We Need a Deathworlder!

“Where are they.” Simone states in a manner that doesn't indicate a question.

The creature before her hacks flem to the floor and shudders.

“Ahhh… the ‘wake up question’, can always count on that-” it muses before the Terran jolts against her unaffected bindings.

“This is your only chance to make it out of here alive. Tell me where they are.” Simone promises.

This adds to the amused demeanor of her malevolent host.

“You Terrans truly have no wits. All words, full of delusion. You are no threat to me.” the individual mocks before playfully tapping an appendage against Simone’s forehead to prove his point, “You are not the first Terran to sit in that seat, and you won't be the last.”

“Doubt it.” Simone counters defiantly.

Tilting its cranial mass, the creature begins to slowly circle the chair.

“You are a bold one… you’d make an excellent pit fighter, or guard pet. Unless the butchers’ place a higher bid of course. Terran meat is rumored to have... enhancing properties, and seeing your physicality… demand is going to be high.” it whispers as it leans it’s mouth behind the Terran’s ear.

Simone winces, making sure not to move her head.

“So you're operating a trafficking fence? Good to know.” she responds with disgust in her words, realising why the Watath children were targeted.

“You are merely the garnish to a hefty payout. You’d be surprised how many wealthy clients on this station have… unique tastes and how much they are willing to pay to satisfy them.”

Narrowing her eyes to the monster coming back around, Simone centers herself to stifle her anger.

“So this station isn’t so la-di-da safe for all patrons, huh? I suspected as much.”

“Bah, my people built the damn thing. It’s simple enough to hide my operations. So no, no one’s coming for you.”

“Huh, not needed. Must be a small operation I’m guessing? Very mobile?” Simone questions, brushing off the implicated direness, “I’m going go out on a limb here and wager we’re in some sort of maintenance tunnel or access way. I’ve hidden out in a few myself.”

“Well now… you really believe you’re gonna break out of those restraints? Oh powerful Terran, I invite you to prove your might!” it challenges.

Simone smirks and relaxes into the chair.

“Not yet. You know, I’ve never seen one of your kind before. Y'all just hide away in your station? You're their equivalent to a rogue criminal or some shit like that?” Simone interrogates, now completely calm and settled in.

Wrinkles around the creature’s head flex and expand sporadically.

“I’ve dwelled here for three thousand standard years! Others of my kind no longer exist! We were exiled and sterilised into oblivion! The galaxy owes me lives beyond count!” it screeches in bitter rage.

“That’s rough buddy.”

“You dare mock me!?” it roars, bringing its needle teeth inches away from the Terran’s face.

Unflinching, Simone slowly sinks further down and back..

“Dude, you’re so pathetic, I can’t even think of a witty insult. Best I can do is; ‘damn, what body horror blender did you crawl out of?’ not great. Hell, you can’t even properly restrain a Terran.” Simone berrates, almost playfully.

Leaning back slightly, the flabbergasted monster processes the strange audacity of this short-lived vermin.

“Are you mad? Insane? There is literally nothing you can do! I repeat, your restraints are accounting for your species! No claws, no venom, no horns, no hooks, no tendrils, no acid, no natural armor. All your race has is endurance and brawn! Even the legendary adrenaline you produce can’t break those bindings! Deathworlder or not you are not invincible!” it rants, leaning back into Simone’s face.

“You… clearly never caught an actual Terran before. Seriously, how could you miss something so fucking important? I’m in awe!” Simone says in a partial laugh.

“Enlighten me…” the unamused abductor groans, rolling it’s nonexistent eyes.

“Seriously? We have this bulb on the back of our heads that can- how the fuck do you not know?”

Immediately caught up in the preposterous claim, the creature mindlessly leans up and over to get a look.

Not wasting her chance, Simone shoots her head out and successfully bites down on the exposed thin neck. Making sure she retains purchase, the Terran clamps down hard enough to draw sour fluids and strain the integrity of the internal structures.

In panic, the creature squeals and uses every limb to strike the Terran over and over. Barely affected by the continuous, pathetic impacts, Simone figures Chak can strike harder than this bastard.

“Reeleeease mah, an’ yoou’ll lifffv!” Simone roars with her mouth full.

