"Never waste your ammo on a good knife fight."

Boba would hate to admit to himself that he’s actually feeling the pangs of anxiety strike his heart. He and Vader haven’t spoken since their last engagement concerning the mishap with one Han Solo. He’s been contacted by the Dark Lord in regards to a specific job with the promise to be paid well.

As he waits for him to arrive, he notices the grit and grime of his last venture encrusted to his armor. Any common plebe would be rushing to the ‘fresher to make themselves presentable, but Boba’s identity lies in equal parts this deadly carapace as well as the blood that stains it.

However, it is taking a while for Vader to appear. There’s fashionably late, then there’s borderline impolite, not that Boba would hold him to such standards. For a bit, he considers the possibility that he’s been stood up, switching the holo-projector off to sit in silent darkness. It is in these still moments that a chirp can be heard at the entrance.

Boba taps a button on the panel of his bracer and the blast door slides open. He takes no action to greet his guest, keeping himself seated atop his shrouded throne. Vader steps in, tall and authoritative. His very presence is as alluring as it is intimidating. “Didn’t think you were going to show your mask in these parts.”

“I will admit, this is a rather sad hole in the wall you’ve summoned me to.” Vader’s boots hit the dusty flooring, hollow and resounding as he soon begins to circle around Boba.

“It’s secluded. Private.” Boba’s head turns to follow Vader’s gait. “Dark.”

Boba challenges him, making Vader think he was going to be the one calling the shots, but he is in the bounty hunter’s domain now. Vader’s path takes him through a tight coil as if he were circling a pipe with Boba as the drain. Boba stops him with a gloved hand just below his life support control panel, lifting his once relaxed arm from his chair to boldly make the initial contact. Vader humors Boba’s touch, suppressing the desire to barrel right through his arm at this impasse. “I take it you don’t care to talk contracts?”

“Sure, we can talk.” Boba pushes into him harder, his spread-out palm spanning over Vader’s mechanized stomach just above his waistline. He stands, the steel of his boots tapping together in a ringing chime with each advancement, backing Vader into the closest wall. “After.”

Vader tests his strength against Boba’s weakness in the way he’s shamelessly throwing himself at him, so he tastefully reminds this licensed killer of his station.

Vader collects the force around their bodies, concentrating it into a barrier between the two. Boba fights with the resistance, realizing he is being kept at bay. The visor secured to Boba’s helmet tilts on its axis as he turns his head, puzzled by Vader’s resistance. His labored breathing echoes through his modulator, a robotic inflection coating his every vowel and consonant. Vader spots a salacious flex of Boba’s neck muscles when his chest rises during this struggle, clearly seen beneath his layers of textile. Their illusive coverings hold a mystery that neither of them care to shatter, contrarily anchored by the need to be known and understood. “This is hardly equitable.”

“Equitable?” Boba strains his speech as Vader still has his phantom grip over him tightly. “I- argh… didn’t think you knew the meaning of the word.”

“I demand to see you.” Vader thinks of a way to even the playing field, ushering towards his own desires. “How long must you make me wait?”

“You’ve already seen me.” Boba was hoping to jump right into this, but Vader is requesting to take things slow.

“I might contend the same, however, we’d be here all night.” Vader quips back, rendering what Boba had just clarified redundant.

“As if you weren’t planning to do that from the start.” Boba calls Vader’s bluff and he curls his fingers inward a hair more to retaliate. The powerful restrictions holding Boba in place compress him deliciously. Where many would be unable to handle this treatment, Boba is exactly where he wants to be. “You don’t have to threaten me with a good time.”

“If it’s threats you want, threats I will make.” Vader’s open hand curls once again in warning. “Show yourself to me, lest you feel what happens when I close my fist.”

“You… say that like… it’s a bad thing.” Boba is taxed by the tension, unable to fill his lungs completely. His shallow breaths make him pant like an impudent hound and Vader finds his noises delectable. Boba is suspended inches above the ground, the tips of his boot soles barely graze the floor as he feels himself getting pushed a little over an arm’s length away.

The illusionary grip Vader has on him softens and Boba is afforded the ability to shed his first layer consisting of an ergonomic shirt with his upper armor secured right to the stitches. He carefully pulls it over his head, quickly replacing the helmet over his face while letting his pauldrons and plates fall where they lie in loud clangs to the floor. Next is his utility belt with which he teases Vader, acting like he can’t find the buckles for a few moments longer than what is socially necessary. A titular hiss comes from Vader’s direction when he grasps Boba’s mocking actions, smoothing out to his regular breathing when the belt thuds at his feet.

All that remains of course are his boots and kneeguards, forearm bracers and his precious codpiece veiling the very trophy Vader seeks within Boba’s flight suit.

“You are far from finished.” Vader scolds when Boba pauses his undressing.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there are just some things I won’t be taking off.” Boba advises, minimizing Vader’s expectations.

“A reasonable stipulation.” The hand still holding Boba in the air is stationary as his other one begins to rise, its strength concentrated on something lower than his bracers and helmet. 

The codpiece. 

The straps holding the plate secure are pulled taut and Boba’s groin begins to undergo a revolutionary onslaught as the tactile fasteners are stretched to extreme lengths until every last one snaps apart. “One that I care not to follow.”

It’s as if his palm has been magnetized that Vader promptly collects the triangular sheet of steel. Boba isn’t shocked that his fortitude includes obscene actions such as this. He’s more annoyed that he will be the one to repair that.

Vader holds the codpiece close to his shielded face, examining the details of its wear and tear. A polished section right at the center of the concave makes him chuckle as he surmises it has rubbed against Boba’s cock for years.

“I was using that.” Boba watches Vader indulge himself from afar, enticed by the swift absence of that item in particular.

“You’ve no need for it.” Vader disputes plainly, discarding it at his feet where the ringing clatter echoes into their collective ears. He waits for silence to fall again, a painstaking task that both of them seem to have the patience for. “Proceed.”

Boba shakes his head from side to side in feigned condemnation when Vader tests him. In spite of wanting to be the one to dictate what happens tonight, he does what is asked and begins unfastening the collar of his flight suit. With each section undone, Boba peels the fabric away to showcase his glistening chest, chiseled muscles catching what little light remains in the room.

With each row unfastened, Vader’s helmet tilts and sways, seeking every glimmer and flash of Boba’s taunting torso. The contours of his sculpted abdomen riddled with scars paint a delicious mosaic across his skin of all the times he’s been battered and beaten but survived. Vader admires him from where he stands, biting and moistening his dry, cracked lips from beneath his somber helm.

Vader bends the arm suspending Boba at the elbow and he soon senses himself drift forward, closing in towards the Dark Lord. From a few yards away, Boba at least felt some semblance of authority over things, but with this rapid advancement, it is clear that Vader has some games he is wanting to play first.

Boba closes in fast, unable to gauge the spike in velocity with the unanticipated near collision with Vader. He is stopped just short of running into him, a broadened mechanical fist halting his phantom induced advancements while still keeping Boba in mid air. His feet wiggle, expecting to come in contact with the ground but they just can’t reach.

Boba’s arms are still glued to his sides. The invisible bindings wrap around him like rope. Vader’s caught him in an impressive vice, examining him like a precious specimen before plunging a hand into Boba’s wide-open flight suit.

The mechanical digits grip Boba’s firm length, tightening against the buffer of leather and flesh. Boba chokes on his breath. Words get caught in his throat as he wrestles with this depraved attack. His enunciation falls apart into shuddered gasps and wanton groans with every precise stroke.

Boba has no recourse to fall back on but to receive all that is done to him. The secrecy of this setting paired with Vader’s impenitent proximity in keeping him restrained does wonders as Boba is brutishly worked over. He tries to cry out in protest, but Vader devises his own schemes against this by tightening his hold every time Boba squeaks. 

The constriction of Vader encasing him manifests to a potent degree in Boba’s groin. The lack of space to move or even express his elation is forfeit as Vader continues to stroke until he sees Boba imitate a geyser. Ejaculate shoots from Boba’s tip, landing in random sequences all over Vader’s suit while also dirtying his gloves. The collected spend in his fist acts as an ideal lubricant to stroke him even after he’s released all that he could in this instance. Although, instead of Boba being embarrassed, he makes light of this happenstance.

“Lot faster than last time, I’ll give you that.” Boba pants breathlessly as Vader finally sets him on his feet. With shaky knees, he staggers away, treating Vader like a cheap fuck ready to toss him a tip and show him the door. “Thanks for dropping by.”

