#002 - "Panic"
Chapter 1: Trial by Fire
I make my way back down the hallway, turn the two corners, and march through the metal doors with as much faux confidence as I can muster. I enter a large room with a wide circular wall of black glass placed at its center. Apart from the glass in the middle of the room, and the large window on the wall, the floors, walls, and ceiling are all made of some kind of metal. It almost looks like titanium, but that would cost an absolute fortune to do. It’s probably some odd mixture of steel. While this room also has glowing vapor on the ceiling, the vapor is much thinner, and the walls have more traditional light panels built into them. Whatever this vapor is, it seems to be fulfilling the role of auxiliary lighting, making the room feel completely and evenly lit, even with the sun shining through the window. Not too much light, not too little.
The center wide pillar of glass has images running across it, almost like some kind of neon laser light show. Pretty cool decorum if I’m being honest. Despite being a bunch of thugs, whoever actually designed and footed the bill for this place actually had some pretty great tastes. I feel like there’s a huge discrepancy between the quality of this place, and the quality of its occupants.
There are more doors lining the walls of this room, this time the doors have windows. This room seems to serve as some sort of central hub of some kind. I remember I used to fly a lot when I was younger, so all these lights, fake leather benches, and decorative potted plants everywhere remind me of the airports I visited as a kid.
I’m gradually regaining my memory. I sense that with time, everything will come back to me. So worrying about it is my last concern at the moment. But it’s a strange sensation- remembering bits of your past, having strong beliefs or instincts about certain things, but not knowing where they stem from. Like instinctively knowing that fire is bad, but never having felt its heat yourself. There’s a mental divide between my instincts and experiences. But in an odd sense, I’m a bit thankful for it at the moment. I feel if I could remember everything, I would be petrified by fear, unable to move. I’ll just need to blindly trust what my instincts are telling me, and keep moving forward.
Fortunately this room is empty right now, but what if I run into people? What if they recognize this armor, think I’m Tony, and try and talk with me? I don’t even know what Tony's voice sounded like, so how am I supposed to emulate his voice?
Well, based on the tone, accent, and general attitude of the other three men I encountered, which were all similar apart from their level of hot-headedness, it might be fair to bet that Tony sounded similar. But Tony was a smoker, so his voice was probably a bit more gruff. Even knowing that, it’s impossible to accurately fake it if I don’t know what it sounded like to begin with. It’s not like all smokers sound the same.
I stop and ponder to myself while staring into the laser light show racing across the glass.
A cold maybe? I could pretend to be sick, and fake a raspy voice. I would imagine colds in closed environments like this, where people are coming and going, would be quite common. That’d let me make up a voice, all I’d need to focus on is fitting his character. Based on the absolute state of Tony’s room, I’m willing to bet he was rather lazy and lethargic, not caring much about anything. Not to mention this armor is painted like crap. I can’t tell if he just didn’t think it through, or he just didn’t care, but he painted over his own nametag for God’s sake. So I think it’s fair to say that Tony probably didn’t have a very solid head on his shoulders. That or he was in a bad place mentally. Which would honestly make sense, given that human beings are not meant to be isolated in artificial environments like this for months, or possibly even years at a time. But judging from the attitude of the other three guys, Tony was probably just a lazy asshole. Birds of a feather flock together, right?
Now that I’ve decided the persona I plan to adopt, I begin investigating each of the doors lining the edges of the room. Fortunately for me, each of the doors are actually labeled this time with a nice big, green glowing sign. Would have been nice if they had labeled all the doors like this. Such as when I was playing that involuntary game of door Russian roulette earlier. But they probably only labeled these doors because this room serves as a central hub.
Unfortunately however, none of these signs say where the “Export Box” is. They all say “A-Wing”, “B-Wing”, “C-Wing”, etc. They do have subtext underneath which tells you what you’ll find in those areas, like “Medical”, “Mess Hall”, “Storage”, “Communications”, etc. Apparently the Hangar is in A-Wing. That’s good to know they probably have ships here then, but I can’t pilot a ship by myself. The term “Export Box” is probably a local colloquialism, and not an official name. The closest thing I can see to it would be “Outbound” in B-Wing, but unless I can somehow verify that, I'd just be wasting time and putting myself in unnecessary danger.
