#//thrallfics

[thralls-for-alls]

Picking Day

Picking day.   Griven had not visited his cot since he was a wee pup in the rearing chambers. And he most definitely had a bed in the cramped, flower-filled corner of his room. Still a dizzying trill of joy lit both of Ex’s hearts as the end of the year drew closer and closer.  Before the tours where he fought alongside the star-eating nightmares from the depths of the void, before he spent hours bent over a bench assembling weapons in the workshop, Ex was side-by-side with Drex making mischief for their caretakers, but only enough to earn the extra rations from the sneakiest thrall, Griven, on Picking Day.

Until the year that they were finally separated, both Ex and Drex selected to serve under different colours and perform different duties.  Griven had stopped coming after that year.  Instead, Ex would engage in Fight Night with his new squad; the evening before Picking Day where all grievances would settled by fists and by locking horns and hatchets would be buried under questionable grog made from ingredients best left to mystery.  The memory pulled a bright grin across Ex’s fangs and made his mouth water from the constant purr deep in his chest.

This year, he got to spend it with Drex and Hex for the first time.  All he wanted was to do it right.  What better way than to ensure that all important and questionably breakable furniture and knick-knacks in their common room were pulled aside to make space and a pot of traditional fermented something dripping through the strainer?  The whole house stank of spice, gasoline, and flowers.  As the Evolved thrall stood in the center of his makeshift fighting ring with his hands at his hips, he could not help but hold his head high.   Ex did good and managed to finish his masterpiece before either sibling came home.

-

Hex’s eyes narrowed as she caught her first whiff before opening their front door.  She could not help the grimace that pulled across her face as the stench burned her nostrils; but she turned the knob and entered anyways.  

Of course it was Ex.

“… What’s all this for?” she asked, her head held low as she scanned the empty room where Drex’s couch should have been and her comfortable chair.  After a hard day of slaying varelsi, all she wanted to do was curl up with her book, a soft blanket and drink that tea that was supposed to mitigate the lingering soreness of her missing kidney.  But, that seemed like a wash.

Taking her by both hands, Ex ushered his sister inside.  "Don’t you remember?  ’T’s Pickin’ Day!  Aren’t ya excited for it?“

Picking day?  Oh, Scattering day.  That must be what the boys under Warlord Nix’s army called it.  But when the realization hit Hex, she averted her gaze.  With how busy she kept herself, she had lost track of the calendar.  She hesitated before answering, ”… but ain’t that for brother thrall, me dear brother?“

Ex blinked, his fingers idly massaging her hands.  The last thing he wanted was to disrespect her wishes of living her life as she liked… but he also wanted to share the celebration of Picking Day with her, like he knew she did back in the service.  

"Uh…” His mind raced to find a serviceable solution to meet in the middle.  When the idea struck, he clapped her hands together between his.  "How ‘bout this: since we’re still a squad and free to do what we like, you, me and Drexie-boy, we can do Pickin’ day without any manly stuff.  In return, we’ll celebrate Studkickin’ day in the spring together.“  Tilting his head with the most charming smile he could muster, he gave her a wink as he finished his bargain.  "I’ll even handle all the pamperin’ sides of thin’s and we’ll figure out how to handle the whole stud kickin’ sides of thin’s if you want.”

Hex hummed as she thought, the cloves of one hoof tapping as she stood in place.  A smirk growing across her face, she rolled her eyes.  "Oh all right.“  Slipping her hand out from his, she pushed Ex away by his face.  The cracks along her horn shimmered as she chortled.  "But only 'cause I get to kick your arse into the new year then drink you right under the table.”

“Aw, you wish, love!  I’m still the reignin’ champion of me squad!” he barked, the plates down his neck shivvering.  "I’ll have ya pinned with time to spare for wipin’ the floor with Drex too.“

-

A couple of bags of groceries threatened to slip out of his hand and his gaudy Newshine’s sweater cooked the barrel of his chest. Drex fiddled with the tiny keycard ring pinched between hi thick fingers.  The Evolveds’ voices filtered through the metal door.  Pushing the correct card against the screen, ducked his head into the doorway.  He half-expected to tear the two siblings apart to figure out what the problem was, but the lack of furniture caught his attention first. 

"What’s…”  His nostrils flared, what he suspected to be spiced drain cleaner tickled at his sinuses and made his eye twitch.  "… ’T’s Pickin’ Day already?“ A grin crept along his face as he squeezed inside.  "Oh!  Newshine’s is on Pickin’ Day, ain’t it?  Lovely!”

“That it is, mate.”  Ex nodded, stepping aside to let Drex set the groceries on the kitchen counter near the straining grog.  He tapped Hex’s hand, giving her a knowing look.  "And us two’ve got quite the bone ta pick wit’ ya, officer.“ Hex winked, cracking each of her knuckles by pushing the finger down with her thumbs.  "Yeah.  You’ve gotta make up for that glue you call rice and sittin’ on Ex all those times.”  A soft laugh laced her voice from the natural over-exaggeration of their list of grievances.  "Quite a hatchet to bury.“

Swinging his head, Drex moaned as his neck popped audibly.  With the two teaming up, this would be a challenge for the Brute: it was best to be prepared, even if this was just a friendly fight.  "Oh, right, right.  And you two are right angels, yeah?  What about wreckin’ the place wit’ all your squabbles or stinkin’ up the couch wit’ those cigarettes of yours?”

Ex turned his head to knock the side of his horn against Hex’s.  She knelt, cupping her hands together just as Ex used them to launch himself, and his fist, directly into Drex’s face.  Drex barked, his head spinning from the cheap shot just as Hex tackled his stomach to send all three sprawling across the ground.

-

With a sizable bag of frozen chicken pressed against the deep plum of a shiner thanks to Ex, Drex could not stop laughing as the other two took turns grimacing and wincing as they downed glass after glass of grog.  All three had lost count of cups as the grog pot’s level dipped, their conversation devolved into an unintelligible mix of slurred common and thrallish growls and trills interspersed with wild giggling.  Maybe Griven would never come with extra rations again, but Picking Day, or Scattering Day as Hex would call it, had worked its magic anyways.  The three would wake up with headaches as painful as Drex’s eye looked, but still with grins across their faces as they started their new year.

[thralls-for-alls]

A List to Catch Up on the Plot Arc of the Newest Fics

“So Big She’s Hard to See”- Rictus is plagued with nightmares of a gigantic being trying to cross worlds.

“Trouble in Paradise”- Nothing passes a thrall’s keen sense of smell.  When TZ strays with a much loathed enemy, Rictus struggles to find peace with this discovery.

“A Few Words”- Calling in a favour from a gigantic being in another world, Rictus forces Torque to admit his intentions with TZ.  

“TZ, Torque and Rictus Have a Talk”- After TZ discovers what Rictus did to Torque, he pulls them together for a short talk after a terrible day.  They come to manageable terms.

“A Debt Repaid”- Rictus learns that a favour from an otherworldly being does not come for free.  Her minions handle his preparations.

“The Next Morning”- Jacques awakens to discover his lover missing.  Evidence suggests he might have been kidnapped.

[thralls-for-alls]

Vocatia Tells the News

Tango's holo sat heavy in Bravo's coat pocket as she held the door of the Sinful Bat open for him.  Her eyes averted as he stepped inside; she draped her arm across his back, her hand clutching his shoulder.  He tensed under her grip.  The tips of her fingers ran over the small stretch of shirt that covered the dip across his gills and clavicle, the deep scar she knew brought the medic more worry than a simple injury.  Bad news had to be handled with care. Grave news might as well be napalm.

Bravo stopped in front of the thralless, her keen eye catching the deep bags gathering under the others.  Still, Vocatia still held her head high, sitting across her leather throne.  A golden feathered cape draped across her broad shoulders, the edges catching the lighting of the bar.  Behind her, Jacques stood back, his blue eyes staring off into a middle distance away from the pair of clones. "Here, like you asked."  Bravo nodded as she released Tango, stepping back to give them space.  Slinking towards the bar, she pulled out a cigarette box from her jacket and gave it a shake.  Empty.  Lifting her lip, she tossed it aside and leaned back onto the black surface of the counter on her elbows to watch their talk.

For a brief second, the cold exterior of the Thrallmother broke.  Her bottom lip twitched, her eyebrow ridges tilted in concern as she leaned foward and rested her palm onto Tango's shoulder.  Tango stepped back, but could not free himself from under her.  His fingers toyed with his tie, his jaw flexing as he met Vocatia's gaze.

As impassive as stone, Vocatia lowered her head to touch the mess of bristles on TZ's head.  "Darlin', Ricky's missin'."  Vocatia's husky voice barely broke the silence, her tone as even and gentle.  Jacques arms crossed tight over his barreled chest, turning his head to avoid the clone's questioning gaze.  Sitting back, Vocatia continued, "We've searched the system, we're still searchin' the system.  But, whoever took him has hidden him very well." Tango's eyes twitched, knocking the gathering tears from their perches.  His tie tight in his shaking fist, only the sharp intakes of his hitched breath broke through his contemplation.  

Bravo tore her gaze away, choosing to reach over the counter for something to busy herself with instead.  Her chest ached with all too familiar hollowness; from when she stood before Queen Mike to receive the recovered helmets of her fallen squadmates.  The news struck her soul with the force of one of Kaboom's ram rockets.  Her fingers groped the unseen shelf below the counter until they felt the rim of some small bowl.  As it almost tipped over, she could hear the shuffle of some dried snack.  Catching it with the tip of her finger, she scooted it out until she could grip it and bring it up.  Nuts... nuts would suffice.  She popped the first one into her mouth, licking the salt off of the hard meat as she watched the scene continue to unfold.   

"No..." Tango sobbed through tense fangs, still not moving to clear the constant stream dripping from his eyes.  Vocatia's cool facade shattered, her own heartbreak spelled plain across her face.  She reached out, cupping Tango's back into her large palm to pull him close, to comfort him in his moment of dire need.   But he stepped aside, shrugging it off.  "No, he can't be gone," he snapped, shaking his head.  Vocatia watched, her hand still held in place from his rebuff, but patient as he started to pace.  "No, no, no.  That's not right.  He's too strong, he can fight off anyone."  

"'E's gone, love."  Vocatia's eyes followed Tango's frantic steps.  "We're goin' ta get him back, but he was taken."  With a sure sweep of her arm, she caught him and pulled him into a warm and tight embrace.  She curled her neck against his head.  "I'm so sorry."

Trapped, his arms crept to wrap around her neck.  Tango buried his face into the creamy grey skin, wiping off his tears.  Her hand stroked his back, light caresses to not hurt the stuntman.  

Having sucked all of the flavour from the nut and split it with her tongue, Bravo swallowed it and took a moment to dig through the mix for another one.  Tango had always been an emotional clone, even when he was fresh from the vat.  She had wondered if there might have been something wrong with the new sims meant for the recon Mikes, but the vat tech assured her that he was golden. Really, she was not surprised about what the reports said about what happened after the rest of the squad died and she disappeared.  At least he did not lose the arm. 

