Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Katsuki has never sweat so much in his life.

It’s pouring out of him. Buckets and buckets of the stuff, it feels like, all of it going to waste. Sweat is meant to keep you cool, but Katsuki doesn’t feel any better as he lays on the metal floor in a puddle of his own making. He’s cooking in his skin, suffocating in the humid air. It moves like soup through his lungs, and he could swear that when he breathes in deep, he can feel the moisture rushing up his throat.

He hasn’t moved since he laid down here, yet his stomach is churning like he’s just pushed himself too far on a run. His ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton, and his brain is teetering on that precipice of consciousness and spacy delirium that comes just before passing out. His stomach is twisting and turning in rebellion, but he’s already thrown up the remains of last night’s dinner and every bit of water he’d consumed before he got here. So now it’s like his stomach is just kicking him while he’s down, summoning random bouts of dry heaving in a fruitless attempt to void his stomach of its nonexistent contents.

He's overheating. He’s going to die. He’s going to die from heatstroke and dehydration in a room with air so thick he could drink it if only these walls could gather condensation. But they aren’t. He got desperate earlier, when his tongue started to stick to the roof of his mouth and his spit became as thick as glue and he realized just how fucked he was. He’d crawled over to the walls in the vain hope that there was some kind of condensation building up on them that he could lick off, but found instead that the material they are made from is more like stone than metal, and whatever it was, it was porous enough to absorb the excess moisture from the air. No water for Katsuki. Typical.

He’s going to die because some stupid fucking aliens couldn’t be bothered to adjust the fucking thermostat and turn off the goddamn humidifier.

Some vague part of his mind acknowledges that this is probably a punishment. He bit off that one guy’s fingers. He broke the other one’s leg.

But, well, what did they expect? They’d just done the space-kidnapper equivalent of stuffing a cat in a bag, yet they had the audacity to be mad when Katsuki came out with his teeth bared.

The bird-bug aliens (because that’s what they looked like, looming, skeletal figures with too many limbs, heads shaped like bird’s skulls, eyeless, beetle mandibles where the beak should be with even smaller, chittering beaks set behind them, the body a gangly, knobby carapace covered by a thin veil of shrink-wrapped black skin) had snatched Katsuki from planet earth, took his clothes, and put him in a cage, poking and prodding through the bars as he screamed obscenities. One of them must have thought he was cute or something, because it actually stuck one of its six four-fingered hands through the bars and tried to scratch him under his chin like an actual goddamn cat.

He didn’t even have to think. One moment there was a hand in his face, and the next there was green blood in his mouth and screams in the air. It turns out biting through fingers felt like biting though a carrot, something he’d never thought he would ever learn.

Two skeletal fingers dropped out of his mouth as the injured alien retreated, and the other two with it took that for what it was and wised up immediately. No more hands came anywhere near the bars of his cage, and they made sure to keep well away from the sides soon after when Katsuki demonstrated that he could easily slip his arms through to grab at any limbs in range and break them. The leg he grabbed wasn't much thicker around than a cord of wood but was twice as fragile. The hard, crab-like carapace covering the alien's shin shattered when Katsuki yanked it against the metal bars of his cage with his full strength. The alien hit the ground hard, and it was only thanks to its companions quick thinking that it was saved from Katsuki breaking its other leg, its friend grabbing it and dragging it out of Katsuki's reach.

With two aliens down in the first five minutes, the other didn’t seem keen to get anywhere near him, chittering incessantly with its clicking beak. More aliens entered the room, one of them wielding a remote that it promptly pointed towards Katsuki.

The bars of his cage started to rotate, revealing that they weren’t solid bars, but individual rolled-up metal panels that quickly unfurled to form a solid box with only the barest slivers of space between each panel. Katsuki tested one with a finger and was unable to shove it through. The cage was solid as well. No amount of kicking or punching on Katsuki’s part could break it.

He’d continued to growl and rage for a time, but the aliens, seemingly content that he could no longer cause any damage, left him there to go tend to their injured companions. He’d pressed his face to the side of his cage, peering out through the narrow slats to see what was going on, but there was nothing to see. They had left to another room entirely.

They didn’t come back until at least an hour later. Katsuki had fallen silent in that time, overcome with worry and fear as the full breadth of the situation sunk in. He’d actually been abducted by aliens. How fucking absurd. The one time he and the nerd decide to go camping in America and they’re abducted on the very first night.

And shit, the nerd. Deku. Fuck, he was here too. Katsuki had completely forgotten about him in the chaos as they got fucking raptured and were promptly separated and thrown into cages. He hadn’t seen Deku since those first few seconds aboard the ship. A quick re-examination of the room through the slats of the cage revealed that the nerd really wasn’t there with him. Katsuki was alone. He could only wonder what was happening to him somewhere else aboard this ship.

When the aliens finally made their reappearance, Katsuki immediately picked up his shouting and insults again as they started moving his cage. He demanded to know what they had done with Deku, but they seemed to ignore him or more likely couldn’t understand. With the cage in a more secure state, they weren’t afraid to approach. Four aliens picked it up easily from each corner and carried it from the room. Katsuki struggled to catch a glimpse of anything through the slats, forced to content himself with flashes of dark hallways and dim purple lights.

It only took a few minutes for them to reach what Katsuki now knew to be a cellblock of some kind. His cage was settled in front of it, and a moment later the wall of the cage in front of him rose up to reveal the space beyond. Katsuki hesitated to crawl out but was forced to do so when the wall behind him started sliding forward, pushing him out. Katsuki scrambled into the cell, rushing to turn around as fast as possible to catch the outer cell door before it closed, but he was too slow. It slammed down with a clang, leaving Katsuki trapped inside.

The wall facing the hallway was a simple barred barrier, and just like the cage, it left just enough room between the bars for Katsuki to push an arm through. The aliens were wise to him though and weren’t standing close enough for him to grab.  They chittered at him as he swore and seethed, turning their heads this way and that like inquisitive birds. Katsuki squeezed the bars between his hands, his fists only barely able to express how much he wanted to tear these bastards apart.

To both his and the alien’s shock, the bar began to give under Katsuki’s grip, the metal crunching and groaning between his fingers. Fast chittering broke out between them as Katsuki looked down at his hand in bewilderment, and before he could think to press his advantage by breaking the bars further, the alien with the remote pointed it at him again. A split-second later Katsuki was practically airborne, the sting from an electrical shock forcing his body to instinctually jump back in panic and pain. Katsuki hissed as his body burned, muscles jolting and clenching of their own volition from the electrical stimulation. Fucking ouch.

He glared daggers at the tittering group of aliens beyond the bars, conveying every death threat imaginable through his eyes alone. They apparently got the message, because several of the bird-bugs chose that exact moment to promptly skitter off, only the one with the remote lingering for a bare moment longer. It didn’t have any visible eyes, but the top of its head looked to Katsuki like the skull of a bird with skin stretched over the eye sockets. He focused his glare there, and just to get his point across, actually hissed like a cat, hacking and guttural and every kind of pissed off under the sun. On earth that kind of sound served as a universal “fuck off,” and it seemed in space it did too, because the remote wielding alien finally did, in fact, fuck off.

And apparently the message worked a little too well, because it had to have been at least an entire day- if not 24 hours now- since he’d seen any of the aliens at all, and now Katsuki was doomed to expire in spectacularly pathetic fashion. They hadn’t come by even once to check on him or bring him food or water, and with every bit of moisture his body had had to spare now pooling out on the floor, Katsuki had to admit he was worried. And also unbelievably pissed.

What kind of asshole goes through the effort of kidnapping a whole ass person from a planet just to let them die of dehydration of all things? If Katsuki died from this, he was going to find a way to haunt their shitty spaceship and poltergeist the fuck out of anything that looked even marginally important. Because fuck if aliens were real then whose to say that ghosts aren’t? And probably bigfoot. And the fucking tooth fairy. All those conspiracy theorists wearing tinfoil hats and raving about anal probes had gotten at least one thing right.

Katsuki had yet to be probed. He might die before that happens; in which case he wouldn’t be there to care that aliens were shoving sticks up his ass.

Oh. He was delirious.  He was turning into Deku in his final moments, mumbling on about pointless shit.

"God, kill me now."

And Deku, fuck. Where was he in this mess? Katsuki hadn’t seen or heard anything from him. Three of the walls of Katsuki’s cell were solid, with the barred door facing out into a wide, empty hallway. He couldn’t see into any neighboring cells, and he knew he’d fallen unconscious once or twice, so it’s possible he could have missed them bringing Deku here and now the nerd was simply beyond his sight.

Katsuki coughed, willing his dry throat to clear and his tongue to unstick from the roof of his mouth. “Deku,” he croaked. “Deku? Are you here? Hey!”

His voice sounded oddly muted, as if the porous walls around him were absorbing not just moisture but also sound. Or maybe that’s because he still felt like he had cotton in his ears. A hand absently rose to paw at his ears, fingers weak and uncoordinated. He didn’t feel anything, but his fingers were also rather tingly and numb so even if there was anything there it would be hard to tell.

No response. He called out a few more times, as loudly as he could, but his voice was already hoarse from all the screaming and shouting he had done earlier. His throat felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper, and with how tired he was he quickly lost motivation to keep calling.

He’d try again later. Maybe Deku was sleeping. Although, thinking about it, he supposed it didn’t matter whether Deku was there or not. They were still trapped, still dying. Knowing that Deku was close by would only be a comfort so far as there would be a human witness to his death.

Katsuki huffed in agitation. What was he saying? Was he really just going to lay down and die? There had to be something he could do, right?

He’d already made a tentative attempt at breaking the bars again and got electrocuted for his trouble. It wasn’t the worst pain he had ever felt. He could probably grit his teeth and power through it long enough to break those bars, but the electrical current made his hands go numb almost instantly. He couldn’t break the bars if his fingers were spazzing out too much for him to squeeze.

So, breaking the bars wasn’t an option. The walls had felt solid when he messed with them earlier. He’s on a spaceship so it figures that there’s probably at least a modicum of structural integrity. What else could he do?

Katsuki lay there in a muzzy daze. His brain felt slow. It might be. Was there enough oxygen in here? The thought occurred to him then that the bug-birds most likely breathed air of a different composition than on earth. Was there less oxygen in here? More? He can vaguely recall that a majority of earth’s air is nitrogen, about 80 percent, most of the rest being oxygen. Humans really needed that all important 20 percent to function. Was he so tired because the air was thinner? Or was it really just dehydration? He’d gone snowboarding a couple times as a kid and could remember getting out of breath just by climbing the bunny slopes a handful of times. What happened when there was too much oxygen? Too much carbon dioxide, argon? He didn’t know.

Whatever. He was too tired for this. Sweating to death was shaping up to be one of the top ten most miserable ways to die.

Katsuki drifted. His stomach had finally given up making him nauseous, giving him some relief from part of his misery. Time became a bit abstract as he floated in and out of consciousness. He couldn’t say whether he actually slept, as it seemed to him that his body was too stuck in red alert mode to let him fall into true unconsciousness.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Katsuki was roused from his stupor by the sounds of footsteps and the opening of a door. Part of him vaguely registered that an open door was a good thing, but he was too tired and disoriented to do anything with that information. Something moved to hover over him. It was big and black. Oh, a bird-bug.

It chittered at him, its creepy skull-head turning to one side to aim a skinned-over eye socket at him. Their eyes must be on the sides of their heads then, not forward facing. He doubted that its eyes were located where familiarity with bird anatomy told him they should be, but it was probably good for him to remember this little detail in the future. He’s got fingers and a leg already so maybe he can add a poked-out eye to his anatomy destruction bingo card.

When Katsuki did nothing but blink in response to the bird-bugs presence, it chittered and leaned down. Four of its six arms reached out slowly. One pair grabbed each of Katsuki’s wrists while the others gripped his sides. The alien dragged him a bit closer and then lifted, its last set of arms joining the second pair at his sides. Katsuki’s head lolled down to his chest. He was too tired to hold it up. Two of the hands at his sides slid up to hold him under his armpits. It stood there for a moment and observed him. An image of a tittering cat-mom holding a scruffy cat by its underarms flitted across Katsuki’s mind.

He should have been pissed off.

He was too tired.

Katsuki just hung there like an empty sack as the alien chittered. It released his arms, seemingly assured that Katsuki was much too tired to lash out and thus had nothing to fear from Katsuki’s provenly dangerous appendages. And he was, the bastard.

The bird-bug turned and walked out of the cell. Katsuki’s legs swayed as he was carried down the hall. He couldn’t tell if they were going back to where they were before or somewhere new. He tried to pay attention to the turns they made and how many doors they traveled through, but his brain couldn’t hold on to anything. Thoughts and information slipped through his mind like how water pours from a hand. They passed by other bird-bugs which chittered and looked at Katsuki curiously. The one holding him even turned him around so that his front was facing out, letting the other bird-bugs see him. Katsuki couldn’t summon the energy to be mortified at being paraded around in front of a bunch of aliens in his birthday suit. He almost felt like it was showing off, somehow. Saying,” see, look what I caught! And it’s not even trying to bite me!” He was like Simba in that one scene in the Lion King. All the alien needed to do was lift him up over its head.

The alien did not do that, thankfully. It was clearly showing him off to the others, but it kept moving through the ship at what seemed to Katsuki a reasonably brisk pace. It took only a minute more for them to reach a door which the alien had to stop in front of. All the others they had passed through opened automatically, but this one remained firmly shut. Katsuki watched dazedly as one of the bird-bug’s hands reached out to interact with a number pad to the side of the door. Well, it looked vaguely like a number pad. It only had six buttons arranged in a horizontal line with no visible characters represented across them. The alien’s four fingers deftly punched in a code which Katsuki was too out of it to follow, and the door hissed open.

They stepped inside of a room that immediately registered to Katsuki as an infirmary of some kind. The room was decently large. Five tallish, narrow platforms were arranged in a half circle on the opposite side of the room, each accompanied by a taller, thinner platform which in turn sported a pillar supporting various medical equipment and overhead contraptions. The full length of the leftmost wall was covered by a counter and what seemed to be cabinets and shelves filled with things that Katsuki didn’t recognize. Between the left wall and the platforms were two free-standing metal tables with nothing on them. The right wall was blank save for a porthole shaped window set right in the center which took up about a quarter of the whole wall. Beyond the porthole was nothing but the emptiness of space.

It hit him again then just the kind of situation he was in. He really had been abducted, hadn’t he? He knew that, obviously, what with the whole rapture experience and the bird-bugs chasing him through the woods; but seeing nothing but the vast expanse of infinite black outside the window was what really made it hit home.

He was far, far, far from home. Even in such a disoriented state, Katsuki knew then that he would never see planet Earth again.

The bird-bug carried Katsuki across the room and laid him down on one of the platforms. It was padded like an exam table in a doctor’s office, but the material it was made from was coarse. It itched Katsuki’s arms like burlap as the alien arranged his limbs. The single working part of Katsuki’s brain was ringing an alarm bell, chanting “probes, probes!” But he couldn’t work up the strength to move much more than his fingers.

The alien left him there on the table, walking off somewhere the side of the room with the counters. The space was dimly lit, the walls suffused by a faint purple glow emanating from the seams between the walls and the ceiling. It thankfully seemed to be cooler in here than it was in his cell. The humidity was noticeably lessened, and while it was still warm, without the humidity mugging up the air, Katsuki was already feeling marginally better. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing any better now than he was before, but he would take the small mercies.

He managed to turn his head to the right to watch what the alien was doing, but couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. It’s many hands were opening drawers and cabinets, pulling out various implements and supplies that Katsuki couldn’t recognize. He turned his head to the left to look back out the porthole and was surprised to notice another occupant in the room. He must have missed them when he got distracted by the porthole.

It was another alien, occupying the platform furthest from Katsuki’s, nearest to the porthole. It wasn’t like the bug-birds. In fact, Katsuki would say it shared more similarities with a cat than with these other guys. He couldn’t tell what color it was, but in the lighting, it appeared to be black, or maybe a deep purple or blue. It had a broad, flat nose like a cat, and large almond shaped eyes that gleamed red and gold. It had big ears that flared widely out to either side of its head, looking like a cross between cat and bat ears. Its head and neck appeared to be covered in smooth fur, but the rest of its body was obscured by black clothing which read to Katsuki as a tracksuit.

The cat alien was staring at Katsuki, which was fair since Katsuki was staring too. The alien blinked, and when it opened its eyes a smaller pair of eyes opened up underneath the main ones. Katsuki, for his part, was too tired to show any outward signs of surprise at this, and in general he had a feeling that he was becoming a bit numb to all the new things he was experiencing. The cat alien didn’t say anything, not that Katsuki would have understood it, but it did cock its head slightly in the same manner as the bird-bugs.

The door hissed, and Katsuki turned his head just in time to see two more aliens step through it.

More bird bugs. One of them looked the exact same as the one that had brought Katsuki here, but the other one was much different. Its overall build was the same, but it was noticeably taller than the other two, its shoulders a bit broader. For a moment Katsuki thought it might be wearing a cape of some kind, but in reality, it was a long set of neatly folded, iridescent wings, backset by what Katsuki assumed was a protective black beetles shell. A set of curved spikes protruded from the bug-bird’s shoulders and forearms, the inky black color of the skin bleeding into deep purple at the tips. Its shoulder blades also sported a ruff of thick, lavender colored fur that reminded Katsuki of the fur lining on the hood of a winter coat.

This development struck Katsuki as vaguely not good. If these guys were actually bugs of some kind, it stood to reason that the ones with the wings were going to be more important or powerful than the regular drones.

The tall alien took one look at Katsuki before turning its attention to the alien that had brought him here, its chittering speech somehow menacing compared to the others. The other alien chittered back, and for a moment the three of them seemed to get wrapped up in an argument of some kind. Katsuki’s survival instincts were slowly beginning to wake back up as he laid there, overriding his dehydration-induced exhaustion. He was in the medical wing of an alien spaceship, and someone important had just shown up.

Oh God he was about to get probed.

That single realization was enough to kick Katsuki’s body into gear, his heart rate skyrocketing and his body filling with adrenaline. He threw himself off the platform, rolling to the floor and then scrambling to his feet faster than he’d ever moved in his life. One of the aliens screeched, Katsuki’s only warning before several sets of hands attempted to grab him.

Katsuki lunged out of reach, his strained body obeying him for the moment as he put one of the platforms between himself and the aliens. The cat alien had sat up and was watching Katsuki wearily. He noticed then that its arms were trapped to the table by cuffs on its wrists.

Apparently aliens abduct other aliens. Who knew?

Some part of Katsuki’s brain acknowledged that he himself also counted as an alien in this context, but he was a bit too busy to acknowledge that at the moment.

The top of the platform he had dived behind was as high as Katsuki’s chin, providing ample cover from a majority of the alien’s long limbs. The alien at the counter was rushing to put things down to come help, the other regular sized one separated from Katsuki by the platform. The big bug-bird was chittering and screeching, but made no move to apprehend Katsuki, standing still by the door.

Okay now what? Katsuki thought. He hadn’t really considered what he was supposed to do from this point.

The aliens didn’t give Katsuki any time to consider his options.  The one on the opposite side of the platform moved to Katsuki’s right to go around the back of it. Katsuki moved to the left, and the alien stopped. It seemed to realize in that moment that they were going to be playing a game of keep-away, so it didn’t bother to try approaching Katsuki from the left, opting to stand in place as the other normal sized bug-bird hurried over. Katsuki stiffened when he noticed that it was carrying something vaguely similar to a syringe in one of its hands.

Nope.

Katsuki already knew what was coming. The two of them could easily corner him and stick him with a tranquilizer if he didn’t play this right. His eyes darted around the room as the two crept closer and he backed away. There wasn’t anywhere for him to go. The big alien was between him and the door, and he wasn’t even sure he could get it open. He’d also have to maneuver things so that he could get past the reach of the alien to his left. Or risk being grabbed as he made a break for it. Katsuki clenched and unclenched his fists, weighing his options. He’d done decent damage to two of the aliens before, and they seemed reasonably weary of his strength. Overt aggression seemed to be an effective way to get them to back off. Alright, he could use that.

The alien to Katsuki’s left, the one wielding the syringe, moved closer, and Katsuki moved to meet them with a muttered "fuck it," under his breath. He charged, roaring as he went, arms outstretched, ready to grab any errant limbs and tear them apart. He had no idea what kind of damage he could do to these things with just his bare hands, but he was sure as hell willing to find out. The bird-bug backpedaled-completely forgetting about the weapon in its hand-skittering to the right to avoid Katsuki's reach and blocking its companion from intervening. The two of them screeched as Katsuki raced past, his path to the door now open save for the big bug-bird still standing in front of it.

His plan had hinged on the assumption that the bird-bugs would be scared enough of him to get out of his way, but the big one was seemingly unphased. Katsuki wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders, so it took him far too long to realize that it wasn’t backing down. His momentum was too great, and he was much too close to stop fast enough to keep from running right into it, so at the last minute he chose to commit, dropping his shoulder to ram right into the bird-bug’s legs.

Whatever it had expected him to do, that certainly wasn’t it. The alien was surprisingly lightweight, its knees folding easily under Katsuki's weight. It fell over in a tangle of limbs, Katsuki tripping up as its legs flailed and falling hard directly on top of it. It screeched and chittered terribly, its carapace-covered limbs making dull thunks on the metal floor as it flailed about. Katsuki attempted to detangle himself from the alien and jump away, but he was still moving too slowly. One of the alien’s hands grabbed hold of his right leg, then another his left arm. Katsuki thrashed, managing to break the alien’s grip for only a moment before more hands joined the others to hold him down. The alien sat up, KAtsuki's weight rolling him downwards until he was effectively sprawled across its lap. Katsuki thrashed again, forcing the alien to draw him closer and bear down to keep its grip, the points of its sharp mandibles barely missing Katsuki’s left eye.

Katsuki yelled in frustration as the aliens free hands clamped down on his legs, leaving only his right arm free. It turned its head, aiming the broad side at him so it could see, and that’s when Katsuki finally spotted its eye. Or rather eyes. There were six tiny eyes in a row following the lower curve of the circular depression in its head. The eyes were like black jewels, so small they were almost impossible to spot from a distance. But he was so close now he could see the tiny white pupils in each one aimed straight at him.

Bingo Motherfucker.

Katsuki still had his right hand free, and he used it to full effectiveness. Faster than the bird-bug could react, Katsuki’s hand lashed out, fingers curled into claws to rake his nails over the alien’s eyes. Green blood erupted under his fingernails, gushing like a geyser. Something soft like jelly collected under his finger nails, black mater dripping from his fingers with green blood. The alien screeched, the sound so sharp it made Katsuki's ears ring. A buzzing hiss curled underneath the high-pitched wail, rattling and clicking like a dolphin's echolocation. It released Katsuki’s left arm, its hands flying up to cradle its injured face. Katsuki took advantage, wrapping his hands around one of its other forearms. He squeezed hard, imagining it was one of the bars that he'd bent in his cell. The hard carapace protecting the alien’s thin limb had a slight texture to it, thin striations swirling like a fingerprint beneath his palm. Small bumps and ridges dotted the edges of the boning, the structure similar to the carapace of a crab. He squeezed as hard as he could, the shell holding under the pressure for a scant moment before suddenly buckling, crumpling as easily as tinfoil. A satisfying crack sounded as his fingers plunged through the shell and into the soft flesh beneath, easily puncturing the wet muscle and tendon. All the tension in the arm suddenly left it, the whole mass of it flopping into his lap like a dead fish.

Katsuki didn’t have a chance to celebrate the small victory. The alien screeched again, two of the arms that had risen to protect its face lashing out suddenly, backhanding Katsuki across his face and neck. Katsuki went down hard, red blood spurting across his vision as his hearing suddenly blotted out with the impact. His skull cracked against the floor as he was flung from the alien's lap, the pain from the hit hardly registering against the veritable fire burning in his face and neck. Something wet was spilling down his chest, sticky and thick. He tasted metal. The exhaustion from the past day hit him all at once, and Katsuki found he was unable to rise from the floor. Something touched his shoulder and turned him over. One of the bird-bugs. It was close enough that he could see its beak moving. It was speaking, but he couldn’t hear it. Even though the room was dark, the light overhead suddenly felt too bright.

Huh.

That cotton in his ears feeling was back. There was a high pitched whine in his left ear. He felt floaty. There was pressure at his neck. The alien above him was using its uppermost arms to fold something that looked like bandages, the other arms doing who knows what.

He felt wet. Why was he wet?

Katsuki raised a fumbling arm, trying to find the source of the water. Something grabbed his hand and pushed it down. He didn’t fight it. He stared up at the light, unable to turn his head. It was too bright. Could someone turn the damn lights off? One of the bug-bird’s hands grabbed his face, turning it so it could look into his eyes, blocking the light. Oh, that was better. Another hand appeared in front of his face and forced his left eyelid open- when had he closed it? The hand was covered in red blood.

Ah. That was his, wasn’t it?

He’d noticed that the big bird-bug had spikes on its forearms. Those must have nicked an artery when it hit him. The pain in his neck felt like confirmation. He was bleeding out.

Well, this wasn’t too much worse of a development. He’d already been dying; he’d say this was probably actually an improvement. He was dying much faster now.

On a scale of one to ten with one being the worst, sweating to death firmly rated a solid three. Probably not the worst but it fucking sucked in Katsuki’s opinion. Dying like this… he’d give it like a seven. He seemed to have reached the point of delirium much faster than last time. That kind of sucked. He would like to go to his death with a bit of clarity, but maybe he was a little too clear headed this time. This fucking hurt. He docked points because this was a much more painful way to die. But he was probably going to pass out any second now, so maybe it wasn't so bad.

The alien released his eye, but its other hand held Katski’s head firmly in place, probably to keep him from stretching the wound on his neck. Katsuki’s eyes rolled in their sockets as unconsciousness loomed. His vision started to dim. He briefly locked eyes with the bird-bug that was seemingly attempting to save his life. It chittered, the sound muted and far away. Good luck to them then. Katsuki was done.

Katsuki sneered in a smile that was all teeth. Hopefully there was some blood mixed in there for a real nightmarish effect. As his vision began to go dark he managed to choke out a few final parting words.

