u/Lakeel100

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—

Thunder, rain, and ship engines rumbled beyond the glass as Tobby gazed out over the hazy cityscape. The rainy season had arrived in full, laying its grey veil over the Nykata’s cityscape and countryside alike. If Tobby squinted hard enough, he could still make out the outlines of the lake and the hilly King's Forest Reserve even further beyond.

He’d had a busy week… a full-blown adventure, some might say. Returning home via starship rather than shuttle to avoid potentially vengeful gangsters had gone… Unnervingly smooth. ‘Maybe I’m just paranoid’ was the first thought to cross Tobby’s mind when he gazed out the window of Pinky’s ship.

In just a week, he'd taken Soapy to a salon, blown up a dress shop, gone to a crime convention, danced with Soapy, got claws-on lessons from a masseuse, done a stripper routine, got licked, got kittenapped by space pirates, got into a high-speed chase, killed a guy, got snuggle bugged by Soapy, ate an obscene amount of BBQ, and was forced to watch Midnight-Sabers 3 in HD against his will. Bloodloss aside... His waking exhaustion felt a little warranted.

Getting shot had not been on his to-do list during his trip to Nyathens; he’d gone there specifically to avoid it, but oddly, that didn’t upset him. Nor did anything else, concerningly. The more he thought about it, the less getting attacked, much less wounded, bothered him than he felt it should. Mortal injuries are supposed to upset people... right?

By the miracle of stim-paste, all of the scuffs, scratches, and other visible wounds were healed over by now. Meaning, so long as his Mom didn't see the bandages around his ribcage and upper arm, he’d be fine.

He’d be fine…

Tobby wasn’t sure how to describe it, but he’d been having a feeling gnaw at the back of his mind for three whole days now. Like… he should feel anything other than ‘fine’ or ‘okay’, but he was just that... ‘Fine.’

Clardonis is dead, Tobby’d made sure of that with his own hands, one more body added to the river of blood. He should be torn up about it, but.. Nothing.

He felt far worse about witnessing all those Gatogri die and the violent deaths of those pirates than he did about the one person he'd slain himself. It was terrible that it’d come to that, but… shouldn't it feel a lot more heart-wrenching?

Had he been justified? Everyone certainly seemed to keep assuring Tobby of such. Did Clard deserve it? The shivers Tobby’s imagination gave him when he envisioned Clard’s intentions for Soapy said yes. Was there another way...

Tobby wasn't so naive as to think he’d miraculously gain protagonist-level persuasion powers at exactly the right moment, nor that Clard would simply stop because Tobby asked him nicely. But in hindsight… Tobby was pretty sure that if at any point Clard had stopped… he’d have let Clard go.

Soapy wouldn’t, but that was another story…

Clard could have stopped at any moment, and yet he chose to keep going. Even when his plan with the pirates completely fell through-because Noah murdered them all-Clard refused to stop.

‘If I hadn’t killed him, Noah certainly would have’ had crossed Tobby’s mind… an inevitability that didn’t make him feel any better. Just… tired… And like what he should feel was going to hit him at any moment, like an existential tidal wave.

Lightning over the city flashed, and its muffled rumble met Tobby’s ears through the vacuum-proof glass of the-

“Are you inner monologuing right now?” Soapy asked, having suddenly appeared next to him.

“Ah!” Tobby jumped, flinching away from her, having nearly attempted to leap through said window to escape whatever predator had just snuck up on him.

The first thing he heard after her snickering at his reactions was a quiet “Yes! Still got it.’ to herself before focusing on him. At least she was in high spirits.

“How long have you-”

“About...” She checked her assistant. “Seven minutes. Movva said we’d be touching down in ten, and we can hop off once the crew was out of the way,” she blepped her tongue a little. “Do you want me to leave you be? Maybe put on some moody Noir music and follow you around narrating everything you do like a novella?”

It seems she was going for maximum silly today… I wonder what pink menace gave her that idea. “You seem to be in a suspiciously good mood.”