I hear a door open to my right, and I see a woman walk through the door to C-Wing. She’s carrying what looks to be a watering can, and is wearing a very skimpy French maid outfit. It clearly displays the underside of her breasts, along with the entirety of her midriff. She’s a cute girl with shoulder length light orange hair, cat ears atop her head, and a tail swaying behind her. What the Hell is up with this place? Is this some kind of illegal genetic modification space station run by gangsters??
As soon as she notices me, for the very briefest of instances, I see a look of mild panic. In the next instant, her face changes to a calm, slight smile. She gives me two quick bows, and then walks over to a potted plant, heels clicking against the floor, and begins watering it.
Her skirt does nothing to hide her backside. The moment she bends over even slightly, I am already able to see half her ass. Definitely not a bad view, but what I’m even more interested in is that tail. This is the first time I’m able to see the base of their tail clearly. It doesn’t look like a prosthetic, or some kind of cosplay. It’s very clearly moving on its own in a deliberate, and complex manner. If that were a robotic prosthetic, it would be incredibly intricate inside. Most mechanical animatronics are actually very delicate, and even a small amount of pressure against their preset movements can burn out their servo motors. Hydraulic movements would be another matter. But that would require her to have some kind of pump and reservoir for the hydraulic fluid. Unless they are built into her internal organs, I don’t see anyway for that to be possible. No – that tail must be the real deal.
“Would you like for me to service you sir?”
“-Huh?”
“I could sense your gaze while I was watering. If you’re having trouble sleeping due to any unsatisfied urges, I am more than happy to assist.”
Service huh? I see, these girls must serve as sex slaves, and general domestic servants. That explains why those guys were talking about selling that blue haired fox girl. They aren’t members of this gang – they’re property. No wonder she could ask me that in such a calm, and collected manner. At least she doesn’t seem as poorly treated as the other girl. Maybe she works in a different area, so her treatment isn’t as bad. That would make sense, given she came out of C-Wing. Not to mention her “uniform” is different. I can use her status as a slave to my advantage, and get some information out of her. Time to put your game face on “Tony.”
“Ah – Nah I’m good. Just woke up feelin’ shitty, and couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“I see, yes I can hear it in your voice. It sounds like you’re starting to come down with something. Would like me to escort you to medical?”
“Nah - Nothing a stiff drink can’t fix. One of those dumb bastards must have brought it on board.”
“It is as you say sir.”
She gives me a brief but genuine smile. Apparently she too sees them as dumb bastards. I need to ask about where the “Export Box” is, but how? Should I pretend to be new? No - she might recognize the armor. But she’s a slave, so she probably only knows other people in her station closely. Gonna have to bet on that being the case. Maybe I can play to her affinity with the blue haired girl, and get information that way? Worth a shot.
“Hey, do you know where the Export Box is?”
Suddenly her eyes flew wide in fear, her mouth trembling, her ears stand straight up, and her tail turns rigid – It’s hair flaring out in all directions.
“If-if-if I off-offended you in-in anyway sir I am terribly sorry!!!”
She gives me a prompt deep bow, begging for forgiveness for her imagined slight. Whatever the Export Box is, the slaves really don’t want to be sent there – that much is clear.
“Nah nah, you didn’t do anything wrong, relax.”
She looks up at me with damn near tear filled eyes.
“Th-then why do you want to go there, may I ask?”
“Ah, I heard some bastards dragged my go-to girl there, and I wanna know why. If their reasons are as dumb as they are, I’m gonna bust a few heads.”
“Oh… I see.”
Her eyes look down in sorrow. Being dragged off to the Export Box must be a common occurrence.
“You might know her? Fox eared girl with blue hair.”
“Ionna!? She’s your go-to!?”
Why the excitement? But I see, so her name is Ionna. Alright I got an in, now I just need to keep pushing.
“Y-yeah, any idea why they’d send her there?”
She’s nervously fidgets around with an uncomfortable expression fixed to her face.
“So uh, Ionna was custom cultivated especially for the Colonel. She was meant to be his personal attendant, but she never took.”
