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bltzgore · 5 months

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Space Vandals Ch. 1

Tw: gore, strong language (I LOVE to swear), there is whump at the end (but this is the first chapter so I need to build some world first), wound description, race/speciesisim

Guardian drew the knives from her belt. One a Rorawkin blade, composed of their four strongest metals, it was borderline indestructible. These blades were forged in the fires of their sun and took a mastercraftsman to mold properly into a fine blade. The other was more common but equally as deadly in the right hands. It was an Arithian dagger, made of a specialized gemstone they had perfected growing in their labs. It resembled a dark glass, but if one held it to the light they’d see it was actually a very dark red. They were known to be the sharpest blades this side of four galaxies, and capable of slicing through metal up to three inches thick if one wielded it correctly.

Had it still been light out Guardian surely would have chosen her pistols to start this off, but the low light levels and her dark plating made it hard to see where she ended and the night began. The red markings gave her away, but she didn’t have any on her arms. They wouldn’t be able to tell where her weapons were. They didn’t know where to defend from, and she realized halfway through taking the fourth guard’s head off they were grossly inexperienced for thugs. They moved so stiffly, that when they missed landing their own strikes on her they’d be churning and stumbling like a fooled bull. Guardian was light on her feet, everything felt fluid. She brought one blade through the terminal vein in one guard’s neck, she launched another into the chest of a thug raising his gun, one of the only who seemed to even have them. The organization must have been in a bit of a rut, fortunately that wouldn’t be their problem for much longer.

They were all reduced to husks on the ground, dead or dying, as Guardian headed up the stairs and changed her modus operandi. When moving into territory she had never seen, potentially plunging right into battle, she decided to play it practical. She switched back to her guns. She pulled them from their clip on her lower back, where their muzzles interlocked for convenient storage. They glowed gently in the low light, not as dull as her markings but dull enough that she didn’t use it to see. But she didn’t need it to see in this form.

Upon slipping inside it was strangely quiet. It wasn’t like she had expected the empirical army, but she was sure there were supposed to be upward of twenty, at least. There weren’t. There was not a thug to be found anywhere in her sector. Where were they? They didn’t have time for this. She pressed the sort of button that made up the outer portion of her audio sensors, “Manny, status?” He responded within seconds. “Occupied! Damnit, what!?”

Guardian kept her head on a swivel, “How many you guys find?”

Shep answered this time, “Looks like everybody.”

So that was why she hadn’t gotten any action. “Where’s Scout?” Guardian asked.

“With them!” The robot’s softer voice answered twice as quickly, “trying not to get shot.”

“Get him past the blockade. There’s no time for fucking around.” Guardian complained.

“The hell you think I’m tryin’a do?” Manny snapped.

“Eta two minutes.” Guardian rumbled, her inner components already beginning to shift.

The mechanized shapeshifter’s limbs blurred around the edges. The almost microscopic building blocks of them releasing and finding new ties, picking just how to rearrange themselves. She thinned, like she was a wad of silly putty and someone was pulling her to see just how far she’d stretch, turning lanky and boney. Sprouting off her head were massive horns, some met themselves like a halo, others rose like wild stag’s or a strike of lightning. She reached out her limbs towards the ground and they grew, long, sharp, strong. A tail-like structure joined them, connecting all the way up the back to the base of the neck. Her head was bladed and full of things that had to be teeth. Once her second set of forelimbs touched down she started moving.

“No, we got this.” Shep insisted.

She chose not to answer over the coms, but they wouldn’t have understood it anyway. The native vernacular happened reflexively, “ᎷᏗᏒᏬᏂᏗᏋ.” Meaning: too late, it sounded like a series of clicks, almost whistles, and peeling snake shed.

“Guardian, you inbound?” Manny demanded confirmation.

So this time she had to click the com and answer, slowing her gate in order to do so. She stumbled through the answer, only managing the S sound.

