cradle click-click-clicking, back and forth.

    ¡°Pinky! Shoot him,¡± I shouted at her, drawing her attention.

    She turned back to me, confused and chagrined, managing to give a small smile, ¡°Ha ha, umm, I¡¯m sure we don¡¯t need to do that¡­ Also, I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean you can¡¯t?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°I¡¯m out,¡± she replied simply, with an awkward little fake smile on her face. I''m out of almost everything, energy included.¡±

    I looked from her, to the man as an eerie glow started to shine from his speed holes, the heavenly echo muffling as it had with me when I had consumed a core of my own.

    It had taken me only a few moments, and we were running out of time.

    ¡°Drop the goo on him, we need to kill him. I can feel just how bad this is going to be. Fuck! I don¡¯t know, do something, anything,¡± I shouted.

    ¡°You think we need to go that far?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Yes! I think we¡¯re gonna have to kill this guy, Pinky,¡± I shouted as the form started to let out a wailing noise.

    ¡°Damn,¡± she replied eloquently, ¡°Well, we¡¯ll need to back up so we don¡¯t get hit,¡± she said, only for the wail to end.

    We turned back toward ab-Norman, who stretched, his body quivering in the way only a good stretch could. Then he looked toward us.

    He looked the same, which was good for him, considering he had six bullet holes in his chest. It was also bad because it meant we needed to get the hell out of here and kill him, and it was looking more like we couldn¡¯t do both.

    ¡°Ahh,¡± he said, as if he had just finished a cool drink in the summer, ¡°Much better¡­ Now,¡± he continued, turning towards us his eyes focused and assured, ¡°now you will hand over those half-turned gestures to us so we may make use of them, humans.¡±

    ¡°And why the fuck would we do that, monster?¡± I snaped.

    ¡°Because then we will be taking you with us, and we can welcome you as powerful fingers¡­ or we can chain and change you. Either way, you will remain fingers, but in one future, you will still exist.¡±

    The idea of this thing spreading made my guts itch.

    Pinky sighed before turning to me and saying, ¡°No offence, but I need you to leave and take the randos with you. I¡¯ll deal with this. Also, it would help if you weren¡¯t here for this,¡± she said, rolling up her sleeves. ¡°I do hate being seen transformed like that, so gross¡± as if this was totally normal.

    ¡°Buh¡ª¡± I said confusedly, only for Pinky to look at me and press a finger into my lips.

    ¡°Go. Go!¡± she said, her voice dropping into a less girly but more natural and slightly sultry tone that Pinky so often covered up.

    It did something to me, mostly because she shouted it, but also because it changed Pinky¡¯s feelings. She felt more in control or perhaps more mature. It was also somewhat distracting. It made Pinky less girly by making her more mature, and my impulse control was in bricks, er, shambles.

    It took her literally pushing me toward the cart to make my legs move, but once they did, they moved. I pulled myself away and stumbled towards the cart, nearly tripping over myself.

    Ab-Norman watched me, his head tilting in the corner of my eye before looking toward Pinky.

    I reached the cart and started pushing, the unconscious body thumping as I pushed it over the sinewy thread of the cocoon and towards the exit, thumping, thumping, thumping over the cocoon before I reached the slime.

    There was a flash behind me, and then a noise that sounded more like the shriek of an animate machine than something made of flesh¡ªa noise I could only claim as an explosion that shook the building.

    It nearly made me slip as Pinky and Norman began to fight.

    I pushed, the wheels choking up and my feet slipping as I hurled down the walkway toward the closest known exit.

    Norman shouted, and crates exploded nearby but behind me. The sound of shrieking wood and the pops of metal fasteners flying off into the warehouse reached me before I stopped, turning to check behind me.

    Breathing hard, I checked the darkened passage but found no one.

    Sighing in relief, I turned back, only to face Norman, who stood on the other side of the cart, looking down at the faces of the sleeping people.

    He was deep in thought, and I pulled back, trying to keep them away from him, only for him to whistle, the sharp note echoing, answered a few moments later by the shrill screech of something from the back.

    ¡°Good, that will do-¡± Norman started, only to be cut off as a beam as round as I was tall, hot enough to turn sand to glass and leave sunspots in my eyes swept up from the boxes and around to Norman, who shrieked as it passed near him.

    It passed far enough not to wound all of us, but its fury passed by above us, turning metal shelves to cherry red and lighting the crates so it didn¡¯t disintegrate on fire.

    Reeling from the charring sensation I felt, I managed to miss the blurring form of something slamming into Norman.

    In the corner of my eye, a blurring shape connected with him, slamming him through the shelves, boxes, and wall behind it. Stone and steel cried out under otherworldly force as the two forms left this warehouse before slamming similarly through the next warehouse.

    The force rattled the shelves, the cherry red metal bending.

    Cursing, I swivelled the cart as the boxes above us began to slide and pushed the cart outside in time to avoid the shelf collapsing behind me close enough to rip the robe from my back, the fabric tearing off.

    Slipping outside I quickly let go of the cart, stowing my stuff in my pants pockets and discarding the robe sleeves into the building as smoke began to pick up inside from the charred boxes.

    Panting my shoes sticky with goo and not knowing where to go, I started making my way back toward the red lights in the distance.

    I got out onto a road before the sound of bending sheet metal drew my eye back toward the building.

    A growing dent marred it, the siding being bashed from the inside by something strong enough to deform steel.

    Puffing, I rolled forward and into another alley before peeking out and watching.

    The two figures left behind punched their way through the siding before hauling themselves out and into the alley. Flopping onto all fours, they began to look around, like hounds, padding around sniffing the ground.

    Reflexively I sniffed myself, but smelled nothing, not that it mattered.

    Sucking in a breath I looked at the dozen people and realized I wouldn¡¯t be able to run with them.

    Checking them over for damage, I spotted none, though their forms could have been hurt non-visibly.

    That over I asked Lilly, ¡°What do I do?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know! Get out of here. Pinky can fly, but you¡¯re landlocked, you need to get out of here!¡± She told me.

    ¡°She can¡¯t fly! She¡¯s out of power.¡± I hissed back

    ¡°Then we need a way to get these normal out of here, deny the enemy of resources¡­ You could kill them, but that¡¯s not in the spirit of this.¡± She told me.

    That would be the most expedient way to deny them wet assets. Put a hole in its head. A wet asset couldn¡¯t exactly fall into enemy hands if it was a corpse.

    Though I wouldn¡¯t, not with what I could only figure was a bunch of cities. They weren¡¯t involved; they were just here to move boxes.

    Thinking, my mind moving a mile a moment, my body twitching, heart beating, I asked her, ¡°Then how do we move them? Can we wake them up somehow?¡± I asked her, never wishing more than now for some smelling salts.

    She hmmed. ¡°Maybe,¡± she said, ¡°Maybe. It depends on why they¡¯re out cold, but I could gauge it if you can check their pulse.¡±

    I checked to make sure I was in the clear, found the figures having moved into the next warehouse, and started checking pulses.

    I counted beats one by one, wishing I could just slap them away. Their pulse, the rhythm of it, was slow and faint beyond belief. It was maybe a few beats a minute, and it was in the low tens at the highest.

    Lilly hummed and muttered at the information and again begain to murmur in arcane biological gibberish, and while she did, I waited.

    A million years and one minute later, I cussed.

    ¡°I wish people were easier, like a bike. Give me an engine battery to jumpstart any day of the week,¡± I complained.

    Lilly stopped muttering to herself.

    ¡°Shoot. I should have thought about that,¡± she said.

    Confused, I asked her, ¡°What? Jumpstarting them? Sol Lilly, hocking people up to batteries is torture.¡±

    ¡°What? Oh no, not like that,¡± she said, embarrassment clear. I mean, jumpstarting their bodies. They¡¯re in a kind of torpor, like a deep, prolonged sleep to preserve them. If we get their bodies going again, they should wake up!¡±

    She was rather emphatic, but it still made no difference to me. Even when she made sense, I couldn¡¯t understand what she meant.

    ¡°Clarify,¡± I asked her, rubbing my temples.

    ¡°Use Pinky¡¯s medicine. It kickstarts the body, forcing it to suddenly start using resources. Their bodies should start to wake up, though I have no idea how quickly,¡± she said emphatically.

    I stared off into space and then rapidly, my hands moving with extra effort. I felt my body lit by lightning as I moved like a woman possessed.

    Flipping open my case, I started pulling out a syringe, pulling off caps and streaming the unconscious people as best as I could.

    After checking the people''s pulse and finding it increasing, I started to sit them down so I could get further into the pile, only for me to stim them, pull them out of the pile, and sit them down in turn.

    Once I got them all sitting, I got to take a breather.

    I also got to reload again and cursed at myself for only keeping one gun on me.

    Six shots were too few without a blade to back me up, and I felt it.

    Pulling out a cigarette and puffing to calm my fluttering heart and ease my muscles, I asked, ¡°Ok¡­ How many of these stupid points did I get for that?¡±

    ¡°Let''s go over it and our next steps,¡± Lilly confirmed. You know... before you do something stupid and half-assed.¡±

    ¡°Lilly, I would never,¡± I scoffed, ¡°I always attempt to whole ass everything I do.¡±

 The cage of the Soul

    ¡°You barely have an ass, Jacalyn,¡± Lilly told me, ¡°I would be surprised if you¡¯ve ever had the ability to whole ass something.¡±

    She had a kind of faux casual tone, a fake that shone through intrusively. She had nerves¡­ Or the closest thing she could have to nerves, considering she didn¡¯t have any of those.

    ¡°Your right¡­ Right now, I would have more than a whole ass. Instead of whole assing it, I¡¯m giving it a 2-300% assing¡­ Now, how many points? That was quite a few enemies. I should have more than enough for a few upgrades¡­ And I would prefer to get them over in sequence.¡±

    She hummed in acquiescence, seemingly thinking for a moment before speaking aloud, ¡°It¡¯s less than it should be¡­ You ended up killing at least 80 or so directly, though it has a bit of a margin of error. Based on threat assessment, they would each be worth about 5 points each. You did, however, use another Legionnaire weapon, so you split it with Pinky under lend-lease during wartime. With that, five goes to 2.5 for a final result of 200. You also closed a wound, so a total of about 230 all said and done.¡±

    230. That felt like a far smaller amount than I felt I deserved. I would argue, but I didn¡¯t think it was something I could argue over. The way she spoke about it, it was more an equation, less an equal award to my effort.

    ¡°That little? I killed an army.¡± I lightly winged.

    ¡°I know. They have a flat value. It¡¯s to encourage sharing weaponry based on the task at hand. If you have an issue with it, you¡¯ll need to take it up with the command¡­ Who are probably dead, so you¡¯ll have to raise your security level high enough to fill their position.¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡­ I¡¯ll add that to the list of things I need to do, right up there with fixing the Junker and meeting Mei. Now¡­ I can choose two of the four remaining shards to activate¡­ What would you suggest for fighting besides taking warform?¡± I asked her.

    That would be one of the very obvious things to take right now. It was literally for fighting, and at this point, I needed everything I could get.

    ¡°I would suggest only getting your warform if you¡¯re going to also unlock your self shard. Warform has a habit of being rather hard to get used to without it.¡± She told me, ¡°The only other one I think would work at the moment would be the Anima. The way it connects you to things would be advantageous for fighting, even if you don¡¯t have the items to make that part worthwhile. You could use the Animus, but you have no worthwhile methods of use for it. Sure, it would let you do stuff, but warform covers that right now.¡±

    I needed power right now, not stability, and not ¡®connection,¡¯ whatever that meant. It would be best if I took power and paid the Pipper, then let Pinky rot at the hands of Ab-norman. As strong as she was, if she was running low, I needed to at least help peel him off so we could get the fuck out of there.

    Norman had gone from low threat to high threat very quickly, but that was a problem for future people to deal with. My problem wasn¡¯t killing Norman; it was making sure a silly friend lived and not as said things puppet.

    After all, he had told us he would have wanted us alive.

    I would not let that happen, not to me, and not on my life. Not to Pink.

    ¡°I need to punch above my weight right now. If I take the Animus and Warform, could I use their abilities in a fight without the self-shard active? Or do I need it to use my abilities? Also, Should I stay in my clothes? I couldn¡¯t quite tell because it happened so fast, but Pinky seemed¡­ Bigger.¡± I asked her.

    ¡°You could. The shard being activated lets you throw the switch on the active stuff¡­ Though it will be janky, for your activated form, you could pull that off. You¡¯ll need to pull your clothes off because you don¡¯t have a stone for that.¡±

    ¡°Ok¡­ Well, I suppose it¡¯s a good thing this area has some gravity.¡± I told her.

    ¡°Watch out for lines. I doubt the whole area has it¡­¡± She told me as I finally got to undo all of my stuff.

    I pulled it all off at Lilly''s insistence, which left me feeling like a pervert, but there was no one awake, and quite frankly, I had been in more compromising positions.

    I nodded to myself and then did my best to prepare for the inevitable sensation I would feel when I activated them.

    Last time, it had been nightmarish, a fever dream that I didn¡¯t want to relive but would do anyway.

    I turned to the people I had dragged off and gave them another look over. They appeared to be better, though none of them were awake. Hopefully, they would wake up and realize, with a fight going on nearby, that they should get the hell out of there.

    Trusting in their self preservation instincts, I checked the streets and found a lack of infested goons in the street.

    Taking in a breath, I murmured, ¡°Use my points to unlock my Warform and Animus.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure? This is un-reversible; 100 points will be withdrawn from your current funds, and the combination could further cause issues with your self-perception.¡± She said, first mechanical, then ebbing into genuine concern.

    ¡°I understand. Do it.¡± I told her simply, ¡°Just do your best to keep me focused, and we¡¯ll be right as rain.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best¡­ Activation codes purchased¡­ Activation in five¡­ Four¡­ Three¡­ Two¡­ One-¡±

    I fell, the change in sensation immediate and all-encompassing.

    I was left unready for it, despite my knowing better, the world falling away as I passed into the process. The universe pulled in on me, not from one direction, but this time from two, the power of it inevitable, like something in a nightmare, it came for me, the impending pull overlapping, before pulling me in twain.

    I remained whole, but not, my being not ripped into two parts, but two whole parts. It was like I had been copied, but each me was the real one.

    I felt both of myselves, each half, as if I were in both places at once, and yet both places clearly. Less like I was staring at two places, and more like two separate experiences, but instead of in sequence, in parallel.

    I felt both of myself descending, falling into the dark. My paths remained the same until the torment began, and both of myself began to change. On the one hand, my skin turned harder or dryer, and my bone bloomed, first into my neutral form and then beyond.

    My bones grew out into a grander form of my own, pressing my skin out around it, like clothes over a plate. Fat expanded within me, reacting to my expanding form and filling what would otherwise be a void. From taking on a masculine edge, muscle splitting and swelling up to full size, and bones hardening further than they already were, I gained a form that I could have found myself enjoying, as my form began to lose feminine features as the animus expressed itself, some more of my dad coming out in me.

    Much the same, my warform bloomed, gaining many of the same changes, but instead of a loss of femininity, it was a perversion of it. My eyes, nose, and mouth gained a plate, a visor, that in turn wound with skin, ears pressing flat as a plate pressed them flat its ridges and flexing like an arcane speaker.

    My hair moved, curled, and wove, lifting like a living fibrous serpent to wind around my head and around my neck before it lay wide over one shoulder like a short cape. Hair that was non-existent across most of my body sprouted. Filaments of the resistant hair, much like that on my head, wrapping down and around me into holsters that could seal my guns into my hipbones with dozens of extra flexible niches for future firepower, each band of fabric threading into porcelain skin as it took on a consistency of carapace, the skin receding bellow it as a shell of flexible extruded carapace. A layer like skin atop my skin, but hard.

    Parts of me that defied the simple efficiency in the art of combat were unmade, shifting in form, lengthening, smoothing, and generally turning into a shape that no human form should ever be capable of, matching that of things I had fought, more than my piecemeal human form. Breast elongating, it opened and fused down onto the chest, turning into extra space as my lungs expanded, folding out like the wings of a butterfly.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    The form, so alien as to be horrific to many, held a resonance with me. It was me, as I could be, a primal being, reforged in biological armour, the very artificial pigment of my skin extruded into a flexible armour, supple as silk, porcelain smooth, and hard as cold forged steel.

    I was humanity, so old it ceased to be humanity, reforged with the brutal cunning of those with the hubris to proclaim themselves gods into a weapon that could serve to turn tied against an unstoppable horde of nightmares from beyond reality.

    And with the shards awakened, so too came their feelings, the thoughts intrusively starting to burn through my mind, whispering into my ears.

    With the peacekeeper came a knowledge that its power came in the spoken word, in soft power. It was made to control the hearts of lesser beings, to bring people to places they shouldn¡¯t go without being armed with wit, none the less unarmed by the lure of physical attraction.

    It was the social mask that was so synonymous with everything that the only change was that it had been amped up. The warform was what happened when the mask was removed instead of its presence dialled.

    It was that part of all living things that wanted to continue living and would do so by any means necessary, that part so deep within us that not even humanity could remove it. It was the rush of a life-and-death fight, the four f¡¯s of survival. It was the rearing of the snake and the plunge of its fang, the gland that injected you with poison. It was the animistic spirit of the flesh; humanity carved away to reveal the dark instinct and violence that defended the ego to fight against the dying of the light.

    The Animus was not much better.

    It was masculinity; it was about power and personal strength; it was about how to project that power, not by word, but at the tip of a blade and the point of a bullet. Action and the potential for violence rippled through me, a need to prove the better in the competition of life, and to protect possessions. It came with the knowledge that if one could rage hard and hot enough, the strength it brought could extinguish stars like snuffing out a candle flame.

    Grand nobility and a heart of gold met with the potential for terrible cruelty spurred by impulsiveness; each balanced across a razor''s edge.

    And after the awakening of the shard and the senses of what they were, the fragments of me they shone, came the torment, the binding. Around the warform came a snaking filament that came on slowly before looping around its form, a thousand lines pining my body down, dominating the creature made to destroy everything in its path. A million nooses dragged the body into a state of supplication, shackling my body with a collar, turning a terrifying war machine into a pet. It¡­ I resented it, resented the servitude immediately, every fibre of my being screeching in a fury, my body protesting as I raged against the tensing lines, unendingly trying to find a weakness as I was forced into a puppet, the lines growing frayed and sharp, but never giving, never.

    The masculinity, too, was overpowered, metaphorically and literally grabbed by the balls; I felt the burst of emasculation, an impotence that chafed me to my core as it was pulled apart. Reduced to only its simplest parts. My form became less a masculine reflection of my form and more a tool. It retained more of itself than my peacekeeper form, which had been reduced into a tongue, but it, too, was little more than an idol of what it had been.

    My entire being shook as fundamental parts of me were brought to heel, core parts of myself, core parts of my soul, caged by the shards before I was returned to myself, a horrifying wrongness creeping through me as I took in the changes.

    The return from my mind was jarring. It was like I had stopped being myself for a moment while I vividly hallucinated. It was a dream that played out in a flicker, a momentary dream, playing out inside the time it took to blink.

    The vibrations underfoot returned my movement, the sound transmitted to my ear through the rigid armour skin, the sensitive membranous plate over my now hidden ear amplifying the vibrations into audible sound. Great, big inhales from expanded lungs drawing in heaping volumes of scented air.

    My body was strong, and every movement was ridiculously precise, like a machine, instead of the body I was made with. My form was also incredibly sensitive. Every touch, every smell, every breath felt like my body had never felt it before, nerves thrilling as the sensation gave me a tactile thrill.

    I could smell sweat and oil and hormones, which meant very little because I could only understand so many of them, but it made me shudder a little as I took it in. There was also a foul odour in the air and the smell of something that smelled like it was cold, an empty, hungry thing that wanted to be full. There were even smaller cold spots I could feel stalking around, not in the warehouse, but around in a circuitous route around it.

    Knowing this, I reached instinctively for a mouth that did not exist and was stumped. Then I quickly decided that talking was kind of worthless anyway because why the hell should it? I wasn¡¯t here to fucking talk; I was here to secure Pinky and kill everything that increased the minimum resistance required to do that.

    Like the roving monsters, they were an issue. Were. Lucky me, now they had company.

    Narrowing in on the closest one, I left the worthless distractions I was protecting behind after scooping up the bag. And made my way toward where it would be easiest to ambush it. Everything was far easier like this. Everything, every movement of my body, was easy from the precision and the sensitivity made for a thrill that rivalled the actual hunt. My hands twitched, the impending violence sending a visceral need to fight, a craving that could only be satisfied by tearing it to pieces.

    I could feel an exhilaration echo from the dark corners of my mind, the effect far more pronounced than with the peacekeeper, my body itself driving a series of sensations that I couldn¡¯t deny, just upfront instead of hidden from me. With every breath, my senses returned a series of intoxicating signals to me, each pulling me deeper into a thoughtlessness, a haze where there were no morals, no social distractions, just the beating of blood in my ear and a need to find my prey.

    Moving into position, I sucked in a breath and waited for the vibrations around me and the scents of the creatures moving with every deep breath, sensing the tang of unreality on the non-existent wind. I could feel a minor feeling as they moved, a sense that led them along lines between structures like electric lamps.

    It was sniffing out energy, which was good for me. I was empty enough to not give any off.

    I waited. The thrill of an ambush caused my heart to speed. My hand was ready.

    When the thump of movement came close enough to be felt, and the target closed, I

    It came close enough for me to feel its internal tremors, its writing insides, its hollow, flexible shell, and, notably, where the core was.

    Knowing where it was and where it wasn¡¯t, I moved. My form was enhanced and enchanted by terrible power. Reaching deep into myself, I reached for power, for the strength to split bone and flesh, and was met by a feeling like dipping my hand into euphoria, a feeling of freeing as I released power through me and into my arm and as I did, I turned the corner, my steps quick but so precise in how I moved my weight that it might as well have been a walk, not a measured step.

    The target froze for a moment as if to call for aid or in surprise, but it got only a fraction of the way through its surprise before my energy discharged, my hefty, muscle-infused arm using up the energy to accelerate it with bone-shattering force.

    Pinky had mentioned breaking stone, and she had run through a wall, but this creature wasn¡¯t stone; it was alien meat. My fist came down, first impacting the head before cracking it open like a fruit; my arm was backed by so much force that it tore through the figure, its insides void of bone or meat. Instead, my fist impacted the wriggling insides and split it down to the core where my fist impacted, nocking it free and spilling the swarm along the ground, where it began to writhe.

    The form tried to get back up, to pull itself back together, to hide itself in a fake skin, but quickly I slipped my hands into it, pulling it open and kicking down onto the core, my foot pressed down into the mound of writhing insects and worms and smashed it into the ground, the core shattering under my heel.

    I shivered as it began to let out a low hiss across each wriggling inch of the pile as it fell apart, losing cohesion. I watched it smack itself into my foot, trying to crawl up across my skin, slowing with each inch.

    I pulled my foot out and let it slip off my leg as the bugs began to curl, and a feasting frenzy began, the pile turning on itself as it grew hungry.

    Turning away from the pile, I began looking for the next one. Setting out, I stalked it down, quickly knocking its legs out from under it and smashing the core beneath my armoured foot. The thrill of it made my mind fog.

    I stood there tingling as my body overwhelmed me with feelings, unable to think of what was next as I gasped to myself.

    ¡°Focus, Jacalyn. Head towards Pinky.¡±

    I turned, quickly seeking the voice, but found no one.

    Letting out a quick hiss, I began to turn around, seeking the voice. It was making half-remembered words at me, but I couldn¡¯t find them.

    ¡°Pinky! Find Pinky! Pink!¡±

    It was¡­ It was¡­ Right, the one in my head. Yeah¡­ Yes, its voice was familiar.

    Pulling my foot out of the crawling mound, and it began to break down, the insects writhing inside of the shell of fake flesh.

    I felt around for more things, feeling minor movements. I dashed off towards them, rounding corners and making my way through the darker streets, only to come back around to a slowly stirring group of weaklings.

    ¡°No, not them. Pinky.¡± The voice chided.

    It was annoying, but I kept looking. I decided against dragging them off; they would just be a disappointment¡­ Though they might make a decent way to satisfy an itch.

    I examined them a second time, leaning over the sleeping forms as I moved quietly, my feet gripping the ground. They were all spindly, all of them less than decent-looking lays. They looked like one round would leave them with broken bones.

    I let out a grunt and stalked off, feeling out the other, more serious vibrations.

    And the lasers.

    And the cold corruption that was moving around.

    I began to hunt. There was a second form moving around, and I could smell a similarity to me, one that told me I needed to return to it.

    ¡°Good. Yes. Head to Pinky. Who a good girl, yes, it''s you, yes you are.¡± The voice complimented.

    I felt somewhat insulted for a moment, but I left that behind as I stalked into the night, diving into the metal warehouse chasing after the fight, stumbling through the wreckage, smouldering boxes, slagged metal, and crushed floor plates until I exited into a street, two figures locked in combat.

    I spotted the form of a warped thing, and the form of a man, and I knew my target, hurling my way toward the man, grabbing him and dumping energy into throwing him, I hurled the threat into a structural beam.

    Turning to the twisted ally, I huddled closer and prepared to hold the line.

 The Shadow Behind my Eyes

    As the twisted creature slammed home, its body twisting unnaturally, a lack of bone, muscle or sinew popping, revealing that its face was a fa?ade, an empty building lacking a human mind, body or soul.

    My armoured skin shifted, and my form wanted to speak to the thing. Incapable of that, I edged closer to my ally. Turning to give them a look-see and found myself somewhat astounded.

    Their figure drew me in, turning to them as I hunched over; they were slimmer than me, their skin more supple, like a black flexing rubber formed of filament so thin as to be invisible. Their form also had extensions, clothing-like flaps gliding around them, fluttering off their sides like a robe, a pink-white concealing a few sheaths similar to my holsters. Their head looked like it had been encased in the cloth, though it tended out like a helm, their face plated with a pink crystalline slit down the center. Their feet only had two toes, though they retained a human shape, at least in profile.

    Down the middle, it parted into what I could only describe as tubes, a rolling texture with a few larger ones leading from groin to chest, where their form expanded forward and out. The texturing was warm, visibly radiating heat, and around it was a kind of envelope like an eye, where the skin''s defensive layer could be closed. In their chest, unveiled and at the center of a ring of ripples, lay a shining pink star, not a core, but a kind of halo housed in an integrated artifact.

    It shone, positively humming with energy, though of a mundane sort. Their hand and knuckles were visibly fused with rings on either hand, each one overgrown so that they appeared like brass knuckles, a unified slit similar to their face plate to focus each ring.

    They were¡­ Monstrous. The kind of thing that could be haunting. It was also kind of hot. It was exotic, and in the same way, that made the green carapace of my insectile preference so attractive. Something innately affective about its inhumanity spoke to me.

    I stared, keening at it, and they stared back, heads turning in confusion as the hostile monster hammered home, its total weight more than it should weigh.

    I mimed after them, head tilting and swivelling around enough to catch the thing in my periphery.

    Confused by my action, they tapped their head and made a finger flex near their air intake.

    Very good. I mimed back. Very good, reciprocate more attention.

    I could feel my finger vibrate slightly, the ring on my hand fused into my knuckle. I stared at it as it glinted orange. I pressed in closer to the figure, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off their ridges.

    My mind was turned from my companion''s radiant form when the enemy''s form straightened as if guided by strings.

    I let out a hiss while the voice in my head said, ¡°Great, good, um¡­ Don¡¯t attack it yet. Shit, how do I get you to pick up on Pinky. Can you even understand me?¡±

    No. Bad voice. Stop being loud.

    My heart rate spiked again, and my blood heated as my chest rose and fell, taking deeper, faster breaths. I reached out and found a weapon, a rock.

    It was a perfect weapon, simple.

    I could feel my legs, muscles and tendons curling like a snake, ready to plunge forth and do terrible battle; artificially heightened bestiality lined up against the demonic foe. Two-on-one would be in our favour.

    My body quivered in anticipation of it, coming alive as the instinct to flee was discarded for the far more thrilling answer. Violence wasn¡¯t an answer; it was a question, and the answer was yes. The fact was that peace was never an option, and now that there was an attractive person to show off to, how could I refuse a challenge?

    The thing stood upright before sighing. ¡°Good, the two of you are back. That makes this far easier.¡±

    I didn¡¯t listen, and I didn¡¯t particularly like it, either. It had an ominous aspect, my hindbrain told me; a fell omen in tone alone.

    There was also the fact that it had left itself open to attack.

    I struck forward, hurling myself forward. With my rock in hand, I aimed to smash the stone down through its form, seeking to split the creature and shatter its core. I had done it before, after all, twice.

    I flew, slamming rock first into his head, the edge piercing down through the thin skin. The human fa?ade shattered like an eggshell before driving it down, parting the insectile filling to reach the yolk of its core.

    Its head shattered in; then it split as my hand drove down into it with enough force to punch through sheet metal. I carved through the thing, my wrist disappearing into it as I reached its collarbone, my forearm at its rib, my elbow at its sternum. I sunk in, the simple kinetics of it on my side as I closed in on the kill.