Cultivated? Do you mean to say these beast people aren’t born, but cultivated? Like cloning? Also – Colonel? Are you saying this place is a military installation?? Because if so, their conscription standards have truly hit rock bottom. Colonel has to be a nickname, or a former rank. There is absolutely no way this place is an official military base.
“Never took?”
“Ah, my apologies, due to my own physiology, I often forget that Therianthropic Symbiosis is not common knowledge.”
“Therian what now?”
“Therianthropic Symbiosis. As you know, the overwhelmingly vast majority of therianthropes are 11’s or 12’s, so our compliance subroutines have all been activated in our central neural implants. But most people don’t know that in the case of therianthropes, such as Ionna and I, our CS is actually a redundant system. Therianthropes are specifically bred to be slaves, and due to our significantly altered anatomy and physiology, we are innately born with the intrinsic instinct to find and serve someone we can call our master, since we ourselves cannot reproduce. It’s similar to how humans seek to find a spouse, but it’s more akin to a symbiotic relationship.”
Okay, I am understanding like half of this. From what I gather, therianthropes are people born with animal traits – or I guess “bred” would be a more accurate term to use. They are created for the express purpose of being slaves. Yet despite this, they wish to find their equivalent to a “mate” by finding a master. The fact that she refers to it as a “symbiotic relationship” concerns me. The first thing that comes to mind is a symbiotic parasite. I remember hearing about a fish that would allow smaller fish to ride on its back. The bigger fish would be able to chew up food, while the smaller fish could not. So anytime the big fish needed to have its teeth cleaned, it would open its mouth and let the smaller fish clean its teeth. The smaller fish would get an easy meal, while the big fish would get his own personal grooming team. To compare yourself to that though… I guess when you’re born with no future, that might be the best possible outcome.
I have no idea what she means when she says 11’s or 12’s though. But when she said central neural implant, and compliance subroutine, is she implying someone implanted something in her head to make her obedient? That’s beyond fucked. If that’s the case, then me getting discovered and killed might be the ideal scenario. What if they cut my brain open, jam something in there, and turn me into some sort of zombie? Or a slave like her? I’d rather not be passed around and used as some thug’s… Yeah no, I’d rather kill myself. I’d love to know more, but she’s saying all this stuff like it’s completely common knowledge, so I better not ask. I’ll only risk outing myself.
“What does this have to do with anything?”
“Well Ionna is a kitsune type therianthrope. Kitsune are exceedingly rare due to the fact they are by far the most difficult type to train. They’re basically extinct at this point, and extraordinarily expensive to cultivate since the only source of genetic data is a limited amount of old stock. She was made to be the Colonel’s personal attendant, but he could not get her to imprint on him. But if she’s your go-to girl then that means…”
Oh fuck, I just stepped on a landmine. Now she thinks I’m Ionna’s master. I just made it sound like the reason the Colonel, who is presumably the boss of this place, couldn’t “imprint” on his “extraordinarily expensive” custom ordered slave is because I stole her out from under him. Not only that, but I just told this to someone who has a fucking chip in her brain which makes her unable to go against her owners. Brilliant performance Max, you deserve an Academy Award.
“Does… Does the Colonel know about this?”
There it is. I am rapidly running out of options here.
“Uh… Ah, I uhh–“
Am I going to be forced to kill this poor innocent girl in the middle of a central hub? I could run and hide, maybe try to take on someone else’s identity – No, the time that would buy me would be minimal at best.
Should I take her as a hostage? No, she has no value as a hostage. The fact that they so readily abused and tossed away a slave who was extraordinarily expensive means this girl is worth less than trash to them.
“Yeah, I mean, um-“
Words fail me. The only thing that I can summon right now is a string of incoherent nonsense spewing from my mouth. I can’t do this. This entire situation is testing my limits past my breaking point and beyond. My mind is racing a million miles a minute. Memory loss, being stuck in space, interstellar gangsters armed with high powered man-mulchers, neural implants, brainwashing, illegal cloning, cultivated slaves, and not to mention I just murdered a man in his sleep in cold blood not even twenty minutes ago. I can’t take much more of this.