She burst through the last dividing door with a cry that would have peeled the skin off an Onnarow. As Guardian began ripping into whatever unfortunate thugs she could reach, a gun blast shattered the head of her very next target. Shep jogged over, reloading as he ran, tagging two more before he reached her side. “I said we had this.” He grumbled.

She fumbled with her mandibles for a moment, trying to get them to use the right language, “ᏂᎧᏬᏇ ᏖᏂᏒᏗᏇ.” No that wasn’t it. She pulled the exterior of her jaw structure back and attempted to manipulate what existed there in place of a tongue. Her words were slightly sharp around the vowels, but she managed it. “I kno-ow. N-ee-d be fa-st.” She wrenched the head of another thug off its shoulders, showering her shiny gray “skin” in the poor fucker’s blood-like fluids. He had been Mukavian, so it wasn’t red, more like translucent orange.

“Ma-ke p-ath f-or Scou-t.” Her mandibles made direction three times as difficult to get across, Manny understood it best but even he knew maybe four words in this form’s native dialect. Luckily her crew had learned to work around it.

“You got it, boss.” Shep rolled his shoulders, “I’ll take the ones on the right, and you take everyone else?”

She nodded visibly, she would have smirked if her form allowed. She ran forward, giving that horrendous screech again, it wasn’t just a battle cry. Some species were sensitive enough to sound that the wail alone nearly disabled them. Inconveniently, these guys were not a mix of such species. So raw violence it was.

“Te-ll h-im!” She managed through the com, digging her claws into another thug.

“Scout! You’ve got an in! Get your ass over here!” Shep barked over the channel.

“Right, right! On it!” The almost insectoid scouting droid came bounding down from his vantage point where he had been furiously launching and calling back his throwing blades. They were kind of like shurikens, just modded a bit. They were X’s with ends all bent the same direction almost the size of dinner plates. The massive pinwheels of death returned the instant his gauntlets gave the specialized magnetic signal.

Scout sprinted past Guardian, giving her a slight wave as he slid beneath a thug’s attempt to hit him with some sort of metal pipe. Using his hands, he sprang up to his feet and continued running all in one string of easy movements.

He tore away from the brawl in what had possibly once been the mess hall. He knew exactly where he was going, turning on a dime, switching hallways, following the fun little maze map in his head. Scout reached a door that didn’t open automatically upon sensing him and he swung back against his momentum, into a slide. He slowed enough, the impact hardly registered. He straightened up, sensors scanning and locking onto a data module. They varied world to world, but not so much when they were all still using written language, just different keyboards or interfaces for different physical requirements. The inhabitants of this world favored two hands, luckily. Scout wasn’t great with the triple or quadruple keyboards, and he didn’t even know where to start with the extra-sensory ones.

A brief fit of tapping and the door slid open reluctantly. He jogged through, attention immediately drawn to the first pedestal. It was guarded by a blue wall of energy, not quite a plasma shield, definitely not a light shield, that shit got expensive quick. It was something probably equally as painful, but thirty-times easier to get through if you knew the trick. These shields were mostly made of very angry particles, but they could be pacified if you had the right material, a material Scout just so happened to have an entire glove made of. He stretched it over his hand, all the way up past the mid-arm joint, and reached in. The shield sparked, light leaping off the glove, he yelped and scrambled back.

Trying to calm his voice, he tapped his com, “Manny?”

“Ugh, what is it, kid?” At least he didn’t sound too busy.

“The glove sparked, I-I’m not sure-”

“It’s working fine, grow a pair and shove your hand through it.”

“Got it.” Scout approached again, cautiously. Slowly he held his hand out, it slid in up to his palm before the light jumped off the shield at him again. He turned his head away and moved quicker. He felt twitchy, stinging, things crawling across his plating, but he didn’t back down this time. He turned back to it just in time to close his hand on the small metallic stick. He yanked back and as soon as his hand was free he started running.

“I got it! I got it! Objective secure!” He remembered the terminology with the third iteration.

