#caketoss

Night on Aiur was anything but quiet. The jungle came alive with the sounds of nocturnal life, the hum of factories never ceased, and the people who inhabited the war-torn planet only needed a few hours’ sleep each night. The flow never ceased; the movement never stopped.

And Zakk’uur’s flight was relentless as he fled through the streets, desperately trying to keep himself cloaked... but the blood trail he left behind was far too obvious for it to make any difference. Metal-clad claws scraped the cobblestone, the metal as he scrambled down alley after alley, ducking past lovebirds and drunkards and leaving the scent of blood and desperation behind.

He had to escape. He needed to escape.

The city he was in--in the grand scale of things, on the huge jungle world of Aiur, it was but a drop in the bucket. A small, out of the way city that many of the smugglers, the drug addicts, the gang members used... and that Zakk’uur found himself in to do business, finding it refreshingly sparse of Khalai.

He found it darkly ironic that, at this time of need, he wasn’t looking for his own kind. Instead he was looking for--gods, dare he say it--a Khalai. A rigid, uptight Khalai that he hated.

He staggered to a halt, hearts pounding, darting a wild glance behind him. Hunted. He was being hunted. It hadn’t happened in a long, long time, not since--well, not since he’d been hunted by the Conclave, years ago.

But this time it wasn’t the Conclave that traced his steps. No, it was his own kind. Someone he hadn’t expected to actively seek out--there--there.