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The city is dark this time of night.
This far out in space, the only light that coats this moon’s ashen surface is the distant, cold light of far-off stars. The cities that sprawl and rise out of the dust are well-heated, for the most part. The buildings and skyscrapers lined with heating systems in the ceilings and floors, outdoor lamps set up anywhere where there’s a lot of foot traffic. The cold isn’t bad during the ‘day’, when they turn on bright yellow spotlights on the rooftops to simulate daylight and heat the city, or atleast, it’s not not if you came prepared with a coat and thick socks. Night, however, is a different story.
When the lights dim, the trade moon Lestea goes from a bustling, vibrant place to something cold and shadowed, indeed. It’s not a place you want to be when the lights go out.
Still, the man walking the streets at this time of night doesn’t seem to care. He’s been to worse places for worse reasons, and the thick, heavily-insulated brown duster coat he wears over his usual clothes keeps even someone like him warm.
His hands are in his pockets, head down, hood up, and it casts his face entirely into shadow. You can see a glint of tusks, the faintest glimpse of rough, scarred skin, maybe just a flash of ruby red eyes when he turns just right, but for the most part, his face is hidden completely. Not unusual, for a place like this.
He walks with a purpose, hooves clipping swiftly through winding alleyways, turning this way and that with ease. Anyone else would be hopelessly lost this deep in the underbelly of the city, especially when the lights are off and you can barely see two feet in front of you, but he navigates one of the most dangerous cities on this side of the galaxy, at night, no less, like he’s taking a stroll in the park.
There are other people in these alleyways. Crooks, beggars, orphans. They move through the city at night with the grace of alley cats. Most of them aren’t dangerous, but every now and then you can catch the faint silver flash of a knife, or hear the hum of a plasma gun being charged up and readied to fire. They all take one look at his broad shoulders and the width of his arms, at the ease in which he navigates these streets and confidence he does it with, and retreat back into the dark.
He barely even notices them. His mind is elsewhere, tonight. The rustle of movement from behind him, however, he does hear.
An ear twitches, and he tenses, instantly on alert, but he doesn’t turn. There’s a faint crackle, perceptible only to him, and the whispered voice coming through his comn says, “Ready? You’re close.”
The man huffs, grunting back as he lets himself relax. “Always am, Phil.”
His voice is deep and gruff, better suited to snarls and growls than words.
“Do you have the picture?”
He reaches a hand into his left coat pocket while he walks, gloved fingers running over the glossy front of his commn. He doesn’t have to pull it out to know the photograph downloaded on it is ready to go.
“Yes.”
“Should be a real quick job.” There’s a rustle of fabric and feathers from the other side of the line. “I’m in position. Give ‘em hell, mate.”
He nods, and keeps moving.
He reaches his destination soon enough.
It looks the exact same as every other building in the city. Grey and steel, windows dark and wide like the gaping mouth of some long-dead animal. There had once been a neon store-front sign, but it’s little more than a mangled mess of wires and shattered glass, now. The door is an old-fashioned one, no fingerprint sensors or retina scanners, not even a button. Just a big, grey wooden door, and a busted brass knob.
The man sighs heavily through his nose. Then, in a well practiced motion, he lets a hand drift to the plasma gun hidden in his coat, pushes back his shoulders, and opens the door.
The outside of the shop might’ve been cold and silent, but the inside is alive and vibrant.
The noise and smell hits him all at once, and a weaker man than him, with less sensitive hearing and smell, no less, would stagger back with the force of it. Cages filled with birds of every shape and color hang from the ceiling, glass terrariums sit proudly on cloth-covered tables. The yellow and orange lights hanging from the ceiling paint everything in shades of gold and amber, and the entire shop feels alive.
It’s absolutely filled with animals. The cages, pens and glass tanks come in all shapes and sizes, the creatures behind them just as varied. A mangiare of different species from just about every planet the shop owner could buy from. Feathers, teeth, scales, leathery wings, rocky skin, four eyes, just one, three heads, two tails, some that came up to his waist, anothers small enough to rest in the palm of your hand. Every color you could imagine, in every shape you could come up with, and a few that didn’t hold a shape at all, just little balls of oozing slime that squeaked when petted.