“I’m gonna’ haunt your ass.”

Chapter Text

Scouting missions were seldom idyllic, but this one had proven to be particularly taxing for Shota Aizawa. The vastness of space had always held an allure for those who dared to brave its uncharted realms, but for Shota, the thrill of exploration had metamorphosed into an endurance test.

He was on the tail end of a long-term deep space scouting mission, and while he wasn’t in uncharted territory per se, the sectors he had been traversing for many deta-cycles had last been scouted almost an entire renta-cycle ago. The closest habitable system, Arkaris, lay ten cycles of straight warp travel away.

He was well and truly in the middle of nowhere, and of course, that was when his water reclaimer decided to fail.

Shota had maintained enough emergency water stores to make it to Arkaris if he rationed carefully. He could cut his mission short, call the remaining cycles a wash and stop just long enough to have his faulty reclaimer serviced before gunning for his rendezvous with the UA homestation in Kalabrek.

Part of him longed to do so; to make use of the conveient excuse to leave this backwater behind and get back to kivilas territory, but he resisted the urge. There was a much more logical solution at hand, one which did not necessitate the sacrifice of the remaining mission. 

The system he was currently mapping was nestled in a far flung arm in a barred spiral galaxy known as Ceraxis. He'd been forced to manually pilot his ship through the outer territory of the system, which had been rendered nearly impassable by cycles-thick ring of asteroids. A lesser pilot would have disregarded the system, would have judged it to be too much of a risk and skipped on to the next one. But Shota was nothing if not thorough, so he'd pushed on. 

Shota was a good pilot, but he wasnt perfect. He'd suffered a few dings and scrapes in the passage, thus he suspected some impact had contributed to the malfunction of his water reclaimer. It wasn't long after completing his passage when he discovered that the range extenders necessary for his wayfinding satellite scanners to function were also inoperable. The disks had likely been crushed by debris, as had some exterior function of the reclaimer. The damage to the scanners was a less pressing concern, but if he wanted to keep any accurate tracking data about his ship's path through the system, they would need to be repaired as well.

His ideal option was to find a planet with room to land so he could make repairs and find potable water. Easier said than done, he would come to find.

A forward probing scout launched ahead of his meandering path proved to be less than useless when he discovered he had no means of maintaining connection with it without his range extenders, forcing him to manually investigate the various planets he passed. 

The system's outer planets were a bust. Frozen rocks and gas balls, hardly worth a second look save for the notes taken on potential harvestable resources. The singular notable oddity was a blue planet which for some reason was spinning on a horizontal axis in relation to its star rather than at a slight angle or vertical, as its neighbors did. He logged the anomaly and moved on.  

A little more than two deta-cycles after passing the asteroid field, Shota got a positive ping back from his scout. Water had been detected on a planet up ahead. He gunned for it, leashing the path of his ship behind the probes trajectory, just barely within communication range.

The planet he arrived at was innocuous, as normal as any habitable planet he had ever encountered, and there was indeed water on the surface. Lots of it. He initiated a biological and compositional scan for a cycle and was not surprised to discover that the planet teemed with life. Its wealth of water and position relative to the local star had fostered a perfect environment for life to thrive. He consulted previous scouting logs from older missions, but found no flags indicating that this sector of the galaxy warranted monitoring for life development. In actuality, the entire system was missing from records, and Shota thought it likely that whoever last scouted this sector had turned away when faced with the challenge of the asteroid field.

Shota marked his coordinates and began drafting a report to the Hyperspace Peace and Sovereignty Coalition, requesting the deployment of a system monitor scout to the area. The HPSC had to ensure that the planet was given ample protection to ensure that life on the planet could develop without outside influence. 

The rest of the data he received was more concerning. The water planet wasn’t just alive—it was restless. The scans screamed warnings: jagged temperature swings, quakes rattling half its landmasses, a storm chewing up the southern ocean and spitting it onto the continents. Most planets he scouted were quiet, long lived beasts, long tamed by time. This one felt like it wanted to fight, young and rebellious as far as planets went; not quite settled into what it wanted to be. Life on such planets was fraught with danger, the moods and whims of the atmosphere and weather systems making them nigh inhabitable. It would be many thousands of thenes yet before a planet like this was ready to settle and host a sentia populace. But life was life, and though the young water-planet's inhabitants were likely doomed, their young world warranted protection. It would be dangerous to stay long term, but Shouta didn't need long term. The oxygen composition was unusual, but not deadly. Shouta should be able to breath it for a time. Just long enough to make his repairs, perhaps a quarter cycle.

He stared at the planet through his viewport, wearily eying the swirling mass of clouds blotting out the coast of one of the continents. The storm system was massive, but there was ample room to avoid it. He took a deep breath, then put his hands on the controls, pushing the ship into the planet's orbit. He aimed for a spot on a northern landmass, an area where the continent was colored a rich green from the density of woodlands. His scans of the planet filled out the closer he got, tectonic activity and temperature hot spots highlighting with warning blips. There was a volcano somewhere nearby his chosen landing area, but tectonic activity there was minimal, so he'd take his chances. He pushed down on the controls, pointing the nose of his ship at an angle to pierce through the atmosphere with the greatest efficiency. The atmosphere shoved back as he breached it, turbulence jarring the hull, the surrounding air burning with oxygen, too thick compared to the thin, controlled mix he was used to. The ship groaned as it pushed against the resistance, but sliced through nontheless.

He continued his downward trajectory through the planet’s atmosphere, the hull's protective plates blackening but holding strong. Below, forests stretched endless, bucking in the wind wildly as he pulled up on the controls and alighted delicately in their midst. A clearing just large enough for his ship revealed itself, a river cutting though the trees not too far from it. He put the ship down there, his nerves only settling when the landing hear touched the ground with a solid thunk. He was always nervous on landings. Too many flight exercises with cadets will do that to you.

He waited for the cabin to de-pressurize, going through the motions of shutting down flight systems and turning on oxygen collectors, double-checking that the air was suitable for him to breath. The bay hatch lock disengaged with a loud click when depressurization completed, and Shota pulled the latch to open the door. The ramp unlocked with a hiss, the hydraulic arms groaning lightly as they bore the weight of the sturdy door. Sunlight flooded into the dim interior of the cargo bay, and Shota closed his more sensitive eyes so that only the primary pair were left squinting in the light. He didn't wait for the hatch to finish lowering, sauntering along the moving ramp and reaching the bottom just as it met the ground. The calls and chirps of animals greeted him as he descended, a cool breeze ruffling the fur of his ears. The air was wet, and thick, like breathing soup. He took a deep lungful, the weight of the air palpable as it seemed to drag like oil through his lungs. He coughed a bit on the exhale. Annoying, but the scans said it wouldn’t kill him. Yet.

Moisture permeated the airy outer layers of his fur, weighing it down and heightening the suffocating feeling of the air. Shota tsked at the annoyance. He'd have to have a thurough sand bath when he got back to UA. The sanitation facilities on his scout ship were less than optimal and he was getting tired of feeling the grit and grime trapped in his fur.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the light, he dedicated the primary pair to the task of checking the ship over for damage while his secondary pair scanned his surroundings for any danger. His ears twitched at the calls and rustling of animals, but none seemed curious or brave enough to approach the clearing. Better for him. UA and the coalition maintained a policy of Leave No Trace when it came to emergency stops on unsounted planets, a policy made all the easier to maintain when the inhabitants wanted nothing to do with you.

There were several new scratches and dents on the exterior of the ship, but no major damage other than the crushed disks on the roof. The protective plating covering the nose and sides of the ship had been thuroughly scorched by the planet's atmosphere, but it was nothing a little bit of polish and TLC with UA engineers couldn't solve. Satisfied, he left the rest of his inspection for later. His primary concern now was water. According to the ship's navigation, the clearing was about a three-mile hike from the nearest freshwater river. He looked to the sky, judging the position of the star on the horizon and the already looming shadows of the trees. It was early in the evening here. Best he get moving before he lost the light. It wouldn’t do to be caught out and about at night on an alien planet, even if Shota was well suited to nocturnal activity.

Shouta retrieved his water jugs and stacked them onto the ship's BAC, its frame dipping slightly under the load before leveling with a faint whirr. “Optimal weight distribution achieved,” it droned, voice flat. He ignored, briefly stepping back into the ship to gather his specimen sample kit. That done, he marched confidently into the treeline, throwing a "keep up," behind him. It beeped and followed obediently. 

The ground beneath him was a mess—roots, mud, the works—but he’d hiked worse.  "Step adjustment advised," the BAC intoned, its singular eye focusing on his feet.

"I'm fine," he sighed absently, expertly stepping over a protruding root as his secondary eyes skimmed the canopy: small, flying creatures flitted about, bugs went about their aimless business. Nothing worth a second thought. The temperature here beneath the trees was cooler compared to the clearing, the ground wetter and the air thicker with the smell of soil and loam. His eyes alighted on a small, dense cloud of something hovering at about eye-level a mere two paces away. He stopped abruptly, jerking his head back to better focus his eyes on the cloud. The BAC beeped a warning a second before its hovering momentum carried it into Shota's back, jarring him forward slightly. "Collision detected." It stated, oblivious. His ears flicked back but he otherwise didn't acknowledge the automaton. The cloud didn't react to their presence. Shota squinted, his eyes finally focusing enough to see that it wasn't a cloud, but rather a dense swarm of impossibly tiny insects, swirling and circling around one another in corkscrews and wide arcs. The little swarm didn't move or drift, seemingly content to hover. He stepped to the side of it, watching the inaudibly buzzing cloud closely until he was well clear of it. The BAC followed dutifully behind, its singular spotlight eye turned to watch the insects as well.

"Curious." It said, lacking inflection. Shota didn't respond. Curious indeed.

They continued on. He took in the flora around him, silently marveling at the patterns and diversity of life. Soft moss and lichens peeked through a dense underbrush, a riot of textures and colors brushing his legs with every step. The trees were not the tough, smooth sided monoliths he saw on most planets. Their surfaces were rough and cracked, like thick clay dried in the sun, stacked and layered like shale. When he scratched at one curiously, it flaked off easily in his hand, the layers beneath tougher than those above. He'd heard of trees like this, trees that covered themselves in flaky, loose bark rather than fibrous skin. A rare, almost extinct species from Aldera was said to be like this, the trees adapted in such a way that when forest fires occurred, the bark would catch fire and slough off, leaving the tree itself naked, but unharmed. The cracks in bark were as deep as his first knuckle, a hearty defense against any such event. The towers of the trunks grew in long, narrow poles, bare of branches for dozens of paces up until innumerable great limbs burst outwards at their tops. Others sported foliage from top to bottom, jutting upwards in a cone shaped from needle sharp leaves.

He paused to delicately pluck one of the green quills with a pair of tweezers, dropping it into a specimen tube. He also stooped to scoop up a soil sample and carefully, carefully, took a cutting from a mushroom. Mycelium and fungi were rare finds, the organisms so varied and bizarre they defied taxonomy, yet samples were nevertheless much desired and coveted by UA's botany department. A sharp yowl echoed somewhere deep in the trees—loud, but distant. He flinched, tensing for a moment as he listened for the sound of an approach. Nothing.

He released his held breath with a relieved sigh. “Scream all you want,” he muttered. “Just stay over there.”

The BAC tilted its sensors toward the noise, then back. “Wildlife detected. No action required,” it said, as if he’d asked. “Noted,” he replied, drier than the ship’s recycled air.

The river was exactly where the nav said it would be, the water running clear and fast. He crouched at the grassy bank, delicately dipping his fingers into the cool water. Tiny invertebrates skimmed the surface, light enough they avoided breaking the surface tension. They jumped over the ripples created by his hand, bobbing up and alighting delicately back on the surface. Silver scaled creatures darted just beneath the surface, skittering away from Shota's shadow as it cast over the water. He submerged his hand more deeply, savoring the coolness as it flowed through his fur. The silver creatures drifted back into proximity, curious about the new presence but wary to approach. He watched them in return, ready to pull his hand from the water as they drifted closer. One of the creatures darted forward, its tiny mouth briefly making contact with his hand before darting away. He wrenched his hand from the water, water splashing and distorting his view, the creatures reduced to silver streaks as they fled once again. He inspected his hand, finding no marks. The brief nibble had tickled more than anything, but that didn't mean it couldn't hurt him. He tsked. He knew better than to do something like that. Wildlife was unpredictable. It was better to assume that everything you encountered was a possible danger, no matter how small. The BAC settled beside him, silent for once. It hovered closer, optics glinting. “Filtration recommended,” it intoned.

"Yeah, I collected that." Shota sniped, rifling around in his bag for his portable filtration kit. The water proved to be perfectly potable, requiring minimal filtration.  He filled the jugs, loaded them onto the BAC, and hiked back to the ship. He encountered little wildlife during his return—no megafauna to speak of, just a brief encounter with a small, furry creature sporting a fluffy tail nearly as long as its body. The creature crawled along a tree branch, emitting a high-pitched, chattering growl, but made no attempt to approach.

Arriving back at the ship with minimal fanfare, he unloaded the water and spent the next quarcil repairing the damage to his range extenders and water reclaimer. The issue with the reclaimer had nothing to do with the asteroid damage, as it turned out. He was forced to void the filtration medium to diagnose the problem, discovering a cracked length of poly-tubing that had caused a leak. He unfortunately had no backup filtration medium on hand, so the reclaimer was rendered effectively useless. He'd have to survive only on the water he could carry.

The range disks, meanwhile, had been pummeled nearly to scrap by chunks of frozen rock and ice and required the use of some spare sheet metal and the BAC’s welding apparatus to make them functional again, though their range would still be less than normal. He luckily had a few other necessary spare parts on hand to make up for some of the deficits, but the disks would have to be fully replaced when he returned to UA.

By the time he finished his work, the light of the system’s star had dipped below the horizon, plunging the surrounding forest into darkness and nocturnal silence, the occasional chirping of insects the only signs of life. He moved cautiously and quietly as he exited the cargo hold, unsure if there were animals which became more active at night. He didn't want to test his luck by making unnecessary noise and attracting attention, but work needed to be done. The excellent night vision granted by his lower eyes let him see clearly just past the edge of the clearing, and he saw nothing of concern.

He made quick work of securing the repaired disks to the back of the BAC, which floated them to the roof to begin welding them into position, its robotic arms placing them expertly. “Task efficiency: 92%,” it droned mechanically. Shota climbed up to assist with the wiring, toolbox in hand. He hoisted himself onto the roof, rising to his feet and then abruptly going still. He froze, a sudden sense of being watched curling down his spine. His fur stood on end, ears pricking against the silence, straining to hear. 

In one moment, the clearing was engulfed in darkness, save for the blinking lights of his ship and the beam from the BAC’s headlamp, the spurts of sparks from the welder. The next, a blinding spotlight pierced the night, illuminating the entire area and overwhelming Shota. His lower eyes were blinded by the brightness, his main pair fairing no better. He held out his hands to protect his eyes from the source of the light but was forced to clamp them over his ears as a wailing klaxon boomed.

The alarmed cries of animals joined the deafening wail, and Shota caught fleeting glimpses of gangly four-legged creatures fleeing in a panic, surging past his ship in a chaotic wave, a thundering chorus following after as they trampled the ground beneath them. Above the treetops, a ship loomed, twice the size of his own. The rush of air from its engines sent the trees swaying violently, amplifying the cacophony that assaulted Shota’s sensitive ears.

Amidst the booming klaxon, a series of buzzes and beeps from a voxitor cut through the noise, followed by the distinctive chattering of a Prealtu drone. Shota’s translator struggled to make sense of the hurried speech amidst the rest of the noise. The announcement—or perhaps a warning—of the Prealtu was lost in the chaos, but he clearly detected the ominous sound of the ship’s undermount cannons priming.

Before he could even think, Shota’s body was leaping from the roof as a plasma blast, intended to incinerate him, struck just a heartbeat later. The BAC was summarily obliterated in a blaze of sparks, the remnants of its burnt husk plunging to the ground alongside him. 

Twisting midair, he aligned his feet and hands with the ground, landing deftly on all fours. The corpse of the BAC met the ground with a heavy crash, its headlamp eye blinking twice and then dying with a sad whine. A high peal erupted from the cannons overhead and Shota sprang into action, sprinting towards his ship's open cargo bay ramp. He barely landed a foot on the ramp when the next shot fired, striking the ground perilously close and sending soil and Shota flying away from the ship. He tumbled and rolled, the starry sky, ground, and dazzling spotlight all a blur before finally crashing into a tree at the edge of the clearing.

He moaned in pain as he lifted his head, struggling to regain his bearings. His ribs were screaming in protest—definitely broken. Stifling a hiss, he forced himself to his feet, heart racing as he glanced over his shoulder. The ship loomed ominously against the night sky, the faint glow of its instruments flickering like warning lights. He could hear the thrumming engines and the angry reports of the cannons re-priming to fire.

With adrenaline surging through him, Shota quickly surged to his feet, biting back a cry of pain as his ribs ached in protest. He stumbled into the thick underbrush, branches clawing at his arms as he plunged deeper into the forest. He had no idea who was pursuing him, or why, but he knew he had to put as much distance as possible between himself and the ship. If he could lead them to a different area he could possibly circle back to reclaim his ship, though they would be likely to anticipate that. On the long term he was short of options, but for the moment he had to prioritize getting away. The darkness of the forest enveloped him, amplified by the sounds of the night—creatures chirping, leaves rustling, and… something large crashing through the undergrowth in the distance. Behind him.

He was being followed on foot.

He turned back briefly, his lower eyes squinting open to try and see what was following him, but his vision was full of spots and flashes. The spotlight earlier had rendered them useless, and his main and third pair were both unsuited for seeing in the dark. He could barely see his own hands in front of his face, and it was only thanks to his quick reflexes that he managed to avoid crashing head-first into any trees. Shota cursed, twisting and turning though the underbrush. The sounds of pursuit grew steadily more distant until, after what felt like an eternity, Shota caught sight of light up ahead and aimed for it. His breath came in ragged gasps as he stumbled into a small clearing only a moment later.

The flickering light of a fire illuminated the space, casting eerie shadows on the trees surrounding him. He squinted as his strained eyes struggled to adjust to the flickering brightness, barely catching sight of movement on the other side of the small clearing. Shota stumbled to a stop as he noticed two creatures, unlike any he had seen before, standing just a few feet away.

They were bipedal, one tall and broad shouldered, with spiky tufts of pale fur on its head and glimmering crimson eyes set on a flat face. The other creature was shorter, stocky, with curly green fur that seemed to shimmer in the firelight, vibrant emerald eyes, and a pattern of dark spots on its protruding, narrow snout. Both creatures appeared to be mostly hairless save for their heads, their bodies corded with lean, healthy muscle under their naked skin.

Not good. At first glance, Shota was bigger than both, but they had greater numbers and were more than half his size. Big enough to be a problem.  Shota's instincts kicked in, and he dropped lower to the ground, eyeing them warily. The two creatures turned quickly to face him, obviously surprised by his abrupt entry. The tall one took a cautious step forward, its long arms drifting in front of it to reveal a tree branch clutched in its five-fingered grip.

The smaller of the two bared its teeth at him, its unnerving stare making his hackles raise as it vocalized loudly, the taller blond one barking back and puffing up defensively, its red eyes drilling into Shota with obvious challenge. It's frame seemed to stretch out, it's body appearing gradually bigger as the tension rose. Shota shifted, trying to lean away from the hostile creatures, but his movement only served to startle them. The blond creature growled gutturally, baring its teeth to reveal small canines. Carnivores. Shit. It move to stalk towards him, but the green-furred creature darted to stand protectively in front of the taller one, as if holding it back. Fear was palpable in its stance, its body shaking as it barked threateningly. The taller vocalized as well, their aggressive calls echoing through the clearing. 

Shit, they were making a racket. His pursuers would find them. Shota's ears flicked back flat against his head as the two creatures became increasingly agitated, their movements growing jerky and unpredictable. The tension in the clearing felt electric, crackling in the air around them. They showed no signs of fleeing, and Shota realized that was not a good sign. If they weren't backing down, that meant Shota was in their territory, and they wouldn't give it up without a fight. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, the drumming ratcheting up in intensity as he detected a sudden rustle behind him, the sounds of chittering voices growing closer. Panic surged within him. They had only moments before his pursuers discovered them.

Before Shota could even begin to formulate a plan, the blond-furred creature let out a loud bellow that echoed through the clearing. It rose to its full height, its arms spreading wide in a threat display. It wielded its branch in front of itself like a weapon, intent to bludgeon Shota with it if he didn't move. The green-furred one let out a series of choppy, panicked sounds, darting back a little further, its body tense and ready to spring. Shota didn't think twice, his instincts pushing him to move. He took off, slipping over leaves and damp underbrush and back into the cover of the trees. He darted deeper into the woods, branches scratching at him as he moved, desperate to escape both the unfamiliar beings in the clearing and the danger that loomed behind him.

His heart pounded as he dashed away, leaving the firelight behind. Every instinct told him to keep running, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the unknown threats. But as he broke through the underbrush a moment later and glanced back over his shoulder, a jolt of regret shot through him.

In the clearing he had just escaped, he saw the figures of his pursuers emerging from the shadows. A squad of Peraltu drones, their dull black, chitinous bodies gleaming in the firelight. They moved swiftly, with practiced ease, and without hesitation, they surrounded the two creatures. Shota’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the shorter green-furred creature stumble backward as a weighted net launched from a gun and entangled its legs. The blond creature raised its branch defiantly, but before it could react, another of the pursuers lunged, pinning it to the ground.

Shota couldn’t help but watch as the blond creature roared, thrashing and fighting against the Peraltu drone attempting to restrain it. With a guttural scream, the creature reared up and kicked off its attacker, but rather than press its advantage, it quickly turned its attention to its companion, which was crying and wailing as it struggled against the bonds of the net and the two other Peraltu drones attempting to drag it away. A fourth drone stood back from the others, hurriedly attempting to reload the net gun, but its progress was waylaid as the other two ran into it, being forced to retreat from the net as they fled the blond-furred creature and the extended reach of its branch. The drone that the creature had kicked lay unmoving from where it had fallen, either unconscious or dead.

Shota didn’t get to see what happened next, because more Peraltu drones suddenly poured into the clearing, some of them even rushing past the confrontation altogether to continue their pursuit of Shota, and he was forced to leave the scene behind. The sounds of pursuit echoed in his wake. He dodged this way and that, trying to lose them in the dense underbrush, but there were too many. The snapping of branches and the pounding of footsteps seemed to come from every direction, making it impossible to shake them. The pain from his broken ribs intensified with each step, but he forced himself to keep running.

Shota dropped to all fours, his natural quadrupedal stance allowing him to move faster and more efficiently. He'd burn through his remaining energy reserves, but he had no choice. He took off, his four legs propelling him forward much more quickly as he dodged and weaved through the underbrush. Just as he thought he might have gained some distance, he emerged into another small clearing. His heart sank when he saw his ship. He’d somehow gotten turned around. The Peraltu ship was gone, but the clearing was teeming with drones, at least a dozen of them milling about the clearing, many moving in and around Shota’s ship, stripping it of anything valuable and likely raiding the data logs for information about what he was doing out here.

Shota backpedaled, attempting to run in another direction before he was spotted, but it was too late. Before he could make a move, one of the Peraltu noticed him and raised the alarm, a cacophony of chittering speech breaking out among them as they moved to apprehend him. Shota turned to flee, but it was hopeless. The Peraltu guards behind him had caught up. One of them raised a rifle, its laser sight alighting on Shota’s chest a split-second before the drone fired. Shota wasn’t fast enough to dodge the shot completely (it wasn’t a bullet or a plasma shot, thank heavens), but his instinctive jerk to the side saved him from another broken rib at the cost of a concussion. The projectile struck him hard on the side of the head, stars exploding before his eyes as the world spun. Pain lanced through his head and the ground rushed up to meet him.

He fell, the impact taking the breath from his lungs, and his vision darkened around the edges. He could do nothing as his eyes slipped closed, his vision blacking out as the Peraltu guards swarmed around him.

Shota’s eyes fluttered open to dim, purple light. Disoriented and confused, he tried to move, only to find his arms bound tightly to the table beneath him. As memories flooded back- the chase through the woods, the blinding impact of a projectile, the towering figures of the Peraltu- a surge of panic threatened to overtake him. He forced himself to breathe steadily, focusing on the chill of metal against his wrists and the faint hum of machinery surrounding him.

Sharp pain radiated across his ribs, reminding him that he’d broken them. He could feel swelling by his right ear, and there were waves of pain steadily pulsing through his skull. It seemed the Peraltu had neglected to treat any of his injuries just yet.

He leaned up as far as his restraints would allow, hissing at the burning ache in his side. The room was fairly large, and by its layout he recognized it immediately as an infirmary, the design common in old K’thalu empire ships. He had been in similar facilities numerous times before. Shota blinked at the realization, scanning the room once again. If memory served, there should be an air vent right about… there!

Shota smirked to himself as he spotted it. Between the seams of the ceiling and the wall, there was a recession in which the lights were mounted, and between the light fixtures were narrow vents which facilitated the flow of air throughout the ship. It would be a tight squeeze, to say the least, but as long as he could fit his shoulders through the opening in the ceiling, he should be able to traverse the vents themselves easily, as they tended to open up into wider channels between floors.

He had a potential escape route, now he just needed to get himself out of his restraints. He had to be quick about it, too, because he was sure the infirmaries life-monitoring systems had already detected his increased heart rate and informed someone that he was awake. Since they hadn’t killed Shota already- or simply left him for dead on that planet- then they were likely hoping to get some information out of him.

He had no doubt that they’d already at least attempted to access his ship’s navigation logs and data files. Whether they had broken through them or not remained to be seen, but he was confident they hadn’t. Nedzu himself had devised the encryptions used by Universal Alliance ships. It wouldn't be any easy task for even the most experienced code-breaker to bypass Nedzu's security. It would be a waste of their time. Shota, for once, was not on a mission dealing with any sensitive information. The data he had been gathering was bound to become public record following intensive study by UA and approval of the HPSC. Shota had nothing to hide.