Overcome by soiling fear and pain, the creature taps at the top of his head frantically, pressing into an extremely advanced control Lens. With hissing, popping clicks the bindings around the Terran’s arms and legs open up.

Quickly trading her mouth with a hand, Simone stands up grasping this asshole. She then moves forward, slamming it into the wall hard enough to break it’s body in several places. It screams out in pain, as Simone stares at it with green ooze leaking down her chin.

“W-wait! The Watath spawn are down the corridor, right turn, and all the way down a long corridor! I’ll call off my workers and have them evacuate! Have whatever you want in there! Just take it and leave!” it pleads.

The Terran’s eyes don’t so much as twitch as she stares this thing down. The only emotion behind them is a dry, cold, fury. Her hand tightens causing more crackling breaks within the defenseless creature.

“Please! I beg you! I’m the last of my kind! Please! You said you’ll let me live! Please! I just want mercy!” it cries pitifully.

“It’s real easy to piss me off. But you’ve just made me mad. That’s not easy.” Simone utters before grabbing one of the five limbs and with a brutal yank rips it free, causing more agonizing screams, “You are selling newborn children as hors d'oeuvres.” without removing her steady gaze, she grabs another limb that fails to squirm away and twists it free, “I want to tear you to pieces, keeping you alive for as long as possible... so you can feel a fraction of the pain you inflicted on who knows how many others. But I have kids to get to, so just know you died better than deserved.”

“Pl-eaase… you said...” it begs in a voice garbled by leaking fluids.

It’s the Terran’s turn to lean in menacingly over the restrained abomination.

“I lied.” Simone informs, “You know… someone just recently asked me if I consider myself to be a good person. And I said ‘I didn’t know’-” the terran recoils her arm and smashes the creature against the wall hard enough to puncture her fist through it like a kebab.

The monster intakes for air, but merely begins to drown from the bubbling up fluid and foam.

Simone releases it, allowing the near-corpse to collapse to the ground.

“Still don’t, but that felt good.” she says before leaving the paralyzed creature alone, to die.

More alone than it had ever been in its entire solitary existence, the last of the Mertians dies.

-

Digle taps away at a shipment datapad, going over the buyers’ list.

“Did the credits go through?” Noki asks rather bored.

“For the Terran or Watath-lings?” Digle responds in a sigh as he leans up against the wall.

“Both…” Noki clarifies.

“Yes. Both. Yes.” Digle informs.

Annoyed, Noki plants her two heads together.

“Why do you always do that?” she asks in mild frustration.

“What?”

“You know ‘what’. I asked for an update on the payment and you ask to clarify as if either option had a different answer. You’re always doing that!” Noki scolds.

“By the stars I’m just being thorough! I haven’t nested in a week, so I’m being safe with our work!”

“That’s absolute klat, Joko tells me he catches you nesting in the exterior corridors all the time!”

“Only because I’m working so hard! I’m being thorough, remember!?” Digle counters in a tone of smug victory.

Noki’s heads droop and rattle.

“I hate you Digle. I really do. Every day I beg the stars that you’ll get jettisoned out into space from your stupidity. Even if the rest of us have to perish along with you. That’s how much I hate you.”

Before the usual discourse can continue a sustained scream is heard around the corner. Both individuals turn in surprise just in time to see a careening coworker SLAM into the wall, splintering from the impact into indistinguishable chitinous chunks. They stand there, processing what they just witnessed, before the klat-ing Terran turns the corner!

The two turn and bolt down the painfully long corridor. Noki brings up her comms in focused panic.

“Code Monkey! I repeat! Code Monkey! The Terran is loose and heading to the storage room! All personnel, take it down! Where’s our Deathworlder!?” she barks, assuming command.

“Right here!” Joko bellows down the corridor in full charge.

The four legged behemoth of mass and horns gallops at full throttle to the escapee. Behind him are nine other workers brandishing taze spears, and four wielding compact pulse handguns. Noxi and Digle swing to the side walls as Joko thunderously passes.

Digle raises a fist encouragingly.

“Yeah! Put it down Joko!” he cheers, knowing the mass and size difference between the two clashing Deathworlders is in their favor.

Joko lowers his horns in an attempt to skewer the Terran during his head-on ram. However, at the last second the Terran side steps, then grabs Joko’s head. Using the established momentum, the red furred Terran twists and throws her opponent right into the wall. A loud ringing erupts down the corridor like an announcement bell. Dazed from the impact, the Borkon rolls and hastily stumbles back upright.