The tinkle of the golden chain being freed from its hook brought her attention to Jacques stepping behind the bar.  Bravo squinted her eyes up at him, but he seemed to pay her no mind as he pinched the handle of the coffee pot between his fingers and took it to some space in the back.  Bravo tossed the next nut into her mouth.  

"'Z, listen," Vocatia murmured, Bravo had to tilt her head and strain her ear to catch it.  "I need ya to be strong for us.  For him."  Her voice shook, just enough for Bravo to catch it.  "I know if anyone's got him, you can find him." Tango nodded, still clinging to the thrallmother.  "Y-yeah."  A hiccup interrupted his muffled whisper.  Pulling his face way from Vocatia's neck, his gill rakes stuck out as he sucked back the moisture pouring from his thin nostrils.  Vocatia lifted her head to look him in the eye.  "If he's anywhere, I can find him."  A strained flash of white fangs assured the thrallmother, who gave her own small smile as she lifted a thumb to wipe the clone's cheek.  "Don't worry, I'll find him.  Promise."

Vocatia bowed her head, touching the tip of her crest to his hair again.  "I know." Another clop of a hoof behind the bar caught Bravo's attention, drawing her eye to the giant pouring the laughably small pitcher of water into the tiny brewing machine.  His blue eye flashed as he glanced down to her, but he made no other move attempt to acknowledge her.  Despite his neutral expression, Bravo caught the puffiness around his eyes and the purplish redness around his blue nose.  Either he had an allergy or he had been similarly affected by the missing thrall case.  

Thrall seemed to stick together.

Letting go of Tango, Vocatia sat up and took a moment to fix his shirt and tie.  "I believe in you, darlin'.  I'll be waitin' up for the news."  Lifting her hands from him, Vocatia's gaze locked onto Bravo.  "And it was nice meetin' you, dear.  Sorry it weren't under better circumstances.

"Same, bro.  Maybe next time will be better."  Bravo picked herself up off of the bar and stretched her back.  Jacques grunted, almost in disapproval, but said nothing else.  Shooting him a sharp look, Bravo strode over to collect her squadmate.  Softening her expression, Bravo bowed towards Vocatia, her fingers curling around Tango's arms to guide him to go with her.  "We'll make sure of it."

"Bye bye, mom."  Tango waved with the tips of his fingers as Bravo half-dragged him away.  His arms still shook under her palms, but he made no resistance to the exit.  "I'll get right to work when I get home."

With a squint at the starshine glaring through the clouds, Bravo propped the heavy door open with her elbow.  As soon as Tango stepped outside and the door slammed behind him, his brave front crumbled.  Just as Bravo suspected.  The sniffling hiccups had barely started before Bravo grapped Tango's wrist and pulled him into and embrace of her own.  "He's not gone yet.  There's a chance.  Have faith.”

"But what if he is..."  His nails dug into her coat, his fangs scraped against it.  "I don't know--"

She rolled her shoulder to nudge his head back.  "No, don't think like that.  I gave you an order, bro.  Have some faith."

Tango pouted, his fang catching his lower lip.  "Okay... I'll try."

Ruffling his bristles, Bravo gave him a smirk and a wink of her silvery eye.  "Good, bro.  Come on, lets get back and get you to work, okay?”

He nodded, pulling away from her.  Shoving his wrist against his nose, he wiped away the snot from his upper lip.  "Let's go.  I wanna find him super quick."

"Of course."  She offered an elbow to him, flashing a grin when his arm went through it in acceptance.  "I'll even get the rest of the squad to help you.  We'll be bad ass thrall finders and heroes by the end of the night."

[thralls-for-alls]

The Tortured One (Part 1)

The black dirt between the cloves of his hooves was unnaturally soft, Torque concluded.  It did not take much to leave a distinct print or scratch a line in and the jagged rocks mixed in scratched at the bottom of his foot.  No, he did not like it; Torque much preferred the sterile tiling of the Imperium research labs, or even the smooth, metallic surface of the thrall’s barracks.  His exposed skin prickled and burned, but he was not sure from what.  Everywhere he looked, the dark sky showed no sign of daybreak, no sun to heat the air or warm his skin.  Only the dull orange glow that peeked from the dark rock and diffused in the smoky air lit their way.  He had only just set hoof on the wretched moon of S6-0-96, and Torque already wanted to go back home to Tempest.

Torque’s companions grumbled as they scratched at the tight clothing provided for this first test of their capabilities, their sweat turning into ink as the ash clung to their skin.  Their mission was a simple one: secure this moon for the glory of the Empress and the Jennerit Empire from the Varelsi and the filthy natives.  The handful of gunners clutched their guns to their chest, snapping their jaws and kicking out their hooves at the primals trying their best to steal the shiny new toys.  When one had snagged the base of Torque’s axe, he yanked it back with a growl and tossed his unfortunate litter mate aside.  Without the masters around, it was up to them to figure out how to best tackle the journey ahead of them.  

Hacking and coughing as the heavy air itself burned his lungs and exposed mouth, Torque carefully stretched the rubber loops of the thin mask provided to him over his curled horns. Unlike the others, who could just slide it down, his got caught on the sweeping curve just past the tips.  His head pounding from the tension pulling his horns together, Torque snarled as he fought with the dumb thing.  Whispers flowed through the rabble around him, the unfettered snickering at the expense of the “master’s pet” and “stupid beast” passing from drooling thrall to drooling thrall with ease.  A familiar wave of hatred melded with the burning in Torque’s chest, it seems even here he could not get away from their taunting.

“We need to move.  That comm relay ain’t goin’ to build itself, yeah?” Gex stated before clicking his tongue to draw his assigned Primals to him.  Lifting his lips, he gave a sharp chuff in their direction.  All five pairs of eyes and horns turned to stare at Gex and then to the pile of crates full of electronics, ammo and medical supplies that he pointed to.  With only a minor scuffle of drool and barks to determine who would be first, the excited group abandoned their scrabble for the guns and axes of their brothers and gathered up their payload instead.  Wavering on their hooves, they struggled with the cumbersome boxes, unused to the gait of their brothers.  But, the primals’ purr could not be mistaken.  Gex’s nail tapped his horn as he scanned their surroundings for a good path.  Sharp, unnatural looking spire that broke the horizon seemed promising.  Holding his head high, he barked to the rest of their troupe, “protect the pack.  We’ll make camp just outside the city.”

When Torque started to turn to keep pace to protect their flanks, Scar shouldered him aside.  “You take rear, pet.”  Offended, Torque could only huff, knowing better than to retaliate.  That was a fight he could not win.  

Torque hung his head, gritting his teeth in frustration.  “Yeah, sure.  Whatever.”  Skulking to the back, he kept his distance from the rest of the pack.  He tried to pay no attention to the fact that the others chatted to each other, passing jokes he did not get and sharing stories he did not understand.  Instead, he kept his eyes peeled on the cracked rocks around them and the oozing orange lava seeping from them.  Their enemies were dark and their bodies twisted, they would blend perfectly here if they did not sport the white masks on their faces.  Breathing in, the thin fabric of the mask stuck to his nostrils, the wet, weight of his own trapped breath did nothing to help him detect anything that could be around them.  

They could already be surrounded.  

Blinking away the stinging tears from the hot, caustic air, Torque dug his fingers under the collar of his shirt to try and cool off, to no avail.  Even his hooves burned against the searing dirt the further they plodded on.  

Commotion broke out ahead of him as one of the crates spilled out of the Primal’s hands.  Precious supplies scattered and bounced between their hooves and several thrall scrambled to catch errant health capsules before they fell into the crevices around them.  One gunner yelped as his hoof caught a rock as he gave chase and he disappeared over the edge into lava.  Torque tore his gaze away, but he could not block out his brother’s screams.  His stomach turned.  

More Primals abandoned their crates to tend to their wounded brother; electronics sizzled as their sensitive electronics met the searing stone.  Beating the ground with his staff, Gex snapped, “No, leave him!  Get back!”  All five paused to glance over to him again, panting heavily as they stayed in their places.  Their leader’s eyes went to their burning brother, a whine forcing its way out before he glanced to the rest.  Foaming spittle sprayed from his chin as he shook his head and dashed over the edge to help his fallen comrade.  “N-no!”  Gex's staff clattered against the ground as he leapt over the turned crates to snatch up as many of the other four as he could.  For his efforts, they struggled to wiggle free and one managed to bite his neck.  Gex growled, shaking his head to get them to let go of his flesh.

But, the wound was worth it to save his pack from themselves.  “No!  Ya can’t do nothin’!  We gotta keep goin’!”  He squeezed them tighter in his arms to get the point across.  

Scar peeked over the edge, grimacing at the gruesome roasted corpses below.  “Yeah, they’re toast,” he muttered, sauntering back to help collect their things.  Bending over, he scooped up a health capsule that melted in his touch and sizzled when it met the ground again.  “So’s our stuff, I think.”

Torque poked at a receiver with the pointed butt of his axe, lifting up a corner.  The bottom of it tore away with little effort.  “Agreed.  What do we do?”

“Press on,” Gex stated, resting his chin on the flatter top of one of the Primal’s horns.  “The master’s’ll still come fer us eventually, yeah?  To see how good we did.  If we’re dead, us thrall’ll probably be scrapped.”

The thought weighed on the group, hanging off of their shoulders.  This might be their only shot, and it has gotten off on the wrong hoof.  Scar raised his head.  “Let’s get movin’ then!  No sense in cryin’ over dead primals, let’s go.”

Sniffling, Gex bent over to set down his Primals.  “Stay close, yeah?” he muttered as he pried ones jaws from his black horn.  “No sense in losin’ more of you, all right?”  The wet plap of one of their tongues against the side of his chin assured him that they understood.  Or at least, he hoped that that is what it meant.  Patting his head, he whispered, “good boys.”

Other than the muffled complaints of the Primals about the hot ground against their knuckles, the rest of the group plodded on in silence.  Scar’s hooves slipped as he climbed uphill, figuring that he could put some space between the pack and the lava.   Boulders crunched as they rolled and crashed down the hill, narrowly missing Torque’s left knee.  “Oi!  Watch it!”

“I’m watchin’!”  Scar snapped back, turning his head to give Torque a challenging stare with his good eye.  Torque dropped his gaze, to the delight of the smaller thrall.  “Bloody prick.”

Scar led the pack through the scorched wilderness to the best of his ability.  Though as exhaustion soaked each thrall to their bones and their pelts blistered from exposure, more of their number collapsed on the wayside.  S6-0-96 had quickly turned into the squad’s personal hell.  The star never rose, just the silhouettes of the moon’s parent planets and the clouds of smoke wandered across the sky.  Without any form of comms device, it seemed they could have walked for days or weeks.

When they reached cooler peak of the mountain, one of the Primals collapsed, panting in exhaustion.  One of the others laid down beside him in protest, not wanting to crawl another foot.  Gex frowned as he plopped down with them.  “We should make camp, mate.  Can’t battle like this.”  Shaking his head, he fished out his canteen and bit off the top.  “Just a few ‘ours of shut eye should be all right.”

