The much awaited Part XVI of HAW:WE. Enjoy ya’ll, and feel free to reblog and comment!
Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV >> Part XV >> Part XVI
Days were lost in the ship and Vallion thought they would lose their mind as well before the monotonous routine would break, but as luck would have it, that was not the case.
For the first time in their life, Vallion understood the human expression about an undercurrent running through a place or group of people because that is what they felt. A great undercurrent running through the guards and the other prisoners. Wherever their destination was, they were soon to arrive at it.
Solitary confinement did things to one’s mind, and Balough almost thought she lost hers when the guards arrived at her cell one day? Hour? Minute? God, Jesus, and the Virgin Mother only knew-- They came and they did not have her usual tray of food. They had a large, bulky ring in-hand and a line of prisoners linked together by said ring around their necks like collars. It’s time, was the only thought to cross her mind before they reached their final destination.
Like a chain gang from the early days of the former United States, Murakami watched her crew and the other prisoners were lined up in the hull of the ship, guards on all sides. “Take a good, long look at these verman,” wheezed Zeelot as they clamped their appendages around her shoulders, “because you’ll never see them again.” A cold chill ran down along Murakami’s spine. For some reason, Zeelot was more menacing than usual. Don’t let them rattle you, she thought to herself as she slowly nodded at the grotesque lifeform. You’ll see your crew again. You will.
After all the prisoners were gathered, Zeelot hollered to unload them and thus began their first trek off the ship and into the Auction.
As soon as everyone was shuffled off the Frek’jon, they entered a setting of which Vallion was familiar due to ancient and historical Earthen films and animations: A bazaar.
All around them, lifeforms of all shapes and sizes, of species they never thought could exist, were present. They hollered, screamed, screeched, beckoned, and haggled each other. The colors of the bazaar were as bright as neon lights and as dim as a dying lightbulb decorated the stalls, along with their merchandise. A bazar is louder than I thought.
Vallion couldn’t help gawking at all they saw until they noticed the humans sprinkled in among the aliens.
And the human body parts.
Human.
Body.
Parts.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Vallion covered their muzzle with their clawed hands and looked away, noticing many of their crewmates were the same, some of them vomiting, others collapsing onto their knees and crying. The humans were the most affected by the sight. The mental images are already seared into our brains. Arms and legs. Heads. Torsos. Even whole bodies.
And all of them were of young humans. Teenagers, prepubescent children, and infants. Their bodies were displayed among other meats that Vallion didn’t even want to know were. Some of the children were still alive, in pens and paddocks, huddled together, gripping each other for dear life. No...
Vallion almost cried with relief when they all were finally marched out of the bazaar streets and into the central building that towered over all the buildings and dwellings.
Inside the building was a chaos on a different level than the bazaar: Lifeforms, draped in skins of other creatures and in fine clothes, filled the hallways with who Vallion interpreted as servants and slaves, robots and androids, flanking their sides. The atmosphere was quieter, but the undercurrent was stronger than on the Frek’jon.
Vallion was immediately separated from his crewmates, from the human and the H’hish who were also separated from each other. Vallion was pushed into a separate hallway, isolated from the chaos in the main hallway. We must be at the Auction, they thought as they were roughly jostled into another holding cell. And now it’s just a waiting game.
The much awaited Part XVI of HAW:WE. Enjoy ya’ll, and feel free to reblog and comment!
Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV >> Part XV >> Part XVI
Days were lost in the ship and Vallion thought they would lose their mind as well before the monotonous routine would break, but as luck would have it, that was not the case.
For the first time in their life, Vallion understood the human expression about an undercurrent running through a place or group of people because that is what they felt. A great undercurrent running through the guards and the other prisoners. Wherever their destination was, they were soon to arrive at it.
Solitary confinement did things to one’s mind, and Balough almost thought she lost hers when the guards arrived at her cell one day? Hour? Minute? God, Jesus, and the Virgin Mother only knew-- They came and they did not have her usual tray of food. They had a large, bulky ring in-hand and a line of prisoners linked together by said ring around their necks like collars. It’s time, was the only thought to cross her mind before they reached their final destination.
Like a chain gang from the early days of the former United States, Murakami watched her crew and the other prisoners were lined up in the hull of the ship, guards on all sides. “Take a good, long look at these verman,” wheezed Zeelot as they clamped their appendages around her shoulders, “because you’ll never see them again.” A cold chill ran down along Murakami’s spine. For some reason, Zeelot was more menacing than usual. Don’t let them rattle you, she thought to herself as she slowly nodded at the grotesque lifeform. You’ll see your crew again. You will.