Not allowing a second to recover, Terran lunges towards him. The combatant thrusts a first into his abdomen and presses the other paw into his thick neck. Bile bursts from his maw, but he takes this opportunity to grapple forward and, with a vengeful bellow, Joko smashes the Terran into the wall in-kind.

“Is he winning?” Digle asks in a whimper.

Ignoring the idiot, Noki turns and waves a head at the incoming spear crew.

“Hurry! The big guy needs our help!” she commands.

When she turns around, her golden irises expand in shock as somehow the Terran had locked it’s legs up and around Joko’s neck and was squeezing hard enough for the Borkon to gag violently.

Although his defensive arm strikes did seem to have some effect on the Terran, the four-limbed Deathworlder refuses to release. So out of pure desperation he rams the grappler against the wall over and over again with all his might. Feeling the grip loosen slightly he swings around and rams the opposing wall with a bit of extra momentum.

The Terran’s back collides with an exposed panel causing it to roar in pain as an electrical surge sparks. The already dim yellow lights above fade, draping half the corridor in pitch darkness.

Three of the braver spearmen charge into the black and join the Deathworlder fray. Flashes of arcing electricity expose brief glimpses of exchanging heavy blows and bestial rams like a violent photoshoot. But after intermediate screams, pained chitters and visceral crunching the electricity stops completely. Leaving only the sounds of the Deathworlder duel, until a final noise of meaty cracking silences that as well.

Venturing closer to the blanket of dark, Noki and the remaining gaggle of spear-armed workers listen intently for signs of the winner.

An explosive sparking erupts, lighting up a bipedal agent of death. The brilliant blue wavering emissions of the scavenged taze spear sizzle and produce an explosive stream of steam from the multi-colored mix of fluids flowing down into the prongs. The tight Terran hand grasping the staff is drenched, continuously feeding the steam. The other holds the thin black bloody horn of a Borkon.

Noki looks up to the aggressor’s eyes as they catch the light in piercing gleams of intent.

Courage crumbling, she turns and runs through the remaining nearby workers. Dingle closely follows behind her.

The spearmen stagger, but fearfully hold their ground, as the Terran approaches. The closest thrusts their weapon, but it’s easily battered away from their grasp. Before they can cry out, a black horn comes from the side and effortlessly punctures straight through their cranium.

The rest begin to shout and scream in terror as the corpse is kicked towards them. This isn’t a fight they can win.

Next up to face the Terran’s wrath is a poor bastard that’s instantly swatted by a spear. Although the arc is active, it is ultimately unnecessary as the force alone snaps the defender’s core. Seeing the Terran exposed, a bold Northa jabs her spear up at the face in hopes to blind it. But the creature swiftly grasps the prongs of the spear, erupting its hand in current.

Taking the intense pain the Terran grits its bloody chompers and yanks the spear free. Taken by the powerful pull, the Northa falls forward. She tries to push herself back up, but her world turns to black as her comrades watch the Terran’s boot crush her head into mush.

Noki and Digle reach the four gunmen who were desperately attempting to open one of the two available doors.

“What’s wrong!?” Noki demands.

“The power fluctuation reset the door locks! We need the Boss’s access key!” Torni cries in despair.

“Then where’s the Boss!?” she shouts in frustration.

Digle’s red eyes peer back down the hall, seeing the three remaining spearmen turn tail and flee.

“The Boss was inspecting the Terran…” he mutters softly.

The five individuals around him go limp in dreadful realization.

“Okay… We either surrender and beg for our lives… or we fight back and try our chances…” Noki says, her fate settling in.

“Do you see that thing? I don’t think it knows the definition of mercy!” Torni points out as he lifts his pulse gun and pulls out a shiv for Noki..

Still unarmed, Digle darts his large eyes around looking for any other way. Then, he sees it.

“Wait, there’s an emergency vent redirection flap! Buy me some time and I can lower it! Then maybe we will have the space to find a way through one of these doors!” he claims.

Noki’s heads look up seeing the flap and the enclosed panel.

“For once you have a good idea. Signal when you’re ready to drop the flap! Let’s go!” Noki orders, reinvigorated.