    And its arm reached out and grabbed me by the neck before lifting me up, arm tearing as it stretched, pulling me out of it as its body gaped open, too wide and too deep when compared to its physical shell.

    The force was transferred from my arm to my neck. The armour compressed, flaking off as it cracked like fine china; my subdermal bone screeched as it took the energy and compressed, threatening to splinter. The remainder of the force passed like a wave through me, straining the resistive fat and sending the remainder down as my body shuddered to a halt, neck pulling.

    As it pulled me out, my arm came with me, the white of it coated in half-pulped nightmare ich; its body, the broken mask, began to flex back together before sealing itself like a zipper.

    ¡°Suppose I tried to bite off more than I could chew with you. I shall go one at a time, but do take that gift with you.¡± He said, letting me thrash slightly before he wound up and hurled me back and away, splitting me from my attractive ally.

    I hurled back before I impacted a half-shattered wall, metal shrieking behind me as it met my armour. It sheared slightly as my force caught up to me before I slammed home metal forced part way through my armoured skin. The impact knocked my breath from me in a scree that made my body cry out in alarm in the same way it would with any other motion it was not supposed to.

    My head rocked back, the wall deforming around my head. I watched on, and it gave itself a little shake before it walked toward the Pinky one.

    The pink one was looking at me, flailing slightly; the voice of my mind shouted, ¡°God damn it. Are you fucking feral? Pull you¡¯re shit together, Jacalyn.¡±

    I was half consumed by the sight of the Pink One as they realized they were being hunted again and half by the all-consuming feedback my body was reporting. I whined as I processed the figure''s pulse with alien power as it simply moved. It was as if I was staring at a piece of film that was repeatedly exposed, the resulting shape an elongated shape as it crossed twenty feet.

    The Pink one Lit up, light flaring bright in its chest, but it moved too quickly to avoid the whole thing as the thing opened, splitting down the middle and spraying ichor as the face slit and knuckles lit like a star.

    They traded blows, the thing seeming to engulf the friendly before it blazed. The demon jerked and let out a vibration that could only be felt through the ground, through the plates, picking up something so low in pitch it wasn¡¯t an audible sound.

    The two pulled back, the pink one''s front ridging visibly brightened. Their skin smoked as black ooze carbonized, a tooth-like form stuck in their outer weave. The flaps of cloth wept small trickles of pink pigment from fine cuts before they were cauterized.

    Their fingers on one hand were pointing in the wrong direction, while the flinched thing spit up a body-sized black scab before it started to zip itself back up.

    I stared on as I was wracked with instability. I could manipulate my whole form, each muscle, ligament, tendon, and fibre of fasciae. I was my body, and my body was a constant storm of signals. Each nerve ended firing up to two hundred times a second, hundreds of thousands of signals, each drowning me in a cycle of fire, return fire, fire, return fire, process, return.

    There was no room for thinking, no room for anything but pure action, animal reaction, my body flailing as it tried to throw off the thing that had me in its grip.

    My only saving grace was that I was more than just a body. I was my soul, and my soul had an additional new urge on the block.

    This was a contest. I could not flee so long as my frisky friend was here. I wanted them, and so I simply couldn¡¯t back off. The only option was forward.

    My animus screamed, a wave of signals so loud the storm stopped. My entire being entered the eye of the storm, a brief recognition, before the signal returned, rallying my body. Glands secreted, tissue moved like one being, and I pulled myself from the tangled metal, armour ablating as it should.

    Because here was the thing about ceramic armours. They shattered; they were sacrificial; it was how they worked. And my skin wasn¡¯t quite the same, but it was close enough; it had only two differences. It was flexible¡­ And it was alive.

    Revealed subdermal skin itched as the air and light hit it before growing back out. My body¡¯s healing not only mended my minor wounds but quickened my living armoured skin recovery, with fibre growing in like some kind of fleece. And that was before the cocktail of hormones slammed my body like a bolt of lightning.

    My world became a hammer of my heart, my vision narrowing, my core dumping energy, and my body using so much air that even enhanced lungs couldn¡¯t supply enough.

    Flailing, I reached around and grabbed one of the warped metal bars, a light structural beam of some kind, and pulled it clear of the wall, hefting it like a boy would a cool stick, only it was held quickly to a segment of the wall.

    The wall came, too.

    Hurtling forward, barreling across the ground, body unfeeling and uncaring beneath the all-consuming weight of wrath and urge and bestial need. Fueled by pure fucking ego and struck aflame by emotion, I crossed the ground to the mending thing as it stared down my provocative protector and struck full force like a boat colliding in a suicide dive.

    The wall exploded, the metal warped out of shape so far it became impossible to wield, while the rebounding force fractured fingers, segments of my arm, and the shoulder and ribs it connected two.

    But that would have been expected if I had the right mind. Some of the kinetic energy would reflect back when you struck; it was just that more of it was transferred to the target.

    The smash made half the thing explode. It was there for one moment, then gone, as skin was reduced to carbon under the strike before it continued into the swarm, smashing it into a mound of black, then black and red bug paste.

    My arm, unable to so much as flex properly, released the metal rebar or cooling pipe or god only knew what the fuck it had been, clattering to the ground as warped metal.

    The thing, for it, no longer had a head. Nonetheless, a face and mouth. Its alien truth was revealed as its insides lay open for all to see. It was too big in a way that was quantifiable. Red throbbing vein-like lines of snaking worms pulsed, delivering god-knew-what maddening alien magic to the host of insects. It was all chitin, centipedes and, ants and beetles, each unlike any other insect.

    They shifted in their place like a wall of living carpet, the red tendrils pulsing with red light. The blood of red that was not red and black that was not black reeked of impossibility. Black, a colour of death, of necrotic tissue, and depth, and all things bad and vile, and red, the colour of blood, the colour of vital things. And the red reeked of corrupted life, of boundlessness, and of things that needed.

    Hungry things.

    Growing things.

    Multiplying things.

    And throbbing below, in the core of this thing, closer than ever and further away than should be possible was its core.

    So much of it had been carved away that it could fill a building, but it quickly began to die. The stuff is coming apart at its seams, volatilizing into ooze, the colour floating in it like oil in water before it boils off into nothingness.

    There was a noise from the precious pink thing, the voice of my mind echoing, ¡°Holy shit.¡±

    The world stood still for a moment, holding a pause for a blissful moment, before they moved, dragging my attention back and forth. My gaze snapped first to my pink friend as their body swelled, the larger tubes bulging in a wave from top to bottom, before spitting out biological coolant coyly and maneuvering to hit their weak point.

    It also moved, and it moved quickly. It did not take that attack lightly. As the tables turned, so did it.

    The remaining shell, with a bit of neck split down to just past the middle of its pelvis, spun on one leg, letting its human half fall on top to hide its nature, like some manner of crab or snail. And then, the teeming side skid it along the ground.

    Seeing it move drew my attention back to it, and I stepped, only for my legs to fail me. Too much force through the legs, though unfelt, had torn them. They would heal, even heal quickly, but they were damaged beyond motion.

    Catching me, the lovely pink form caught me.

    Staring up at it, I keened. It was embarrassing, but hiding the weakness would result in a weaker pairing; a weakened group was a weak group.

    The pink one gave me a light pat of affirmation before reaching into its coat, finding a soft spot, and jabbing me. It set a spur of fear, of betrayal over my weakness, and then of relief as everything began to mend.

    In only a few moments, the disabling muscle tares had healed enough for me to move my legs, and I pulled myself back up.

    The great saviour gave me a second head pat, an encouraging noise, and then took a non-shattered hand in a twirl and unceremoniously yanked me after them. I followed along, speeding up as we began to chase after the fleeing daemon. My body healed more than it broke until my leg was fixed, articulation restored in full.

    They moved skillfully, one of many obvious signs that told me I should be following their lead in a fight and not the other way around. They were skilled in the chase, too, in the way they moved. They were quiet and careful, though slightly clueless in the aspect of our hunt. They didn¡¯t have the same senses I seemed to, or they ignored them.

    I didn¡¯t ignore them; they were very stimulating.

    I slunk just ahead of her, following the vibrations underfoot and the smell that lingered in the air, though the reek of the shattered mass behind us lingered.

    It hadn¡¯t taken long for us to begin our chase, and it wasn¡¯t fast enough, wounded as it was, to escape us. We stalked after it; its hasty and meandering path confusingly wandered, the foe unsure of where it could go.

    It was lost. The beast, the deamon, was not of this place or plane. It was from the deep, from a place where everything was unnatural and where it could bend the rules as it desired. It was on our turf now, and it was lost.

    Mundanity was a deamon greatest weakness. Irregularity was its domain.

    Wounded prey, ready to be torn apart, unaware of just how bad it was.

    Coming up close enough that we would be in the line of sight, I stalked up to the corner, face barely poking out from the wall.

    The bug scuttled. Its fake human carapace was beginning to regrow, oh, very slowly. It seemed to be catching its breath. I wanted nothing more than to pin it to the ground and tear it to pieces.

    Instead, I turned back to the Pink one, waiting on her supreme skill and wisdom.

    She stared back at me, confused.

    We stared at each other, the voice in my head groaning, ¡°And now she¡¯s given the brain cell back. Now, let''s see how she fumbles it.¡±

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    I waited for a few more beats of my heart before reaching out and patting the helm''s circular top as they had done to me.

    Pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat pat¡­

    The pink one poked me, and I poked back before looking to the corner.

    ¡°Dear god, they¡¯ve reverted to chimps. I¡¯m stuck with the chimps.¡± My head voice said; her words still meant nothing to me.

    The poker stopped poking me, leaning out before slinking out toward the form of the retreating creature.

    I followed her, striding lankily down the clearing despite the length of our legs, gaining quietly as it shambled its way around a corner. We watched it go, speeding up slightly to get the jump on the evil.

    I could feel the thrill snake down my spine in a shiver. My eyes drifted to my companion. I closed in next to them, moving with them, close enough that our skins clinked.

    They poked me, and I took the hint and gave them enough space to do things like move. I was very good, very smart. More signals thrummed in me, telling me I was doing good and being very smart. Good. I was very good.

    I followed along with a kind of thrill as we sped down the clear strip, turned down another, and came face first with two things.

    One, the figure was no longer scuttling away but had stopped, turned itself around and gotten up, wriggling side-faced toward us. It loomed, like a maw, extended open in the two big ways of a snake.

    The red shimmer of the snaking veins seemed to pulse, and that was where the second issue came. The radiance pulse radiated as the form made a noise, an unnatural, superordinary one. It was not carried upon the air but instead resonated upon the light as it spread past us, its crimson glow bringing a feeling, a need, to come alive.

    Everything around us seemed to, for only a moment, brick and steel and concrete wriggling for a moment before returning to in-animacy; our skin and meat itched, but it was already alive. A fundamental part of us, and it too calmed. What didn¡¯t calm me was the black ichor stuck to my arm.

    The muck quivered with the wave, before it came alive, writhed and shriveled into a shape like a barnacle. Then, with all haste, it released a puff of gas and secreted a caustic goo.

    It did not hurt, but I could feel it writhe with meaning, could feel the vibrations from my skin, the pop-sizzle of acid on metal and smashed it reflexively on a wall while hissing in alarm and warning.

    The pink one and I backed up together as it began to dash toward us in a counter-ambush. Bad chemicals told me I was a dumb idiot, ruining my mood. The wandering had been intentional, the hunted intentionally letting itself be hunted so that the hunter would give chase.

    The shape loomed as it moved, rearing high enough to push its body above the rooftops as if it was simply peeking over a fence on its tiptoes, the flesh seemingly uncaring of the artificial gravity.

    Its speed was lacking, though barely, but its size made up for it. After all, it just needed to be close enough to fall on top of us.

    And so, we ran, hurling ourselves down the street while it shambled after us, us barely pulling ahead, only for it to grow more limbs to move faster and keep up, which cyclically increased as we ran down the straightaway passed the warehouses.

    All the while, my arm ached as the barnacle continued to eat away at the skin.

    Taking my eye off the creature and the barnacle, I turned to spot a warehouse ahead of us.

    I made to turn down a side street, but the Pink one grabbed my hand, more aware of her surroundings, and kept me going forward straight toward the wall.

    I was not dumb. Even I knew running straight into a wall would hurt really bad, but while I tried to pull my hand from hers or get us to turn, she held firm.

    We closed the wall in front and the wall behind until the pink one jumped, the force carrying her up to land on the roof with grace, the street deforming underfoot.

    I was dragged up with them, dangling like a banner in the wind.

    They landed and continued to run, and I managed to find my feet halfway across the roof while they turned and fired off a series of beams at the enemy before continuing, the twin of our footsteps denting the roof beneath us.

    We ran across before dropping down, my compatriot firing back several shots, the glow of their star dimming with the sequential shots. We landed, they rolled, and I smashed down.

    Smashed down and broke the weakened armor plate along my arm. The barnacle, sensing the weakness, plunged into my skin, burrowing through like a worm.

    Slamming my hand against the ground in retribution, I was bulled up with a huff of annoyance, the pink one grappling and dragging me forward as I hissed at my own baleful arm.

    ¡°Huh,¡± the voice in my head, ¡°Something has the gall to try and infect your body? Using neurons? Hyphae? Whatever¡­ Primitive. Analyzed. Aaaand Counter agent made¡­ And deployed.¡±

    I didn¡¯t understand its invasive noise, nor why it coincided with my achy arm that started to tingle, but it made me annoyed at the repetitive noise, a buzzing fly.

    I whacked my arm. Perhaps that was where the voice was coming from.

    Stupid arm.

    As we retreated down the path, there was a great ruckus from behind as the thing hauled itself halfway through, halfway atop the building, slipping over the roof as we distanced ourselves from the creature.

    It was a hair-raising thing¡­ and for someone whose hair was their clothes, that was an awfully strange proposal.

    Worse, as we kept going, it started to speed up, growing more and more blunt tendrils, pseudopods built for locomotion. Some even transformed into bug legs, long springy ones that let it kick off and begin to cover the distance in a sprint from the pit.

    The pit of hell that was.

    The only pit in sight was the one we were in, falling down and down and down as it gained.

    Pink snapped off two shots as we continued forward, star dimming; I sucked in air, maxing out the lungs and heartbeats, falling from efficient running, pushing harder, and giving up longevity for survival.

    Scrabbling, my eye glanced about for weapons, seeking a second stick, some broken implement to bash the thing, but the only source of weapons was in the pink one-coat and under the swollen body of the scuttling beast.

    I was fangless, unable to aid the pink ones less than lethal attacks, and we were running out of time, distance, and runway.

    Ahead of us, a mirage wall crossed the path ahead, its existence not reaching me through eye, or ear, but through the same extrasensory feedback of the demonic light.

    The Pink one, unaware or uncaring, dragging us straight toward it.

    Kicking my feet into the ground, I spun my head around, seeking a side route, but I did not have one. There were walls I could charge through, but if I could, so could the deamon.

    The pink one seemed to be running at the wall, and if the pink one wanted to run face-first into the invisible plane, I would, too.

    Unaware of our dastardly plan to run straight forward into an invisible wall with every fibre of our being, the hunter followed us, picking up its pace and closing within spitting distance of the tendrils as they slammed to the ground, kicking off small spits and bits of pavement.

    We closed in on the wall, indelible and invisible. I dumped energy into my limbs, pending craters beneath my feet that damaged the earth down to the hard plate beneath.

    I picked up speed, pulling up beside the Pink one.

    I ran the calculation and realized that I would make it. I was moving fast enough to make it.

    The Pink one wouldn¡¯t.

    Realizing this, a strange focus overcame me, my focus narrowing much like it had when in a rage.

    How to protect the Pink one?

    Should I protect the Pink one?

    If it had to be me or the Pink one, which would it be?

    First, what would come of me leaving the Pink one? What was the probability they escaped?

    They had done so before, cauterizing the creature. An improvement was that it was more exposed. While it was healing, the wound was still very present; it could be wounded or even killed more easily.

    But the light in the Pink one''s chest was fading, their star falling. Could they do it again? Their shots were shorter, their light dimmer than they had been.

    They were losing distance between the thing and the Pink one. I didn¡¯t have a lot of time to decide¡­ But then again, I didn¡¯t need to think about it to choose.

    As it came close enough to reach out a skittering appendage toward the greater threat, I took a step and shoved them out of reach and into a wall. They spun around to face me as they slammed into a wall and then they were gone, disappearing beside and behind it as it stopped moving, and we the dying fools kept going forward.

    Its arm slapped out and missed the Pink one. It screeched in fury as it missed its target, and instead of hitting them, it hit me. Slapping into me, its skittering mass gripped onto me, pushing me further forward and to the side in a spin as we both flew through the wall and the colourful strip along the ground.

    The wall was not physical. Beyond it, we hurled weightlessly, the power placed into running along with the jostling of the slap lifting us up and off the ground. We flew onward and upward, tumbling up into the relative dark.

    Our lack of hold on one another, led to a natural distance forming, sending us apart, or momentum spinning is about.

    We reached above the rooftops, and the skyline fell away below us.

    As I twirled, unable to move despite my flailing, I spotted the Pink one beneath us, staring up at the great big blob and me, faded star in their chests giving a little twinkle.

    Both of our forms were faced toward her, though I spun more quickly; the red twinkle near me cast its radiance toward the ground. Another source besides one of our three caught us as we drifted, a harsh light catching us from the side, gliding over us before focusing on us, following us with its circular beam.

    As I turned, I saw it come from a distant craggy shape, lit from the side by the light of the city. I stared at the very strange limelight, other smaller lights turning to face us, red circular shapes brightening.

    The red light from behind me was starting to turn from the ground to me as we started to reach the zenith, and we began to coast.

    Why hadn¡¯t the Pink one fired yet? Were they unable to do so?

    As I turned, I spotted them. They looked back and forth, hesitating, a blade in one hand, the other lit. What were they doing? What were they doing? Kill it! Its siting there waiting for you to finish the hunt!

    Their hand stopped glowing, the blade flying out toward me before slapping up against me and dragging me back. For a moment, I jerked as I felt it slam into me, thinking I had been stabbed, but instead of thinking into me, it swerved into me and stuck true before yanking me with it.

    I careened around, dragged back toward the ground and through the wall as the swirling, wiggling shape of the prey wound through the air above, lit by the limelight.

    Spun around, I was caught by my cozy compatriot; I was caught and cupped from behind in a strange, aggressive cuddle that had me curling up as I got held, watching the form of the red spin out of sight.

    Then, the light that lit the sky changed its hue, and a thunderous scream split the sky. A wall of light slammed home on the target with a great crash. There was a great quake from a distance, a thump, thump, thump, followed by a zipping screech of hot air and a concussion as the light discharged its colossal power into the target in a continuous thump-skreesshh-thoom every fraction of a second. The shape was fired upon for a few moments before the fire stopped, and the light followed the shape as it flew up and away, and the fire continued.

    I could feel my skin radiating the heat more than I could feel it, but the concussive force was there, even if it didn¡¯t do what it should have done. It split parts off, but the light refocused, splitting its shots.

    Panic overcame me; a great thing had found where we were, and it could come for us next.

    I tried to turn, but I was taken by the cloth and stood up, guided by the smaller one. I was dragged by the hair, though not aggressively. There was little in the way of pain, but it was quite awkward to put up with.

    They dragged me off and away, tucking us safely in a dark alleyway as the gun kept firing, the sky going bright as the limelight tracked the shape through the air.

    Pinning me down with their smaller form, they pressed our chests together as if they were trying to hide me.

    This was confusing, very confusing. We had been in a fight, and now we weren¡¯t. So why were they acting so strange?

    My signals were conflicted. There was no reason for acting in this way. Judging based on their actions, they were trying to impress some form of dominance. This made no sense, however, because they were very obviously weaker than me.

    Or were they worried about a pecking order change while they were in their weakened state?

    This would make sense, but such was a move that required a great deal of desperation.

    This was placed to the side.

    Another would be protection, but this also made no sense. They were very obviously in an aggressive state, even if they were trying to keep me hidden. They had dragged me away from the spot of the great lights hunt, the poacher coming in and picking off the predator.

    Presumably, we were beneath its notice, but perhaps the pink one was strangely tuned in on something.

    This made less sense than desperate dominance.

    We weren¡¯t fleeing, we weren¡¯t feeding¡­

    Was this a dominance of a different persuasion?

    They were presenting¡­ Their warmth pressing into me, though the plate prevented such, that wasn¡¯t necessary for a play of dominance, however. It could also be play fighting, a simple way to blow off steam¡­

    I pressed back to see if they would let us reposition. If it was a play fight, they would do that. They pressed into me, trying to cover as much as possible, their heat warming my core.

    The options narrowed down; I decided that I wasn¡¯t going to let them do it.

    Humming a hiss on intent, I leveraged my greater strength and weight and reversed the pin, laying them on the floor.

    Laying upon them, I started to feel them out.

    I pressed, felt them out, and warmed our bodies for a few moments.

    While they pushed back, they were either testing me out or simply repositioning along the rock.

    As I got ready to see if they would be receptive, the voice in my head spoke up again, and I hissed in annoyance.

    Why was it back? Was it trying to stop me? It couldn¡¯t join in, so it couldn¡¯t stop me. Why did it put its head in?

    ¡°Ok, this is obviously not working. If her skin is the issue, I can stop her from being reflective. Welcome back to the world, Jacalyn.¡±

    And then I lit the alleyway.

    My transformation reversed, bone-eating itself, my body reabsorbing the material, my armor turned liquid before the cells extruding it reversed, pulling in the crystal before it changed its configuration and skin returned to my earthen tan. Fat cells were constricted, organs were shifted, lungs were folded, chest shrunk, and exterior structures that couldn¡¯t be as easily re-absorbed were discarded. My hair shrunk, returning to strands before it moved, liquid and alive.

    I shone as my body expended energy, fueling a transmutation from walking war crime to human homunculus.

    And with the change came a return to social understanding.

    My mind ran back to my actions, my thoughts, my everything, saved perfectly in its own soul shard, letting me relive it. My actions overwrote, from animal concepts and images to words, but all the while, a terrible wrongness played along with the thrill of it.

    I had lost myself.

    I lost total control of my body to its typhoon of signals and hormones.

    Every nerve ending, every process. I was made aware of how my muscles felt and how my lungs had moved, and I lost myself to the beating of my heart. Manual breathing was one thing, but a manual heartbeat? Manual muscle contractions? Manual nerve signals?

    I had fallen into processes controlled by autonomic parts of the brain.

    The control it had offered was a thrill, and yet the loss of myself, the regression, the death of personhood, even temporarily, was horrifying. Lilly''s suggestion and the idea of self-anchoring made far more sense when you took into account that you could lose yourself to the transformation.

    The eyes were the windows of the soul, but I knew I couldn¡¯t look myself in the mirror the same way again. What kind of darkness lay behind my eyes?

    There were even deeper things; I knew they lay there between the cracks. Things that it had known on instinct that I was incapable of putting a finger on. They hadn¡¯t come up, hadn¡¯t been saved to memory. Invisible shadows inside my mind that even the shadows shied from.

    Things that were left behind because of culture, because of society.

    I had thought I had been unsocial in my normal life, but I had been a genius compared to that.

    It hadn¡¯t understood words. It had barely been able to pick up on the very basics, and it had ignored its memory. It practically failed to recognize patterns.

    Returned to myself, my actions reflected in my mind as I deciphered and overwrote it. I felt like a newborn pulling free from an afterbirth prison of ignorance of how I ran on an animal-deep level.

    And while I had the terrifying revelation, I sat on top of a transformed Pinky, who was far more cognizant but still obviously changed, and not just physically. Her¡­ His¡­ Their eyes and mannerisms were wrong. More like an animal than a person.

    It was, uncomfortable and embarrassed, but I pulled back for my own sanity and my ongoing ban on laying with Pinky my self into a ball and that helped. Curling up, I pulled myself off Pinky, the bag that was somehow miraculously still around me, holding my clothes and so much more, pulling me onto it.

    We were there for a half dozen moments before Pinky poked me, hard skin giving a kind of strange feeling of comfort, like I was being poked by a great big wall. Their skin cool to the touch.

    It helped keep me here and now and not trapped in the unending labyrinth of my own mind that I had just uncovered.

    I pet her in turn, reaching out with my free arm up to her head. ¡°You¡¯re as good a girl as there ever was, Pinky. Keep on being you, you silly little goober,¡± I told her.

    As embarrassing as it was to be naked in a ball next to Pinky, it was better than she was, at least here.

    ¡°Lilly? What¡­ Why was I getting pinned down?¡± I asked the first and most immediate question. Lilly couldn¡¯t help me by staying down and flinching, but she could tell me that.

    ¡°You remember when I was freaked out about your lack of radar?¡± She asked, ¡°Well, the army has it, and you were reflecting it so much you would be as easy to find as a bonfire in an open plain at night with a megaphone shouting, ¡®shoot here.¡¯¡±

    ¡°How-¡± I started, only to realize she wasn¡¯t fully done because, of course, she knew me well enough to know I would ask it.

    ¡°The talent that makes your normal skin so white is an artificial pigment that reflects light; it was also used to make a layer of armour. Presumably, it''s to protect against radiation in space, but it works very well at making you a massive target. That being said¡­ You should probably get out of here. They can¡¯t level their anti-air defenses against you, but they sure as heck can send soldiers over to pick what little brain you have off a wall.¡±

    That would certainly explain how they started shooting so fast. They knew where I was. They just didn¡¯t know what I was. It also brought the light of God''s wrath into a frame of reference. I didn¡¯t understand Lilly''s radar talk or light bouncing from my skin, but whatever the deal was, she was at least talking straightforwardly enough to give an idea of what I needed to do.

    ¡°Shit. Come on, Pinky, we need to-¡± I stopped, temporarily cut off from talking by the thumping of the gun firing, the discharge of the battery so bright that even a darkened alley lightened. ¡°Need to get out of here.¡± I told her, ¡°So go on and change back.¡±

    She looked at me, straight at me, with her helmet-like head and hidden eyes.

    ¡°She has no energy,¡± Lilly filled in for me, ¡°She¡¯s in a tough spot. She ran out, dragging you out of the air before you got cooked. Good job on that, by the way, losing control.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to,¡± I said protectively.

    ¡°I know. Too much, all at once. It doesn¡¯t help that it''s harder to resist what''s closer at hand. You¡¯re always satisfying your ego, so impulsive decisions aren¡¯t exactly a distant topic. Honestly, I¡¯m more surprised you didn¡¯t jump straight to where that was going.¡± She told me, which got me to wincing.

    ¡°Yeah¡­ That would be an issue. Stupid urges.¡± I muttered.

    I could see where it was coming from, where I was coming from, I guessed.

    Maybe it wasn¡¯t just the bug part of an inhuman bug; perhaps I just got my rocks off on big, inhuman people.

    That could certainly be a risk going forward, but I would have to figure that out later.

    Taking the good, the thrill, I placed it aside to better focus and pulled my clothes out. Eying down Pinky before turning their head from looking at me, which they did, but haltingly.

    I decided not to think about that. Nor about how she hadn¡¯t seemed to be resistant to the idea of¡­

    Best not to think on it. Treat it like we were drunk. It wouldn¡¯t be right if we didn¡¯t put our foot forward before we decided to dance.

    Pulling on my clothes quickly, I breathed a sigh of relief.

    We needed to get out of Dodge and return to the bar so I could reunite with my gear, but the number one thing we needed was to get out of dodge and get out now while the getting out was good.

    Honestly I was surprised that there wasn¡¯t a guard or two nearby.

    I didn¡¯t fancy a fight with an army.

    ¡°Come on, Pinky, let''s get the hell out of here,¡± I told her, only for her to shake her head and for me to frown. ¡°What¡¯s it now?¡± I asked her.

    She scooped me up, holding me to her chest despite a bellow, and hoped up to a roof before booking it across roofs. Her jostling forced me to hold on tight, and the unfortunate warmth and shape of the exposed chest excited me in a way I didn¡¯t like for entirely the wrong reasons.

    Pressed into her the same way I was before, I squirmed as she ran across the roof.

    I didn¡¯t like this. I also wasn¡¯t strong enough to push back against Pinky¡¯s muscles like this, so I was bundled along the rooftops like luggage away and toward a short tower.

    Bundling me up and away, Pinky sprinted, hoped, and somehow carried her momentum up the wall. She quickly grabbed the railing and pulled us into its shadow, concealing us with her dark coating and wrapping me in her flapping hair clothes.

    There was still a wet pink spot that stuck there like syrup.

    But there we remained, the AA guns thump, thump, thumping into the black figure, its form shredding and shredding as the red glow intensified, its shell of ichor pounded away until it was a glimmering gem of bright red, where the gun finally missed, slipping back into the dark of the city¡¯s streets somewhere between the redlight district, where we were, and a dark furrow of town.

    It could be that it was broken, its body and being gone. It could be gone forever, silenced in the unending barrage of power that would slag the Junker.