After all the prisoners were gathered, Zeelot hollered to unload them and thus began their first trek off the ship and into the Auction.
As soon as everyone was shuffled off the Frek’jon, they entered a setting of which Vallion was familiar due to ancient and historical Earthen films and animations: A bazaar.
All around them, lifeforms of all shapes and sizes, of species they never thought could exist, were present. They hollered, screamed, screeched, beckoned, and haggled each other. The colors of the bazaar were as bright as neon lights and as dim as a dying lightbulb decorated the stalls, along with their merchandise. A bazar is louder than I thought.
Vallion couldn’t help gawking at all they saw until they noticed the humans sprinkled in among the aliens.
And the human body parts.
Human.
Body.
Parts.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Vallion covered their muzzle with their clawed hands and looked away, noticing many of their crewmates were the same, some of them vomiting, others collapsing onto their knees and crying. The humans were the most affected by the sight. The mental images are already seared into our brains. Arms and legs. Heads. Torsos. Even whole bodies.
And all of them were of young humans. Teenagers, prepubescent children, and infants. Their bodies were displayed among other meats that Vallion didn’t even want to know were. Some of the children were still alive, in pens and paddocks, huddled together, gripping each other for dear life. No...
Vallion almost cried with relief when they all were finally marched out of the bazaar streets and into the central building that towered over all the buildings and dwellings.
Inside the building was a chaos on a different level than the bazaar: Lifeforms, draped in skins of other creatures and in fine clothes, filled the hallways with who Vallion interpreted as servants and slaves, robots and androids, flanking their sides. The atmosphere was quieter, but the undercurrent was stronger than on the Frek’jon.
Vallion was immediately separated from his crewmates, from the human and the H’hish who were also separated from each other. Vallion was pushed into a separate hallway, isolated from the chaos in the main hallway. We must be at the Auction, they thought as they were roughly jostled into another holding cell. And now it’s just a waiting game.
Here is another sketch dump. I drew the two large sketches during jury duty, an event which wasted two days of my life and ten dollars (for the RTA) without actually doing anything. I literally sat doing nothing, but texting my friend for hours in the Court of Common Pleas the first day. The Wednesday for my second day (because Tuesday was the fourth of July 2017).
The small sketches I drew recently because I believe I should start small when I’m practicing my art skills and facial expressions are easier to draw than entire alien and/or human bodies. Plus, these sketches let you see my (poor) attempts at sketching the HAW:WE characters.
This first sketch I drew in its entirety during jury duty. I think it’s cute, but a massive waste of space. The H’hish is a random one and I can’t even recall if I had a H’hish in mind when drawing, but if I did, Jay’va and Vallion are the top two on my list.
The second sketch I began and almost finished during jury duty, but because *anatomy* I gave up for another day. Fast forward to 5/27/18 and I finished the sketch by being so lazy. You all can clearly see how lazy I became. Also, I just wanted to avoid anatomy.
The next two pages of sketches I drew 5/27/18 and 5/28/18. I think these ones are better. They include characters that you know along with those characters yet to be introduced officially, but have been active participants, and those characters not yet in the story.
Here is another sketch dump. I drew the two large sketches during jury duty, an event which wasted two days of my life and ten dollars (for the RTA) without actually doing anything. I literally sat doing nothing, but texting my friend for hours in the Court of Common Pleas the first day. The Wednesday for my second day (because Tuesday was the fourth of July 2017).
The small sketches I drew recently because I believe I should start small when I’m practicing my art skills and facial expressions are easier to draw than entire alien and/or human bodies. Plus, these sketches let you see my (poor) attempts at sketching the HAW:WE characters.
This first sketch I drew in its entirety during jury duty. I think it’s cute, but a massive waste of space. The H’hish is a random one and I can’t even recall if I had a H’hish in mind when drawing, but if I did, Jay’va and Vallion are the top two on my list.
The second sketch I began and almost finished during jury duty, but because *anatomy* I gave up for another day. Fast forward to 5/27/18 and I finished the sketch by being so lazy. You all can clearly see how lazy I became. Also, I just wanted to avoid anatomy.
The next two pages of sketches I drew 5/27/18 and 5/28/18. I think these ones are better. They include characters that you know along with those characters yet to be introduced officially, but have been active participants, and those characters not yet in the story.
Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV >> Part XV
From their quarters, Zeelot perused, after Wilks, Vallion, and the dulgo incinerated Krellion and the other kulgo, stormed the control room of the Frek’jon. The blast had not the power to damage the technology in the room ——only its occupants. On another monitor, they glanced over at the med bay where the other dulgo tended to their humans, placing them in cryo-pods and healing units, and guarding them with a ferocity not seen among H’hish. Even Mel, Krellion’s prized pet, along with the other cargo, aided the rebelling dulgo and their humans. This crew was something to be seen——a unique entity that Zeelot would be sure to crush before this rebellion happened once again.