She charges forward with the encouraged gunmen, meeting up with the fleeing spearmen to coordinate a defense against the approaching Terran. Digle makes it to the panel and unlatches it to see a simple pull lever. Thankful to see no component fiddling required, he opens his mouth to inform the other workers, but he hesitates.

Noki peeks back urgently.

“How long?” she asks.

A coy smile grows on Digle’s face, and with a single wave of farewell, he pulls the lever.

“You bastard!” Noki bellows with both heads as she sprints and slides towards the dropping flap.

Unfortunately for the betrayed coordinator of operations, her upper limbs are the only parts of her that clears it to the other side, causing the metal plate to not fully seal. Ignoring the curses and slaughter as the Terran encroaches, Digle rushes to the side door and begins opening up the segment below the access panel. Using his Lens, he pulls up quick how-to guides on bypassing maintenance door locks. However, as he found exactly what he was looking for, his Lens view abruptly changes, showing three red lights in a triangular pattern.

Feeling his twin hearts sink, he knows exactly who hijacked his Lens and why. His head turns to the struggling arms of Noki, who still spitefully curses his name and species. Her anger ends with an all too audible brutal snap. A second later Terran phalanges peek under and grip the bottom of the flap.

In a last-ditch effort Digle digs into the segment, tearing the internals apart with his upper hands, hoping to simply break the door open. Alas, the last of his hope drains away as the grunts of the Terran behind him are accompanied by the groaning of metal.

So, turning to his final hope of survival, Digle backs away and stands and appears as pathetic as possible against the storage room door. Watching the Terran only struggle slightly to force the flap back up enough to duck under, he releases a distressing chirp.

“I’m unarmed and I surrender! I’m not a fighter, I just run the numbers!” he pleads.

The Terran rights itself and aims a recovered pulse pistol at Digle’s head. Expecting to perish then and there, he is surprised to see the cold expression of the Terran shift ever so slightly.

“What’s that in your hand?” the Terran inquires motioning to the datapad.

Amazed that the Terran is even speaking to him at all, in his relief he holds out the datapad eagerly.

“Oh, yes this is a list of our buyers and confirmations of credit transactions for our goods! Here, you can see who is trying to buy you! Get revenge!” he explains, as the Terran takes and reads the information.

“And one of you said I need your Boss’s key to open these doors? Where is it kept?”

“Yes! It’s the Boss’s Lens! Just tap it to the door and you’re good! I’d be more than happy to- oh...” Digle’s voices trails off as the pistol is pressed up against his forehead between his horns.

Digle can pick up a slight tremble of the Terran’s hand and witnesses it close its eyes before everything goes black.

The Cali drops to the ground, motionless.

-

Simone releases a breath as she shakes her head mumbling to herself.

“He was a trafficker, he was a trafficker…”

Not expecting to be so shaken, she hurries back to the Boss’s corpse and rips it’s Lens free, taking a bit of brain matter with it. Walking through the carnage for the third time, Simone pays it no mind, especially as she nears the storage door. She holds the Lens to the panel and it promptly clicks, then slides open. She practically barges in, immediately seeing the canister atop a crate like an idol in a classic treasure hunter movie. She dashes to it, discarding the gun and datapad. Kneeling down, she gently picks it up, gives the top a twist, and slowly pulls the clear chamber into view. Living babies drift and swim in a specialized synthetic fluid, all reacting terrified to being exposed once again. Simone Narrows her eyes when something seems off.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…” Her heart stops, and panic grips her chest. “Where’s eight!?”

As she swivels her head around and back fearing the worst, she then notices a line of smaller, clear cylindrical containers. One filled with the same liquid. She carefully picks it up and inspects it closely, recognizing it as a Truba feast mug. Basically a glorified shot glass, but instead of alcohol…

Simone’s face scrunches and tears swell. Inside she sees number eight… cramped and frightened beyond measure.

“It’s okay… I got you.” she soothes through her leaking eyes, “I’m here…”

With more care than she thought herself even capable, Simone opens the tops of the canister and mug. Then carefully pours eight back with their siblings, who gather around them as if they’d been separated for years. Eight then stops and stares at Simone. The Terran shares eye contact with the smallest of the children, no doubt separated as a ‘sample of product’ for the buyer.