With a huff, Scar looked to the rest of the squad, many of which could not hide their tired nods.  “Ugh, fine.  We’ll rest.  You,” he pointed a half-finger in the direction of one of the more eager to agree gunners.  “Dole out the rations.  Make sure everyone but the pet gets some.  Bet he’s had plenty at home.”

Leaning against the knob of his axe and resting his chin on top of his arms, Torque stitched his brows in annoyance.  Sleep nestled in his red eyelids, but frustration lifted his lip.  He knew Scar knew differently.  Even if Torque had been taken in by the researchers, the masters were not kind.  Scar spent enough time under the knife as experimental augment after experimental augment failed to take, leaving him under the care of Torque to nurse him back to health.  For some reason, he had taken perverse joy in making the curled horned thrall suffer.  Jealousy, Torque presumed.  

Even if he had been kept in the labs by a misguided researcher, Torque was no pet.  He still worked, cleaning equipment, clearing cages, feeding the other experiments... shoveling out those experiments’ corpses when the masters were through with them, one of which was all of their mother.  An old, Tempestian Greyhorn mare who could not speak and could not even gesticulate like the primals.  She was nothing more than a beast, which led credibility that, despite the fact that he could speak, he too was only a beast.

“You know some of that is meant for me, mate.  I can’t fight if I’m starvin’,” he growled through his gritted tusks, lifting a finger as he made his point.  “I don’t got to stay in the pile, but I got to keep my strength up too.”

Sparing a glance at the gathering of bodies behind them, many already tearing off their masks and opening the tubes of gruel to lick out the bland paste, Scar considered the idea.  “Fine,” he spit out, motioning the gunner with the rations over.  He snatched one and lobbed it at Torque’s axe blade near his hooves.  “Ya happy?”

Lifting the axe to rest it onto his shoulder, Torque sighed as he bent down to reach for his dinner.

“Good. You know your place,” Scar chuckled, kicking some dirt over the tube.  “Leave us, pet.”

A snarl ripped across Torque’s face under his mask as he snapped a glare at Scar’s back, his hearts boiling at the thought of snapping the half-of-a-thrall’s neck.  Clawing up his ration with a generous dollop of dirt and rock, he held it close to his chest.  He had his axe in hand, he could fell the jerk easily... but then the rest would join in and tear him limb from limb.  It would not be wise to fight.  Torque tore himself away from the thought, turning his back to the group and sauntering off to find some comfortable place to lay his head.  

An overhang held up by a twisted tree seemed like good cover to the inexperienced soldier, at least he would not get rained on.  Sliding himself underneath, he lay flat on his belly, both legs splayed out behind him.  The grainy paste did little to satiate his growling stomach and the thick coating it left across his tongue stuck it to the roof of his mouth, but it would suffice.  Tossing away the plastic, he let his eyes close and mumbled a desparate prayer to his star, Solus.

Please let me survive.

[thralls-for-alls]

The Tortured One (Finale)

The dried crust at the edges of Torque’s nostrils cracked as he struggled to clear his nose.  He coughed, spitting out the thick wad of ash and blood infused mucus from his throat.  Blinking, he turned over onto his side to let his consciousness trickle back in.  Dust caught the dull red light streaming in from the window, a perpetual twilight that coated this planet.  Despite the sagging mattress and crumpled blankets under him and the quiet peace of the morning, Torque could find little comfort in his predicament.  

Tell-tale scrapes of a dragged hoof echoed from the hallway just outside of the closed door.  Torque huffed, turning away to ignore the scuffling of Scar hanging just outside.  He was not ready.  Gex’s mercy murder still weighed on his burning chest; deep angry welts complained from deep in his palms’ flesh.  Flexing his fists, he groaned.  Like it or not, he had to get up.

Empty boxes rattled as they fell to the floor, crumpling beneath Torque’s hooves as he sat up.  Scratching at the back of his neck, he grunted as his stomach knotted from the night's ashen feast... or possibly guilt.   If it were guilt, it was best crumpled up and shoved deep into the bowels of his gut to never be seen again.  Grabbing the handle of his axe, he ambled out of the room, his head hanging low.  

"'Bout time."  Arms crossed, Scar grimaced as he side-stepped to block Torque's exit.  With a huff, he turned his blind eye to Torque and revealed a comms device between his thumb and forefinger.  He tossed it.  It bounced off Torque's chest and the crimson screen flickered to life as it landed in his palm.  Torque could not hide the small gasp that escaped through his dropped jaw.  Their salvation rested in his hand.  "Been workin' on this all night."  He shrugged.  "Doesn't have any signal, but maybe if we can get up high, we can call the warship to come get us..."

Torque's eyes squinted as he stared off in the general direction of the looming city.  "I think that could be arranged."  Clasping the device in his large fist, he snapped his attention back to Scar.  "We gotta get to the top of that city, mate.   Just got to go in all nice and quiet like."

Scar balked.  "Don't be daft, we'll get swarmed before we get anywhere, mate.  There's only a few of us."

"No.  They don't know we're here to kill them.  We just gotta act like those..." Torque turned his hand as he searched for the word.  It hung on the tip of his tongue, he'd only seen them a few times in the labs... "Visitors.  Just there to see the sights, yeah?"

Running his jagged nail under his chin, Scar hummed in hesitation.  "It's worth a try, I guess."  He deflated, his half-horned head hanging almost as low as Torques.  "Worst thin' that could happen is we all die, so... I guess there isn't much to lose."

After setting aside his axe against a nearby table, .  "No, there isn't.  So, 't's worth a try."

Torque moved him to the side and out of his way with another pat to the shoulder.  If it weren't for the pressing matter of their scant chances at survival, a quiet sense of private satisfaction would take root from being the one in charge.  Soft snores and growls came from the drooling stack of primals all splayed over each other in their pile.  One had another's leg firmly between his jaws, the quiet crunch as he gnawed in his sleep.  A crunch earned him a kick to the face, rousing him from his slumber.  With a sleepy squeak, he gave his brother a snarl as he rubbed his cut nose.  He gave Torque a placid stare.  With a bark, he slapped his brothers to let them know that Torque was there.  One bark turned to a flurry of fours as they disentangled from their pile.  "Mornin' boys," Torque hummed as he leaned over to pat a couple on the side of their horns.  A thick layer of drool and a harsh nip into the meaty pad of his thumb.  "Ach!"  Torque recoiled his hand with a hiss and shook it off.  Letting it melt into a chuckle, he flicked the responsible one's crest.  "Ya lot ready ta go home, yeah?"

The scramble intensified, their combined weight nearly toppling over the larger thrall with their excitement.  Torque's delight waned when a sharp jab struck his back with the familiar growl of Scar's disapproval.  He growled back:  the primals did not know better, they deserved some hope, at least.  "Ransack the place.  Clothes ta blend in, a sack of some sort ta hide our weapons, whatever food's left!" Torque barked the orders holding his head high.  All four primals froze, staring up to him with bright eyes before suddenly scurrying off to the four courners of the house to complete their new objectives.  Wiggling his head from side to side, he sneered to Scar, "'T's a start, no?  Stop bein' a stick in the master's arse."

If there were no Jennerit around to hear him, Torque could say what he wanted. "Whatever, just hurry up."  Torque noted the worsening limp of Scar, a note of worry on his breath as he remembered cutting the Varelsi's tentacle out of his gut.  Even now, the moment seemed to be a distant memory of years; but it was just the day before yesterday, wasn't it?  "Gotta piss so you got a few minutes."

--

Torque tugged on the restrictive shirt strapped across his chest with a disgusted sneer.  The stench of rancid ink and sweat emanated from the crispy, dark fabric, he could only wipe of the granules of black dirt onto the similarly ill fitting trousers.  One of the primals tugged on their shirt collar, threatening to tear the entire thing off.  Another ambled towards Scar, his outfit crushed between the Primal's hands and soaking in the drippling saliva from his smiling maw. Scrunching his nose, Scar snatched the outfit out of his hands and started donning the shirt over his under armour.  On his thinner frame, lacking many of the normal thrall ornamentation, it fit comfortably.  "It stinks..." he uttered, sniffing at his sleeve.

"Like everythin' else on this planet.  Hurry up."

Scar glared.  But he grabbed the pants and struggled to get them over the numbed weight of his legs.  If the city was populated, what good would he be when they inevitably turned on them in a fight?  Who would believe a thrall was an interplanetary visitor?  Once fitted, he could only survey the rest of their merry group.  "This has gotta work...."

--

Ash fluttered down from the skies, gathering across the tops of their crests and their horns.  Axe hung over his shoulder and slowing his breathing in a vain effort to save his lungs from the harsh air, Torque stared up at the twisting towers and high arches that loomed before them.  Their hooves found fewer loose stones as they drew close to the city, the even spacing began to remind Torque of the roads on Tempest.  No wonder the Jennerit wanted this moon, he thought with a bitter pout.  

However, the looming sense of isolation grew heavier the closer they trudged to their goal.  No one else traveled the road most traveled. No bustle of voices, carts, markets, nothing.  The ash fluttered down in silence.

The gates hung open.  Torque held out his arm to hold the others back.  Sticking his head through the threshold, he found no one.  Forgetting his ruse, he gripped his axe in both hands, every muscle down his neck tight.  He poked his head into the nearest doorway.

An unoccupied chair lay on its side, panes of glass etched with regular scribbles scattered in pieces all around it.  The desk faced a wide window, topped with other pieces of glass, these ones smooth and held upright.  

"No guard's on shift?"  

Torque jumped at Scar's voice; snapping his head around to glare at him.  "No, there isn't..." he growled, turning away to continue his investigation.  "Stay behind me."

Scar snarled, but stayed behind to motion for the primals to walk ahead of him as well.  His legs struggled to lift their own weight with each step and with no signs of life, he started to relax.  With no scent of food wafted in the air, no stench of animals or machinery.  The locals must have abandoned the city.  He slowed to a stop, eye squinting as he stared up to all of the dark windows far above him.  Home.  Resting an elbow against a parked cart, Scar took a moment to catch his breath.  It gave out under him, the clattering of the pieces falling to his hooves echoed between the walls above him.

Something skittered from one window to he next.  Scar opened his mouth to warn the others.  Just as his voice squeezed past his throat, hundreds more poured from the buildings; their screeching voices and raking claws scraping the stone and Scar's flesh shattered the peace.

Roaring as the first monster raked its claws into his unprotected shoulder, Torque swung his head to smack it with the side of his curled horn.  Sent scrambling, its long, grey limbs flailed as it hissed at him.  Torque brought his axe down on its neck.  No blood spilled from the still twitching body, only dark, tendrils wriggled from the stump like arcane worms.  

The primals barked, each one hopping back from the encroaching horde.  Torque swept his arm to scoop them all up against his chest and ran.   Despite their protests, he could not stop.  His axe swung to clear the path, the heavy blade cutting through the thin creatures with ease.  Lungs burned.  Muscles strained.  Sweat stung the long scores across his shoulder.  Blood dripped down his back.