“He deflected, his focus still as shattered as a 15s bank account, so deep in thought he had been.” Ardon’s ears, she was doing the investigator voice, a wonderfully bad one, and the cringe pulled at his cultured soul*. “Shi tend to have that kind of effect, but this one, oh this one was an expert. If you ever wanted to see a sun-kin’s heart leap out ‘ah his ears, she was the dame to call.*” She was getting really into it… “He doubted her intentions. It was as plain on his face as the orange on his ass. Was it really so hard to believe that this made-shi was simply glad to be home? Five steps closer to her own bed and nary a bandit in sight?”

“Soapy…” His ears went flat in annoyance as he just looked at her. “What did you steal from me?”

Soapy simply sighed before she started turning out her pockets. “Your wallet, your assistant, the ticket stubs from the theater, your gun...” She listed off, putting the items on the guestroom table next to her. “Aaaand your dignity,” she added, playfully blepping her tongue again as she added a very neatly folded pair of pink short-shorts to the pile.

She found his shorts? He hadn’t been able to find them since he got changed the night the voidlings attacked. “Where… where did you find those?” He asked, awkwardly sidestepping towards the table while she coyly backed away from it, until he could snatch them and hide them behind his back.

“Your pink friend pulled them from the car wreck just like she did all those peaches you bought,” she answered. “Saved from falling into the claws of a junkyard weirdo. She asked me to give them back to you… and maybe convince you to put them on more often?” She added that last part with a sheepish smile.

“No,” he rejected flatly, ears going even flatter in annoyance.

“Oh c'mon!" she whined. “I liked confident stripper Tobby.”

“And so help me if you tell anyone I have these I’ll-”

“Tobby.” Soapy rolled her eyes. “I don’t know if you noticed after all the mutual life-saving we enhanced in the past few days, but I don’t want you dead. I’m very well aware that if BB and Kaykay ever found out you were all up on me like that, they'd big-brother murder you. Why would I tell them?”

“Not what I was referring to, but thanks for reminding me,” he drooped, feeling a little more of his soul drain out of him so anxiety could take its place.

Soapy facepalmed this time. “I won’t tell anyone about your slutty little stripper shorts either.”

“I don’t like you calling them that, but… thank you.” They were his special self-confidence shorts… but by the gods, he would never call them something that lame out loud.

“Though I would like to hear about the stuff you did when you first got them.” She continued, putting on that air of playfulness again. “Movva wouldn’t give me details, but it sounded super liberating for you. Plus or minus the part about her beating up the sha hitting on you.”

‘Mrrp’ Tobby momentarily trilled, having a brief flashback to the aforementioned incidents, before deciding to nip that line of questioning in the bud. “And I'd like to know how your voice reached that octave when Pinky was bullying you in the cargo bay, but I guess neither of us can get what we want.”

It was Soapy’s turn to trill, and as expected, rush to the defense of her ‘tough-shi facade’ as Pinky put it. “She did not bully me!”

“That squeal sounded a whole lot like one someone getting bullied with her own panties would make.” He would know, Pinky had delivered divine retribution upon many a shi that’d been mean to him. Though usually with more violence and less evidence.

“I did not squeal! I was startled she’d do something so kittenish, there’s a difference!” Defensive Soapy was defensive… and there was something about it he found oddly adorable.

“Uh-huh, sure you didn’t,” he taunted back sarcastically, poking the metaphorical tigress. “On that note, why lavender and lace? Is it because they're in vogue among all the other hard-core shi-kai, or because they complement your eyes and you were hoping someone would see them in a different cont-EXT!”

Tobby and his valid points were promptly tackled to the floor by an adorably furious night-kin in time to a distant lightning strike.

“Fuck you!” She snarled, ears burning red as she grabbed him by the collar.

His poor nose was promptly bapped into putty, because an embarrassed Soapy would never settle for anything less than armageddon against the offending party. Victory hurt…

—

“Shore leave two, Electric boogaloo!- wait… no, they wouldn't get what that means,” Movva grumbled to herself as she made her way towards the guest rooms. She’d been trying to think of a fun way to announce they’d arrived for the past hour, and failing. “Ughh… I’ve been spending too much time around the humans,” she groaned, pulling at her face.

Human references, culture, and memes had been slowly bleeding into Shasian culture as a whole for the past decade or so, but the rate at which Movva was being exposed to them was actually starting to affect her speech outside of work.