“Good work Scout, get to the back exit. We’ll meet you where we started.” Manny answered. He took his hand off his com, turning his attention fully back to the fight, when an entire table came flying through the air above his head. It split the wall, and stayed suspended there, like a dart in its target. Upon closer inspection it had also halved what looked like this gang’s bruiser. He glanced back across the room towards where the projectile had come from. He gave Guardian a nod. “This is why I’ve never asked you on a date,” He snarked over the coms, getting a familiar chitter-click-whistle in response.

One might think it hard to entertain yourself when your whole family is full of badass rebel fighters constantly going out on various missions doing undisclosed but probably shady stuff that they won’t give you a straight answer about in case the authorities come around. That might have been true if Deon didn’t have Wyatt. Deon wanted to join the rest of his family, of course! Who wouldn’t want to get in on sticking it to the Vet-ring? He knew Wyatt did too. They talked about it all the time, and had on more than one occasion tried to follow covertly. It never worked. They probably should have been more bummed about it than they were, what kept them from feeling the disappointment were their own little missions.

“Clear!” Wyatt chirped over their walkie talkies. They had decided taking ops gear out on their missions wasn’t a good idea after the one time it didn’t come back from a cop’s evidence locker. They had gotten chewed out for that one.

Deon sunk his claws into the lock, they slowly shifted the mechanisms, metal clicked and the structure was forced to turn. He felt the door’s bar withdraw, and stood up, “Got it.” Deon shoved the door open. He looked down the block, waiting for Wyatt to make eye contact before motioning to follow him. The techno-organic jogged over, a slight bounce to his step. It wasn’t unusual, he never really held completely still, even when sitting, though he claimed he didn’t even know he was doing it.

The shop’s lights were out, Wyatt reached for the switch when Deon stopped him, “Want to let everyone know we’re here?”

“Won’t it look sketchier if people see two figures wandering around this place in the dark?”

“Don’t get seen then.” Deon warned.

Wyatt shrugged, “Your party, my eyes are just fine either way.” He rooted through the bag strapped across his torso, pulling small spheres from it, just larger than marbles. He held them out to Deon, “Ready for some redecorating?”

Deon’s scowl withered, and he snatched them, mouth breaking into a toothy, lightly malicious, grin, “Hell yeah.”

They split, each taking opposite walls. Wyatt fished a red, glassy, marble from the bag and raised his hand. Wyatt threw down the marble, as soon as it hit the floor he was engulfed in a cloud of what seemed like red smoke. He didn’t cough, he didn't need to breathe, he wasn’t all organic. However his organic side could, it gave him a serious boost in energy. What sucked about it was that in order to stop he had to lower his energy consumption enough to shift back to his reserves. Luckily he hadn’t needed any boosts on the way over here. No breathing necessary to keep up with Deon this time, so he only turned vibrant red on the outside. He waved the thicker part of the cloud from his visual sensor array and fished another marble from his bag, laughing and leaping into the next one.

On the other side of the room Deon was running the length of the wall, throwing paint marbles against it and the shelves of products that lined it. He was quick enough to keep just ahead of the bursts, they painted the edge of his jacket and his tail a mix of vibrant colors, pink, neon green, blue bright enough to make the sky jealous. Deon pulled up his ventilator to keep the paint fumes and smoke out of his lungs, the second eyelids slid up to keep the particles out of his eyes. He didn’t swim all that often these days but he had found other uses for them.

Deon looked back at Wyatt, he gave the ceiling a quick glance then nodded up to it. The shop had at one point, like many buildings, been a warehouse of some kind, so the roof went higher than one would think necessary for a convenience store. Wyatt smirked, “Go for it.” He interlocked his fingers and crouched slightly. Deon got a running start, and stepped up into Wyatt’s hands. The techno stood and threw his hands up through the strain.

Deon cleared five feet vertically, latching on to one of the lingering chains that connected up to the roof. He climbed until he could get a grip on the chain with his feet too, then he swung. Deon released the chain with his upper half. His nails caught the edge of the hanging light and for a second he was an uncomfortable bridge between the fixture and the chain, as he decided whether or not to trust the light with his full weight. He gave it a once over, the light was a pie tin looking thing strung from the ceiling by a thick black cord. There were no worrying sounds yet.