Turning away from the monitors, Zeelot seized their broken servant-droid, shook out of the useless droid their switchkey, and turned back to the control console in which they made good use of said switchkey. Hidden in the console’s façade laid a device beyond the understanding of any lifeform on this vessel——or in any sector of the universe. If the twenty-fifth time does not take, then I must return to the beginning with this crew. Because Zeelot never had to reset more than two times for any crew they were commissioned to take, yet this crew managed to break that record. Each member presented new and unique challenges——and problems. Currently, the dulgo were now at Zeelot’s quarters, likely ready to slaughter them as the group already attempted numerous times before.
As the group knocked down the door, Zeelot activated the device and used the switchkey. Zeelot saw the flabbergasted expressions on the dulgo before they disappeared to reset the past events.
In the dimness of her vision, in the increasing silence of her surroundings, Balogh could discern a single voice——a voice she never thought she would ever hear again; surely they had been killed amongst the other Pollikon guards, but no, cradling her in their arms was Wilks, screaming her name until their voice grew hoarse. She could not help the smile that crept its way onto her face; Wilks was precious; they were her friend, even as everything fell apart and even as she withered away in their arms. “H-Hey Wilks...wha-what took ya so, so long?” she managed to stutter out with a strained laugh, each breath painful as the last, worse than the hot-iron that had seared her flesh from before.
However, Wilks appeared not to be in a laughing mood, and instead, they shushed her, saying, “The dying shouldn’t make jokes while the healthy are trying to save them.” Balogh attempted to laugh, but the pain convulsed through her body. “See what I mean?” asked Wilks, their voice cracking with tears as they adjusted something on her face, something over her mouth. “Once your better, I’ll explain, but for now, rest my dear friend because we still have much to do.”
With what little strength she had left, Balogh managed to grin like a fool before she slipped into unconsciousness and asking herself if Pollikons could cry. If they could, then she knew her crewmates were in good hands and she trusted Wilks would protect them all like they protected her.
.
.
.
Balogh lied flat on her back, staring at the ceiling because nothing else could be done while she resided in the isolation cell from Hell: the room was two metres by two metres by three metres, with a small toiletry area that took up less than one-third of the floor space, leaving her enough room to perform crunches or push-ups, or pray to the Holy Father, but nothing much else. She could stand comfortably enough, but who wanted to stand when the guards, when they made their rounds or delivered her meals, took every opportunity they had to assault her, harm her enough where she would not need to be taken to the med bay, but enough where her spirit lied scattered on the ground, crushed. Yet.
Yet.
Yet.
Yet I continue having those weird dreams. The other ones were vile, but this one feels as real as where I now lay. In that dream, a dream where she lied helpless, in writhing pain, a Pollikon acted as her friend during an escape attempt from the Frek’jon, but she knew no Pollikon held compassion or a moral conscious. No, the Pollikon was her friend. A good friend. A kind friend. How odd of her to think up such a thing. Must be my mind spiraling into insanity. Many days locked in the henhouse makes any soul mad.
Sighing, Balogh sat up and stared at the cell door, willing the dream from her mind. Nothing good comes from false hope, especially when no hope existed. No, the word shot through her heart like a bullet and brought the rest of the words of her bunică once told her when she was a small child. ‘Hope always exists, my little nepoată. When the sun disappears behind the clouds, it has not vanished forever, but temporarily hidden from sight. Hope is like the sun; sometimes we see hope as obviously as we see the sun in the sky, but some days, the sun disappears behind the clouds, and we remain uncertain when we will see it once again. We may feel the sun has gone for good, yet it still exists behind those clouds, we just have to search for it, hold on and believe we will feel its warmth once again. My little Lillie, never doubt hope because to doubt hope is to doubt the sun will shine once again. The sun will always shine and hope will always exist. Yes. Hope is never lost. Never.’
Yes. Hope is never lost. Never.
On her feet, Balogh felt a surge of energy she had not felt in many days and busted out laughing, releasing all her nerves, anxieties, and emotions at once. Come what may, she would not lose hope and she would continue fighting for the freedom of her and her crewmates. As she continued to laugh, Balogh felt tears stream down her face before they morphed into sobs. Three months of isolation; no one to speak to; no friend to be had; abuse of all sorts; and all her pent up emotions overflowed, overwhelming her, wracking her body like the flu, leaving her helpless and weak. So. Very. Weak.
I will escape one day. Maybe not now, but one day.