Vader uses his soiled hand to grab at Boba’s wrist. The smearing of viscous liquid saturates his arm and Boba is able to sense the heat radiating through his glove from his prosthetic appendages, reluctant to let go. “Rethink how you address me. We are far from finished.”

“Relax, I’m not as big of a bantha’s ass you take me for.” Boba rescinds his joke, a spark of trepidation blooming in his gut when he can see that Vader did not take too kindly to that gesture.

“On the contrary.” Vader argues, yanking Boba back towards him. “I know for a fact that you are.”

“Well, don’t blow a fuse.” Boba traces the frame of Vader’s life support panel, his own leather fingertips leaving traces of him all over the components. “I wouldn’t leave you like that.”

“I wouldn’t let you.” Vader towers over him, craning his head down to peer into the blackened T-visor.

“Mighty words for a man who just let me come all over his suit.” Boba straightens his stature, attempting to meet Vader at his height to no avail. Vader glances down at the mess, his rebreather hissing when he sighs at the revelation. With no facial features to gauge his mood, Vader’s body language communicates all Boba needs to know. “What? Are you going to tell me to get on my knees now?”

“I was contemplating that.” Vader’s helm tilts again at this admission.

“Then say it.” Boba proposes to him while stepping so close, their chests nearly touching.

“Careful.” Vader warns with an intentional dip of his helm. “It would be easier to kill you now without your pretty armor.”

“So, you like my armor, eh?” Boba only acknowledges the complement in Vader’s threat.

“I know a superior chassis when I see it.” Vader drags his leather-clad finger against the sharpened edge of Boba’s steel helmet and pushes it up by an inch to reveal his mouth. The shift obscures Boba’s sight as his visor is moved out of place from his eyes, forcing him to look down the bridge of his nose through the shade. “Beskar is a highly revered ore.”

 “You still haven’t said it yet.” Boba lets his tongue venture out of his mouth at that last word and just barely licks the come off Vader’s finger. Boba’s flavor is salty and bitter, savoring it all the same. As they experiment with this, Vader staggers in his midst. One might believeVader is spared by these humane flaws, but the wits extend far past his very being and into the world around him. He is able to identify every scent that lingers in Boba’s sweat right down to the texture of his tongue when he tastes his glove. Boba keeps him on his toes by calling the shots this time no matter how much Vader may boast “I’m beginning to think you forgot what we were doing.”

“You do not give the orders here.” Vader quarrels to maintain his elevated standing, but Boba has a way of catching him off guard. “I do.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Boba gives him another proverbial nudge and it strikes Vader deeply when he sees what’s happening. “Say it.”

“On your knees.” Vader disbands all mirth from his inflection, serious as he addresses Boba but these are the exact words he’s been dying to hear.

“As you wish, my Lord.” Boba obeys, playing along even though he has plans of mischief in store. He bends his left leg first, following with his right and Vader’s stature practically doubles as his perspective shifts. Boba winces under his helmet at the hard flooring colliding a little rough than intended with his knee guards, but will endure for this renown trophy.

Vader’s layers have not yet been uncovered, but that’s nothing a simple press of a button cannot cure. Boba’s eyes meet with the curved, silver buckle fit with a tiny triangular latch embedded within. With a steady hand and a dexterous execution, Vader’s entire utility belt, codpiece and all, meet the ground with a thud as well. His tabard is free flowing at each side, encapsulating Boba like a blanket all around.

Vader peers at him, their visors meeting once provoked by the steamy implications of their positions as Boba pushes the draping sections of Vader’s tabard out of his way. He is captivated by Boba’s resolve, respecting the bounty hunter for never showing even a glimmer of fear. Vader is known to harbor utter disdain for his own constituents, but when Boba’s success rate proved to be one of if not the highest in the guild, he felt obliged to get in touch.

“You’re a generous guy, you know.” Boba thinks to worm his way into Vader’s head, adding to the broiling rush of this engagement.

“I am no such thing.” Vader vehemently disagrees, his iron fist clinging to the notion that he is to be feared and feared alone.

“What you do is a thankless job, is it not?” Boba adds, playing his own mind tricks on him. “Has anyone ever shown their gratitude for how safe you keep the galaxy?”

“That is a subjective claim you would not be making right now if our rapport sang a different tune.” Vader bends down but only slightly, just enough to test his grip on Boba’s throat. He doesn’t squeeze or utilize his supernatural abilities, but to simply massage the muscle and admire his open collar. The warm tone of Boba’s skin travels from his clavicle to his exposed and moistened pubic wreath, a trail of hair rising up to reach his naval. “Moreover, my work is not merely an outlet for praise.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Boba asks, bypassing Vader’s closed trousers where he easily locates his stiffened cock, freeing it from the small and slitted opening. His inanimate elements are hidden by clothing, but Boba’s hands on his thighs identify where man meets machine. 

“Enough chatter.” Vader’s hand moves from being clamped around Boba’s neck to pulling him forward by the jaw, his thumb and index finger pinching him at the hinge so his mouth stays open.

Boba smiles beneath his helmet when his widened mouth is invaded by Vader’s throbbing cock. The plump head sparkles with a sweet bead of forbidden nectar that Boba hastily licks up. The texture of Vader’s scorched and warped skin creates grooves and ridges that Boba didn’t notice the first time this happened. He was far too blinded by seething wrath that Vader would use him in such a way to even register the profound occasion. Even Boba didn’t know he had an appetite for the forbidden.

Vader maintains his hold on Boba’s jaw, moving him up and down his shaft to taste every inch of him until his nose collides with Vader’s structured torso. Boba slowly but surely demonstrates to Vader that he does not require his guidance. He takes initiative beyond Vader’s manual influence, evolving above the chaste up and down motions and acting with a bit of flair.

Boba gauges in his mouth how to better take all of him without gagging on it each time it hits the back of his throat. He tucks his chin, allowing Vader to fill his mouth and press staunchly into his tongue where he steers his cock to his hard palate. His jaw is opened to its furthest extents while he continues to bob while Vader’s audible breathing becomes more unstable by the second.

Vader lets go of Boba’s chin, giving over the reins to bolster his limbs so that he doesn’t buckle under the pressure. The cold, dead stare does a poor job of disguising Vader’s emotions. His modulated moans and gasps are peppered between the periodic hiss of his respirator, its motors kicked into overdrive to compensate for the exasperated activity.

Vader’s head is thrown back when Boba pulls his lips almost completely off his cock, circling the swollen and soaked tip with his tongue then practically choking himself right after. He intentionally goes down too fast, suffering the consequences with an inelegant gag.

Boba thinks it to be a mistake, committing to careful methods from here on out, but Vader will have none of it. He likes the sound, wanting to hear it again and again and again…

Vader rests his palms over Boba’s crown, keeping him still while he thrusts forward, fucking his mouth. Boba’s gagging becomes a percussive echo that Vader delights in, especially when he starts to grab fistfuls of his tabard and cape through the tussle.

Boba is starved for breath, needing to turn the tables and fast. He decidedly focuses on Vader’s weak points where his prosthetics join his corporeal form, pushing him as hard as he can until he loses his balance, falling backwards where he joins Boba on the floor.

Vader is saved by putting the heels of his palms out, catching himself before he could fall all the way on his back. Boba reigns supreme as he has Vader pinned now, his drooling and chapped mouth left agape and panting as he yanks his helmet back down. Vader curses him in his mind for taking away the precious sight, but his interests are piqued to see what Boba does next.

Once he realizes what this Dark Lord finds favor in, Boba is not as resistant to try new things, taking it by force if he has to since he knows Vader likes to play the game.

“Trying to catch me at a disadvantage, are you?” Vader says this as if he’s insulted that Boba would try something so debauched, meeting his fantasy with one of his own. “Very well.”

Vader snatches Boba by the collar, easing him into a straddle where his flight suit is torn apart. The opened section from his collar to his groin is breached beyond its bounds as Vader takes the fabric in his hands and shreds it so that Boba’s bare ass is put on display. His sleeves and pant legs are all that remain. Even then, the knee bracers are the only things holding what’s left of them up. Boba is jostled by the spontaneous wardrobe interference, tested more now than ever. “You owe me a new suit.”

“Whatever you require, you know the Empire will always provide.” Vader puts this discrepancy to bed, deciding to take Boba there next.

“Doesn’t matter.” Boba forces himself atop Vader, straddling his broadened waist and successfully pushing him down at the shoulders so that his back at last meets the floor. “It’s the principle of the destruction of property.”

“You’re my property.” Vader contradicts what Boba has to say with a rhetorical slander of his own. “To whom do I pay my dues for your destruction? Myself?”

“I’m no one’s property.” Boba disputes, gallant in his enunciation.