He unhooked the claws on his hind legs from the chain, swinging with the light, using the momentum, flipping his legs up over the light. Deon curled his tail around the cord then hooked a leg around, letting the cable rest in the crook of his knee. The fixture swung slightly, but held. Deon pulled a marker from his pocket, closing his teeth on the cap and tugging it off. Skillfully he started to scribe, in black out paint marker, a choice word dead center on light.

Wyatt called up to him, “Whatchu writing up there D?”

“You’ll see.” He muttered. “Finish up the walls, I’m gonna do the rest of the lights.” There were three others, it wouldn’t take long.

Wyatt grinned, “Yessir.” He pulled another item from the bag. They were almost gloves, in that they wrapped around his palms and had a single miniature sleeve that ran out to his thumb. At the center of the fabric was a dull ring of silver. Connected under his wrist were tubes that ran into the bag, he fussed with it for a moment before hearing it click. He turned back to the wall, blinking a few times, drawing the image in his mind. Once he was confident he raised his hands to the wall and shifted his thumb, the spray paint nozzle hissing a stream of black paint.

When Deon landed back on the floor he was very proud of himself. He looked up and the walls were criss-crossed in letters from two different languages. They were hybrid words that taggers sort of developed on their own. Each word was sort of a puzzle unless you spoke the two languages fluently to begin with. Wyatt knew these words, Deon knew some of them, part of why he left the walls up to Wyatt most of the time.

As the techno-organic wandered over, brushed in most noticeably white and black, Deon asked, “What’s it say?”

“Motharay, neahamaka.” Wyatt read off. Then turned to the other wall, “Hutharay meeharakah.”

“Which means?”

“Machines have souls, in really really short terms.”

“All that for two words?”

“Well that, and ‘fuck you racist prick.’”

Deon nodded approvingly, “Art.”

“What you put on the lights?”

Deon stepped over to the lightswitch, flipping it on. Projected onto the ground in somehow smooth text “Eat a Dick Douche Canoe.” All of the words had their own light, except for “eat” and “a” being forced to share.

“Perfect.” Wyatt grinned.

Deon found himself distracted by his watch, shit! They were gonna be late! He bolted to life, turning the lights back off and heading for the door, “Come on!”

“What!? Why? Did you hear something?” Wyatt followed, momentarily holding his breath trying to hear it too.

Once they were both back outside Deon carefully locked the door before dragging it closed. “We’re gonna be late to dinner!” He hissed, pulling the door shut until it clicked.

Wyatt’s eyes widened, oh… yeah. That. “Think we can make it across this dump in fifteen minutes?”

“Naw,” Deon muttered, “We can make it in ten.”

Shep was about to head inside to the table with the other three when two slightly grimy figures came sprinting out of the sketchiest alleyway they could have possibly managed. Deon pulled ahead by a small but noticeable amount, sliding to a stop in front of the cyborg. His words came out between pants, “We’re- here!” He managed. Wyatt stopped just behind him, nodding furiously, as he also caught his breath.

“You two are something else. Come on,” He motioned, leading them into the restaurant, to the table.

Sitting on one side of the table were Shep and Scout. Scout was a robot, through and through, with long legs that had multiple joints and very powerful springs. He was built for running and jumping. Shep used to be a Marcharin, then he got torn up under “mysterious circumstances” (adult code for it was traumatic) and was turned into a cyborg to keep functioning. He was somewhat average in limb number and function, but his face had been… well Deon didn’t know, but he assumed it had been damaged pretty badly. There had to have been a reason it got replaced with a visor like screen. Several of the traditional Marcharin feather spines had been replaced with metal prosthetics, pretty close to their natural texture but Shep wouldn’t be shedding these seasonally.