Murakami busied herself with work, avoiding Snell, Krellion, and Mel as much as possible, knowing if she crossed any of them, misery only awaited her because, despite how she was now property of Captain Zeelot, a slave remained a slave no matter the species or the name. She learned her future would only be filled with the contests against her very life; and the exact moment she woke up from her medically-induced coma introduced her to the new life planned for her. Never had she felt so powerless as she did now. Just thinking about that moment when her life changed...hurt.
Head throbbing, Murakami massaged her temples as she recalled the moment she woke up on the Frek’jon. She had crack opened her eyes and immediately winced at the blindingly bright lights of the room. She dared not open her eyes all the way, cracking them open little by little until her vision adjusted to the light. However, she instantly and deeply regretted that decision because before her was the ugliest lifeform she had ever seen, and that lifeform was Captain Zeelot, who, for some inexplicable reason, had little patience with her repulsion of their appearance.
Zeelot had seized her by her shirt collar and brought her face mere inches from their own foul face. Zeelot spouted out the most confidant personal information about her that not even her crew knew, from her social security number to her bank account balance. Murakami knew not how Zeelot knew her personal details beyond what her crew knew, but then again, her mind was a mess at the time, and, because her mind was a mess, she could only dumbly stare as Zeelot threatened her with more information. They told her about the Frek’jon’s surgeon, Krellion, and how he could revive the dead. How he could revive her, should she die after crossing anyone on the ship, only for Zeelot to kill her again. And again. And again.
Murakami coughed when Zeelot finally released their death-grip on her, taking deep, cleansing breaths.
After that incident, Murakami had to appear on a holo-vid before her scattered crew, repeating prepared words to them while trepidation loomed around her. Zeelot had shown her vids of previous ship commanders, humans and never aliens, being beaten to death for defying orders. The aliens, she was later informed, never fussed. They accepted their fates. Only the humans and the aliens who were closely bonded to them, fought.
Heaving a long sigh, Murakami dispelled the memories as she focused on the present, which involved basic grunt work. Until Zeelot had the rest of her crew off their ship, they did not trust her with the ship’s important mechanics. Zeelot’s smart, she thought as she cleaned the lower halls of the ship, but not smart enough. When my crew is scattered, I’ll overtake this ship and find my crew again because I am as much of a happy-go-lucky idiot as the rest of them.
As she cleaned, Murakami whistled a tune from the latest anime her children watched.
Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV >> Part XV
From their quarters, Zeelot perused, after Wilks, Vallion, and the dulgo incinerated Krellion and the other kulgo, stormed the control room of the Frek’jon. The blast had not the power to damage the technology in the room ——only its occupants. On another monitor, they glanced over at the med bay where the other dulgo tended to their humans, placing them in cryo-pods and healing units, and guarding them with a ferocity not seen among H’hish. Even Mel, Krellion’s prized pet, along with the other cargo, aided the rebelling dulgo and their humans. This crew was something to be seen——a unique entity that Zeelot would be sure to crush before this rebellion happened once again.
Turning away from the monitors, Zeelot seized their broken servant-droid, shook out of the useless droid their switchkey, and turned back to the control console in which they made good use of said switchkey. Hidden in the console’s façade laid a device beyond the understanding of any lifeform on this vessel——or in any sector of the universe. If the twenty-fifth time does not take, then I must return to the beginning with this crew. Because Zeelot never had to reset more than two times for any crew they were commissioned to take, yet this crew managed to break that record. Each member presented new and unique challenges——and problems. Currently, the dulgo were now at Zeelot’s quarters, likely ready to slaughter them as the group already attempted numerous times before.
As the group knocked down the door, Zeelot activated the device and used the switchkey. Zeelot saw the flabbergasted expressions on the dulgo before they disappeared to reset the past events.
In the dimness of her vision, in the increasing silence of her surroundings, Balogh could discern a single voice——a voice she never thought she would ever hear again; surely they had been killed amongst the other Pollikon guards, but no, cradling her in their arms was Wilks, screaming her name until their voice grew hoarse. She could not help the smile that crept its way onto her face; Wilks was precious; they were her friend, even as everything fell apart and even as she withered away in their arms. “H-Hey Wilks...wha-what took ya so, so long?” she managed to stutter out with a strained laugh, each breath painful as the last, worse than the hot-iron that had seared her flesh from before.
However, Wilks appeared not to be in a laughing mood, and instead, they shushed her, saying, “The dying shouldn’t make jokes while the healthy are trying to save them.” Balogh attempted to laugh, but the pain convulsed through her body. “See what I mean?” asked Wilks, their voice cracking with tears as they adjusted something on her face, something over her mouth. “Once your better, I’ll explain, but for now, rest my dear friend because we still have much to do.”