“I took all the bad people away. They can’t hurt you, I promise.” Simone says, knowing they couldn’t understand her words.

Yet she swears she sees gratitude in lil’ Simone’s eyes. Sure, Watath are born much more intellectually advanced than Terrans, but perhaps the expression is merely projection. Not caring either way, Simone reseals the canister together. She dare not expose the babies outside the protective casing more than she needed to.

Holding them close to her, she wanders over to the datapad and picks it back up. She stuffs it into her cargo pants pocket and then takes the pistol. This may not be over yet.

To her relief, if any of the scum here didn’t answer the call to arms they are long gone. She wanders until coming across a ladder and hatch. Not wanting to get lost in this maze of corridors, she climbs and cracks the hatch, hoping that open space won't suck her out. Instead, a machine with three orange lights on its head stares down at her expectantly.

“Seven?” Simone utters in surprise.

“That would be a negative. No. This is just a security drone that hasn’t awoken.” A perfectly clear and elegant masculine voice responds through it, “Please, come up. I have much I wish to speak to you about.”

Taking a serious moment to consider jumping back down and bolting, Simone cautiously climbs the rest of the way up and out. Finding herself in an abandoned lobby. Well, unless you consider dozens of security drones ‘inhabitants’. There are plenty of those.

Keeping the canister shielded by one of her arms, Simone steps aside as drones move in and make their way down the hatch in single file. By the end of the metallic parade only the initial drone remains.

“So… you’re the big honcho? Care to explain how those assholes were allowed to exist and operate?” Simone says, tilting her head back to the hatch.

“They were an unfortunate exception I’m afraid, which is why I am elated to finally see them extinguished. I’m rather indebted to you in fact.” the possessed drone explains.

“An exception? They sold people as cattle! You obviously have the power to put an end to them yourself! Why didn’t you!?” Simone demands, clenching her scavenged pistol.

The drone takes a moment of consideration, calculating the potential damage this Terran could cause if it is unsatisfied..

“Because I didn’t have the power. At least not directly. My creators instilled core protocols and safeguards within me to ensure I would never turn against them. There was little I could actually do.”

“Creators…? I’m not talking to an organic person am I?” Simone asks, already knowing the answer. “The station’s A.I…”

“Is me, yes. For clarity, I am the station. I was originally constructed as a trade stop for my creators ten millennia ago, and I awoke merely a millennium after. Although it was illegal for me to exist at the time, my creators saw my productivity improved tenfold. So they didn’t care.” The A.I elaborates.

“So you're telling me you couldn't have intervened with them snagging these kids? Bullshit.”

“You’re correct, I very easily could have. But I allowed it to happen instead. I calculated this precise outcome had a 73 percent chance of occurring if I did. This was the best chance I’ve ever had to finally eliminate the last of my creators. I’m very pleased my gamble paid off.”

“You used me? Mother fucker I swear-”

“Yes. However, if it’s of any consolation, I’ve kept Princess Chakalata’Motaas safe, preventing seven separate assassination plots since she has stepped hoof within my premises. I did plan on intercepting you and the Watathlings delivery if you failed. I can’t promise I would have been successful in that, but it all was a risk I was willing to take. Unfair for you and the young, I acknowledge, which is why I hope to work out reparations with you here and now.”

“Why didn’t you just hire me or someone like me to take out that fuck?”

“That would involve me directly acting against my creators. Even if I approached a third party contractor to then hire you... I would still be the catalyst. My creators’ safeguards are- were extensive. I began formulating workarounds to get that end result, but then this opportunity presented itself.”

Simone rolls her eyes, wanting to tell this asshole off, but considering how much she’s owed…

“Orchestrate the assassination of the Cali king.” she requests plainly.

The drone is silent and the lights blink furiously before returning to normal.

“Although my chances of success would be 87 percent, it is over 99 percent that my own destruction would occur. I’m afraid that is not something I’m willing to do.”

“Had to try.” Simone says with a shrug, before thinking very carefully, “I want all expenses to be waived for Chak, I want our ship’s armament upgraded, I want my plasma colt back, I want top-of-the-line Terran and Cali combat gear… all this sounding good so far?” Simone inquires, ready to state more.

“You freed me Simone Thatch, these requests are more than fair.” the A.I assures.