Wyatt was quick to steal the spot next to Shep, that left Deon with the unenviable spot right next to the two oldest on the team, specifically the one who would notice the paint on his tail. On Deon’s side were Guardian and Manny. Manny was a Rovaden, a tall one. Which meant he had ashen skin in most places where it wasn’t almost ink colored, like on his jaw that opened all the way to the edges of his face if he let it. They had only ever seen Manny open his mouth all the way once when yawning, it was fucking terrifying. He had no discernible nose and eyes that slowly changed shades of red like a mood ring. Aside from that he was pretty normal for a humanoid. Bipedal, two forelimbs and two hind limbs, more than two digits on his hands and all that.

Then there was Guardian. She didn’t have one true form. There were a few she preferred, but any way that she chose to appear was one she had studied and stolen from a true member of the species. She currently chose a creature somewhere between shark and canine. It had rough shark skin, though that could have been a natural effect of what she was composed of, but had a very smooth canine looking head, with rather large ears. Past that things got a little strange. Down the front of the torso were three almost V shaped markings, Deon knew they were nothing so mundane. Her back was many-jointed, but not in the traditional spinal column way, it was more like a series of ball and socket joints. Her pupils were the only part of her eyes that looked alive, a glowing ring of red. This was one Deon saw her “put on” before going out to do some damage.

As soon as Deon sat down, Guardian was sniffing with that canine snout. “Why do you smell like paint?” Then looked a little closer at the long, blue and white, reptilian tail that Deon was trying to keep out of her field of view. “Never mind, answered my own question. It’s because you’re covered in it.” This was less of an observation and more of a demand for an immediate explanation.

“We…” Wyatt answered for him, or tried. Ultimately just stretching it out, as he fished for any good excuse.

Deon huffed, “We tagged the store that that racist bitch owns.”

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific.” Manny deadpanned.

“The one who called Scout a slur.” Deon clarified.

Scout sat up a little straighter, “Really?” but he didn’t ask with enough force to be heard over Guardian beginning her lecture-fest.

“Were you seen?”

“No.” Deon sounded half defensive, half offended.

“Not that you know of, you mean.” She warned. “I told you guys, I don’t want you doing this while we’re on Yuk-taka.”

Wyatt tried to take some of the heat off Deon, “It’s just like every other backwater planet we’ve been on this year. Why not?”

Shep interjected, “Yeah, don’t crush the creativity.”

“Because we’re in enemy territory.” Guardian almost growled.

Manny rolled his eyes, “Mellowdrama aside, Guardian is right. We’re in the heart of Vet-ring controlled space, do you know what that means?”

Wyatt and Deon exchanged confused glances, making sure they held it long enough for Guardian to see it, before turning towards Shep or Scout for a hint that didn’t have time to appear.

“It means they’re in close communication with this planet's law enforcement.” Guardian continued, “If they catch you and connect you to us they will demand answers, and they’ll get them, no matter what they have to do.”

Deon felt like the air had been chilled in his lungs. He did his best to just keep breathing normally.

Guardian must have seen the stutter anyway. She sighed, “Look, I don’t want to scare you with this, but I need you to take it seriously. Ok?”

Deon nodded, so did Wyatt.

“Got it.” Wyatt confirmed.

“No more stupid stunts on Yuk-taka.” Deon agreed, nodding for exaggerated effect.

“Well, now that you know not to do it again…” Manny glanced at Guardian, and slowly started to smile, “What did you tag in the shop?”

Deon urged Wyatt to go first, thinking the nuance of some of the things he had tagged might soften Guardian’s reaction. He was right, because by the time he started talking about his part in it, the food had arrived and Guardian couldn’t hide her sharp-toothed grin, or her pride, any longer. She loved when they pulled shit like that. It was why she didn’t try to stop them outright, she just wanted them to be smart about it. Besides, it was good training for when they eventually got out in the field with the rest of the team.

The walk back to the apartment was quieter than usual. No slurs or comments on their mixed species group. Deon chalked it up to Guardian’s form, creatures tended to clam up when anything with more than two large mouths was in the vicinity. She seemed to have all four opened and showing their teeth casually, though Deon could see right through that. It was difficult to notice in Guardian, because she changed shape and the signs changed with it, but she was tense. He couldn’t be positive of it’s exact source, from what Shep and the others had said the missions had been clean. Was she still wired about their stunt? That someone might have seen them, or something? Deon didn’t know enough about what was happening to deduce it. The only surefire way would be to ask, but he realized he wouldn’t know what to say even if she gave him an honest answer.