With what little strength she had left, Balogh managed to grin like a fool before she slipped into unconsciousness and asking herself if Pollikons could cry. If they could, then she knew her crewmates were in good hands and she trusted Wilks would protect them all like they protected her.
.
.
.
Balogh lied flat on her back, staring at the ceiling because nothing else could be done while she resided in the isolation cell from Hell: the room was two metres by two metres by three metres, with a small toiletry area that took up less than one-third of the floor space, leaving her enough room to perform crunches or push-ups, or pray to the Holy Father, but nothing much else. She could stand comfortably enough, but who wanted to stand when the guards, when they made their rounds or delivered her meals, took every opportunity they had to assault her, harm her enough where she would not need to be taken to the med bay, but enough where her spirit lied scattered on the ground, crushed. Yet.
Yet.
Yet.
Yet I continue having those weird dreams. The other ones were vile, but this one feels as real as where I now lay. In that dream, a dream where she lied helpless, in writhing pain, a Pollikon acted as her friend during an escape attempt from the Frek’jon, but she knew no Pollikon held compassion or a moral conscious. No, the Pollikon was her friend. A good friend. A kind friend. How odd of her to think up such a thing. Must be my mind spiraling into insanity. Many days locked in the henhouse makes any soul mad.
Sighing, Balogh sat up and stared at the cell door, willing the dream from her mind. Nothing good comes from false hope, especially when no hope existed. No, the word shot through her heart like a bullet and brought the rest of the words of her bunică once told her when she was a small child. ‘Hope always exists, my little nepoată. When the sun disappears behind the clouds, it has not vanished forever, but temporarily hidden from sight. Hope is like the sun; sometimes we see hope as obviously as we see the sun in the sky, but some days, the sun disappears behind the clouds, and we remain uncertain when we will see it once again. We may feel the sun has gone for good, yet it still exists behind those clouds, we just have to search for it, hold on and believe we will feel its warmth once again. My little Lillie, never doubt hope because to doubt hope is to doubt the sun will shine once again. The sun will always shine and hope will always exist. Yes. Hope is never lost. Never.’
Yes. Hope is never lost. Never.
On her feet, Balogh felt a surge of energy she had not felt in many days and busted out laughing, releasing all her nerves, anxieties, and emotions at once. Come what may, she would not lose hope and she would continue fighting for the freedom of her and her crewmates. As she continued to laugh, Balogh felt tears stream down her face before they morphed into sobs. Three months of isolation; no one to speak to; no friend to be had; abuse of all sorts; and all her pent up emotions overflowed, overwhelming her, wracking her body like the flu, leaving her helpless and weak. So. Very. Weak.
I will escape one day. Maybe not now, but one day.
Murakami busied herself with work, avoiding Snell, Krellion, and Mel as much as possible, knowing if she crossed any of them, misery only awaited her because, despite how she was now property of Captain Zeelot, a slave remained a slave no matter the species or the name. She learned her future would only be filled with the contests against her very life; and the exact moment she woke up from her medically-induced coma introduced her to the new life planned for her. Never had she felt so powerless as she did now. Just thinking about that moment when her life changed...hurt.
Head throbbing, Murakami massaged her temples as she recalled the moment she woke up on the Frek’jon. She had crack opened her eyes and immediately winced at the blindingly bright lights of the room. She dared not open her eyes all the way, cracking them open little by little until her vision adjusted to the light. However, she instantly and deeply regretted that decision because before her was the ugliest lifeform she had ever seen, and that lifeform was Captain Zeelot, who, for some inexplicable reason, had little patience with her repulsion of their appearance.
Zeelot had seized her by her shirt collar and brought her face mere inches from their own foul face. Zeelot spouted out the most confidant personal information about her that not even her crew knew, from her social security number to her bank account balance. Murakami knew not how Zeelot knew her personal details beyond what her crew knew, but then again, her mind was a mess at the time, and, because her mind was a mess, she could only dumbly stare as Zeelot threatened her with more information. They told her about the Frek’jon’s surgeon, Krellion, and how he could revive the dead. How he could revive her, should she die after crossing anyone on the ship, only for Zeelot to kill her again. And again. And again.
Murakami coughed when Zeelot finally released their death-grip on her, taking deep, cleansing breaths.
After that incident, Murakami had to appear on a holo-vid before her scattered crew, repeating prepared words to them while trepidation loomed around her. Zeelot had shown her vids of previous ship commanders, humans and never aliens, being beaten to death for defying orders. The aliens, she was later informed, never fussed. They accepted their fates. Only the humans and the aliens who were closely bonded to them, fought.