‘Maybe I should kick in the door and yell something like ‘okay, you freeloaders! You're getting evicted!’ or something… No, that doesn't feel right either.’ She thought to herself, rounding a corner to the hall with all the nicer rooms, including hers. ‘Maybe ‘free rides over’ or ‘please put all trays in the upright position’ or..’

Movva paused outside Tobby’s door, her ear flicking as she heard a crash from inside… and then another, both accompanied by growls, yelps, and muffled yelling that could only be prolific swearing…

“Are they…” She reached for the door handle curiously. “Wait... WAIT!... That is a very, VERY poorly founded assumption, that if correct, makes me kind of a creep for wanting to see.” She thought aloud in a moment of self-reflection. “Then again, I am supposed to be telling them we arrived,” she started reaching for the handle again, growing more tempted by the second, only to pull back again. “Ughh, now it just sounds like I’m giving myself an excuse.”

The ever-dignified ambassador/captain/best-friend-with-a-savior-complex began to pace back and forth just outside the door as what sounded like a battle raged inside. “I mean, I do need to tell them we arrived, but if they’re finally going at it, barging in would make me a creep. If they aren't doing that, then clearly a murder is going on in there, and I'd be the friend that let it happen on her own ship.” She paced faster, growing ever more conflicted.

Then she heard the shattering of glass and knew immediately she had to intervene!

She, by the power of the captain's ability to ignore most locks on her ship, slammed the sliding door open. “Tobby! Are you-... okay...?” She trailed off, processing just what she was seeing.

The room was a wreck, the furniture was a mess, and Tobby was currently pinned under Soapy frozen mid bap-battle with both of them looking at her like they’d been caught. They were disheveled to say the least, and the shattered corpse of a decorative vase now lay on the floor next to an overturned coffee table.

Tobby’s eyes flitted about the room, taking in the mess they’d made before looking between her and Soapy a few times. His tall ears tucked, and he grimaced back as he realized something. “Pinky… “ He said cautiously. “I know how this might look, but it's not what you think.” Said the sun-kin moments before glancing back to the night-kin atop him, taking advantage of the distraction to get her square in the nose. BAP!

“Ack!” Soapy winced, immediately tumbling off him to hold her wapped nose.

“Ha! See how you like it!” Tobby cheered, pointing triumphantly at the downed Soapy once he sat up.

Ambassador Movva slowly reached for the door handle once more and just as slowly closed the door. “I’ll…come back in an hour,” she said, mostly to herself, before flinching as she heard another crash from within. “Maybe two.”

(Author's note: The Epic battle caught in 4k!! )

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—

“Violence has gripped the City of Nyathens with fighting between local gangs erupting across the canyon lands and up into the city proper. Over twenty individuals have been reported dead this morning in what Investigators are saying was a multipronged, high-stakes territory grab. Insider sources say this action was sparked by the looming threat of the GC policing force due to arrive in the coming month. It's bad enough that even power substations are-”

With a flick of the claw, the stream changed to another news station. Anything to pass the wait…

‘-ian culture has been attacked. The Great Library of Nyathens, a nexus of Shasian history and art, has become the latest victim of terroristic vandalism. Taking advantage of the local guard being spread thin by recent events, an unknown group targeted the historic monument, dousing the entryway in a mixture of caustic, bio-hazardous, and radiological substances. An almost equally devastating loss is that the corpse of a critically endangered cave tiger was found on the scene. The message ‘Look what the aliens have done to the Shasian identity’ and other anti-Zarmain sentiments were written on the steps with the creature's blood. Cleanup crews and volunteers are working around the clock to-’

Radioactive… It sounds ridiculous, but after all the threats and bribes it took to get this close to the site, the little zealots continue to insist it wasn’t just a cover story.

Mr Shaquonan couldn't listen to the news any longer and killed the broadcast; silence felt the more comforting companion right now. If he wanted to hear more, he could just roll down the window.

Say what you will about the Zarmians, they’re passionate about everything they do. Every job is taken seriously in the name of their ‘Great Work’, but they are, however, very easy to bribe. In the name of their ‘Great Work’.

Land and funds for a small chapel under their care. A bit more indirect than the usual bribes, but a charitable tax write-off is a charitable tax write-off, not that he could bring himself to care at the moment. He was here to see his son...

There was a knock on the window. He'd almost forgotten how long he’d been waiting in the car for someone to bring him word of progress.