“You’re mine as long as you’re on my payroll.” Vader discloses, but Boba can read between the lines.

“Are you saying you’d be jealous if I took a contract from someone else?” Boba turns things around on him again, really getting under his armor this time.

Vader realizes the road this is going down, electing to punish Boba for these outbursts. There is no time wasted between Vader lifting Boba up and impaling him on his cock. He uses gravity to his advantage, pouring his essence into force fucking Boba. He doesn’t have to use hardly any tactile strength, relying all on his phantom grip to slam him down. 

Boba loses all ability to enunciate another word as the impetuous fullness extends deep into his core. His ass stretches around Vader’s cock, the saliva smoothly easing it past his threshold through the stinging dilation. Though, just when Vader thinks he’s conquered his opponent, Boba defies his will with a plight that will not be impeded.

Boba embraces this position, grinding his ass into Vader and driving his cock farther than either of them anticipated. His hands are surrendered unto Boba’s grasp where he presses both into the dusasteel gorget over Vader’s chest. Just as Vader was impaling him with his upward thrusts, Boba collides his ass with Vader’s hips. 

Boba’s cock tempts Vader as he fucks him, just flopping every which way right in front of his face. Sadly, He is not afforded the liberty of touching him, restrained and inhibited. Extensions of his frustration manifest in failed light sockets and sparks flying from random points in the ceiling. Wall panels are peeled off to reveal the inner workings of the building and the tiles under their feet are literally bending to Vader’s will.

Boba relishes in Vader’s defeat, a crater forming each time he seats himself atop this influx of inches. The sounds of destruction in the room grow more violent as Boba keeps at this, pestering Vader as the foundation of this building suffers. It is immaterial to them, worth far less than this moment. Boba raises the stakes by lifting a knee to allow for Vader to see all of him and in due course, he is subdued. It is not like Vader to wait on the grace of another, but with Boba, it happens all too naturally. 

Boba reaches climax by his own doing, enhanced by the presence of Vader’s panoptic grasp. He releases a guttural moan when Vader feels his ass tighten around his cock, flexing in tandem with hot ropes being shot all over him for a second time. Boba’s cock bounces through every jutting release, extending the perimeter of the fast-accumulating mess. 

It takes a bit more than this for Vader to get there, though he is not far behind. While still deep inside Boba, he scoops him up by that raised knee to shove him on his back and repeats the same with his other leg. Boba’s knees are almost pushed to his chest, the plates of  his armor tapping against his helmet. 

“Harder…” He begs with slight difficulty as Vader’s hands are occupied by keeping him folded in half. Boba does let another chance at rapture escape him. His gloves are saturated at this point, amplifying the slick grip he has on himself. Boba uses his other hand to assist in holding one of his knees back, spreading himself. 

“What an… insolent act it is to make… demands in your position.” Vader enunciates gruffly as he drives himself into Boba, punctuating his words with his herculean thrusts. He pauses, draping his body weight over Boba to nearly flatten him, speaking directly into his ear. “I will now teach you that one who inquires soon perishes.”

Vader stays cascaded over Boba, his ample weight making it next to impossible to fuck his fist, but he adeptly realizes that this hindrance is actually his salvation. Boba has no choice but to graze his padded thumb over the tip of his cock as that is all the space Vader affords him. This scarce deliverance is made up for by the depth Vader exceeds, punching Boba assertively with his cock like a battering ram assaulting a spire.

Wheezes and hizzing resound from Vader’s helm where they pour into Boba’s ears, noises that no other living being would be caught dead hearing. Vader succumbs to the strenuous engagement and one of the hands locked into the crook of Boba’s knee comes crashing down beside Boba’s helmet. The steel rings against their skulls, coaxing them into an irreversible daze.

Vader is thwarted by the throes of passion, his unyielding slams and thrusts are met with an involuntary convulsion as pooling heat is deposited inside Boba. Their deep breaths join together in unison as the bliss of their synchronous release takes them by storm. Boba’s subtle stroking was not unfruitful, a third and notably smaller load being expended from his exhausted cock. His endurance has been all but depleted and his muscles are becoming aware of the repercussions of this venture.

Vader hovers above Boba for a few seconds, his cock still plunged deep inside as they study each other’s eyes beneath the esoteric screen. He gives him a couple parting thrusts, flexing his shaft to ensure every remnant has been gifted to his prodigious associate. They say nothing, letting their gasps tell all.

Vader gently slips out of Boba, bowing his head to see it exit by the inch, heaving a large groan when it slips out taking his pearlescent ooze with him. His cock swings so heavily, dangling between his thighs and running into Boba’s as he pushes himself to his feet. He intentionally leaves Boba on his back, admiring his used and vulnerable posture.

“I take it you’re leaving now that you got what you came for?” Boba asks, propping himself up on his elbows to see what Vader does next.

Vader is charmed by this assumption, closing in on Boba where he strives to do what he does best and unnerve him. His natural walk sounds like stomping, each stride booming through the floor. Vader takes a knee and with his cock still out, he reaches for Boba’s, overly spent and sensitive. Vader is lofty and mountainous as he dwarfs Boba, still lying on the floor.“I was hoping we’d talk contracts.”

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

“Be back by sunset or you’re grounded!” Your father calls from the kitchen where he’s already making preparations for the extensive feast planned.

“I’m too old to be grounded!” You holler back while slipping on your shoes. He’s never said anything, but your Father has always noticed a few grains of sand leaking from your soles when you remove them. He’s given you the benefit of the doubt all these years, but something weighs on his heart to not let this rest.

“You still live under my roof, young lady! Besides, we’re having dinner with the neighbors!” He adds sternly but with a tone of humor. “Don’t be late and make me look like a fool by myself!”

“I won’t!” You agree while beating your foot into your shoe to better get it on.

“And don’t go near the ocean!” You roll your eyes when he says this, having told you the same thing every day through your whole life.

“I promise!” 

As you leap out the door, you don’t realize how easily you’ve been able to tell that lie. On the contrary, you’ve been making trips to the grotto to reunite with your nautical friends on a regular basis. You sprint all the way there, the cobblestone streets present to you a steep path down to the shore. You wave and greet other townsfolk working the market stalls or hauling in a large catch. At last, you walk the coast line down to a cluster of little waterfront caverns, selecting and focusing on the favored grotto.

The mouth of the cave is more narrow than the area itself, making it seem much larger on the inside than it looks on the outside. The marine reverberation of your steps against the rocky shore travels swiftly and soon, five pairs of eyes peek at you from just above the water’s surface. They disappear and swim as fast as they can to greet you, sneakily but excitedly congregating where the sea meets the land.

“I brought snacks!” You reach into the little satchel at your hip and line up big, fat mussels in front of you, enough for each of them. Having collected them on the way, they’re as fresh as can be. One by one they disappear as little ripples disturb the natural flow of the waves revealing evidence they’re being gratefully fed on.

“I hunt for mussels myself all the time, but for some reason, they always taste better when you bring them to us!” Wrecker holds a piece of the dark, smooth shell in each hand, going back and forth between the two licking the reservoir inside. The paleness of his webbed scar and fogged eye is a bright contrast to his nearly ebony scales and fins. The warm tone of his skin creates a natural gradient between his humanoid presentation and his piscine physique. Subtle flecks of its shine sparkle in the shadows of the cave.

“Have some decency, Wrecker.” Crosshair attempts to scold him but it falls on deaf ears. He’s already finished his mussel, now chewing on a pin-straight mackerel bone to clean his teeth. With the bone pinched between his index finger, you can see his emerald adornment, sharp extensions of his spikes and scales give him an abrasive appearance when paired with his piercing chartreuse eyes, but you’ve determined he’s the biggest softie of them all. “It’s one thing to eat like that with us, but in front of our guest?”

“How else would I know that you like them?” You playfully reason, backing up Wrecker’s shameless behavior.

“Simply saying so would suffice.” Tech adds, his clawed finger pointed to the ceiling. His interjection makes you smile when his golden eyes meet yours. His scale coloring is that of a sunset, bright and gleaming like the heavens.

“For normal people maybe.” Hunter chuckles, humored by the debate that’s begun. He likes to collect the shells, already making his rounds to each of his brothers where he will add to his hoard. He holds one up to the sun, examining the length and curve while you likewise study his ruby red smoothness. It’s like his skin bears a resemblance closer to a snake with dark splotches of shattered markings throughout a scarlet backdrop. The light catches him just as his attention finds yours, grateful for the mussels you’ve picked as their shells are prizeworthy. He methodically tucks them away in a hidey-hole to be joined with the remainder of his collection.