Heaving a long sigh, Murakami dispelled the memories as she focused on the present, which involved basic grunt work. Until Zeelot had the rest of her crew off their ship, they did not trust her with the ship’s important mechanics. Zeelot’s smart, she thought as she cleaned the lower halls of the ship, but not smart enough. When my crew is scattered, I’ll overtake this ship and find my crew again because I am as much of a happy-go-lucky idiot as the rest of them.
As she cleaned, Murakami whistled a tune from the latest anime her children watched.
This update has been a long time coming, guys. My sincerest apologies for the delay. I hope you can forgive me. In the meantime, please enjoy this long, drawn-out post that is painfully slow and agonizing post. I guess I want everyone to suffer with the characters.
Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII >> Part XIV
The escape plan had proceeded so smoothly until now. Balogh and her team freed a few dozen other prisoners along the way to the hangar and took down a few more Pollikons. Her group was feeling good. They had momentum. Things were looking up. And, as Balogh and the others got closer to the hangar, they kept in communication with Murakami’s, Vallion’s, and Jay’va’s groups for their escape. They were to search for the Frek’jon’s escape pods once they arrived in the hangar and to locate a habitable planet where they would lay low until they could contact the A.F. and go home.
After that, Balogh was not sure of what the A.F. would do, but she was sure she would fight for more A.F. vessels to return to this area of the universe. More victims―human, H’hish, and many more races―were likely enslaved and in need of emancipation.
Or we can just start some sort of rebellion like late twentieth and early twenty-first century movies did. Whichever comes first.
Balogh honestly believed things would change. Unfortunately, life never goes as planned.
Why? Because right now, she was splayed out on the ground, unable to move, nearly lifeless.
Balogh struggled to breathe, every single one of her muscles burned like she ran a 3K marathon in a New Harlem Province winter. Black spots danced in her vision; she could barely see. And of what she could still see? Mayhem. H’hish hunched over humans, desperately calling out their names, performing CPR. Riel’on, Kiel’ish, Jaja’ion, someone, was performing chest compressions on her. Everything she saw was a blur. Everything she heard was white noise. Everything she thought was a jumbled mess. For the first time in her life, Balogh thought for sure this moment was her death. Her frustrations and regrets; satisfactions and joys; her family and friends; all of them came to mind.
I. WON’T. DIE. I. WON’T. DIE. I WON’T DIE. I WON’T DIE. She chanted the words as she struggled for another breath, the last of her vision fading.
I can’t die...
Can’t die...
Won’t die.
No.
No...
.
.
.
“BALOGH!”
Vallion knelt over Fatima, helpless as she and the other humans collapsed one by one, going into various levels of muscle spasms and unconsciousness. CPR was attempted on the humans, but Vallion decided the chest compressions made the situation worse. Why does it feel like my chest is the one being compressed? Fatima is the one dying right in front of me. Fatima, Romano, Freshwater, Wong... All of them are the ones dying, so why do I feel this pain in my chest? What’s going on? Why can’t I stop this? How can I be so selfish? I need to fix this. Save them.
I am their superior. I need to lead them.
Vallion gripped their head, focusing their thoughts into actions. Think. Think. Think. You can’t let her die. You and her just reunited.
No.
Wait.
You can’t let anyone die. They are all your responsibility. You are their protector. Their leader. Their friend. Think, Vallion. Think.
As Vallion wracked their brain, a thought suddenly occurred to them. The humans were having difficulty breathing...but the H’hish were not. “Jon’kon, check the oxygen-carbon dioxide ratio of the air. Now.”
Startled, Jon’kon fumbled with her stolen Port Dev before she went to work checking the air composition of the ship. A heartbeat stretched into several when Jon’kon released a startled “Ah-ha!” and gave Vallion a knowing look. Soon, Jon’kon was hacking into the Frek’jon’s ventilation system and they all could hear the results of her efforts.
However, Vallion knew damage must have surely been done on all the humans and simply escaping from the Frek’jon was no longer a viable option. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Vallion looked at Jon’kon once again. “Patch me through to Murakami, Balogh, and Jay’va’s groups. We have a change of plans.”
Jay’va checked Thompson’s pulse and growled in frustration. Gone. First Pérez, then Ivanenko, and now Thompson. The other humans were down and out, suffering from whatever took Thompson and the others, but the H’hish were perfectly fine. Physically that is. A little winded, but physically fine.
Mentally...
Mentally, we’re fucked. We’re falling apart at the seams, as the human idiom goes. I’m not even over Cyborg’s death, and now I’m losing my whole team. Jay’va felt the energy of the universe crashing down on her and sweeping her along in a tidal wave.