The Peraltu, on the other hand, had a lot to answer for. It wasn’t forbidden for private vessels to traverse unscouted space surrounding Coalition territory, but it was illegal for vessels to make planetary contact in sectors which had not yet been approved for contact or resource harvesting. The Peraltu so much as breaching the atmosphere of a planet without permission was an egregious crime on its own, but they had also engaged in unsanctioned contact with the wildlife and even engaged in illegal capture. Their activity here could explain the satellites he saw while he was landing. Shota may have just stumbled right into the middle of a poaching operation.

Well, shit.

Sentia and Xeno lifeform poaching and smuggling was a serious crime, and the groups that participated in it were often powerful and well organized. They knew what UA and HPSC agents looked like and were wary of being discovered. Even if they hadn’t managed to access his ship’s files, the equipment and permits carried by Shota’s ship had already given him away. They knew who he was, and it’s likely they thought he was out here looking for them. They wouldn’t believe Shota if he told them the truth: that he was merely out here on the bidding of the HPSC’s territorial expansion bureau. He was a UA operative first and foremost, and the Peraltu would torture him if they deemed it necessary to get what they wanted. Regardless of whether their interrogation was successful or not, Shota would be killed to keep him from alerting UA as to what they were up to. He needed to escape.

He quickly scanned the area around him for anything he could use to break his restraints, but found nothing. He tested the strength of his bonds, his mind racing as he attempted to devise a plan. He startled as the door to the infirmary slid open with a metallic hiss, stilling his struggle and quickly feigning a casual, relaxed demeanor as a Peraltu drone entered. Its tall, skeletal frame loomed threateningly as it grew closer, pitch-black skin glistening under the muted light. The drone's insectoid features were unsettling, all sharp angles and unnatural twitchiness. Its mandibles clicked ominously, its multiple eyes fixating on him with an unsettling intensity. It came to a stop next to his table, looming for a long moment as it studied him silently. Shota stared back, not willing to speak first.

Finally, the drone broke the stillness, its beak clicking in an unsettling rhythm. “Why were you in this sector of space?” it asked, its voice a jarring blend of machine-like clatter and organic rasp as Shota's translator implant interpreted its clicking speech. Shota met its unyielding gaze for a moment, but remained silent, looking away from the drone to direct his attention out the porthole window. He feigned disinterest, as if the Peraltu weren't even in the room. 

He felt it shift agitatedly, watched its shadowy reflection in the window. The drone repeated the question, demanding to know what he was doing on the planet where he had been captured. Again, Shota remained resolute, refusing to speak as the drone’s frustration became palpable, its movements twitching with aggression and disappointment. Peraltu, being a hivemind species, didn't take well to insubordination or defiance. “You will answer,” it hissed, but Shota held firm.

With a final irritated click of its mandibles, the drone straightened. “No matter." It said, its tone cooling, as if it hadn't just been seething over Shota's silence. "Chisaki will be here soon to question you personally,” it declared ominously, a smugness to its tone, the words echoing with a foreboding certainty before it stomped away, leaving Shota isolated once more.

He released a tense breath. Okay, this really wasn't good. Chisaki was a name Shota recognized. 

Chisaki Kai, once an Alate of the Peraltu hive empire, was the leader of the Eight Precepts, a rebellion faction which had cut ties and allegiance to any authority long ago. Its ranks were devised of medically severed drones and expendable brood ranks, all of them committed to some twisted cause for freedom from the Peraltu Empire. Peraltu despised rebelliousness by their very nature, their personalities and desires dictated by pheromones and biological rank. The drones had no individuality, only duty, the desire to contribute to the greatest good of the hive. But the higher in the ranks you went, the more independence and diversity of thought you found. Chisaki was one of those few gifted with the biological privilege of free thought, and he'd used that fact to his advantage when he found a way to medically "free" drones from the hive's influence. 

Representatives of the empire called what Chisaki does to his drones murder, but given the "free" drones were up and about and seemingly normal, Shota wasn't so sure. Whatever the case, Chisaki's liberated ranks were utterly loyal. Their reputation throughout the known galaxies was mixed. Some called them liberators, some called them barbaric terrorists. Mostly the empire. The HPSC kept their nose out of it. The empire was not allied with the Coalition, nor were they friends, and most of kivilas space had no intention of involving themselves with the empire's internal squabbles. UA kept tabs on the situation, which is the only reason Shota knew anything about it at all.

Chisaki was a powerful person to be dealing with. He commanded immense numbers of “liberated” drones, an armada’s worth of ships and artillery, and an entire planet that had once been a Peraltu hive, the captive queen churning out drones to replenish the Precepts ranks. His power made him dangerous, but he had yet to bring aggression to anyone outside the empire, so he was left to his own devices. As long as he didn't violate The Codes, he was safe from HPSC scrutiny. Chisaki had to know that, so why in all heavens was he letting his liberation rebellion get involved with poaching and xeno smuggling of all things? It didn't make any sense.

Shota’s position was worse than he’d initially thought. He had caught them in the act, and now Chisaki needed to do damage control, quickly and efficiently, before word got back to UA. Chisaki likely reasonably assumed that Shota had kept constant communication with UA, meaning that they should know approximately where Shota was supposed to be and would be on red alert the moment he stopped sending a signal for any significant length of time.

In normal circumstances, he would have maintained a constant stream of communication with UA, as he very rarely went on missions that took him more that a few quadrants from the UA homestation. However, he was currently three entire galaxies away from UA. Any signals he sent would have take ages to reach them, assuming the station even stayed in the same spot long enough to intercept them. It was simply impractical for him to attempt to keep up a stream of constant communication, so he'd vetoed it this time around.

No one was expecting to hear from him at all until he arrived back in the Arkaris system a few deta-cycles from now. Help would not be coming for him, but Chisaki didn’t know that. The Precepts had to have noticed that his range extenders were non-functional, but the extenders didn't eliminate his ability to send messages completely. For all Chisaki knew, a distress signal could have been sent the moment they shot his ship and destroyed the BAC.

Shota needed to make Chisaki think that UA was coming, that killing Shota wouldn't solve his problems. Keeping Shota as a hostage would be in his best interest, allowing him to negotiate. Shota just had to live through his imminent meeting with Chisaki, then he could formulate an escape.

He planned and schemed for several minutes, carefully cataloging every detail about the infirmary while drafting responses to any questions Chisaki would ask. He was unable to locate anything he could have used to break his restraints and identified no other points of egress besides the ventilation and the main door. He was contemplating the merits of breaking his own hand to slip it from a restraint when the door hissed and beeped. He had only a moment to school his expression into one of bored indifference before the door slid complexly open, admitting another drone carrying rather unusual cargo.

The xeno the drone carried with it looked quite different from when Shota last saw it, but he recognized it nonetheless. It was the blond-furred creature that had fought off a drone on its own. The power contained in its small body was even more evident now, its skin clinging hard to corded muscle even in its seemingly relaxed state, and he was glad that he never tangled with it. Oddly enough, the creature appeared to have just been submerged in water, its voluminous fur plastered to its skull and its body shining with moisture in the dull light. 

The creature looked around the room dazedly as the drone carefully settled it onto the examination table furthest from Shota. It must have been sedated, its movements lethargic and uncoordinated compared to what he'd seen of it before. It's head flopped towards him, the two of them making brief eye contact as Shota watched it curiously. It blinked slowly at him, clearly not recognizing Shota in the slightest. Curiously, Shota cocked his head in the customary non-verbal greeting, but the creature didn't respond. Shota was bout to try again when there was another hiss from the door.

He looked up just in time to see another drone step into the room, followed by Chisaki Kai himself, the Alate standing an entire head taller than his drone counterparts. He could feel Chisaki's gaze land on him briefly before the Alate became distracted by the presence of the xeno on the other table.

"Why is this here?" Chisaki clicked, directing the question to the other drone, which had moved to the far side of the room to retrieve various medical supplies.

"Apologies, Kai." The drone responded, using the title which Chisaki had given himself to replace his Alate rank. Kai was the Precepts word for leader, though the empire claimed its true meaning was much more pretentious but had no equivalent translation in Universal Common. 

"The creature was beginning to suffer complications." The drone explained while several pairs of its hands worked on drawing liquid saline into a syringe. "We have assessed that they are rather resilient creatures, however they are victim to a natural reflex which allows them to expel heat and toxins from their bodies at the expense of water. Our own ideal climate has proved to be too humid and renders that heat-shed process rather deadly. We unfortunately became preoccupied with assessing the other Mundus and delayed to bring this one to the habitat. We will amend this mistake by delivering fluid to its system and transferring it immediately."

Chisaki chittered lowly, too quiet for Shota's translator to pick up, the other drone that entered with him speaking quietly as well.

"We would not let the Mundus die, Sir." The first drone said, seemingly in response to their comments. "After we completed initial health assessments of the other one, combined with our climate data, we were able to postulate reasonable environmental tolerances to-"

"Enough." Chisaki commanded, and the drone instantly complied, baring their neck in submission by raising their mandibles. "I don't care what you decided was tolerable. Every live xeno we bring aboard this ship must remain that way until we have delivered them. I entrusted you with this responsibility, and it is you who will be held responsible should any of our prospects perish. We are short of ideal candidates and have now lost access to a key system. There is no room for error." At this, Chisaki turned his head briefly towards Shota.

"Of course Kai." The drone acknowledged. "We will do better in the future. You will be pleased to know that the other Mundus is adapting well to..."

Shota tuned them out as he chewed on that information. His presence here had spooked them, then. They didn't want to stick around in a system that could be crawling with UA and HPSC agents a few cycles from now and were eager to put as much distance between them as possible. That was at least some good news. The planet they had captured him on would be safe for the foreseeable future as the Precepts and other potential bad actors did their best to pretend the system didn't exist. 

He was abruptly shaken from his musing by a sudden, loud thump and subsequent screech of alarm coming from one of the drones. Shota shot up- gritting his teeth at the spike of pain from his ribs and the ringing in his ears- just in time to see the creature- a Mundus, apparently- scuttling across the floor to hide behind the examination table. 

"Didn't you sedate that thing!?" The second drone chittered, hurrying to chase after it but stopping when the mundus moved the other way to keep the barrier between them.

"I didn't need to." The other drone excused, quickly moving around Chisaki, who was clicking ominously in warning tones but made no move to apprehend the creature himself. "It was so exhausted from dehydration that I was able to pick it up easily." It finished explaining, stopping on the other side of the table and effectively cornering the Mundus, which was backing away from their slow approach.

Cornering a wild animal, in Shota's experience, was rarely an intelligent thing to do, especially if the ones doing the cornering had no idea how a creature behaved even in normal conditions. When faced with the risk of death, most were going to choose to fight or flee, with fighting being the primary choice when fleeing was not an option. So, the mundus promptly charging at its attackers seemed a rather obvious eventuality to him, though the Peraltu were apparently rather surprised by this development.

The mundus leapt forward faster than should have been physically possible given it's exhausted state mere moments ago, yet within the blink of an eye it was nearly on top of the two drones. They both chittered in alarm and fell back, tangling up with one another on the floor as the mundus sprung right past them and straight towards Chisaki, who hardly had a moment to brace himself before the mundus bowled into his legs.

The two hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, Chisaki chittering too quickly for Shota to understand and the mundus growling and barking on top of him. Chisaki tried to wrangle the creature into submission, but it was too fast, one of its clawed hands lashing out to rake over the eyes on Chisaki's left side. 

Shota winced in sympathy as the Alate howled in pain, his hands flying up to protect his face. The mundus wasn't done though, and Shota watched in horrified fascination as it easily crushed one of Chisaki's arms, the armored limb crumbling like a ration biscuit in its grip. Chisaki lashed out, two of his arms striking the mundus across the face and knocking it to the ground in a spray of red blood.

The whole confrontation took only moments, the two drones having just gotten to their feet in the time it took for the Mundus to deal such incredible damage to the leader of the Eight Precepts. One of the drones rushed to help Chisaki while the other descended on the downed creature, attempting to staunch the flow of red blood pouring from its neck.

“Leave it!” Chisaki hissed, green blood pouring between his hands as he cradled his shattered arm and shielded his maimed eyes.

“But sir!” The drone protested, “It's valuable-“

“I don’t care!” The Prealtu roared, fending off the drone attempting to examine his arm with a hard shove, sending them stumbling into the opposite wall. Chisaki stumbled unsteadily to his feet, a shaking hand extending to point accusingly at the dying mundus. “Throw that wretched thing out of the nearest airlock!” He spat. “I won’t stand for it to be aboard my ship any longer.”

The drone tittered something that Shota’s translator couldn’t identify, it’s hands not moving from their place at the creature’s neck. Shota couldn't quite tell, but it almost looked to him like its fingers were inside the mundus' neck. The flow of blood had slowed significantly, and the mundus had stilled, a cry of pain choking past its mangled throat before it fell unconscious. The drone hurriedly tucked more arms under its body and lifted it to carry over to the nearest examination table.

Chisaki hissed at the blatant insubordination and moved to follow the drone, but the other one had recovered and put itself between the two, insistently grabbing at any of Chisaki’s limbs within their reach. “Sir please stop moving.” The drone implored. “I must examine your injuries immediately! We have not yet had a chance to run a foreign contaminates study on the matter attached to the Mundus’ bodies! You are at risk of an infection!”

Chisaki’s response was a high-pitched series of growling clicks which instantly cowed the drone but was unintelligible to Shota’s translator. The other drone, which had busied itself grabbing medical supplies, shrunk in on themself, but nevertheless continued to provide medical attention to the mundus. They stood firmly in front of the examination table, blocking the xeno from Chisaki's view as the larger Peraltu stomped forward.

“Please Kai,” the drone implored, their head raising to reveal their neck in a show of submission. “The Boss bade us to acquire the best possible specimens, and we have yet to examine this one. The results from the other one were promising but we need to be sure. You said it yourself, we can't allow any of our prospects to die unnecessarily.”

Chisaki hissed menacingly but did not press forward. The other drone was hovering nervously close by, their hands twitching to reach out to their superior but hesitating in the face of his ire.

“It is male, yes?” Chisaki asked, head cocking to the side in an unspoken request. His words, as portrayed through the translator, were calm, but there was obvious hostility in his physical expression. The disobedient drone hesitated for a moment and then obligingly moved to the side, letting Chisaki see the mundus, which had become so still Shota would have sworn that it was dead.

“We assume it is.” The drone replied, busying itself with readying bandages and the different medical apparatus of the examination table as Chisaki looked down at it like it was a pile of feces. “It’s physiology is the same as the other one, so there’s-“

“Then we don’t need it.” Chisaki interrupted, his tone final. “I have no need of two males, and I don’t care whether this one is genetically superior or not. We’ll use the other one. The Boss will understand my decision when he sees this.” He gestured to his ruined arm.

“Sir, it is exactly because of your injuries that I believe this one may be better.” The drone explained. “The Boss was interested in genetically superior subjects, yes, but he was also interested in those which displayed behaviors inclined towards aggression. This Mundus has maimed two drones, killed one, and now has severely wounded you, a Kai. The other male by comparison only managed to maim one drone and lightly injure another before it was subdued.”

The drone attended to the mundus as it spoke, its many hands quickly clearing away the red blood on its skin and preparing the open wound to be worked on. The display on the medical apparatus to their left proved that the poor creature was still alive, though its heartbeat was weak. They likely only had a few minutes before it died from its injuries.

Shota, meanwhile, was doing his best to melt into his examination table, hoping to prolong the Peraltu forgetting of his presence so he could learn as much as possible.

What he was hearing was concerning, to say the least. These Peraltu were out here on the bidding of someone else, scooping up xenos from uncharted systems for some kind of genetic experimentation. But why? There were plenty of reasons for pirates and smugglers to poach uncharted planets for the exotic pet trade and fighting menageries, but not medical experimentation. The costs involved with the study of unknown xeno biology were exorbitant to the point that no one outside of well-funded organizations like UA ever got involved with the practice. Pirates and run-of-the-mill smugglers liked quick money and fast turn around on their investments.

But this was Chisaki Kai. Quick-cash piracy was well beneath him. Whoever this “Boss” was, they had to have either promised Chisaki something that he couldn’t pass up on, or Chisaki and his Precepts were being threatened in some way. Whatever the case, the real concern for Shota was the identity of the Boss and what they were up to. Genetic experimentation of any kind was never good, but it was made especially worse by getting the genomes of unknown worlds involved.

Chisaki seemed to deliberate over the drone’s point as they continued to work, recruiting the other drone to help them since Chisaki was not accepting medical attention. "Are you confident that you can heal it?" Chisaki inquired, turning his head so his good eyes could examine the Mundus properly. 

"I can keep it alive." The drone assured. "We completed medical scans of the other male already, so I'm fairly confident from initial assessment of the Mundus' injuries that you did not strike the key artery on its neck." It moved practiced fingers to a point just shy of the slice across the Mundus' neck and where the drone's own fingers were dipped into the wound. "I am keeping it alive right now by keeping its trachea from collapsing, and I am confident it will live, but I will need assistance."

Chisaki clicked unintelligibly, and then flicked one of his unoccupied hands in clear dismissal. "Do what you want. I want a full genetic assessment of both prospects by end cycle. If it dies, don't bother resuscitating it. Call more medics."

The drone lifted their head again in acknowledgment, the other drone following their example a moment later. Chisaki himself stepped away from the examination table and the two drones, turning his head to Shota's corner, his beady black eyes meeting Shota's own.

It took every bit of Shota's willpower to not drop eye contact as an instinctive sign of submission. Even with his injuries, Chisaki was an imposing figure, looming over Shota as he prowled forward leisurely.

"Don't think I have forgotten about you, Aizawa Shota." Chisaki clicked, sliding into place to loom over Shota and forcing him to crane his neck upwards to keep eye contact. Shota wasn't surprised that they knew his name already. The information would have been easy for them to find and wasn't protected by any of Nedzu's encryptions.

"Chisaki." Shota greeted coolly. "I would say its an honor to meet you but given the circumstances, I'd rather just skip the pleasantries and address the reason we're both here. For the sake of saving some time."

"Practical." Chisaki complimented, a low chittering coloring the smooth yet mechanical voice of the translator. "You Er'aseer are a rare type. Logical, stubborn. A treat to meet, really. There are so few of you, after all."

Shota flicked an ear in a deliberate display of agitation, but didn't respond to Kai's dig. Chisaki let the silence linger, giving Shota the chance to respond, but when he continued to say nothing, the Alate continued. "Hmm, very well then. Sore topic I suppose. Let us get to the heart of the matter." He said, his uninjured hands forming a steeple before him.

"You have caused me a great deal of trouble, Aizawa Shota. I don't expect your cooperation, so I'll tell you now. You're ship's slag. Hard drives and all. After the way you acted with my drone earlier, I knew I wouldn't be getting any access codes."

Shota blinked in surprise and couldn't help his genuinely affronted response. "Do you have any idea how many seta-cycles I just spent collecting all that data?"

Chisaki only chittered in a mocking laugh. "Ah yes, wasted time. Your people take great offense to that, don't they? But what about my time, Er'aseer?" Chisaki's voice turned from amused to menacing in an instant, barely restrained anger boiling under the surface. "Do you have any idea the damage you have done? Over a heta-cycle of planning and coordinating to make our mission happen, and you stomp all over it, right at the final hour, just as we were ready to finish things." He hissed. "You've completely ruined it. We will not be able to return to this quadrant for thenes."

Shota's ears pinned back reflexively against the shrill screech of Chisaki's voice, the translated dialogue barely audible above his affronted spiel. He tucked the information away, pushing his own offended sensibilities to the side to address the problem at hand. His ship was gone. Any chances he might have had of sending an actual signal to UA were eliminated. He was all in on his bluff now. 

"So what of me." Shota asked, blunt and level, not hinting at any particular concern for his life, whether he lived or died. Didn't need to feed Chisaki any leverage. "You destroyed my ship, but your problems aren't gone. As you said, I've caught you. UA will have gotten my distress signal by now. They're already on their way."

Chisaki hissed menacingly, the sound curling unpleasantly around Shota's brain, making his concussion-induced headache throb painfully. He couldn't help an involuntary wince, the agitated flick of his tail. Chisaki noticed, his hiss turning into a series of clicks reminiscent of a rolling chuckle. "Do not worry, Er'aseer." Chisaki soothed mockingly, one of his many hands raising to land delicately on Shota's head, rubbing non too gently over the space between his ears as if he were a pet. Shota jerked away, baring his fangs at the offending appendage.

Chisaki's hand lashed out, yanking on an ear, keeping Shota from getting too far as the hands not occupied with cradling Chisaki's wounds darted forward to hold him in place, two landing on Shota's shoulders while another gripped his face, forcing his mouth closed and forcefully turning him to look Chisaki in the eye. Another of the Peraltu's hands rose to Shota's face, his strong fingers forcing one of Shota's upper eyes open. He hissed at the sting of light to the sensitive eye, but Chisaki ignored him, turning his head this way and that as he peered into it.

"You might have ruined our objective, Aizawa Shota, but we are not short of options." Chisaki mused. "UA is of no concern. They will not find you in time, and you are worth more elsewhere. The Boss will forgive this mess when I hand you over." Chisaki must have seen the question in Shota's eye, because he promptly explained, mocking. "Did you think I would kill you? Use use as a hostage for UA? Oh, yes, you did." He chuckled, thoroughly amused.

"I might have, if you were anything else. But Er'aseer are rare. You of all people should know. Your kind are too closely watched for us to have considered taking any, but you have delivered yourself to us easily. Perhaps it was fate."

The door hissed again, Shota glancing past Chisaki's shoulder to see more drone's spilling hurriedly into the room. Some split from the group to aid the medics working on the mundus while the others made a beeline towards Chisaki, a clatter of worried chittering accompanying them.

Chisaki released Shota as they descended, relenting to their attempts to push him into the neighboring examination table. With a command from Chisaki, another group broke away to attend to Shota, their touches non too gentle as they began cutting away his jumpsuit to wave a scanner over his broken ribs.

"Be careful with him," Chisaki ordered, amusement coloring his voice. "I want him in perfect condition when we deliver him to the League."

Chapter Text

"Kacchan, don't shake it around like that!"

Katsuki ignored Deku and rocked the jar of beetles back and forth even as he raised it up over his head with both hands to be out of the shorter boy's reach.

"Why not?" He teased, looking down haughtily as Deku tried and failed to jump up high enough to snatch the jar, tears already pricking up in the corners of his eyes.

"'Cause it's mean!" Izuku yelled, making another swipe at the jar and just barely managing to brush a finger against it. Katsuki let it go with one hand to push him back down.

"They're just bugs, stupid!" Katsuki growled, getting annoyed now as Deku ignored Katsuki's hand squishing his face to flail his arms uselessly in Katsuki's general direction. "It's not like they have feelings or anything."

"You don't know that!"

"I do too!"

"No you don't!" Izuku yelled, stomping his foot in frustration and now crying for real as Katsuki stood triumphantly with his jar of beetles.

"You're such a baby." Katsuki snickered, giving the jar another shake just because he could.

"No I'm not." Izuku blubbered. "Mom says I'm just em-empathetic."

"More like pathetic." Katsuki muttered, rolling his eyes.

"That's mean Kacchan." Izuku sniffled, but Katsuki ignored him. "Whatever. Just go home if you're going to be a crybaby all day, Deku."

He turned his back on the other boy, lowering the jar so he could peer in at the collection of scuttling beetles. They had managed to gather over a dozen in only an hour, a new personal best for Katsuki who personally caught eleven of them. The jar- a small one that must have once contained jam or pickles and had been discarded in the woods and appropriated as a receptacle for unfortunate insects- was already starting to look a bit full. The beetles were crawling over one another as they attempted to scale the sheer, slick surface of the jar's interior. Any who got too high up were summarily knocked down and disoriented by a quick shake, as they didn't have a lid or any other cover for the jar.

Izuku eventually gave up with his crying and wandered over. Katsuki watched him wearily, on alert in case Deku tried to snatch the jar, but the other boy simply sat down in the grass and folded his legs in front of him, his chin on his bandaged knees and his arms wrapped around his legs as he joined Katsuki in observing the bugs.

"What are you gonna do with them?" Izuku sniffled, rubbing his nose with a grubby, grass-stained hand.

"I'm gonna make a house for the biggest one." Katsuki professed. "I'm gonna keep him in my room and feed him bugs and stuff."

"Auntie lets you keep them?" Izuku wondered, awestruck. "I brought a spider home one time and mom grounded me for three whole days because it got out and had babies everywhere."

"That's fucking gross Deku." Katsuki wrinkled his nose.

"You swore!" Izuku gasped, pointing an accusing finger.

"Whatever." Katsuki rolled his eyes. "And mom doesn't let me keep bugs either. I just put them in a box in my closet and she hasn't noticed."

"Oh." Izuku hummed, his big green eyes focusing back on the little bugs. They were both quiet for a moment as they watched them scurry, Katsuki occasionally flicking the side of the jar to make it vibrate and knock down the climbers.

"Do you think they miss their friends?" Izuku wondered aloud, still watching the beetles.

"Huh? They're just bugs, Deku. They don't have any friends."

"You don't now that." Izuku challenged, looking up to level Katsuki with his stubborn green gaze. "I bet they have friends and families and little houses that they live in under rocks."

"That's stupid." Katsuki said, but he couldn't help but think about it. He watched the progress of one of the beetles, a little one that scurried quickly over the backs of the larger beetles around it. He imagined the reality that Izuku spoke of, that the little insect had been minding his own business and got swept up in a net and taken away from his family, and now he was just trying to get back to them. Maybe he was just a baby bug and he had a beetle mom out there somewhere that he missed, or maybe he was a daddy and wanted to see his kids.

It was more likely that it just didn't want to get eaten and actually didn't have much going on in its brain beyond that, but a quick glance at Izuku revealed that the crybaby was thinking way too hard about it and was once again on the verge of tears.

Katsuki sighed. There was no way he'd be making it home with any of these beetles without Deku kicking up a fuss about him being a kidnapper or something. Katsuki watched as the little beetle successfully traversed the short distance up the glass wall and to the threaded lip of the jar. It turned in place for a moment, as if looking around, and then took off, the hard shell on its back opening up to let its wings buzz and lift it away to freedom.