“And we’re anything but.” Echo shrugs, handing Hunter his pair of shells. His arm breaches the water, only a few shades darker than the blue of the very ocean they’re residing in. The royal color accentuates his handsome complexion, and his shyness suits him just as well. “You’re here later than usual.”

“Sadly, I’ll be leaving sooner than usual too.” You sigh, defeated by the priorities of home.

“What for?” Wrecker objects with his question. 

“My dad was invited by Whitfields to have dinner at their house. Something about them feeling bad that my mom isn’t in the picture? I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.” You shuffle past the subject too quickly for their comfort.

“When do you have to be back?” Hunter asks, making a mental log so that he doesn’t get you into trouble.

“By sunset.” You tell them flatly, loathing your return.

“That still leaves us with about an hour and a half to burn.” Tech interjects, offering an accurate account of allotted time together.

“Then let’s make the best of it!” Wrecker takes a dive, his fin nearly splashing water on you if you hadn’t dodged in time. He resurfaces a little distance away from the others hollering “Marco!”

“Wrecker, playing that game doesn’t work if she’s out of the water.” Echo gently breaks it to him, and his face becomes visibly deflated as he sinks down to his ears into, his plans now futile.

“I still don’t understand why you are not allowed to swim.” Crosshair disputes, flicking the fish bone away with a tiny splash.

“I don’t know how to swim.” You smirk in an attempt to conceal your abashment for having not obtained a skill most acquire in childhood. 

“Even so, this water is remarkably shallow.” Tech illustrates the incontestable.

“It doesn’t matter.” You settle into sitting cross-legged, limited by the amount of space you have while still wanting to be close to them.

“There has to be more to it than that.” Hunter wants to get to the core of this issue, unafraid to say what most wouldn’t.”

“Ugh…” You groan, drooping your head down in mental exhaustion before lifting it again. “I didn’t want to tell you this because I didn’t want to offend you.”

“Well now the circumstances demand it.” Tech entices you with this socially barring revelation, knowing there’s no turning back now.

“Spill it.” Crosshair joins in the coaxing.

“Tell us!” Wrecker whines, interests now piqued.

“Alright, alright!” You exclaim, slapping a palm to your face. “Just please, this isn’t my belief, it’s my dad’s.”

“No judgement.” Echo raises his hands to you in pacification, guaranteeing their discernment to tell the difference.

“You have our word.” Hunter gives his collective pledge, speaking for his brothers.

You gather yourself, twiddling your thumbs in your lap for a moment or two before sealing your eyes shut and saying it aloud. “My dad tells me that your kind feeds on humans.”

“That’s absurd.” Echo scoffs, clutching his collar when he hears the nonsensical conjecture.

“Is it true?” You ask, craving the truth for yourself.

“Of course not!” Hunter asserts with an earnest exclamation.

“If it were, Wrecker would have eaten you a long time ago.” Crosshair makes light of the moment, calming everyone’s nerves with his witty teasing.

“I would not!” Wrecker refutes that strongly, his voice carrying through the cave.

“Well, it was for a time.” Tech reveals the veiled knowledge concerning the subject. “It was an ancient practice, but it’s not one that any of us follow anymore. It became too hazardous to interact with humans in general.”

“Oh…” Your considerations were correct, folk like them are just as afraid of humans as humans are of them. “I hope I don’t make you guys feel like I am dangerous.”

“Please.” Crosshair treads water in place while folding his arms. “You couldn’t hurt a sand crab. That father of yours on the other hand...”

“You don’t have to worry about him.” You pull your knees to your chest when speaking about him, guarding yourself without even thinking about it. “He’s a fool.”

“Fools can still pose a threat.” Hunter brings reason to the forefront, making sure to look at this through a lens of sensibility.

“Have you ever attempted to get in the water?” Echo brings everyone back on track. “What with your theory getting debunked and all.”

“I’ve played in a knee-deep pond on land, but no.” You shrug, hugging your knees a little tighter. “I’ve never stepped into the ocean.”

“Ya wana give it a shot?” Wrecker asks despite knowing this request is rather hefty, he gives you space to decide.

You sit back, resting the heels of your palms on the uneven bank you’re sitting on and think that today just might be the day. Your heart wants to embrace this change, but your head immediately decides against it. “What? I can’t! Don’t you remember? I have to go to dinner!”

“Not all the way.” Echo joins in Hunter’s reasoning. “Just dip your feet in.”

They lie in wait while you eye them all, joined attention flickering between them and the water. It does look appealing. Without another word you scoot to the edge, unstrapping your shoes and kicking them off to expose your dry skin flecked with sand.

It is cold at first, but not like an unwelcome arctic draft. It more resembles a fresh and energizing cleanliness one could never hope to find in any manmade bath or land-locked watering hole. From the instant you submerge your toes it feels strange; not necessarily in an unfavorable way, but unnatural that you’ve never experienced in your known life. The awareness of your legs is still there’ but it’s like a phantom binding betrays your current appendages and unifies them as one, locked together by an unfamiliar nautical anatomy.

You quite literally lose your footing as all ten toes disappear before your very eyes, giving way to an identical fin to those around you. Your coloring is as bright as the peel of a naval orange with yellow accents extending from your iridescent scales to the tips of your fins. Your dorsal spikes impale your shirt while your trousers have been ripped through, currently floating to the bottom of the pool.

You are swallowed up by the pool, shocked and unfamiliar with the simple motions of treading water as standing upright is no longer an option. Your mind races with the need to act on your human impulses, but a certain goggled face stops you from drowning yourself in a few feet of water.

Your lungs constrict with the dire need to expand and for what seems like an eternity. You’re convinced the action is futile, but the functions of this natural state flex a set of throat muscles that have laid dormant until you need them most.

Regardless of having been showered or submerged before, it would seem that the naturally high levels of salt in seawater unlocks this biological transition. Tech astutely gathers what it is you’re undergoing before his brethren, holding you steady as the current begins to sway you to and fro.

His talon-like claws come in handy, grazing them lightly against your tender jugular precisely where his own gills appear in a sequence of three on each side of your neck. It is a minor pain that burns once thoroughly sliced and it puts you in crisis, thrashing in his arms. The fogginess of your perspective has not fully adjusted, and even though you’re amidst a freakout, he doesn’t let you go. Instead he speaks to you.

“You must breathe.” At first, you think his voice should be muffled, but his enunciation is loud and clear. He repeats himself, anchoring you into action rather than chaos. The more you listen and attempt to obey, the clearer your vision becomes. It is a remarkable difference from the way things sound above the surface, constant reverb and harmonious layering through every vowel and consonant spoken. “The mental impasse will not last long.”

You know exactly what he is referring to when he says this. Your body is so used to holding your breath in this setting, no matter how hard you try, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to do it.

The fire in your lungs grows hotter and you’re dying to surface, but you’ve no true control over your tail yet, unaccustomed to a single thing. Tech has the power to lift you up, but he doesn’t, persistent in proving that you can do this. 

“I am aware of your turmoil.” He adds leniently, his luminous eyes coaching you through. “Do as I do.”

He takes in a breath and you study him closely, watching tiny bubbles enter his mouth and flow out his gills. You open your mouth to mirror his actions, but your body is still disagreeing with you. Your throat constricts until it can tighten no more, but you are saved by your subconscious desire to fight for life. 

Just when your esophagus feels as if it is going to collapse in on itself, you breathe in the biggest and cleanest breath oxygen could never dream to offer. You can likewise taste everything within a massive radius. The freshness of nearby fish, the powerful aroma of accumulated seaweed, even the identifying  scents of everyone else in the pool. You look around and see them approach in a line behind Tech, peering over his shoulders at their worried faces.

As this groundbreaking occurrence is taking place, you have no clue that your father was hot on your trail. He has begun to notice remnants of sand gathered on your clothes or spilling from your shoes when you would return home, knowing there is only grass and stone within the town’s confines. The beach is the only place one would find sand. He readjusts the breakaway shotgun sling as he makes his way down to the shore with a leather strap over his shoulder, an accessory to his ensemble he is never caught without.

“Woah!” Wrecker exclaims and your ears suffer. “How did you do that?”

“I don’t think she knew she could” Crosshair’s slightly softer inflection doesn’t help, giving you no rest from this siege on your senses.

“That is correct.” Tech confirms, still holding you upright while delaying a resurface.

“So pretty…” Wrecker whispers under his breath, but everyone hears it, especially you.

“Wrecker!” Crosshair’s snappy rebuttal causes you to shut your eyes from the pain, flinching when things get too noisy.

“What? We’re all thinking that!”