Kicking down a door, he found himself inside of a small space crammed with shelving and boxes.  Tossing aside the primals and his axe, he slid one of the heavier looking displays across the entrance to give them some breathing room. "Fffuuccckkk...." he whined, still propping his back against the display to keep the door closed.  Screeching scrapes and hard thuds of the creatures kicked back against him.  Holding back his despair, he patted at the bag against his hip, finding the weight of the comms device still there.  

Another scrape inside made Torque jump, but he spotted the four dragging over a large rectangular machine.  He reached out and grabbed it by the top, knocking it over to stand in his place.  Every thud from outside made it inch forward, but it seemed to hold.  Torque swallowed thickly, shoving past the primals to search for their escape, or at least someplace to lay low.   One thrall could not take on the horde outside.  Not all at once.  

A bark came from behind another display case; the Primal responsible scratched at the handless door.  Torque hopped over the case and pushed him out of the way.  "'Scuse me..." Swinging his head, he smashed through it.  The primals leapt past, one rolling into the machines against the opening.  

Outside, the wretched screams of the monsters wailed through the walls. Torque shuddered.  "Solus please let that hold..." he prayed under his breath as he gathered the primals close.  One elbowed the comms, making it bounce in its bag.  With a huff, Torque glanced down before pulling it out and turning it back on.  Holding it high above his head, he gave a sweep of the room with it.

Still no signal.  

They needed to get to high ground.  

"There's got to be a tower we can get to..." he muttered to no one.  "... Somehow."

Pocketing it, he huffed.  Snagging his axe, he swung it upwards.  The primals ducked as pieces of sharp ceiling showered over them, but Torque swung again.  And again.  Stonework gave away to flutters of ash.  "Up.  Jump up."

Torque leapt, slamming through the last vestiges of the roof.  Hooves slammed down, Torque searched for his next objective.  Four crashes rolled beside him, the slap of palms and thrall growls reassured it was his allies.  Spying an odd lit window with a splash of green far above, he pointed upwards to guide the primals towards it.  "Again.  Up.  Jump."

Crashing through the delicate glass fencing along the edge of the balcony, Torque tripped forward into the planters within.  He huffed, unsure of why a planet of monsters would have something so... out-of-place, almost civilized.  Shaking the branches and leaves from his horns, he kicked down the door to get farther into the building.  Primals grunted, one plucking a playing-card-sized shard of glass from his palm before keeping pace with his brothers.

Finding no quick way up, Torque hacked through the ceiling again, ignoring the finery splayed across its surface. Now was not the time to appreciate culture.  Pulling himself up, his hooves scratched against the floor shattered floor.  "Up.  Follow."

An arm shot out and caught Torque's horn, six claws dug into the painted coating as the other swiped at his chest.  Torque yelped.  But so did the beast as one of the primals bit down on its thin leg and yanked it back. The rest of the team piled onto it, reducing the monster to a pile of limbs and worms in moments.  

Scrapping skittered along the walls, scruffy, twisted faces peeking in through the windows.  One balled its fist, its white face splitting as it roared.  Spidery cracks exploded under its assault, fiery beady eyes locked onto Torque.  "Move!" They all charged through the wall in the opposite direction and raced down the hallway.  "Stairs!"  Torque grunted as he took the sharp turn towards their salvation.  "Up!"  Without slowing down, Torque rammed the door at the top of the winding stairs.  One of the beasts toppled over the edge of the building into the void below.  Winds whistled through Torque's horns, ash stuck to his exposed teeth. 

"Guard," he barked over the wind.  Torque hated putting them in the line of fire, but only he could read the comms and speak to the thrall... or master... on the other end.  They circled him, keeping their backs to him as they swiped and snapped at the monsters crawling over the edges of the building.  Lifting the comms overhead, a laugh of relief escaped him.

Full triangles.

"Set rendezvous point to four units with rotation from current location.  Send coords."

A pained yelp and a splash of warmth ran across the back of Torque's legs.  The primal struggled to unhook the creatures many claws from his side, trying to bite or gore their chest.  Torque swung the blunt back of his axe against its skull as he pulled the primal to safety.  Tossing his axe at another beast, he took the comms device between his teeth and scooped up the primals.  With a huff, he leapt off the edge of the tower towards the street below.  He kicked out at the building to put more distance between it and him.

Torque's ankle crunched as he landed.  All around long, gnarled bodies rained down around him, many laying still where they landed.  Before they moved, he bolted towards the gate, keeping the primals clutched close to his chest. Overhead, the clouds split open.  The red underbelly of an Imperium rendezvous ship broke through the the storm.  A warp anchor pierced the earth just in time to sweep the last scraps of the scouting party into the ship.  Torque knelt, spilling the primals at the feet of his master, Lady Argiope.  Her disappointment in them burned at the back of his neck, but he dared not look up at her.

The steel adornments at the end of her dress slapped Torque's chin as she turned away.  "Fire the cannons on that disgusting thing below us," she commanded the minions marching along beside her.  "Exterminate those heathens for the glory of our Empress."

"As for it..." she sneered down to Torque.  "Wash up and prepare to be sent back to the mines on Tempest.  It isn't worth the fuel it took to rescue it...”

Torque's gaze averted, even if he kept his head down.  "Yes, mum.  It will do as instructed."

[thralls-for-alls]

Something A Little Lighter...

Torque stood in the doorway, resting his shoulder against the thick, Jennerit fashioned frame as he watched the clone work.  Hunched over, TZ’s scar splashed fingers danced along the keys of his laptop plugged into the heart of he Stryx Striker.  For now, peace reigned in the silent, empty ship and for the focused Mike.  Trouble awaited him in the morning, when his medic would discover that he had broken curfew despite her many stern warnings. FU worried that his most recent, ill-advised stunt of firing himself over the mouth of a volcano might have been a cry for help; he needed to stay in the Kingdom for a while to ensure that he would not hurt himself again.

Clearing his throat, Torque turned his head and scratched under his chin to announce his presence.  

Caught red-handed outside of the Kingdom.  TZ’s body tensed, his hand having to shoot out to keep the laptop from going flying from his gasp.  His head snapped in Torque’s direction, all three golden eyes bright in shock.  “I can explain...”  He pointed to the many, constantly filling and flickering bars as more and more files downloaded from the Imperium network onto the massive hard drive plugged into his laptop.  “We need these files and it won’t be safe to get them with someone else in charge.”

Holding up his hands, Torque shrugged.  “You’re sayin’ that like I’d take you back, mate.”  Shaking his head, he lowered himself to sit behind TZ.  “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay and Ric was busy.”  Torque could not hide the grimace as he uttered the other thrall’s name, years of insults and slurs making it feel strange on his tongue.  Scooping TZ up in his arms, he pulled him up onto his stomach to keep working.  “But, no promises ‘bout when we go back tomorrow, all right.  But I’ll still keep you company.”

Life outside of the Striker was... complicated.  Since TZ had found out about Rictus’ nightmarish warning for Torque, he had pulled everyone together for a simple talk between the three to air out their issues safely.  Neither trusted the other and the piles of abuse and a lifetime of abuse created a sticky problem that made the clone realize he was in over his head.  Therapy was working for him and they needed to talk, so enrolling them both into therapy with his medic, FU seemed natural.  It was rough going and awkward, but forcing the two thrall to live together to force them to get used to each other brought small wins almost every day.  

On a day when Torque’s curse got the better of him, their Rictus verbally tore him a new one, detailing every grievance and abuse suffered at the hands of the bonecrusher.  All of the names, all of the slurs, the constant destruction of the Sinful Bat, the harassment of Vocatia, turning Vocatia in and almost getting her murdered poured from Rictus’s overly fanged mouth.  By the time his was finished, his entire body shook with fury, threatening to knock the spindly thrall off his hooves.  And as the beast, all Torque could do was listen.

Torque had been called names too, slurs of all kinds as well.  His brothers and sisters would wreck his small, stolen collection of containers filled with the prettiest pests he had found; nothing on the scale of the Bat, but just as important to a young thrall who had little else to his name.  As Rictus dumped accusation after accusation, all the liontaur could do was hang his head and lower his ears in shame.  He could never forgive his brothers, even as they had passed in battle and on tours over the years; it was natural the void-touched one did not trust him.  

But TZ did, for some reason.  And so did the other Mikes.  The heat of the overworked laptop propped up against his thighs pleasantly burned his skin through the soft flannel of his new pajama pants, thanks to tailor Mike.  TZ’s bare feet pressed against his stomach as he uncomfortably hunched over to balance the machine across his splayed knees.  With the smooth top of one of the leaf-like protrusions on his knuckle, Torque rubbed TZ’s back.  Torque smiled, letting his eyes rest on the scrolling filenames on the bright screen for a while.

Every so often, a serial number or project name would pass that the old thrall recognized.  From his uninformed perspective, it seemed the Mike was mass downloading literally everything from the Imperium servers and databases across the system.  Payroll sheets, work schedules, greyhorn modification plans, broodhall records... Torque chuffed and gently poked TZ’s back with his knuckle when he saw his number come up.  “’Ey, can you open that one?  ‘T’s about me.”

TZ flinched.  Blinking several times, he stared up to Torque before his brain really processed what he had said.  “Oh!  Yeah, sure bro.”  

The file flashed onto the screen.  Torque squinted to try to read the small dark text across the stark white of the spreadsheet program.  Scrolling down, he scanned for his serial number among the list.  Males paired with females, the resulting litter tacked at the end; a simple broodhall record keeping track of who was paired with who to prevent inbreeding and to keep the army’s genes healthy.

“There,” Torque pointed out, nudging TZ again.  The entry hung in the middle of the screen as followed:

Female:  Q.79q-c.359 Male:   K.24-c.236 Litter Size: 1 Pup: Q.45-c.131

Q.45-c.131, that was... “That’s that rebel... Vo’s pup...”

“Wait, he’s Vo’s son?”  TZ laid back to stare up at the underside of Torque’s thick neck, his eyes thankful for the rest.  “I didn’t know you two...”

“It was a long time ago and under permit, mate.”  Torque tilted his head to glance down to TZ.  Despite the calm explanation, the thrall’s hearts thumped hard in his chest.  Not just once, but twice he had attempted to capture his own son.  He had almost killed Mortus.  “But yeah, we had a litter once.  Neither of us knew who was ours though...”

TZ reached up to affectionately scratch the lowest curve of Torque’s horn.  He knew it would register as the lightest touch for him, but he hoped it would still comfort him.  Despite Torque’s efforts, tension still poured from the bonecrusher.  “So, who are they?”

“... remember that young thrall I attacked on the street?”  

“Yeah, Morty?  Wait!”  TZ set the laptop on the ground next to Torque and flipped over to lay stomach to stomach on him.  “You’re his dad!  That’s great!  I’m surprised I didn’t notice the resemblance sooner.”

The answer was a small nod.  Shame burned between Torque’s horns, silencing his answer.  This was massive news, but he had already ruined any chance of doing anything with it, right?  