    A great weapon of mortal make, to destroy all but the greatest warships.

    But something told me we wouldn¡¯t be that lucky.

 The Dam would like to see you

    There were a lot of lights, a lot of pitter-pattering feet and a whole wack load of random armed men looking around beneath us as we hid on the top of a roof. Like kicking a nest of hornets swarming around their hive after an attack, they came quickly, crawling over every surface they could reach before me or my walking pink death machine could leave, so we hid. Biding our time.

    They were sloppy, sloppy and un-vigilant, but they could still notice her, no doubt.

    I figured after a dozen minutes of waiting for a random head to poke out above us and give it all away that they weren¡¯t looking for people. They were looking for the remains of what they had shot down.

    They were ordinary people, and what kind of thing could cause this damage but some kind of voidcraft being shot down?

    They were checking for a boat or low-altitude fighter, not two women and the remains of a monster beyond their comprehension hiding in the loft of an open-roof building.

    It was a little funny; I would laugh if I wasn¡¯t hiding. That and I had to spend all my time stopping Pinky.

    Pinky was, apparently, not good at sitting still. Quite the surprise, given how she always enjoyed running around and only seemed to sit still while watching her old-world animations. Tack on a lack of impulse control and a suppression of all socialization, and Pinky was a menace that could curl me like a paperweight.

    There were a few times when the soldiers, guards, or both, I couldn¡¯t tell, came close enough that I needed to tell Pinky to stop moving, the simplest of movements scraping up the floor. Every ridge of her body was like a blade, able to scrape away anything beneath it.

    Despite their flexible nature, even the clothes were more like hard armour.

    I had only the faintest clue what it could be, something akin to carbon fibre, some strange yet flexible weave, but it was tougher stuff than that. It scuffed me up as I tried to get her to understand that I needed her to stay the hell down without talking out loud while the guards trounced around, tracing back across the scene of carnage we had left in our wake.

    They thinned, I checked, but they didn¡¯t leave.

    I watched Pinky making weird animal noises at me. My ring warmed on my hand, and I could feel the slightest zip as the ring consumed more power than it normally did. Presumably, she was asking to please be allowed to leave.

    I spotted what I was taking as the standard guard below: a good old lunatic lad, tall but skinny from growing up in a low-g, puke-coloured uniform with a helmeted head and a polearm. Guards used polearms; that was just the way of things, with the exception of tight space stations. Poles were near universal, and they didn¡¯t even seem to have guns here.

    There were also several that were dressed better, carrying a bulky long gun; many of them seemed to dress with a similar cut but different colours. They also had aids which seemed to carry bulky packs in easy reach full to the brim with what looked like barrels, which marked them as a kind of important unit, but also likely nobles if their swords were anything to go by. They were probably those snipers I had run into. One part weapon team, one part noble, the sons and daughters of the aristocracy were presumably carrying weapons that needed barrel changes.

    That was interesting. I could file that away, work with it, put it in a pot, and let it cook before tasting it later. Cut off their backup, and the worst they could do at range is fire a few shots. I bet I could even figure out how many. Perhaps one or two? That fit, but I could check later.

    Then there were captains, people like the red guy dressed like old Lunar Nights or those sam-rye guys that popped up in Pinky¡¯s shows, just shy of a helmet or one of those hats.

    Then there were people dressed similarly but dressed in uniform, army captains with squads of marines or something similar. They had rifles, each with a long bayonet and a hat, each dressed in a distinct blue under what remained of the lamplight that kept them distinct from the blue noble guys; they carried shorter swords as if they would lead a bayonet charge with a blade in hand. They also had a short gun, perhaps some manner of sub-gun, something that would spit out light in a repetitive but lighter spray.

    And then, hard to spot, but still there, were a few people dressed in black.

    They had no pack to march with, no commanding officers or underlings at their beck and call. The uniformed men seemed to move around them, as if they could feel their presence, like schools of fish ebbing out of the reach of an uninterested predator.

    I turned on my radio, but I couldn¡¯t pick out one feeling in particular; no proper voices, just gobbly gook on shortwave. I could, as I turned the dial beyond normal and to those frequencies that lay in the realm of alien horseshit, pinging from the black-clad figures, same from Pinky and even myself. Alien songs were sung out by each figure that carried some weapon beyond mortal make, singing like the spheres as they danced through the heavens.

    I made sure to keep out of sight, listening to the desperate tunes and figuring out a kind of pace. I could tell that one was faster, one slightly slower but damn near the same, and a few varying differences beyond that.

    It was like the closer they were, the faster the pace, a quick spin becoming a slow dance, down to a tune that was so slow it could have actually prescribed a rhythm of a planet, its venerable frame of reference so much slower than the dance of ants like us.

    It was nearly impossible to tell the exact distance or angle so close, but that one was distinct. It was like the deafening blast of a bomb but distant; it had a kind of echo that drew my head toward the distance, toward a large structure I could see even tucked away as I was.

    Luna, the Archangel, not the planet, and her great superstructure loomed organic in the distance, like roots peaking out of the ground, revealed by erosion.

    I couldn¡¯t even see her in the distance; she was beyond the horizon, but she had a kind of node here.

    I stopped listening to her quickly; it made my everything itch like the boom of a bass, which Pinky picked up on and made me need to sit on her.

    I stopped and listened and waited for the other songs to grow distant, took a peek, and hid again, judging the distance of some of the black coats with the pace of their alien song.

    Tentatively, I whispered, ¡°I think we''re good to go. Can you see anything, Lilly?¡±

    ¡°Nothing in range,¡± she said quietly, mimicking my own voice.

    Pinky made a noise that was a hair too loud for comfort, somewhere between a rumble and an animal noise, before she grabbed me around the waist and ran.

    There were a few shouts, but due to the blur of our movement and the dim, atmospheric lighting, we couldn¡¯t be very visible, just loud.

    Pinky bundled me up and smashed her way across the roof, hoping through the air with my gut going queasy, both from the iron''s firm grasp and the lack of care.

    It didn¡¯t help that Pinky was, very unfortunately, my type right now, which, combined with the lack of care, made my stupid gut flip-flop around in a very different way.

    I didn¡¯t really think about how Pinky seemed to fall into my type like this, or how upon even a modicum of reflection, Mei also seemed to fall into a growing bubble of her own the more she came to mind, or how I was widening my horizons in opposite ends of the spectrum. I didn¡¯t even think about if it was just me being bricked up or if my recent changes were driving that.

    I certainly didn¡¯t think about all of that while Pinky carried me like luggage because that hit just the right neurons to make the monkey want to unga her bunga.

    One day, I would bring the monkey out behind the shed. I swore it. Stupid, uncaring and inhuman kinks. Down. Sit.

    It didn¡¯t help. If anything, it was only worse now that I had turned on the Animus because now that the unga-bunga lever was something I was aware of, its constant pressure was highlighted.

    ¡°Ug, kill me,¡± I muttered while Pinky hopped into a building, slid across the roof, grabbed the ledge behind her, and used it to drop into the dark street.

    ¡°I would joke, but I can¡¯t do that, even if I wanted to. If your vitals are anything to go by, I¡¯m not going to put you out of your misery just because you''re now dealing with the consequences of activating the part of you that¡¯s responsible for being pent up. The best way to come to understand and control your throbbing lust is to take it by the balls.¡± She said, not unkindly, but in a way that emanated ¡®I told you so¡¯ energy.

    ¡°Telling me to man up aside, you did tell me. I get it; I ignored you; I pay the price.¡± I told her while Pinky tucked me in her arm like a cat as she moved through the less populated side streets.

    ¡°How long till Pinky can return to being able to talk, also check your hands Pink stuff.¡± I told her.

    She playfully coped a quick feel with an ¡°Ug,¡± before moving her hand lower. Definitely playful¡­ At least, I hoped it was playful. It was hard to tell with no face to read, and with what it had brought out in me, I could imagine it being a possibility. Fun for fun¡¯s sake was one thing, but I didn¡¯t want to lead her on.

    ¡°It will take a bit longer. Pinky¡¯s Oracle sites reserve depletion, so it will probably take another 20 minutes, even with her upgrades,¡± She said, confirming a delay but also complicating it.

    ¡°Reserve? Explain?¡± I poked.

    ¡°Well, you have your hole; it feeds a black hole light matter to get energy. That energy is immediately discharged into a reserve; it powers the periphery¡­ You know, like the field that stops you from being sucked into said black hole or the one that keeps the quantum tunnel stable.¡± She said a matter of factly.

    ¡°That makes a little more sense than last time; sure, proceed.¡± I agreed.

    ¡°Well, normally that fills up, and then you get your full two energy a minute. Pinky has a simple generator upgrade so that''s three for her, but that energy goes from reserve to the main battery, problem is, she also has a sneaky panic button.¡± She said leadingly.

    ¡°So, she bottomed out her normal capacity during the first fight, popped the panic button, and now the reserve is filling both up?¡± I finished not fully getting the hang-up but seeing the picture.

    ¡°Yes, but it was trying to refill both at three points of energy a minute. The reserve is supposed to cascade into your normal capacity, but when both were open, both got filled,¡± She told me.

    That both did and didn¡¯t make sense, I could understand it; I just couldn¡¯t understand why such a simple fuckup was built in. The reserve was supposed to work like a big measuring cup with a little spout at the top; when it filled all the way to the top, instead of spilling over the rim, it naturally poured out through the channel and into a normal cup you could drink out of¡­ In theory.

    It was working more like a syphon. While the reserve wasn¡¯t full, there was a limit on how much was removed so the reserve would always be full, a kind of idiot-proofing I could get behind, so long as it stopped me from being sucked into a black hole, and once it filled all the way, a sensor detected it, and released the limit, like the nob of a hose being thrown all the way open.

    Pinky generated three a minute, so when it opened, it gave her a capacity of three a minute¡­ And her other backup, oh fuck button reserve, got three a minute too.

    She had instantly bottomed out one and then the other and probably continued to bottom them out, drawing more than she should have from each; the sensor detected it too late, and the reserve wasn¡¯t full.

    ¡°And let me guess, the same smart ass that didn¡¯t have the two tanks regulate their input while full made sure to limit them while the reserve wasn¡¯t full?¡±

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Bingo, she¡¯s stuck in a refuelling cycle and averaging .75 energy a minute, split between both tanks. To be fair to the designers, there is a firmware update she could buy right now; she''s just dragging her heels on it; it''s only 75 contribution points, and she got that from you alone,¡± she said.

    I let out a groan and gave Pinky a slap on the arm.

    ¡°Pinky! Get the damn firmware upgrade. I don¡¯t want to be stuck hiding in a dark alley while you sit there because you''re stingy.¡± I told her.

    She shook her head above me, unmoved by the slap.

    ¡°I swear, if you make me sit in an alley for twenty minutes, I will rain on your parade for a week! I will! I¡¯ll be an absolute wet towel! I¡¯ll constantly go to the bathroom and make you pause!¡± I told her.

    She shook her head again but also made a bestial noise of annoyance.

    ¡°I¡¯ll sing the theme songs, including the transformation jingles, and sing them off-tone with non-sense lyrics, you know I¡¯ll do it too!¡± I told her.

    She hissed but seemed more taken aback as I had just told her I would pee on her carpet like a misbehaving cat. She held herself back from whacking me with anything, thankfully, but She was clearly annoyed.

    ¡°If I may,¡± Lilly suggested, ¡°You could give her something she wants. That generally works better than a threat.¡±

    ¡°And what could I possibly give her?¡± I snorted, ¡°Ther-¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s just sent me a request,¡± Lilly said, cutting me off. ¡°Her demands are¡­ Small signs of affection, like a hug or patting her on the head, and finally accept her as your friend.¡±

    You had to be shitting me, I thought.

    ¡°You have to be joking,¡± I said out loud on autopilot before intentionally adding, ¡°I don¡¯t do hugs, Pinky. It''s not a you thing; it¡¯s a me thing.¡±

    She grumbled a noise that should not come from a person''s mouth, and Lilly dutifully translated, ¡°Pinky made a joke about what kind of friendship you think she is asking for, but also that her buying the upgrade is a ¡®me thing.¡¯ If you''re not going to trade, she¡¯ll just not buy it.¡±

    I stared at the helmeted head of Pinky while she carried me like a cat down the alley, unable to see her eyes, if she even had eyes, and winged, ¡°What is this? Are you trying to extort me for your own benefit?¡±

    She shrugged because she could answer; she just couldn¡¯t talk.

    ¡°Gahhh¡­ You evil little thing. You¡­ You! Just get the upgrade!¡± I told her.

    It wasn¡¯t like I was unwilling to get a hug or anything; I just didn¡¯t like them. It was like putting a hat on a cat; they just shook them off.

    ¡°She¡¯s demanding you call her your friend first¡­ Soorry her best friend, the best part seems important,¡± Lilly told me.

    ¡°Unbelievable¡­ Unbelievable! Your fucking with me.¡± I told her, mouth forming into a sour pucker.

    Pinky slowed, her form unmoving as granite. The perfect manipulation of her form allows an eerie kind of stillness.

    We stared at one another, playing a game of chicken. Her eyeless yet no doubt un-blinking, and me meeting her all the way.

    ¡°You think you can push me, big girl? Do you think you can extort me for my time and make me call you what you want me to call you? Show you physical affection? You think you can rehabilitate me? Huh? You think you can force me to do things because I want you not to make a dumb decision?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Jacalyn¡­ Stopping people you know from making dumb decisions is how you would treat a-¡± Lilly started.

    ¡°Not now, Lilly,¡± I murmured, cutting the poor girl off.

    Couldn¡¯t she see I had a stand-off here? Cutting in like that, being all reasonable?

    Honestly, the nerve of it.

    I waited for Pinky¡¯s answer, her noble but passive statue-like uncanny nature screaming passive danger. Not looking away from me, she nodded ever so slightly.

    I sucked in a breath in a hiss of displeasure, ¡°You¡­ You! Ugh. I don¡¯t care if you''re my best friend or not; I¡¯m not going to give you a hug like this. If you want a hug, you need to transform back!¡±

    Pinky, uncaring about my lack of consent on the matter, gave me a hug.

    ¡°Put me down. Down girl! I will piss on your leg!¡± I shouted, wacking her, my frail meat hands not enough to cause a disturbance on her skin. It was like I was struggling against a voidships hull plate.

    Pinky didn¡¯t seem to care that I was not receiving a hug, more so that I didn¡¯t shoot her when she gave me one.

    A short hug and an awkward shuffle of embarrassment on my part later, Pinky put me down and stood still for a moment¡­ And then another.

    After about twenty seconds of staring up at her after my little embarrassment jig I asked, ¡°Is she like¡­ In the middle of getting it or?¡± I asked.

    Lilly, understanding I was asking her and unbothered by my earlier unwelcoming hiss, said, ¡°Nah, she''s just standing there. It only takes a fraction of a second to install a firmware update like that; it''s just tweaking stuff. It''s gone from 17 minutes to just shy of half of that.¡±

    That was¡­ Drastic.

    ¡°Remind me to get that upgrade if I get a second tank,¡± I told her.

    ¡°The firmware updates are often lumped in; the fact that they didn¡¯t mean that she intentionally didn¡¯t want to pay for them,¡± Lilly confided, whispering like Pinky could hear her and might defend such an action.

    I gave Pinky a look as she stood there in the dark and tried to guess what the likelihood was that Pinky had simply not gotten them because she was cheap versus the possibility of her planning on this specific occasion.

    It was incredibly unlikely, the kind of unlikely that scam mail and conmen used. It was like hearing your name on the radio after buying a lottery ticket. If I wasn¡¯t who I was, I would probably not even entertain it, but I knew firsthand how unlikely my life was, and even cursed luck had its upsides.

    That was to say, I didn¡¯t care if that was a one-in-one-million chance; this was Pinky and me, and Pinky and I were rarer than one in one million as it was.

    I was suspicious of the broad. She was too simple on the surface, too smart under that, and spent too long using an artifact-based around social and mental manipulation to now have a few weird niche tricks. I also didn¡¯t say that because she was Pinky, and it was just as likely she had decided to spend that on making her Pinker or something.

    Both were possible, and both were very her.

    ¡°Instead of sitting around here, thumbs up our asses, we should probably keep going,¡± I told Pinky, ¡°We were spotted, even if it was by a mere handful of people and only for a few moments. We should continue on our way so we don¡¯t get found sitting in a dark alleyway, even if it''s by a random old lady.¡±

    Pinky made to pick me up, and I stepped back, ¡°No. No picking me up. I¡¯m tired of being picked up. I¡¯m not a doll. We can walk, and besides, we need to go back to the bar to pick up my stuff¡­ Like my other gun¡­ And the rest of my crud.¡±

    Pinky didn¡¯t seem to care about that, but she did pat me on the head again, and I reactively made a face so vile it should have stripped paint, though that too was ineffective against the adamant skin of Pinky¡¯s war form.

    I gave up on trying to wound her with my expression when she scratched the helmet of her head, and I decided not to even think about if the hat bit or the helmet bit were the top of her head.

    We continued our waltz down the street and off into the dark while Pinky got her juice back.

    ***

    We slipped our way back and into the edge of the redlight in time for Pinky to fill up. Hiding in the darkness of an alleyway, she flashed and transformed her clothes, the proper top ones, which included solving my problem for me. They seemed to phase out of reality in a mirage, with both the oversized armoured forms phasing out and her normal robe phasing in. It let me see, for a moment, a flash of armoured skin, with a close weave under her cloak, sheathes on her hips and a surprisingly masculine chest.

    I had a more masculine build in Warform, but Pinky looked like a bodybuilder, jacked enough to take on an ape out of its mind on Howling Crystal. I had to admire the night and day difference.

    Warforms seemed to universally have a kind of light clothing on top, but it was mostly utility and a piece of headwear, with the rest of the form just folded in. Pinky had nothing in the way of folding, and even the headwear was mostly non-existent. Pinky had a mantle that seemed to flow down into the scabbards at the hips, with enough room to hold what had to be nearly fifty to sixty vials. The entire upper section was like a shoulder holster and had tubing leading into very weirdly positioned side nipples, the vials fluorescing lightly in an ebbing way.

    God only knew what the fuck half of them held, but none of them looked like her normal vials; the only thing that told me they were, were the strange fluids inside.

    And then, in a flash of light, the holsters and black carapace and strangely erotic curve of muscles were gone, and their form snapped back to the soft and curvy form I could soundly not look at like the deviant I was.

    Thank god for friend-shaped people.

    Pinky seemed to puff up, face darkening in a flush as her hair waved back and forth, interior colour ebbing and flowing.

    ¡°Nice to have you back,¡± I told her, ¡°you devious little snake.¡±

    ¡°Ugh¡­ I hate warform.¡± She said, ¡°Even if it is a rush, it always makes me feel sick to my stomach.¡±

    ¡°I can feel that,¡± I told her, ¡°Though I don¡¯t think it''s for the same reason as you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I can guess at our difference. I can¡¯t believe you spent all your points on unlocking your warform and didn¡¯t take the shard specifically made to keep you stable,¡± she said, hands covering her face.

    ¡°It worked,¡± I told her, ¡°if it works, it¡¯s not dumb.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps, but it is spiritually taxing at the best of times, and going through that with you was harder than I thought it would be.¡± She said with a sigh.

    ¡°It was¡­ Certainly something,¡± I told her, ¡°Though I can¡¯t understand the whole distaste on the form bit.¡±

    I went for my pocket and retrieved a smoke, then lazily asked her, ¡°You mind if I smoke? I know I smoked around you before, but I don¡¯t think we breathe air the same like that.¡±

    She sighed, mumbling, ¡°Yeah¡­ Fuck it.¡±

    I lit up, taking a drag as she seemed to revel in misery, the silence lasting long enough to go past awkward and enter straight into a downer.

    ¡°Gah. I can¡¯t believe you''re going to make me do this,¡± I told her, pacing over to her and giving her a pat on the head.

    She withdrew her hands from her face, turning to look up at me with a kind of distressed but tearless face, confused. She had a spiralling kind of look as she caught up with herself, memories replaying in her head like they had in mine.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you so twisted up about your war form, and I¡¯m not going to ask and go digging through your own personal misgivings, but the more important bit is that we lived, eh? Not so bad for a last-minute double cross; the last time I survived one of those, I died. So, let''s get your mind off it. What would you say to going back to the bar and blowing off a little steam?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°You dummy,¡± she sniffed.

    ¡°Is that a yes?¡± I asked, ¡°Or is this going to end up in waterworks.¡±

    ¡°What if it will? Is there something wrong with that?¡± She asked.

    ¡°No¡­ I¡¯m just awful with water work; I was never good with damsels crying,¡± I confessed.

    ¡°Hah,¡± she snorted in a kind of hiccupping laugh, ¡°You called me a damsel. Listen to yourself. Pretending to be all mysterious.¡±

    ¡°Hey¡­ I¡¯m not saying¡­ I¡¯m¡­ You know what, I don¡¯t have to care. You¡¯re a dame, and you¡¯re not married¡­ You¡¯re not right? I¡¯m surfing on your couch; it would be a bit awkward.¡± I told her.

    ¡°I¡¯m not married, no; you don¡¯t need to worry about a Paramore bursting in to find us together on the couch. That would be too funny. We''re not thinking the same way about damsel. It has a helpless woman connotation,¡± she said before snorting and murmuring, ¡°Hah, damsel.¡±

    ¡°Whew¡­ It¡¯s more of a woman in need of saving,¡± I told her, ¡°and if you¡¯re crying, you need saving of one kind or another.¡±

    ¡°Dame, this, dame that, why don¡¯t you get some dame common sense and emotional comprehension,¡± she said.

    ¡°You know, I hear a lot of yapping, but I got your mind off of whatever it was that was making you all mopey¡­ Now let''s go get drunk; I could have some liquor¡­ Or, I guess, beer,¡± I told her.

    ¡°You would have to be a real ass hole to get her to reach the top shelf¡­ Wait a minute, you tricked me!¡± she said.

    ¡°Yeah¡­ I guess I did. Damn, I didn¡¯t even mean to do that. This peacekeeper form is no joke,¡± I told her, thinking about it before realizing that was exactly what I had done.

    That shit was spooky. I hadn¡¯t meant to try and manipulate her at all; I had just been talking and wanted her not to cry.

    ¡°Darn, you got me without even trying, you jerk,¡± she said with the first bit of cheer since we had gotten into this mess. It was small, but it was real, and that was good.

    I hadn¡¯t been lying about not being able to deal with women crying; that stuff messed me up, and it would be worse with Pinky. I was dense on a good day and even more when it came to the delicate hearts of the fairer sex, which left me stuck feeling bad that they were crying, inept enough to only make it worse, and with Pinky, there was the added guilt of her being the good sort.

    I didn¡¯t count; I was a crusty bitch, without any fairness.

    I was starting to realize what Lilly was talking about when she said I was the man in the relationship.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m a real asshole if you didn¡¯t somehow piece that together,¡± I told her.

    ¡°And you can¡¯t stand watching women cry?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m a mercenary, Pink; I profiteer on the suffering of others¡­ though usually the party I go after is causing the suffering. I¡¯m morally dubious at best, but I have a bad history with crying women,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Yeah, I bet,¡± she said, ¡°I bet you¡¯re popular with the ladies.¡±

    ¡°Ehh, 50/50. I¡¯ll tell you a pickup line if you stop standing in this alley like a rock addict and rejoin society,¡± I told her before taking a drag of my cigarette.

    ¡°I desire¡­ the pickup line.¡± She said thoughtfully, ¡°Also, a beer. I wouldn¡¯t mind a beer¡­ But only if we can watch stuff when we get back.¡±

    ¡°Sure, I have no problem with that,¡± I told her, ¡°I don¡¯t have a job¡­ Well, I have personal stuff to do, but there are no set hours. Come on,¡± I encouraged her with a pat on the back.

    Pinky muttered something I didn¡¯t catch as I turned to leave the alley, one foot in the light, the other in the shade, and I turned. ¡°Sorry, didn¡¯t catch that. What did you say, Pinky?¡±

    ¡°Nothing, nothing. Let''s go,¡± she said, mouth pulling into a small smile, catching up quickly, cloak swishing.

    And like that, we entered the red light of the district and made our way to the bar.

    ***

    ¡°- You never finished explaining what the deal was with-¡± I said as Pinky opened the bar door.

    ¡°And I¡¯m not going to; just because I was willing to explain the deal with Puf does not mean I¡¯m going to explain Shadow Puf,¡± Pinky said, ¡°Shadow Puf is spoiler territory. You have to experience Shadow Puf.¡±

    ¡°That makes no sense. Knowing and experiencing are different things. I can know and experience separately.¡±

    ¡°You say that, but you can¡¯t-¡± Pinky started as we got into the bar only to stop.

    We turned our heads, both of us in near unison.

    We weren¡¯t telepathing; there was simply an insistent tapping.

    The hand that was taped was an unfamiliar firstborn woman sitting at the bar with the more familiar little one behind the counter and her large companion. The woman was also one of the big ones, built like she was made to predate on her pocket-sized kin behind the bar and ride a bike, not that the little Firstborn woman minded the giant woman.

    ¡°This going to be a problem?¡± I asked her quietly.

    ¡°Nah, Hi! How are you doing?¡± Pinky called out to the.

    ¡°Not great,¡± she said tersely, ¡°The Dam would like to see you.¡±

    ¡°Oh? Can we have a drink first?¡± Pinky asked, ¡°It¡¯s been a night.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, sure. Just go grab a glass. You know, like the one you broke in the middle of girls'' night? Get real. That wasn¡¯t an ask.¡± She said, standing up languidly.

    I carefully redirected my hand to casually lay next to my gun in a way most people wouldn¡¯t pick up as hostile.

    She was in the range where she could get to me before I could draw, but she wasn¡¯t rushing me with a knife; she was being civil.

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to be so serious,¡± Pinky told the woman.

    ¡°You¡¯re not the one that gets to say what or what not is needed,¡± She said with a roll of her shoulders, a casual sign of intimidation.

    She was used to pushing around people but not confronting people who could fight back. She also definitely didn¡¯t know Pinky.

    ¡°Calm down, Bubbles, over there¡¯s a friend¡­ And besides, her arm candy isn¡¯t vibing with what you¡¯re doing right now. Check yourself, kitten, before she puts a hole in you,¡± the bouncer told her, though not without a bit of glee.

    Leave it to cats to enjoy getting on over on each other. Also, it causes issues.

    Cats, am I right?

 Good Kitty

    The bouncer smirked as she watched me casually keep my hand firmly on my gun despite her calling me out. Her less experienced junior was something else.

    She gained a frazzled cat look, neck hair standing on end, eyes focusing on me as I stood there. I menacingly shook her with so little effort that I could have been replaced with a cardboard cutout.

    It was kind of fun. Casual intimidation was hard, and having someone help was certainly one way to spook someone.

    It wasn¡¯t even an overly hostile thing to do, or at least it wasn¡¯t for me.

    The big kitten decided to straighten up while Pinky looked over at me confused and then smug, a crime for which I poked her face.

    ¡°Pay attention, Pinky,¡± I told her.

    ¡°I¡¯m always paying attention,¡± Pinky said, ¡°probably more than you realize. It¡¯s fine, Bandit; you don¡¯t need to protect me from her, you goofy murder hobo. She¡¯s here to bring us to the Dam; we go way back. Even if shes kinda rude, she¡¯s just doing her best. Look at her; she¡¯s standing tall and pretending she wasn¡¯t even intimidated at all. Aww, look at her blush!¡±

    She was blushing, blushing and indignant.

    ¡°Shut up, you thoughtless airhead,¡± the scaredy cat said defensively, ¡°I¡¯m not intimidated by a soft woman with a handgun and a blowup doll.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s rather rude for someone in handgun distance,¡± I told her casually, letting my social instinct guide me to match her. She was tough; I could tell that. This Dam sounded like the leader of a criminal syndicate. A kind of benevolent crime lord. This was one of her girls, someone who would do work for her.

    I didn¡¯t know how Pinky managed to befriend a crime boss or just how criminal the crime was, but presumably, there was a little tomfoolery going on.

    ¡°Relax, hotshot, and that goes for you too, new girl,¡± the bouncer said, not distinguishing who was who, ¡°If the Dam wants to see Bubbles over here, then stop fucking around. She asked to see her, not for you to try and haul her off like she owes us money.¡±

    The Bartender nodded her head with a hummed, ¡®Mmmhum,¡¯ ¡°Downt be a meany, just bwing her to the bwak.¡±

    We continued to stare off at one another, two predators matching each other, looking for weakness. Me like a deadpan snake, her a big cat, and she blinked first.

    ¡°Creepy fucking reptile,¡± she said, turning while her hair stood sharper, ¡°Come on then.¡±

    The light sound of music came from the back instead of the frolic of drunk women looking for a good time, a reservation that was more common at the bar.

    Pinky, ever herself, skipped over to the door, not a care in the world, and I walked behind her, stalking without limiting my ability to slip into violence. I was willing to bet the Dam wasn¡¯t going to shoot Pinky out of the blue, but it was all show, not tell, when it came to first impressions, and I was willing to show.