“Crosshair’s right.” Hunter intervenes, joining Tech in seeing his own tactile struggles in you right now. “It’s not the time.”

Echo joins in alongside Tech and Hunter, supporting you with currents of their own as each pass and swish of their tails act as an invisible platform of support. “You were one of us all along.”

They are patient as you gather your bearings, their statements oppressing you as each one sounds like it’s being overlapped by the last. The expression on your face communicates to them that you’ve nowhere to begin in this new lease on life, frozen in fear and confusion. All the ongoing conversation is not doing you any favors, so Tech puts an end to it before you could fall farther into panic. He gives Hunter a knowing squint, giving him the go ahead that enough is enough.

“A little quieter, everyone.” Hunter strictly quiets his brothers as Tech cradles your face in his hands to cup your ears so that you are afforded a buffer from the increased volume. 

Their lips are soon sealed, ceasing conversation and opening a window of adaptive comfort for your new normal. Soon, it is only Tech’s voice you hear. “How’s that? Better?”

It’s going to take some getting used to, but you manage to enunciate your first stuttered sentence through the thick, waterlogged environment. “A l-little…”

With each passing second, your primal senses adapt. Your sight that was once so obscured is as crystal as these waters. The likenesses in front of you have formed a perceptible structure, shaping a group of kind faces enamored by your unexpected transformation. You shake the boys off of you, distancing yourself to test your stalwart tail out.

You zip and zoom between them, quick as a torpedo. The action is oddly natural, as if you’ve never forgotten how. The thrilling rush makes your heart pound incessantly and your spirit is awoken, alive at last. You cannot be contained to this tiny pool, propelling yourself through the overgrown reef at the shallow floor where it empties out directly into the open sea. Looking behind yourself, you see that you’re being followed by the prodigious band of brothers, easily able to keep up with your novice speeds. 

The pink and purple sky paints the world in wondrous colors, drawing you upward to witness it yourself with everyone following your lead by porpoising for about a quarter mile in formation behind you.

You’re losing yourself in all the fun. Your father has caught up to you by now, catching sight of Wrecker’s large form breaching the sea accompanied by five additional swells before he even notices you.

“I’ll be damned if I don’t get you this time.” Your father knows not what he does, yanking the shotgun over his shoulder to the forefront. He retrieves a pair of hefty shells at the same time he breaks the weapon open, depositing both pieces of ammunition into their respective slots. He jerks it upward, closing the gun so that it is ready to be fired. You and the others bob your heads up with a raucous exclamation that can be heard from afar, blatant evidence of your immodest entertainment.

Your father slams the motor of his boat into maximum overdrive to catch up, his gun already raised as he picks out his first kill. The sky is akin to a masterpiece painting, showing you all the marvelous colors of the world. The sparkling sea refracts it marvelously and you question if you’ve ever truly noticed the magnificence of simply being alive. You expect to be greeted with smiles, but you are confronted with the opposite.

You’re taken aback by the shock on their faces, observing something you’ve not yet witnessed. Time slows down as you pivot to capture what it is that’s souring such a beautiful day. The motor of a nearby boat is roaring and only getting louder, actually getting too close for comfort. Before you could completely spin yourself around, the distant dual barrel of a distinct firearm enters your perspective with Wrecker fiercely baring his fangs as it draws closer.

The holder of the weapon is your one and only father, a haunting expression on his face you’ve never had the misfortune of beholding. With your scaly arms raised in surrender. He doesn’t recognize you as your appearance has evolved beyond your human presentation.

“Dad, no!” Your father gasps when he notices you, far more petrified. He pulls the trigger and scatters gunpowder and lead in a dispersed array in front of him, and you absorb the majority of the hit.

The words you shout register too late, a mystifying claim that couldn’t possibly be based in fact, and yet, your father does recognize your voice. You share a glance of utter betrayal that he will torment his mind as he knows it. To his dismay, you release a carnal shriek when you become peppered with refuse by his hand, immediately regretting what he’s done.

When the blast emits, the air around everyone is overturned. It sinks in that he’s winged you and his plagued mind teleports him to a day that looked just like this. The reason he set all those rules upon you. The reason he needs to protect you. It all goes back to that fateful day.

He blinks from the jostling recoil, afflicted by the lightning fast disappearance of the school of living legends that have struck fear in the citizens of this land for centuries. As you are being whisked away to safety with each elbow interlocked with either Wrecker or Echo’s, your father lingers behind, studying the trail left by the others.

You make it back to the humble grotto, the enclosed space acting as the perfect salve to everyone’s heightened nerves. While everyone catches their breath, you are interrogated once again.

“What do you mean… that was your… dad?” Crosshair is still struggling to steady his breath, pausing after every few words to inhale.

“Did he just try to kill us?” Wrecker adds, understandably shaken after looking death directly in the eyes.

“Does he know that you’re… this?” Echo, not wanting to seem insensitive while addressing the elephant in the room. “Is this why you never knew your mother?”

“Guys, stow it.” Hunter waves at them to sit you down at a nice little perch that operates more like a seat that allows you to use the pool’s edge to rest your arm over. “Let’s get these out of her before they embed too deep. Tech, get the utensils.”

Tech nods, slipping away under water before rising a couple seconds later with a set of extraction tools and medicated seaweed in hand. Tech uses a sterile and sharpened fishbone to tweeze the pellets from your skin, discarding the weighted baubles to become gravel on the sea floor. The natural durability of your armored scales helped protect you from the majority of the blast, but there are still some areas that require a thorough looking-over.

The job is painstaking and demands a precise touch, and slowly but surely, you are rid of all foreign bodies. Tech and Echo smooth the hydrated and slimy strips of seaweed on your skin, and you are reminded of how humans utilize gauze in the same fashion.

As Tech quietly works, their questions roll around in your mind. If that wasn’t your real father, who is he? Was everything a lie? Does he even love you?

“Did you hear that?” Hunter announces when the last strips of seaweed are deposited on your sore arm. All motions are halted and every ear tunes in. You soon realize no one is as safe as you thought when the drawn blood lures in unwanted attention. “Listen.”

“It’s his boat.” You assume, too worried to accurately dissect anything right now anyway. “He’s following us.”

“We can take ‘im!” Wrecker boasts but realizes as soon as he speaks that it was in poor taste. “Uh, I mean, I’m not ‘fraid of that guy.”

“We’re not looking to fight.” Echo is thinking of the wellbeing of the entire unit, deciding that self preservation is the key.

“If one human starts hunting us again, others will follow and it will never end.” Crosshair remarks begrudgingly, agreeing with Wrecker in his own way.

“Nobody is fighting my dad!” You shout, putting the matter to bed once and for all.

“It’s close.” Hunter is correct in placing the water craft, but that is not the only threat lurking beyond the grotto. “Tech, is there another place for us to lay low on this coastline?”

“A couple hundred yards towards the docks.” Tech confirms, offering you one of his arms to lean on. 

“Are we so sure we want to head towards the humans?” Crosshair disputes, wary of another close call they only just narrowly avoided by the skin of their scales.

“Do you have a better idea?” Hunter clashes with Crosshair’s protest, revealing it to be their only option.

“I’ll lead the way.” Tech helps you stabilize yourself without the support of the pool’s edge, settling you back into the swimming formation you’re grown comfortable in. Night has almost completely fallen and you’re having to rely on your scotopic vision under the wide, open surf to know where to go. What would be untraceable to a sapien’s naked eye, a predator in the distance spots your school proceeding with rapid succession up the coast. His silhouette is as still as stone, but when the perfect window presents itself, it bolts.

Within no time at all, a nameless beast traces the decadent scent of your blood right to your position. It lunges with arms outstretched and jaws fixed wide, but his murderous attempt is made futile when you are scooped up by Tech’s quick thinking. Wrecker moves to the front of the pack while Hunter shoves you and Tech aside into Crosshair and Echo’s course, enabling your reckless escape.

The stalker is revealed to be a creature just like you and your vigilant companions, the singular difference is that he is lost to his deranged temperament. It snaps and bites, combatting with Wrecker’s grip keeping him at arm’s length. However, Hunter is forced to act when he squirms loose, giving Wrecker the slip.

“No you don’t!” Hunter clamps both his hands on the base of his tail before the fin begins, powering through the ache of spines and spikes piercing his palms from the beast’s slicing hide. Its primary focal point remains locked on a bloodthirsty plight for making you its next meal. 

You make the mistake of looking back where Hunter and Wrecker engage in battle with it, getting the best of both of them by embedding its spines into Hunter’s palms deeper than anticipated. “Gah!”