Guardian wasn’t always stressed, but he had been noticing it more and more lately. When she was in mode 3 it manifested as occasional panting without exercise present and twitchy ears. He assumed it was getting worse because of their proximity to- Manny had made them promise to keep it to themselves that he had told them about this. They were sure they had covered his ass pretty well at dinner- the Vet-ring lieutenants; there were four on world in critical positions of power. If they found out the group was here they would drop everything to catch them.

The Vet-ring were the ultimate race. They could live for eons and beyond, effectively immortal. They were immune to all but highly specialized weapons. Each and every one was trained to kill with precision and power. And on top of it most were wildly intelligent. There were plenty of races who could boast some of these attributes, but what gave them the ultimate edge was what they physically were. They were composed of tiny metal components, neither machine nor biological, each acting in accordance with millions of others, reproducing like cells, and working together like robots. These components were controlled by the creature’s central brain which according to all prior tests was made up of some kind of energy.

One might expect a creature made of millions of pieces of metal to just be a sentient pile of sand, or puddle of goo. There were races like that, but the Ring could control their components to the point that they could mimic any form that they studied, some even so well as to copy arcane and natural powers or skills seen in these species. A killer, intelligent, race of mechanical shapeshifters so powerful it had taken one of their own to make a difference.

No one had ever gone up against the Vet-ring and won, no one. Resistance had been a losing battle until Guardian had joined the cause. Within three months they had two successful operations, rooting out Vet plants, and kicking them off world, saving the entire planet from global war. She had become legendary in the right circles, those being the three or four big name groups outright fighting the Vet-ring. She had started out working with them, but it had been too constraining. They collaborated sometimes, and she certainly would come running if they were in deep shit, but she and her little pack were sort of like rebellion mercenaries now. And they were good at it.

Guardian seemed to snap out of her thoughts as they passed a certain street, heading towards it. “Manny, take the others home. I’m gonna drop off the product.”

He gave her an uncomfortable look, “You’re going alone?”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes, “I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl.”

“I’m going with you.” He moved to her side.

Guardian wanted to say something sharp in response, but she quelled it. There was no point in talking him out of it, it would take too long.

“Shep, you can get ‘em home?” Manny confirmed.

“Of course, have fun on your date.” He tossed the data stick to Manny, starting to walk backwards in the direction of the apartment.

Deon wasn’t sure if it was compulsion at this point but he piped up, “Can I come too?”

Guardian answered just as reflexively, “No.”

“Come on, you’re just bringing the stick to the buyer right? You’re selling the important info to the good guys.”

“Nope.”

“What?”

“The only reason they’re getting this is because I trust them a bit more than I trust the guys who originally had it.” Guardian answered, she didn’t believe in good guys.

“And because they pay really well.” Manny put in.

Deon looked like he wanted to say more but the words deserted him. He knew they’d talked about this before, the whole lesser of two evils argument. But that didn’t cause it to take the wind out of his sails any less. Manny and Guardian said a few things to Shep, but Deon didn’t catch them, then headed down their new path.

Wyatt set a hand on his shoulder, “Come on.”

Deon watched Manny and Guardian disappear down the side street and felt a familiar energy spark in the veins around his wrist. He looked back to Wyatt, “Give me five minutes?”

Guardian gave it until they were out of sight before she turned on Manny, “So, why the fuck would you tell them about the Vet pressense on this rock before it was absolutely necessary?”

He winced, “Oh… you caught that?”

“What if they had tried to get more information on their own?”

Manny waved it away, “Deon wouldn’t know where to start, and Wyatt would have been smart enough to keep him from getting anywhere.”