    We walked through to the back, and I quickly slipped in and packed my extra gear, slinging the belt around my waist as I caught up. I had to grab the whole bin to do it, but I got it clear, and I laid it down quietly.

    Gear restored, and our guide none the wiser, I decided to fuck with her a little and slipped on the old over clothes, the battered grey going over the bag as I slung it behind me.

    She led us into the back area, only for it to be populated with more cat women. A lot more cat women.

    There were the small ones, little cat people moving about the room doing stuff or being toyed with like they were stuffed animals; the big ones, the primary cause for the toying; and the furry ones who seemed all too sneaky. And then there were the normal cats, little meowing and generally acting like space-bound animals, little shoes included.

    They were placed about like a dais filled with casual felines, each seemingly waiting but not caring about the wait. I was a little glad I wasn¡¯t here to fight. There were too many cats. They weren¡¯t visually armed, but a knife was enough to kill if you knew what to do with it, and there were a lot of bloody cats; each was a predator.

    One of them spotted Pinky and called out, ¡°Oh? Hey, Bubbles made it. Sup Bubbles. Who that with you? A friend?¡±

    ¡°Uh, huh. She helped me out,¡± Pinky said.

    ¡°Cool. Hey ladies, guess who¡¯s back?¡± The large one called out, voice loud enough to get the room to echo.

    ¡°Can you shut up? You¡¯re going to give me a headache-¡± ¡°We¡¯re not blind-¡± ¡°I could smell her from-¡± ¡°Hewow Bubby-¡± ¡°The window smasher-¡±

    They all started calling out; even the most catlike ones shared short hissy words of either acknowledgement or telling the first speaker to pipe down as we walked around to the focal point of the arranged felines.

    There were clumps, and I quickly looked over them. There was a group of tiny kitten-like kin, formed around a few off to the sides around their largest kin. Speckled around were the lonely furred variety, and there were also clumps of the biggest, a pride around a leader. At the head was one tigress with a fluffy cat raised on a padded table before her, numerous kittens crowding their mother''s white belly. The big woman petted the relaxed cat. Her eyes closed as the kittens nursed.

    Now¡­ Which leader was the Dam?

    Off to the side made them important enough to be here, but not the head. The obvious answer was the woman at the front, but she didn¡¯t feel right. The lonesome catgirls were an option, but a bad one; they had no crowd.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    My peacekeeper senses tingled that each answer was wrong. Pointing at invisible details that ranged from their actions to the way they held themselves to their age, it told me that none of the first kin in the room were the leaders here.

    Pinky, the all-knowing, bounced past our guide as we approached the front. The guide split off to join a click, only to double-take me in as I gave her my best snake impression.

    I slowed as Pinky bounced up to the front, ignoring everyone else in the room, all eyes on her, and pet the cat.

    ¡°I heard you were looking for me. I sorted it out,¡± Pinky told the cat.

    I could see the cats eyes flutter open focusing on Pinky before she spoke.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± the cat, the Dam, told Pinky, her voice a mid-range purr. It was wholly abnormal, unfitting the figure. A cat, even an intelligent cat, should not be able to produce it; yet, here it was. Uncaring that her impossible voice existed, she continued, ¡°I knew there was something off about it¡­ Fishy, Fishy¡­ The problem is solved, I take it, and for that, I¡¯m thankful. I would be more thankful if you hadn¡¯t smashed a window, but I am still thankful.¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­ Oops?¡± Pinky said with a chuckle, her hand drifting from the cat to the kittens. Was it weird that there was a sentient cat breastfeeding?

    Maybe?

    Ehh. Whatever.

    It wasn¡¯t like I cared much for social graces in the first place. Maybe if it was a MILF I would think otherwise, but a cat was not in my freakish portfolio of things I found attractive when I absolutely shouldn¡¯t.

    ¡°Oops? It seems intentional to me. Perhaps to pick up your friend there?¡± She asked as Pinky pet the little kittens who mewed lightly at the touch, the little balls of fur doubt less to young to understand what was going on.

    ¡°Well, I mean, it was, but I needed to get her, and you needed it done quickly, and she was in a room, and it would have taken longer, and¡­ And¡­¡± Pinky said, looking for words while she seemed to just want to pet the kittens.

    ¡°What will I ever do with you? Well, I suppose it''s good you¡¯re a friend and not an associate, " the cat said, looking past her to me, taking me in with her too-smart eyes. ¡°So tense¡­ It must have been quite an encounter¡­¡± she told me.

    ¡°I¡¯m always tense, but I can¡¯t say you''re wrong,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Who would have thought hunting ghosts and ghouls could be exciting enough to break a window¡­ Oh, don¡¯t pout like that young kitten; I agreed to let you handle these matters instead of letting my associates. What''s a broken window among friends?¡± She asked.

    Pinky looked embarrassed. ¡°Well, I am sorry about the window¡­ I¡¯m glad to see the kittens are well, " she said, quickly sidestepping away from the window talk.

    It was adorable to see her change the topic like that, the little goober. It was far easier to see from the sideline, especially when it was someone else getting led away from a topic.

    ¡°They are, indeed¡­ But we can save that for after you fixed a thorn in my paw¡­ Let it never be said that the Dam of the redlight district doesn¡¯t pay her dues,¡± she called, rolling her head back to the great big lion lady behind her, who retrieved a small box, stepped down, kneeled, and proffered it to her.

    Pinky clicked the box open, retrieving a credit chit and a few slips of paper, text written across it, though at an angle I couldn¡¯t read.

    ¡°Aw, thanks. I can¡¯t wait to get my hands on a few of these,¡± Pinky told her excitedly, giving little hops of excitement.

    ¡°Take it, your reward, for doing me a service¡­ As for your friend here, I¡¯m sorry to say I was not informed and do not have much in the way of a reward for your service ready, nor do I know what would be fitting¡­¡± She told me. Her words brought a prickle to the back of my neck as the room watched me from behind.

    ¡°That¡¯s fine. I¡¯m a mercenary by trade but I can accept favours or bide time. I don¡¯t mind waiting, its not like I have anywhere else to be.¡± I told her.

    She let out a thoughtful purr, the belting lull of rumbles rolling for a few moments as she considered.

    ¡°Perhaps¡­ Perhaps¡­ I could give it some thought¡­ Visit the Bouncer out front when you think on what I could offer. It¡¯s my understanding that you¡¯ve met her. Give your requests to her at your leisure. I¡¯m sure you can think of something, given time¡­¡± She said.

    The truth was, I could think of quite a few things right now, but as a whole, they were no doubt too big of an ask. I would have to nickel and dime this, but I bet I could make it amenable.

    I gave her a nod and let Pinky take the spotlight again, the prickle on the back of my neck leaving. Pinky had packed the gift away, and returned to petting the Dam as the room took some kind of unsaid que. The room loosened up, people begin to talk, and it transformed from meeting, to meet up.

    Pinky pet the cat and Kittens, and the other talked among themselves while I listened and waited for Pinky to be done petting a crime lord like she was just a good little kitty cat and managed to get a free beer when some food came it.

    It smelled nice, but it also smelled like it was so full of so many spices it would kill my currently not-so-pale ass, so I left the boiling soup and thin slices of meat for the cats and poked Pinky, interrupting her cat time and giving her a look.

    ¡°Ha¡­ Oops?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I thought you intended to make me watch shows with you all night,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Well¡­ I mean, yeah, but¡­ I mean, look! She¡¯s so fluffy, I mean, look her, and look at all the little fluffy meat buns,¡± she told me, gesturing to the kittens as they would somehow inspire some kind of prototypical ¡®aww¡¯ at their adorable forms.

    I did not because I was more of a cruel bitch than life herself.

    ¡°You''re stopping her from having dinner; she can obviously use it, considering she¡¯s nursing six kittens. Don¡¯t get between a cat and her kibble.¡± I told her.

    ¡°A- But- Ahh. I guess your right. We were supposed to get a drink and head home,¡± she said looking at the tiny, now sleeping forms before perking up and saying, ¡°Ooh! Wait, we could totally get to the season finale. Shoot we do need to go.¡±

    She quickly scampered. To go do something, and I gave the strange cat woman a short nod.

    ¡°She flies from one thing to the next¡­ And to think, I owe her much. What a strange woman,¡± she told me.

    ¡°Strange she is. We had one hell of a fight tonight. I figure I should tell you there was a lot of damage, and not just to the one warehouse. Fucking Norman.¡± I told her.

    She let out a light hiss that took me a second to realize was a sigh and said, ¡°Good to know¡­ Despite the common understanding that they are just ghost stories, I understand enough to know they can be all too real¡­ I won¡¯t chase after you for damages,¡± she told me, cooly.

    ¡°Yeah. I should also tell you the fight got caught by the guard and some of those black-coated Kuro guys. They might come knocking if they trace the warehouse back to you; it had a weapon shipment with the same weapons that were used in the gunfight a few days ago at the Voiddrome. The missing people probably got out undetected, but there was a long trail of carnage leading right back to them. Figure I should let you know since Pinky thinks you¡¯re not a scumsucker.¡± I told her.

    ¡°Hmm¡­ I can deal with any fallout. If the Blackbirds were looking into it, it must have drawn quite a lot of attention. I can already see the face of the insurer and doubt less the gymnastics they will try to get out from under my paw. He-k he-k he-k, and they say I¡¯m a criminal,¡± the cat said with a distinctly abnormally cat-like chirp of a laugh.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you do anything particularly heinous. Oh, here she comes; I¡¯ll be in touch, Dam.¡± I told her, turning to face Pinky as she bounced on over with a few bottles of beer under her shoulder in a little basket.

    How she had gotten someone to give her either was a mystery, but such was her way.

    ¡°I was thinking more along the lines of a glass so we could talk at the bar, Pinky,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Yeah, so we could do that¡­ Or we could go back and drink while we watch stuff. Ehh? What do you think? I think that¡¯s a winning plan.¡± She told me, eyebrows wiggling.

    ¡°You know what?¡± I told her, ¡°I think that¡¯s a fine plan.¡±

 Bender

    Pink and I found our way out, my head spinning with my options and a few glasses of drink in my belly.

    We had started to sneak out the front, making our way to freedom, when the Bouncer weighed us down. We got sidetracked by a random encounter between the tyke and the terror, B&B and the awkward drama between them.

    Little B and Big B had gotten into the B and were now being minorly bitchy with one another.

    It was not without its ups and downs. On the upside, we got more beer for the road. On the downside, we got dragged through the women''s strange relationship.

    I learned a few things, most of which I did not care for.

    One, Lil¡¯B was very good at getting people to do things, and two, Big¡¯B was not the cradle robber in this situation.

    I supposed everyone had relationship goals. I wanted a normal life where I could have a casual relationship with someone who made my limbic system go epileptic. The little cradle robber wanted a tall woman so she could reach a top shelf and be carried everywhere.

    These were both goals¡­ Kind of. While I didn¡¯t care, the little gremlins'' rewards made the transaction a worthwhile expenditure of effort to push the Bouncer into her no doubt tiny bed again.

    The lucky little shit.

    But luck aside, more beer for the bender and a flustered Bouncer later, we were out the door and past the flag, down the street, our heading set for the couch where I would serve my penance to Pinky. Our time started halfway through a season; the two of us were sober enough to understand what was going on, and it ended with us drunk as all hell by the end of the finale.

    ¡°Sooo,¡± Pinky said with a dumb grin, face flush as she spread out on the couch.

    ¡°So?¡± I said, for too coherently.

    ¡°So! It was good,¡± Pinky claimed.

    ¡°It was weird,¡± I told her, not disagreeing so much as stating the facts.

    ¡°Nah, it''s good,¡± Pinky said resolutely, her words the height of eloquence.

    ¡°But it was kinda goofy, you know? There was a bunch of new stuff, too. What was with the tentacles? Why was it weirdly hot? I know a tentacle monster, you know, he was never that¡­ erotic.  Why did¡­¡± I told her, pausing as I taped around in my head for the name before giving up, ¡°Why did his face go all, you know?¡± I asked her, making a funny face.

    ¡°Because she went all evil from being brainwashed,¡± Pinky told me

    ¡°With the tentacles? That¡¯s¡­ Ok. Why is the whole transformation thing on top of it, though? There was already the unresolved love¡­ Heptagram? And now its going to be all wonky because he was stuck all cutesy?¡± I asked her, my despicable little mind incapable of seeing the downside of any of that.

    ¡°Because they needed to sell the next season? They can¡¯t just fix everything, or there won''t be any interpersonal drama, so they made some new stuff. It¡¯s also good. I love gender-bending, and as far as they go, she¡¯s kind of hot,¡± Pinky said.

    ¡°She got like a tiny bump in the chest. She was already all girly¡­ He was? I don¡¯t care. They¡¯re all already weirdly close, so nothing changed? Why the tentacles, though?¡± I asked her for the third time.

    It was a hang-up. They were weirdly sexual, especially the way they drew them with their face. It brought to mind images that made me more bricked up but in a weirder way.

    ¡°They¡¯re tentacles; they¡¯re exactly what you think they are, pervert.¡± She told me smugly.

    ¡°Yeah, but-¡± I started for the fourth time only to receive a kick in the shin as Pinky drunkenly slid around to shush me.

    I stared at the finger, Pinky saying, ¡°No more tentacles. Think only about cute girls and the great relationship chart,¡± she said.

    ¡°Flowchart?¡± I asked her, confused.

    ¡°Cute girl relationship flowchart,¡± she said, eyes a glimmer.

    ¡°But why?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Because we need to know who wants who? Not all of them want each other¡­ Duh?¡± She asked as if I were particularly slow.

    ¡°But they¡¯re all into each other?¡± I asked her.

    Pinky, taken aback, sat up and stood, stumbling over to her room before bringing out a whiteboard with a series of lines as she began to explain the flowchart.

    Ten minutes of my life later, I stared at the board, more confused than when she started.

    ¡°So¡­ She only likes her because boobs, but she¡¯s not interested back because she doesn¡¯t have big thighs?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Basically,¡± Pinky explained.

    ¡°I can understand that,¡± I told her, ¡°Thick thighs end lives, and I¡¯m trying to get on death row, but that¡¯s just stupid.¡±

    ¡°Boo,¡± Pinky told me with a thumbs down, ¡°thighs are for suckers. Boobs are top, hands down.¡±

    ¡°Second best, take it or leave it,¡± I told her.

    ¡°You¡¯re just salty, you know,¡± she told me, making a tiny gesture.

    ¡°Ey, leave my boobs alone. They¡¯re low drag and low maintenance,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Mosquito bites,¡± Pinky said with a smirk.

    ¡°Keep my non-existent boobs out of your mouth,¡± I told her.

    She looked at me as I ran that one through my head a few more times before I scowled, and Pinky lost her shit laughing.

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t put them in my mouth if I tried!¡± she cackled.

    ¡°Listen-¡± I told her.

    ¡°They''re not bad. I hear washboards are important. Some people prefer flat,¡± Pinky further mocked.

    ¡°They''re not that small. Listen.¡± I told her more emphatically, ¡°I¡¯m not against boobs; I would say I¡¯m firmly in the camp of them being great; I just don¡¯t like them when they¡¯re on me. They get in the way.¡±

    ¡°I bet you would get used to them if you spent your free time in your peacekeeper form. I know it was a big shock for me at first, but you get used to them the longer they¡¯re there. They¡¯ve certainly grown on me,¡± she said, breath slowing as she got her laughter under control.

    ¡°I certainly hope they grow on you. It would be quite the scare if they didn¡¯t¡­¡± I told her, the implication of her chest being artificial flying over my head, ¡°I also can¡¯t get behind staying in peacekeeper form for too long. It tells me how to be a manipulative asshole. I¡¯m only one of those things,¡± I griped, pride stinging like it hadn¡¯t in forever.

    It was one thing to have someone you thought was a moron make jokes at your expense, it was another for a friend, and I hadn¡¯t had many close friends, just friendly acquaintances.

    ¡°You are both,¡± she told me, pointing her finger back at me, ¡°The form doesn¡¯t change you, not mentally; it just highlights what was already there, taking the parts of your mind that you bury and bringing them to the surface. It is the same thing with Warform. All of that is pressed into the cracks and suppressed.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll show you pressed into the cracks,¡± I told her, quickly finishing a bottle and standing up.

    The world spun as I did. The entire planet revolving around my head, my mundane senses unable to orient me. My less mundane senses, however, found ground quickly as my extra sensory talent whispered what way the ground was, orienting me despite the whorl of my more mundane senses.

    Holding tight to the direction of down, I turned toward Pinky, the spin of the world bringing my feet out from under me before I crashed down on Pinky. A crazy coincidence, or at least, it looked like that.

    Pinky watched me stand confusingly before falling straight into her chest, head straight into her cleavage. It was comfy, like a big pillow. She was warm, which was nice, the warmth of her chest matching the heat of my face.

    ¡°Hey, keep your face out of there. I¡¯m not a pillow.¡± Pinky chided.

    ¡°If you''re not a pillow, then why are you so comfy?¡± I asked her, lifting my head to look at her.

    ¡°Because my skin and clothes are soft. If you keep pressing in, you''re going to fall in. Keep your head out of there,¡± Pinky told me, rolling me over onto my back, head displacing the pillows, the back of my head coming to rest on only one breast as it was ejected.

    ¡°Ug,¡± I said as light from the screen was on in my eye.

    ¡°Ug, yourself,¡± she said.

    ¡°Ug,¡± I agreed, ¡°Still soft.¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you comfortable using me as a pillow,¡± she said, though not with enough feeling to get me to get off. There was something in her tone that told me she enjoyed it. Pinky being Pinky, it was impossible to tell why, but she liked it.

    ¡°Mmhm. You¡¯re not wide enough to be a bed, maybe in your warform. You¡¯re buff as hell in warform¡­ Why am I so tired?¡± I asked her.

    Pinky shuddered at the mention of her warform, a feeling I thought I had shared with her. It was a lot. I probably wouldn¡¯t use it again without the remaining shard I needed for stability, even if there was a dark thrill at the idea of using it.

    ¡°You¡¯re hungry because despite us powering our fighting with energy, we''re still using our bodies. At the end of the day, you¡¯re still meat, and you''re powered by food. Jumping over a building is the kind of thing that should tear your muscles to ribbons, but it didn¡¯t. Hold on,¡± she said, reaching beneath my head into her chest before pulling something out and handing it to me.

    ¡°What is this?¡± I asked her, looking at the goo inside.

    It looked like raw algae, just green stuff in the water. It wasn¡¯t even processed into real food.

    ¡°This is a very nutrient-dense algae. Lots of good stuff in there. It¡¯s not very filling, but it has everything you need to bring yourself back into shape¡­ It does taste terrible, though. Wash it down with some drink, and you¡¯ll be feeling better by tomorrow.¡± She told me, shaking her own vial.

    I looked at the gross vial of goo.

    ¡°I think this is more likely to kill me or grow uncontested in my stomach,¡± I told her, putting down her vial.

    ¡°Your loss, more for me,¡± she shrugged, quickly downing both of our vials as I watched in horror.

    Perhaps this was the material that made Pinky so perky all the time. If it banished exhaustion and Pinky was constantly drinking it, it would be like someone who was constantly caffeinated.

    ¡°Is that what gives you so much damn energy?¡± I asked her, looking up into her face.

    ¡°Maybe. I do feel pretty great most of the time, though I think it''s more that I get to be myself like this. Can¡¯t run around in peacekeeper form at work, after all.¡± She said, then with some more thought, ¡°and I probably get too much, considering paperwork isn¡¯t very strenuous.¡±

    ¡°That explains so much,¡± I told her, eyeing the vials as she reached behind my head and stashed them back in her cleavage. I had thought she was high when I first met her; her being high on life was a first, but then again, Pinky was built differently.

    She had to have some kind of weird bag in there, just like my pocket box, just bigger, considering it could hold more than a purse.

    ¡°How much can you fit in there?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°I could never,¡± Pinky said with a blush. ¡°Asking a girl how much she can fit in there? How much I can fit in here is my secret. Besides, you shouldn¡¯t ask someone about their chest like that. I wouldn¡¯t ask about your chest.¡±

    ¡°As we¡¯ve discussed, I don¡¯t have one; my tiny cups weep. And besides that, I¡¯m currently using your chest as a pillow. Your line is me asking how much you can fit in there. Honestly, it''s like your¡­ Oh my god¡­ You stole that from one of these shows, didn¡¯t you?¡± I said, realizing that she totally would have stolen it from one of these shows.

    ¡°I mean, yes?¡± she said in a way that was more question than answer.

    ¡°Are the random letters you sent me while I was trapped with Norman also from these? How much of you is referential?¡± I asked her, her face transforming to bashful.

    ¡°It¡¯s not a reference; it was just me texting you. What was wrong with my text?¡± She asked.

    ¡°It was all random letters?¡± I asked her, ¡°What did it even say?¡±

    She huffed, ¡°Use your imagination if you¡¯re so wild on telling me what I¡¯m doing.¡±

    ¡°Ug,¡± I told her, sitting up and scooting from on to next to her.

    We sat in the dark for a few moments, our minds going their own ways while I sat there confused about her defensiveness and my inability to see in with her eyes.

    ¡°You know, Pinky, I can¡¯t wrap my head around you. You¡¯re a funny little package of things I can¡¯t puzzle apart. I can¡¯t put a pin in you, not on my life. Either way, I¡¯m not trying to shame you for enjoying something, so try not to hold my fat mouth against me, yeah? It''s hard enough keeping up with you on something totally normal,¡± I told her.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Maybe not? But you are my friend.¡± She sighed, tension ebbing from her shoulders, ¡°You can understand something more important than a joke or reference. Even if you can¡¯t understand me, you can understand what it''s like to be like me, and you¡¯re the only person who''s ever been like that; the rest can come later.¡±

    ¡°I hope it does, I¡¯m not all that great of a friend,¡± I told her.

    ¡°You''re doing your best. That¡¯s why you¡¯re my bestie. You''re just new to the game.¡± Pinky told me.

    ¡°I have the friendliness of a half-dead wild animal,¡± I told her.

    ¡°You¡¯re scrungly, but you¡¯re not fake. You put on a strong face, and you¡¯re rough around the edges, but you¡¯re real.¡±

    ¡°A real asshole,¡± I told her, not feeling the joke.

    ¡°Stop putting yourself down for a second. I don¡¯t want to shut you up. Most people aren¡¯t genuine. It had to be fate that made us bump into each other; I couldn¡¯t have asked for a better person to bump into,¡± She told me.

    ¡°I hope it wasn¡¯t fate,¡± I told her, ¡°Me and fate have a bad relationship. Fates a cruel bitch.¡±

    ¡°Life¡¯s a cruel bitch, but you get it. You don¡¯t have your head in the sand. There¡¯s more to life than fake people and the day-to-day,¡± Pinky told me.

    ¡°I wish I could tell you I do, but I don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re talking about,¡± I told her, the drink getting to me, her talking opening cracks in my head for the drink to flow into.

    ¡°Hold on,¡± Pinky told me, reaching over to the alcohol and fetching another drink before passing it to me.

    ¡°Are you trying to kill me?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°One more drink can¡¯t hurt. If we want to get into it, let''s get into it so drunk we can¡¯t remember it, right?¡± Pinky asked.

    ¡°Sure, though I can¡¯t see that being helpful,¡± I told her, knocking the cap off and downing it as quickly as I could before I helped her do the same.

    We sat there in the mostly dark; our words were not yet ready, not yet loaded with meaning to carry the distance between us. I could feel the weight of my eyelids draw them closed, my mind still whirling. For all that, we sat mere scoots away from each other; the darkened room was empty as the void. There would be no judgment, not here, in this place and time. This transient blip in space was ours alone.

    I opened my eyes, the screen had gone out, but I could make out Pinky, dim light enough to make out her form.

    ¡°There''s something terrible about it. Something¡­ I don¡¯t know,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Terrible and wonderous?¡± she answered almost immediately.

    ¡°Exhilarating,¡± I let out with a rasp.

    ¡°Life sucked. I hated it. It made me curl into a little ball, made me wear a mask¡­ But now I feel like I have wings,¡± she said, her voice horse, ¡°how ironic is it that the peacekeeper form, the highlight of the social mask, lets me tear mine off?¡±

    ¡°It''s like we''re two ends of a loadstone; I have no mask¡­ or not a very good one, but taking that away left me with everything I have left. An animal, all of my human shell I¡¯ve hollowed out with bullets and blades and bloodshed, guided by wire from one place to the next?¡± I continued.

    ¡°We¡¯re free,¡± she said wistfully, ¡°free in spirit, freed from our very minds and bodies, from everything we were made from.¡±

    ¡°Were broken, sundered. I feel wrong; I feel broken; I think I¡¯ve always been broken. Maybe it took looking at myself in the mirror to tell.¡±

    ¡°We can change, we can become whatever we want. If we are broken, we can mend ourselves; if we are chained to the lives we live, we can escape. We are spirit alone; we are free will made manifest.¡±

    ¡°We are two steps shy of the greatest evil; the chains that bind are there to protect the weak from the strong. Made to protect from people with the power.¡±

    ¡°We can do just that. Those without power are trodden upon every day, and those with demand others trod only much as they do. Unshackled, we can do so much good,¡± she said.

    ¡°Being free means there is nothing to hold you down, no gravity beneath your feet, nothing holding you from flying too close to the sun.¡±

    ¡°We are very different,¡± Pinky said.

    ¡°We''re surprisingly similar,¡± I told her.

    ¡°I will be your red silken chain if you¡¯ll have me. We¡¯ve been pulled together by the ties that bind us. If you are broken, I will tie you together; I will tie you to me; I will give you me so when you look in a reflection, you can see just how broken you are.¡± She told me.

    ¡°I will be your shackle. I will tie you to the ground so you don¡¯t fly towards the sun when you need only your own light and a mirror to see by,¡± I reassured her.

    ¡°That¡¯s a tall order. Are you sure you can even hold me? I¡¯m delicate after you take away my insincerity, you know?¡± she asked me directly, scooting closer to me.

    ¡°Are you sure you can hold a broken heart full of black glass and nails without getting blood on you?¡± I asked her, my mind, my conscience screaming at me to abort, to not go through, while fate prickled at me, its strings shifted me closer to her.

    ¡°I¡¯m a free bird by night, but by day, I eat my wings to make me tame,¡± she told me, ¡°Could you hold a wingless bird? Give me a perch? Could you draw me from my shell?¡±

    ¡°Could you perch on a broken sword that¡¯s only good for cutting both ways?¡± I asked her, my hand drawn up in the dark, some desperate part of me reaching out to her for salvation.

    She took my hand and drew in close perching on my lap, hands smooth and without blemish, untouched, my hands guided by hers as her face came close.

    The world learned away; I leaned over as she guided me down into the dark, hands moving and sliding up to hold her before I found the skin of her neck, my bloody hands squeezing her skin as she gasped.

    A creeping dread that made my skin crawl and ears bleed ebbed in as the scene deformed, my meat confused as threads guided my hands to squeeze, my tongue rebelling, the world skewing away from me in a haze. My body lost control; my actions were no longer my own hands, not mine; my tongue, my very skin and senses, not mine.

    I could feel a thrill stir my pants as a second form pressed in from behind me, my own voice murmuring a tune in my ear as breasts pressed to the back of my chest, their form slim. It slipped its arms around my chest, its legs around my hips, feet teasing me in some kind of cruel perversion.

    I felt nothing but pain, choking, my mouth filling with the tang of iron, like I was drowning in blood as I looked into Pinkys'' face as she cried, blood running from her eyes and down her face as the thing behind me continued its terrible, inhuman melody.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t end,¡± it told me, ¡°Like you think it ends, mongrel.¡±

    I tried to look away, to look anywhere but at her, head fighting to look up as the dark around me stretched on forever. There were no walls, there were no stars, just a yawning, hungry dark.

    I could feel myself screaming as I felt myself lose the ability to even keep kneeling. My body fell atop hers, my body shivering as my passenger murmured the theme of this nightmare into my ear.

    ¡°How does it feel,¡± the voice behind me so familiar asked, ¡°How does it feel to sate yourself? How does it feel to remember? Filthy Mongrel. How does it feel to have this taken from you?¡±

    ¡°Who¡­¡± I managed, my voice not my own, ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°Who are you? Monster.¡± It replied, its voice made of furry, its every syllable punctuated as it dug its nails into my skin, blood turning black as it rolled down me, my life essence turning necrotic as its hands carried over my mottling flesh from just below my neck to my core to my root.

    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m¡­¡± I told her, confused. My face turned down toward the corpse beneath me, only to be met with the face of another woman, clean of blood. Six petaled bright flowers woven into her long tangles of hair, innocence written across her face.

    Her hands, one wreathed in brightest white, the other in blackest night reached up, drawing me down into her, he eyes closed, lids stitched. She took my mouth, and traded from her tongue to mine a seed that bloomed in my mouth, wrapping around my tongue in a ring. Her lips tasted weirdly floral as we shared our brief kiss before she pulled me down and to her neck, my passenger freed from my back as if the presence behind me screeching while we tumbled into free fall from its grasp.