He and Izuku both looked up to watch it flit away, disappearing into the underbrush. Izuku looked back to Katsuki hopefully.

He sighed again, glancing down to the contents of the jar one last time before unceremoniously turning it over, dumping the beetles into the grass. He and Izuku watched them disperse, and in a matter of moments the beetles were gone.

Izuku noticed Katsuki's sour mood as they traveled home through the woods and tried to cheer him up by making up stories about what the beetles got up to in their imaginary houses or what kinds of games they liked to play.

Katsuki couldn't have been less interested. His plans for getting a new pet beetle had been ruined because Deku couldn't be trusted to not tattle about Katsuki swearing if he didn't get his way. He'd already done that once in the past. Katsuki would have to come back on his own to get one.

"Hey Kacchan?" Izuku said, poking Katsuki in the side to get his attention.

"What?"

"You said you had some bugs at home right? Do you still have them?"

"Nah." He responded, absently kicking a rock further down the path. "I have to get a new one every couple days because they die."

"That's awful!" Deku cried, looking affronted.

Katsuki just looked back at him with confusion. "They're bugs Deku. They have really short lifespans."

"Well if they die then what's the point in keeping them?"

"I don't know." Katsuki shrugged, frustrated. "Because I can? I caught them and I want to keep them. They're just bugs, Deku. It's not a big deal."

He sped up, using his slightly longer legs to quickly outpace Izuku and leave him behind. He was done dealing with him. The other boy didn't try to keep up, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to bother.

"It's a big deal to me." He muttered sadly, but Katsuki didn't hear him, too focused on getting home and being done with their day of failed beetle catching.

Katsuki came to with a start, eyes snapping open to the harsh glare of white lights overhead. He squinted against the brightness as his eyes struggled to adjust, fumbling to shield his face with a hand. He blinked rapidly, fighting against the haze of confusion that clouded his thoughts. Memories flooded back in fits and starts: his abduction, the zinging taste of alien blood, the cell. Sweating to death, his escape, or the attempt, at least. But he'd failed. 

Gingerly, Katsuki reached up, fingers brushing against the tender skin just north of his Adam’s apple. He remembered-as his fingertips fumbled across a puckered line of flesh-screams, a slash across his throat. The hot, wet warmth of blood. Armor and flesh crumbling under his hands and the feeling of someone else's fingers in his neck as he drowned in his own blood. The tender skin beneath his hand ached like a bruise, a faint throb emanating in time with his pulse.

I should be dead.

The realization slammed into him all at once, the echo of his own choked declaration echoing in his ears. He had been ready to die, He hadn't exactly been planning for it at that moment, but he was ready. Seems he couldn't be so lucky. The bird-bugs weren't done with him yet.

He slowly leaned up to a sitting position, his entire body aching. A sharp tickle in his throat forced him to cough involuntarily, igniting an all-consuming agony that stole his breath away. He tried to hold back the coughing fit as tears sprung to his eyes, but failed miserably. He barely managed to inhale each time before he was forced to cough violently, each choked breath sending a lance of pain down his throat. His wounds were too freshly healed for this amount of abuse.

Katsuki focused on taking deep breaths, willing the sting in his throat to ebb as his heart raced frenetically in his chest. After several minutes of gasping, the coughs began to subside, leaving him in the ringing silence of his stark white surroundings. An involuntary groan of pain started to rumble in his throat, but the sound that escaped his lips came out as a pitiful gasping sigh.

“Fuck,” he muttered, or at least he tried to. His teeth and lips formed the words, and he forced the breath through his throat, but the only sound that emerged was a breathy “fah.”

Katsuki frowned.

"Fuck." He said again, but as before he couldn't do more than force a strained breath through. His throat must be too injured for him to speak. He pushed down the panicked, reflexive thought that he might have lost his voice permanently. The wounds were clearly still healing and he was not about to freak himself out by overreacting. Best leave that shit to Deku.

With a hand still absently massaging the tender skin around his injury, Katsuki stood up, turning his head this way and that to take in the new space. The room was narrow and rectangular, its full width not much greater than Katsuki's outstretched arms. There was a tall, narrow door on one of the small walls, which had a rectangular window at the top that was too high for Katsuki to see out of. The walls to the left of the door and behind Katsuki were empty, and on the right wall there was a long but shallow trough of water affixed to the wall at shin height. Next to the trough, an ovular dish sat nestled in a metal loop bracketed to the wall.

The walls were made of more of that strange porous metal from his previous cell, while the floor and ceiling were smooth planes of dull metal without any seams or bolts that Katsuki could identify. The floor beneath Katsuki's feet was covered with a dry, straw-like material, but it was red and green instead of yellow. There didn't appear to be any toilet.

The dryness in Katsuki's throat made itself known by summoning another involuntary cough. He winced at the waves of burning pain that followed after and quickly knelt over the trough, scooping mouthfuls of water with shaking hands. The annoying burn in his throat subsided after just a few sips, but Katsuki kept drinking, more than happy to indulge after going so long without.

His new room was blessedly cooler and less humid than the last one. In fact, it was almost a bit cold given that Katsuki was still naked, but he would much rather be a little cold than stuck in that hellhole. He splashed water on his face, savoring the feeling of cold water on his scalp and sensitive skin.

When he was done drinking, he shuffled over to the bowl hanging from the wall and eyed its contents with skepticism. There were slices of some green vegetable that reminded him of okra, but the pith was a vibrant purple and its tiny seeds were lime green compared to the dark green of the outer skin, which was hairy like a kiwi. There were also large chunks of an orange plant he couldn’t identify, but the texture and shape reminded him of a potato.

Some part of Katsuki's brain registered that this was supposed to be food, making his stomach growl. He hesitantly sampled the okra. It tasted like dirt, strangely sweet yet overwhelmingly earthy. He didn’t bother to chew it fully before spitting it back out into the bowl in disgust. He tried the other. The potato-like substance had a surprising flavor, faintly reminiscent of an apple. He nibbled on a small piece, then waited to see if it would upset his stomach. After about an hour with no side effects, he deemed it safe and ate a little more.

No one came by his cell for a while, and he quickly grew bored. He snacked on pieces of potato as he investigated the cell door. There were no obvious handles or buttons (not that he expected to find any), and the window in the top of the door proved to be made of some material other than glass. It's surface was imperfect and slightly gritty, like the exterior a crystalline mineral. Its color also made him question his initial assessment that it was a window, as it was opaque white and he couldn't see through it very well.

He finished his exploration of the door and paced about the room a little, restless. There wasn’t anything on hand to tell him how much time was passing, though when thinking on it, it occurred to him that the bird-bugs would probably tell time differently. Their days could be much longer or much shorter than Katsuki’s. He wondered, then, how long he had already been on board, how long it had been since he was taken, since he and Deku were separated. The resulting twist in his gut and plunging ache in his chest discouraged that train of thought, and he sought to distract himself.

He gathered up the straw scattered on the floor, piling it in one corner to fashion a makeshift bed. The result was a lumpy, scratchy mess, but it was warm in comparison to the cold metal floor and much more comfortable for his back, so he would take it. He kept his restless hands busy by absently twisting and breaking the fragile strands of straw. He attempted to weave some together for a bit, hoping to fashion a loincloth or something, but it proved to be too brittle and he abandoned the effort.

He drank more water, begrudgingly appreciative of the luxury after almost dying of dehydration. Of course, with drinking water came the need to eventually expel it. He did his best to ignore his bladder for a time, but with not much to do to occupy himself he quickly lost that fight. He carried a handful of straw to the corner by the door and did his business before piling more straw on top. He had at least contained the mess, but the smell of urine began to permeate the room. He did his best to ignore it by eating more of the potato-apples, letting the fragrant flavor overwhelm his senses.

More time passed. He paced around the cell, drank more water. Did pushups and sit-ups until he was forced to stop by another coughing fit and then laid around in a semi-miserable heap as he massaged his aching throat.

He laid in his straw bed, thinking about his parents; about Deku. He really hoped the nerd was alright. Izuku, admittedly, was far less brash than Katsuki and tended to think things through more thoroughly before deciding to act. He hoped that held true now and that the nerd hadn't gotten himself needlessly maimed like Katsuki. Knowing Izuku, he would have laid low and played things cool until he had enough information and resources at hand to make an escape. Then again, Izuku was hesitant to act when a situation called for aggressive and immediate action. He liked to talk things out, and Katsuki wasn't so sure that talking was going to help them in this situation.

He could only imagine how worried their parents must be. Knowing Mitsuki, she’d probably already guilt-tripped the entire American military into combing all of Yellowstone for them. But people went missing in national parks all the time, often for doing stupid things like wandering off into the wilderness unprepared. Katsuki never imagined he'd be added to their ranks. He could already see the news headline: “Stupid Japanese Tourists Go Missing in Yellowstone After Sneaking Out of Camp at Night.”

Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, drawing him into a fitful and restless sleep. When he awoke some indeterminate time later, the harsh lights overhead still blazed on, offering no clues to the passage of time. He could have slept through the night and into the next day, or it might still be the same day for all he knew.

Time crawled by. He tentatively experimented with his vocal range, trying to determine the extent of the damage and hoping that some exercise might help with recovery. He held one hand to his throat, feeling for the faintest vibration as he attempted to speak. He managed to make some deep, rather nasty sounding croaks and hacks, but those were produced more by phlegm in his throat than vibrations. He made little progress, but refused to allow himself to fret over what if's. It was too early to tell if the damage might be permanent.

He went back to playing with the straw, slowly stacking the strands in a crossways box like Lincoln Logs. He was just finishing the second floor on his tiny straw house when distant footsteps echoed beyond his cell door, snapping him to attention. He debated whether to make a break for the door the moment it opened or hang back, hesitant to outright attack any of the bird-bugs after what happened last time. He got to his feet, squishing the straw house as he edged away from the door and backed into the corner, his heart pounding in his chest.

A black shadow appeared behind the crystalline window, and, after a lingering moment, the crystal suddenly cleared, the opaque white sheen dissipating from the middle outwards to reveal a clear view to the other side. Unsurprisingly, a bird-bug filled the window, its head turned to the side so it could see into the cell. It watched him for a moment and, seemingly satisfied by his distance, opened the door. 

It opened slowly, like a cautious pet owner entering a room where a skittish cat lay, mindful of the potential escapee. One boney leg came through the door followed by one of its arms, which was wielding a long black rod with a sharp tip. A weapon. He briefly entertained the idea of taking it but held back. He'd probably have another opportunity. Best to take things slow for now.

After several moments of tense silence and indecision, the bird-bug opened the door wider and stepped fully into the room. A second bird-bug loomed in the doorway, filling the frame with silent menace as their companion advanced cautiously. It leaned at the waist to peer into Katsuki's food bowl, which he had emptied save for the okra. It chittered softly, either to itself or to its friend, Katsuki didn't know. It inspected the water trough and took notice of the pile of hay in the corner nearest the door. If it was offended by the smell, Katsuki couldn't tell. The whole time, it didn't lower the arm wielding the rod, keeping the tip pointed right at him.

It chittered again as it lifted the food bowl from its ring and stepped backwards to the door. It passed the bowl behind it to its companion, who snagged it with a deft motion and traded it for another, this one laden with something purple and more of the potato-apple chunks. The alien set the new bowl into the ring and then took two other things from its companion, which Katsuki realized were a broom and dustpan (it struck him as somehow bizarre that something so innocuous was apparently universal) which it used to sweep up the soiled straw. With that done, it backed out of the room completely, closing the door behind it, which locked with a hiss and muted click. The crystal window clouded up, obscuring the view outside.

Katsuki waited for the sounds of their footsteps to fade before moving to inspect the new food. At first he thought it might be large slices of some juicy purple fruit, but upon picking it up he recognized it as meat, the juice dripping from it a thick, oily blood. He reflexively released the raw flesh, letting it fall to the floor with a wet splat. He stared down at it for a moment before glancing back to the bowl. There were three more generous slices of meat and a pool of purple blood had collected on the bottom, soaking into the potato apples and ruining them.

Yeah, he was not eating that. Why raw meat, of all things? Did they think he was an animal?

He ignored the growling in his stomach and went back to occupying himself with the straw. As time passed, the overhead lights dimmed, fading slowly in a pale imitation of sunset, but Katsuki didn’t fall asleep until several hours later. It became so dark in the room that Katsuki could scarcely see his own hands, forcing him to lay back and fiddle around blindly with the straw until sleep finally came.

He slept long and deeply and woke up well before the lights turned back on. He spent hours tossing and turning in the dark, resolutely ignoring the growling of his stomach as he willed himself to go back to sleep. Failing that, he drank as much water as he could, almost making himself sick as he attempted to silence his aching stomach. He spent what had to be several hours pacing the perimeter of the room, tracing a hand along the wall as a guide for the first few turns until he knew it by memory. He eventually laid back down to sleep, but it was fitful.

He easily roused several hours later when light slowly filtered into the room in an imitation of dawn. Not long after, the aliens returned in the same manner as before. It seemed startled to find his food bowl still full. It tilted its head, its movements reading to Katsuki as a vague mixture of curiosity and confusion. It turned to aim its eyes straight at him, intrigued, and Katsuki just shrugged. The alien stared for a moment before retreating, pausing only momentarily to sweep up the latest pile of soiled straw by the door. The door shut firmly behind it, but it lingered, Katsuki able to hear faint chittering beyond the barrier as it seemed to discuss the new development with its companion. He remained where he was, waiting anxiously as he watched the door.

"Please bring me some real fucking food," he begged internally.

After several minutes, the door reopened. The bird-bug returned, balancing a new bowl of food in one hand and a thick bundle of fresh straw in its arms. It removed the old bowl from the ring, replaced it with the new one, and let the fresh straw in its arms tumble to the ground before taking its leave once more.

Disappointment crept through Katsuki as he approached the latest offering, a bowl filled with more pieces of the purple meat and potatoes soaked with blood. He growled in frustration, ignoring the gnawing hunger clenching in his gut as he fished out the scant few pieces of potato which hadn't been contaminated. They wanted to play that game huh? Katsuki had never been a picky eater, but he could sure as fuck make an exception this time. He'd starve before he let himself fall low enough to eat raw meat.

Choosing to focus on his bedding materials instead, he set about swapping out the old straw for the fresh stuff, though he made sure to keep most of the old material to one side so he wouldn’t sacrifice too much comfort every time nature called. He passed the time by nibbling on the pitiful handful of potatoes and picking up his vocal exercises. He made little progress, only earning himself a sore throat for his efforts. He drank more water to sooth the ache and fill his stomach, drinking so much that he felt heavy with it. By the time the aliens returned for his next meal, he had drained the water from his trough down to a few handfuls. Once again, they seemed confused as they registered Katsuki's refusal to eat, and this time they did not bother to take the bowl, only acknowledging his defiance by chittering between themselves and staring. They left momentarily and returned with square jugs filled with water which they used to refill the trough before departing once again.

Katsuki endured. The acute emptiness in his stomach and occasional spikes of pain in his ribs made the torturously slow day stretch on ever longer.

Based on the previous pattern, he expected the lights to turn off before the aliens returned, but was proven wrong when a bird-bug cracked open the door to check on him, rousing him from a nap. They looked at the uneaten food in the bowl, then at Katsuki. They cocked their head in the same way as before, a low clicking emanating from their beak before they abruptly pulled away and closed the door. Katsuki listened to their footsteps fade as sleep dragged him back under.

More meals came and went, three a day, none at night. Katsuki slept through both in fits and starts, his circadian rhythm shot to hell, his only solid means of timekeeping revolving around the comings and goings of his alien captors. For a time he subsisted on the potatoes, whatever he could fish untainted out of the blood and meat, but soon those disappeared, his meals a wash of purple and nothing else. He went without.

He spent the empty hours resolutely ignoring the pain in his stomach and babbling voicelessly to the walls. The sounds of his own gasping breaths and mangled choking made a feeling of hopeless dread rise in his chest, and each time he had to stop before it could overwhelm him. He was fine. His voice was fine. He just needed to wait, just keep working at it. He worked out here and there as well, but lack of food was making him weak, and he tired easily. Most of his hours passed in a daze of half-sleep and wishful musings.

At some point his stomach stopped growling altogether.

The bird-bugs became notably agitated as six mealtimes passed without any progress. He didn’t understand why they couldn't just bring him more of the potato things, but they were determined to make him eat the meat, for whatever reason. At some point it occurred to him that they must have tried this with Deku already. The aliens had accepted Katsuki's rejection of the okra easily, which meant they had probably tested it on Deku and confirmed that it wasn’t appealing to either of them. They must have given Deku the meat and he had either eaten it unknowingly or had been desperate enough to accept it. That made some sense, but it didn't explain why they were trying to feed Katsuki that stuff exclusively when they knew there was something else he could and would eat.

He wouldn’t even have a problem with the meat if they at least cooked it a little. Even rare was better than raw. It just didn’t make sense to go through all the effort of keeping him and healing his injuries if they were just going to let him starve. The only reason he could think of was that the vegetables (fruits? whatever) were in short supply and the bird-bugs simply had nothing else to offer him. Katsuki’s stubbornness could be for nothing.

For the purpose of defiance, he pretended that last thought never happened.

Another day and night passed. Katsuki's will wavered.

He was desperately hungry. He knew for sure now that the day-and-night cycle the bugs lived by was far longer than twenty-four hours, and he’d gone through four cycles with hardly anything but water. He felt as terrible now as he had when he was sweating to death. Starvation was proving to be so much worse than that, especially because there was food right there. If he just abandoned some principle, swallowed his pride and decided to focus on survival, it would be a no-brainer.

But Katsuki Bakugou was stubborn to a fault. Always to a fault.

He could feel himself wasting away. He was already lean from his martial arts training, so what little body fat he'd had was well and truly gone, his muscle mass now being sacrificed on the altar of pride. He’d done his best to stave off the decay by exercising, but he couldn't push too far or too long before exhaustion set in.

He grit his teeth through a set of push-ups, his arms quaking and his heart racing after just a few rep's. He snarled, willing his arms to still as he lifted his body from the floor.

"Get your shit together you fucking weakling,"  he hissed. A weaker voice chanted in the back of his mind waste. All to waste.

Katsuki cursed, his frustration vocalized not in words but in a spitting hiss. He stopped his pushups, his eyes focused on the floor between his hands as he gasped for air, tried to breath through the sting in his throat and the pounding of his heart.

"What the fuck am I doing?" The question echoed in his head. He hadn't forgotten how easily he bent the bars of his original cell, how effortlessly he had broken the bird-bug's limbs and crushed their armor in his grip like a soda can.

"What the fuck am I doing? Fucking idiot." His stomach sank as the realization dawned. This was all so fucking pointless. What the actual fuck was he thinking? He had been stripped bare, only his body to his name, his one weapon against his captors. And here he was, willfully allowing it to go to waste for nothing but pointless fucking pride. Katsuki's strength was a legitimate threat to these creatures, and they knew it. Weapons at the ready with each meal time, never getting close, outright refusing to enter his cell when he was too close to the door. They were wary of him.

"You have one brush with death and you turn into a fucking pussy. Typical," he berated himself. He could have spent this whole time being an absolute terror, pushing the limits of his confinement and making them regret ever taking him. He could have just eaten the fucking meat instead of being a worthless contrarian. Even Deku would have known better. He would have choked it down, played it smart. Katsuki? Starving for nothing.

Goddamit he must have gotten some brain damage when he almost died. 

Katsuki huffed in frustration, releasing the tension from his arms and letting his chest sink to the floor. He laid there on hid front, head turned to stare up at the gleaming metal of the food bowl.

So utterly pointless.

A wave of exhaustion passed over him, his eyes flittering closed. There's a justification here. A reasoning deep in his mind which has pushed him to this point, kept him clinging to his stubborn, pointless pride. 

Katsuki is comfortable in his own skin. He's never been shy about showing off his hard earned physique or strutting through an onsen in the nude with his chin up. Some see being stripped down to bare skin for all to see as degrading. He gets it in a way. He wouldn't exactly want to get stripped in the middle of a busy street or anything, but for humans it was all about time and place. The bird-bugs didn't appear to have the same sense of decorum. All the one's he had interacted with appeared to be nude. Human standards didn't exist here, just survival. So Katsuki could handle that. His things being stolen, his entire physical being left without any barriers to the outside world.

It was everything else he had an issue with. Straw for bedding. Forced to shit and piss on the floor like a dog. Eating food out of a metal dish like a hamster in a cage. Rolled around in crates and manhandled like a pet getting shots at the vet.

Katsuki wasn't captured, he was caught. Poached, not kidnapped. He remembered that trip down the hallway, the way that bug had shown him off to the others, carried him around like some prize.

Humanity didn't exist in this place. The very concept of it was alien and meaningless. Katsuki was a curiosity. An animal, and he was being treated that way. His pride had won him nothing but weakness and a hollow belly.

He wondered what this whole thing must look like from his captors perspective. No doubt they are scratching their heads trying to understand what's wrong with him. Will they let him waste away? Tie his hands and force feed him? He'd almost be curious enough to push it that far if that didn't sound like the worst thing ever.

They had definitely noticed Katsuki's weakening state. The last time they appeared, the bird-bug had held their pointed rod tucked under their arms rather than brandished in front of them. They lingered for a while, just staring at him, as if trying to understand through observation alone what was wrong.

Katsuki lay in a heap in the straw, too exhausted to muster the will to do much of anything. Stweed in a cloud of self-flagellation, he didn’t react to the sound of hurried footsteps stomping down the hallway, nor did he even twitch as one of the bird-bugs entered his cell with a cacophony of clicks and hisses.

Katsuki stared dully at the ceiling as the alien stepped closer, its big black head hovering into view as it leaned over him. He got a sense of déjà vu as it chittered, turning its head to point its beady black eyes down at him. Another bird-bug appeared overhead, its upper arms crossed, the lowest pair planted on its hips. The first one scratched its head and began gesturing rapidly to the other. They seemed to be arguing. Katsuki simply watched, noting that only one of them—the first one—was carrying a weapon, and they were currently holding it loosely at their side, within easy grabbing distance.

Huh. Well ain't that something.

He glanced up at the two aliens, now engrossed in a full-fledged argument, and subtly turned his head until he could see the door out of the corner of his eye.

It was wide open.

Katsuki's heartrate skyrocketed with the realization, adrenaline pumping. There's no way it could be this fucking easy.

He remained perfectly still, maintaining a façade of absent tiredness as he watched the bugs. They clearly didn't think he would be going anywhere, weren't even paying close attention to him. They must really think he's done for, close to starved to death. He was certainly much weaker than he was before, but he could still put up a decent fight.

He tensed, ready to snatch the weapon from the bird-bug and tackle the ensuing chaos. Just as Katsuki was going to move, a commotion sounded from the direction of the door. The bird-bugs stopped arguing, turning their heads towards the sound. He didn't think twice, lunging for the rod and snatching it easily from the bird-bug's loose grip.

It startled, its hands flying up as the other alien jerked back. A wave of dizziness hit him as he stood up too fast, but Katsuki powered through it, stumbling slightly but standing all the same, weapon in hand and brandished threateningly in front of him. He made an experimental swipe at the alien's legs, forcing the pair to jump back and into the corner to avoid being hit. Katsuki took advantage of the distance and lunged to the left, towards the door and freedom, but quickly encountered a new obstacle.

The commotion at the door had been the arrival of more bird-bugs, and they were rolling a little cage along with them, identical to the one Katsuki had been shoved into when they first captured him. They had been planning on moving him. The aliens still in the room chittered an alarm to the newcomers as Katsuki backpedaled, moving away from the door to put his back against the adjacent wall. The aliens flooded the doorway, trapping him in the room. The one leading the group attempted to step toward him briefly, but a warning swipe of the rod got it to back off.

The bird-bugs poured into the room until there were seven of them and only one of him, the space now crowded to the point that he was backed into a corner, outnumbered. Nevertheless, they were wary of his weapon, crowded together just outside of its range. None of the new arrivals were armed, but that could change at any moment. One of them could leave at any time to call for help or grab weapons.

Fuck, he was an idiot. He should have just charged them like he'd done in the infirmary and they would have scattered. There was as wall of aliens between him and the door and he had a fucking stick. He hadn't thought this through.

Four had spread out into a semi-circle just beyond the reach of his weapon, while the remaining three stood behind the main group to guard the doorway. Katsuki clenched and unclenched his grip around the handle, indecisive. He knew that he could do serious damage to these guys barehanded, so if it came down to it, he could probably force his way through a few of them before they managed to take him down, but he was still reluctant to get into an all-out brawl. None of these aliens were as large as the one that had cut his throat, nor did they appear to have any spikes or natural weapons beyond their fists, but he couldn't ignore the gut feeling that this group could probably deal as much damage to him as he could to them.

This was utter shit. It would be plain stupid for Katsuki to attack, but he seethed at the thought of surrendering. Not only would that make him a coward, but he'd also lose any chance of ever getting near a weapon again. They would be cautious of him from now on, never giving him the opportunity to steal one. It was now or never. He’d simply have to fight his way through, damn the consequences.

Katsuki crouched, hefting the rod in his hand and preparing to charge at the alien closest to the door. They tensed, their arms raising and spreading out as they braced for his attack. Katsuki snarled, a guttural growl rising from his throat as he prepared to lunge, but just before he could move, more bird-bugs suddenly entered the room, rapidly increasing their numbers from seven to ten.

Katsuki froze, reconsidering, his hesitation evident enough that the four aliens closest to him noticed and took advantage, surging forward in a synchronized wave. Katsuki panicked, swinging the rod wildly at anything he could reach. A bird-bug shrieked as the tip of the rod connected with its side, its body twitching and convulsing for a moment before falling to the floor in a heap, but it was quickly replaced by others that had spilled into the room.

Katsuki was overwhelmed. He took down three more of them, the ribcage of one bug cracking like a piñata as he swung the rod like a bat, the other two falling to swift jabs. A fourth managed to grab onto his shoulder as he lashed out with a foot to its knees, both of them crashing hard as it dragged him down. The others descended, limbs flying everywhere as they tried to pin him down. He kicked, flailed, punched, and bit. Anything that came within reach of his face was fair game, Katsuki biting and not letting go until something gave or they hit him hard enough to break free. Alien blood filled his mouth, a taste like ozone and burnt tires. He couldn't scream, his voice still shot to shit, but he hissed and hacked like something rabid. If they wanted an animal, they would get a fucking animal.