Jay’va buried her head in her hands, feeling the hopelessness and grief pile up on right after the other because she was just that fucking lucky of a H’hish—
“ —va...”
And not to mention, she also had to deal with that thing that happened back in her cell. From that odd smell. Her head was a mess afterwards and now her memories would forever be scarred by these events—
“—COLONEL JAY’VA!”
Startled, Jay’va whipped her head around, searching for the H’hish shouting her name. “WHAT?! What could you possibly want?!” she snapped.
Gigi’ish did not flinch at her harsh words. He just held out the stolen Port Dev for her and said one name: “Vallion.”
Yeu’ish was helping Fuku’kon tend to Lt. Gen. Murakami when a Comm came in from Maj. Gen. Vallion. The escape plan was changing. Seize control of the ship. Kill all the guards. Kill anyone who stood in their way.
Then.
Then.
Then they would put the humans into the infirmary. Heal them while making their escape back to the A.F. Made sense, for the still living humans, but Yeu’ish knew as Murakami’s pulse ceased, the dead had little chance of revival. But who knows? she thought, humans always prove to be more resilient than they seem.
Krellion leaned against the central control console, watching as the ship’s security droids and feeds went down; listening as communications between guards decreased. The humans and dulgo arrogantly thought they would escape. Their little jailbreak could not succeed.
“The filth moved exactly as you predicted, Captain,” said Krellion as he pushed himself off the console. “However, I am hesitant about the extent of the neurological damages this experiment of yours could cause to the cargo.” As he spoke, Krellion pulled up the vital charts of the human cargo, assessing the current oxygen saturation levels.
Zeelot did not spare Krellion a glance as they pulled the charts towards their position. “These dulgo are as weak as the humans with whom they cohabitate. Once enough of the humans become ill, the dulgo will panic and be at our mercy. The fondness they carry for the humans will lead to their surrender.” Zeelot was correct. Already, more of the humans began showing symptoms of oxygen oversaturation and the duglo were becoming increasingly concerned for their human companions’ welfare.
Still, waiting was tedious and Krellion had no interest in toying with the cargo as Zeelot did. “As you say. Oh, these humans will do well as servants of kulgo. They are exhibiting better resistance to oxygen toxicity than the other humans,” he noted.
“Add that to their profiles,” Zeelot ordered before seating themselves down to watch the carnage.
Carnage of all Krellion’s hard work. His hard work in fixing all the neurological and physiological issues with which the humans were prone, yet Zeelot wanted to test Murakami’s loyalty and the abilities of her crew.
But my opinion does not matter. All that matters if my work wasted for a needless experiment or two. Aaaannnnd I must revive Snell again.
But whatever, Krellion truly had no say in the matter, so he just stood and watched as the cargo neared the hangar and the humans began collapsing. A few humans even fell into seizures. Krellion spoke in hushed tones to his fellow kulgo as they all became increasingly worried about the health of their cargo. The amount of overtime they all had to put forth into fixing the damages Zeelot’s experiment was causing became a headache, especially when they were due to arrive at the Market any gulkib from now. If I have to revive a single human or dulgo, I swear by the mighty reign of Ghayz Tadmir’lis, I will leave this vessel and take my team with me...
As Krellion fumed, the overhead lights dimmed and a odd chill ran down his back. He glanced at the other kulgo and they appeared as confused as he did.
However, the confusion was over within a heartbeat because within that heartbeat, the emergency lights began to flash and the alarms blared. Warnings flashed on the ship’s control console about oxygen levels increasing in the room. For Krellion, he only needed less than a qulib to understand the events that were transpiring.
The dulgo figured out the cause of the humans’ collapsing, but they were foolish to think they could kill a kulgo so easily. H’hish had higher oxygen tolerance than any humans, and kulgo as fine as Krellion and his team more so. Even the Pollikon had high oxygen tolerance. And whatever creature Captain Zeelot was, they would not fall to such a lowly and pitiful revenge tactic. Already, the room was filled with twice the oxygen levels needed for a kulgo to comfortably breathe in air and already Krellion’s team worked on combating the increased oxygen levels. “These dulgo are simpletons,” one of his team said with a laugh. Another kulgo added, “They are as clever as the humans.” Krellion could only agree with his team. The dulgo were as slow witted and unimpressive as the humans.
So that brought to question why Captain Zeelot remained so calm, and why they had such a smug look on their face. Just as Krellion opened their mouth to ask, Zeelot spoke first. “I will be returning to my quarters. And do not disturb me.” Their warning carried an additional meaning, one of which Krellion did not wish to invoke.