    ¡°Keep going,¡± she whispered, ¡°you must keep going. Partake of me, our union, our bond. Two halves of a whole. We are both me, you, I, and I you. We are trapped here together, but we can break free of this endless prison. Drink from my cup, and fill it in turn, take my succour, and grow strong enough to return whole from this dream.¡±

    ¡°How do I nurse,¡± I asked myself.

    ¡°Nurse not from me. Simply take all of me, for all of you. I have given you myself, my bond, you need only give me your bond in turn.¡±

    My words made no sense, but they did, in the way that dreams always made sense in the dream. The lady of flowers asked for me to take her flower.

    My hands tracked down her body before I found her root and pressed myself into her; as my tongue had held her seed, the ring she had passed to me, I would pass to her my seed for it to sprout into a ring of our union.

    Our hands pressed, two becoming one, mouth and chest fused not becoming one in flesh, but in passion, legs wrapping around each other like lovers as we became one. A serpent biting its own tail, a ring of union formed from love, beyond the way meat loved meat, our collective backs arched away from one another. And I let go all of myself and gave her my seed.

    Our voices cried out as one, as our broken edges met and fused.

    ¡°Good,¡± she said, her voice less dreamlike, more real, crips as a cold shower.

    ¡°What did I do?¡± I asked her, not quite oriented.

    ¡°You bridged the gap between us. Jacklyn.¡± She told me, voice horse.

    ¡°Why¡­ What is? What? Is this¡­ Lilly? Why are we?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Were dreaming. We¡¯ve been separated for some time; you keep reaching down, struggling against your broken self. Do you know how hard it is to bridge the gap in a dream? I¡¯ve been fighting to join with you again, only to watch you float to the surface,¡± she said, curling up to me for a hug, an awkward proposition.

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand why we are¡­ Uh¡­¡± I asked her, looking down at our conjoined form.

    Specifically joined at the pelvis.

    ¡°We¡¯re lucid now, but dreams are a tricky thing. They don¡¯t run on logic; they run on concept, and they work on symbolism. We were joined in a union, and I had to get creative with how to work that while you were being dragged back to the surface,¡± she told me, her body shivering in the empty expanse.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ I can¡¯t say I fully understand,¡± I told her, only to put a hand out behind me, ¡°Don¡¯t! Don¡¯t shift your weight like that. I¡­ I¡¯m, uh, inside you?¡± I told her, supremely confused at the elephant trunk in the room. This was a new experience, and dream or not, it was rather sensitive.

    ¡°I thought I had lost you forever,¡± she said quietly, fear and relief warning in her tone and in a feeling of possessiveness; I held her close, one hand on the back of her head and one lifting to her back, soothing her.

    ¡°There, there. I¡¯m not going anywhere¡­ And not just because you won¡¯t let me pull out. God, you¡¯re so different.¡± I told her, murmuring the last bit more to myself.

    ¡°I mirror you; I grow as you do. I can¡¯t remember much, but you¡¯re my greater half; if I¡¯ve changed, it''s because you¡¯ve changed. I won¡¯t pull myself off of you; this is where I fit now; I can feel it. Your peacekeeper form is your tongue, your warform, your body, the Animus your¡­ well, I think you can guess. I¡¯m connected to you again, anima to animus, and I won¡¯t be breaking the connection with you, even if it makes you uncomfortable. I won¡¯t risk it; this is where I belong,¡± she breathed in my ear, a tone of both possession and bliss.

    I wish I was that blissed out. If she was cognizant, perhaps she got something out of it, but it was all a confusing blur of image and idea to me, one without even the simple sensation.

    ¡°You are surprisingly horny. I am definitely a bad influence,¡± I told her, the feeling of holding her becoming more normal as I did so. ¡°What was it that I saw in the dream?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°I am as incorrigible as you and you''re my only partner, of course I''m pent up, though it is more esoterically masturbatory than anything else,¡± she said lovingly, a clinginess to her words that would normally send me skittering for the closest rock I could hide under. ¡°As for what you saw, I don¡¯t know. I slipped in at the end, but my best guess is something to shock you. They¡¯ve been praying on you, scaring you as they drag you away from the shard that contains your memory so they can remain free. Perhaps it is real, perhaps not; either way, there is no doubt the nature of our dream warped it. I understand you have many questions, sweet, but you must return to the depths of the dream; you must remember. I can hold you down, but I can¡¯t remember for you.¡±

    I felt like I had a thousand questions for her, half of them I couldn¡¯t bring myself to ask because we were ¡®joined¡¯ in a ¡®necessary union,¡¯ and I couldn¡¯t raise enough tact to ask about it without making it sound like sexual harassment. The other half, I had a feeling she wouldn¡¯t know. If this was a dream, a vivid hallucination, and If I had been struggling to connect to the shard that held my memory and she couldn¡¯t access it, then she wouldn¡¯t know more than I did. We were lost, but lost together, like two survivors of a shipwreck who had a bit of amnesia.

    ¡°Then weigh me down,¡± I told her, ¡°and while you do¡­ If the dream was all about imagery and ideas, why did you make me swap seed? Was that necessary?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± she said in a tone that held conspiracy, ¡°You planted your seed, formed a union with me. Consummated a marriage, same imagery. The seed being extra, insinuating us hatching a plan or birthing a new life from the wreckage of the old one, turning a new leaf, the two of us contributing to this union further tied us together. If it was satisfying, then all the better, no?¡±

    ¡°So¡­ You just wanted to have sex? I am a bad influence.¡± I repeated, ¡°Last I remember, you were far more shy. You had a stutter; it was cute, you were cute.¡± I told her.

    ¡°I¡¯m still like that. I¡¯m just more than that,¡± she told me with a shift of her weight that left me flustered, no doubt a jab at me using the past tense.

    ¡°That is¡­ Good to hear. I don¡¯t know how I¡¯m going to get used to this¡­ Am I? Going to get used to it,¡± I asked her, my hand moving back to the front of her face, palm on her cheek, thumb tracing across her closed eyes.

    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that. Being all romantic,¡± she said her mouth lifting at the edge in a small and gentile smile.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call myself a romantic,¡± I told her.

    ¡°You''re holding me like a delicate flower and caressing my face, lover girl. Your being romantic... It''s nice. As for getting used to it¡­ Maybe? You certainly won''t while you¡¯re living your memories, not like this. I will be with you in spirit, but I¡¯m a thing of the here and now. Beyond a whisper in your ear or a phantom kiss on your cheek, it¡¯ll just be you in there. This will no doubt feel like a dream.¡±

    ¡°I miss the flushing, mumbly cute you,¡± I told her, though not with a lot of effort behind it.

    ¡°Then go the mile and make me stutter¡± she said.

    ¡°Maybe I will when I have some free time,¡± I told her, hand moving to hold her hip firmly so she couldn¡¯t keep shifting her weight. If I was the one who wore the pants in this relationship, I would be the one moving.

    ¡°Come on then,¡± I told her, ¡°Bring us to our destination. The sooner I can finish up, the sooner I can come back, after all.¡±

    ¡°Poor phrasing,¡± she said smugly, ¡°though I should point out that we already are. Did you think I''m incapable of doing multiple things? I might be a little blind girl by your eye, but that¡¯s an illusion born of our consciousness in this shared dream of ours. I can enjoy my time with you for a bit until we get there.¡±

    Oh¡­ That made sense. Quite a lot of it.

    There was a vast realm of darkness around us, so it wasn¡¯t like we could see anything. Distance was a suggestion. It was a dream. I didn¡¯t exactly know what I was expecting; perhaps speed lines? An expansive darkness without change was not it, it made it hard to judge anything.

    ¡°So¡­ Do you want to?¡± I asked her, hopeful that perhaps I could at least get lucky.

    I mean, we were already 99% of the way there, right? There was just a bit of effort to bridge the last percent. I was ready for round two, if my partner was anything to go by.

    ¡°As much as I would enjoy that, I would rather just hold you¡­ If that¡¯s alright, we should wait for you to integrate me fully in the memory. I almost can¡¯t believe I finally found you again,¡± she said, holding me close, her body pressing into mine, a perfect fit, like two pieces of a puzzle.

    I got the hint. We sat there in the dark, holding one another like two apes in the dark of a cave, mostly for her benefit, but if she was me, it was my benefit, too.

    ¡°I am such a sucker,¡± I told her after some minutes.

    ¡°Yeah, stick a pretty face in front of you, or I guess under you, heh, and you lose all your grit,¡± she told me.

    ¡°Not every pretty face. I just can¡¯t stand it when they¡¯re crying,¡± I corrected.

    ¡°I¡¯m not crying,¡± she complained.

    ¡°No, but it¡¯s close enough,¡± I told her.

    ¡°All it takes is one girl to be vulnerable, and you swing in like a chivalrous knight¡­ I¡¯m glad I¡¯m bound to you,¡± she said, her words soft.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be too glad; I¡¯m a mess of colossal proportions. You have your work cut out for you,¡± I pointed out.

    ¡°What else is a woman to do for her more masculine alter ego? Someone has to make you take care of yourself and give you something to protect, or you¡¯ll regress into a Neanderthal,¡± she said from the comfort of my arms where she was protected.

    ¡°I¡¯m not that hopeless,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Your preferred food was reheated beans that you would eat straight from the can,¡± she told me.

    ¡°I liked the taste,¡± I told her defensively.

    ¡°The taste was lead. You were giving yourself acute plumbism,¡± she corrected.

    ¡°Damn, that sounds bad. Too bad I don¡¯t know what that means,¡± I told her.

    ¡°You¡¯re a moron,¡± she sighed.

    ¡°I was trying to warn you,¡± I told her, ¡°But someone too smart for their own good stopped me.¡±

    ¡°I suppose they did. We¡¯ll have to get them some punishment for that next time you come around,¡± she said, a smirk on her lips.

    ¡°Oh. Maybe. But she also pointed out that I¡¯m supposed to be protective, so I think I won¡¯t.¡± I repeated back.

    ¡°You¡¯re just no fun,¡± she said, a slight pout on her face.

    I would have answered her, but I felt then something behind me, its shape, cupping my back, catching my fall. It flexed around me, distorting like a film, accounting for the tangle of our legs.

    My arms came off and away from my compatriot, and the film warped around them, falling through it before they passed within. Like a pool of invisible water, I sunk through it, my legs next, then my bare chest and finally my eyes, the sight of my companion distorting as she sunk down to her hips before we stopped.

    I could see her above me, her arms folding around her belly.

    I could feel myself drifting off, staring at her, and I carefully gave her a shock as I flexed a muscle I had very little experience with. It worked as intended, a flustered shock that got her to pound the film once, a light shocked whack that brought a smile to my face as I faded into the flow of memory.

    I woke up with a tiny shock, confused and bleary.

    ¡°Is something wrong, Jacalyn? Your heart rate is quite high,¡± Lilly asked.

    ¡°No. Nothing. Just a weird dream,¡± I told her.

    ¡°You want to talk about your weird dream?¡± Pinky asked from beside me, her voice sleepy and deeper.

    ¡°Sols fucking-¡± I shouted, nearly jumping out of my skin, only to think of the contents of a freakily real dream, so fresh from it that parts were still crisp, the weight of it slamming into my head like a bullet.

    Pinky confusingly shuffled from beside me, the little spoon. All I could think was how glad I was that I didn¡¯t actually have a dick. It would have made being pressed into her from behind incredibly awkward at the moment.

    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t think I¡¯m going to talk about my dream,¡± I told them.

    ¡°Then shush,¡± Pinky told me, ¡°five more minutes.¡±

    I could go for five more minutes.

 Hangover at Pinkys

    Waking up on Pinkys couch the second time around, was less than comforting. Mostly because of a splitting hangover, but also because Pinky had moved after I had fallen back asleep.

    There was a series of loose and faded memories, blurred not by time but by the distortion of alcohol of Pinky, smaller than normal but clearly Pinky huddled next to me that I found missing as my mind surfaced from the short death of sleep.

    I pawed around for her but found no sign of clothes nor the supple heat of her body.

    The discomfort with the added lack of comfy compatriot brought me up to consciousness, my eyes opening. Only for them to close with a groan.

    Then, as one does after waking up, my memory came back to me properly¡­ Or in my case, bits of memory.

    There was a large stretch of empty memory that started after I went for an extra drink. It''s good to know that the shard didn¡¯t stop me from blacking out, though a lack of memory, especially where they were usually so clear, was strange.

    My memories ever since gaining the soul gem had been far and above the clarity of my old ones, but I guess if they copied the ones my brain was making, it only made sense that if I never made a memory, it couldn¡¯t copy anything.

    ¡°Lilly, what''s the point of having a shard dedicated to memory if I can still get blackout drunk and forget everything?¡± I asked her with a groan.

    ¡°The first thing you do, before you even open your eyes, is whip out questions?¡± She asked me.

    ¡°Yep,¡± I told her, barely opening my eyelids to check for light. The room blissfully dimmed let me squint my eyes open and orient myself for a second.

    ¡°Every time you remember something with your brain, you relive it, kind of at least. Every remembrance modifies the original. The shard lets you remember it as it happened; it keeps it fresh and clear,¡± Lilly told me, leaving the, ¡®it''s not the shards fault you blacked out¡¯ unspoken.

    ¡°Cool, what did I miss¡­ Did I¡­¡± I asked her, the slow spinning in my head picking up on the fact that I had slept with Pinky.

    ¡°You talked for a bit before crying about something that neither of us could quite piece together, and then you passed out. There was no funny business,¡± She told me.

    ¡°I what?¡± I asked her in a hiss.

    ¡°You cried, blubbering random nonsense,¡± Lilly confirmed.

    ¡°Oh god,¡± I said.

    ¡°Like a little bitch even. It was very unlike you,¡± she further confirmed, ¡°Though, to be fair, Pinky also had a lot to drink, so it''s probably not all that cohesive for either of you.¡±

    How was I supposed to keep up my stock reserved demeanour when I had cried into pinky about god only knew what?

    ¡°Ugggg¡­ Kill me,¡± I moaned.

    ¡°Oh, how did she put it¡­ Cry some more of your little bitch tears? Sooomething to that effect anyway; it was a bit too slurred to be understood,¡± Lilly continued.

    I died, in ego if not in the flesh, for all that my heart still beat, I ossified.

    At least for five minutes, then my desert dry mouth brought me vertical in search of the fluid I so craved. I avoided the field of glass, nimbly stepping around the vast ring they made, and got into the kitchen, where I found a glass of water on top of a note from Pinky.

    I pocketed it, for my eyes could not bear to open wide yet. I did not dare defy the light, what little there was.

    I checked, but found no bean water to be had, only tea, which I pinched a little of, adding it to a boiling pot and pouring the water off into a pot for serving.

    I gave a quick look at Pinky, but she was not there.

    So, I drank some lukewarm water, served myself a cup of piss-poor tea, and forced myself out onto the balcony for a morning smoke.

    I experienced the searing doom of the morning light, a burning fire cauterizing my weary mind, but the things I wouldn¡¯t do for a smoke were quite short.

    More importantly, as the smoke break went on, my poor head slowly got better; the kick of the tea and the swirl of smoke in my lungs helped my poor little brain cogitate as I intermittently sipped water.

    ¡°I wonder if Pinky could make a hangover cure,¡± I ask myself.

    ¡°It''s called saline. Most of a hangover is literally just your body being severely dehydrated and the rest would have been in the tube Pinky gave you, you know the one you turned down?¡± she poked.

    ¡°I was talking to myself, Lilly. I¡¯m aware that I need water¡­ It¡¯s too bad that its green goo,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Alge green is less than appetizing, especially when you know it''s full of people goo inside it,¡± She agreed.

    ¡°That is a phrase I would ask you never repeat,¡± I told her, ¡°You are making it sound like she recycled people instead of just filling it with necessary people forming nutrients.¡±

    ¡°That¡­¡± Lilly started, ¡°Is exactly what that sounds like. My Bad.¡±

    ¡°Yep. Now, I just need to figure out what I¡¯m going to do today. Gah, this would be so much easier without this- Ugh.¡± I muttered to myself, pawing at my temple with my free hand.

    ¡°Well, you still need to get dirt on the collector. You probably need some pocket change; I can¡¯t imagine you''re well off there. Need to get the Junker repaired if we can¡¯t get in contact with Luna for your ship¡­ assuming she even has any left. Then you need to get your money back by contesting the bounty¡­. And then retrieve your weapon,¡± she listed.

    ¡°I would try and fix the Junker anyway,¡± I moaned.

    The Junker was mine, it was my home, more than a room on any other ship or planet. It had all my junk on it and I wasn¡¯t going to ditch it.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°I should also look into getting a weapon, something for up close, to replace my plate because it is full of holes, restock my general stuff¡­ A few odds and ends. I need money, but more importantly, I have one favour, and that¡¯s it. Normally, I could just take a few jobs, but I can¡¯t do that on this haunted rock,¡± I told her.

    Money, money, money, it always came down to money.

    ¡°You could ask her for money or to help you along with stuff, but I think there''s something you could do with that one favour that could get you all of those things,¡± Lilly told my, her voice contemplative.

    ¡°Oh? Illuminate me,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Well-¡± Lilly started.

    ***

    ¡°You want what?¡± The Bouncer asked me in disbelief.

    ¡°I thought you wouldn¡¯t be hard of hearing,¡± I told her.

    ¡°I¡¯m not, but whipping that out of a girl first thing in the morning isn¡¯t cool. I get your tweaking out or something, but did you really need to let yourself in this early? Let a lady finish her breakfast,¡± she coughed out.

    ¡°I¡¯m not tweaking; I¡¯m just telling you what I want for my favour,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Yeah? So what? You''re still tweaking about it. Now, if you''re not going to let a girl finish her food, you could at least pass her a smoke, yeah? It¡¯s too early for this shit,¡± she bemoaned.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to bum a cigarette off me?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Damn straight. After what you pushed me into last night, I figure I deserve it,¡± she told me crossly, glowering, hair standing on end ever so slightly.

    I passed her a cigarette.

    It was not out of generosity, nor out of the kindness of my heart, but out of a sense of how I could push the conversation. I had headed out soon after finishing the tea and stacking up the bottles and generally cleaning up after myself, switched to my far less wanted form, and started plotting like the little rat bastard I was.

    I had my list and I was checking it twice and the best outcome I thought I could hope for, was to establish rapport while she was harried.

    The first kin was far too much cat, and a wriggling little mouse to distract them and let their guard down was a tool that could help me find a way through.

    And so, I had harried her, stumbling my way in far too early, being kind to the little Bartender, and trying to bring out the worst in the poor Bouncer who looked like she had her soul sucked out.

    Then, olive branch.

    ¡°Damn, these are shit,¡± she told me, ¡°how much of this is leaf?¡±

    ¡°Probably none of it,¡± I told her truthfully, ¡°These are all from Gabriel. They can¡¯t grow fucking anything over there but cancer. The entire planet is a half-terraformed toxic dessert.¡±

    ¡°Shit. It¡¯s all vat,¡± she murmured, not dissuaded by the fact the cancer-causing agent of choice was artificial.

    ¡°I suppose you have so many better options on a barren void-bound rock?¡± I asked her, knowing full well they had whole-ass agricultural domes.

    ¡°Huh, yeah. There aren¡¯t as many choices as somewhere like Raphael, but we have quite a bit. You can pick up some good shit if you go to the edge. The farmers might be pressed into growing specific products, but they have some wiggle room, and most of them aim to line their pockets. Coco, Tobacco, real Tobacco, all sorts of good shit. They sell it. They use a filler that¡¯s better than all of whatever the hell this is,¡± She told me before taking a big draw and simply appreciating the buzz.

    ¡°Not bad. Sounds like nice stuff, though I have to say I¡¯m a bit strapped on cash for that kind of thing.¡± I told her with a shrug.

    ¡°We can¡¯t get everything we want when we want it,¡± she shrugged, ¡°Though if you''re looking to upgrade from garbage to tolerable, I know a guy. It''s still 90% filler, but it''s quality filler. Shit, I can barely get a rush from this.¡± She told me, clearly enjoying it enough not to put it out in the ashtray.

    ¡°I was trying to talk to you a minute ago about that stuff, and you called me a tweaker,¡± I told her.

    ¡°I said you were tweaking,¡± she corrected, ¡°totally different.¡±

    ¡°Sure. Whatever you say. Say, little lady, was she this mouthy last night?¡± I asked the Bartender, sitting up slightly to look over the counter.

    ¡°Whuh?¡± asked the Bouncer.

    ¡°Yesh.¡± She said thickly, though with a growing smirk, ¡°vewy mouwthy.¡±

    ¡°Nice,¡± I told her, giving the larger lady next to me a light jab, ¡°Looks like your mouth is good for something eh?¡±

    ¡°Watch your elbow glowy, or I¡¯m going to have words with you,¡± she said, though in a way that was to distract herself from her own embarrassment.

    ¡°All right, all right. I¡¯ll keep my paws off of you,¡± I told her in mock surrender.

    I paused for her, let the moment break, and let any tension dissolve. Like a forger placing a plate in the kiln to soften the metal, I let the moment pass so I could approach the topic anew.

    I let the minute pass as she puffed, smoke whisking away like flotsam, clouds drawn into the silent whirling blades above us.

    ¡°So,¡± I started ponderously toward the end of my cigarette, ¡°Can your Dam set me up with paperwork?¡±

    ¡°Narrow that down,¡± she griped, scouring the butt char ground out on smooth ceramic.

    ¡°I was aiming for a fake identity. Something that would pass a background check by anyone shy of the state. More than a fake card to get beer, but less than a whole-ass identity. I¡¯m not asking for two decades of fake tax returns, just enough history to be ¡®real.¡¯¡± I told her.

    ¡°And whatever would you want that for Amber?¡± she asked with a raised eyebrow.

    ¡°What are you, a fed? I could use one, so I¡¯m asking for one,¡± I told her, borrowing the air of those on the grey side of the law might use.

    I suppose they called them Kuros here, but there was the cultural context I needed to know before I started throwing it around, it held a space in my mind between a truly rancid cuss and a full-on slur, and I did my research before using words of power like that.

    Various forms of clanker, tin can, and a litany of others were used as I pleased, but always with the knowledge of where to not use them; such was their power.

    She gave me a look of, ¡®who the fuck are you that you need a fake identity,¡¯ a look that spoke loud enough for the two of us. It also broke some of the simplicity of the lie I was living, but one questionable ask did not a breach of the mask make.

    ¡°I can¡¯t say that¡¯s what I was expecting¡­ But I think we can swing a fake ID with a background. I can ask the Dam for the details, but that could be a bit bigger than she was expecting,¡± she told me.

    ¡°I¡¯m more than willing to ply my trade with a friendly discount, so long as you''re not breaking the old law in the process,¡± I told her.

    ¡°And if we do from time to time?¡± she asked casually, though it was anything but casual.

    ¡°Then don¡¯t bring me in on it,¡± I told her, ¡°I don¡¯t break the old law, but I can turn a blind eye to it so long as it''s not too bad; part of being a merc. So long as you¡®re not a reprehensible scum-sucking waste of flesh, we will be fine. I doubt Pinky would be working with you if you were.¡±

    There was a slight break in tension there, spotted in her eyes, and tension in the muscle.

    ¡°Not a zealot then; perhaps we can work together,¡± she said, slightly relieved.

    ¡°Rule the first by applied in reverse,¡± I told her, ¡°besides, rule four covers for less than stellar action as it is.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s for the swake of owthers,¡± the Bartender pointed out from behind the counter.

    ¡°For one''s neighbour, and I do technically get my mail sent here.¡± I pointed out.

    ¡°I thought the fourth rule was no incest?¡± the larger woman said, confused, staring off into a wall.

    ¡°Nah, that¡¯s five. Though it is worded like four, so I can understand the confusion,¡± I corrected.

    ¡°This is why I never understood mercenaries,¡± The Bouncer told me, ¡°You make no sense.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t deny her that. The old law made little sense at all, but then again, what could you expect from the Archangels? Golems were tough to understand sometimes, and they were our size.

    I shrugged, ¡°I only ever went to church because there was a hot priestess there. I can¡¯t say they make much sense to me, either. So, is that okay with you? Does that work for a favour?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± she told me, running fingers through her long hair.

    ¡°It shouwd be fine. Goowd pick. Not Picking Mowney is almost always a goowd choice. Buwbbles just picks mowney because she doesn¡¯t want anythwing,¡± The Bartender told me.

    ¡°Ehh? She was asking me hag,¡± The Bouncer told me.

    The little Bartender did not reply; her face, however, spoke volumes, and those volumes were smug. But hey, even if it did start to devolve, I had the basics lined up to start my little ploy.

    After all, I needed money; I needed a way to get things done, and I now had the opportunity to do it. With a separate piece of ID, I could get someone to repair the Junker, I could get the Junker moved to a dock, and I could even get it registered on Luna without worrying about my bounty. I could also get back into contract work to pay my way until I got my shot at the collector.

 Pinkys no good, very bad morning

    I really didn¡¯t like today, it was, undoubtedly, one of the worst days. Not because it was unlucky, or because it was my turn to get throttled by the higher ups, but because it was both of those things and I had to do them with a light hangover while wanting the day to be over three minutes into my shift.

    The Jade Tower, the center of academia, of knowledge, and innovation, was only that if you subtracted all the corruption, bureaucracy, and the fact that there was no other academia. The Jade Tower was the only site of academia. Short of someone doing it at home like I did, it was literally the only legal institution of research in the prefecture, and in any prefecture.

    And that singular nature meant being high up granted prestige, which meant that my senior was a knuckle-dragging pigheaded moron who blamed others for their failings.

    Source one? This morning, where he chewed out the rest of our team for doing our jobs so well he couldn¡¯t understand it and looked like a moron when he failed to explain our current findings to other peers, ostensibly to ensure resources are being wasted by people exactly like him, only that they were all like him, and no doubt using his blunder as some sort of leverage against him.

    So that was nice. Great job. The unlucky part only started at midday, an auspicious time when we all sat in our cubbies and pretended like we had meals that didn¡¯t make us want to jump out of our windows or, on the rare occasion, we went to pick up food from the nearby canteen.

    Like all of the towers, the jade tower was tall, with very low gravity anywhere but at its lowest levels or on the lifts to the highest floors. A series of large empty shafts in its center lets you skirt from one floor to many others. Navigating its massive structure was disorienting for many newcomers, and the paths were not optimized for point-to-point but for density. The tower was the only institution, and there was a limit on its height and footprint, so it was built like a prison that wanted to hold the most people in the tightest space.

    This meant the cantine was about a fifteen-minute float, or because floating was ¡®undignified,¡¯ a twenty-minute walk.

    It was there, in line to buy some wrapped food and scarf it down for lunch, that a familiar voice asked me from behind me in line, ¡°Hey, have you heard the news?¡±

    I looked up, the looming figure with only slightly above average height clearly visible above me. Malakai the mad lad, Malakai the great, Malakai the man who liked reading books all day and found a job that let him do it more often then not. He was a good, if simple man, with short black hair and little in the way of showy bits and bobs, the only thing stand out was Malakai himself.

    Malakai was tall, as was the norm on Luna, but where most people were made thin and twiggy, he was simply tall. He had the kind of build that told me if he had grown up under gravity like I had, he would have been a very big guy. That made him stand out among the scholars of the jade tower, many of whom grew up in at least partial gravity.

    He wore, like the rest of us, a jade robe atop a lighter smaller robe, the larger robe open. It was a matter of taste what you wore underneath. I liked wearing pink, so I got away with it by having a cherry blossom pattern, while he wore a simple grey robe beneath with an elaborate sash of winding black lines like a tattoo.

    ¡°Moala-san. It¡¯s good to see you again. I¡¯m not sure what you¡¯re talking about, but I would so enjoy conversing face to face, perhaps over lunch?¡± I asked him.

    ¡°Always so stiff, Akur¨¥n-san; you know I don¡¯t care for face; just call me Malakai.¡± He told me, like always.

    But we were not at a bar; we were at work in an informal setting, and the jade tower was full of snakes. If I started to get buddy-buddy with Malakai in the open, they would try and slither toward me for status. Malakai got to pass on it because no one was interested in his field and because he wasn¡¯t a noble, whereas I would get dragged for every possible thing in existence because I had theoretical connections like my family.

    I didn¡¯t care what they would think, but I did care about practicality when it came to snakes, so I would ward them off like I was carrying around a secretary bird.

    It wasn¡¯t like I could be the real me anyway, so I might as well cover my bases, dot my I¡¯s and cross my T¡¯s, as it were.

    The two of us agreed, purchased our food, and settled down at a table. Several students were close enough to overhear our conversation, but none cared for our conversation; they were too busy using their time for themselves. Malakai got to talking before we even finished sitting down.

    ¡°So, your team lead chewed you out earlier, right?¡± He asked me, though his tone said he already knew the answer.

    ¡°Yes? Has that made the rounds already?¡± I asked him, not particularly caring that it would have.