The window rolled down to reveal one of his goons with a gun to the back of a lone Zarmain. The stunted pink creature was clad in a full-body rubber suit, minus the helmet, tucked under his arms. Mr Shaquonan assumed the Zarmian was a male anyway, a moderately important one, judging by the amulet around his neck. “What is it?”

“Ah, Mr Shaquonan, we weren't expecting you to be here already,” answered the little zealot, nervously wringing his hands. He was barely tall enough to look over the edge of the car door. “The caretakers of the library and the hosts of the Sabu-Kai wish to convey their deepest condolences.”

“Save it. Can I see him or not?” He glared down at the diminutive creature. Now he remembered, males were the ones with the smaller quills on their heads. The females were more voluminous.

He shrank a little at being cut off but nodded all the same. “I’ve been permitted by the hosts to take you as close to the scene as you can safely go. With or without protective gear.” He added, gesturing to the helmet.

The door already clicked open as Mr Shaquonan sighed and began to get out. “Is the suit actually needed, or is it just for the cover story?”

“I will happily explain on the way, Mr Shaquonan,” the Zarmian answered before glancing back to the gun-toting goon behind him. “If that's not a problem…”

“It's not,” he nodded to the help, and all three began their trek up the grand staircase.

Nowhere near as long as it used to be, the grand staircase to the great library was one of the oldest pieces of infrastructure on all of Salafor. Today, however, it was a crime scene/cleanup operation walled off to the public with a mix of plastic barriers and tents. Zarmians and Shasians busied about like hazmat-clad honey-jackers starting a new nest. The shower tent seemed to be getting frequent use…

“How much of it is true?” Mr Shaquonan questioned as he continued to follow the lone Zarmian; the rest were quick to avoid him. News traveled fast… He’d expect nothing less from the Sabu-Kai hosts.

“I take it you are referring to the cover story?” The Zarmain questioned, looking back with a slight snoot wiggle.

“What else could I be?”

“Most of it.” He answered in the same sympathetic tone as before. “While we in the Theocracy believe the truth is paramount, gods of trickery and deception have taught us that when we need to lie, the truth makes it all the more potent.”

The three of them came up to a checkpoint of sorts, the gates through a taller, more concealing wall of tents and plastic sheets. With but a wave of his talisman, the tarp doors parted.

Once out of earshot again, he continued. “The hosts have taken great efforts to ensure yesterday's incident is not known to the public as a ‘singular’ incident. As far as the masses are being made aware, it was a slightly above-average day of gang warfare. Your son’s escapades, ranging from his involvement with the voidlings to the high-speed chase across town, have been broken up and retailored as a series of gangland skirmishes.”

They were getting closer; the higher they got up the stairs, the closer he knew he was to his son’s body. He had to see it eventually… either now, or in a box.

“All footage of these incidents has either been scrubbed, heavily edited, or replaced with reels of other incidents before being provided to the media.” He continued before offering Mr Shaquonan an archaic-looking clipboard.

With a nod, his ‘help’ took the clipboard, briefly inspected it, and then handed it over. It was... A toxicology report? For his son. With it was an autopsy, cause of death, and other documentation he knew couldn't have been completed if Clard’s body was still here.

The Zarmian seemed proactively apologetic about this. “We do apologize if our cover story upsets you in any way, but we went for believability while sparing him as much dignity as possible,” he glanced to the goon nervously. “For all intents and purposes, your son was in a terrible automobile accident, perpetrated by a drunken peer who misjudged their own driving skill and sobriety. Your son, as per the toxicology report, was just inebriated enough after a night of celebrating his friend's birthday that nobody would question if his judgment was impaired. Both died of their injuries before paramedics could arrive.”

Mr Shaquonan had gotten an abbreviated version of the cover story before coming here. The hosts had made sure there wasn't even a chance anyone could talk to him before he had a working cover story. The messenger had been far more… cold and efficient than this Zarmian. “That still doesn’t explain the radiation story.” Mr Shaqwuonan stated before the Zarmian escort stopped just before a line of colorful cones.

“Yes, that... One moment.” He said, before pulling a small device from his belt and holding it forward towards the cones. Adjusting some knobs, it began ticking, and the ticking grew more frequent when he moved it past these cones. “I’m sorry to say, but this is as far as I can physically take you without protective equipment. The ambient radiation and residual chemicals-”

“Then get me some,” he cut the Zarmian off rather tersely, making the little zealot shrink.