Wrecker is there to collect the beast when Hunter’s influence fails. He traps it in a stranglehold with his broad arm, cleverly stifling his source of respiration. Wrecker’s treatment is met with a similar vain outcome as the beast tucks its chin at the most optimal angle, opening its maw to bite Wrecker on the forearm. “Argh!”

The speed with which it gains on you is fin-raising. As it draws close, you begin to make out scars extending from its asymmetrical shoulder, later identifying that he is missing a massive chunk of flesh at the crest of his arm. In light of this evident malformity, the beast is not hindered.

“Keep following Tech and do not stop!” Echo instructs while slowing down a bit, preparing himself for the inevitable confrontation. 

Crosshair coolly does the same, uniting with Echo and leaving your life in Tech’s hands. “Get her to safety.”

“Planning on it.” Tech agrees, as he ushers you out of there, locating and cloaking your trail by vanishing out of sight, at least that was the goal.

At first glance, all these marine formations look the same. If you’ve seen one grotto, you’ve seen them all in this case. You both make it to the safe point in question where a slightly larger rocky moat surrounds the pool, creating a walkway of nearly double the size than the other one with a nearly identical threshold leading to the beach. You are at a disadvantage for being cornered, but at least there is only one direction you would expect an attack, right?

The beast proves to be much too quick for them, evading all their attacks and appearing at the mouth of the cave Tech just delivered you from. He stands defensively when his eerie stare cuts through Tech as if he weren’t even there in the middle, obsessively surveying your every move.

Everyone else arrives shortly after sporting their own battle scars. The beast exerts itself proudly out of the water to his chest and closes in while Tech broadens himself in front of you. “Come no further, or perish.”

The beast realizes when it has been bested, spotting threats on all sides, and even with the odds stacked against it, the core mission will not be abandoned. It peers into your soul, every horrid thing imaginable it could do to you plays over in its mind. You can feel the seething rage in its heart and untamable hunger in its belly compelling it to lunge forward. 

When it does, a second shot rings out, fracturing everyone’s sensitive hearing in two. The man that was once considered an enemy is now their saving grace when your father catches up to the scene. Gunpowder and steel balls blast through its head and neck, taking an eye and a portion of its face away where the contents of its skull empty into the pool.

Everyone is in disbelief. Not only has the threat been eliminated, but they have been saved by the very person that once sought out to make a trophy of them. With apology in his eyes, he cracks open his shotgun and reveals it is empty before dropping it at his feet.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, inching closer, but the others encircle, suspicious of his motives. “Please I- I didn’t mean to-”

“You lied to me!” The scream is released before you could put sense to the outburst, settling in your rage after all. “Have you always known that this is what I am?!”

“Please just let me explain!” 

“You were just looking for an excuse to kill me, weren’t you?” You assume the worst, knowing what the people in town think about your kind. “You followed me out here!”

“I followed you to make sure you were safe!” Your father presents a moral claim, though it’s evident they were built on self-serving grounds. “It is clear that I was right in doing so!”

“These are my friends!” You engage in a shouting match with him, and even though you wholeheartedly suspect your stance to be in the right, this is starting to feel wrong. You’ve never spoken to him this gratingly. “I am always safe with them!”

“Is this where you’ve been running off to all these months?” The way he speaks to you indicates that he’s known about a secret of yours, but hadn’t the faintest idea how far it went. “How long have you known you’re one of them?”

“Listen to yourself!” You’re outraged when his terminology sounds like he thinks you to be a stranger, no longer worthy to be regarded as family. “You act like I don’t share the same blood as them!”

“You don’t!” Your father repudiates this fact of nature, giving in to his delusions. “You’re my daughter!”

“You’re not my real father.” There’s no denying it now. The proof is right in front of you. “You can’t be. What really happened to my parents?”

“You don’t understand what you’re asking....”

“Tell her.” Hunter steps in as their pack leader. A strong flex of his tail fin propels him forward to the edge of the pool where your father stands perched on the platform. “You owe her that much.”

He sighs, acquiescing to your demands as he sees no easy way out of this than to just tell it like it is. “I wasn’t always a merchant. Fisherman’s trade was my lot for a time. It was a quiet day, hardly anything caught. I noticed a disturbance and assumed it was just a school of mackerel acting lively, but I was dead wrong.”

While on edge, all ears are listening intently as his memory flashes to the night he found you, cursing himself for being the reason you’re wrapped up like a sushi roll.

“Blood started to rise and at that point, I couldn’t ignore what was happening.” His eyes stray as if he’s reliving the memory in real time “I heard screaming, so I dove in and tried to see if I could help. I thought someone was getting attacked by a shark.”

“What did you see?” You ask the question everyone has on their tongue.

“That thing that was chasing you just now.” Your father confesses resentfully, having carried that weight all on his own for a long, long time. “I’m the one that put the hole in his shoulder.”

“You inflicted such a scar?” Tech’s intrigue is worn on his sleeve. “What did you use?”

“A harpoon. I couldn’t use my gun underwater, you see?” Your father explains, his tone being drained by the grim themes of the recollection. “But I was too late.”

“Too late?” To you, this man alone hung the moon. Your world is crashing down around you without ceremony.

“Your mother.” He pauses, trying to gather himself. “She didn’t make it, but she protected you.”

“My… mother?” You reiterate his words about ready to cry when he mentions the one person he prohibited speaking about since the beginning. The anguish from being shot is stacked on by the emotional turmoil of the very foundation of your life residing at the center of a lie.

“Yes, she did everything she could to save you.” He takes another step closer to the edge, and this time, the others do not react. “I am so sorry.”

“Where was my father?” You pry ever deeper into the unknown biography of your life, leaving no stone unturned. “My real father.”

He doesn’t answer, rather opting to point at the deceased creature floating lifeless in the center of the pool, nothing but a wild animal finally put down. You dare to look at the corpse and realize there is an uncanny resemblance when you extend your arms and get a proper gander down at your tail. The orange like citrus, his black eyes with flaming irises. He is right. You look almost exactly like the petrifying monster a stone’s throw away.

“No…” You create distance between the body and yourself, colliding into Tech and Crosshair when you swim backward, feeling suddenly trapped in the midst of the beast.

“I’m so sorry. I should have told you, but you kept getting older.” You really feel for him now, putting yourself in his place and thinking you just might have done the same thing. “How could I expect someone so precious to understand something so awful?”

“Were you ashamed of me?” You ask motioning to your metamorphosed body, most of which is under water. “Of this?”

“Heavens, no!” He says and you can hear the truth in his utterance. “I wanted to protect you. From that.”

You feel a tear fall down your cheek as you look between the beast connected to you merely through blood, and your surrogate father bound to you by love and affection. His decision that day helps you to see the blessing in his actions and not the curse.

You wince when Tech accidentally touches your wounds, still idly backing away before taking a moment to reassess things. Your father hates to see you like this, longing to examine your injuries himself.

 “You were a tiny little thing, scared and alone. You had the biggest cherub cheeks and looked as pink as salmon.” He takes a knee now, forming a huddle with you and the boys. “I had to stop my career as a fisherman and start as a common merchant when I realized I couldn’t take you on the water with me without seeing him. I know he hated me for taking you, but I couldn’t leave you behind. It was a risk I was willing to take.”

“That’s why you lied.” You confirm, reeling your anger back since unmasking your indisputable origins. 

“Yes, that’s why I lied.” He shrugs with a shake of his head, wishing he were transparent with you from the start. “Now come here, let me get a look at you.”

Your loyal band of brothers stall the exchange until you give them clear approval. You meet your father, putting your arm over the edge so that he can examine the damage.

“Ow…” You hiss when he peels back the slimy seaweed, laying bare the inflamed and irritated wounds.

“Sorry, kiddo. I won’t be able to really do any help without my kit.” Your father admits, unsure of the holistic remedy these companions have administered.

“Our methods have not failed us before.” Tech won’t let his age-old practices be undermined by a human, no matter his relation to you.

 “At any rate, you’re going to have to come back to the house.” At your father’s suggestion, your companions grab hold of you, measured enough not to press on your wounds while still being reluctant to depart. “Erm… did you want to accompany us?”

“What a foolish inquiry.” Tech rolls his eyes, unconvinced but cooperative. “I thought it was obvious we are coming with you.”

“Manners, Tech.” Echo warns with a smirk. “It’s not every day we are invited into someone’s home.”

“You mean we’ll really get to see how humans live?” Wrecker is beaming at the notion.

“I’ll expect all of you to be on your best behavior.” Hunter coordinates his brothers on the etiquette they will each be upheld to.

“But wait!” Your prior priorities come back as a burden when you are reminded of the dinner planned after sunset. “What about the Whitfields?”