Innumerable hands forced him down to the floor, attempting to pin his head and limbs as others fought against his white-knuckled grip on the rod. He held on as long as he could, but there were too many of them and he was forced to release it when they started bending his fingers. He let go of the rod and swiped for any hands or limbs within reach. The familiar texture of bumpy carapace was all he needed, his hands squeezing like vices. They screamed as their limbs were crushed.

The bird-bugs swarmed over him, desperately pulling their injured companions out of his reach while more surged in to take their place. One of them finally got a solid hand on his head, their fingers gripping his hair tight and slamming his skull into the ground. He hissed gutturally as pain rocketed through his skull and face, his nose an explosion of pain. A puddle of green blood coated his face, mixing with the copper dripping from his nose, pouring into his mouth as he bared his teeth in a vicious sneer. More bodies poured into the room, piling weight onto his limbs in a desperate bid to hold him down.

Despite it all, Katsuki thrilled on the inside, vindicated by the sheer amount of damage he had done, even in his weakened state. He'd probably ruined any chances of escape in the future, but making it out of here alive was already a long shot. Because really, what was Katsuki going to do? If he somehow managed to escape his cell, what would be next? Fight his way through God knows how many hostile aliens, find Deku, commandeer a ship or escape pod (assuming he could even figure out how to drive it), and then jettison off into space with no idea where they were or where they were going? They had zero chance. They would die within days. His time and effort were better spent making these bastards regret ever taking him, and if that meant he got to maim a few, all the better. He wished now that he hadn't starved himself just so he could kill a couple more of the bastards.

Katsuki got to gloat for all of a few seconds before another bird-bug entered the room carrying something metallic and covered in straps. More hands reached for his head, fingers gripping in his hair, wrenching his head up off the floor while others wrapped around his throat and squeezed—not firm enough to choke, but enough to make Katsuki still instinctively, his heart skipping a beat.

The alien carrying the contraption wasted no time, shoving it onto Katsuki’s face and wrapping the straps over his head. He fought, wrenching his head away and biting at the material as it passed by, forcing them to yank it out of his mouth. A sharp, brutal squeeze to his windpipe made him choke, stars bursting in his vision and freezing him long enough for the device to be fitted over his face. It took him a few seconds to realize what it was, and by then, it was too late. The straps of the muzzle pulled painfully tight over his head, the edges of the mask digging into his cheeks and jaw. Katsuki squirmed, but the deed was done, and the bird-bugs released his head, satisfied that he couldn't inflict any more damage by biting.

"Fuck you", he growled, craning his head forward before throwing it back, slamming the back of his skull into the face of the bug behind him. He grinned ferally at the screams that followed. The bug that put the muzzle on him grabbed for the metal in front of his mouth to hold him still while the hand around his throat squeezed tighter. He cackled wetly, spitting blood and phlegm at anything in range. 

The others still holding his limbs shifted, accommodating a few newcomers who came to assist them. They lifted his arms from the floor one at a time, shoving his hands into bags. Katsuki flinched as cool cloth surrounded his fingers and attempted to pull his arms away, but the bugs held firm. Something clamped around his wrists, and the cloth covering his hands pulled tight, forcing his fingers to curl inward into loose fists. When they released his wrists, Katsuki discovered he couldn’t fully open his hands, the cloth denying him any leeway.

Shit. He'd been effectively unarmed, his primary means of self defense now closed off. He could still kick and punch, but grabbing ahold of anything was now beyond him.

With that done, the aliens lifted him up, holding firmly onto his limbs and cradling his body between them. Katsuki tried to writhe out of their grip, but there were simply too many. He hung in the air as they began to walk, maneuvering him through the narrow door and down a long, dim hallway. The cage they had brought with them was abandoned.

One of the bird-bugs holding his arms still had a hand free and was using it to touch Katsuki's head. At first he thought they were fiddling with the straps of the muzzle, but reassessed when he felt their fingers carding gently through his hair. They repeated the motion several times, stroking from his temples to the base of his neck slowly and carefully enough that he realized it was attempting to calm him down, petting him like he was a frightened animal.

Katsuki seethed with indignation, letting out a guttural growl that made the petting stop. The reprieve lasted only for a moment before the alien continued, its touches slightly slower and more purposeful. He growled again but decided to ignore it, focusing instead on breathing and willing his racing heart to slow as he assessed the situation. He had no idea what was happening now, but whatever it was, it couldn't be good. They must have been planning to move him since they had brought the cage, but where to? He really hoped they weren't about to dump him out of an airlock or something.

Over the several minutes it took to reach their destination, Katsuki gradually calmed, giving both himself and the bird-bugs a reprieve from his constant struggling. The one that had been petting him patted his head in approval when he finally stilled for good, which made Katsuki seethe internally. He didn’t act on it, opting to conserve his strength in case he needed to fight his way through whatever came next.

They reached a nondescript door a moment later, the bird-bug petting him stopping to type a code into the panel. The door opened, and he was whisked inside.

Katsuki barely had the chance to notice that the new space was the same stark white as the one he's just vacated before he was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. The bird-bugs scattered, fleeing out the door before Katsuki could even get to his knees, the barrier sliding closed behind them.

Katsuki whipped his head this way and that, quickly taking in the new space. It was almost identical to the cell he had just come from, save for the fact that it was much bigger, oriented into a large square shape rather than a narrow rectangle. There was a trough of water and a food bowl set into the wall as before, but instead of the blank, porous metal material of the rest of the walls, the space directly over the food and water was dominated by a large crystal window that stretched nearly the entire length of the wall. He could make out nothing on the other side of the window except vague shadows.

Katsuki assessed the cloth covering his hands. They were like little silk bags, smooth, but firm and unyielding when he attempted to stretch it with his fingers. They were secured to his hands by metal cuffs on his wrists, secured so tightly that he could hardly shift them at all. They would be impossible to fit over his hand unless he broke his thumbs, and even then it might be feasible.

The familiar hiss of an opening door sounded, jerking Katsuki to attention. The one he had just been delivered through remained closed, and he looked around in confusion for a moment before noticing that a small, square panel in the wall under the window was opening. He must have missed it before. It was just big enough for someone of his size to crawl through on their hands and knees.

He watched warily as the door slid upwards. He was to the left of the door, putting him at an angle so he couldn't see all the way through it. He could hear chittering from the other side, the sound of metal striking metal. Something shuffled and thumped about, making Katsuki tense. The noises were getting closer. Whatever was on the other side was coming towards him.

He slunk back, positioning himself further to the left and closer to the wall so that whatever came through the opening wouldn't be able to see him until it's head was completely through, giving Katsuki the advantage if he needed to attack. His heartbeat thumped in his ears as he waited, adrenaline beginning to hum through him again. He was at a distinct disadvantage without the use of his hands and teeth, but he wasn't going to go out without a fight.

More shuffling on the other side of the wall, then silence. Another chitter, and more sounds of metal crashing. The shuffles returned, turning into hurried thumps as whatever it was was harried by the bird-bugs seemingly making noise to scare it out. Katsuki tensed as shadows shifted in the opening, readying himself to spring at whatever came through.

A tiny, pale hand extended hesitantly through the opening, landing on the smooth metal on Katsuki's side of the door. He hesitated, his heart jackrabbiting as another small hand joined the other one, and then the first extended, revealing a wrist, an arm, elbow, shoulder.

Katsuki's eyes widened as the creature revealed more of itself, his heart freezing in cold dread and disbelief.

"No." He thought, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. 

"Please fucking no. Don't tell me they-"

He couldn't finish the thought, his mind shutting down from the weight of sheer disbelief, horror, and all consuming rage that coursed through him.

Staring back at him from the door, wide red eyes full of fear, was a little, human girl.

Chapter Text

Things with the girl had not gotten off on the right foot.

Katsuki was so surprised to see her at first that his brain basically rebooted and left him standing there like an idiot as the girl finished crawling into the room. By the time he finished processing, she was sitting on the floor, staring at him wide-eyed and on the verge of tears. 

Katsuki-because he’s a bastard who lacks a single iota of tact or sensitivity-launched himself at the door she just crawled through with the full intention of mauling the bird-bugs on the other side. They managed to slam it closed before he made it through, leaving Katsuki to fume on the other side.

He’d been unbelievably pissed; his own justifiable anger at being kidnapped and manhandled melding with a sudden surge of protective, indignant rage. He spent several minutes raging at the window, bashing it with his clothed fists and spitting and growling like a mangy dog. He couldn’t even swear or scream properly either with his voice still out of commission, and that just pissed him off more. By the time he simmered down enough to remember why he was angry in the first place, he had ruined any chances of endearing himself to his new companion.

The girl, understandably, was scared shitless. While Katsuki was throwing his tantrum, she huddled into the corner furthest from him, arms wrapped around her legs and face buried in her knees. His initial attempt to approach her, no matter how gentle he tried to appear, was met with a lot of screaming and crying. And okay, yeah, that was fair. His rapid weight loss from fasting had reduced him to a whip-thin amalgamation of muscle and sinew, leaving him a ghost of his former self. That combined with the muzzle on his face and the filth clinging to his skin from countless days without a proper wash made him look more like a feral animal than a human. He could only imagine how he must look to her—pale and gaunt, wild eyed and hair unkempt. He was drenched in alien blood, and his own. Not exactly a comforting sight for a scared child. Not to mention that he was buck ass naked and that would be generally alarming upon meeting anyone for the first time. 

And of course, Katsuki couldn't try to convince the girl that he wasn't actually feral, because his voice was still completely shot. He rubbed at his throat, as if the simple desperation could somehow coax his voice back. He tried some hand signals or gestures in a bid to communicate, but she just buried her face in her legs and refused to look at him. He'd had half a mind to just walk over there and invade her space until she was forced to acknowledge him, but a voice in his mind that sounded suspiciously like Deku screamed that that would just make things worse.

Katsuki had never been good with kids. They were loud, sticky, and clingy, and they cried way too much. He got enough of that from Deku. He wasn't exactly trusted to be around kids either. He was impatient, violent, swore like a sailor, and "generated a miasma of uncouth delinquentism," as Deku once put it. Katsuki was not the guy you called when you needed a babysitter.

Katsuki was normally perfectly content to keep his own company, but he had to admit that the endless, monotonous days spent in his cell might have started getting to him. He could only spend so much time sleeping or playing with straw, after all, and his cell was so barren of stimulation that he was pretty sure his brain simply started turning itself off while he was still awake, leaving him in a mindless daze. The knowledge that Deku was somewhere else on the ship actually made things worse. It meant that he was the closest any human being would ever be to Katsuki again, yet he was still wholly inaccessible. Knowing there was another human on board and actually seeing one were proving to be entirely different concepts.

Katsuki had settled on the floor nearby the girl’s corner as he considered his options. Not so close that he was looming or presenting himself as a barrier, but close enough that he could clearly hear her sobbing whimpers and choked murmurs and he would be able to intervene if she tried to hurt herself or something. He wasn't sure if that was even a valid concern in this situation, but experience made him consider it as a possibility.

There had been a time in his and Deku's childhood that Katsuki was capable of gentleness. He had still been his usual rough self, but Deku had had a lot of things going against him back then, two of those things being an unfortunate penchant for clumsiness and an intense crying habit. Deku would cry at just about anything, and threatening to flood the park with his tears while walking down an uneven path inevitably led to accidents. It became reflex for Katsuki to reach out and hold Deku by his arm to steady him or comfort him when he had fallen. His protective instincts had never extended beyond Deku and he grew out of them eventually, but now Katsuki was sitting cross here resisting the urge to reach out a comforting hand. The long-buried instinct to protect was coming back to him, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. This girl wasn't Deku, but she needed help, and Katsuki despite his faults, was not a complete asshole.

Katuski watched the girl silently as he stewed, passively assessing her physical state and mentally cataloging any injuries or areas of concern. The girl was naked, just like him, which made him feel more than a little gross for staring but he pushed the feeling down. He wasn't looking for anything like that, and he needed to get used to looking at her and being looked at because it’s not like they were going to be getting clothes any time soon. 

Her knees were red and bruised from crawling around and there were some healed-over scratches on her arms, but no visible injuries. Her legs and long white hair obstructed his view of the rest of her. She was still crying, quiet sobs shaking her shoulders and plaintive whimpers croaking out of her hoarse throat. Katsuki strained to hear what she was saying, most of her words coming out as jumbled nonsense. At first, he thought he couldn’t understand her because she was crying too much to say anything coherent, but as he listened closely, he realized that the girl was actually speaking English.

A soft, “Momma… I... go home…” is what tipped him off. Through the nasally clog of snot from her crying, he could make out an accent but was unsure of what kind. He assumed she was American. He and Deku had been picked up in the eastern outskirts of Yellowstone nearby Avalanche peak where there were plenty of areas for camping and thus plenty of unassuming victims to be abducted. The aliens could have easily nabbed multiple people from around that area given its relative isolation from civilization. He and Deku had wandered a decent distance into the Absaroka Wilderness, but they weren't terribly far from the popular camping areas for families with young kids. He wondered vaguely if there could be even more people taken captive.

Hearing her speak English concerned him. Katsuki was learning English in high school, his reading and writing comprehension passable at an intermediate level. Speaking and listening it was another matter entirely. Vocal exercises in school didn't get much more complex than stiff, scripted interactions. He had a bit of practice recently with English speakers during his aborted trip to America, but Deku and their parents had done most of the talking. Half of their conversation flew right over his head because they were speaking too fast or using too many words he didn't know. 

Basic communication, at least, was universal. Nodding or shaking the head for yes and no, thumbs up, thumbs down, and a few other physical gestures were intuitive. Body language was going to be his primary means of communication until his throat healed. In the meantime, he could attempt to break the ice by making simple introductions.

At six, the girl would surely have at least a basic grasp of the English alphabet and some three to four letter words. The first thing most kids learned to read and write were their own names, so he figured that was a safe starting point. Introductions first, the rest would (hopefully) come after.

Bereft of writing utensils, Katsuki retrieved the bowl of meat hanging on the wall and put the blood to use, sacrificing his left mitt for the task of writing 'NAME?' on the floor. He also wrote the first three letters of his own name in English before he ran out of blood. Well, he'd just have to be "Kat" for now.

In the time it took him to formulate his plan and write the letters out, the girl had thoroughly cried herself out and was sleeping fitfully in her corner, still curled up in a loose, protective ball. Katsuki waffled for a bit, indecisive as to whether he should try and wake her up and risk scaring her again or just leave her to wake up on her own. He pushed down his impatience for a time by gathering up the straw on the floor to recreate the bed/nest situation from his last cell, though this time he made two separate beds of straw. The one for the girl was placed strategically against the wall with his directly in front. Any bird-bugs who wanted to get to her would have to go through him first. 

With that done he was left without anything to occupy himself. He paced the cell for a bit, making sure to bare his teeth in a wordless snarl at the shifting shadows behind the window each time he passed it. The bird-bugs were watching them.

He also carefully inspected the muzzle on his face, looking for any means of removing it. The exact shape of the bars and straps were indistinct without full use of his hands, but he surmised that it wouldn't prevent him from eating or drinking. There were three bars over his mouth, which were arrayed in a squarish cage that could easily be grabbed by someone without risk of losing a finger. The bars were a little more than a finger thick, so there was plenty of room to shove food through, but he'd have to drink by dipping his whole face into the water trough if he wanted anything to make it to his mouth and avoid getting his hands stuck in soaking wet bags. There were no straps that could be loosened or untied as far as he could tell, so he left it alone.

His patience eventually reached its limit. He stepped carefully towards the girl, stopping when he was a little more than an arms-length away. He crouched, taking care to sit in such a way that his groin was concealed. He wasn't going to start things off by waving his junk in her face. He ended up mirroring her, his legs folded like a wall in front of him and one arm wrapped securely around his knees. He fiddled absently with a stray piece of straw as he stared at her, unsure how to go about this. He didn't want to freak her out again. Crying kids were annoying. Luckily, the decision was taken out of his hands. The girl's sleep had been fitful, so she was awake enough that his proximity was more than adequate to startle her awake.

Her face was red and puffy from crying, dried tear tracks streaking her cheeks. He raised his hands slowly, open palmed and level with his knees in a non-threatening gesture. He tried to make his expression as neutral as possible, but with the muzzle in the way that probably didn't account for much. Her ruby-red eyes bored into him, full of fear and confusion and probably a million racing thoughts. She didn't immediately start screaming and crying, so he counted it a win so far.

With her attention on him, he twisted slightly, using one hand to point towards the floor to his left and the words written there. He maintained eye-contact, raising his eyebrows expectantly. She glanced between him and the floor, wide eyes squinting and head turning just so as she read the words written in purple blood.

"N-name." She read out in English, voice hesitant and hoarse from crying. He nodded when she glanced back to him, gesturing at her with his clothed hand and then at the word again.

"Me? My name?"

He nodded.

"...."

He waited, but the answer didn't come. She was still too scared and overwhelmed. Her wide red eyes were all over the place, making eye contact briefly before flitting away to glance around the room or at the muzzle obscuring his face. He pushed down the irritation that threatened to express itself on his face. It might have been a good thing he couldn't talk in that moment because he would definitely be swearing at her to get a move on. He wasn't cut out for this shit. Where was Deku when you needed him?

He changed tactic, gesturing towards himself, the word NAME on the floor, and the letters of his name, KAT. She watched him repeat this twice before catching on.

"Your name is Kat?"

He nodded again.

".... I think you spelled it wrong."

Katsuki should get a nobel prize for his remarkable self-control. Really, he should.

It took him several seconds to let that comment slide and all of his power to keep a murderous scowl from forming. Luckily, the girl was distracted enough that his almost slip to homicide went unnoticed. Her fear was beginning to dissipate in the face of their uneasy truce, giving way to curiosity as she turned her head and strained to read the remaining text on the floor, murmuring under her breath. When she looked back at him, he was (mostly) cool and composed and not wearing his typical infamous frown that made babies cry.

"Why don't you talk?" she asked quietly, her eyes lingering on the bars and straps of the muzzle as she hunkered down slightly, burying the bottom of her face in her knees.

He grunted, tapping his neck with his right hand and lifting his chin slightly. He imagined there was a rather grisly scar there, as he could feel the raised lump of tissue even through the cloth on his hand.

"Can't?"

He nodded again, then tapped the floor by NAME? in a silent question, redirecting the conversation from the injury he had neither the will nor the ability to explain. No point in fielding pointless questions.

"Oh, I'm Eri." She introduced herself, blushing slightly. He nodded, moving his lips around the word to commit it to memory.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, Katsuki unsure about where their conversation should go next and Eri still leery of his presence. She openly stared at him, seemingly unconcerned by his nakedness, curiosity beginning to overtake her fear.

"Did... did the monsters take you from your mommy and daddy too?" She asked, hesitant and sad, and Katsuki's heart twisted.

He nodded. In essence, that was what had happened. Katsuki had a decade on her, but he was still a kid too, still only seventeen. They had both been taken from everything they had ever known and reduced to little more than animals. He remembered seeing out that window in the infirmary, the vast blackness of space with nothing recognizable in sight. No "big blue marble" to gawk at or foreign wonders like comets and asteroids or the imposing structure of the space station.

Just infinity, and the knowledge that he was utterly, irrevocably alone.

He couldn’t imagine what this had been like for her.

Unconsciously, his gloved right hand reached out, hovering between them in a hesitant, almost desperate gesture of truce. It was an offering, the only thing he could give to express what he was feeling and everything he couldn't even begin to explain. They had no one but each other. There were no other options that made any sense.

Eri's big red eyes met his, and in them he found understanding. Fear, yes, but also tentative hope. Slowly, Eri extended her hand, her small fingers trembling slightly as she reached out toward his gloved palm. As their hands met, he felt a rush of warmth envelop the air between them. Eri's skin was soft, delicate against the smooth fabric of his mitt, and that small touch was more meaningful than anything he could have said. It was a promise, a silent agreement that they would do this together. His heart hammered in a mix of anxiety and relief.

Eri’s fingers curled around his hesitantly, squeezing just a little, and with that tiny gesture, a foundation of trust began to build. Katsuki nodded firmly, squeezing back in reassurance. He wanted her to know he was there for her, that she could rely on him, and that he would do everything in his power to keep her safe.

Eri's mouth curled into a small, shy smile, and she said quietly, as if she were sharing a secret, "I'm not scared anymore."

In fits and starts over the following days, they began to learn more about one another. If was difficult with the stilted and one-sided means of communication they had concocted, but they made it work. Through the use of yes and no questions and blood from their meat-only meals (which Katsuki had begrudgingly began eating, he couldn't let himself starve now that he had Eri to protect) a story of mutual misfortune formed between them.

Eri, as he suspected, had been on vacation with her family when she was taken. They went on a hike on one of the trails near their campsite when she got separated from her parents after wandering too far, only for the bugs to swoop in and take her. As far as Eri was aware, she was the only one of her family taken, and Katsuki really was the first human she had seen since then. The bird-bugs hadn't hurt her, thank God, but they were plenty scary enough that she just about died from fright.

With Katsuki's prompting, she told him about her time on the ship so far, which had mostly been as boring and uneventful as Katsuki's, except instead of getting her throat slashed open they had taken her to "a scary place" to have some sort of examination. There weren't many details that Katsuki could understand. Eri didn't understand much of it herself, and too many of her words were unfamiliar to him to make much of a coherent narrative. The gist of it was that they had poked and prodded her a lot and thankfully hadn't done anything invasive. She got sick once or twice after eating certain foods and that seemed to freak them out, but otherwise they left her to her own devices.

By the end of her story Eri was in tears, which Katsuki didn't know how to stop so he settled for awkwardly patting her on the head and letting her cling to his arm, which somehow made her feel better if her soft "thank you, I'm sorry," was anything to go by. He ignored the feeling of his skin crawling where her snotty nose had rubbed against him. He was already filthy and splattered with alien blood so kid-boogers couldn't be much worse.

Actually, physical contact was something he was going to have to get used to, because Eri, like most children, had little to no concept of personal space. Their first night in the cell he had shown her the beds he made and pointed to his and hers. She'd looked between them as he settled onto his own pile of straw, reluctantly sinking to her knees on her own side with a crease in her brow. Katsuki was exhausted by that point and unwilling to engage in the rigmarole of "talking", promptly turning his back to her and closing his eyes as the dimming lights edged closer to darkness. He listened to the sound of the straw shifting and scraping around as Eri got comfortable, finally settling into silence after several long minutes of tossing and turning.

The muzzle made sleeping on his side uncomfortable, the thick straps and bars pressing into his face awkwardly. He shifted to lay on his back, but with the size of the straw pile reduced, he was significantly less comfortable than in his last cell. He tossed and turned, unable to find a position that would let his aching, tired body settle. He nearly jumped out of his own skin when a cold hand touched his shoulder in the pitch darkness, and he snarled involuntarily, twisting around to meet the warm presence hovering at his side.

Eri squeaked, her presence backing away slightly. He reached out, fumbling in the dark as his hand brushed over a leg, then found her shoulder. He huffed audibly, an admonishment and an apology all at once. "Don't scare me like that," it said.

"Sorry." Eri murmured, seeming to understand. He patted her shoulder, accepting, even though his heart was still pounding from the scare.

Eri shuffled closer, both of her hands grabbing Katsuki's arm, an anchor in the dark.

"Cold." She said, her tone soft and apologetic. She had quickly figured out on that first day that Katsuki couldn't keep up with too many words at once and adapted her speech to as few words as possible. She was proving to be pretty smart for a six-year-old (six and a half, as she insistently specified).

Katsuki just signed again. He got up, shuffling his feet carefully to avoid stepping on Eri as he felt around the space, looking for the corner where her bed was situated just a few feet from his own. When his feet crunched on dry straw, he turned around, swiping an arm out where he remembered Eri to be and finding her there. He couldn't quite grab her arm with the mittens in the way, but he could curl his fingers enough to cup into her own, pulling her forward by the hand. She followed, sitting in the straw when he gently pushed her down.

He could feel her confusion, waylaying her soft protests with a blunt grunt. He went back to his bed and gathered up the straw that he could find in the dark, carrying it back over to her and adding it to the pile. Eri said a soft "oh," in surprise as she realized what he was doing. He felt her moving around, getting off of the nest to help him arrange and smooth out the pile. 

With that finished, Katsuki laid down, the difference in comfort immediately noticeable. He grumbled as Eri laid down next to him, her little back pressed to his side, radiating a comfortable warmth.

"Thank you." She whispered, and Katsuki only grunted in response, already beginning to doze off.

When he woke sometime later, the lights still off, he found Eri curled up against him still, her head on his shoulder and his own arms wrapped around her protectively. He pushed down the instinctual urge to pull away, to push her off and create distance between them. She just needed to stay warm, that was it. It didn't have to be some profound thing.

Beyond sharing their little bed, Eri liked to stay close to his side and seemed to always be looking for excuses for physical contact, often leaning against him or asking to braid his hair. Katsuki allowed it, partially because he knew she needed something to do and letting her play with his hair was harmless and only mildly annoying (and also her fingers scratching his head felt good, sue him). He also suspected that she was afraid if she didn't have eyes and hands on him at all times, he might disappear or turn out to be a figment of her imagination. Katsuki was silently afraid of the same thing, unable to shake the paranoid thought that he would go to sleep one day and when he woke up Eri would be gone, either taken by the aliens or having never existed in the first place.

Eri proved to be much better at reading than Katsuki had initially hoped. it turned out that she loved to read and she proudly proclaimed she got the highest score on her last spelling test. Each meal time, they would use the blood left over to write new words or, for Eri's part, finger paint little pictures on the floor. By the start of their third day together, they had amassed almost a dozen words and images, a collection of phrases and ideas which he could point at to communicate more than his grunts or gestures could cover. Some of the words had already become obsolete, replaced with a short vocabulary of signs that was quickly expanding. 