A few of the larger, more catlike creatures hiss when they catch sight of him, setting off a chain of varying reactions. Birdlike squawks, doglike barking, screeching, snarling, the flapping of feathers and impatient rustling of fur. More efficient than any high-tech alarm system.
There’s a rustle of fabric, and the man’s gaze snaps to the far corner. A velvet purple curtain hung from the ceiling is brushed out of the way by a burly, heavyset man, wiping two of his four arms off on his stained apron. The name tag pinned to the left strap reads, “Félix. He/Him”
His purple eyes light up when he spots the other man at the door, and the rough, rocky skin of his face breaks into a beaming customer-service smile.
“‘Ello there!” He greets in a loud, chesty voice. “What can I do for ‘ya sir?”
A pause.
“...I’m looking for a pet. For a friend.” The man finally says. The pronunciation is a little strange and tone a little too formal, as if he’s not quite used to speaking in the language.
The other man, Félix, nods, and waves him deeper into the shop with his upper left hand. “I’ve got all sorts ‘o pets, I’ll find ya somethin’ your friend’ll like. Follow me, I’ll show ya ‘round.”
The man follows Félix reluctantly as he’s led deeper and deeper into the shop, walking past the cages and tanks. The feeling of eyes on the back of his neck just gets stronger, and the scents of fur, feathers, and manure makes his sensitive nose itch.
Félix walks among the cells without fear, dragging rough fingers along the bars or glass fronts. The man holds his breath, waiting for those fingers to be snapped off in a heartbeat, but even the loudest and angriest of the creatures backs into their cell then he passes by.
“I’ve got birds, ‘o course.” He says, pointing to the higher cages, “Other things, too. Just got a new shipment of red-tailed Minku’s from Olza, in fact. Take a look.”
The man hesitates, not quite wanting to follow Félix as he walks close to the bars of a rather large cage to get to a row of glass tanks along one wall. He eyes the animal through the bars distrustfully. The piercing blue eyes of the nearest creature, a scrawny four-legged mammal of some sort, he assumes, glare at him. The blue patterns along its back flicker to life uneasily as he approaches carefully. Ah. A Blue-Ridge Strottax, then. Extinct on its home planet.
It lifts its head as he moves to stand next to Félix, snarls half-heartedly, then flops its chin back down as it decides he’s not worth the effort.
He’s only able to rip his eyes away when Félix opens up one of the glass terrariums, pulling out what looked like a red, fluffy scarf. He stiffens when the scarf slinks over Félix’s hand obediently when prompted, blinking at him mournfully with six bright yellow eyes.
A Chalu. Incredibly endangered, nearing extinction due to poachers. Definitely not a red-tailed minku , or whatever Félix is trying to sell it off as. Or thinks it is. To man’s credit, it’s fully possible he wasn’t told exactly what creature he was getting when he bought it, probably on some other back-water trade moon.
“Cute little guy, huh? Makes a great pet. We don’t get too many ‘round here, so I’ll sell it to ya for… 2,000 Creds? Sound fair?”
The man watches the gleam Félix’s eyes with disdain, and his lips twitch under his hood as he bites back a snarl.
He’s not a stupid man.
He went into this job knowing exactly what he’d find, but still. There’s something different about seeing it in person, it’s clear in the look on his face, badly hidden with a mask of indifference. Anyone that truly knows him would be able to spot the righteous anger glinting in his eyes.
Félix is not a poacher, in the traditional sense. He doesn’t get these animals by himself, instead buying them off the actual poachers to resell at ridiculous prices as ‘pets’ to the rich, or particularly stupid. Most of them look well cared for in Félix’s shop, at the very least, but that doesn’t change the fact that the man is profiting off of the extortion of many already very vulnerable species, and selling them off like common house pets.
The man winces, like he’s just heard a very loud, very unpleasant sound, and gives his head a toss to shrug it off. He tears his eyes away from the animals and turns back to Félix.
“...Something more useful.” He grunts. “Practical.”
“Practical?” The man parrots back, confused.