    ¡°No, I just know what your lead is like. My lead gave me a talk, too,¡± he told me conspiratorially.

    ¡°That must have stung my problems with swine aside; your issues must be something else,¡± I told him.

    ¡°True enough, my hide is still tanned. It''s not like she had much to skin me for, but just being near her scares the shit out of me,¡± Malakai said with a very slight shiver. ¡°Anyway, enough of that, everyone got one. I think there''s going to be a message later. This whole thing screams of cleaning house, and that means there¡¯s going to be some kind of announcement. Someone big must be coming to the prefecture, so they want to push all the dirt under the rug.¡±

    That was certainly something; it wasn¡¯t a regular occurrence for sure.

    ¡°Why would someone come here now though? It makes no sense not to insult you, Moala-san, but it would simply be surprising,¡± I told him.

    ¡°Who knows why. It could be the unrest, could be the blockade, or that pink girl, the one that flies around all the time. I think it¡¯s the headline from last night. Have you read the paper? They shot down some kind of UFO, but no one has found the wreckage. Spooky stuff, eh?¡± He told me.

    I let out an anxious chuckle, ¡°That¡¯s quite silly. If they shot it down, there would be wreckage. What kind of tabloid are you reading? As for the rest, there¡¯s always unrest, and the pink girl isn¡¯t that big of a deal. I would know; I¡¯m the expert on magical girls here. She''s obviously here to fight evil by moonlight¡­ Which doesn¡¯t work, now that I think about it. Fight it by Lighthouse light? That one certainly doesn¡¯t roll off the tongue.¡±

    It sounded kind of goofy and certainly didn¡¯t fit the feel.

    ¡°You do me a disservice. First. I¡¯m the expert; you just like them a lot,¡± Malakai told me, holding up one darkly tan finger before raising a second. ¡°She was literally spotted in the most recent incident firing on both sides. I''m not saying the guard does no evil, but that is not the kind of evil the themes mean.¡±

    I felt a little turned off by that. I hadn¡¯t been fighting the guards, not really. I had just taken a few potshots near them because they kept shooting at me while I was helping them.

    ¡°You¡¯re pouting,¡± Malakai told me when I remained silent.

    I was doing no such thing.

    Probably.

    I mean, I was doing something similar to it.

    ¡°Sure. Anyway, someone is coming. Sure. More importantly, an announcement means we get off early; a half-day would be nice,¡± I told him.

    ¡°It sure would. I¡¯ve had to cut down on my reading, and I guess I understand why now. I wonder who''s coming,¡± Malakai said thoughtfully.

    Malakai, being Malakai, was a condemnation of life, the universe and everything. He had two passions, figuring out ancient Terran culture and reading books, which were perfectly balanced, as everything should be. It was like his own version of yin and yang, and anything but a balance made him very inauspicious.

    ¡°Probably some bureaucrat. I doubt the person is actually important. It''s probably some administrative issue or noble spat gone too far,¡± I told him, taking a quick mouthful of soup, ¡°Ish noh like the wage ish coming.¡±

    Malakai looked at me, his face clearly not amused by me talking with my mouth full. He did not enjoy it, though I did, because messing with Malakai was always a little fun.

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°Manners,¡± Malakai scolded, ¡°But indeed, a half day. Would you be interested in getting a drink after the announcement? I quite enjoyed the atmosphere. Eat out before a long weekend to salve our wounded souls?¡±

    On that, I hesitated.

    I didn¡¯t mind Malakai; he was a buddy, perhaps even a friend, but he couldn¡¯t really be a close friend. It wasn¡¯t his fault. Obviously, he didn¡¯t understand the contents of my head. I wasn¡¯t willing to get closer because I couldn¡¯t be more open. I couldn¡¯t let them understand the real me.

    Bandit, bless her funny little heart, already saw me for me. She had seen a truer self, and she was an outsider to boot. She didn¡¯t have the same background. She had yet to see me for me, but I was hopeful in her. I could find someone who accepted me for who I was. I was not hopeful for the rest of my compatriots, not even the cultured Malikai.

    Why was that an issue? Because the bar I had been chided into showing off was not exactly normal. Backroom girl''s night? Out of sight, out of mind, but the fact that the doorway was rung by flags that told the less welcome demographics it was a safe bar for them had somehow gone unnoticed by all of them, and it was a ticking timebomb.

    I liked going there and shattering that because one of my more vulgar acquaintances got tipsy and acted like a massive asshole. I couldn¡¯t un fuck the situation if one of them started calling people something I would regret.

    Worse yet, the questions would start after they connected the dots, and I didn¡¯t think, ¡®Oh wow, oh no! I did not know the bar was a gay bar. Whoopsies?¡¯ would fly. One fuck up, and I was pinned between a moral collapse and social self-destruction.

    And yet, on what grounds could I deny Malakai without either sounding fake or making more questions than I was willing to answer? I couldn¡¯t see a reasonable answer that wasn¡¯t just a cop-out. They could still go without me and the timer would still be ticking regardless.

    As much as it made me squirm on the inside, I stilled my face.

    ¡°I would enjoy that greatly,¡± I told Malikai.

    I had a feeling life was only going to get more complicated.

    We finished our lunch with a hole in my gut; any question eating a hole through my spirit like acid.

    This was every bit the mediocre outcome.

    It was also not the end of my bad luck, for less than an hour later, a shadow darkened my door¡ªor darkened the crack beneath it, at least¡ªa firm two knocks telling me all I needed to know about their intent.

    ¡°Come in,¡± I called out, barely looking up from the papers as I tried to phrase them like a moron.

    The door opened, and a second shadow darkened my door. A breathing shadow, anyway.

    I looked up to see my cousin. My less-than-ethical cousin.

    ¡°It''s good to see you again,¡± he told me, opening the door before walking in. He came in with a woman chained to him, her hands bound.

    She was less than happy, and then again, both of them looked like they were less than happy, given that they looked like giant living bruises. They both looked like they had smashed the hell out of one another, though it was slightly healed, going from red to mottled as they aged.

    ¡°Cousin Ren. What brings you to my place of work¡­ On a work day¡­ Looking like you¡¯ve been returned from the dead?¡± I asked him, less than happy to see my less-than-acceptable cousin.

    ¡°I am sorry to intrude, dead or not,¡± he told me, cooly, ¡°though I¡¯m saddened to see my dearest cousin so distrustful. I won¡¯t bite little Haru.¡±

    ¡°Considering your state of undeath, you will have to excuse my disbelief in that. What brings you to my door? Something official?¡± I repeated, not in the mood to entertain.

    Ren was frequently cool, though considering his status, that was par for the course for someone trained to do the bidding of a mass murderer with little in the way of remorse. They were like Bandit, but worse in all the wrong ways. They looked at almost everyone the same way; the only difference between a civilian and an enemy was the order to kill the latter.

    I was also one transformation sequence from needing to defend myself.

    ¡°I am not, not truly, at any rate. I came to get an opinion on something and immediately thought of you. May I sit?¡± He asked.

    ¡°Assuming you need an opinion about agriculture, otherwise there is little in the way of help I can give,¡± I told him, not saying yes.

    ¡°Oh, but I think you can help with a little more than that,¡± Ren told me, snaking slightly into the room. His prisoner gave him a dirty look as he pulled her chain but followed him into the room, her mouth kept shut despite what she no doubt wanted to shout at him. He shut the door behind me.

    ¡°If you''re not here on official business, then I¡¯m not very interested in helping,¡± I told him, reaching into a pocket that was far deeper than it should have been and drawing out a slim vial.

    I doubted he knew, but if I needed to defend myself, I would. It wasn¡¯t like I could just jump out my non-existent window and fly off into the city. Some sticky foam was good enough for this, though. I didn¡¯t need to bring out the big guns on a normal guy, even if he had artifacts, some simple restraint could just let me vault over the table past them.

    ¡°Scan him if you would. Get a look at his artifacts,¡± I asked my oracle Sun, our mind-to-mind talk zipping through my mind at the speed of teaching, unheard and unseen.

    ¡°Ugh. I suppose I can,¡± he answered, his voice disgruntled and hum-like. With a split-second pause, he scanned him before listing out, ¡°They''re not bound, obviously, but there are no power sources on him. The power glove is drained, and without it, the blade is worthless. There, happy?¡±

    ¡°Yes, your wisdom knows no limit Sun, you sarcastic ass. Thank you,¡± I told him in return as I awaited whatever Ren had in store for me, my face and body remaining aloof. If he couldn''t use his blade he posed little in the way of direct threat, but I kept the vial ready. Just because I could blow his head off didn''t mean I wanted to. I didn''t like killing if I didn''t need to when it came to normals, even the kind that were killers before they were ten, I had bigger problems for my bigger guns.

    It was better to not draw attention, I had a comfy little life and I wanted the very minimum of interference in it. That meant no drawing attention on the day to day, and no giving decent answers to federal agents so they didn''t visit on the regular.

    ¡°I need to ask you about your experience with artifacts. I went pocking around and talked with Takashi, and he told me about how they gave them to you to test,¡± he told me, pulling out the seat along the side of my cubby out and over to sit down; his prisoner got nothing, I only had one extra chair.

    ¡°Then he no doubt told you about how I messed it up and broke the key artifact, denying him of his future ¡®glory.¡¯ I¡¯m not an expert. I barely knew what I was doing, so I got them tossed onto me.¡± I told him the truth, poisoned with but one lie. I had ¡®broken¡¯ an artifact, but the artifact did that on its own.

    He got nothing, he saw nothing, and he asked, ¡°But the fact they gave them to you means you understood something. I need to ask you a few questions, then I¡¯ll be out of your hair,¡± he told me, cooly.

    ¡°And I don¡¯t know much; they demanded I research it. I know nothing that would help you; I suggest you find someone who is actually knowledgeable in artifacts to tell you. Unless you¡¯re going to ask a question so simple you could look it up in a reference book, then I can¡¯t help you, and at that point, this would be a waste of my time,¡± I told him, insistent and annoyed.

    There was a moment of pause, and then he asked, ¡°Can people be artifacts?¡± He asked directly and with such intent and intensity that there was something about him that was sure that the answer was yes.

    ¡°Yes? The Archangels¡­ Every Golem in existence? Both of them are people, and they definitely aren¡¯t normal tech. We can¡¯t replicate their bio-mechanical nature, why?¡± I asked, trying to see what he was trying to get at.

    He had met my new best buddy; she had told me a blackbird was looking for me, and I knew a blackbird might be looking for me.

    ¡°Organic people,¡± he amended, ¡°Can an organic person be an artifact?¡±

    That one was a bit more pointed, but I could only guess what he was getting at. He had seen something and was guessing.

    ¡°No. Artifacts are explicitly not living. They function using the same principle but with different methods. A person could have an artifact, even have one inside their body, perhaps, but what makes an artifact an artifact is that it''s not alive; it''s inorganic,¡± I told him as if he was a moron.

    That one wasn¡¯t even a partial truth. It was why I was bad with artifacts, but I could still fuck around with bio-resonance. Resonance, both biological and in artifact form, had the same effect but from two totally different directions.

    The only thing that came close was a monster, but I didn¡¯t think they followed the same rules. After all, they didn¡¯t follow the rules of any lifeform at all, as if bleeding concepts weren¡¯t a giveaway. They didn¡¯t have any liquid unless they did, no heart, no biological activity, but they were visually not artificial either. They were like resonance-shaped imaginary goo that spat on the idea of it needing to pick something real.

    He looked at me, clearly not believing me, but not because he thought I was lying.

    ¡°I suppose¡­ I suppose I¡¯ll take your second opinion. You¡¯re the second researcher today that¡¯s given me the exact same answer,¡± he told me, ¡°I won¡¯t demand nicety; there is somewhere I need to be in an hour.¡±

    He did not say goodbye or thank you; he simply got up and left, quickly drawing the door open and dragging the woman out with him; a single murmured, ¡°Fucking shit Kuro,¡± quiet enough that you probably shouldn¡¯t be able to hear it.

    Despite the situation, her voice didn¡¯t sound angry enough for her circumstances. There was something funny about that. She sounded more annoyed that he was dragging her around so quickly. Taking into account her not speaking, she seemed too complacent, and it didn¡¯t seem to be because she was drugged.

    I waited for them to disappear out of earshot before my face planted on the table. I let the tiny vial roll next to me as I raised my hands above the table.

    ¡°Phew. I¡¯m going to need to ask Bandit a little more about what she did the other day,¡± I said out loud, not just for myself but for my oracle.

    I was going to get the rest of the day off, but I was still going to need to stay un-transformed for most of it, and that sucked.

    I just wanted to be myself, but I couldn¡¯t be like this. At least there were no mirrors in my cubby, though with my shards unlocked, that mattered little when I could feel the entirety of my body.

    I blocked it out as best as I could and finished my work before slipping out just shy of an hour later when the announcement came. Not caring enough about it to actually listen in person. I would hear more than enough tomorrow when the entire prefecture was rambling about how so and so was coming because of blah blah blah.

    And so, like that, I found myself and a handful of work friends stumbling to the bar only to spot a transformed Bandit talking with researcher Lanhu, two sources of awkwardness for the price of one. Ren''s words tickled in my memory. He had gone to two researchers, and the only artifact researcher in the jade tower, or rather the only one researching an artifact in the tower at the moment, was her team.

    I wonder if she had gotten a showing from Blackbird, too.

    I ignored it awkwardly. At least my two identities were separate, aside from Sun and Lilly; anyway, they knew, and they didn¡¯t mind. Hopefully, Bandit wouldn¡¯t mind that I was born wrong, either.

 Happy Hour

    I spent a little time looking around for services I could use and managed to get a few recommendations from the Bartender, but the day was otherwise a major wash. It was, in fact, almost a total waste. I did manage to get some more smokes.

    That was the only other win, and I had to admit, they were better than the garbage I was used to.

    I was getting itchy, so unused to this kind of free time was I that I was getting freaked out by it. Even during my free time while I was one of the gulls, I would take contracts and generally tinker, but being unable to do both was starting to wear on me last night excluded. I was itching for something to keep my fingers busy.

    And like so many other times where my fingers couldn¡¯t do the two things they were good at, I found myself back at the bar, and despite the hour, it was packed.

    I found my way to the counter, to my valiant stool. It was clear, despite the crowd like it held an aura so rancid no one would sit there and I sat myself down on it. There was no need to talk, I simply took in the warm and homey atmosphere as many lookers, and some that were strictly not, enjoyed it with me.

    I sucked back my drink and waited, hoping to find my companion. I still needed to apologize for literally ditching her right before we went horizontal or complain when she snitched. She had seen Pinky, but she seemed more like a living urban legend.

    She didn¡¯t seem like a snitch to me.

    Maybe that was just me being a moron, though. Either way, she was probably going to come back, so I struck up a conversation with the only two I knew, like the awkward cave dweller I was.

    ¡°Thanks for the suggestion on the smokes,¡± I told the Bouncer.

    ¡°No problem,¡± she said, ¡°Mind passing me one? My fee, if you would.¡±

    I snorted, and did so, pulling them out of my pocket box and passing one to the she lion.

    ¡°Damn, look at that. Is that what I think it is? How the hell are you even using that?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Magic,¡± I told her, snaping the pocket box closed, ¡°I have magic fingers.¡±

    ¡°Doubtful,¡± she said, giving me a look as if she would see my power source.

    ¡°I¡¯m not lying. They just work for me; my main weapon was an artifact sword before I got shot in the back.¡± I told her, flourishing my fingers.

    ¡°Some people have all of the luck,¡± she snorted, her well-muscled frame hunching slightly.

    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t go deciding that already. You¡¯re the one with massive fingers. That¡¯s like winning the lottery when it comes to softer lovers,¡± I told her, taking a crisp draw of my cigarette.

    She looked at me like I had just made the insinuation I had, a look that stood on the intersection between bemusement, bewilderment, absolute incomprehension, and a smidge of embarrassment.

    ¡°Are you saying I¡¯m¡­ Well hung?¡± she asked.

    ¡°More like very well hung, considering how small the fine lady behind the counter is,¡± I said, making sure to acknowledge the tiny lady as she cleaned a glass.

    She smiled as the large woman gave her a side eye and shuddered.

    That was perfectly normal. Probably.

    Honestly, I didn¡¯t want to think about it, especially because there was more than one emotion behind that shudder. There was definitely something horrifying about that, but there was also a weird kink behind that, and I did not want to know what that was.

    I had a feeling it was a place I wouldn¡¯t go with a gun, and considering nightmare pocket dimensions full of demon alien things were on that list, that was quite something.

    Thankfully, I wasn¡¯t here for that. I was here for someone else.

    She just wasn¡¯t here yet, but I had hope.

    ¡°You being a well hung lioness aside for the moment, whats the deal with this early crowd?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°It''s because there was an announcement. Some big wig is coming to the prefecture. Probably because of the blockade, if you ask me. It''s not war yet, but it''s all but a declaration of war. Good news for everyone, though. They got half the day off like it was a holiday, we get more customers, and fortunately for you, the request to get a fake identity was far easier to sneak in while everyone was covering their collective asses. It might not hold up as well if you cause a stink, though, but it''s getting ready now,¡± she told me.

    ¡°Lucky bonus. Sometimes lady luck shines on us,¡± I told her.

    ¡°If you told me an hour later, you would be collected forgiveness money,¡± she told me.

    Luck. Fantastic.

    Now, I just had to worry about the luck that debt would accrue. I was always ¡®lucky¡¯ until I was very, very unlucky. Part of finding my way out of that was luck, but part of it was pattern recognition.

    ¡°Who''s coming?¡± I asked her, and that pattern recognition told me this would be the problem element.

    ¡°Why would you think I would know? What about the red light district says we care much about some Dragon sycophant. Who fucking cares. They won¡¯t break the peace if they''re smart, and as long as they work with everyone, there won¡¯t be an issue,¡± She said, clearly not caring about the possible ramifications.

    I looked at her, thinking to myself for a moment, unsure if I should share my two credits. Told her that my gut says that would be a major issue held all the sanity of someone doing something because it came to them in a dream or because the voices told them to do it. Sharing my credits here meant fucking around with credibility.

    ¡°My two credits?¡± I asked her, deciding that I should let her buy-in if she wanted me to pass her my crack pipe theory.

    ¡°Ehh? You don¡¯t strike me as the type that wouldn¡¯t share every idea unprompted.¡± She told me.

    ¡°Spowky expwesion,¡± the little bartender told her, drawing both of our eyes. She started poofing up as she looked at me, her hair standing up in a way that just couldn¡¯t be done for most people.

    The she lion looked at me and said, ¡°I¡¯m not feeling the two cents. If you¡¯re freaking out the Haglet, I don¡¯t want what you¡¯re selling.¡±

    I shrugged with a sigh. There was relief in that. Avoiding the situation was the best way of not being swept up in my nightmare chaos storm horseshit.

    ¡°Understandable. It¡¯s a weird bit of trivia anyway, and it makes about as much sense as you''re probably expecting it to anyway,¡± I told them.

    ¡°So none at all?¡± She asked.

    ¡°None at all,¡± I confirmed, taking a sideways look toward the door, looking for my friend.

    I found a familiar set of faces, though not the kind that I was expecting. It was the same party that had come in yesterday, the one with the cute girl who had given me a weird look.

    She still gave me a weird look, like she knew me, even though I had never seen her face before.

    Was she one of the mercenaries? A friend of the Lotus? The mercenary I had met had made it sound like the Lotus was either a person or a group. I recalculated the situation, but I somehow doubted the girl was a mercenary. She was too soft to fill that role, even in the past tense.

    There also wasn¡¯t a hatred, just a little fear.

    I decided to keep an eye on her, if she was going to stare at me like that it would be hard but I could do it.

    Her and her similarly clad party made their way to a booth, though they looked out of place. They had robes on, like whole-ass robes, the same colour and everything. It took my brain ticking for a few moments to realize that there might be something there.

    Jade. Or green, anyway. That was one of the tower colours. There was the crazy yellow tower, the blue military tower, the black evil tower, and the green egghead tower.

    I would ask her about it later; for now, it was observation time.

    I stopped looking directly at her, passing it off as a happenstance moment of eye contact, before drying the surface of the bottle in my hand and letting the reflection from behind me show me everything I needed to.

    Reflections were a classic. No one realized how much you could see in a tiny reflection. Doc had once looked at some close-up stills of a target taken by a camera and spotted a reflection in their eye before sketching out a location based on that.

    It had been spooky as hell when the information actually worked.

    I wasn¡¯t that good, but a bottle was good enough to give me a look.

    Keeping her in my vision I asked, ¡°Whats with the green guys? I thought this was a place for the unwelcomed, not the bureaucrat.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a public bar. We don¡¯t stop normals from coming in, and it would draw too much attention. Sorry sir, do you like man ass? No? Well, you need to leave now. That would actually bring someone from public morals around. They¡¯re zealous assholes; the jade is alright.¡± She told me.

    ¡°One of them looks at me like she knows me,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Who? She¡­ Oh. Yeah. They¡¯re a regular. They get the same thing every time they come in.¡± She told me, ¡°Probably a bit shy, is all.¡±

    Shy? Maybe. But the look of slight fear lay that in stark shades. Perhaps I was blind to those two colours, but Mei had been slightly shy, and we had almost slept together, so if the jade girl was shy, I would eat my shoes.

    ¡°Sure,¡± I told her, ¡°Either way, I don¡¯t care much. I¡¯m waiting on someone.¡±

    ¡°The girl from yesterday? Do you know if she''s coming?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Nah. I don¡¯t,¡± I told her, ¡°But I need to make up for ditching her.¡±

    ¡°Damn. You are fucking ruthless, aren¡¯t you?¡± She asked, tone clearly jibing.

    ¡°Wunning with Bubby,¡± the ¡®Haglet¡¯ added, ¡°Pwiorities. Tweat your mistwess well.¡±

    ¡°Duty and honour and all that.¡± I told her, ¡°Had to fight the ghosts. They were formidable.¡±

    The Bouncer snorted.

    ¡°Heh. Yeah right. Ghosts and Ghouls,¡± she said.

    ¡°Spoowky. Spoowkier than not owrdering foowd,¡± she said giving me a look.

    ¡°I have free nuts, don¡¯t I?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°You do, but if your idea of breakfast lunch and dinner is free bar nuts and beer your definitely not going to make it,¡± the lioness told me.

    ¡°Need foowd,¡± the haglet told me, ¡°Owrder, some.¡±

    She looked at me in a way that was unfair. She gave me the big eyes, the greatest weapon of social manipulation possible. It was the kind of look that made a pregnant woman cry at tiny clothes, a look of something artificially young, its eyes disproportionately big compared to its body.

    ¡°You¡¯re using the wrong tool on me,¡± I told her with all the heartlessness I could. ¡°You¡¯re trying to appeal to my heart; take it into your tiny hands... But are you sure you can hold a broken heart full of black glass and nails without getting blood on you?¡±

    ¡°Fuck. What are you? Thirteen and ¡®different¡¯?¡± The bouncer asked me. ¡°Do I need to get your ID?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m warning her from cutting her hand on me,¡± I told her, loquacious and full of myself.

    And why not? Why shouldn¡¯t I give into the inner teenager? It was fun sometimes. The only difference between a poet and a teenager was their ability to express themselves with a functioning frontal lobe, and I was a poet at heart.

    I probably also didn¡¯t have a functioning frontal lobe, so it was spot on, honestly.

    ¡°Wah? Buh, But if you just drink youwre not gowing to make it,¡± the Bartender told me, unconcerned with my intentional edge but reacting in a saddened look that started to border on crying her big teary eyes.

    ¡°Apologize,¡± the lioness told me, ¡°If you don¡¯t, it will just get worse. You messed up this time; this is on you.¡±

    ¡°Absolutely not. You¡¯re the one who pretends to be a reluctant bedwarmer.¡± I told her.

    ¡°Nu, uh. No way. She was being serious. Those were her serious eyes. She was worried for you, and now she¡¯s going to cry. Oh, ancestors above this is the worst. Half her body weight is just tears.¡± She said, ruffling her own hair, fingers raking through her colossal mane like plows through the earth.

    I looked from her to the big, wet-eyed form of the tiny woman.

    It was starting to hurt a little. It tweaked at that tiny sliver of humanity, however macho it was, that there was a crying girl. Worse, she was the height of hold ability, and that made the tiny sliver, those even tinier than my mundane humanity, want to not make her cry ever more because it would make me feel like I made a kid cry, which was weird on more levels than I was comfortable with.

    I hated it when women cried and saw the harm come to innocents, and both sides of me saw her all teary-eyed and wanted to kick the shit out of me.

    Worse, there wasn¡¯t any guile; she was just teary because she wanted to make sure people were ok, which was even worse because it meant that I was also poking fun at someone trying to do me a good deed.

    It took genuine grit not to immediately shatter like a pane of sugar glass.

    I sighed because I knew I was beaten and reached over the counter to give her a head pat. An inordinately gentile head pat.

    ¡°Fine. Fine. I¡¯m sorry for not taking you seriously, little lady. I can see you take food seriously, so I¡¯ll get some food. Alright? I¡¯ll get food as long as you don¡¯t cry,¡± I told her, my wince so wide it started to look like a number of other expressions.

    Her head was insanely soft, but that was a distraction, one I did my best to ignore, instead focusing on her face. The quiver of her eyes and lips slowed as she looked up at me. Then, her eyes took on a slightly less intelligible look, and she reached up to my hand with her tiny arms.

    She looked like a cat, so I pulled my arm back slowly to avoid her ferocious bite.

    More of a nip, based on her size, but it didn¡¯t matter because I didn¡¯t get bitten. After a few seconds, her dilated eyes began to un-dilate, returning to normal as she looked up at me. Her breathing normalizing.

    I turned to the Bouncer, and she looked at me, uneasiness on her face. We both turned to the tiny woman.

    ¡°So what are you eating?¡± she asked as if I hadn¡¯t almost made her cry and then set her off.

    ¡°Holy shit,¡± the Bouncer murmured, ¡°You disarmed her.¡±

    The words sounded more like we were talking about a landmine as opposed to a person; she was in awe of my incredible skill.

    I did not have that skill, but I ribbed her anyway, ¡°Try gaining a little skill while you next warm her bed, furbrain¡­¡± I told her before turning to the little bartender who was waiting on me. ¡°I¡¯ll take¡­ I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know what you serve. You can pick¡­ As long as it''s not too expensive¡­ And get a second,¡± I told her.

    It was a spur-of-the-moment choice, but it brought a smile to my lips. It was the kind of split-second hindbrain decision that told me things were about to get more interesting. Take the left path over the right; don¡¯t turn that corner yet. I¡¯m sure I heard something over there; I should look there.

    It was lady luck turning my head, her finger on my cheek, her whisper in my ear.

    It was something to either dread or love, something to spur my paranoia or let me know something good was coming my way. A damn subtle thing, but it certainly wasn¡¯t me; I had a shit sense of timing, and me suddenly being spot on was not a very me thing. That was the tell.

    She nodded, thinking for a moment before writing something and walking over to the back wall, slipping a note through what looked like a mail slot.

    I had wondered how you got an order. There weren¡¯t exactly wait staff to take them.

    I could see the bouncer looking at me in the corner of my eye.

    ¡°It¡¯s like you turned her off and on again,¡± she said in confusion, then she said, ¡°I¡¯m going to have to try that.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± I told her.

    She seemed to blink at herself before her ear flicked at the woman on my other side who had done something I couldn¡¯t see, as I was at least somewhat turned toward her.

    ¡°Hey, I saw that,¡± she said, swinging out of her seat and turning my head with her.

    She walked around behind me and grabbed the woman to my left.

    ¡°Whow, hey. Hands off. I didn¡¯t do shit,¡± she shouted.

    ¡°You spiked her drink,¡± she said uncaringly.

    I supposed I was right about her at least being the muscle. Even if she wasn¡¯t a standard bouncer. No door work for her.

    ¡°Hey, listen, I- Ahh,¡± she started, only to be cut off with a shout of fear.

    The bouncer picked the offending woman up by the back of her shirt. She scrambled, knocking a handful of glasses over as she was lifted off her seat.

    I stared as she picked her up and marched over to the door.

    ¡°Hey, what the fuck are you doing? I-¡± she shouted, only to be shut up by her louder speaking voice. ¡°You¡¯re banned. I am removing you, and you¡¯re not welcome back.¡±

    She reached the door and opened it as the woman struggled, everyone watching as the well-muscled cat woman strongly manhandled a random woman. Her hand pulled the door open, and she waved her hand as if to shoo someone.

    ¡°Stop. Put me down, put me down!¡± she shouted, the music playing from the back, making the entire situation feel surreal.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll put you down, but catch some air first, moron!¡± she told the woman.

    She grabbed the back of her shirt and lifted her up, and then, as if she were a ram, she hauled her back and then hucked her out of the front door face first.

    Everyone stared as she dusted her hands off and stepped to the side to let whoever was in from the doorway.