Running his palm across Torque’s sternum, TZ let his smile fade, but did not let it dim his hope.  “Well, I know it didn’t turn out good at all last time...”  TZ knew it was an understatement, but how else could he describe the mauling that ended with Torque getting his furry butt handed to him?  “But, maybe if you tell him about his mom and explain the situation, maybe things will be different?”

A purr rolled through his chest as the small hand did its work.  “... I dunno.  He has every reason to hate me and she hates me too... It won’t end up good.”

“Maybe.  But you’ll do something good for both of them.  Even if it doesn’t make them like you, you still would have done something nice.”  TZ gave Torque a hopeful grin, reaching up to grab his chin to lower his head.  Flashing a bright grin, TZ gazed into Torque’s eyes.  “That’s enough of a reason to do it.  I’ll even print up the page and everything.”

Torque let him pull his head down, but he averted his eyes.  “Yeah, you’re right.  I just... I just always wanted to know what our pup was like... and I tried to bring him in to the masters to get culled.”  He rested his hand across TZ’s back.  “Seems like I missed my chance for that.”

The warmth and weight of the huge palm against his back calmed TZ further.  “Yeah, you might’ve,” he admitted; there was no reason to soften the blow.  “But, it’s still worth a try.”

Glancing over to the computer, still churning along on its mass collection of important and not-so-important Imperium data, Torque thrummed.  “I’ll.. do it.  Just got to find the kid first.”  Scooting forward, the thrall lowered his body more so the clone could get more comfortable.  His hard plates jammed uncomfortably against the floor, but it was tolerable for now.  “Maybe I’ll look after I escort you back to the Kingdom.”

“All right,” TZ sighed as he looked around at the room deep within the Striker.  “I’m probably getting put in the tub for this...”

Torque nodded.  “But you’re doin’ somethin’ good, yeah?”

“Exactly,” TZ yawned, a chuckle on his breath.  “It’ll be a good present for the Battleborn, definitely.”

[thralls-for-alls]

The Tortured One (Part 3)

Not much could wake Torque from his battle-induced slumber.  The pained groans of Gex as he turned in his sleep, clutching his shivering body into a tight fetal position did nothing to rouse him.  Primals stirred, their eyes barely blinking open.  One reached over to grab his brother and pulled him in closer for warmth; gobs of slobber sprinkled down his chin with every twitchy snore.  Scar lay curled under their gunner brother, warm and safely protected from any danger should it rear its ugly head.  Sniffling back to clear his sinuses, the gunner wiped his sticky, wet nose with his forearm.  Choking on his own mucus, his eyelids fluttered open as he started coughing to clear his throat.  Slowly blinking, he lifted his head from Scar’s shoulder.  The soft glow of his milky eyes illuminated the small space, assuring his brothers were still snoozing nearby.  Licking the back of his teeth, the painful weight of a full bladder pressed uncomfortably against Scar’s hip.  Pushing himself off of the mangled thrall, he sauntered outside to relieve himself with a sleepy grumble.

Muffled moans choked. Bones snapped and cracked. Taut sinew stretched and slid against each other like a mass of mating snakes under his thick skin.  Teeth gnashing, Gex tossed his head back and thrashed. Every blistered puncture wound wept rivers of impossible corruption over his shifting flesh.  Black, bone like claws tore through his fingers, the rapid pace of his hearts pounded through his splitting face.  Hands gripped his dividing horns in a manic desperation to keep the lengthening tips from puncturing his twisted snout.  Voices, so many voices, whispered and screeched in his mind.  They would not stop, the waves of varelsi pleas flooded his extinguishing soul.

They... were horrified.  What is it that scared the horrors that lie beyond the veil?

Gex’s final thoughts faded into the shrieking cacophonies of otherworldy corruption, leaving only a hollow, twisted shell of his former self.  Letting out a wretched screech, he slammed his gangly fists into the ground before bounding out after the gunner.

Panicked primals barked after their twisted warden, one shuffling over to Torque to shake him awake by the horn.  Another slapped a palm against Scar’s back, its companion pointing out the door.  Scar’s eyes snapped open, allowing him to see the strange frenzied varelsi sink its thorned teeth into the gunner’s neck.  His scream caught in the blood bubbling down his throat, his arms weakly pushing away the beast.  

Scar froze, his arms slowly reaching out to pull the Primal close.  He wiggled out of his grip, his leader was in trouble, why didn’t Scar see that?  The Primal munched Scar’s hand, forcing him to recoil back into a hiss.  Growling and barking to his brothers, he leapt outside to drag his leader off of their brother.

A scream finally tore through Torque’s heavy sleep, his plates flexing as his eyes flashed open.  What was it now?  Pushing himself up, he snagged his axe and dragged his sore body to deal with whatever was outside.

Once his eyes fell upon the half-eaten corpse of the gunner and the ripped chunk of flesh still hanging from Gex’s stretched jaws, Torque’s axe clattered at his hooves.  Claws tore at the dirt, barely missing the flailing primal’s soft stomach.  “Oi!” Torque roared, tackling the void beast off of his next meal.  Gex struggled as Torque grappled with his once-teammate’s spindly limbs.  His palms slipped on the moist shifting flesh of the beast as he failed to pin him.  

Torque’s solid fist collided with the monster’s mask, the skin crumbling under his rocky knuckles.  Gex hissed, an unearthly squeal comprised of thousands of voices; his jaws clenching shut in the direction of Torque’s exposed throat.  The monster slithered out from under Torque, its lengthened body coiled, preparing to strike.  Lowering his head, Torque flexed his fingers.

The beast launched at him.  Torque headbutted, their horns colliding and his thick, reinforced crest smashing the monster’s thin skull plating.  Gex yowled, but found his head clasped between Torque’s palms.  Gritting his teeth as claws raked his shoulders, Torque pushed his hands together against the monster’s skull.  Primals nipped at Gex’s thrashing hooves.  As the pressure built, Gex’s plating cracked revealing the slime-ridden grey matter within.  Thousands of voices whined piteously, but Torque could only lift his lip into a twisted smirk.

Scar dry-heaved once the voices silenced into an intolerable crunch.  Slowly, he poked his horned head out of the entrance to find Torque standing over the mangled corpses, his shoulders shaking in silent sobbing.. or was it laughter?  

Whining Primals scrambled towards Scare once they saw him standing just outside the cave entrance. His jaw hung open as he pushed back the tear, snot and drool covered primals behind him... just in case.

“I... really hated that guy,” Torque chortled under his breath, shaking his head as he brought a hand up to wipe the soot and viscera from his face.  His mouth convulsed, unable to decide whether to pull itself into a giddy, crooked grin or to twist itself into a soul crushing sob.  Hot, crimson tears ran down his cheeks as he stared down at the blackened blood of his brother streaked across his brown palms... his once-brother.  His gaze fell to the victim, the stark white of his freshly exposed rib cage and pink meat that clung to the translucent tissue strung between the bones were a stark reminder of just how dismal and grey this ashen planet really was.  Torque’s thoughts slowed to a crawl, unable to process the magnitude of slaughtering his own flesh and blood.  He could only laugh; an unhinged song of a broken soul that chilled Scar’s scarred hearts.

A sharp nip crunched Scar’s fingers and the tug of the lead primal backing towards the safety of the cave brought him to his senses.  Maybe it was best to leave the pet to his devices... Though the bitter nickname sank into his belly like a shiv.  Torque was no pet; he was a wild beast.  One the disfigured thrall had found joy and solace in getting the entire pack to tormenting.

Cautiously stepping backwards, he herded the rest of the pack inside with both of his fluttering hands.  Taking a quick glance around, he spotted a sizable boulder and dragged it in front of the entrance.  Only a few more days and the masters would scour the planet for their pack.  Scar slumped against the rocky wall, the rough rock scraping his skin.  Burying his face in his hands, he found the thought of their rescue provided no hope; not with Torque’s deranged chuckling still filtering between the cracks of the rock.  

“Solus save us...” Scar muttered, shaking his head.   A heavy weight laid across his lap, the worried crying heaved the primal’s chest.  Another laid against his side, curling his arms and legs under him in a tight ball.  Scar’s hand found rest on his back, automatically rubbing small circles into his skin without looking.  His haunted eyes found the other two half-heartedly squabbling to be able to take the prime open spot on his other side.  With a sigh, Scar opted to contort his body to lay his torso down in the spot, giving them more room to work with.  “Rest up,” he mumbled, twisting his neck until his horns could lay across the ground.  “Need to stay strong for just a few more days.”

[thralls-for-alls]

A Stranded Birthday

Waves lapped upon the gravelly beach, a gentle hissing thrum that matched the thrall’s hearts beat.  All four eyes gently closed as he absorbed the simply divine moment.  The cooling air of the coming night kissed along his teal skin, brushing off the grains of sand still clinging to it.  Rubbing his finger against his thumb, the rough callouses built up from the day in the water and assembling the last plank to his grass woven roof.  Drawing in a breath, the sweet smoke of the succulent meat bubbling and sizzling in the open flames beside him made his stomach tighten into a pleasant growl.  

Among the shrill mating cries of insects he still had not discovered and his personal symphony of peace, Arburneck could almost hear the rustle of scaly skin and the laughter of the Gekkans.  His chest still ached after all of these years of their absence, but he could not help but grin at the ghost of their presence.  Along his cheek, his lower eyes opened, their lids still heavy as he took note of the twilight that had fallen in his meditations.  So many years had passed since he had returned from Karlokk, too many for a simple cook to count.  

This was a pleasant birthday.  It seemed he had found a his personal heaven on Solus.

[thralls-for-alls]

A Gift

Hex fanned herself off with the folder filled with the precious papers explicitly detailing their freedom, but also the many promises that her and her brothers would be able to live in this shoe box in the Ring.  It was not much, but at least she would have her own room and could stretch out her hooves.  Torque might have been a lousy lieutenant, but she had to admit the severance package he had managed to scrape together for them was a lot more than she had expected.  She hopped up as a box corner stabbed her in the shoulder.  “Oi, get outta the way,” Ex huffed, tossing the box in his arms up to keep it from falling.  “If you’re hot again, go sit down.”

She shot him a sharp look as she sidled out of the way to lean against the wall instead.  Despite fixing the cooling system, a thick sheen of sweat dripped down her bright skin.  Who knew that her treatments came with the waves of heat boiling just below her skin, sapping the bulk of her energy.  The clatter of metal and the shattering of glass and ceramic snatched her from her thoughts.  “Ex, you got to be careful, man!  Torque stuck ‘is neck out for those dishes.”

“Aww, quiet.  I’m bein’ careful.” Ex adjusted the now squished box on the tiny counter until it sit square with the back splash.  Holding his head up in pride, he turned to give her a shrug.  One of the sharp hooks on his curved horn caught on his jacket, the fresh augment sending a jolt of pain through his skull.  Freedom came with perks, some of which were painful for the sake of the aesthetic; but how else was he going to fit in with the rest of the ruffians in the Detritus Ring?  “If you don’t like it, then you can do it yourself.”

Rolling her eyes, she only grunted and turned her head away as her response.  She knew there was not much point in arguing with him, especially with this heat.