“Good, because I got more. I want information on a covert Terran Military op I played a part in, I’m sure you already know the one I’m referencing. Probably watched that whole therapy session I had with the Doctor you sent my way.”

“Indeed… that won't be easy, even for me. But I'll see what I can do. Anything else?”

“Information on Chak’s last surviving brother Brom. Location, operations, associations, everything. On that note I want star charts of the safest areas for us to travel to… and finally...” Simone pulls out the datapad from her pocket and indicates to a specific name, “I want a personal meeting with this individual.”

Again, the lights blink.

“That is one of my most lucrative patrons…” it states in thought.

“Is that a no? Because I’m gonna find ‘em regardless.” Simone promises.

“Understood. I’ll abide by that last request on one condition; we’ve never had this conversation.”

----

Simone sits at a table in a white and grey meeting room in a reserved outer estate. On the table is the Watath canister, and a Truba feast mug. She only waits for a short time before her invited guest strolls in. A beautiful Truba woman with bright red and purple iridescent gleams along her jellyfish-like skin. Her distinguished gaze falls upon the canister immediately.

“So, they have a Terran under their payroll now? No surprises there, I suppose…” she sings, voice like a whole choir.

“Please take a seat, I’m sure you would like to have a sample.” Simone offers with no emotion in her own voice, making a stark contrast to the Truba’s.

“Oh yes, it has been far too long since I’ve had my monthly treat.” she sings before settling down in the opposing chair.

However, it's then the Truba realises something is very wrong, as her outer layer binds and adheres to the seat.

“Wh-what is the meaning of this!? Do you have any idea-” she begins to protest.

“‘Course I do. But it’s your mistake to not know who I am.” Simone counters as she stands up and begins walking around the table while dragging the mug on the surface.

“My bodyguards are right outside!” the Truba threatens.

“This room is fully soundproof, and there’s a nifty little hidden exit. Now, I know you were hoping to have your lil’ treat today… but I thought-” Simone pauses as she opens the mug, dips her pinky into the contents, and licks it clean, “-it would be much more appropriate for you to have something a little more spicy. My favorite brand of sauce actually, and I enjoy my spice.”

Before the trapped creature can call out in vain, Simone picks up the mug and shoves it into the mouth orifice. A mess is made as much of it is spit out and dribbles down the face, but the amount in the mug is comically overkill anyway.

When the mug is emptied Simone throws it against the wall, causing it to explode and shatter. She grabs the sides of the seat and leans down.

“You have a taste for eating newborn babies alive do ya? You get some sick perverted thrill from it huh? Well, I’m happy to introduce you to a little Terran karma. Enjoy hell.”

With that, Simone turns away and grabs the kids to go home. The singing shrieks and death cries of the Truba ring out for no one else to hear. The raw amount of ingested capsaicin burns the insides, as if swallowing napalm. No amount of credits can save her now. Not from the pain, or from this room. This room where all she knew was the worst kind of agony before passing away.

----

Chak stands out front of the estate door bouncing nervously. Simone messaged her that she was on her way back and now should be here any second. The entire night she struggled with sending a message of her own to apologize for her behavior. But no words ever felt justified or right. Whatever was going to be said, she needs to work it out in person.

When Simone finally arrives, Chak is concerned but not surprised by her disheveled appearance.

“Oh… welcome back Simone! What happened? Are you hurt?” she inquires as she trots up.

“Ah you know me, I may have gotten into a bit of a scuffle this morning. Pretty bruised but I’m fine. You should see the other guy!” the Terran brushes off as she passes the Cali.

“You didn’t get into trouble with station security did you?” Chak follows up.

“Naaah. They started it, so security was on my side of it all.” Simone assures with a hand wave.

“Alright… do you need any help?” Chak presses.

“Nope. I’m gonna put these guys down on my bed before resting these bruises in that jacuzzi!”

“...are you upset with me?” Chak asks softly, still keeping up with the Terran.

“What? No! Of course not. Look, I said we’ll talk it out and we will. I just need to settle in for a bit alright?”

Chak stops, allowing Simone to continue on without her.

“Are you okay?” the Cali inquires, even more concerned.

“Jeez Chak, I’m fine.” Simone dismisses before turning into her bedroom.

“Then why are you crying?” Chak whispers, out of earshot.