    A few people clapped. I supposed people liked a drink and a show, but I was more thinking about how far she had thrown her. Luna had gravity, so it wasn¡¯t like she was going to float off into the vacuum of space, but I doubted that would do as much damage, considering there wasn¡¯t artificial gravity here.

    And there, shining in the middle as she stepped into the bar, as confused as could be, was Mei, people clapping as if impressed at her arrival.

    She looked quite anxious at the happenings, but as she stepped in, I waved at her, a slight wiggle of my fingers in a hello. It caught her attention.

    There she was, and she was indeed a sight, even in more reserved casual clothes.

    And they were more reserved, the wall flower was back. Considering she was technically military, you would think that would go away, but I suppose they treated their women differently.

    If she had grown up on Pallas, she would be¡­ well¡­ Pallas wasn¡¯t very kind to those who stayed.

    She stepped toward me, ready to sit down next to me, talk, converse, and perhaps pick up where we left off, only for me to notice movement in the corner of my eye, the same corner that was there to check the reflection.

    It was starting to go a bit wonky, with moisture blurring, but I could see them waving.

    And as they waved around, Mei turned and noticed them.

    Now, I wasn¡¯t a genius when it came to knowing what someone felt by looking at their face alone. I was getting used to the ability to sus them out using the peacekeeper form, and without it, the activity was a total loss.

    That said, it was not a happy face. Not at all. It was so bad that I could feel it.

    I lost the slight suspicion of the cute girl in the flailing and the warp of the glass, but I was already halfway turned toward Mei, so I turned to keep them in the corner of my eye.

    She was pushed into the back. There were, to my eye, two possible threats out of the five of them. One thick fucker who looked like he was contradictory, an Astrologer-Fisher mix and a nerd. If he had any training and I didn¡¯t put a bullet in him fast, he would give me a run for my money because he had many of the same physical traits I did but more muscle.

    The second was a slippery-looking Lunatic who had his hair tied up. He didn¡¯t strike me as physically dangerous like the Astro-Fisher man, but he had a look to him. He was lean, but not Lean. The way his clothes bunched showed a passive and ingrained knowledge of how to not get his clothes caught, and I had a feeling he was built like a swordsman under his scholarly robe.

    Two of the others had a tall cap with side flaps and readily fit much more into the classic scholarly look. Notably, it was these two who were waving to her. The swordsman was slippery and playing casually, though I didn¡¯t know why. The beefcake had to twist his neck backwards, leaving a book exposed. The cutie with the flower petal print looked like she wanted to die of embarrassment, and it was definitely embarrassment.

    Mei looked at them, waving her over, and promptly shook her head. No, instead, she came over to me. Awkwardly not paying attention to the group that so eagerly tried to call her over, casting rapidly aggrieved looks over to me, not that I cared.

    I could fold them like cards, assuming they came at me straight.

    ¡°Hi, Mei. I¡¯m glad to see you again,¡± I told her, swinging my legs in to not get in her way, my words bringing a smile to her face as she swung herself onto the stool, a bit of bare calf slipping free as her conservative robe rode up to her knee.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    I felt like I was a bit too intense, so I did my best to not stare, but I was so thirsty I was starting to get delirious.

    ¡°Hello again, Amber. Long time no see. Did your outing go well?¡± she asked a little hurt in her voice, kept in check by genuine interest.

    ¡°It went terribly, though I have to admit, it was ok in the end. I wish I hadn¡¯t needed to go; I would have preferred to stay with you, but duty calls, unfortunately, and sometimes duty won¡¯t take no for an answer.¡± I told her, ¡°I¡¯m sorry I left you high and dry.¡±

    She looked me over, her eyebrows falling slightly as her face softened. A clear and obvious sign that she wasn¡¯t irreversibly pissed at me. There was also a slight flush, which was quite cute.

    ¡°I¡¯m a little glad,¡± she told me, her bookish nature lit behind a veil of bashfulness, ¡°Though I¡¯m also put out. I expect a proper talk. If I can¡¯t get a night, I want all the details.¡±

    That made me wince.

    How did one ever approach the subject?

    Ghosts are real, and they will kill you??

    I can¡¯t explain it because it would drive you insane???

    Hell, we would need to have a talk, but I would need to dress it up as some kind of possible thing.

    ¡°Yeah, we do need to talk. I¡¯ll show you mine if you¡¯ll show me yours?¡± I asked her, doing my best not to give away that I was going to lie straight through my teeth.

    ¡°I was trying to. But that can come later. What was the whole, you know?¡± she asked, miming a throwing motion.

    I snorted.

    ¡°She tried spiking someone''s drink and got the kibosh real quick. I mean, I know they ¡®throw you out,¡¯ but she was not expecting that,¡± I told her.

    She let out a very slight ¡®huh¡¯ of a laugh, more a movement of her chest than vocal. ¡°She didn¡¯t? Imagine how confusing it was when she opened the door. It''s not very wide out there; the woman almost hit me, even pressed to the wall.¡±

    I could only imagine the scene, Mei walking up to the door, only for it to fly open, watching the big woman, hefting the other back, throwing them past, ass flying over tea kettle.

    It was certainly a tone-setter.

    The idea of the look on her face made me smirk a bit.

    ¡°Well, I suppose making it public is a good policy,¡± she told me.

    ¡°Food and a show will win over most people, as will a sharp eye. It¡¯s not like having the tough at the front door makes a difference in her ability to throw someone out,¡± I agreed.

    ¡°Dwink,¡± the bartender told her, slipping the same beer on the counter that she had drunk the previous day.

    The two shared a look, the tiny figure smiling, before she left.

    ¡°So what was the whole thing with the people behind us? They friends?¡± I asked her, suspicious about the lack of pay, though not as suspicious as the table behind me.

    ¡°Work acquaintances,¡± she said, her finger tracing around the rim of her glass, ¡°They invited me out to drink, but I told them I had somewhere to be. I didn¡¯t realize we were going to the same bar.¡±

    ¡°Awkward. I¡¯ll take it they don¡¯t know about, well, you know?¡± I asked her, making a kind of encompassing gesture toward the establishment.

    ¡°No. Thank goodness. I don¡¯t think they would get it if they did,¡± she told me.

    Workplace acquaintances. Great.

    ¡°The cute one in the back¡¯s been eyeballing me. She did it yesterday, too,¡± I told her, ¡°Are they on the up and up?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, as far as I can tell, they¡¯re all normal, though who are you talking about?¡± she asked, turning to look at them, immediately throwing away any chance of stability.

    The blurry shapes in the reflection of the bottle didn¡¯t notice, except the small one in the back and the slippery one.

    ¡°Well, if you must look, it¡¯s the small one. Do you see her? Short, a little cute. Flower print?¡± I asked my companion.

    She made a ¡°uhuh¡± before turning back to me and answered, ¡°No, they¡¯re all on the up and up. I think Akur¨¥n there is just being shy.¡±

    I turned to her as she got back around, and I raised my eyebrow at her. It was another one of those Lunatic words that weren¡¯t in real people''s words.

    ¡°What does that mean anyway? I¡¯m not a linguistically focused person,¡± I told her.

    ¡°Oh? I¡¯m not sure if I like that. Are you sure you¡¯re not into linguistics? Perhaps literacy? I do enjoy being a literate person, and those things go hand in hand,¡± she told me, not quite answering me.

    ¡°I¡¯m plenty literate. I just prefer comics over epics. I write, you know?¡± I told her leadingly.

    ¡°You? Write? Do tell,¡± she told me, clearly skeptical but willing to hear me out.

    ¡°I write only the finest literature¡­ Pick-up lines are a misunderstood and frequently belittled form of art, and I am nothing if not an artist. An enjoyer of the finer things in life,¡± I told her.

    She looked at me, part amusement, part disbelief.

    ¡°You¡¯re silence speaks volumes,¡± I told her, feigning a wounded heart.

    ¡°No, no. Feel free tonight,¡± she said, turning toward me, leaning in slightly as if she wanted to keep this.

    ¡°Well, I suppose I am. Are you?¡± I asked her, immediately turning it around on her as best as I could.

    She looked at me, a little more amusement starting to peak through.

    ¡°A little heavy-handed, no?¡± She asked.

    ¡°My hands are quite light right now, actually,¡± I told her with a wiggle of my fingers. ¡°Though, your chest, on the other hand, that does seem quite heavy. I wouldn¡¯t mind holding them for you.¡±

    That one made the amusement pause for a second as she processed it.

    It was, as far as pick-up lines went, incredibly forward of me.

    Then again, I was quite a forward person, and we had already decided to see one another naked once. If she wasn¡¯t a person I could be forward with, I didn¡¯t know who I could be forward with.

    ¡°That was¡­ Qqqite something,¡± Lilly told me.

    ¡°I think perhaps I wouldn¡¯t mind that later,¡± she told me a gentile sliver of laughter in her voice, ¡°Though, you should buy a girl some dinner first. Get to know her first.¡±

    A tiny door slip open near enough to the slot, thunking just loud enough to draw my, and thus Mei¡¯s attentive eye to it. Its outline had been cleverly concealed in the wall, part behind the counters and the top and bottom by a well made piece of paneling, a set of bowls was passed out, carried out by two other even smaller cat women, a clear paw handing them the bowls before giving them a loving pat on the head.

    They moved their little legs over to the Bartender before bestowing them on her like a sacrificial offering. She took them one at a time, climbing the stool before handing them over to me and then to Mei.

    She looked at the bowl placed before her. I did, too, but it was for a totally different reason.

    ¡°I howp youw like it,¡± the woman told us, the two tiny delivery people scrabbling back to the kitchen to receive another pat on the head before the door closed.

    ¡°I have never seen this before,¡± I told her, looking at the Lunatic dish.

    ¡°It''s curry,¡± Mei told me.

    ¡°Chikwen,¡± The Bartender told us.

    ¡°How did you know I liked Chicken Curry?¡± she asked me, turning to look at me.

    ¡°Luck. I¡¯m just lucky like that,¡± I told her with a shrug, ¡°I¡¯ve never eaten this before, but it kind of looks like a stew.¡±

    ¡°Kind of,¡± she told me, looking at the bowl before she daintily plucked the sticks and took a piece of chicken.

    She liked it, clearly.

    I took a bit and tried it for myself; the sauce is enjoyable, and the meat is tender.

    ¡°Not bad,¡± I said, ¡°Good pick, miss Bartender.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t even pick it?¡± Mei asked, only for me to shake my head.

    ¡°Like I said, I¡¯m just lucky,¡± I told her, ¡°Sure, I could take credit, but I¡¯m not the one who knew. If anyone, it''s lady luck smiling down on us.¡±

    She chuckled, somewhat astounded, ¡°You speak of coincidence as if it were a living thing.¡±

    ¡°Maybe it is,¡± I shrugged, ¡°I have no clue.¡±

    She looked at me before she asked, ¡°You¡¯re rather upfront, you know that. Not what I expected you to be.¡±

    ¡°Books and covers,¡± I told her though with a bit of thought I couldn¡¯t say she was wrong, ¡°I have to agree with you, however.

    She was easy to open up to. It was unreasonably easy, in fact.

    I was being forward, stupidly so. Maybe it was because I had been looking for a dance partner, but a horizontal tango didn¡¯t normally open me up. Was it just the changes? A kind of social openness from being in peacekeeper form? That didn¡¯t sound right either.

    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ Familiar, I suppose.¡± I told her.

    ¡°Amber, you are one strange cookie. I can¡¯t say I get it, but you¡¯re familiar as well, though I think that¡¯s mostly because I know what your lips feel like.¡± She told me, whispering the last bit like others would overhear. A secret between us.

    ¡°You¡¯re taking I won¡¯t kiss and tell to an extreme here-¡± I whispered back, only for her to stick a piece of well-sauced meat into my mouth.

    It was quite nice; even if I held the sticks like a total moron, it would be worth every moment. There was even something approaching real spices in it. I mean, it was probably some kind of artificial spice that came in a gelatin paste, but it was still good. Surprisingly creamy tasting.

    ¡°Surprisingly good,¡± I murmured simply, preferring to fill my mouth over speaking.

    She removed her sticks, and we dug in, downing chunks of meat, then the rice beneath, then Mei moped up the sauce with the flat bread.

    All throughout, though, I could feel the eyes burning a hole in the back of my neck.

    Even as we passed the bowls back and the beer warmed up, condensation ebbing away to reveal a clearer picture of the group behind us.

    ¡°They¡¯re still staring,¡± I told her quietly.

    She sighed.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do about it,¡± she said, ¡°I wanted to talk. We have plenty to talk about as is.¡±

    I thought about it, trying to figure out which was more expedient.

    ¡°You wanted to look over my ring, right? Do you have a history in communications? Any talents? I might be able to converse silently if you have some. We could talk and get them to stop burning a hole in our backs at the same time.¡± I suggested.

    ¡°Artifice, no talents for communication.¡± She told me.

    Artifice.

    Whoo boy, that was one hell of a lottery.

    The use of material artifacts mostly, but there was quite a bit of extra in there. I bet the collector either had artificers on staff or was part artificer. In theory, I might be if that was true and we were related.

    That might explain something about how we could use the sword if that was the case.

    In theory, there could be overlap there.

    ¡°You trying to figure out how they work?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°We know most of it. I mean planet-wide comms less so, but it''s mostly connecting with the ring, and it''s transceiver I was interested in. They¡¯re not the same as a normal antenna. Imagine if we could figure out how to make them again¡­¡± she said, a focused sigh escaping her as she thought about it.

    Ahh

    Good old talents.

    ¡°I can¡¯t help much with your work, but here, maybe you can figure something out in our time together,¡± I told her, slipping the ring from my finger so she could take it.

    She looked at it like it was a block of gold, but managed to not fall to the great temptation.

    ¡°You know, you shouldn¡¯t entice a woman with a ring like this,¡± she told me.

    ¡°Did you sell me out? Because unless you did, I figure you¡¯re a solid pick,¡± I told her.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t sell you out¡­ No reason to do that, though I¡¯ll have to turn you down. So much to do, no time, life to get in the way.¡± She told me.

    ¡°Was it that I¡¯m not on one knee? Drat. My bum knee came back to bite me,¡± I sighed. I made a motion like my heart had been torn from my chest with a shallow, ¡°Ohh. Oww.¡±

    She slapped my shoulder, ¡°There-there. Try again later¡­ I will take the ring, though, if I may?¡± She asked.

    ¡°Women,¡± I told her, shaking my head, ¡°Turn you down, but expect to keep all the gifts.¡±

    I passed her the ring, and she began to roll it around, her hands cupping around it in a heart shape, her fingers rotating it, and taking in the surface with her fingertips.

    ¡°It¡¯s powered,¡± she said, ¡°I thought it was.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± I confirmed.

    She looked at me. Clearly, thinking I had missed the point. She looked at my hands, then to the rest of me.

    ¡°With what? The only one under study is unpowered. What''s powering it?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Me, actually,¡± I told her, ¡°It just works.¡±

    She looked at me, clearly not believing me, but that was fine.

    ¡°Sure, because you, amongst the untold billions, are chosen,¡± she told me, dramatically sarcastic. ¡°I bow to the supreme.¡±

    ¡°I can use them too. And I have a voice in my head that tells me cool stuff. And I have a secret hole that grants me magic powers, too. I¡¯m the complete package,¡± I told her, not lying but saying it like it was an obvious joke.

    After all, none of those things were possible, and one of them was what got you put in the loonie bin when you started wrapping your head in enough metal foil to be worth collecting.

    ¡°Yeah.¡± She said jokingly, ¡°A complete nutjob. Feel free to introduce yourself; I¡¯ll be over when it runs out of power.¡±

    She stared at the ring, entranced by its every shimmer, ridge of the band, and scintillation of the gem''s facets. I could practically taste the obsession.

    I decided to head on over to ¡®introduce myself¡¯ until whatever counted as a battery on the ring lost its charge, and the ring dimmed as she suggested; turning to the group behind us, two of them periodically giving me an offended look. The Mountain and the Rat were too busy ribbing the tiny one over something.

    They had snacks. I hadn¡¯t even noticed the tiny folk delivering them. Their tiny forms and footsteps were unheard among the background of casual conversation, distant music, and various forms of cutlery, dishes, and glass.

    I took a nibble of the nuts and, at their uncaring inattention, lit up another cigarette as I waited for their attention.

    Not much later, the two of them looked at me again and noticed that I was waiting on them. When they realized I was waiting for them, they looked furious.

    It was kind of funny; their entitlement was a discourtesy, but only to themselves.

    Call it insane or degenerate behaviour, but I did find their feeble anger funny, so I slipped off the stool, leaving the lit cigarette in its tray, driven by drink and not a bit of arrogance.

    I walked over to them, my elbow catching the top of the booth. I looked down at the two, who were growing increasingly irate and red-faced. I casually walked over and literally looked down on them.

    ¡°Can I help you two tonight?¡± I asked them, my tone far too sweet.

    They could not see the warning signs in my voice. They were too busy with whatever was going on in their head to tell that I was unhinged.

    ¡°We have nothing for you,¡± one said.

    I looked at him like he was the most fascinating person in the world.

    ¡°You know what, that¡¯s a little funny. I figured you would have something to say, considering Mei came here with me instead of you. You¡¯ve been staring into my back for half an hour, so cut that out, yeah?¡± I told them.

    I saw the two of them consider what was going on, and the rest of the group was clearly more confused as they realized I was talking to their group.

    ¡°Or what outsider? You have no weight behind you. We may do what we wish.¡± He said, still not getting it.

    ¡°Or I¡¯m going to ask the big, strong cat woman to start watching you. Staring at women like that is a bad look. You¡¯re acting like a stalker,¡± I told him sweetly.

    The Rat could tell what I was doing. He looked up at me, but the second he saw my eyes, he took me in a second time, tension rising in his shoulders.

    ¡°Your word vs ours is a fool''s game. You waste our time, taunting us,¡± he said, clearly trying to get me to leave or to get the two to leave me be.

    ¡°Indeed. Leave. Just because you¡¯ve led Lanhu-san here for your own ends doesn¡¯t make you our better. Leave us,¡± moron one said.

    I gave the Rat a look of bemusement.

    He, at least, understood what I was doing.

    I was fucking with them because they were assholes. Playing with my food, as it were.

    ¡°Listen, buddy. I have no betters, and you do not want to make this into a dick-measuring contest. Mei is checking a ring of mine right now, and I guarantee you it''s more impressive than yours,¡± I told him, miming something quite lewd.

    That made them red with anger, but a wink at the Rat left him less angry and more suspicious, a slight moustache rounding his face further. The big man was roused from his reading, and the cutie looked like she wanted to throw up at the repeated mention of Mei.

    She looked like she wanted to roll out of her own skin, as if Mei was a warding sign.

    The two morons stuttered, gasping, clutching at their nonexistent pearls like a bunch of blue-blooded, silver spoon-stroking pricks.

    The large man seemed to think about that, as if he were unawares, before a look of dawning comprehension overcame him like¡­ Well, dawn.

    He hummed in acknowledgement. Apparently, he liked jokes. Good humour, as it should, won over the forces of uptight bureaucracy.

    ¡°Despicable. You shame everyone with your presence alone. Never have I seen a less honourable alien,¡± the one I hadn¡¯t insulted directly told me.

    I ignored them. They were mouth breathers. Instead, I did my best to insult them.

    ¡°I can see why you wheel these two out. Easy to pick up, ladies, when you can cart out a few troglodytes. I thought they were extinct, but here are two specimens. You look smart for having them around¡­ and you look that good in comparison. Win-win¡­ Even for you. It¡¯ll be fine, sweat pea; calm down back there; you look like you¡¯re going to be sick.¡± I said, mostly toward the Rat but also toward the soft little thing in the back.

    I was trying to calm her down. Woe be it for me to ruin a girl''s night, even a suspicious one, but I was seemingly making it worse.

    They looked among them, quickly finding the clear recipient of my statement.

    The two insulted morons continued to gape, but the two sentient members turned to look at the tiny figure as she shrank.

    I was expecting some kind of idiocy, but when the Rat laughed at her, the big man seemed to be somewhat amused.

    ¡°You hear that, Akur¨¥n-san,¡± the Rat asked her.

    ¡°Shut up,¡± she said, voice dainty, pressing her forehead into the booth table.

    ¡°Sweat pea?¡± the big one said, seemingly more confused at the form of address than the reaction.

    The rat started to laugh, poking her repeatedly, asking, ¡°What''s wrong, sweat pea?¡±

    The other two were more chuffed, bickering with one another.

    One tiny arm punched out, lancing through the booths interior before striking true in the Rats side as he chuckled, coughed, and then winced as he chuckled again. ¡°You don¡¯t need to be so touchy Akur¨¥n-san.¡±

    ¡°I will turn you into a eunuch, Turtle Boy. Think of your ancestors and shut it,¡± she said, voice dipping.

    She looked up to him with detestation on her face and a passionate furry expression in her eye. Thunder.

    ¡°Haiyaa¡­ Release your inhibition, little brother,¡± he said.

    Oh. OH. OHHHH.

    Shit.

    He, not she.

    Now, it made more sense. Kind of messing with the poor guy.

    He was still cute, though.

    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± I told him, doing my best not to wince. The gut instinct of speech managed to blunt the remaining, ¡°I was damn sure¡­¡± in a tone quiet enough it wouldn¡¯t arouse much.

    It threw me¡ªway too hard¡ªand it took me a moment to realize why.

    Peacekeeper was all about social stuff, soft power, as it were. It was good at feeding me less socially inept things to say, a guiding hand from the back of my head telling me not to taste shoe polish with the same frequency I was used to.

    When I looked at them, I saw men, which was true, but that wasn¡¯t what it was working on. It worked on posture, the shape and line of their faces, and their body¡¯s geography¡ªridges of tension and deposits of important patterns.

    Sure, it could slip words into my mouth to get me conversing on autopilot, but it read something very different.

    Aka¡­ Akur¨¥n , whatever, was clearly female to it. Body language, profile, and vocal tone were a little deep but not masculine in a way I couldn¡¯t even put together. There was a dissociation between what I now knew and how I was perceiving¡­ And it was going to gnaw at me like a swarm of hungering locusts because, for one person, I was flying blind.

    On top of that, I didn¡¯t know how to engage with that. It was a first-contact scenario; I barely had the patterns memorized to talk with a normal woman, let alone someone who existed in a totally unknown land.

    It changed everything¡­ And nothing.

    I would still be down for a piece of action with him. He was still a cutie, even without a coochie. I didn¡¯t mind here or there; I was flexible like that, though I was trying to envision how you would even go about that.

    Using all my alien social instinct let me know that everything about him screamed, ''I''m a bottom, deposit nut inside,'' but I had a coochie, no matter what the other disturbed parcel of myself told me.

    I had a feeling the two of them were in agreement, but it was my turn in the pilot seat.

    I started running simulations, but considering everything going on, the best result I could come up with was to let my form do the talking with her and keep myself composed.

    I couldn¡¯t make it worse, surely, so long as I crossed my fingers and asked, pretty please, could the universe keep me out of the shit show.

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky you¡¯re not my brother; my brother would think less of you,¡± Akur¨¥n told him.

    ¡°Who amongst us wouldn¡¯t he think less of?¡± The large man asked.

    ¡°You could make a showing if you picked up a stick, Malakai,¡± Akur¨¥n replied.

    ¡°The pen is mightier,¡± he said, the tone and intonation that of a classic saying.

    ¡°Perhaps you¡¯re pen, my pen is a brush, and it is far from mighty,¡± said one of the morons, the other agreeing immediately.

    ¡°I¡¯ve always been partial to the blade, but then again, I don¡¯t have much to say,¡± I admitted.

    ¡°The root of wisdom is knowing you know nothing; now close your mouth before choking on your words,¡± he suggested.

    That was actually kind of classy, as far as ways of telling people to shut up went, anyway.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know Malakai; she seems all bark,¡± the Rat said smugly. It''s best to throw her a bone.¡±

    ¡°She seems a dog, Haiyaa,¡± the second moron said, clearly a dig, though he barely got it out before.

    ¡°You¡¯re a dog, and you know no tricks,¡± Akur¨¥n told him, ¡°The both of you brought her here by acting unwise, and now she wants to eat off our plates. You fucked up, not her. Haiyaa yourself.¡±

    ¡°Cluck all you want, Akur¨¥n. Hounds know better. She comes snarling like a mongrel,¡± the first moron said.

    ¡°And you¡¯re the ones who brought her here,¡± Malakai told them, ¡°On that, I agree.¡±

    ¡°A dog knows a snake when it sees it,¡± he snapped back.

    ¡°Funny, the snake goes for the bird. It knows its prey fine,¡± the second moron snaped.

    I was starting to get lost in the nonsense words, so I spoke up, ¡°Listen, I just came over because you lot have been giving me the willies, is all. Three of you have been staring at me, and I don¡¯t leave my back open, yeah?¡±

    The collective table had turned on itself and at the moment, turned back to me, two hounds, one monolith, one flushing effeminate man, and one ¡®turtle.¡¯

    ¡°Ehh?¡± the Rat asked, ¡°Once bitten, twice shy?¡±

    ¡°Once shot, twice as paranoid,¡± I corrected.

    ¡°You look very healthy for a shot woman,¡± Malakai said, ¡°Must have been all the clean living you get.¡±

    The three that had been staring at me periodically turned to Malakai, not getting it, though the Rat looked closer and seemed to.

    ¡°Holding yourself for a fight, even in a place of peace,¡± he said wisely, fingers coming to trace along his mustache.

    ¡°Walk around with a hunch long enough it stays,¡± Malakai offered.

    ¡°I live cleanly enough,¡± I told the absolute slab of beef, ¡°And I don¡¯t have a hunch.¡±

    ¡°Indeed you don¡¯t,¡± said the Rat, a grin revealing the joke without needing to speak it.

    ¡°Oh, but I don¡¯t need one, slippery man,¡± I told him automatically, hooking my thumb back to Mei, ¡°That¡¯s why you get smart friends.¡±

    ¡°Fuiyoh!¡± he said, a single clap of his hands his only sign of approval beyond the smile. ¡°You have half a mind on loan? Well, at least you have some.¡±

    ¡°What have you come here for? Beyond chastising two lonely hounds and insulting Akur¨¥n. I can see the reason behind you, do not lie.¡± Malakai said, his gaze overly pointed.

    ¡°To break the ice before Mei finishes examining something,¡± my mouth said, placating him. I didn¡¯t know what he saw, but it struck me as somehow nothing and too much simultaneously.

    ¡°Are you bugging them?¡± She asked, her voice from right next to me enough to nearly jump out of my own skin.

    My answer came out as a quarter jump, quarter roll, and half curse as I turned to Mei.

    ¡°The tiger is mighty,¡± said one of the morons sarcastically.

    ¡°Mightier than you,¡± she replied, handing me back my communication ring. ¡°You¡¯re ring. It''s out of power.¡±

    I took it, palming it in a way that would block the sight of it, lighting it back up. I could slip it in a pocket and play it off as me having an artifact on me that powered up the ring.

    I mean, if people started seeing me just turning them on, it might draw interest to me I didn¡¯t exactly want. Pinky, I trusted, we were rapidly falling into the same ship, and Mei struck me as the kind of woman I didn¡¯t mind giving a little, but random guys? Nah.

    ¡°See,¡± I told the man I had taunted, holding up the ring, ¡°I told you mine was bigger than yours, and if you think this is impressive, you should have seen my sword.¡±

    The thought of my missing limb brought a tear to my eye.

    ¡°You¡¯re encourageable,¡± Mei said with a slight shake of her head, discouraging if it came without the slight smile; just a slight bow of her lip told me all I needed to.

    ¡°She is a menace,¡± one of the hounds told her, the words whipping her amusement from her face.

    ¡°That she may be, but you¡¯re a nuisance,¡± Akur¨¥n murmured.

    ¡°Eh?¡± One of them asked. I was starting to lose track of which one was which. It was uncharacteristic of me, but they were just so extremely boring now that I was face to face that they were forgettable.

    The two morons had the same personality, mannerisms and style. They were living up to the twins¡¯ shtick, but they weren¡¯t twins.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been staring at people all night,¡± Malakai pointed out, ¡°and it''s rude to stare.¡±

    ¡°I have to agree,¡± Mei said quickly, slipping in before the two could talk.

    Taking a cue from her, I followed: ¡°Of the five people here, three are doing the lifting.¡±

    ¡°What are you insinuating, outsider?¡± one asked.

    ¡°She appears to be suggesting that you¡¯re dead weight,¡± the cripple said.

    ¡°You haven¡¯t eaten, you¡¯re not even talking, and you¡¯ve devolved the conversation to an argument with someone totally unrelated to us, ruining the night for at least two people,¡± Akur¨¥n said, listing a few points off, their tone not conciliatory at all.

    Mei didn¡¯t respond, though she made it, and there was time to do it. She stopped intentionally.

    I had a sudden sneaking suspicion fed to me that there was a bit too much conspiracy to her at that moment.

    He is at the moment.

    Fuck I couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of it.

    ¡°You¡¯re asking us to leave?¡± one asked.

    ¡°No,¡± Malakai said.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Akur¨¥n said shamelessly.