It takes him a moment to figure out the double meaning behind the words, but after a few seconds of dumbfounded staring his eyes get huge, and he speaks in an anxious rush. “Oh. Oh. Sorry sir, I don’t sell those types ‘round here. Bad for business, ya see.”
“...I’m lookin’ for something real specific.” The man presses, stepping closer so Félix is bullied back against the wall of glass tanks. “I can even show you a picture.”
Félix swallows, eyes glancing nervously at the man’s hands as he wets his lips. “S-sure, I’ll take a look. No promises.”
The man grins, but it’s impossible to see with his hood shadowing his face. He reaches into his coat pocket slowly, pulling out his commn. Félix visibly relaxes when he realizes it’s just a commn and not a knife or plasma gun, and leans in to get a better look as the man presses a button, bringing up the holographic display with the picture.
It’s distorted slightly by the bluish tint of the hologram, but the subject is still clear. It’s a boy, a teenager, to be more accurate. He’s holding a cake proudly in front of him, hands swaddled in pink oven mitts that match the flowery apron that barely goes past his chest. His face is his most noticeable feature, young and hopelessly endearing, split down the center with one half a pitch black, and the other a stark white. He’s smiling awkwardly at someone just behind the camera, mismatched eyes gleaming.
“...Seen anyone like him?”
Félix swallows, beady eyes scanning the picture. “N-no sir. Nothin’ like that.”
“So you have seen something , then.” The man growls, and Félix jumps at the animalistic sound. “Mind pointing me in the right direction?”
Félix puts his hands in the air, eyes wide as he fumbles backwards. “H-Heard some of the folks I buy from just got a new shipment of u-uh, the useful types , headin’ towards Endarion, last I heard.”
The man pauses, eyes flashing as he thinks. Endarion is far from here, nearly the other side of the galaxy. It’s not a safe planet, either, especially not for him.
Meanwhile, Félix cowers back against the glass tanks, eyes jumping from the man in front of him to a door in the back of the shop, like he was thinking about making a run for it. He’s nervous, sweating and wetting his lips, wringing both sets of hands together in front of him anxiously.
He was hiding something, still. The man knew.
He leans closer, forcing Félix to lean back over the tanks. He pulls his lips back over his tusks, and, this close, he gets a perfect view of his face, even through the hood. His own face goes stark white.
“Forgettin’ to mention something?” He drawls. “Spit it out. I haven’t got all night.”
It barely even takes a second.
“I don’t sell people!” He bursts out, practically tripping over himself as the words rush out of his mouth all at once. “Animals are one thing, but I don’t sell people. B-but I got a delivery the other day and the guy was real desperate to pass it off to me, so he sold it for next to nothin’! Not like anythin’ I've ever seen, I swear! I’m not sure if it’s even a person but if it is It’s the only one I got, I promise !”
He’s practically hysterical by the end, trembling under the man’s intense ruby gaze, Adam’s apple bobbing.
The man pulls out of his personal space to mull the information over, and Félix sighs in relief. He’s not the type of man to do charity work, that much is clear, but this kind of job hits a nerve with him, that much is also clear. His eyes flash with righteous fury every time he looks at the cages, hands tense in his pockets.
Like Félix had said, the poaching and selling of exotic animals is one thing, sentient beings are a different story all together. He’s not a cruel man, no matter how easily people are fooled by his cruel face and gruff demeanor. The selling and buying of people is not something he’d ever stand for.
He turns back to Félix, face cold as stone, words sharp and heavy as daggers.
“Show me.”
-
Félix takes him through the back door, leading through a labyrinth of shelves.
It’s dark back here, dusty and cluttered. The shelves are all filled with the usual things you’d expect to find in the back of any pet shop, bags of food, jugs of saltwater, extra tanks and empty cages, handling tools and brushes of every shape and type. There’s a shelf along one wall with heated tanks, the inhabitants sleeping soundly. Sick animals, he presumes, and keeps moving.
In the very, very back, there’s a large glass tank.
It's tucked away in the corner, ceiling to floor, with a metal door along the wall facing them. Its not very big, with just enough room for the man himself to be able to walk on a small circle, and not much else. He probably wouldn’t even be able to lie down fully. It’s empty of any type of creature he can see, but there are a few things scattered about in the limited space, a bucket, a small cot for sleeping, a ripped apart rope toy. It looks more like a prison cell than something you would keep an animal in.