“I-I’d highly advise against it. The state your son’s body is in, nobody should have to see... that…” he trailed off as Shaquonan loomed.

“You don’t seem to understand your situation.” Mr Shaquonan glared, leaning in a little to get more eye level. “You’re standing between me and seeing what state my son, my only son, has been left in because of my failures.” He took a breath to force a calmer tone. He could convey why it was in the Zarmians' best interest to just... obey. “I am doing everything in my power to process his death in a non-destructive manner. You will find it's in everyone's best interest that I not be given an excuse to consider other manners at this time. Do you get it yet?”

“O-Of course. I’ll just…” He quickly looked around before giving orders to some nearby cleaners.

Minutes later, Mr Shaquonan and his guard stepped out of the changing tent wearing the same protective suits as the other Shasian members of the cleanup crew. The yet-to-be-named Zarmian was waiting for them… it was probably best he never learn this individual's name, for their sake. Mr Shaquonan didn't know what a future, less reasonable version of himself might do.

He made for the stairs.

It was taking considerable restraint on Mr Shaquonan's part not to react poorly to the situation; most would, and they’d be justified. Restraint... Restraint is what kept all of his worst ideas and impulses in check; such things were the bane of people in his profession. A bane that his son regularly fell victim to.

Clardonis was many things: impulsive, arrogant, and prone to fixations. All flaws Mr Shaquonan felt he could iron out, or even twist in a positive direction in time, but for every one thing he fixed, the others came undone.

‘I try to teach him not to go into any situation without a plan that guarantees the outcome. He was a terrible planner.’

‘I try to teach him that being rich and important doesn't mean that every shi from here to the dust-belts will want to fuck you. He tried anyway and eventually got slashed for it.’

‘I try to teach him to let things go. That some things just aren't worth it… And just when he finally seemed to be getting over it, he lapsed at the first opportunity.’

Now, Mr Shaquonan conflicted with the intrusive thoughts that told him someone needed to suffer. The voice that said to wage war upon the Wiskitos for killing his son had to be tempered with the knowledge that it would solve nothing. The voice that said he should have Whisker’s pet stain and the son of those Centorni killers flayed alive and thrown down into the valley… but it was self-defense. The voice that said this was all his mother’s fault, for spoiling Clard and inflating his ego just to spite his father… How did he temper that?

Being the lone heir to two criminal empires tends to be the kind of thing that goes to a dumb sha’s head.

Now… now his son didn’t have a head.

There he lay, sprawled on the masonry in front of the Great Library’s doors. His corpse was now the centerpiece of a caustic mess, the pools of blood around him having long dried but were discolored and looked as if they had bubbled.

A canopy covered the site to shield it from the sun, the wind, and prying orbital eyes while the cleaners worked to both analyze and sterilize. It seemed they were done analyzing Clardonis… or at least what was left of him. Their focus seemed to be on a lone stone surrounded by bloody runes and the small crane they were using to extract it.

He wanted to gag at the state his son was left in, and it took great effort to keep the lump in his throat in check. His son… what had those monsters done to his son? The only way he could tell it was his son… was because whatever had melted his flesh hadn’t worked too well on his suit… the white suit he wore to match his father's.

The suit was anything but pristine, most of its bright white having been replaced by dirt, claw marks, and blood stains that had fizzed from whatever had been used on him.

He kneeled, reaching a shaking hand out to take hold of his son’s when one of the cleaners noticed him. “Hey, don’t touch that. The body is-” was all they got out before the Zarmian escort ran over in a panic and shooed the cleaner before he could say anything else.

Mr Shaquonan took hold of his son’s hand, lifting it ever so gently, but flesh and fur chose to obey gravity rather than him. Pieces of both sloughed off and joined the soup-like puddle just under Clard’s body, and by the time it stopped, Shaqwuonan could see bone. Raw red bone.

“Wh-What…” He felt his voice tremble. “What did they do to him?”

The escort hesitantly shuffled over, half-hiding behind his tablet. “Do you want the clinical answer, or the best words I can summarise it with?” He asked cautiously.

