#kroth

From Nova: Centurion #005, “Grand Theft Starship: Part 2”

Art by Álvaro López and Mattia Iacono

Sum shit i made, i was bored… Pls halp

Kroth wriggles through the myriad rooms of the Watchtower, you close behind. He seems to be excited about your upcoming Watch, but you don’t really feel the same way.

You think about your past as you walk through the winding rooms of the building. You weren’t always a Watchtower Guardian, though you have been for a long, long time at this point.

At first, you were a police officer. Most people’d assumed you weren’t fit for it. A near-perfect run of the training course later and better skill with a firearm than most would care to admit later, nobody really questioned you anymore.

Of course, that was until The Incident.

You shove those thoughts out of your mind just as you reach the Cafeteria. Of course, befitting such a “diverse” place, this is only one of five, and the only one someone with your physiology can eat at without getting poisoned, injured or worse.

A single neon sign, letters blinking cheerily, rests above the door.

“SEA EMPIRE”

W-what?!? No! Your face goes red as you consider attempting to eat Kroth. Y-you guess he’s a pretty great friend (and based on the Advent’s Eve Party, an excellent kisser), but you don’t think your relationship’s close enough to even consider that!

The Narrative is a little shocked by your suggestion of murder, but thanks to existing in your mind considers this threat remarkably empty.

Mary: Keep your suit on, Kroth, I’ll be out in a second.

Kroth: No. I’ll take off the only thing keeping me alive in this environment just to spite you, Mary.

Yeah, that’s definitely Kroth, AKA High King Diplomat. Coming from a Zone where the majority of its inhabitants are some form or another of sentient gas, he’s required to keep on a special environmental suit in order to keep himself together.

Of course, this suit is made entirely of easily-mutated flesh, which means when someone needs to interact with a scared, mostly-biological creature, you usually send him in.

You slide on your uniform, relishing in the safe feeling the bullet, blade, acid, flame, ice, electricity, force, nanobot, fang and much more-resistant fabric provides you, then open the door and-

You pause as the Narration provides one of its pauses in the face of a creature that would normally terrify you into submission. Kroth waggles sympathetically.

Kroth: The ol’ audiobook’s buffering, huh?

The Narration feels offended by that nickname, but describes Kroth regardless. Resembling nothing more than a fractal pattern of flesh, your best friend in the Watchtower writhes and undulates in front of you. Occasionally a small pore opens and excess gas filters through it, filling the air with the scent of rotten strawberries and chocolate.

Kroth: Cmon! We’ve got second watch of the #*]+%!!! You need to shovel matter into yourself and then we’ll get going!