“We’re just going to have to postpone.” Your father hoists you out of the water so that you can sit on the edge with your fin still submerged from your knee bend down. “It can’t be helped”

“Oh boo.” You jibe sarcastically, not even trying to hide your elation. “That’s too bad.”

“That’s enough, young lady.” He catches your muttering and corrects you as any father would. “I know you loathed the idea of dinner with them, but you don’t have to make your joy so shameless.”

“They’re just so boring.” You groan, craving the galvanizing escapades of a day like this, not the uninteresting monotony of a few nosey busy-bodies looking to share your family’s business with everyone who will hear.

“If there’s one thing that’s certain, it’s that if dinner were still on, it would be even more interesting now. Say, I thought you guys said you were coming.” Your father has always been one to adjust without issue, regarding your companions as valued additions to his growing little family.

Hunter smiles at this comment and the value these words hold. He knew there was a reason you entered their lives, and there’s no qualms about the impact they’ve had on yours. This is what he and his brothers have been coveting for, lost in a world that would rather fear them than get to know them.

You still haven’t gained your original legs back as you sit on the edge, your father helping you pull your feet all the way out of the water. The boys follow suit by gaining some momentum under the water and rocketing themselves onto stable ground with a barrage of rather ungraceful flops and flips. Within seconds of the brisk evening air hitting their skin, their appearances revert to a more uniform, human state as if by magic. All fins and scales recede while hair or smooth human complexions manifest with everyone’s tails shifting into a pair of legs complete with a blet of tasteful kelp covering over their loins to preserve their decency. Although, this introduces an awkwardness that they cannot confront the general public with. You at least still have your shirt on, yanking on its hem to enshroud an additional inch or two of your thighs.

Your father equips you with his long-sleeved flannel off his back and a pair of swim shorts he happened to have in the boat, helping you into the shorts one rocky foot at a time while keeping you warm with the flannel. Unfortunately, the only other garments he has rest in the form of spare raincoats and fishing overalls. They’re not fashionable nor are they comfortable, but they will serve a purpose for now.

The boat ride is rough as it is nowhere near equipped nor large enough to accommodate seven persons. You’re seated atop Wrecker’s lap as his stature is the best option to keep you stable and not treat your hurt arm like a loose pinball knocking against whatever is closest. Your father steers the vessel through the bumps and turns, eventually resulting in your arm to grow sore no matter the precautions taken. 

It’s late when the boat finally reaches the shore. The docks have lanterns alight and not many people are out at this hour. Your father covertly ushers his group of guests all the way to your house, flinging open the door hoping to survive this trip without being snagged by social interactions, but it’s none other than the Whitfields making themselves at home in your kitchen and dining room. You want to be livid about their invasion of privacy, but dinner is prepared and it smells amazing.

“We lost sight of ya, so we decided to bring the party over ourselves!” The head of their house explains their questionable raid of hospitality. He puts his arm around his smiling wife, currently tossing a bowl of roasted vegetables while her infant child babbles in a rocking pram. Mr.Whitfield is puzzled by everyone else here, hoping he’s brought enough food for everyone. “So… Who are your friends? Your daughter here looks like she’s been put through the wringer.”

“These old fishing buddies of mine forgot to put the cap on the drain hole before taking her to score some mackerel.” Your father tells a white lie, forcing a laugh hoping it is believable. “I know we’re terribly late, but they had a rough time on the seas and were in desperate need of a place to stay.”

“I hope they’re hungry!” They take his word at face value, blissfully unaware of the real reason for the lack of punctuality. All are welcomed inside, a cozy shelter out of the elements. Who would have thought hostile conflict could work up such an appetite. With wounds mended and bellies filled, the house is happier than it’s ever been. Like a legitimate family. Unbreakable. Everlasting.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

She motions to one of the chairs across her desk and Delgado sits, professionally poised and formal in her presence, getting right down to business. “Did you hear about the science ship that disappeared near Venus a few weeks ago, the Hasami?”

He sets his hand terminal down on the desk, waving upward in a haptic motion where a holographic projection beams upward into the empty space forming a stable projection. It is a short clip of only a second or two showing surveillance footage of the very ship they speak of losing its signal and its transmission ceasing.

“Got caught in some unexpected meteor activity. Was that it?” Avasarala confirms she’s aware of the very incident.

“That was the initial theory, yes, but when UNTSB investigators reviewed the ship’s final transmissions, they found this.” Delgado gestures toward the holographic projection with a wave, scrolling to the next visual feed archived on the device. Amidst the black backdrop of outer space shines a bright blue flickering dot.

“This looks like a drive plume.” Avasarala confirms, squinting her eyes to better study the speck of light in the darkness.

“SIGINT was unable to extract a drive signature.” He explains. “Our theories suggest it’s most likely a belter skiff, possibly a known Inaros faction ship.”

“Why would Marco Inaros destroy a science ship?” Avasarala asks, truly at a loss on what the point of action would be.

“I’m not entirely convinced that he did.” Delgado illustrates his cryptic insinuations, causing Avasarala to really wonder what happened. “Whoever it was, they got away.”

She receives a chime from her own hand terminal. It’s Holden. She doesn’t want Delgado to be aware that she is utilizing her own resources to conduct this investigation, so she calmly thinks of a way to dismiss him. “You’ll keep me updated on this, won’t you?”

“I’ll brief you on all new developments.” Delgado promises with a nod while standing from his seat. 

“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She directs her attention to her hand terminal, sensing the urgency on the other line as Delgado exits her office and leaves her in privacy. She engages the transmission, expecting some new plethora of problems arising on Holden’s end. “Finally, I’ve been too long for you to respond.”

“Sorry, time sort of gets away from us out here in the field.” Holden subtly patronizes her, unable to resist despite their differing ranks.

“Sure, let me just put on my mag boots and air bottle to join you.” Avasarala jibes “If I wanted to engage in small talk, I would call one of the useless senators here in my wing.”

“Then I’ll do you the courtesy of talking small. Your theory was right. Stealth composites are indeed being sold to Belters.”

“I fucking knew it!” Avasarala exclaims before quickly composing herself. “What else can you tell me?”

“Not much,” Holden starts and Avasarala wears her disappointment on her sleeve, “but I will call back when I have more time to speak and a better handle on how to explain it.”

“Don’t take too long now.” Avasarala tilts her head at him.

“We’ll see.” Holden doesn’t make any promises, the reception feed transitioning to its default.

Still bothered by the recent events concerning the science vessel Hasami, she opts to discuss things further with Admiral Delgado as well as a certified specialist known as Dr. Alaoui while awaiting a response from the Roci crew. Once Delgado is recalled for a secondary audience in the day, they both linger in each other’s company until their last member of this covert gathering arrives.

“My office said the navy needed help with an urgent matter?” Alaoui inquisitively asks when met with the threshold of Avasarala’s office. He’s hardly had the opportunity, taking this engagement as seriously as the circumstances demand.

“A highly urgent matter.” Avasarala’s articulation puts Alaoui on edge, but it is Delgado’s demeanor that deepens his apprehensions.

“And highly classified.” Delgado passes him a glass of bourbon, giving him a precautionary look as he does so. “This discussion does not leave this room.”

“Don’t you guys have scientists of your own for this kind of stuff?” Alaoui is nervous about what this meeting will entail and just what it is they’re entrusting him with.

“We wanted a second opinion from someone in the private sector.” Avasarala methodically appeases his nerves, catering to the favor of his intellect.

“Your colleagues here on Luna were the first to spot the rogue asteroids the UNS Hasami was investigating around Venus.” Delgado makes what is widely established apparent and relevant to the discussion, testing what Alaoui knows.

“Yes, that’s correct.” Alaoui confirms he is privy to the harrowing incident. “I knew several people on that ship. It’s tragic.”

Avasarala uses this touchy subject as a segue into her next question, utilizing her hand terminal to project a hologram of interstellar documentations with no obvious correlation unless investigated. “What do you make of these readings?”

One by one, Alaoui gestures both hands to each of the projected holograms, selecting them to enlarge for better viewing before scrolling to the next one. “Yes, I’ve seen these. Size, shape, composition… they’re all over the place. Instrument malfunctions.”

“That’s one possibility.” Delgado humors Alaoui’s considerations while hinting at something more.

“What else could be a possibility?” Avasarala pries gently.

With a pause, Alaoui is unsure what they’re asking but proceeds with his best guess. “Well… that’s weird.”

“What?” Avasarala cares not to hide the necessity of his expertise, dependent on his next words.