My breathing gets faster and faster, I can’t seem to get enough air. I feel like I’m drowning. My chest tightens, my hands are tingling. I stumble toward a nearby bench, and flop down, splaying myself out across it.
“Sir! Are you okay!?”
My vision goes white, I can’t see anything except glowing little dots scattering across my vision. My ears are ringing so loud I can barely make out what she’s saying.
“Yeah, yeah, all good. Just… just dizzy.”
Dizzy doesn’t even begin to describe it. My whole body is tingling, I can’t breathe. My eyes are open yet all I see is white. Everything sounds like static.
“I’ll go get the medical staff!”
“No! I… I’ll be okay. It’ll pass... Just… Sit down…”
I can’t let her leave. I can’t see, but I can’t let her leave.
“Sir you are obviously having a medical emergency!”
“Sit down… That’s… An Order.”
After a brief pause of silence, I feel the cushions on the bench shift. Thank God - she sat down. Now I just need to ride this out.
After a few brief moments that felt like an eternity, I feel the left side of my mask pull up ever so slightly, my skin getting exposed to the surrounding air. Just then I feel something wet and slimy run across my neck.
“Ah-“
“My apologies, I needed to check your condition, so I licked your neck.”
“…Huh?”
“Sir, your stress levels are extremely high, I believe you’re having a panic attack.”
“You… You don’t say…”
I say with the most half-assed amount of sarcastic wit I could muster.
“If you do not wish to see the medical staff, then I will stay here with you.”
I feel her warm, soft body snuggle up beside mine. She buries herself underneath my arm, the tip of her cat ear lightly twitches against my exposed neck. Her tail caresses my arm in a gentle fashion.
We sat there for awhile, and slowly the static in my ears fades, and my hearing returns. It’s like having your ears decompress after a long flight. My eyes have improved just the tiniest of bits, but it’s still bad enough that I’d be considered legally blind.
“Let’s start over, okay? I’m Anna, what’s your name?”
“T-Tony…”
“Okay, I don’t want you to panic, I promise I am not your enemy – But I know you aren’t Tony.”
Every muscle in my body tenses up. How the fuck does she know!? I am so screwed. I can’t even see right now!
“Wha-What makes you say that?...”
“We Therianthropes can learn a lot simply through licking someone’s skin. I know you’re not a bad person, but you’re scared right now. Very scared. But even more surprising, you don’t seem to have a central neural implant. Now then, I’m going to ask you again – What’s your name?”
I couldn’t be more vulnerable right now. She is right up against me, my body feels as weak as a child's, and if she wanted to, she could kill me right now and I literally wouldn’t be able to see it coming. Fuck it, jigs up, I got nothing left to lose.
“M-Max.”
“Max… That’s a cute name. Thank you for trusting in me Max. Now then, I promise I will do everything in my power to help you, but I can only help you so long as you do exactly as I say.”
She snuggles up closer and puts her mouth next to my ear. Her gentle breathing tickling me as she whispers.
“Right now it is taking every single fiber of my being to hold back my CS from taking control. It is screaming at me to report you – But you can put a stop to that.”
“H-How?...”
She takes my left arm, and brings it up to her neck, pressing my thumb to the nape of her neck.
“Right where your thumb is, I need you to smear your blood there. Please hurry.”
“Huh? Well um, okay I guess?”
I take out the scalpel and-
“Not that. That will cauterize the wound, and you won’t be able to get any blood. Do you have anything else?”
Oh yeah, this blade made Tony’s wound, which had me cutting through a major artery, a nearly bloodless affair.
I remove the screwdriver from my pocket. Goddammit this is going to suck. Why did I grab a flathead screwdriver and not a phillips?
After a few quick prep breaths, I jam the screwdriver into the palm of my hands. I wince, and my legs jump up from the shock. Holy fuck that hurts!
I quickly smear my blood across the nape of her neck, and I can feel her whole body relax.
We sit there in silence for a few moments, until finally she pulls away from me.
“Thank you – Master.”
I can't see her face, but I can hear the giddiness in her voice. Whatever I just did, she seems very pleased about it.