The word "TALK" had been replaced with the "yapping" hand gesture often used when mocking people who couldn't stop talking. He used that one a lot when Eri started speaking too fast for him to keep up. From there they naturally developed a gesture for fast, expressed by holding one's right hand to the side and then shunting it quickly forward at an angle, while the movement for slow was the more familiar "calm" or "hold on" gesture. Some of the gestures made Katsuki feel ridiculous, but Eri clearly thought it was fun, so he only grumbled a little bit when she enthusiastically presented him with a new "word" for them to learn together. He had to shoot down some of her ideas due to their impracticality, but Eri never seemed bothered by it.  She enjoyed the process of learning and teaching, keeping them both occupied by slowly expanding their written, sign, and verbal vocabulary. It was a good way to fill the hours too, keeping them mentally stimulated to while away the hours.

He had honestly lucked out with Eri, because she was quickly proving to be startlingly resilient, incredibly intelligent, and well adjusted for her age. She was careful not to get underfoot and had an almost freakishly intuitive sense of his boundaries. He paid equal attention to her, making sure her needs were met before his own and respecting her need for distance when she started getting antsy or overwhelmed. The reciprocation sped along their building trust to the point that, once they got through their introductions and the initial tiptoeing around, she had taken a shine to him, completely nonplussed by his rough demeanor and general grumpiness. Katsuki "mean enough to make babies cry" Bakugou, had successfully befriended a child. Deku would be ecstatic. 

Eri  was a fairly quiet kid, but she had her moments, like any child, when her mind would lock onto an idea and she would talk about it for hours on end. Whether Katsuki understood her or not didn't seem to be a requirement, she filled the silence anyways. It reminded him painfully of Deku, and he would have to look away from her smiling face to keep her from noticing his disquiet.

Eri was sensitive enough though that she could tell when he was feeling angry or stressed, a trait she also had in common with Deku. The first time she noticed it, she went gone quiet, forcing Katsuki to nudge her until she told him what was wrong. She had hesitantly asked if he was mad at her, and he had to assure her several times that he wasn't.

"Hurt," she had said, pressing two fingers to her throat, which had become his sign for the word, referencing the scar on his neck. "In your head?" She asked, pointing a finger at her temple.

He nodded, repeating the gesture. There was no way for him to explain to her what he was worried about or the complicated history he and Deku shared. He hadn't even told her about Deku yet and wasn't sure if he ever would. They might never get the chance to see him, and he didn't want her to worry about him unnecessarily. 

Eri nodded in return, as if his vague explanation made sense. "Mommy hurt like that." She admitted sadly, fiddling with a piece of straw absently. "Daddy said she hurt so bad she wanted to die."

Katsuki blanched, waving his hand frantically to get her attention. That is definitely not what he'd meant, holy hell. Who just tells their kid shit like that?

Eri frowned, clearly confused as Katsuki shook his head, tapping his temple and shaking his head again, trying to say "no, no, not that." Katsuki was fucked up but he didn't have depression, at least. Well, he thought that was what she meant. Maybe her mom just got really bad headaches and her dad was being dramatic? Holy fuck he was not the person to be having this conversation. He didn't want her to think he was going to kill himself! How the fuck was he supposed to explain that?

"No?" She questioned, worry in her tone and concern in her expression. "But daddy said-"

Katsuki cut her off, gesturing slow talk stop, movements pointed and somewhat aggressive. He glanced around, looking at their collection of words and pictures for anything he could use. Eri had drawn a picture of her and her parents near NAME, three stick figures under a circle sun. He pointed to the figure of Eri's mother, a triangle with a circle on top. Then he slowly shook his head and pointed to himself. Eri watched him closely as he repeated the gesture.

"Mommy, not, you?" she said with each movement, looking to Katsuki for approval. He nodded, tapping his head and then holding up his right arm and flexing.

"Your head is strong?" Eri followed along, smiling now, her worries slightly abated. Katsuki smirked, exaggerating the expression a bit so she could see it through the muzzle. He pointed again to his head, shook it, then pointed to the word "BAD."

"Head not bad?"

Yes, he said with a nod.

"Then what's hurting?"

Katsuki sat for a moment, stumped. The best word for what he was feeling was worried, but he wasn't sure if Eri knew it in writing. He reached for the food bowl, which they had emptied of its contents some time ago save for the blood. He dipped a chunk of his left mitten into the liquid, then squeezed it out from the inside to streak it over the floor, the word WORRY forming in his path. Eri hovered next to him, sounding out the letters as they appeared.

"Wwooree." She pronounced, looking to Katsuki for approval. When he nodded, she pronounced it a couple more times until her eyes lit with recognition. "Oh, I know what that means!" She crowed, her smile wide and triumphant, making Katsuki grin fondly. Damnit this brat was really growing on him.

"Don't worry!" She demanded, huddling close to him and throwing her arms around his neck in an increasingly familiar hug. "Daddy says that when you worry about something, it makes big fat warts pop up on your head called worry-warts, and the only way to keep them from popping up is to talk about your feelings before the warts show up."

Katsuki only got part of that. Something about her dad and warts. It wasn't the first time Eri had told him about that guy's so-called advice, and so far, Katsuki had come to the conclusion that her dad was a fucking weirdo.

Katsuki's feelings must have shown through on his face because Eri pouted. "Talk," she said, making the jabber sign and then pointing to their new word, "about worry."

He raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the scar on his throat in a pointed how?

That stumped her for a bit. They sat together on the floor quietly for several long moments as she thought it through. Her pouting lip got more and more pronounced the longer she thought about it, until her frown was almost comical. Katsuki snickered, dipping his hand back into the bowl to write out "STUCK" on the floor. Eri watched him, her pout turning from frustrated to indignant when he poked her cheek.

"My face will not get stuck." She protested. "You're the one who’s going to get warts!" She poked him right back.

Katsuki rolled his eyes. He really wasn't sure where this stuff about warts suddenly came from or how he even knew the word warts in English, but he'd quite like it if all discussion of unwanted skin lesions stopped. 

But he understood what she meant and decided to humor her, glancing over their collection of words for an explanation that would satisfy her. 

Worry you. He said. Worry bad bug. Worry me. Worry bad bug hurt you me.

Eri watched him quietly, an expression of understanding blooming on her face as he spoke. She reached out, delicate fingers tracing over the ridge of scar tissue on his neck. Her touch was gentle, feather light and cautious, as if she was afraid that her fingers would split his skin open. He lifted his chin accommodatingly, goosebumps rippling as her fingertips ghosted over his throat.

"The bugs did this, right?" She asked quietly, a look in her eye that he couldn't identify.

He nodded, gently covering her hand with his own where it had come to rest on his collarbone. She turned hers over, squeezing his hand in an echo of the comfort of their first touch, when he held his hand out to her.

"Don't worry, Kat." She said, looking up from their joined hands to meet his eyes, and Katsuki took in a sharp breath. He knew that look. It was the same look of stubborn determination Izuku got when he was about to do something incredibly stupid and couldn't be convinced to stop. Eri had just made up her mind about something and he had no fucking clue what it could be.

He grunted in protest- in protest of what, he didn't know, but it couldn't be anything good- exaggerating a frown as Eri beamed up at him.

"I'll protect you." She declared with such honest sincerity that it honestly took him aback. Katsuki blinked, stunned for a moment as her determination almost became physically palpable between them.

"I'll protect you, and you'll protect me, and we won’t let them hurt us anymore, okay?"

Katsuki blinked, processing her words, then sighed. He already knew how this would go. There would be no arguing with her. She'd made up her mind, and if she was just as much like Deku as she was proving to be so far, there was nothing Katsuki could do or say to convince her that this was definitely not how this arrangement was supposed to go. He was the older one. He was stronger, bigger, faster, more experienced. It made sense for him to be the one standing in the way of the bird-bugs and anything else that might try to hurt her. He would rather have his throat slashed one hundred times than let her take a blow for him.

But he had no way of explaining that to her. Words were beyond him now. He'd acknowledged it already, in the quiet hours of their second night, Eri's cheek on his chest and her soft snores permeating the still, quiet air of their cell. He'd laid there, making one last halfhearted attempt at producing sound, not a single vibration detected at the front of his throat. The pain from his injury was long gone, his previous struggles with breathing only a memory. He was healed, yet his voice was stubbornly absent. Whatever had been done to him to save his life, his vocal cords had not fared as well as the rest of him. 

He was mute. 

Part of him had already known for a while now, but he had hoped he might be wrong. Eri's enthusiasm for language had forced him to finally acknowledge his loss, to face the reality that he couldn't wait around for his voice to come back. It made it easier to commit himself to learning new ways to communicate with Eri. He at least still had the ability to read and write, and they were making their own words every day.

He silently mourned that night, but he did not cry.

He would let Eri think what she wanted. He would agree to her idea of mutual protection, but he couldn’t honor it. If push came to shove, he knew he would make her the priority. Eri was just too young to understand, she wasn’t stupid, but she was naïve. Katsuki wasn’t going to be the one to burst her bubble of innocence just yet. He had a feeling that this abduction might only be the beginning of their troubles, and letting her hold on to a sense of safety and fantasies of heroism for just a little longer would be a kindness. There would come a time where she no longer thought that way.

So Katsuki acquiesced, lying without words as he matched her gaze and nodded, accepting her terms.

Chapter Text

In typical evil organization fashion, the Precepts were not overly fond of hospitality. The medics overseeing Shota’s healing were less than gentle with their poking and prodding, and the cell he was later shoved into was hardly fit for an animal, much less a true-sentia. The room was frigid by Er’aseer standards, and of course there were no blankets or other basic comforts provided, just a pile of straw on the floor. There was at least a modicum of sanitation in the form of a narrow drop hole in the floor underneath an airtight pressure sensitive panel, so he didn’t have to deal with the accumulation of filth. Small mercies.

The meals were just awful. Every cycle he was given raw kilchaat and little else. The synthetic meat was unappetizing enough when cooked, but ingesting it raw was downright nauseating—though the Peraltu might have been oblivious to its taste. In Shota's experience, the few Peraltu he had encountered displayed an indifference to food, eating nearly anything without preference, save for their sweet tooth. He often wondered whether their lack of appetite stemmed from their inability to appreciate flavors beyond those drenched in glucose or if their collective consciousness dulled their individuality. As a carnivore, Shota found the plant-based imitation flesh woefully inadequate for his nutritional needs and was left feeling bloated from too much fiber. Thank heavens for the sanitation drop hole.

Five cycles passed before he had contact with anyone. Three drones came to his cell to inspect his healing injuries and refill his water. He didn’t attempt to fight them, leery of the stun spears they carried. The medic among them judged him to be recovering well, advising him not to do anything strenuous, then departed, leaving Shota to his own devices and the abject boredom of captivity. He had nothing to occupy himself with save his own thoughts, which by then had fallen into a circuitous worry about the Precepts and their plans for him. It got old quickly, so he found other ways to occupy his time

Though he took the medic’s advice to avoid physical strain-his aching ribs served as a constant reminder to take it easy-he pushed his limits, keeping his mind and body sharp by drafting lesson plans as he engaged in stretches or light cardio to elevate his heart rate. His poor nutrition meant he didn’t have an excess of energy to spare, but it was enough to wile away a collective quarter of every cycle with something mildly engaging.

He didn’t waste time concocting escape plans. If he ever managed to leave his cell, he would have to assess his options on the fly, and getting out of the cell itself seemed nearly impossible without outside help. For now, all he could do was bide his time and hope the guards would grow complacent.

***

It was early in the night haucil on his ninth cycle of captivity when something punched a hole into the Precepts frigate.

He knew it immediately by the sound. An abrupt blunt force clang of impact followed by the squeal of metal shearing apart, Critchian void glass shattering into obsidian-sharp powder with a crack and fizzle. The cacophony of chaos lasted only for a moment before the vacuum of space sucked out all sound along with the air. That split second of noise and his sensitive hearing were what saved him.

Adrenaline surged through him as his instincts kicked in. Without conscious thought, Shota launched himself across his cell, adrenaline-fueled determination driving his limbs. He clung to the welded steel of the water trough just as the door to his cell was ripped clean off its hinges along with most of the wall it was attached to. In the same breath, his body was lifted from the floor, the ship's gravity systems faltering helplessly in the face of the hull breach.

The pressure difference between the frigate and the infinite void of space collided violently, Shota’s body becoming a battleground caught between the two forces. The already crisp air became bone-chillingly cold, his limbs immediately stiffening as it rapidly cooled. Terror coursed through him as he fought to hold on, clenching his jaw and tightening his grip as he prepared for the worst. The world around him spiraled chaotically—scraps of metal and debris sucked into space in wild torrents.

He clung to the trough for dear life, took a deep breath and held it as the frigate’s atmosphere was siphoned into the void along with everything else. For a few agonizing seconds that felt like an eternity he hung there, his grip slowly faltering under the unrelenting pressure and intense cold. Just when he thought his grip was going to fail, a hollow “ca-chunk” rang from somewhere nearby, followed by a frenetic wave of disjointed thumps growing rapidly closer.

He turned his head to look through the jagged remnants of the ruined wall just in time to witness a swarm of utility BACs—hundreds of them—pouring from the ship's innards like an infestation of rust mites. The moment the first wave reached the breach, they were instantly whisked away into the void, only to be replaced by an unending cascade of their brethren. Those that managed to cling on scuttled as close to the breach as they could, their backs rapidly unfurling into hexagonal panels which they began to lock together.

Each BAC was no larger than Shota’s hands, the panels they created only about half a meter across, but the sheer number of them proved more than enough to repair the damage to the hull. The ones that had begun turning themselves into a mechanized wall hunkered down, their numerous legs drilling into the intact surfaces of the ship as their companions scuttled over them to close the remaining gaps. More BAC’s followed behind, sparks flying and plasma arcing as they welded the seams of the panels together. In mere moments the hole was closed, the new wall rippling and flashing as the BAC’s linked together, their once independent systems unifying into a singular mechanized organism.

The pull of the void lessened, and with it, the relentless tension on Shota’s limbs was suddenly released. A groan of pain mixed with breathless relief escaped his lips as his sore muscles began to throb. Still, he refused to let go, his fingers stubbornly clutching the trough. He tugged, pulling his weightless form forward to counteract the lingering momentum pulling him towards the freshly-patched breach. Most of the BACs that had dedicated themselves to the patching job that had not been integrated into the wall hastened away, their attention diverted to repairs elsewhere. A few remained, linking in a chain to merge with a captain BAC unit which had commandeered a malfunctioning atmo-control panel. With a wailing beep, the temperature and atmosphere controls roared back to life, gravity slamming Shota to the ground with stunning force.

Pain shot through his ribs upon impact with the hard floor. They were no longer completely broken but were still sore and tender. He hissed and cursed through the pain as he stumbled to his feet. He needed to move. Lingering near the site of a hull breach was an invitation to danger. If the Precepts were under attack, anyone looking to board would undoubtedly zero in on the weakened BAC patch with an ingress drill. Shota couldn’t afford to linger in an area that could lead to him either being sucked into space or captured by potential enemies.

Shota stumbled towards the ruined wall, squinting into the enveloping darkness as he surveyed his surroundings. The ship’s main lights had flickered out with the impact, leaving only the strobe of red emergency lights stuttering like a faulty heartbeat. He opened his second set of eyes, more adept to low light, and instantly his vision sharpened as he closed his primary pair. Through the faint flashing light, he recognized that his cell stood at the intersection of two hallways. The corridor to his right stretched into darkness, while a massive, jagged metal sheet ballasted the hallway on his left. It was dented and warped, scorch marks streaking the surface and its edges still smoldering from whatever impact had sheared it from the ship’s side. The floor and walls around him had been littered with deep gouges as the metal siding scraped past, the wall to Shota’s cell ripped away in the process. Distinctive, circular divots surrounded by haloes of black, scorched metal peppered the metal, indicative of blaster fire from a starfighter. The ship was under attack.

Shota strained to detect the telltale boom of cannons or distant blaster fire, but it was too distant to be heard, the vibrations swallowed up by the void and dulled further by the frigate's shields. Even more of an excuse to get moving. He didn't want to be anywhere near here if the shields went down.

He stepped carefully over the scattered BACs still scuttling about, evading hanging wires and collapsed ventilation shafts that clung precariously to the ceiling above him. He was especially careful of flying sparks from broken electrical components and the glowing edges of torn metal, as he was barefoot. A gaggle of BACs scurried beneath his feet, disappearing into a ventilation shaft that had fallen partway to the floor, the rest of it extending upwards into the guts of the ceiling.

Shota held his breath as he navigated the wreckage, keeping his ears perked for any sounds that might herald danger. He heard nothing save for the labored whooshing of the damaged atmosphere system and the robotic skuttling of BACs scrambling to respond to the emerging crisis. It was unlikely that any guards would be coming to retrieve him. Standard emergency protocols dictated that compromised zones seal off until repairs could be completed, meaning that Shota couldn’t leave the immediate area, and they couldn’t come to him unless they overrode the security. Anyone in the hallways prior to the hull breach had likely been sucked into the void.

Shota padded down the hallway to the right, keeping one hand to the wall as he swiftly moved away from the breach. More cell doors dotted the hallway at regular intervals, and he stopped at each one to peer through the windows. All proved to be empty, and he sighed in relief each time. For the moment, there was no one else he needed to worry about- only himself-leaving him free to take advantage of the situation and escape.

His options were limited. The ship would have automatically sealed off the ventilation and doors to the rest of the hold the moment it detected the pressure release. The BAC system had likely taken over local atmosphere and door controls, preventing manual overrides until every breached zone had been stabilized. He could try to pry one of the captain units off a control panel in hopes of overriding a door lock, but he’d likely be swarmed by BACs the moment they detected any interference. In an emergency, the BACs could easily seize complete control of the ship unless they were overridden by the engineer managing the system. It was best not to draw the attention of the autonomous swarm.

Shota followed the hallway for several tics until he reached a dead end left turn. He followed that down to another left turn and stopped. The hallway was a loop. More than likely there would be another left turn at the end of a very long corridor, which would end with another left turn leading to the opposite side of the wreckage back by his cell.

He wracked his brain, visualizing the K’thalu ship floor plans he’d seen in the past. The old empire standardized their designs to simplify production, a decision that ultimately proved to be their downfall when it made their ships simple to infiltrate and sabotage. He’d studied blueprints during his time as a student at UA, anticipating his own potential need for such knowledge. Despite their weaknesses, K’thalu ships were reliable, and millions still operated. A quarter of all standing system defense armadas utilized K’thalu craft, making it not just wise but absolutely necessary to learn their vulnerabilities.

It had taken Shota roughly five ticks to traverse the length of the first hallway and three ticks for the second one. The opposite side of the intersection likely mirrored this one, so factoring the ten ticks it would take to traverse the length of it and the location of Shota’s cell on an exterior wall…. He had a solid idea of where he might be on the ship.

Shota continued more confidently down the hall, recalling that the K’thalu constructed their ships by stacking prefabricated blocks into a core skeleton. The shape and size of the circuitous hallway suggested Shota was in an outside block situated on the frigate’s stern- the widest and tallest section of the vessel. Standard construction placed the frigate’s hanger in the lowest deck in the stern, where it was more structurally robust and had convenient access to the primary cargo holds in the ship’s core, meaning the block Shota currently occupied should be directly over the hanger.

The method with which the ship blocks were constructed necessitated a network of maintenance corridors which could be easily accessed if one knew where to look. With the right tools and knowledge, an engineer could traverse between every deck and block of a ship so long as it hadn’t been sealed off. In Shota’s case, his block was sealed, but he didn’t strictly need to use a door to get where he wanted to go.

He took the anticipated left turn at the end of the hall and crouched, feeling along the smooth metal panels of the wall until he found a seam. He traced its perimeter delicately until he encountered an almost imperceptibly shallow, ovular recess. After pressing one side, the opposite end popped out with a hiss, revealing the handle of a pull latch. Shota grasped it, pulling it out with a hollow “thunk” and turning it counterclockwise until the hidden latch clicked, releasing the panel's suctioned hold on the wall.

Shota grunted as the heavy panel fell away, quickly letting go of the handle as it clattered to the floor with a metallic clap. Beyond the opening lay a black void, so dark that even his night-vision couldn’t penetrate it. Nevertheless, he climbed in without hesitation, shimmying through the narrow opening and letting gravity pull him further as the corridor bent abruptly downward. He swung his leading foot around, searching, until cold metal met his toes, prompting him to shift his weight onto the metal rung of a ladder. He laid back and flipped himself around before dropping lower, his other foot landing on the next rung of the ladder.

He descended for several meters, his back occasionally brushing against the narrowing shaft. The hallways Shota had been traveling through were no longer as cold as the void with the atmosphere system attempting to bring up the temperature, but it was much colder than he could comfortably handle for long. The maintenance corridor by comparison was pleasantly warm, the heat steadily growing as he descended closer to the heat source. In a normal situation, the corridors would be kept significantly colder than the rest of the ship, however the cooling fans had been disabled, either by damage or by one of the captain BACs rerouting power for other purposes. Without fans to dispel the hot air, it was trapped within the airtight corridors and becoming steadily hotter and more humid with every tic. Descending into the oppressive humidity wouldn’t be pleasant, but he’d prefer stale air and moldy fur over whatever Chisaki and his “boss” had planned for him.

He eventually reached the bottom of the shaft and pressed forward cautiously, the elevated grating floor an odd texture against his bare feet. His third set of eyes slitted open, revealing a wash of red and orange shapes on a backdrop of purple and black. The heat from the pipes around him had absorbed into the neighboring floors and walls, lighting up Shota’s path like a runway. He followed the corridor confidently, keeping a careful eye out for any vertical heat voids signaling access to a lower floor.

He soon discovered a T-junction in a water pipe nearby an access ladder. He descended it and repeated the process on the next floor, and the next. The trapped heat quickly proved to be more oppressive than he had anticipated, his vision becoming slowly more obscured as the walls and floors turned from shades of blue and purple to red and orange. Tiny, flitting points of bright white moved around him, the only sign of BAC’s traveling through the corridors save for the quiet clicking of their feet against metal.

After descending through six floors, he reached the bottommost utility corridor of the block. By then his infrared vision had become practically useless, his surroundings a wash of reds, yellows, oranges, and whites. He closed his eyes, giving his vision a moment to adjust before opening his secondary pair to complete darkness. Fumbling in the shadows, one hand outstretched to keep contact with the warm walls, he swept his feet across the ground in wide arcs, searching for a point where the metal grating below him was no longer flush with the wall. The surface Shota was standing on was slightly elevated over the actual bottom of the corridor, which would more than likely make up part of the ceiling of the room directly below him.

Due to each block being a sealed system, there were very few points for direct access to neighboring blocks. Typically, each block had a singular connection point to the utility mains, often located by its primary access hall. He didn’t have time to search every floor for that, so he had instead resolved to cut through the one or two layers between him and the next block, hoping it would lead him to the hangar.

He eventually found what he was looking for, his left foot abruptly missing the grating, sending him stumbling face-first into the wall. Annoyance surged through him as his nose smarted and his knee protested, twisted awkwardly from the fall. He planted his other knee on the grate and pulled himself free from the awkward space, grumbling as he did. Typical of Shota, an Er'aseer, to trip in the dark. This was just not his aurek.

The abrupt end of the grating marked a corner, revealing a few precious meters of unobstructed wall and floor. The actual floor space totaled less than a meter of cutting area, but he’d make it work.

Right. Easy part down. Now, onto the difficult bit.

He could hear a few BAC’s tinkering around back the way he’s come. One in particular seemed to be coming closer to him, and he homed in on the sounds of its clicking footsteps. He crouched as it grew steadily closer, a familiar, anticipatory tension filling his body. He was going to have to be fast. Utility BAC’s were rather agile constructs, and catching these smaller models was a difficult challenge that he often forced onto rowdy UA cadets to test their reflexes. He was at a distinct disadvantage in the dark (which was downright ironic), but unlike at UA, there wasn’t room for failure here. If he swiped for the BAC and missed, it would skuttle away and alert the others, which could very well lead to him being swarmed and plasma torched to death.

As the clicking grew closer, Shota’s heart raced, adrenaline sharpening his focus. He crouched low, his muscles coiling like a spring, every nerve ending attuned to the faint sounds around him. The small, agile form of the BAC darted into view, its movements barely perceptible to his sensitive eyes. It took no notice of him, the rapid ticking of its legs over the metal floor not faltering in the least. With a sudden, swift motion, he lunged forward, his hand darting out to seize the BAC before it could react. His fingers closed around its smooth, cool chassis, and he could feel the tiny robot's structure pulse beneath his grip, almost vibrating with surprise.

The BAC emitted a sharp, high-pitched alert, a warning signal meant to call its companions. Its little legs scrambled in the air, seeking purchase as it found itself unexpectedly airborne. With a quick motion, he flipped the BAC over, gritting his teeth as its sharp grabbing legs dug into his skin and fur. Heart racing, he felt along the underside of the construct, searching for an access panel. With nimble fingers, he located the latch and flipped it open, exposing a tangled web of wires and blinking lights. He carefully pinched two of the wires and yanked, severing the BAC's connection to the network and effectively cutting off its "brain." With that, the BAC was reduced to nothing more than an inert piece of machinery.

The BAC stilled, its little grabbing pincers releasing their hold. A breath Shota hadn’t realized he was holding escaped as he looked around, ensuring no other BACs had noticed the commotion. The corridor remained eerily quiet, the only sound the soft thrum of distant machinery. He breathed a sigh of relief.

BAC secured, Shota moved swiftly to the empty section of floor. He crouched low, the oppressive heat of the corridor making him acutely aware of his rising internal temperature. Er’aseer were built to withstand desert heat, not this oppressive humidity. He needed to get out of here soon. The metal grating felt scalding against his skin as he surveyed his workspace, feeling along the edges with his hand to double check how much room was available. He couldn’t risk damaging any nearby utilities; attracting the attention of more BACs was not an option.

Carefully, he set the inert BAC down and accessed its toolkit compartment. Designed primarily as autonomous units, BACs typically handled tools themselves, but an engineer in a pinch could commandeer one for added assistance. He nudged the panel open, revealing a treasure trove of small tools. He fumbled around until he felt the distinct shape of the compact plasma torch, a sleek device no longer than his forearm and as thick as his thumb. He pried it free, extending the rod and precision nozzle to their full length.