This was, in fact, exactly how it had gone. Wyatt tended to be the more sensible of the pair, and had recognized just what a situation like this would mean if they fucked up. So he had shut the whole plan down very early in its development, difficult to do when Deon had set his mind on something, but not impossible. So instead they had spent that night playing Galaxy Master 5 with Shep.

Guardian stepped in front of him, turning to face him, “And what if he hadn’t?”

Manny felt shitty, it had been stupid, he had honestly thought they were old enough to recognize when things were dangerous enough to make them a liability. Maybe they were still too young. “But he did, they’re fine. You always say not to get hung up on what ifs.”

She shook her head, that part was true at least, “Fine.”

They continued walking, and seemed to be unaware of the small reptilian humanoid who had tagged along. Deon kept to the rooftops, he was one hell of a climber, so it didn’t take much to keep up with them. Though that wasn’t the only thing he had to contend with while stalking his primary caregivers.

Guardian favored forms with some version of electroreceptors. Meaning she could sense the electrical fields given off by the creatures who had such fields. This was a surprisingly large chunk of lifeforms. However, Deon was one of the exceptions to the rule.

Inherently his species gave off a form of electrical jolt when they encountered a predator, with time and practice it could be controlled and trained into a lot more. However, it didn’t just give him the chance to shock the hell out of his enemies, it also let him fuck with Guardian’s favorite sense. In short terms it meant Deon was one of the few who could manage to follow Guardian without her immediately realizing it. A fact he took advantage of maybe a little too often.

Guardian reached the door and held it open for Manny. He walked in but when she didn’t follow he stopped in the door frame, giving her a questioning glance. Guardian turned her head to the roof of the building on their left and flattened a canine ear, “Well get down here. We’re not leaving you outside.” When he didn’t immediately appear, she put her paw-hand on her hip, “Don’t make me come up there.” That was a very real threat.

Deon emerged from the shadow of mechanisms that cluttered the roof, half climbing down half jumping. He braced for fury, but had one question first, “How did you know I was there? I hid my field!”

She shook her head, “I have other senses, dumbass.” But no lecture followed that, “Let’s get this over with. I want to get home before Scout finishes off the ice cream.”

The building turned out to be a bar. A neutral setting, it would discourage violence, but in the event that it was the only answer no one would be surprised. It wouldn’t be something that law enforcement would even blink twice at. All by design of course. Manny and Deon sat at one of the booths off to the side, where Guardian was sure Manny was letting him try shit he shouldn’t have. While she took a seat at the bar directly, where she’d told her contact he would find her. They were early, she didn’t expect her contact to be there for another hour. Getting there first just meant he wouldn’t have the chance to try anything stupid. She ordered something she knew wouldn’t have any effect on her biology and spun the data stick between her digits.

He wandered in, maybe thirty minutes later, also early. A tall creature, of gray-blue skin and almost neon markings. His limbs were too long and his eyes… well he didn’t have any. He sat down next to her, “Nice night for the time of year.” He said.

“But I’d prefer a cooler climate.” She answered the pass phrase they had agreed upon.

He nodded, “You got it?”

“I do.”

He slid her a card, which she picked up and inspected, then snagged something from her bag. A card reader of some kind. She slid the card into the slot and watched the screen light up an agreeable number.

“What, you don’t trust me?” he asked, feigning hurt, through no discernable mouth.

“Why of course not.” She answered with light cynicism. Then raised her claws off the data stick.

He drew it into his hand, gazing at it, or whatever he did instead of gazing. “Good doing business with you. I hope this can be the start of a long and prosperous partnership.”

“We’ll see.”

“Good evening.” He stood.

“What are you going to do with it?” She asked, freezing him in his tracks.

“It’s government grade blackmail material, what do you think I’m going to do with it?” He seemed to be suddenly nervous, suddenly defensive. Like he was expecting this to be the start of her going back on their deal.

She nodded once, “Good.”

He relaxed, reciprocating the nod before disappearing out the door.

Manny and Deon joined her at the bar, “Well that was less dramatic than I was expecting.” Manny said.

“Told you there’d be nothing to it.” She answered, handing him the card and leading them back out into the street.