Backing in through the doorway, Drex dragged the large second-hand couch inside.  Plopping it down in front of Hex, he straightened out his back and glanced from brother to sister.  “What, did I miss somethin’?”  His brow furrowed when he noticed the dented box on the kitchen counter, but he could only sigh and shake his head in response.  “Right.  Hex, figure out what’s still good in there and you--” to Ex “-- need to grab the beds.  Don’t break them too or I’ll sit on you.”

Ex scoffed, a sharp toothed grin across his face.  “Aw, I’as just tryin’ to be quick.  You know, it’s better to be efficient wit’ these thin’s so we can enjoy all of our time off.”

“Yeah, but breakin’ thin’s isn’t efficient, man.”   Drex shook his head before kneeling down to drag the couch out of Ex’s way and get it put into place.  “Just go get them, I wanna be done too.”

[thralls-for-alls]

Another Date Night

TZ was not sure where he ended and Rictus began. He could feel the scratch of the thrall's subtle wheeze as his chest rose and fell against his back. The steady rumble of his purr vibrated against his sore muscles and augments. All three eyes had long since closed, unable to keep them open despite the cheery and brightly coloured movie playing on the large screen. Rictus’s arms draped across TZ’s shoulders, the slight weight pleasantly squishing him.  Long, dark tendrils coiled across the clone’s skin, many slipping under his shirt from almost every direction.  The cool contact made his heart flutter.

Leaning his head to the side, he jumped when the gill upon his cheek caught on the sharp point of one of Rictus’ jutting fang.  Tendrils across his skin curled and back plates rattled as Rictus opened his eye to check on his beloved’s face.  “Ya okay, love?”  A clawed hand raised to run the pads of his fingertips across TZ’s wavy mop of hair.  “I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s okay,” TZ hummed, nuzzling his cheek against the side of Rictus’s face.  “I know you’d never mean to...”  Turning in his spot a little, TZ left a small kiss just between the two branches of the scarred V on Rictus’s cheek.  “You love me too much, bro.  Which is good, ‘cause I love you too.”

[thralls-for-alls]

Confessions

Crinkling and poking at his swollen nose at his brother's freshly polished shield, F.69 complained, "I think she broke it." His lip curled as he glanced up to F.66. With a disapproving snort, he added, "I swear she's just tryin' to make me match 20 at this point."

"... I think she's just been tryin' to escape." 66 angled his head to stretch his neck, moving the impromptu mirror away from the far shorter Evolved. "Can't blame her for tryin' to live. I mean, she's spit in me face."

69 bristled in offense, his ridges furrowing. A small trickle of blood peeked from the corner of his nostril. "You've got out lucky, mate. Look at me!" He jabbed a finger towards his own face; the end of one horn is clipped short. "I'm missin' half my horn and my nose is fucked."

"Oi..." 20 turned over in their cot, wincing as their mangled horn nudged the thin padding. Sleep hung heavily from their dark eyes; their hand drawing up the flattened pillow for some extra support. "Least the "Thrallmother" didn't bite ya. She just knocked some sense into you two."

Sliding his shield off from his arm, 66 grimaced as his eye caught the peeling paint and the teeth marks among the explosion of cracks on the eldest evolved. Tucking it under his cot between his hooves, he sighed. "Yeah. She did. But, she really did a number on ya. How's it healin'?"

Sitting up, they gingerly pressed a finger to the end. "Not good, I think... 't's like the worst hangover I've ever gotten."

69 took a seat beside 20; the two Evolved so similar looking, one would think they were the littermates instead of him and the Brute. Grabbing their face to look at the gashes closer, 69 thrummed as he leaned in. "It doesn't look rotted at least. We could cap it?"

"I think resin would protect it better." The Brute peeled his chestplate off, the teal undershirt of his station darkened with his sweat from the day. "It'll keep it strong."

Retreating away from their brother's hand, 20 balked. "But, I just got them how I want them though." With a pout on their lip, their hand went to their still pristine horn. The dark paint still shone with a high polish, the gentle curves catching even the dim overhead lights. "It already took so many favours to get them like this. I finally felt pretty... they felt right..." they confessed, their eyes darting from Brute to Evolved. With a shake of their head, they added, "I can't ask you guys to stick your necks out for me again."

"Pff." With a wave of his hand to dismiss the notion, 69 added, "gives me an excuse to rough up some more traitors. 'Sides, I think the Lieutenant owes us a few for keepin' zipped 'bout those "disappearances"."

Leaning forward to prop himself up on his knees, 66 added, "Yeah, and I'll find an excuse to "investigate" that shop ya liked too." With a shrug, he propped his chin onto his palm. "Think we can manage ta confiscate a dress or a sock or somethin'?" Girls like socks, right? "We'll just get good 'bout hidin' it."

20 whinged, not wanting to put her younger brothers in more danger over her... heretical thoughts. Thrall do not think for themselves. They are the tools of their masters. And this one had always thought she'd be happier a little softer, a little prettier, and a lot less male. If it were not for her brothers, she would not know where she would be. But, she also knew that in matters like these, no was not an answer. With a smile, she accepted, "sure, we'll figure it out. Until then, I'll just keep it clean?"

"It'd be a good idea. Mares still got horns, ya know," 69 chuckled, giving his sister a hearty pat on the shoulder. "Maybe we can steal somethin' to help with that too."

The lights shut off, only the glows from their eyes illuminating the room. "Lights out. We'll move out first thin' in the mornin'."

[thralls-for-alls]

Slip

(( A Sequel to Trip ))

Since the incident during his supply run at the Kingdom, sleep eluded TZ. Each night, he laid on his back staring up at the dimly lit ceiling until the alarm would ring to indicate the Galactic Standard morning.  Bleary-eyed, he focused on the comms device sitting beside him while petting the top of Rictus's head softly snoring in his lap. 

His fingers danced along the screen as he dug through the files hidden deep within the Kingdom’s network.  Something with any information on her.

All he could find was ancient medical records, official proclamation of her promotion, the sign-out sheet for her wingsuit and her vat notes.  But, no death certificate of any form.  TZ’s eyes narrowed as he scanned through the obfuscated files again.  It was not the first time he had searched through the Bravo Squad files; in fact, he had them almost memorized.  BM92-6133′s current status had been omitted.  “Huh... weird.”

When he lifted his hand to rub his eye, Rictus thrummed in his sleep.  A dribble of drool escaped from the corner of the Thrall’s unconnected lip to drip through TZ’s pajama pants.  With a snicker, TZ returned to his stroking of the other’s head.

Poking at the device’s screen again, TZ searched another clone’s number:  KA92-8004.  The explosives expert of the Bravo Squad’s file was filled to the brim with her medical records, patents and other assorted notes on the liberal application of explosions.  However, her file remained unchanged.  Her current status: deceased. 

TZ blinked as he re-entered the search for Bravo again, questions broiling just behind his third eye.  Could she...?  How?  The sentries had shredded the whole squad, Bravo couldn’t have survived.  Where had she been all these years? 

Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes.  If Bravo was alive, where in the hell had she been the last few years? 

“Whassat?”  With a click of his teeth as he attempted to lick away the drool in the corner of his mouth, Rictus’s eyes fluttered open.  He pulled the hand off of his head to clasp it in his claws.  “‘Ey... ya’ all right, mate?  The folks ‘n y’r channel bein’ jerks again?”

“Oh... no, nothing like that bro.”  TZ palmed the snot away from the end of his nose as he shook his head. The clone opted to put his comms into sleep mode.  A chill ran up his tenderly trapped hand as an inky tendril swirled up his scarred arm.  He squeezed the three-digit hand in response.  “I was just doing some research.”

“R’search?”  Rictus’s eyebrow raised with his slurred question.  Careful not to jab TZ with his horns, Rictus pulled himself up into a seated position to see him eye to eye. “But that don’t usually call fer tears...  Wat’s wrong?”

TZ pouted as he glanced over to his comms device.  The thought of his fangs crunching through the glass screen and the electronics within bubbled up to the forefront of his mind.  His third eye lingered on it as the others looked back to Rictus’s.  He was sure his medic would pump his stomach and/or kill him if he ate another battery again.  “Do you believe in ghosts?”

Another frosty tentacle clung to the clone’s other scarred hand.  “What’re ya gettin’ at?”

“Ghosts.  Like, the dead coming back?”

The Thrall hummed deep in thought.  “I dunno.  Far as I know the dead don’t come back.”  His free claw scratched at the side of his chin.  “But, I don’t know much and stranger thin’s’ve happened.  Why?”

“I’ve been seeing one,” he admitted, his voice quiet as he rubbed his thumb alongside one of the sharp spines sticking out of the Thrall’s hand.  “My old CO’s been around, I guess.”

Rictus scooted closer, his other hand wrapping around the thick jaw muscle of the other.  He had no clue why that information would drive TZ to tears; but it did and that was what mattered.  “That’s not good then?  Yeah?”

“I dunno.”  He leaned into the large soft palm, the claws tangling into his bristly hair.  “I thought she’d say hi at least.  But all I got was a question mark.  She must’ve deleted it because it disappeared right after it posted.”

“Maybe she’s just afraid?  Big star like you’s gotta be hard to say hi to, huh?”

“Maybe... I don’t know.  It’s been a long time but... we were close.”

Something sank in Rictus’s chest.  It never occurred to him that TZ might have had a mate previously.  Or might prefer people of a different gender.  His tendrils slipped back under his skin as his eyes glanced away.  “Close, huh?”

“Yeah.  Bravo was one of my best friends.  We used to hang out every day.  She looked after all of us like...”  TZ did not know how to describe it.  She was an older person who gave him advice and made sure they all stayed on schedule.  “Like a CO, I guess.”

“So... she was a good leader then?  Took care of all ‘f you all?”

TZ nodded.  “Yeah.  Like that.”  His eyes started to mist again.  “But... if she was so good, why hasn’t she come to see me?  I thought she was dead...”

“Maybe we can...  We could lure her out?  If we do, we could ask her.”  Rictus nodded as his stripes ventured to hold the other again.  “I could escort ya ‘round if you want?”

“I’d like that.”  A smile broke across his face as he nodded.  TZ leaned forward and tapped one side of his forehead to the other’s long crest.  “You’re always looking out for me, Ricky.”

Rictus’s white face turned a bright pink.  He was not sure if the clone knew what that headbutt meant to Thrall.  His eyes could not seem to find a place to rest.  “Well, I’m just...  Uh... I’as just doin’ the right thin’...”

“Well, you’ve been doing a great job at it.”  TZ sat back again, sniffing to clear his nose again.  “But yeah, you could come with me when I go into the Kingdom next.  I could get you a permit.”

“What ‘bout...”  He uncoiled his tentacles from his skin across his body to wiggle their ends at the other.  “Folks usually don’t like me much.”

TZ reached out for one of the shorter tendrils sprouting from the other’s head.  “I like you!  And people usually leave me alone anyways, so it’ll be all right.  I could get you a permit so it’s all good with the King and Queen too.  I’d love to introduce you to some of my friends there.”  His fingers tangled into the smooth nothingness.  “But only if you want me to, bro.”