He grasped the BAC with one hand, flipped the manual activation switch with the other, and almost instantly a low hum filled the air, accompanied by an ominous blue glow at the tip of the torch. He closed his secondary eyes to open his primary pair and squinted, bracing for the coming flash of light. The plasma ignited, forming a small, controlled flame that glimmered with an intensity capable of slicing through metal. Shota adjusted the settings, fine-tuning the power to ensure he’d have enough control to cut through without risking errant sparks igniting any potentially volatile materials in the vicinity.

Crouching at the edge of the grating, he positioned the nozzle against the metal floor, careful not to apply too much pressure. The tip of the torch glowed brighter, and the heat began radiating outward, distorting the air around him. He didn’t look at the light directly, keeping his eyes pointed away from the star-bright beam so he was looking at it from his peripherals. Despite his caution, he could already see dark spots floating in his vision.

As he began cutting, the torch bit into the metal with a hissing sound, sending up tiny sparks that danced and flickered in the dark. The plasma torched through the metal with ease, the molten flecks plummeting into the dark void below. He kept his hand steady, focusing on the line forming beneath the concentrated beam of heat, meticulously tracing out a rectangular pattern that would create a clear opening. The intense heat began to warp the metal slightly, making it glow a vivid orange around the edges. His ears twitched as an alarm from the floor below became audible. He grit his teeth and hoped it was a general emergency alarm and not one specific to him breaching the block seals.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of focused effort, he completed the cut. The metal still clung stubbornly to a corner, a bare sliver keeping it connected. As much as he would like to lift it up to avoid making any noise, the edges of the metal were white hot, and he didn’t have the time to wait for them to cool.

He leaned back slightly, catching his breath and checking over his shoulder for any approaching BACs. With his foot, he nudged at the weakened corner until it finally gave way, the metal clattering down into the darkness below. The sound echoed ominously, and he tensed, heart racing again as questions of whether he had drawn attention to himself surfaced.

He waited, body taut with anticipation for several long moments. Nothing. It must not have been heard over the alarm.

A sigh of relief escaped him as he tightened his grip on the BAC and inched closer to the edge of the grating. It would be a tight squeeze. He’d have to make contact with the heated metal during the descent, but he’s just have to grit his teeth and bare it. He steeled himself, hoping his clothes would shield him from the worst of it.

Taking a deep breath, Shota steadied himself at the edge of the hole. Heart pounding, he prepared to descend, peering into the darkness below. He couldn’t tell how far below the floor was; hoped it wasn’t far. He took one last bracing breath and swung his legs over the edge, letting his body drop into the unknown. Intense heat scraped against him from all sides, the hot metal instantly burning through his flight suit, searing skin and burning fur. He hissed at the pain but didn’t waver, wiggling the rest of the way through the hole to descend into the dark below. The fall was brief but filled with a rush of adrenaline, the sensation of weightlessness making his stomach lurch momentarily. He angled his body as he fell, limbs braced and ready for impact.

He landed hard on all fours, his body naturally springing into a short leap to disperse the force. He rose quickly, his second eyes slitting open to peer into the darkness around him, which was not as deep as in the corridors above. The air of this new space was still humid but was notably cooler than the stifling heat he had just left behind. It smelled of metal and the stale musk of living things.

Cautiously, he took a step forward, the soft pads of his feet sliding over smooth metal. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out the outlines of lockers lining the walls and sturdy, reinforced structures standing in equally spaced rows. He stepped closer to the wall to his left, pressing on a locker door latch and opening it to reveal a flight suit hanging on a hook within. He traveled deeper into the room, passing a wall of shelves stacked floor to ceiling with pilot’s helmets.

This must be a pilot’s locker adjacent to the hangar, he realized. He was close.

He quickly located the main door and opened it, peering cautiously into the hallway beyond. It was empty and silent save for the droning alarm. He could barely detect the faintest chattering of Peraltu somewhere off to his left, far enough away that he should have plenty of time to seek cover if they made a move to enter the hallway. He went right, slinking stealthily down the hall, glad now of his bare feet which made no noise. The Peraltu by comparison, though lightweight, were so loud with their steps that he could hear them coming long before they would ever see him.

As he made his way down the straight corridor, he met no resistance; there were no guards to challenge him, no alarms to alert the Precepts of his presence. The corridor eventually came to an end at a large vacuum door fitted with a security lock. He knew he would need an access code to open it, but then again, he had a BAC.

After a moment of rummaging through the BAC’s tool compartment, he uncovered its link jack. With a measure of urgency, he plugged it into the door's security panel, feeling the familiar hum of the device spring to life at his fingertips. Shota wasn’t a hacker by any means; his talents lay elsewhere. However, Nedzu’s constant emphasis on keeping the UA staff informed about the latest in BAC technology had armed him with more knowledge about utility and security constructs than would ordinarily be expected for someone outside the field.

Fear of (yet another) A.I. uprising had kept the development of autonomous constructs under tight control, with every model and system coming equipped with a myriad of failsafes designed to disable rogue units or neutralize entire swarms. One critical failsafe embedded in every BAC was a manual door override key—a feature accessible only to those who knew where to find it. This was no well-advertised aspect of their design but rather a closely guarded secret known only to a select few, even among HERO agents. The physical key could easily be mistaken for something inconsequential, its true function nearly invisible to all but the most knowledgeable. But knowledge of the key was only half the battle; without the necessary access codes, an average person wouldn't be able to use it.

Shota took a deep breath, focusing on the sequence he had memorized—a series of turns and clicks that would initiate the override. At the base of the link jack, a small ring lay waiting for his command. It was textured, designed for grip, and as he rolled it between his fingers, he could feel the slight resistance of its internal mechanisms. He recalled Nedzu's instructions and turned the ring a precise sequence. Clockwise three times, followed by a pause, taking care to count carefully, then counterclockwise twice before another brief pause. He turned the ring clockwise again, then two-counterclockwise rotations, and then pushed the ring downward on the jack. A soft beep resonated from the door’s security panel, followed by a series of mechanical whirs and clicks.

The security panel lit up, a small display flashing yellow in response to his successful input. Shota felt a surge of adrenaline as the locking mechanism, now disengaged, released the pressure holding the door shut. Slowly, the vacuum door creaked open, revealing a bright, wide-open corridor beyond. The sounds of roaring engines and the smell of grease and burning metal wafted through.

He'd reached the hangar.

Shota wasted no time, darting through the door before it could close again and pressing himself against the gray wall. The corridor was brief—a scant few meters of cover between the door and the vast openness of the hangar. He crept to the corner and peered out, careful to stay low to avoid being spotted.

Precepts personnel scurried about in a frenzy of organized chaos, loading ships with personnel and armaments while starfighters lifted off and descended into the void of space at regular intervals. The hangar doors stood wide open, the only barrier between them and the vacuum outside being a double layer of force fields separating the service hangar from the launch pad. The booming reports of distant defense cannons echoed through the air, accompanied by the cracks and shrieks of exploding spacecraft.

Shota watched as a pair of distant Precepts defense fighters were overwhelmed by a squadron of nearly identical ships, a brilliant explosion lighting up the scene for a brief moment before the wreckage was sent careening into the darkness of space. It seemed the attackers were also employing K’thalu spacecraft, offering Shota no clues as to their identities.

He shifted uncertainly, weighing the options available to him as he scanned the hangar. There were no good choices to make an escape. Hunkering down and waiting out the battle was one option, but the uncertainty of that plan gnawed at him. Sneaking aboard a ship or even attempting to commandeer a vessel himself was fraught with risks. Such a strategy hinged on a multitude of assumptions, any one of which could unravel in an instant.

If the attackers decided to destroy the frigate completely rather than risk boarding, Shota would be left to face a cold death in the void along with the helpless crew of the Precepts ship. On the other hand, if the Precepts were victorious, they might seal the hangar doors before he could make his escape, trapping him within the confines of the hangar, waiting to be recaptured.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. Staying put risked being discovered, but moving could expose him to the danger he was trying to avoid. As he glanced around, he spotted a group of Peraltu huddled around a smaller maintenance vessel, likely preparing it for launch. Despite their use of a BAC utility system on the interior of the frigate, exterior maintenance was still being left to crew. The little vessel could hardly be called a ship so much as it was a cylindrical pod with six magnetized legs that allowed it to cling to and walk over the surface of the ship. It did have some basic flight functions which allowed it to propel itself over short distances, but it wasn’t made for space travel.

He almost disregarded it completely, but something made him pause, his head turning back to watch the group around the vessel.

The Peraltu drones seemed to be embroiled in a heated argument, their black limbs flailing animatedly as they gesticulated to one another and the maintenance pod. Despite the chaos unfolding beyond the hangar doors, they appeared entirely unconcerned, focused solely on their discussion. Two of them were mechanics, clad in protective welding gear that seemed to cling to their bodies, grimy with grease and ash from countless hours of work. The third, a flight controller, wore a high-visibility suit and brandished a pair of signal batons in two of their hands. The last two were evidently officers; one wore a striking red armband indicating rank, while the other sported an engineer’s helmet and clutched a data pad, seemingly analyzing the situation.

As Shota watched the commotion, a reckless idea began to take shape in his mind. He squeezed the inert BAC in his pocket, as if reminding himself of its presence. Deep down, he knew it was a terrible idea, but desperation often breeds dangerous creativity.

He glanced back at the battle raging beyond the hangar doors, his heart racing as a fighter dipped perilously close to the ship before pulling up sharply. Then his eyes drifted back to the group of Peraltu and the maintenance pod, poised and ready for deployment.

“Oh, this is a terrible idea,” he thought, even as his feet began to move. Stealthily, he crept out of the shadows of the hallway and into the hangar, where the floor was littered with crates of ammunition and a plethora of supplies. The area closer to the wall was particularly cluttered, which worked to his advantage. He wove and ducked between the pallets and crates, inching closer to the maintenance pod.

As he navigated the maze of obstacles, he slid the access panel off the BAC, tucking all its tools back into place with practiced haste. He plugged in one of the wires he had disconnected earlier, feeling the device twitch in response, but it would remain dormant until he reconnected both wires completely.

He reached the crate closest to the drones and the pod, their chittering voices growing clearer now. He wished for his translator to help him make sense of the cacophony, but with everyone speaking at once and the blaring alarms overhead drowning them out, comprehension eluded him. The level of noise already in the room made him doubt whether the Peraltu would even hear what he was about to do, but this was the only plan he had. He’d just have to go with it.

Shota took a deep breath, his heart pounding as he braced his back against the crate behind him. He would have only a moment to do this. With a curse to the void and a prayer to whatever powers were listening, he shoved the remining wire back into the BAC, snapped the panel closed, then threw the construct as far away as possible.

In an instant the automaton was restored. The screeching alarm Shota had disabled when he captured it blared to life once more as it sailed across the hangar. The Peraltu by the maintenance pod along with others milling about startled, all heads turning to watch as the tiny construct disappeared amongst the stacks of crates.

The hangar was still for only the barest moment before it erupted into chaos, a cacophony of alarms emanating from the walls, followed by a stampede of metallic thumps and clicks as a swarm of wall-embedded BAC’s rushed to respond to the belayed tampering alarm. A floor level access hatch on the wall sprung open with a familiar "ca-chunk", a flood of scuttling BAC’s pouring out and quickly swarming over surfaces and people indiscriminately as they rushed to their companion’s defense.

The Peraltu with the engineer’s helmet and data pad squawked loudly, their frenzied fingers flying across the screen—likely trying to shut down the rogue swarm before they started picking targets. As the clamor intensified, Shota seized the moment, slipping through the crates and into the shadows surrounding the maintenance pod. If luck held, and if he could move swiftly enough amidst the commotion, he might just escape unnoticed.

The mechanics in the group around the pod ran after the BAC swarm while the officer, the flight controller, and the engineer began to argue, their backs turned. Now was his chance.

He slunk out of the shadows, all but sprinting as he rushed for the Pod’s open hatch. The drones didn’t notice him, and within moments he had reached the pod. He climbed up the short ladder extending from the pod's underside and in, quickly slamming a hand over the console to retract the ladder and close the hatch. The cramped interior felt stifling, but he didn’t have time to hesitate. He took a moment to familiarize himself with the control panel, brushing his fingers over buttons and switches. The setup was rudimentary and outdated, but it would have to do.

His hands flew over the controls, a blur of movement as he brought the sleeping machine to life. He engaged auxiliary power, enabling the cab controls to spin his seat around in the cylindrical pod so he was facing the open end of the hangar. With this setup, the pilots chair could rotate smoothly in any direction along a singular axis, their vision perfectly clear in the void glass encased pod.

He located the ignition system and pressed several buttons in quick succession. The whir of systems coming online resonated throughout the pod, the tiny craft shuddering to life. The overhead lights flickered, illuminating the dim interior as the legs of the pod shuddered and flexed, hydraulics testing and engines priming beneath him. Outside, he could hear a panicked clamor. He'd been noticed, the two drones closest to him backing away from the rumbling pod in alarm, their arms waving like warning flags as they alerted the others. At the center of the growing discord stood the engineer, their fingers flying frantically over their data pad, no doubt sending out a ship-wide alert that would inevitably seal his fate if he didn’t act quickly.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath, frantically inputting commands as he tried to outpace the Peraltu. Communication alarms blared nearby, the unmistakable sound of their chittering language filtering into the pod. They were issuing commands, calling for reinforcements, and he knew he had precious little time left. The pod hummed around him, the engines settling and the controls lighting up yellow, primed and ready for takeoff.

With a final decisive push, he engaged the propulsion system, his gut clenching as the small thrusters flared to life. The pod bobbed awkwardly on its magnetized legs, gaining just enough lift to hover inches above the hangar floor. He had too much distance to cover to risk crawling across the hanger on the pod’s slow legs. He’d have to sacrifice most of his propulsion fuel on an all out sprint to the launch pad.

He grabbed the directional controls, pushing them completely forward. The pod shuddered, its engines whining in protest as it suddenly thrust forward, all of its power dedicated to moving as fast as possible. He could feel the tension in the craft as it strained under the command, the noise behind him growing louder as the Peraltu scrambled away from the fiery cones shooting out the pod's back.

He rocketed across the hanger, steadily gaining speed as he course corrected, dodging around ships and personnel, eating up the distance to the open hangar doors. The inner force field was still open, starfighters lining up within the launch bay, engines already thrumming in anticipation of battle. His stomach lurched as he noticed that the last fighter had just finished lining up. In a few seconds the inner force field would raise, and the outer would fall, protecting the rest of the hanger from the void and trapping Shota inside.

Frantically, he pushed down on the controls, willing the pod to move even just the tiniest bit faster. It groaned under the increased strain, while the cabin rattled ominously around him as the engines struggled to comply. The inner force fields began to lift, a red glow emanating from the field ring encompassing the hangar.

“Come on, just a little more!” He urged, his voice swallowed up by the peal of the engines and the din of alarms outside the pod. Just as the inner force field engaged and began to seal shut, he crossed into the launch bay.

He shot past the stationary fighters in an instant, no room or time available to slow down as he careened towards the already lowering outer field, its red haze giving way to reveal the stark black void beyond.

The pod hurled into open space, the strain on the engines instantly easing as it escaped the pull if the ship’s gravity field. Shota jerked up on the controls, his body feeling like a million tons as g-force pressed him into his seat. The pod tumbled into a backspin, the sleek metal hull of the frigate flashing by in a sick rotation. The sharp maneuver sent the pod flying upwards over the ship, just barely dodging a rain of blaster fire from an enemy fighter hoping to catch the Precepts fighters as they emerged. 

He let off on the controls when he cleared the top of the hangar bay, exhaling a breath of relief as the weight pushing him down eased, his heart thrumming in his ears and adrenaline flooding his veins. He turned the craft with deft precision, maneuvering the propulsion to aim his trajectory downwards with one hand while the other took to the leg controls. He felt the satisfying click as he engaged the magnets on the pod's feet, the plates adhering firmly to the ship's surface.

Starfighters tore past underneath him like shooting stars as they emerged from the maw of the hangar below. The area in front of the opening was a swirling bed of chaos; as soon as starfighters exited, they were instantly beset by attacking foes. Squadrons fragmented into fast-paced dogfights amidst the debris of battle, twisting and turning in the void as they sought to outmaneuver one another. The defense artillery that should have been guarding the hangar opening were too busy to offer any aid, launching an endless rain of obstruction flack at incoming missiles. Wreckage and shattered hulls floated ominously around the ship, the frozen bodies of fallen Precept pilots drifting amidst the chaff. It was a massacre; the Precept forces were being mercilessly torn apart by the relentless onslaught.

Steeling himself, Shota pushed on the controls, the pod gliding steadily forward as its six legs deftly navigated the irregular terrain of the ship’s surface. The fight raged above him, a deadly ballet of maneuvering fighters. He watched through the pod's void glass sides as a shimmering blue halo enveloped the ship, shields flickering and absorbing incoming cannon fire. Far to his right and above him loomed a black K’thalu dreadnought, its imposing bulk visible even amidst the cluttered fray. Defensive artillery guns blazed around it, fending off attackers as its heavy cannons pounded the Precepts frigate, ruthless with the sheer force of its barrage.

As he maneuvered, a singular emblem caught his attention on the enemy ship’s bridge: a black, five-fingered hand reaching out toward a white star set against a striking red circle. The star was almost luminescent in comparison to the rest of the emblem, shining like a beacon. Disquiet turned in Shota’s stomach. It was an emblem he could not recall ever seeing before, but it somehow had a menacing aura, making a chill run down his spine. This was no mere skirmish. Whoever this was knew what they were doing, and they were powerful enough to openly challenge the precepts and win. Dangerous.

Shota stared at the emblem a moment longer, committing its every detail to his memory, along with whatever information he could gather on the size of the force the dreadnaught had brought to bare. Something was going on here, something much deeper than what even Chisaki had implied. The Precepts had plenty of enemies, but none who were known by the HPSC would dare make such an open display of aggression. Powerful forces of the underworld were making moves, and Shota had somehow stumbled directly into the middle of it.

The ship beneath him rocked and groaned as the starboard shields began to fail, the muffled boom of cannon impact rattling through the pod’s cabin as the barest flickers of the shield fizzled, then went out. Debris exploded from the frigate's side like blood from a burst artery, sections of the compromised hull flinging in every direction. Shota pushed the pod forward quickly as a piece of exterior siding flew towards him, smashing into the space he had just vacated only a second later and bouncing off, careening out over the hangar. An unfortunate fighter emerged from the hangar at the same moment, impacting with the siding and crumpling instantly, the left wing shearing off into a confetti of glittering metal.

Shota forged on, pushing the pod down the length of the ship and towards the bridge at the bow of the frigate. Shota's answers to what was going on would be in the bridge, hopefully along with Chisaki himself. The frigate itself was too far gone for Shota to have any chance of saving the Precepts or their prisoners, but if he could grab Chisaki and escape, he would at least have answers, or, in a worst-case scenario, a bargaining chip to secure his own freedom.

He muttered a prayer to the heavens, and moved.

Chapter Text

The booms and shakes of impact became more frequent as minutes passed. Through the din of the alarm, he could hear the rush of footsteps outside his cell, likely the bird-bugs scrambling to respond to whatever was going on. He strained to listen, partially hopeful that someone might stop at their cell to let them out, but he knew that was a hopeless wish. If he was in their position, the fate of prisoners would be the last thing on his mind.

The activity in the hall outside waned, stomping footsteps growing fainter and less frequent as the bird-bugs left the area. The ship had not stopped shaking for some time now, the hollow thumps and booms from outside now constant. Despite the noise, Katsuki could not fail to notice one distinct sound. The unmistakable clunk and hiss of the cell door unlocking. He looked toward it, watching, disbelieving, as it slid open seemingly of its own accord. Faint red light spilled into their cramped space, the glow falling just short of their huddled nest in the corner. He remained frozen for several heartbeats, grappling with the reality of what was unfolding.

This had to be a trick. There was no way that escaping could be this easy, as if the universe intended for them to waltz out of here unscathed. He glanced at Eri, her wide, frightened eyes made visible by the light and mirroring his own unease. Katsuki motioned for her to stay in the nest while he cautiously crawled forward to investigate. She whimpered and complied, sinking lower into the straw.

He edged around the red light pooling on the floor, sticking to the shadows clinging to the walls as he approached the open door and peeked out. There were no bird-bugs in sight, but the hallway was hardly empty. As far as he could see to his left and right, dozens of doors were open, other creatures, aliens, also hesitantly investigating the new development. A wave of unease washed over Katsuki, heart rate skyrocketing as he ducked back into the room, leery of revealing himself to unknown entities.

Everything else in the hall seemingly felt the same, some mirroring Katsuki and disappearing back into the darkness of their cells while others lingered warily in the doorways, fearful of tricks and unknowns. Despite the ongoing impacts shaking the ship, a stillness took hold, the tension between every open door climbing as they all waited for someone else to go first.

The cautious atmosphere was short lived. The hair raised on the back of Katsuki’s neck mere moments before a sudden, violent impact sent the whole ship careening to one side, launching aliens from their cells and into the hallway. Katsuki clung to the doorframe as the ship rocked, gritting his teeth with a snarl as his confined hands kept slipping. Eri cried out behind him as she slid out of the nest and into the light, nearly tumbling into the hallway. She barely managed to catch herself on the doorframe, her arms clinging to the inside wall as her legs fell into the hall. The ship hung there fir just a moment, then righted itself, and he lunged, scooping Eri back into the dark just as chaos erupted.

A kaleidoscope of beings flooded the hallway. Creatures of every conceivable shape, size, and color joining in a wave of panic. Nearest their cell, a small, two-legged creature with something approximating a drill for a face emitted a frantic buzzing sound as a green, weasel-like rodent pounced at it. The weasel’s body stretched in a bizarre display, elongating like soft taffy as the drill-faced creature took to the air on buzzing wings. The drill-thing bounced off the ceiling, quickly rebounding before the weasel could lunge at it again and twisting mid-air, somehow managing to cling to the seamless metal of the ceiling. Abruptly ignoring its would-be assailant, it began hammering on the metal between its feet like a woodpecker, filling the hall with a metallic clamor. The weasel croaked in frustration before scurrying away, disappearing between the feet of a white fluffball creature the size of a Mastiff.

A swarm of birdlike creatures poured out of the open door to their left, a flurry of metallic feathers and beaks darting past, their panicked frenzy causing them to collide with each other and the other aliens. There were easily hundreds of them, and they quickly filled all the available space in the hall as they searched desperately for an exit. They slammed into walls and the ceiling or were swatted out of the air, their glittering bodies littering the ground.

The fluffball Mastiff emitted a rumbling hiss like a crocodile and took off, quickly picking up speed with its lumbering gait as it charged down the hall, plowing over everything in its path. It quickly disappeared from Katsuki's sight, but the sound of its progress was unmistakable, the panicked cries of other aliens and the sounds of blunt force impact with something fleshy unmistakable. The metal birds followed it, their numbers dwindling within moments.

The cacophony of animal screaming and frantic calls blended into a nightmarish chorus. Opposing waves of movement clashed, a stampeded of frightened animals trampling one another as they fled from something out of Katsuki's view. He instinctively shuffled back into the deepest shadows of his cell, heart pounding, just as a pack of jackal-like aliens barreled down the hallway, their heads a nightmare of blood soaked fangs.

Katsuki's heart raced as he held Eri close, his senses heightened and alert. The pandemonium outside deepened, chaotic cries and unsettling thuds reverberating through the corridor. He could hear the distant sounds of alien creatures colliding, panic escalating into aggression and screams of death as red shadows danced erratically across the walls. Time felt suspended, each second dragging on as he waited, praying for the chaos to abate. Wet crunching, pained whimpers, the thrashing final calls of alien creatures.

Eri shivered against him, her small frame vibrating with fear. Katsuki grunted quietly in reassurance, a mittened hand gliding over her hair in a soothing gesture.

The noise outside began to ebb, the frantic cacophony of screams fading into a background hum. Sounds of scuffling feet turned into sporadic shouts, and the rhythm of chaos began to settle into a more manageable din. Katsuki knew they couldn’t linger here forever. The longer they stayed cocooned in the shadows, the greater the risk that the madness outside would return, or worse, that someone—or something—would discover them hiding in their cell.

After a few tense moments, the corridor quieted enough for Katsuki to hear the faint echoes of what sounded like groups of creatures moving away, their panicked flight taking them in search of safety or other prey. He patted the back of Eri’s head insistently, prompting her to raise her head to look at him.

Close, close. Stay. Close, he signed, waiting for Eri to nod in acknowledgment. She nodded, her own arms opening in a silent question to be picked up. He nodded back and scooped her into his arms, releasing slow breath and steeling himself as she wrapped around his neck and waist.

Katsuki cautiously extricated himself from the shadows. The dim overhead lights cast a stark red glow over the corridor. Bits and pieces of who knows what, hanks of fur and piles of feathers everywhere. Blood splattered the floor, the bodies of small aliens killed in the chaos flung this way and that like discarded chaff. The air was thick with the smell of fear and metal, so heavy he could taste it.

The jackals from earlier swarmed the narrow passage. Three of them, black, lean and vicious, tore into a knot of bird-bugs. Green blood sprayed as a jackal’s jaws crunched through a spindly arm, the bird-bug thrashing before going limp. Another bug swung a stun rod, catching a jackal in the side-but the beast shook it off, lunging to rip the bug’s throat out. The third jackal pinned a final bird-bug to the floor, fangs sinking into its carapace with a sickening crack. The alien’s mandibles twitched, then stilled.

Something clanked against the floor, bouncing twice then sliding across the blood slick metal, coming to a stop mere feet from the corner where Katsuki and Eri hid. It glinted in the lowlight, flat, rectangular, like a tablet. Its screen flickered, revealing a grid with blinking orange dots and lines—looked like a damn map. His heart kicked up. A map meant exits, maybe a way to find Deku and get the hell off this death trap. Could be worth the risk.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Then there was Tenya, towering near the vault’s center, his blue frame laced with gleaming white alloy grafts—a living testament to the Iida Technocracy’s creed that tech trumped flesh. His people, organic at their core, sought to transcend biological design, weaving circuits into their hides, and Tenya stood as their pinnacle—segmented, precise, his optics whirring as he barked questions to a flustered Ojiro. The Iida Technocracy had only joined the coalition a few thenes back, their kind still scarce beyond their grid worlds, and Tenya was UA’s first. Like Shota’s own kin, they prized logic and efficiency, but the Iida way was too rigid. He’d aced every sim, yet Shota remained skeptical—HERO’s chaos demanded flex, and Tenya might break before he bent.