“So that’s it? That was the oh so dangerous thing I wasn’t allowed to come to?” Deon complained. He was glad things went well, but he had been hoping for at least a little bit of action.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Manny snarked.

Guardian sighed, because of course Deon was complaining, but she couldn’t say she was surprised. “We see enough danger when we go out on ops. I am more than happy for things to just go smoothly this time.”

Deon was going to answer when he noticed they were suddenly standing still. Guardian was looking at something, the intensity of a predator having heard their quarry. Manny was standing a foot behind her, glancing from her to where she was focused. Deon stopped next to Manny, about to ask what Guardian sensed when he heard it this time. A trash can went over somewhere in the darkness ahead of them.

All four of Guardian’s mouths bared their teeth, but the one on her face opened, “Who’s there? Identify yourself.”

The answer was a form tumbling out of the dark to the ground ahead of them. Guardian tensed, claws akin to filletitng knives extended from the end of each digit. Sure it looked like it was just another dime-a-dozen drunk, but bounty hunters were clever. She was counting down the moments, about to close the distance and carve it up when Manny held his hand in front of her. She lowered her claws and let her hostility die down a moment.

He had managed to pull himself to his knees but was still reliant on his arms to keep his face away from the cement. He was young, maybe a few years older than Deon, and his left side and leg were absolutely drenched in blood. He was trembling, maybe it was exhaustion, could have been the blood loss, only he knew it was fear. He wouldn’t look up, keeping his head distinctly tilted down, only glancing up at the rapidly blurring forms to make sure they weren’t getting any closer.

A moment passed in which no one moved, when he seemed to decide they weren’t going to go charging in and kill him he tried to stand. His leg couldn’t take it, and he hit the ground with a groan. His breathing was slowing down, the adrenaline that had brought him there seemed to be withdrawing. He made another attempt at standing and he couldn’t even get back to his knees.

Manny took a few steps towards him, “Easy, your leg’s real fucked up.”

He would have slashed, growled, something at Manny to keep his distance, if he hadn’t lost his grip on consciousness first.

Manny gave it a second once his eyes shut, then knelt down next to him, checking for vital signs. “He’s alive,” he informed Guardian, who was joining him next to the humanoid. Deon followed, but stayed behind her. He noticed from there that her ears were flicking. Lining the edges of them, with no semblance of pattern, were glowing red dots. This form relied on its ears to collect two types of sensory information, auditory and electrosensory. Flicking her ears like that kept them from just telling her what was in front of her, it gave Guardian a 360-degree view. She was on high alert.

Manny looked down at the injuries. The one on his side was a slash, probably done by a blade of some kind. The damage to his leg wasn’t as clean, it almost looked like a bite mark, but there were no clear teeth patterns, it looked like it had been scooped out by an army of angry forks.

Manny cast a glance back to Guardian, noticing Deon trying not to look at the gash. He gave Deon a snide grin, “That exciting enough for ya?” There was some swear word in response, but he didn’t say it loud enough for Manny to hear.

“We should get moving.” Guardian reminded.

Manny nodded, “Course. Am I carrying him or are you?”

She shifted an ear back, “We can’t take him with us.”

Manny stood, putting himself at eye level with her. He wouldn’t be taking no on this one. “Why not?”

“He’s clearly being chased by something, this is not the kind of shit we should be sticking our noses in. It’s hard enough to stay under the radar as is, we can’t be making more enemies.”

“So you’re saying we just leave him here.” He rumbled, “To bleed out in the alley?”

“I’m saying we leave him for someone who can afford to invite trouble into their lives, and who won’t bring trouble to his.”

Deon finally gave his two sense, “I mean, if anyone can handle trouble, it’s us. Isn’t it?”

Manny gave her a smirk.

Getting double teamed wasn’t fair. Guardian threw her head back and dropped her shoulders, making a big show of her sigh. It was a big show because Vet-Ring usually didn’t need to breathe, so they didn’t naturally sigh unless they pretended to do so. “Yes, I’ll carry him.”

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