“All these rocks have consistently higher return signatures on one side only.” Alaoui draws a strange conclusion; his face contorted as half of the projection is battling an unstable interference. This makes half the shards appear jumbled with its imaging unclear like an underdeveloped photo.

“Could these rocks have been fragments of a single larger asteroid?” Delgado beckons the question that Avasarala demands the answer to at last.

“Certainly could be.” Alaoui offers a vindicating nod. “This string-of-pearls configuration suggests that.”

“If this were the case, what do you estimate the size of the original asteroid was?” Delgado can’t possibly come up with the figures himself, dependent on Alaoui’s calculations.

“Ballpark.” Avasarala adds, taking the pressure off him for indistinguishable accuracy.

“Based on these readings, somewhere between ten and thirty meters in diameter.” Alaoui’s estimates are not favorable in the slightest and the collective hearts of Delgago and Avasarala sink to the pit of their guts.

“If a rock that size hit Earth, how big of an impact would that create?” Delgado asks the burning question first.

“It wouldn’t.” Alaoui scoffs as if something as such would be an unfathomable occurrence, never to happen for as long as he draws breath. “Our spotters would easily detect an asteroid of that size.”

“Indulge us.” Avasarala won’t stop yanking on this thread. “Theoretically.”

“Uh, well… with a typical iron-nickel core and assuming the speed at impact of, say, thirty thousand KPH,” He analyzes the figures in his head, “the blast would be about one to four megatons, depending on the impact angle.”

Avasarala snaps her focus to Delgado, nonverbally telling him to close in on her position to privately engage in a quick word, excluding Alaoui. Delgado takes the hint, circling around the back of the sofa Alaoui is sitting on to join in a huddle. “That’s a medium-yield fusion warhead, blast radius thirteen kilometers.”

Alaoui turns around before he is addressed and sees the pair whispering amongst themselves, confused by all this conjecture. “Uh, I don’t understand why-

“Take that for the road, Doctor.” Avasarala kindly interrupts Alaoui after breaking the huddle, imploring him to take his drink and leave.

“This discussion does not leave this room. Are you clear?” Delgado communicates mandatory secrecy on the matter, leaving no margin for his nor Alaoui’s error.

“Yes, sir.” He stands from the sofa in departure, leaving his untouched glass right where it sits. “Ma’am.”

As Delgado digests this new finding, he pours himself and Avasarala a drink. “Higher return signatures on one side of those fragments could imply the original rock was coated in stealth tech.”

“My source just confirmed with me before I called you in here that Martian stealth composites had been sold to Belters.” Avasarala picks up one of the glasses to quell her anger, but she’ll need a bit more than a stiff drink to do that. “Marco Inaros threw a stealth rock at us.”

“And it broke up.” Delgado reassures her. “We got lucky the gravitational pull of the sun interfered.”

“You think he stopped at one?” Avasarala is not naive. “We need to retask the watch towers.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind, ma’am?” Delgado is shocked but still formal in the way he addresses her.

“They’re the only thing that can penetrate stealth tech.” Avasarala reasons, knowing their surveillance is currently pointed in the wrong direction. If they remain that way, they’ll never see the oncoming threat and countless lives have the potential to be lost.

“Which is why they’re always pointed at Mars.” Delgado cannot disguise his hate for Martians, assuming a war will break out as a result of their hotheadedness any day now.

“Mars does not give a fuck about blowing us up anymore.” Avasarala puts her foot down, knowing the fate of her world hangs in the balance. “You need to make the case to the Director of Intelligence. I have burned all the bridges in front and behind me, and I don’t give a fuck. We’re right, and you know it.”

“If we take this to the top, they will hear the name Marco Inaros and shut us down!” Delgado argues, not that he doesn’t think she’s right, but because he knows she is.

“Then don’t!” Avasarala bypasses his worries with a solution. “You let me handle that later. For now, all you need to tell them is that the Hasami’s investigation near Venus led to the discovery of these asteroids and the path they’re traveling on. Make up a sap story about the lost crew to jumpstart their initiative if you have to!”

“You’re putting a lot of your faith in the unknown, ma’am.” Delgado’s council is wary as he shakes his head at her, burdened by the weight of bringing something so sensitive to the board.

“Someone has to.” Avasarala smirks pridefully at him, knowing their actions now could be the difference between a fortuitous miss or a collision that could trigger another ice age.

~~~

The black emptiness of space provides a desolate backdrop to Venus; the initial ground zero that the Ring Gates emerged from. The UNS Hasami is in disrepair, its hull exposed to the elements with sparks flying from its severed power sources. A research vessel such as this has no defensive measures, depending on its humanitarian mission to protect its cause. However, the protomolecule harbors no prejudice and does not discriminate.

The silence is haunting. Blue webbing extends to every corner of the vessel. Everything is eerily stationary. From the debris to the deceased, it is all at the mercy of this idle orbit. Although, tiny fractals spin and swirl with a mind of their own, carving a path through the chaos to something at the threshold between void and machine.

What was once a small cargo bay is now a blown-out gash in the ship giving way to the perilous unknown. The noxious clouds of Venus refract a subtle glow on the exterior hull, in competition with the cool hues swallowing up what little light can be seen in the obscurity. The webbing stretches into more concentrated tendrils all leading to the obstruction standing at the breach. 

The silhouette resembles a humanoid, but if that were the case, a vac suit and helmet would need to be present. Both of which are daringly absent and all that remains is a lived-in lab coat with shredded sleeves and frayed threads. Protruding growths that resemble shards of quartz rip through the fabric with ease. The fractals are gravitated to them, and with every motion of the silhouette, they follow. 

It’s not just any silhouette. It’s Axel. He’s fully evolved into a hybrid by now, and yet he hasn’t discarded this last piece of his identity. Could it be that it’s too snagged onto his growths to be removed, or is he intentionally holding onto this article of clothing like a keepsake? 

The particles operate under his command, moving exactly where they tell him to go. The staggered motions of his body are erratic and unusual, yet the particles have no issue keeping up. Vocal capabilities are shot, so there’s no chance of him speaking, but his icy eyes communicate more than vernacular ever could.

He stretches an arm out to the horizonless sky, the positioning adjacent to Venus. With the help of the particles, he pulls the very probe sent in by Fulcrum. Now, whether it was Rex or not remains to be seen, but these parts are still perfectly usable in the eyes of the protomolecule. 

When the probe is pulled in close enough, he powerfully leaps. The force of his jump jostles the Hasami slightly, landing on the probe ship and climbing into his hidey-hole he fashioned by clawing out its insides. 

Once he makes himself comfortable, he engages the fusion core on this Imperial technology hijacked and reprogrammed by the rebels on Yavin, propelling himself ever deeper into the Sol system. In these little moments of his departure, the Hasami surveillance system comes online, but only to see his is the very drive plume spotted on Delgado’s archived clip shown to Avasarala. 

As he travels expeditiously through, Axel can see the entire system like one looks at the horizon. The very asteroid shards partially doused in stealth tech are within his grasp as far as his perception goes. With this hive mind adaptation, he can analyze directly where he needs to channel more extensions of himself through the stars millions of miles away. 

The scattered shards of the asteroid pass right through the very protomolecule cloud he’s been busy at work spreading. Their trajectory takes them exactly where he needs them to be, and that’s in the direct path of not only Earth, but Mars and segments of The Belt as well. 

He sees one particular shard curve and twirl on a path that resembles an object swirling down a drain, its course getting ever tighter as it closes in on Earth’s orbit. He guides it down, the billions of lives unbeknownst to the chaos quite literally about to slam into their inhabited planet.

A humble fisherman stands amidst the murky and slightly polluted African shore overlooking the Atlantic. He’s watching the mackerel breach the water’s surface, steady like a dance. It is only when their behavior becomes more erratic that his nerves grow uneasy with concern. The lenses on his tech glasses perform an optic zoom and he confirms what he is seeing.

Scores of the mackerel begin leaping out of the water in waves such as the lapping ocean in an urgent manner, almost like they’re trying to flee from something. The fisherman follows their course with his eyes but is soon distracted by the flashing skies. 

At first glance, it imitates a lightning storm. The overcast clouds flicker restlessly, drawing the fisherman’s gaze to the heavens. Then he sees it.

A great beam of burgeoning fire is reflected in his lenses and what an apocalyptic sight it is. The Earth’s crust is blasted, and its shockwave displaces everything in its wake sky high. The poor, humble fisherman can only watch as a wall of water threatens to devour him whole. He accepts his fate, lifting his arms from where they rest at his side, succumbing to the forces of nature that cause him to meet his maker.

Axel can see the destruction as he was right there, working tirelessly to achieve his missions at all costs.

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