“Oh, you can!  It’ll be fun, yeah?” 

“Yeah!  I’ll take you in in the morning, okay?”  His hand wandered back to caress the smooth purple crest.  “It’s just some paperwork.  I could get it done while you’re sleeping.”

With a discordant hum, his eyes narrowed.  “... all right then.  But no more researchin’.”  Rubbing the soft pad of his thumb across the other’s cheek, Rictus tilted his head.  “Ya gotta sleep too.”

The clone’s cheek dusted with lavender as the moisture was wiped away.  “Yeah... that sounds like a good idea...”  He scootched down to get comfortable; he draped the other’s arm across him.  “Is this okay for you?”

“Yeah.”  Rictus lowered himself onto his belly right next to the other, keeping his gangly arm in the place TZ left it.  He chuckled as he lowered his head onto the pillows.  His eyes slowly closed from their lids’ increasing weight.  “I gotta make sure ya sleep, ya know?”

[thralls-for-alls]

All That Glitters is Painted Over

Sitting cross-legged in the supply closet TZ called his bedroom, the clone chewed on the end of his paintbrush as he turned his thigh guard over in his hands. All three eyes swept over the glossy black surface for any new chips or scratches from the day's recording session. He had laughed when the loud, stump-backed dwarf suggested that "the copy-kitty baby" wear his "silly metal armor" for a round of wrestling, but from the flush of angry bruises across his side would attest, it seemed the dwarf gave good advice on the matter.

How was he to know that the man named Boldur might as well have been made of rock?

But, as much fun as the day was, being thrown and knocked around while wearing painted armor meant new scratches, chips, scrapes. He almost found the inspection relaxing; a small reminder of pleasant times of routine and surrounded by his squad.  Unmarred by the deep, sinking ache of their absence.

Mostly.

Setting aside the undamaged leg guard, he picked up his helmet in both hands.  His fangs dug deeper into the wood of the paint brush as his fingers ran over the surface and discovered a chip in the paint.  Turning it over, he saw a large sweep of gold shimmering across the side of his helmet.  The brush snapped in his jaws and fell onto his pink UPR-supplied blanket.  “Aww,” he uttered as he set aside his helmet to pick up the brush. He tried to rub the new black stain from the rough surface, to no avail.  He pouted at the now bigger blemish and the black tips of his fingers.  “Oh come on...”

A sigh escaped him which drew a wince from his bruised rib cage.  He pressed his hand against the scarred gills on his side, the slight give hinted that he may need yet another trip to the medic. 

TZ snagged the helmet again and set it into his cross-legged lap.  Slouching, he lowered the brush to cover up the pesky peek of shining metal; but he hesitated.  His eye twitched.

This wasn’t who he was; gold wasn’t his color anymore.  Not since...

The chunk of wooden handle in his mouth splintered as he bit down on it again.  He streaked the first glob of paint on the helmet, taking care to smooth it out into a thin coat.  Sharp splinters dug into the inside of his cheek and gums misting his eyes, or at least that would be his excuse.  He rubbed one with the back of his hand as he moved to dip his brush for the next layer.

What would Bravo say about her golden squad member now?  Would it be her usual rousing speech of “Buck up, bro!  There’s bunkers to bust and depots to destroy!  There’s no need to dwell on the past when the future’s so bright!”  It did not seem right.  More shards split, digging between clenched fangs.  He hummed the first tune that came to his head; anything to block out his CO’s voice in his mind as he pressed down the paint.  “It was only a mistake.  Anyone would’ve made it.” 

Her voice was clear as Nylo in the dark skies of Bliss.  Paint bristles splayed across the slick paint, tiny bubbles mixed into the surface.  “Ugh, no...”  Sticking the handle between his fangs again, he used a corner of his already ruined blanket to smear them away.  He needed to focus on this, not let his mind wander.  Not another mistake...

“Tango, it’s all right!  Just needs a bit of TLC and it’ll be like new again.  No need to beat yourself up over it.  No matter how much you screw up, it can be fixed.”

He hummed louder as he scrubbed harder; the more he scrubbed, the more gold peeked through the fresh paint.  “Dammit!”  He hurled the helmet and it bounced off his door onto the foot of his bed.  Sniffing back the rising flood of tears, he struggled to close the lid on his jar of paint.  “I messed up, I can’t fix this one.” 

The lid’s edge finally caught the rim of the glass jar and TZ screwed it closed til his knuckles turned white.  This too, was flung at the door and landed at the foot of his bed.  He’d have to chip off the bubbled paint and re-do it tomorrow, it was an easy solution.  Running his hand through his bristles, his fingers left a dark streak across his scalp from the still moist paint stuck to the tips.  Groaning again, he laid back onto his pillow and continued gnawing on the paint brush, the soft wood no challenge for his hard fangs.

“I can’t bring you guys back...”

[thralls-for-alls]

A Lion in Thrall’s Clothing

((A sequel to Torque’s Fall))

Vocatia huffed as she wiped down the bartop for the seventh time in the last dead hour.  She had sent the dancers home until the evening; there was no point to keeping them on the clock if there were no customers to rain credits on them.  Even Rictus had skittered off to see his fishy beau elsewhere in the system.

This meant the Thrallmother kept her post in the bar alone for a few hours.  It was fine, if boring and a little lonely.  Digging her nail into a groove where the two pieces of wood met to free the residue of past cleanings, she wondered if she should call Gnoll to come by and bug her for a few hours.  But, he was busy helping protect the universe fighting star eaters and closing their portals, so she figured she could endure a little boredom in return.  A grunt escaped her as she leaned over the counter and lowered her head to stretch her back.

Propping her head onto her palm, she stared at the door with a wistful sigh.  Just a few more hours.  Who knows?  Gnoll might be done saving the world by then too.  It would be nice.

Her eyes snapped open and she straightened up when she heard the door open.  "Huh?  Welcome ta the Sinful Bat, dea--" her brow furrowed as her eyes met Torque's.  Flicking her wrist to shoo him away, she growled, "get out.  Not in the mood ta deal wit' you."

"Bah."  The unarmoured and exhausted Bonecrusher dismissed her dismissal with his own hand-wave.  "Just goin' ta be a minute, don't be dumb."

"I ain't dumb, ya daft post," she barked, her razor thin patience already slicing to reveal the boiling rage beneath.  Though, she could see the evidence of the last several times her fury got the better of her in the huge puncture scars across the other's wide chest. "Get. Out."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he held up other hand to shut her up.  "I'as just wantin' to tell ya that I got one of yer girls last night."

With a deliberation akin to a caged tiger, she stepped out from behind the counter.  Her plates shivered as she shook out the tension from her shoulders and cracked her neck.  "What'd'ya mean ya "got" one of me girls?  Speak slow and I might not kill ya."

"Look, I'as drunk..."

"Go on."

"I don't remember.  I woke up in a ditch wit' her stripped down to the bone," he explained, his head tilting to the side in some semblance of guilt.   He shrugged.  "I don't even know where I found her.  Just thought you should know..."

"Ya just "thought"?   Ya don't think ya sloppy drunk."   Her lips curled back as she stared down the other, her head dipped as her glacier glare aimed for his damnedable hearts.   She charged.

Two gold adorned horns crunched through the meaty flesh and bone of Torque's exposed chest.  A choked scream escaped him as he tried to yank her off of him, but his lung failed his voice.   Vocatia's arms wrapped around his waist as she continued pushing him backwards.  The position would almost seem intimate if blood didn't pour down his stomach and pooled to the groud.  Glasses clinked as they shook from her roar; the larger Thrall's hooves scraped as they left the floor.

Just as she started the flip to slam him to her side, his pained yowling tore into a ear-splitting growl.  Her head jerked down by the horn as his hooves reunited with the floor.  Snarling, she tried digging her horn deeper into his chest, but the sudden fluff of long fur against her face made her cough and attempt to pull away.  Thick claws grasped at her back, drawing both blood and a surprised yelp.  She opened her eyes to see that it was not the idiot she loathed pinning her, but the maw of some maned “dog” aimed for her trapped skull.  

She shrieked as she struggled to pull herself off of him, but the ground fell away from beneath her prim, manicured hooves. His thickening arms held her in a tight, sharp vice grip.  Pulling her hooves up to her stomach, she kicked and slashed out against him; her horn dislodged itself from the beastly flesh.  Determined to survive, she punched the gaping puncture and dug her fist inside the slippery wound.  

Her lips pulled back as she groped around in the viscera for something, anything to grab as the other thrashed and roared with every twitch of her fingers.  Something pulsed against her nail tips.  She wrapped her fingers around it and squeezed.  

Claws dislodged from her skin as he struggled to pry her off of himself; the beast whined as it reared back on its back hooves.  Clinging for her life to the slick, thrashing organ in one hand, she fisted chunk of hair in the other. She took advantage of his awkward stance in this strange six-limbed body and swung her weight to the side, tugging at his hair to guide him down.  The scrape of the weighty hoof slipping against the plush carpeted ground prophesied the careen that would topple the mighty monster.  Tearing herself out of him, she fell.  Landing with a heavy plumf on her side and shoulder, she rolled onto her stomach to protect her crests and get out of the way of him.  Glasses and bottles shook from their shelves as he crashed into the ground in a splay of kicking hooves.

Torque’s paws clutched his chest as a strained whine escaped his throat.  Vocatia stared at the former Thrall, the only notable remnants of his normal form she could were his distinctly curved horns, his belt, and the thick crest crowning his skull.  A thick, shaggy, and now blood drenched mane lined the wide snout of his face.  “Torque?”

The betrayed look in his pained eyes in that moment would stick with her for years.  Finally rolling onto his lower stomach, he scrambled onto his shaky hooves and bent over to trot out of the door of the club.  Unable to get up from the floor, she could only watch, dumbfounded, unsure of what had just happened.  

Struggling to get into a position to get moving, she winced as the lacerations across her back complained from the attempt.  She started to reach over her shoulder to check them, but the crimson coating of her hand stopped her investigation.  Groaning, she dragged herself behind the bar and fumbled for her comms device and first aid kit.  She knew of a sweet healer who she could trust to fix her wounds back up in a jiffy.

But, she was not sure about her mortal enemy.  What had the old masters done to him?

[thralls-for-alls]

1000 Credit Words

The whole shuttle shook as Mortus plopped down on the too small bench. An unfortunate problem of being a Thrall using Ekkuni public transport was that everything was designed for the lithe Aelfrin or the stout Dwarves and not a massive Brute. The bench groaned as he leaned over to pluck a long splinter from his lower back, a gift from the root-like surface of the seat.

Mortus groaned as he flicked the beast of a splinter away. He rubbed his hands over his white, cracked face and chin. “I’m a bloody pilot…” he grumbled to himself, but his deep voice traveled farther than he intended. “I shouldn’t ‘ave ta deal wit’ this.”

But his Gaboon had been left back in the docking bay of the abandoned base of Arum’s gang. But with it in the Detritus Ring, it had to have been stolen by now.