The man must be thinking the same thing, by the way his expression sharpens into something deadly.
Félix skitters in front of him, looking sheepish as he approaches the cell. “I-I know this looks bad, but really, I didn’t have a choice! Just… Just watch.”
Then, with his upper left hand, he knocks shakily on the glass.
The response is instantaneous.
A snarl splits the air, making both men jump. His gaze jumps to cot, and in the small space underneath, there’s a flash of movement, and then eyes.
Something climbs out from underneath the cot. It’s bipedal, but it doesn’t look like anything either of them have ever seen before. No feathers, scales, tail, extra limbs or eyes. No bumpy, rock-like skin, and it doesn’t drip with slime. When it opens its mouth to snarl and shout at them again, it’s teeth are tiny and blunt, no venomous fangs or tusks.
Félix is more than a little afraid, judging by the way he jumps when the thing goes from shouting to angry pacing, but the man?
He goes stock-still, eyes wide and horrified.
He knows exactly what this is.
It’s a human.
He’s never seen a human before, no one has, but they’ve all heard stories, seen the pictures from the Council. Humans are a new race, an incredibly young and volatile species, it’s only over the past few decades that they’ve even made their way beyond their own planet at all.
It was just a few years ago that the rest of the galaxy knew of their existence at all. It wasn’t intentional, an Endarion ship getting lost far, far out in deep space in the Milky Way galaxy, coming across the planet by pure accident.
Ever since then, the entire Esempi galaxy has been obsessed.
Everyone’s heard of Earth. More than a few follow the Council’s updates on them religiously, tuning in to hear the latest news about the current plans to introduce them to the rest of the galaxy, learning what they can about their culture. Human-themed items and clothes are the newest, hottest trend, classes on how to speak their most popular languages popping up left and right. Even a few Earth-Streams, called movies, have been released to the public, and the response was beyond enthusiastic as the excited galaxy drinks in what little information they do have about the exciting new planet.
The rush of “ we are not alone anymore. There is another Galaxy like us!” has yet to wear off.
Still, not only is Earth ridiculously far, it’s also incredibly guarded. No one except an approved Council member is allowed to even get close . Even then, they’ve never gone planet-side, just intercepted satellites. Ever since the Earth mandate was passed, the entire planet has been very closely watched and protected, keeping stray ships far, far away from their airspace.
You see, humans are an incredibly young race compared to everyone else in the galaxy. A young volatile race, at that, dangerously close to ripping their own planet apart at any given moment. Only a very, very select few Council men have ever even spoken to humans, deeming them a promising, but ultimately extremely dangerous race.
Because of this, a mandate was passed by the Council. Humans are to be considered a “Protected Species of the highest caliber: For strict observation only.”
A higher priority than even the most endangered of animals, observed and monitored with extreme care. It’s an incredibly well enforced mandate, too. You can’t get anywhere near Earth without the Council's knowledge, you’d get arrested or shot down in a heartbeat.
So how did an Earthling, a human, end up in the back of a pet store on a tiny trade moon in a whole different galaxy?
The human spits at him, it’s eyes the same storm-cloud blue of the Milky Way planet, Neptune. It hisses something in its language, judging by its expression and tone, probably a curse word. Though it has no large ears to pin back, no tail to lash menacingly or sharp fangs to bare, it manages to get across exactly how it feels about the whole situation. The man is inclined to agree.
The man turns sharply to Félix. “How much?”
“W-what?” Félix stares at him, eyes wide.
“How. Much.” The man repeats, and Félix swallows, trembling under his sharp gaze.
“F-four thousand creds?” He responds, meekly. The man gives him a look and he corrects himself fast. “O-one thousand? Five hundred?”
“Five hundred is fine.” The man agrees, not looking up as he swipes on his commn, wiring the money to Félix as they speak. “You’re under arrest, by the way.”
Félix blinks. “What-“
There’s a loud crash as something big and heavy smashes through the front windows of the shop, and the rest of what he says is drowned out by the alarms.