“I want to know… exactly what happened… to reduce my son… To this.”

The Zarmian coughed in his suit before glancing down at the tablet, and one could hear the sympathy in his voice. “Are you familiar with the substance/process the Gatogri refer to as ‘paint?’”

He nodded, quite familiar with his cousins' more inshasian (Inhumane) practices.

“Well, this is as if someone handed that vile recipe to a demon and it chose to show them how it’s really done.” That felt… Accurate, but the escort continued. “Poetic comparison aside, our real investigations revealed that your son arranged for the kidnapping of one Soaphine Wiskito and a Tobreal Centorni. The warehouse they were being held in was then attacked by a lone human, armed with a copious amount of unknown kinetic weaponry, some of which was designed to inflict such agonizing injuries that I wouldn’t wish them upon my worst enemies. Fortunately, they all died, rather than having to live through the pain of surviving such weapons.”

The more he looked over his son's body, the more he noticed that his son didn't have such injuries… relieving, in a way, knowing he didn't suffer like that.

“Your son, at some point, arrived on the scene with his escorts and got into a melee with the now escaped kidnappees. One of his escorts was found mangled at the scene, also painted in the same concoction that put your son in… his current state.” he shrank. “All of his ‘physical’ injuries we managed to autopsy line up with those common to brawling with claws. Minus a bite that was taken out of his shoulder.”

Well, that gave some credence to the cannibalism rumors…“My son had a gun… why was he brawling if he had a gun?” Mr Shaquonan questioned, looking back to the overseer/escort.

“Unknown… but we did recover a firearm off his body pretty early on in our investigation, just no bullets. We’d return it to you immediately, but… It’s radioactive, too,” he looked at the tablet again. “From there, witnesses 15s report he tried to escape with a re-incompasitated Soaphine, and the sun-kin gave chase. The chase ended here at the Library, where we believe your son was trying to escape by reaching the safety of the Sabu-Kai. He only made it to the Library’s door before he was slain... with a paving stone.”

“Okay… I understand all of that, but why… Why, for the love of the patron spirits is my son lying in a dried-up pool of his own flesh?!”

“For the same reason the Gatorgi use their paint. We believe that the human, seeking to destroy evidence, doused the scene in a mixture of hydrogen peroxide, hydrofluoric acid, and several other biological compounds that I can’t pronounce but excel at destroying DNA.”

“What makes you say the human did it?” His ear flicked inside the suit. There wasn't anything around here that he knew of that screamed ‘a human was here.’

“Because the substance was also laced with particles of radioactive durasteel. For durasteel to be this radioactive, it would need to be left orbiting a star for an extended period of time, or freshly forged in atomic fire. A practice banned in the Galactic community as a whole. Molecular analysis revealed it was quite similar to the recipe the Gra tend to give out to first contacts, it was homemade.”

Mr Shaquonan took a long, steady inhale and slowly let it out as he contemplated the lengths this unknown human would go just to destroy ‘evidence’. Still, he had to ask the big question. “How quickly can you have my son ready for transport? I’d like to bury him at that chapel I offered your people. Nobody will disturb him there.”

“We can have him ready to go within the hour. Longer if you wish for us to recover as much of him as possible. We had a gold-lined casket commissioned, which should make him safe to transport. His burial site will have to be entombed in concrete, though.” The Zarmian shrank. “For future generations' safety..”

“I see...” Shaquonan muttered, watching as one of his son's claws slowly sloughed off next. “And where is the human that did this to him?”

—

Meanwhile, many stories below in the Sabu-Kai…

(Author’s note: CanCan.mp3)

“Twenty fucking fourrr!! Ahahaaa!” Noah cheered as he danced, locked arm in arm with the rest of the shi dancers on-stage. He’d managed to kill twenty-four people and was finally getting a chance to celebrate.

He nearly managed to complete ‘the alphabet,’ but Tobby was the one who took out that mafia prince with his bare claws, and one of the prince’s guards got away, but you can't win ‘em all!

Rum bottle in one hand, pesh juice in the other, plus his latest trophy draped over his shoulders? He was ready for some true cultural exchange. The hosts may be watching him closely, but not a soul was going to stop him from showing these B1 clubhouse cats how to do the cancan.

(Author's note: Sup? :U)