The Brute watched as the shuttle pilot started asking passengers to move to the opposite end of the cabin. He knew that the elf was just trying to redistribute the weight inside the craft so it would not topple, but that knowledge did nothing to stop Mortus from burying his face in his hands. “Fine, just let me off. Y’re not goin’ ta balance me wit’ four elves and a handful of dwarves, mate. I’ve got a few tons on them…”

Pulling himself to his hooves, his thick crest slammed into the ceiling. He let out a frustrated snarling bark as he gripped his head and slouched off of the shuttle. His thick hooves had barely hit dirt when he heard the crackling groan of the Eldrid ship close its hatch and tear away from its fresh grown ramp. Mortus glowered as the knotted, floating tree-ship hovered in place before launching off into the distance.

After kicking a significant gouge into the dirt, he patted at his red and black shorts’ pocket for his comms device and stylus. Feeling the squarish lump on his thigh, he dragged his hooves over to a nearby boulder. Dropping down to sit, he growled to himself as he fished his pad out and started poking at it with the corner of his nail to open the search function.

Is there a shuttle from Ekkunar to Deritus Ring?

Is there a shuttle from Ekkunar to Deritus Ring for Thrall?

Take Thrall from jungle to trash?

Much to the Brute’s chagrin, the final search worked. The rest of the advertisment for the shuttle company was littered with just as offensive and dumbed down instructions as the search. But, the pointed ears, four-fingered hand and fangs of the man claiming to own the business betrayed the reason for such belittling wording.

At least a Jennerit, in theory, might know how to transport him without veering off-course into a corkscrew. With a sullen jab of the corner of his nail into the screen, he dialed the number of the shuttle. As it rang, he straightened his posture and even lifted his outer finger in preparation of dealing with someone who would call themselves his master.

“Greetin’s dear sir,” he started, imitating the most pompous of the fancy folk he had met. “I’d just seen y'r advertisement on the holographic network as I need to procure y'r services.” Mortus spoke slow to not trip over the syllables of his 1000 credit words. “I am currently waiting on Ekkunar and need transport to the Detritus Ring. Hmmm, yes.”

He inspected his nails at the nasally voice on the other end explained that the service was tailored for livestock over humanoids. Scratching his chin, Mortus answered, “I dare say my good man, surely you can hear that I am one of these so-called beasts and I don’t much appreciate the description that a fellow such as me is "livestock”.“

"Either way, I still need transport as I am in a predicament and have no need ta be choosy. Send me a shuttle fit for me and we’ll put all this nasty business behind us.”

Despite the delightful show of politeness, the voice on the other end tossed back that they needed a serial number to send a proper transport.

“Hmm… there is no indication on the advertisement that this were an Imperium-based place of business… I fear me number may fail y'r scans.”

He could hear the light chortle from the other end from his break in character. The Jennerit explained that it would be no issue, the number was just a thing they had to do.

“Q.45-c131. But dare I say, pay close attention ta how Captian Gresham departed. I hear ’t’s good readin’.” The threat hidden behind his words sent a chill of goosebumps down his skin. But, it was necessary, given the circumstances. “So, please send the shuttle, post-haste. Thank you.”

Disconnecting from the call and sending off his coordinates to the company, Mortus collected his things laying beside him and climbed up onto his semi-asleep hooves. He would need to be ready to hop on board in just a few moments.

[thralls-for-alls]

Jump-scare a Thrall?

“So, y’re just playin’ a sim tonight?” Rictus rested his chin atop Tango Zulu’s mess of bristles as he wrapped his long arms across the other’s stomach.

The mouse clicked as TZ continued setting up the archaic program. He sighed. “Yeah, kind of? Someone suggested I try doing “Let’s Plays” so I thought I’d show off my bravery by facing “Five Nights at Foxtrot’s”.“ He chuckled at the thought of facing the assorted animatronic clones in animal costumes being anything but ridiculous. “It’s supposed to be really spooky. There’s no camera this time, so you can watch if you want?”

“Spooky eh?” Rictus’s eyes followed the little arrow dash across the screen. Lifting his stripes to show the tendril tips at the edges of the monitor, he hummed, “I’m much scarier than any sim, mate.”

TZ wrapped one of the tendrils around one of his scar-splashed fingers, careful with his trimmed, but still sharp nail. The freezing smoothness of the tentacle slipped easily between his digits. His hand free, he double-clicked on the brand-new icon and the screen went dark. “Of course, you’re the scariest grumpy thrall who loves his birds too much.”

Rictus chortled as he pulled his tendrils back under his skin to swirl into his stripes. A toothy bear stared back to them from TZ’s screen, a low thrum escaped the speakers. The clone selected “New Game” and the screen flickered to a control room. A phone rings but TZ clicked another button to skip the cutscene. Instead he opted to press the bright red buttons on either side of the screen to close and open the doors; turn lights on and off; and flip up a menu from the bottom of the screen to show security cameras staring at a stage occupied by three robotic animals, including the bear. The battery icon ticked down to 99%.

“Why’s there a computer in the computer?” Rictus asked as he let out a whistling huff through his nose.

“So I can watch the robots so I know when they’re coming to attack me.”

The screen flicked back to the stage as TZ brought the menu up; the bear was looking at the camera now. Rictus’ indigo plates rattled as a shiver crawled up his spine. They seemed to have been turned off, but the beady light in its eyes reminded him of the Stareaters. His grip across TZ’s shoulders tightened as tentacles slithered from their skin-deep prison to grasp the clone a little more. “So, what’s goin’ on wit’ the bear?”

“I think he’s turned off?” TZ glanced up to the underside of Rictus’ chin with his third. With his left hand he tapped his clipped claw to the purple surface. “But, he’s supposed to walk around to try and get me.”

“Get you?” Despite the affectionate poke to his chin, Rictus’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as the monitor flicked back to the stage. The bear was gone.

The encroaching chill of the tendrils curling around his shoulders soaked through his shirt to tickle at his skin. TZ chuckled again, finding it cute. “Yeah. He’s gonna come out and bite me. It’ll be cool.”

The battery in the corner read at 50%.

“I don’t want him to bite you.” Rictus took his eyes off of the screen to stare off at the rest of the dark room.

“It’s all right, I’m protected, see?” TZ toggled the left door open and shut as a demonstration. Leaving it shut, he flipped through the cameras again. The bear was still no where to be found.

When Rictus looked back, the number had dropped down to 25%. “What’s the battery for then?”

“The camera monitor, probably.” TZ shrugged. “Maybe the lights too.” He clicked on the button to light up a hallway outside the door. The number fell to 24%. “See?”

Rictus rested more of his scant weight on the clone, a low, worried grumble in his throat. “I guess. Still don’t like it though.”

Closing his third eye and tilting his head from the extra rumble from the Thrall's rumbling, TZ couldn't help the smirk across his face.  "I'll just keep the doors closed. It'll keep them out and I'll be safe.  See?”  The lavender glow from the underside of the Void-touched one’s horns brightened as there was a clawing screech against the the metal door.  “Perfectly safe.”

5%.  “I guess.  ‘T’s not like the doors’ould open if the power goes out...”  Rictus hummed as he pulled his tendrils back under his skin.  “That’d be dumb.”

“Right?  This game’s too easy.”  TZ sat back in his chair, the best he could with Rictus still hanging over him. 3%  “I was told it was going to be scary... guess they were scared of you.”

“But aren’t sims supposed to... uh... challenge you or somethin’?”  He huffed as he opened a clawed hand.  2%.  “I’d think that there’d be somethin’ there to keep you from doin’ exactly this...” 1%.

Before TZ could say anything, the screen fell dark and they could both hear the metal doors clank open.  Despite clicking each of the buttons one after the other, nothing would turn on or move.  Then the music started; the tinny notes of a music box playing some ancient tune sent fresh quivers across Rictus’s long plates.  Beady eyes and sharp teeth shone from the darkened doorway.

A harsh growl escaped through too-long fangs and several inky tentacles wrapped around TZ as the song ended.  Silence fell through the machine’s speakers as the screen went dark.  Only mixture of soft illuminations from both being’s eyes and the gentle, tiny sparkles that seemed to hover around the Void-touched one cut through the darkness.  A serene moment that let the tension melt ever so slightly...

SCRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Before TZ could do anything he found himself hanging two feet above ground and a few feet behind Rictus as he hissed at the Foxtrot bear behind the game over screen.  Wiggling in his physically impossible bonds, all the clone could do was giggle.

With his heart in his throat and his body low ready to pounce, the laughter over his shoulder broke Rictus from his snarling trance.  He slowly glanced over his shoulder at the crazy, chuckling clone before realizing that he might’ve over-reacted.  Still, he was unable to catch his racing, whistling breath.  “Wot?”

“It’s a sim, Ricky.  Remember?”

Rictus glowered back at the screen, before lowering TZ to the ground and peeling back his grip from him.  “Right... a sim...”  He could not hide the embarrassed side-glance or the flush of pink across his white face.  “‘T’s not real...”

“Yeah!”  Then it clicked for TZ, Rictus might not have been familiar with these old sims...  All three eyes went wide as he assured, “yeah, it’s not real.  We’re fine.  See?”  He flashed a wide smile and gave two thumbs up.  “Everything’s good, bro.”

Despite crossing his arms in an effort to show that he was above the “spooky” game, Rictus still shivered where he stood on the spot.  “... don’t think I much like these sims.”

“That’s okay...”  The clone grabbed one of the Thrall’s arm and tried to pry them open.  “That one wasn’t very fun anyways... I could show you a different one that’s not spooky?”

A confused huff chirped through his throat as TZ tugged on his arm.  “Uhh, yeah.  Maybe?”  Rictus relented as he held still to not accidentally hit him with his sharp horns.  Muscular arms wrapped around his waist and held him tight as he felt the weight of the clone’s head on his shoulders.  Unsure what else to do, he just stood there and purred with a squeaky note escaping his nostrils.  “Sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”  TZ beamed hearing the strange, but too adorable sound from the Thrall’s chest, but still held him close.  Rictus’s plates still rattled from the startle.  “That way you’re the spookiest one.  Not some silly, fake bear.”

Rictus peeked back at the screen which had turned off in the mean time.  He cautiously smirked.  “That’s right... ‘sides, I’m real and he isn’t.”

“Exactly!  And I think I have one all about birds that you could play.”  He took a step towards the computer chair to guide the spindly Thrall to it.  Realizing the chair’s back would get in the way of Rictus’ plates, he opted to drag Rictus to the couch to let him sit on the end of it instead.  The desk scrapped against the floor as TZ dragged it over in front of him and set up the aforementioned game.  It might have been deemed “for children,” but TZ figured it would be best for a spooked Thrall.  “This one uses pictures and talks to you too, so there’s not that much reading.”

Again, Rictus felt the weight of the Clone’s body against his and an arm wrapped around his back between his shorter plates.  The screen turned pink with flowers and birds and cheery music played, a far-cry from the previous, creepy title screen. 

Maybe, he had overreacted. Sims might not be that bad?