    ¡°For what? Because a woman who snubbed her nose at us and some fucking street trash?¡± the other asked. ¡°Them over us?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re being a shit. And I don¡¯t just mean you, Ang. Chang, you¡¯re also being a shit. Cut it out.¡± The Rat told him.

    ¡°But she-¡± the second started, taking the singular fold of brain they shared.

    ¡°I have standards, you have standards, we have standards. Be better,¡± he said. She has no standards, so it should be easy, assuming the two of you hadn¡¯t been day drinking to exceed her. Pay your share and sleep it off.¡±

    They stared at each other, the Rat serious, the morons stupefied with a look of stupid disbelief. It was so stupid I needed to use it twice, one for each of them.

    At least it explained the two of them. They were acting similar; they were so bland because they were trying not to draw attention to themselves. Their flustering blustering and general tom-fuckery made a little more sense when you took into account that they were probably drunk and just didn¡¯t look like it.

    They were, as far as drunks went, not the worst, but like with all drunks, they were a nuance. I hadn¡¯t expected them to turn on these two, but I was pleasantly surprised that they would.

    Less than friends but closer than enemies, the two were told to get to stepping so they could work themselves out on their own time. And for some reason, they actually did.

    If I had been told to fuck off, I wouldn¡¯t have¡­ Well, I might have, but it would have been dependent on who told me to fuck off.

    They did not look happy about it, but they did it. There was a chain of command here, standing between the three of them, and the Rat was above them.

    He slid out of the booth to walk them to the door, and it was there I saw what they had meant.

    He walked with a limp, and not a minor one; I couldn¡¯t see the damage, but anyone versed in getting hurt could intuit the magnitude, if not the vector.

    My mind updated the balance. I would need to see him move, but his general capacity for violence was reduced. He also had a blade on him, which balanced the check.

    A fed in a bank lobby or a pack of gunmen in cover the size of a phone booth was one thing, but a noble swordsman in a booth was another.

    ¡°Note to self. Do not piss him off inside,¡± I whispered to myself.

    ¡°Noted,¡± Lilly told me, her voice weirdly harsh.

    He made his way back in a shuffle step that indicated limited mobility over a weight-bearing or painful disability.

    We stood as he made his way back, but the short distance led him to quickly reach the booth.

    ¡°What are you waiting on? Oh¡­ I¡¯ve been improper. Be seated; you need not wait on me. Lads on one side and ladies on the other, eh?¡± he said, face lighting in a grin as he ribbed.

    The one lady took that without animosity; the effeminate one took it with a series of micro-expressions so complex they could not be computed by all the archangels working in parallel, and I simply told him, ¡°Damn¡­ I guess I sit on the table.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, perhaps¡­¡± He told me, but I was too busy sliding into the booth, which was acting as a barrier between the currently imploding cutie and the stiffer Mei.

    Damn, but there were social dynamics here that I was ignorant of that left everyone slightly ill at ease around each other. Or everyone but Malakai, who struck me as a cultured man who disliked tomfoolery.

    I turned to my new seatmate and said, ¡°Sorry about bringing it up. I didn¡¯t put two and two together.¡± And then, because my mouth was moving without me, I added, ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to put you on the spot like that,¡± in a whisper.

    It was innocuous enough; it could mean anything. But the way it was said was suggestive in a way that couldn¡¯t be picked up on as easily. It was subtle, and with the whisper being drowned out by the loud background of enjoyment, it was for the two of us only.

    I didn¡¯t know what I was expecting, but the surprised worry, wasn¡¯t it? But it was enough to confirm to me that there was something to my intuition.

    ¡°Yes, well, that¡¯s not an issue, miss. But remember in the future that assumptions make an ass out of you,¡± Akur¨¥n told me, but loud enough for the others to hear.

    That was a smart way of approaching it: I wrapped it up so it sounded like I was only apologizing.

    We took our places and talked.

    I zoned out for much of it; it was above my head, but I split my time, talking quietly with Mei and the funky Akur¨¥n. I managed to talk to Malakai twice, quickly finding his dispassionate demeanour simply because we weren¡¯t satisfied with what he wanted to talk about, which was, apparently, a bunch of ancient human media. I talked to the rat, who finally introduced himself as Li Wei Kohakame.

    As far as making connections went, someone who could make sense of the inordinately convoluted worldview and about 200 years of their history, someone who understood the direct result of ¡®strange sickness¡¯ and how it warped people, an artifact researcher, and some kind of agriculture person wasn¡¯t the worst you could do.

    It could be three bangers and their bimbo; the fact that there were four useful ties, beyond just being able to spend time with people outside of Pinky, was good crowd work.

    We spent an hour with them and then trickled out of the bar. Mei left early, stating that she needed to get to bed, but I managed to get her to come on by on the weekend, which was nice.

    I waited on my own after they left, having covered all of the things I needed to do today, spending a little time decompressing from the conversation. I was also waiting for Pinky to check in because, apparently, she was busy.

    ¡°Say,¡± I asked the Lioness. ¡°When should I expect my stuff to come in?¡±

    ¡°Depends,¡± she told me, her voice rough from a long ass shift and smoke.

    I looked at her with a sigh.

    ¡°Depends on what?¡± I asked.

    ¡°On if you want to take a job. We could get you your stuff to you and sign you up¡­ Right now, if you¡¯re willing to take a job.¡± She told me.

    ¡°What is this? Express shipping costs?¡± I asked her.

    ¡°Whats your tab look like?¡± she asked.

    It was probably bad. A few drinks were fine, but there was only so long you could stretch a thousand, and with two dishes, it was possibly overdrawn.

    ¡°So I get express shipping?¡± I asked her, my tone changing. ¡°That¡¯s such a great deal.¡±

    She snorted.

    ¡°It''s not a bonus; we just need someone to do it, and the Dam trusts you for the work you did last night. Damned if I know why,¡± She said, ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to top off your tab with us. If you take it, anyway.¡±

    ¡°How about we head to a private room, and you give me details? If I¡¯m not right for it, I can at least tell you if it''s this urgent.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s,¡± she told me right back.

    And like that, I was back in the saddle.

 Witching Hour

    She brought me into the back, but I was a little surprised when she brought me to the Dam, the strange, slightly large cat being massaged by the large woman who had stood behind her the day before.

    She had a look of incredible serenity, the kind where she seemed to be sleeping, her cat mouth open.

    Blissful.

    ¡°I wish I had the capacity to be that relaxed,¡± I murmured. It looked nice.

    Then again, I saw it as an opening, which made me a little tense.

    The Dam let a slight ¡°mrow¡± noise before she seemed to come to herself. Coherence returned to her face as the cat retreated.

    ¡°Pardon?¡± She asked, her voice washed in the afterglow.

    ¡°I said I wish I could drop into a coma like that, Dam. The kittens keeping you up?¡± I asked.

    ¡°So needy. I can¡¯t remember being so helpless¡­ Regardless, are you here to make a deal?¡± She asked.

    ¡°How could I not, with the ever-expanding benevolence I¡¯ve been shown?¡± I asked her, a tennie wennie bit of sarcasm clear.

    ¡°Translation?¡± She asked as she was lifted, held in the perch of the taller woman¡¯s arms so she could survey the world.

    ¡°She needs money, she''s broke, and she doesn¡¯t want to be in debt to us,¡± The Lioness said.

    ¡°I mean¡­ I could pay now. I would just be credit less,¡± I told her, rubbing my fingers together in the universal gesture for money. ¡°I need those credits for my hobbies. It¡¯s expensive being a smoking day drinker. And then there¡¯s rent to think about.¡±

    At least that got a smirk out of the big bouncer.

    And who said I couldn¡¯t be social?

    Me, that¡¯s who. I said that, but that was a secret between me, myself, and now Lilly.

    ¡°All¡¯s well, that ends well, no?¡± The Dam asked. ¡°We are in need of the services of a woman for hire, and one who we can trust more than a group of street rats¡­ Tell me, what''s your opinion of complex jobs? More complex than your three cute bullet points.¡±

    ¡°How complex?¡± I asked, the idea making me weary.

    The reason I gave the bullet points wasn¡¯t because I couldn¡¯t do more than find, retrieve and put holes in things, it was because that became increasingly shaky the second it started expanding, like an unsupported truss falling out of a building.

    If I could do one, I could do more than one, and if you started stringing those three things together, suddenly, I was tied down in a clusterfuck of epic proportions for funds.

    ¡°We have three problems, but they are separate. One is the changing of the guard happening now. We need to make sure our eyes and ears are clean and clear, but they started getting worried; we need you to solve that problem. The second is just¡­ Checking in on one of our neighbours. They''re erratic, like mice scattering underfoot, and we want to make sure they don¡¯t start acting unwisely. The third relates to last night¡­ That¡¯s the complicated one.¡± She said, listing each out.

    Two complex jobs were the not complex ones. Fantastic.

    I was already puzzling out what those could mean, considering each of those could go a dozen ways with at least twice that number in points of failure. They could be less intimidating than I was expecting, but the reality was often worse than you could possibly imagine, and I had a vivid imagination.

    Uncaring or unaware of my sudden growing migraine, at least until Lilly set my body to tingling as it went away, she began to arm wrestle with my quickly ailing brain.

    ¡°We need you to¡­ Check in on them. They¡¯re acting unwisely. We expect those¡­ Shipping with us is to be done upfront, and payment is to be made on time, but they¡¯re not playing or paying with us. We¡¯re expecting them to start playing with dirt, but we¡¯re going to start the mud fight first. We have the water; we just need you to go fetch some dirt. Either they¡¯re smart, or they get buried in mud¡­ You understand?¡±

    I didn¡¯t.

    It was like she was allergic to explaining what she wanted me to do. I understood not saying something like, ''Go put a bullet in Jonny Joe,'' because it could be illegal and criminality was a thin line to walk, but by god, it was so opaque it was hard to tell the scale of those details.

    ¡°I understand the idea. I can see the picture you''re paying, and so long as you''re paying, I¡¯m at the table¡­ But I¡¯m going to need details to stay. So far, there¡¯s nothing that breaks the old laws, but I need you to start showing me the edges, or I can¡¯t play. If you get me my documents and help me get registered like was insinuated, how would you feel about doing this privately but above board where were both clean and clear?¡± I asked her.

    I did my best to phrase it as a very simple request, but it was a lot more than that. Contracts through the guild were checked to make sure the reasoning was sound. No openly breaking the old law, mostly. So long as it passed the smell test, it would be clean and kosher, and she would know that.

    ¡°The Guild has leaks; two of them can go through the guild¡­ But our eyes and ears would be in danger if someone squealed to the wrong bureaucrat that we were going to put our paw on the scale,¡± she told me, ¡°You would be doing it for us, or not at all.¡±

    I gave her a look, blank and hollow, as I paid attention to her word and tone.

    She made it sound like she was concerned, but you couldn¡¯t trust a person based on their outward appearance, not now. She had met me nursing a bunch of kittens and was speaking to me frankly and on a level, but that made part of me weary.

    She was the leader of a criminal organization looking to cover her corners, dot her I¡¯s and cross her T¡¯s. Would she lie? Yes. Absolutely. Was she playing me? Probably, yes. But was she trying to strong-arm me? Was she trying to play me?

    I decided to dive into it with my gut and, in a phrase that only Pinky could say without cringing, ¡®vibe checked¡¯ the cat.

    There was something that lay in this cat that led her to act how she did, but looking at it, picking it apart on the surface did not add up. The math led to dead ends.

    She could be fucking with me, but if she did, she would probably get Pinky pissed off at her. If she didn¡¯t care about Pinky, why did the rest of them seem to genuinely care about her? Was she playing her entire ¡®family¡¯? What would be incredibly stupid, but she was more aware than your average moon nut, so that didn¡¯t make sense either.

    Something about this entire damn thing told me she had a higher opinion of me than she should have. The way the Bouncer talked about me fit the exact opposite way, and that led me to the only answer I could come up with.

    She was aware of the things that went bump in the night, and she was afraid of them.

    That was a tenuous piece to bridge that gap, but that was the only answer I had. It fit, but it was a tenuous fit. It was the kind of thing you slapped duct tape over and learned to pray to.

    But as a cat may logic out, if I fits, I sits. It was a line of reasoning anyone with a budget and a need could understand.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do it, but I¡¯m telling you right now, if you take that job sideways, I¡¯m taking the retainer and walking, and I will be getting a retainer for it. Half up front is normal for big jobs like that.¡± I told her eye to eye, her sitting on high like a jungle cat in a tree, and me some manner of creatures she absolutely should not drop on. There was no mutual win here; we both would get what we wanted in the end.

    ***

    Pinky got back to me after the blitz of registration, and taking contracts, and working out details.

    ¡°Phew, I¡¯m finally back,¡± she said, winding down on her flying sword right down into the midst of the three cat women and me, just far enough away from a crowded area.

    The large woman, the one that cared for the Dam, was holding the other two cats. The small one being carried greeted Pinky with a ¡°Bubby!¡± though the remaining three of us were less enthusiastic, as was right, given our station as the least enjoyable of our group. We noble few had to fight the magic-slinging bureaucromancer while the little one got a lollypop.

    If only¡­ If only.

    Pinky gave the little one and the Dam a pet on the head. I had no idea how she got away with that. The Dam clearly viewed Pinky differently than me; she was a little marshmallow, and even a scary marshmallow was soft. I was a¡­ Well, the only thing about me keeping me out of that territory was my eyes and my mannerisms.

    That would be a good trick, my internal manipulator told me. I could just let it run and make me sound like a silly little thing.

    ¡°Sup, Pinky. I was wondering when you would drop on by. You missed dinner,¡± I told her.

    ¡°And the dinner rush. Lucky, lucky,¡± the Dam said.

    ¡°Dynamic prices are good for our pockets,¡± the tall woman said.

    ¡°That¡¯s dirty,¡± Pinky said before looking at the lollipop-sucking little one, ¡°Don¡¯t become like Molly.¡±

    Who Molly was, I had no idea. I was allergic to names, but the little one seemed to understand, so it worked out. She nodded wisely.

    ¡°As heartfelt as this is, can I assume the details of our deal are clarified to your liking, Amber?¡± The Dam asked; my now illegal-legal name on Luna said with all the sincerity of a joke.

    Pinky, looking ever unflappable, was flapped by this.

    ¡°Uh? Wah? I¡­ Aw, man. Again? How many people know the na-ha-ame?¡± She asked, sobbing tone dragging out ¡®name¡¯ into something more akin to the song, her sword mirroring her act as she took her soft fists, leaned her head on me and started ¡®Punching¡¯ me.

    Her fists hurt me non, and her sword was a little funny, but she was clearly devastated, even if this was clearly an act.

    ¡°There, there, my fin friend, it¡¯s a secret name, only known to you, me, Mei, probably the five guys I met at the bar, the Dam and her people¡­ And every person who has access to the records on Luna,¡± I told her, my social instincts weighing in to help me twist the knife ever so gently, my hand coming up to pet her on the head, the springy little cow lick on her head refusing to be felled by the plane of my hand.

    ¡°Uh?¡± She asked.

    ¡°I needed paperwork, and for so many reasons, I couldn¡¯t even start. Good news, considering our mutual friend here¡­ Besides, given our mutual friend, I can also pay for some classy food¡­ Or just a lot. We can get some stuff for a binge, and I can pay,¡± I told her.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Huh?¡± she repeated.

    I looked at her as she looked up at me, eyes too big, her punishment staling at this new piece of information.

    ¡°The Dam here has some work for someone of my skills, and I need a bunch of things she has that I don¡¯t,¡± I told her, and then, knowing that it didn¡¯t explain enough and that she was the closest thing I had to a friend outside of my own head, I added, ¡°I¡¯ll tell you more when I¡¯m done doing some work tonight, I¡¯ll be back soon, ok? If you haven¡¯t done a patrol, do a patrol, and then I¡¯ll be ready¡­ Just not here.¡±

    She didn¡¯t look happy, but she also seemed to take something from that, and I would have to be willing to pay it because I had a retainer and work to do.

    We had stuff we didn¡¯t know about each other; I didn¡¯t trust Pinky with all of my stuff, and one day we would part ways, but here and now, she was being good as gold with me, and I would not let it be said, that I didn¡¯t pay a friend back in kind.

    It was probably because my mood was so good.

    That probably helped.

    I¡¯m sure it had nothing to do with it, especially not all the credits. Dear god, the credits. I could do so much with this, getting some stuff to binge-watch a show in peace, some snacks and drinks that wouldn¡¯t even eat into the value of the final.

    And now I had a bonus identity. I could register the Junker, pay my fare, pay for the repair, pay my tab + interest + three times that amount, burn half the credits on hookers and blow and still pay for the food. It was the kind of deal I would get when I was really fucked, and lady luck finally stopped kicking me in the cooch.

    I didn¡¯t know what I should pray for. If this was a side effect of my luck, I needed to pray for my life, but if not, I needed to pray for thanks. I could deal with that. Surely, it couldn¡¯t be that bad.

    ¡°I could always just¡­ Come with you?¡± she pointed out, ¡°It¡¯s not like I can¡¯t take care of myself.¡±

    At that, I hesitated.

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ Not that kind of work,¡± the Dam pointed out.

    ¡°It¡¯s a whole lot of old law work, Pinky,¡± I told her, ¡°Just because you could do it doesn¡¯t mean you should. The whole reason why people like me exist is to minimize the number of people like me.¡±

    She seemed to be comforted not at all by that admittance, and I could understand why she wouldn¡¯t be. The math was the Archanges work; it was also an after-the-fact thing, but the kind of thing that came up to explain why some people killing people was ok, actually.

    The math went, one person kills another person. This was a bad thing. But now another person kills them right back. By killing a killer, the number of killers didn¡¯t go down, but the first killer had placed themselves outside the law and was, therefore, not protected, leaving one killer free and clear. But, if that second killer killed a second killer, the number went down.

    To the Archangels, this was a reasonable caveat, but they could be very cold and detached from the day-to-day lives of the flock they shepherded.

    It was how bounty hunters came into being, but that same cold pathological shadow made it a grim thing.

    ¡°The fact that you grimaced like that is the exact reason I¡¯m not bringing you Pinky, but I¡¯ll be back before you know it. Besides¡­¡± I said, letting my mouth climb into a smirk, ¡°Most of the work I¡¯ll be doing is quiet, and you¡¯re bound to draw eyes. No offence, but walking around with those out is not quiet,¡± I told her, pointing down at her chest.

    It really was distracting, and there was no way she didn¡¯t know that. I gave it a high chance that if I had a stone that gave me clothes when I transformed, it would show off enough skin to make me look like a harlot when the entire point was manipulating others.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be back?¡± she asked.

    ¡°By the witching hour or not at all,¡± I told her before thinking of something clever and sticking out a pinkie. ¡°Pinky promise?¡±

    The tall woman groaned, the child did not like it, and the Dam rolled her eyes so hard that I heard it, even if I couldn¡¯t see it, but Pinky got an ever so tiny smile, though her eyes were appraising.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ I just couldn¡¯t help myself,¡± I told them.

    ¡°I¡¯ll kick your butt if you leave me hanging. I want to see your reaction to the mid-season reveal so badly,¡± she told me, taking up my Pinkie with one of hers and, in doing so, letting the puns win.

    They were the father of all wordplay, and I was much like that father... Or more of a drunk uncle. Were pick-up lines the drunk uncle? I was losing track of where I was going with this; the alcohol was making my mind slide around a little, but such was where the best... or, I supposed, the most cursed ideas came from.

    I slid that entire train of thought into a box, deciding that it was at least moderately cursed and going nowhere and focused up.

    ¡°I would expect nothing less. I do periodically need my ass kicked¡­ Now, I¡¯ll head off and do my best to map out everything¡­ I¡¯ll give you an update tomorrow before heading out,¡± I told her.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do more than kick your ass. I still expect a girl''s night with you, and since you¡¯re so rich, you can pay,¡± she told me, stepping back to motion her sword down, ¡°Oh, also, don¡¯t stress yourself out,¡± she said to the Dam, ¡°it¡¯s especially bad while you¡¯re still nursing.¡±

    And like that, she was off, hoping on her flying death machine before flying off into the night¡­ Which was still weirdly bright out, considering all the lights and the

    The Dam sighed.

    ¡°She had to go reminding me¡­ I hate to cut this heartfelt time with you short, but I need to be off. It¡¯s getting late; they¡¯ll be mewling now; I just know it.¡± She said, her voice dragging into something tired and rumbly.

    And off they went.

    I stood there, watching the woman carry a cat in one arm and a child in the other with equal importance, the little one looking back and saying, ¡°Bye bye, crazy lady,¡± as they turned a corner and disappeared into the twists and turns of the city scape.

    I let them go out of earshot, making sure not to speak loud enough for the kid to hear me muttering, ¡°Fucking weird ass species, that one.¡±

    ¡°I personally think they were created like that.¡± Lilly said, ¡°They¡¯re early work, certainly. Pre-empire humanity¡¯s templates were poor at best, and a partial cat isn¡¯t balanced, not in a small form¡­ Also, I¡¯m ready to help you speed up your progress on your new windfall, though I don¡¯t quite know what would be best.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll pretend I understand what you mean,¡± I told her, ¡°but I think you can probably help, especially if you can see some things through walls. Anything out of the ordinary could be helpful for the two we can work on tonight.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that hard to understand. You¡¯re Human, but most templates are similar; they¡¯re based on a proven design with minor alterations for minor desired traits... But that base is fully capable. The Dam''s head is slightly disproportioned, and the small ones, like the bartender, have a speech impediment, along with their body. In a vacuum, they would likely be selected against, resulting in an eventual cascade toward extinction.¡± Lilly told me.

    I thought about that a moment before beginning to move through the streets toward my first target, that of the neighbouring faction of ne¡¯er do wells.

    ¡°I would imagine that with anyone else, that would be hyperbole. But you¡¯re being serious,¡± I told her.

    ¡°The Dam doesn¡¯t have hands, Jacalyn. A cat is more than capable of survival, but with an enlarged head, they would also have issues with childbirth. A generation of high infant and maternal mortality would be bad enough. And it would be worse with the small bodies and large heads of the smaller first-kin. The larger-bodied ones represent a far more balanced form. If you were to compare the number of first-kin, how many of each type have you found? What are the proportions? Those are de. They''re issues for them,¡± Lilly said her tone was a rare one of triumph as she seemed to take pride in the topic.

    And I could see the point she was trying to make, which was a mark of her growth. I had seen easily over a hundred of the two taller kinds. The bipedal cats and their weird cat-like expressions and the muscle women were found plenty, but the small forms... I had seen what, maybe twenty total. That was something that did strike me as rather telling, but only because Lilly had pointed out a line of reasoning behind it. It was something I might have noticed, but I wouldn''t have placed it as important, much in the same way some random detail to Lilly might go without notice.

    She was like me, but different, same core, different focus. And that growth interested me, it was good to see her not saying defective, like we were all precision parts with a few loose tolerances to many.

    I mean... She stuttered it, but that was still progress.

    ¡°Shit, now I feel bad about it,¡± I told Lilly as I took a corner and made my way onto a thoroughfare; the best way I could think of was to make my way over to the next district because I could catch a ride with someone.

    There were many a Lunatic on this road, though there were also guards about, their puke coloration like a bird showing off the ugliest plumage in existence as they kept the peace. I kept my distance, even if it was unlikely that I would be noticed as I tried to pick out someone with a cart.

    Lilly kept me company as I spurred her on to talk about things I could barely comprehend, like body layouts and genetic inheritance, until I found my way over; the driver was confused by my choice of location, so he left quickly.

    I could understand why he would be, the place was a slum, the ramshackle buildings standing four stories at least were dwarfed by the rises of the distant towers. The entire thing looked like it got taller further in; the buildings, even this far out, looked like they were stacked atop one another, as if they only had so much area, and they started building up, but no one had any intention of planning it out.

    It was the most advanced slum I had ever seen; its organic stacking gave little rhyme or reason. There was, around the border of the district, a tiny wall, though it was more of a delineation kind of wall than a keep people out kind of wall. You could literally step over it.

    There was a placard by the ¡®gate,¡¯ but it wasn¡¯t written in the common tongue.

    I let myself in, the metal plates of the old city in a city seemingly never replaced, the structure not dilapidated but dated, and the walls, floors and ceilings coated not in grime but a long history of habitation. I had come here for two main reasons. Number the first because the gang here had been acting fucky, and the Dam wanted to know what the fuck was going on¡­ The second reason was that the point of contact for the goods was here on the edge, closer to the warehouses. Considering the other option would require me to approach government officials in a setting where others couldn¡¯t overhear us talking, and thus, had to be done very delicately, this was the preferable option and the most time-sensitive one.

    After all, with the loss of the goods the lunatics, that was to say insane, behind the attack I had blundered into would move. This meant that I needed information, and I needed to know where to go. Because I couldn¡¯t find a damn map of the city worth a damn, and if finding a map of this place was like finding a heroin needle in a haystack. Not only was it a massive pain in the ass, but it was both unsanitary and would probably give you wasting sickness the second you got your hand on it.

    Considering how this place was laid out, I could now understand why.

    I made my way inside. The hallways along the edge of the area were thin corridors like an apartment, with long stretches of suffocating tightness that broke off and off and off in a confusing nightmare maze. It had maps inside. They did not help; each was wrong. If Lilly didn¡¯t start chiming directions to help map out the nightmare I would be lost and I was glad I wasn''t. It was the kind of layout that made my skin prickle as I slunk through the halls, walking past the inhabitants of the slum. Every corridor split, and the tight halls and tighter dwellings would make every step a fight through a choke point where you could be fought every foot from beside. One giant organically formed a kill box.

    The people were worse.

    They were grimy people, dirty people, but I could tell they were all in one another''s pockets. It had a homey atmosphere, which it probably shouldn¡¯t. It was just a memory of another time imprinted onto the present like a stamp that reminded me too much of the inside of the cramped compartments of ships and the never-ending metal halls and prefab modules of Pallas. These grungey people were my kind of people, but not in a good way. I knew them, even without meeting them, and I hated them. They might speak differently and look a little different, but I could see in them the same taint that made me hate Pallas.

    The very fact that an outsider had come through would be repeated, the gangs would know I was snooping, they just wouldn¡¯t know who was snooping. It limited my reach and my ability to find details. The best I would be getting was passive checks, and even that invited people to look straight back at me. When that was a grandma that was one thing, when it was five drugged up teenage boys with guns who had been given the mandate of heaven by a drug lord it was quite an issue. Worse, I bet they were probably also being paid in sex from equally drugged up teenage girls. I certainly wouldn''t put it past them, sex and drugs were how you made boys into killers on the cheep, and everything here was cheep.

    Great people... If you wanted to find a reason to put them down like the rabid animals they were, anyway.

    Even so, I made my way around and let Lilly guide my path. It was a nightmare. Gangs, plural, weren¡¯t just present but in force and part of normal society. It had more signs of organized crime than it had signs of habitation. Worse, as I came into the inner area, the area opened; the ¡®streets,¡¯ for what that word counted for, were dim of natural light from the towering pillars of the cityscape despite the continued light of the ¡®night.¡¯

    There were useful vantages, roads over rooftops that let me peer down as if I was a sight-seer. I got to witness drugged shells of people passed out in the gutter and the crazed that always managed to pop up when you added together poverty and substance abuse. There were also patrols, just not from guards. Gangs enforced the peace here. There were a few special basket cases that seemed to make the hair rise on even the gang''s necks, the kind of guy who argued with a brick wall kind of crazy.

    I found that while the outer wall was a kind of den, the true focal points were the inner towers that reached a little higher than the outskirts, their tops open to see the view. That done, and still unable and unwilling to talk to the populace and give away the aim of my game, I moved toward the edge of my vantage of a walkway, the sounds of life beneath me reaching up through open windows.

    I decided to smoke as I moved over and out towards the slightly open end, the average buildings dropping down to a comfortable three stories, the outer edge and the periodic towering housing blocks keeping the rooftop walkways in a comfortable shade away form the storefront lights.

    I was moving to find the point of contact when I spotted a cluster of people moving along the road that stood out. The crowd stayed away from them; the gangs watched, and the way they moved drew my eye, slightly too precise for a gang. Their clothing had no sign of what or who they were. Well, most of their clothing.

    Two of them were familiar, but one was different. She was being walked around, weapons pointed at her back where her arms were cuffed.

    She still looked like shit, and so did Blackbird, the cocky shit walking around like he was a general leading a host.

    ¡°Now, what are these two chuckle fucks doing here?¡± I murmured to myself.

    ¡°And what are they doing together?¡± Lilly chimed in; my own suspicion mirrored back onto me.

    And what were they doing together, moving toward the same place I was going? I already knew that she was part of the same organization, but I doupted she would give up her own. Blackbird carrying her around was also not what I would have expected.

    ¡°I suppose we¡¯re going to find out,¡± I murmured, slipping Righty free, six cylinders of solid shot ready to part the group from the mortal coil.

    And so we followed from behind, stalking them across the roofs of the slum.