In the end, not a single one of them was expelled.

Though he still had his misgivings, they had all proven they were meant to be here, every student giving their all to his trials, so he had no choice but to give them a chance. However, he had no doubt that this class was going to be the one to kill him. Three cycles had crawled by since Shota’s ultimatum in Ground Beta, and not a one has passed without an incident, his cadets grinding his patience thinner than a hull plate in a micrometeor storm.

He shoved open the classroom hatch at end of first haucil, the hydraulic hiss a sharp counterpoint to the throbbing ache pulsing behind his eyes. The deck lights flickered to evening dimness as he stepped into the corridor, boots scuffing the floor with a rhythm that matched his sour mood. This afternoon’s sparring exercise had gone sideways—Shouto and Mina turning routine beginner takedown drills into a disaster that still had his tail twitching with agitation. A biohazard BAC team had to be called, the drones buzzing like angry hornets to neutralize the mess of acid around a Mina-sized crater that now scarred the sparring deck, attempting to contain the mess before it could chew through to the floors below. Shota had hauled the cadets back to class, reaming the lot of them from crest to tail with a lecture on reasonable use of force—words he’d spat through gritted teeth while Shouto simply leveled him with his icy stare and Mina cowered at her desk.

Only three cycles in, and he was already drafting structural damage reports while the HPSC scouting brief still festered in his quarters, unfinished. He rubbed his temples, contemplating the merits of an all-nighter to claw through the paperwork when his personal vox unit chirped mid-step, a shrill pulse that made his ears flatten.

Chapter Text

There’s a creature lurking in the dark.

Kar'ah can’t see it, but he can hear it—its claws and teeth scrape, scrape, scraping against the metal of their cage, a relentless metallic screech that burrows into his skull, ringing, ringing, ringing like a death knell. The sound is a blade, slicing through his nerves, setting his waxy fur on end with every rhythmic rasp. He wants to scream, to charge into the void and kick, bite, make it stop. But he dares not so much as breathe, because he knows what it did, what it could still do. The memory is fresh, seared into his mind in such a way that he will never forget this. Those sounds were the stuff of nightmares, visceral to the point they awoke something primal within him, an instinct from ages long past that simultaneously made him want to curl up in surrender, to accept death and inevitable privation, and to scream in defiance, to lower his head and scrape the ground with his hooves, to bellow steaming breath and spear his horns into the enemy, to pummel and charge until flesh gave way and blood crested his brow. Until his fur was stained red with the blood of challengers, like the kings of old, his head crowned with gore and the crimson mantle soaked into his very skin.

He blinked and the memory roared back like a prophet’s doomed vision, the wet, tearing rip of flesh, the gurgle of blood flooding through a torn esophagus, the sickening crunch of splintered bones. Screams of agony—the guards’ screams for once, not theirs—had filled the cell, unholy and haunting as a wraith’s bloodlust bellow, abruptly cut short by the creature’s wrath. Its small form was a blur, a smear of darkness against darkness, made all the more terrifying by its lightning-fast fury in the stuttering flashes from stun rods. Its eyes had glowed, predatory and unyielding, a gaze so full of hate and animal intelligence even a glimpse of it made his blood run cold. The guards barely beat it back, fleeing with their lives, leaving their comrade’s corpse to bloat and rot in the corner. A sickening curl of satisfaction warmed his heart in that moment. He knew his captors by their voices, and the one who now lay dead had taken sick pleasure in tearing at the membranes of Lyria’s wings. He hoped the others had been maimed horribly, that they would bear the scars forever.

But like freezing water poured over his head, shame washed over him and left him cold. Had he really sunk so deep into his depravity that he celebrated such brutality? Defiance in this place had been impossible, the guards preferring violence over threats to keep prisoners in line. His fur was littered with scars from punishment both earned and not. Sometimes the guards just picked cells at random and tortured whoever happened to be inside, unrelenting and merciless even as the hold filled with screams of agony. Their captors were Aomortea, crassus of the far reach who believed pain and suffering were the gauntlet which all must endure to become their better selves, like a blade hammered and fired red-hot in forge fires and bound for a plunge in cold water. Their steel would either shatter or temper to new strength, and only the strongest blades were worthy to live. He didn’t know the purpose of their suffering, to what end the Aomortea wished to test and strengthen them, but he knew that fighting back was a sure way to be tested to the point of breaking. He, Dagal, and Lyria were all that remained of their cohort, where once there had been five.

The horror was absolute, so all-encompassing that mustering up the will for defiance was beyond him. The prey in him was too strong, too empowered by the aeons of civility that had seen no need for violence or factional quarrels. His people were peaceful, early adoptees of the accords and so far afield from the Aomortea in culture and belief as to be in complete opposition to their very nature. His horns were sawed short, the ends blunted and capped and bejeweled in the latest fashion. They were too short and dull to deal damage to an opponent, not that he ever would have tried (before now). He had hardly so much as butted heads with his fellow yearlings growing up, too much concern from their hovering Ewes that they would incur the head trauma that had sent their ancestors to early graves. The muscles in his neck were weak, having never braced against the weight of an opponent or so much as withstood a charge into a padded butting pillar. If he were to attempt a charge now, he would likely break his neck. And so the fear was absolute. Fear of punishment, fear of unjust violence, fear of maiming himself amidst an act of defiance. He remained curled up tight in his corner with his friends, cowering and powerless as the guards fled and a predator stalked beyond their sight.

The cell is a tomb, its air thick with the miasma of rust, feces, and unwashed bodies, now laced with the putrid reek of decay as the body lay rotting after so many cycles, sweet and cloying, a stench that clawed at his throat and made his stomach churn. The walls, slick with condensation, drip in slow, maddening plinks, each drop a counterpoint to the creature’s endless scrape, scrape, scraping, as if it’s carving its rage—or something else—into the walls. The darkness is absolute, a suffocating shroud that presses against his eyes, broken only by the faint, dying flicker of a single lume-strip overhead, its sickly glow barely touching the slick metal bars, casting jagged shadows that seem to writhe like the creature itself.

That first cycle with the creature was a nightmare, the cell’s inhabitants frozen, breaths held tight as they prayed to the heavens. They had been alone here for so long, left to wallow in the darkness, to starve for cycles on end until the guards remembered them and brought water and rations. It was never enough, but they were so deep in their privation that they fell on the scraps like animals. In the first few days, their desperation brought only shame in the aftermath, when the sustenance and water was gone and they were left with only their thoughts. But after so long, they had ceased to care, hardly allowed themselves the commiseration of words shared. After so long, it was a shock to be joined by something new. And rather than curiosity or excitement, the cell’s inhabitants had been plunged into sheer terror at the sound of the snarling monster that was forced inside.

After the guards fled, the thing in the dark shuffled about, seeming to gather itself as it lingered by the door. Its movements were erratic, fleshy limbs probing blindly, dragging across the floor with a wet, meaty slither that turned his stomach. It felt around in the dark, getting a feel for the new space until it suddenly happened upon them, its fleeting touch alighting on his leg, the naked skin smooth yet clammy, like the touch of a corpse. Its abnormally long, bony digits brushed the waxy fur of his ankle, feather-light at first, hesitant, as if tasting his presence. Then, a heartbeat later, it returned, emboldened, its touch a creeping curiosity that sent a shiver up his spine, his heart hammering so loud he feared it would draw the thing closer. The creature growled—a low, guttural rumble that vibrated the cage’s bars—hissing and chirring as it dragged itself closer, its five-fingered paws skittering like insects across the slick metal in a meaty, grotesque patter.

He kicked out reflexively, his hoof slamming into soft flesh with a dull, meaty thump. The impact was as satisfying as it was horrifying, regret and terror spiking through him as the creature let out a keening wail, sharp enough to make his ears flatten and his teeth clench. The thing’s presence recoiled, terrifying thumps and scrapes reverberating as it retreated, slamming into the cell’s bars with a shuddering clang that made the cage tremble. The creature’s cries grew louder, incensed, a raw edge of fury and pain that seemed to seep into the walls themselves. Its nervous energy was a physical force, filling the cell to bursting, choking the air until there was no room to breathe, no space for anything but its rage. It dragged itself across the floor until it reached a corner, its warbling shrieks fading into angry, shuddering breaths.

He clutched Lyria tighter, her tiny Umwy frame trembling against his chest, her soft chirps muffled as he shielded her with his body. Her fragile wings, torn to shreds by their captors, twitched in constant pain, their delicate membranes trembling in the cell’s damp chill. Dagal shuffled closer, his Trintera bulk radiating nervous heat, his armored plates clinking faintly. He reached out, his palm landing firmly on Dagal’s shoulder, a desperate bid to still the trembling beneath his rough hide. Dagal’s own hand rose, claws grazing his in a grip that felt like a lifeline, their shared fear a silent unity. Whatever ill will they had for one another before, it was all gone now, consumed by the void and terror. They held their breath, the silence between the creature’s noises a suffocating weight, the cell’s slick walls seeming to close in.

At first, the creature drew further away, its presence diminishing as it curled into the opposite corner, its movements marked only by the faint scrape of claws—or something harder—against metal. It lingered there, going so quiet and still one would almost think it were dead, were it not for the wet, uneven rasp of its breathing. Then, it moved—oh so slowly, creeping closer along the wall, its steps impossibly silent, betraying a predator’s instinct that made Kar’ah’s heart lodge in his throat. Every muscle tensed, his weak neck straining as he fought the urge to lower his head, to charge blindly into the dark, horns or no. Dagal pressed impossibly closer, trembling, his stifled breaths panting between his teeth in panicked gasps, the faint clink of his plates a desperate rhythm against the cell’s silence. Lyria ducked her head into Kar’ah’s chest with a frightened squeak, her torn wings twitching, a soft whimper escaping as she clung to him. He tensed, slowly drawing up his legs again to kick when the creature inevitably struck. They waited, breaths held in quiet anticipation, listening as it steadily drew closer, its silent steps a ghost in the dark. When it was as close as he could bear, he swiped blindly into the darkness, his hoof missing and striking the floor with a metallic clomp that rang like a gunshot. The creature skittered back, an angry growl erupting as it retreated again to its corner, the sound sharp and bitter, like a curse swallowed by the void.

For ages, they remained locked in that tense stalemate, nerves frayed to breaking, exhaustion seeping into their bones like the cell’s damp chill. The creature shuffled about in the dark, keeping well away from them as it acquainted itself with its new territory. It returned to the guard’s body, its inspection audible—a wet drag, a soft thud—as it pulled the corpse this way and that. Kar’ah’s stomach churned, a sickening mix of horror and relief surging through him. If it ate the guard, it might spare them, might sate its hunger long enough for them to survive another cycle. But after long, agonizing minutes, the creature left the body untouched, retreating to its corner with a low, shuddering breath. Dagal turned his head, their brows bumping in the dark as they shared a glance of dread, the faint glow of his eyes reflecting Kar’ah’s own fear. It didn’t eat—a fact that twisted the tension tighter, leaving them to wonder what it hungered for, what it might do when starvation gnawed at its bones. Kar’ah’s mind spiraled, the Aomortea’s cruel philosophy echoing in his thoughts: Only the strongest survive. Was this creature their test,? Or was it just another broken blade, like them, already shattered and cast aside?

In its corner, the creature went unnaturally still, its breathing so faint it was barely a whisper. Yet Kar’ah felt its eyes, unseen but piercing, watching them through the dark with an intensity that made his fur prickle. For hours, it watched, its oppressive attention unceasing, a weight that pressed against his chest, heavier than the cell’s damp air. He stared back, refusing to waver, though his heart pounded with a fear and desperate desire to survive that felt like betrayal—of his pacifist upbringing, of the safety of the accords his people treasured, of the herd he’d never see again. Lyria and Dagal succumbed to exhaustion, their breaths softening, but Kar’ah held on, his eyes burning as he fought the pull of sleep. On and on they watched each other, a silent battle of wills, until exhaustion dragged at his limbs, his eyes fluttering closed, his head nodding in fitful bursts.

Stay awake. Stay awake, dammit!

His eyes were like lead weights, his head heavy, his mind slow and lethargic. It dipped again, his eyes closed. Didn’t open again.

A sudden noise from the corner snapped him awake, his heart lurching as he stifled a startled bleat, his hoof twitching instinctively to strike though there was nothing there. The creature shuffled, its movements punctuated by a faint, wet snuffling, then a low, keening groan that swelled into a warbling wail, long and strained, weaving into a song that was almost mournful, if not for the terror it induced. Sharp inhales preluded low groans that rose and fell in an uneven cadence, resonating with the metal of their cell, the bars humming along with the vibration. It went on for minutes, each note a blade of grief that cut through the dark, slicing into Kar’ah’s chest. He listened intently, ears perking as the sensation in his chest deepened and swelled, turning into something hollow and profound, a pain that was almost physical. He gasped a shuddering breath, clutching at his chest as a stabbing sorrow lanced through him, merciless. Some part of him screamed to cover his ears, to block out whatever manipulation this creature was weaving, but he was transfixed, unable to move as he drowned in its sorrow.

For a moment, he felt a profound connection to the creature, sensed that there was a kinship between them, the creature’s mournful song a mirror to his own pain. Memories filed through his mind unbidden, quiet moments around the herd fires, the soft cadence of an elder's lullaby, the feeling of sunlight warming wet fur. The memories dragged him down like impossible lead weights, bitter in their sweetness as they reminded him of a life now ash. He would never see his people again. Not him, not Dagal or Lyria, and not this mournful creature. They were all prisoners, caged in this merciless void by the same cruel masters. He had no trust in this beast, its claws and teeth too close, its violence too fresh, the guard’s rotting corpse a grim reminder of its power. Yet, in this moment, he felt only pity—a fleeting, dangerous ache for a creature that was just as lost as him. It was a monster, there was no doubt. It dealt out death as easily as breathing, but in a way it was like them, broken by the Aomortea’s cruelty, clawing for freedom. His heart twisted both in pity and fear of this terrible creature.

Its breathing hitched, a soft whimper breaking its song, and Kar’ah felt Lyria tremble, her tiny claws digging into his fur, her breath gasping out in poignant relief as the spell that had fallen over them seemed to lift. The relief was palpable, an invisible weight lifting from Kar'ah's chest and allowing him to finally take a full breath. Dagal shifted nervously, bringing his hands to his head and squeezing them tightly over his ears, a tremor of fear and exhaustion shaking his limbs. The cell’s walls seemed to pulse, the damp air heavier, the stench of rot and rust thicker as the creature’s song faded into silence. The quiet that reigned afterwards was somehow worse.

The feeling of the creature's eyes on him did not return, and by the evenness of its breath, he surmised it must have fallen asleep. Lyria tapped his chest, her head rising so she could whisper in his ear, her voice so faint he would have missed it were it not for the absolute stillness that hung over the cell and the hold around them. “Sleep.” She patted his chest gently, reassuring, though her own trembling betrayed her fear. “I’ll wake you if something happens.”

He didn’t have the energy to argue. His body ached, his scars and still unhealed cuts burning with the memory of the Aomortea's cruelty, his mind heavy with the creature’s song. He rested his cheek in the soft, tattered feathers on Lyria’s head, their warmth a faint echo of home, and in moments, he was asleep, the darkness swallowing him whole. He did not wake until the scrape, scrape, scraping started, a relentless rhythm that echoed in his bones, a promise—or a threat—that the creature was still there, still fighting, clawing at the cage that bound them all.

Kat was dying.

That had to be what was happening, because Eri couldn’t think of anything else that made sense. His arm had turned from red to blue to purple, now a sick rainbow of color limned in yellow, like a bruise that wouldn’t stop growing. His fingers looked the worse, black at their tips and fading to a deep purple and angry red as it traveled up his arm. Her friend Kyle had a big bruise like that once. He'd climbed to the top of the play tower on a dare while the teachers weren't looking, confident the whole way up until he realized that his position on the top of the smooth plastic roof was a lot higher than it looked from the ground. The other kids watched as he panicked and started to cry, their teacher finally taking notice and running over to help him get down, but she only got halfway before Kyle attempted to climb down on his own and missed the foothold he was aiming for. He'd slid right off and fallen like a bag of rocks, his leg folded underneath him oddly. His crying got even worse the moment he hit the ground, and when he sat up his foot was poking out at the wrong angle. Eri had stared openly at the injury, watching without fully understanding what was happening as the skin on his ankle rapidly flushed around the damage. It was like watching a flower bloom in high speed or food coloring diffuse though water. It made her stomach queasy to look at, but she couldn't not look either. The teachers quickly descended on Kyle and obscured her view. They made everyone go inside after that and no one saw Kyle for a few days. When he came back he had a cast on his leg and big, swollen bruises on his arms and face, like a Dalmatian with purple and yellow spots instead of black. But Kyle's bruises had healed quickly, fading to mottled greys and faint blues until it was like they had never been there at all. Kat's weren't going away. They were spreading, creeping up his arm and onto his shoulder. There were spots on his collarbone now, little dots of blue that she knew would be purple in a matter of hours

The skin on his arm was hot to the touch, hotter than the rest of him, though all of Kat was burning up, flushed and sweating with fever. His broken arm swelled so much the skin looked ready to burst, stretched tight over the jagged bone poking out near his elbow, a sight that made her tummy twist and her eyes sting. Kat had tried to keep it clean at first, pouring some of their precious water over the wound, his teeth gritted as he showed her how to wrap it with a torn sheet they’d found in this dark, dusty place. His not-voice had been rough but kind, his grunts and hums guiding her little hands to tie the cloth tight to shield the bone. She’d tried so hard, her fingers fumbling, the sheet too loose at first, slipping off his trembling arm. She’d rewrapped it three times, hoping desperately to make him better, but it hadn’t worked. The bandage was gone now, the swelling too big, the cloth too dangerous to leave on. She was scared it’d choke his arm, scared of what’d happen if she touched it, scared of everything.

Their hiding spot was small, a cramped nook of rusted pipes and tangled wires in the ceiling of a hallway, the air thick with the smell of oil and something sour, like old food left to rot. The walls were cold, the metal cracked and flaking, leaving her skin dry and stinging with tiny cuts. A faint hum buzzed somewhere above them, maybe the ship’s heart beating, maybe something broken, but it never stopped, a low drone that made her head hurt. Kat lay on a pile of torn fabric—part of the sheet they'd used for his bandage, part a blanket he'd snatched from someone's bedroom. His chest rose and fell too fast, his breath a raspy whistle that scared her more than the dark. His face was shiny with sweat, his spiky blond hair matted to his skull, and his eyes, usually so fierce, were closed, sunken in a way that made him look wrong, not like Kat at all. His pale skin had turned an ashy gray, as if the life was draining out of him, leaving a ghost behind.

Eri lay curled up beside him, absently fretting with a length of her hair, he fingers endlessly combing through the tangled strands. They’d run out of water yesterday—or was it two days ago? Time was blurry, here, just like in their cage. Kat had told her not to leave, the normally sure and sharp movements of his hands subdued by the pain of his arm: Stay. I sleep little. Stay. But he hadn't woken since last night, when he’d mumbled and groaned with his broken voice before his eyes rolled back and he went still. She’d shaken him, called his name—Kat, Kat, wake up!—but he only groaned, a weak sound that made her heart hurt. She'd tried to feed him the last of the water, but the cage on his face was impossible to get off and she couldn't get the wide mouth of the container close enough to his mouth. The water had spilled useless down his chin, leaving only a bare few drops for Eri and her mouth dryer than she can remember it ever being. They needed water. They needed medicine, maybe, if she could find the doctor’s office. She thought they must have one, because the bugs took her there when they caught her, and it made sense to have a doctor to take care of you when you were so far from home. They're on a different ship now, so maybe there isn't one here, but she thought Kat had wanted to go find it before he fell asleep. If only copycat hadn't run off, he could have helped. 

The copycat. Eri’s lip trembled as she thought of him, the scary one who’d looked like Kat but wasn’t, his smile too wide, his eyes too bright. He’d been there when they landed in this big, loud place, when Kat fought the bad alien—the one with sharp claws and a hissing, circular mouth with too many teeth. Eri didn’t see much, just flashes: Kat’s fists flying, the alien’s screeches, blood on the floor. The copycat had helped, she thought, pulling Eri away, pushing her into a hiding spot with fast whispers she couldn't understand. Then he was gone, vanishing into the dark after the fight, and Eri didn’t know why. She wished he was still here, even if his smile was scary. He’d known things, how to escape the bad place, how to drive the space ship, where to hide. Maybe he knew where water was or the doctor’s office. But it was just Eri now, and Kat was dying, and she was so, so scared.

Her tummy growled, a sharp pang that made her curl up tighter, her knees bumping the cold wall. The hiding spot was safe, Kat had said, but it felt like a trap now, the pipes creaking like they might fall, the hum around them groaning and growling like a monster from her nightmares. She touched Kat’s hand, careful not to brush his swollen arm, and his skin burned, too hot, like the fires from the bad place they’d escaped. Her lip trembled as tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks. She didn't want Kat to die. Why didn't copycat stay? Why did those stupid, mean aliens take her from her daddy? Why did they hurt them? It wasn't fair!

She cried into Kat's shoulder, muffling her sobs so the aliens wouldn't hear, her tears soaking his skin. "I want to go home!" She whispered, hoarse and small. Eri cried until her eyes burned and her throat ached, until Kat's arm was soaked and she had no more tears left in her. Sniffling, she patted Kat's wet skin with the sheet, contrite as she realized she was wasting water. Shame curled in her gut. "I'm sorry Kat." she murmured, her voice barely a breath. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to do. I'm sorry."

She felt useless. Kat had done so much- protected her, played with her, gave her his food, let her curl up with him to chase away the monsters at night. They'd made a promise, back when she was so scared of being alone and desperate to keep him with her in the bad place. "I'll protect you, and you'll protect me, and we won’t let them hurt us anymore." She said it, her voice small but sure, and Kat had nodded, his hand squeezing hers. Now he was dying, and all she could do was cry, useless, while he burned.

She sniffled again, wiping her nose with the strip of sheet, the fabric damp and dirty. She stared at Kat’s sleeping face, at the flush on his cheeks, the sweat pouring off his brow, listened to his panting, labored breaths. She needed to do something. She bit her lip, swallowed back the fresh sobs that tried to tear free of her trembling lips. It's okay if I'm scared, she thought, remembering her daddy's words when he came to comfort her at night. He always said the same thing when he came to rescue her, every time she thought she saw something moving in the dark.

"It's okay to be scared," he'd say, shoved onto the bed that was too small for him and carding his fingers through her hair, hugging her close. "We sometimes get scared when we try something new or find ourselves in unfamiliar places. I even get scared of momma sometimes!" He said jovially, his mouth curled in a fond smile. She whipped her head up, her voice full of disbelief and awe. "You do? But momma is so nice!"

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tight. "Yes, sometimes I get scared. Your momma is nice but she can be a scary woman when she wants to be. But even when she's scary, I still love her very much."

"That's because momma is best momma." Eri professed confidently, her previous fear of the monsters hiding in the dark all but forgotten.

"Yes, she is." Daddy agreed. "But, er, what I was trying to say-oh wow I'm bad at this-uh, is that you can be scared of something but still love it. You can be scared but still be brave. Remember that time there was a skunk in the back yard, and I had to go let it out because it was trapped behind the fence?"

"Mm-hmm," she nodded.

"Well, I was pretty scared when I did that. I didn't want the skunk to bite me or spray me, but it was something that needed to be done, so even though I was scared, I went out and did it. I had to be brave. And you know what, I think that skunk was more scared of me than I was of it, and it turned out to not be that big of a deal. I opened the gate and he scampered right out."

Eri was quit for a moment, digesting her father's words as he combed her hair with his fingers, as gentle and patient as the day was long.

"So, when I'm afraid," she gathered, "All I have to do is be brave? Just do it even if I'm scared?"

"That's right." He smiled, his eyes creasing. "Just be brave. If you do that, then you might find that the thing you were scared of wasn't that scary at all."

"Just be brave."

Something inside her steeled, a tiny spark in her chest. She wasn’t a baby anymore—she was six and a half, and six and a half was big enough to be brave.

She crawled to the edge of their hidey-hole, her hands shaking as she pushed aside a loose panel, the metal scraping softly. The froze as the sound echoed, her heart leaping into her throat as she froze, listening. The hum grew louder outside, joined by distant clangs—footsteps, machines, beeps. Her heart thumped as she waited for a moment, listening for the sounds of movement growing closer.

...

Nothing. She moved the metal panel the rest of the way and peeked out of the opening, upside down as she turned her head this way and that. The hall was quiet. She leaned back into the hole and turned on her heels to gather up the ropey pile of wires that Kat had yanked out of the ceiling to get them up here. It was a near thing with his arm in such a state, but he somehow managed to pull himself up one-handed, his teeth gritted as he pushed through the pain. She pushed the heavy pile through the hole, watching them unfurl as they fell to the floor below. It was a long way to fall, but not as far as the tower on the school playground. Grasping the makeshift rope, she lowered herself partway out, her small body dangling, her chest tight with fear of the height, the dark, the unknown. She had to be brave. She thought of Kat’s promise, his hand in hers, the way he’d looked at her like she was strong. He stared at his sleeping form, at the shallow breaths wracking his chest and his flushed face. He needed her. She’d find something to save him. She had to.

She slipped through the gap, lowering herself hand over hand down the wires, her palms stinging as they rubbed the rough sheathing protecting the wiring. She landed softly, lowering to a crouch and instinctually darting to a darkened corner, keeping hidden. She touched one hand to the wall, felt the ship thrum under her fingertips. She looked down both sides of the hall, each stretching into the unknown, a maze of shadows and halls, just like the bad place they’d escaped before. She took a shaky breath, clutching the light of their promise tight in her chest, and stepped forward, her bare feet silent on the cold metal floor.

She just had to be brave.