Swallowing his trepidation, Krellion refocused on the monitors, tracking the remaining guards and the locations of all the escaped cargo, but they were gone. The Pollikons, the ones he could see on the vids, deceased. Brutally so. The humans, remained were he last saw them, but he could see most of their life signs were gone. He and his team had their work cut out for them to revive all the worthless filth. The dulgo and other cargo were nowhere to be seen, as could be said for the escape pods. None of them showed up on the life signs monitor. They were out of range of the transmission. They jumped ship.
Murakami talked big about the loyalty of her crew, but the dulgo escaped the first chance they got. Pathetic. Dulgo are as cowardly and weak as those humans.
Krellion was so lost in his superiority that he never heard the knocking.
Only the sound of the room engulfing in flames.
After that, he only felt the searing pain of his death.
This update has been a long time coming, guys. My sincerest apologies for the delay. I hope you can forgive me. In the meantime, please enjoy this long, drawn-out post that is painfully slow and agonizing post. I guess I want everyone to suffer with the characters.
Part I >> Part II >> Part III >> Part IV >> Part V >> Part VI >> Part VII >> Part VIII >> Part IX >> Part X >> Part XI >> Part XII >> Part XIII
The escape plan had proceeded so smoothly until now. Balogh and her team freed a few dozen other prisoners along the way to the hangar and took down a few more Pollikons. Her group was feeling good. They had momentum. Things were looking up. And, as Balogh and the others got closer to the hangar, they kept in communication with Murakami’s, Vallion’s, and Jay’va’s groups for their escape. They were to search for the Frek’jon’s escape pods once they arrived in the hangar and to locate a habitable planet where they would lay low until they could contact the A.F. and go home.
After that, Balogh was not sure of what the A.F. would do, but she was sure she would fight for more A.F. vessels to return to this area of the universe. More victims―human, H’hish, and many more races―were likely enslaved and in need of emancipation.
Or we can just start some sort of rebellion like late twentieth and early twenty-first century movies did. Whichever comes first.
Balogh honestly believed things would change. Unfortunately, life never goes as planned.
Why? Because right now, she was splayed out on the ground, unable to move, nearly lifeless.
Balogh struggled to breathe, every single one of her muscles burned like she ran a 3K marathon in a New Harlem Province winter. Black spots danced in her vision; she could barely see. And of what she could still see? Mayhem. H’hish hunched over humans, desperately calling out their names, performing CPR. Riel’on, Kiel’ish, Jaja’ion, someone, was performing chest compressions on her. Everything she saw was a blur. Everything she heard was white noise. Everything she thought was a jumbled mess. For the first time in her life, Balogh thought for sure this moment was her death. Her frustrations and regrets; satisfactions and joys; her family and friends; all of them came to mind.
I. WON’T. DIE. I. WON’T. DIE. I WON’T DIE. I WON’T DIE. She chanted the words as she struggled for another breath, the last of her vision fading.
I can’t die...
Can’t die...
Won’t die.
No.
No...
.
.
.
“BALOGH!”
Vallion knelt over Fatima, helpless as she and the other humans collapsed one by one, going into various levels of muscle spasms and unconsciousness. CPR was attempted on the humans, but Vallion decided the chest compressions made the situation worse. Why does it feel like my chest is the one being compressed? Fatima is the one dying right in front of me. Fatima, Romano, Freshwater, Wong... All of them are the ones dying, so why do I feel this pain in my chest? What’s going on? Why can’t I stop this? How can I be so selfish? I need to fix this. Save them.
I am their superior. I need to lead them.
Vallion gripped their head, focusing their thoughts into actions. Think. Think. Think. You can’t let her die. You and her just reunited.
No.
Wait.
You can’t let anyone die. They are all your responsibility. You are their protector. Their leader. Their friend. Think, Vallion. Think.
As Vallion wracked their brain, a thought suddenly occurred to them. The humans were having difficulty breathing...but the H’hish were not. “Jon’kon, check the oxygen-carbon dioxide ratio of the air. Now.”
Startled, Jon’kon fumbled with her stolen Port Dev before she went to work checking the air composition of the ship. A heartbeat stretched into several when Jon’kon released a startled “Ah-ha!” and gave Vallion a knowing look. Soon, Jon’kon was hacking into the Frek’jon’s ventilation system and they all could hear the results of her efforts.
However, Vallion knew damage must have surely been done on all the humans and simply escaping from the Frek’jon was no longer a viable option. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Vallion looked at Jon’kon once again. “Patch me through to Murakami, Balogh, and Jay’va’s groups. We have a change of plans.”
Jay’va checked Thompson’s pulse and growled in frustration. Gone. First Pérez, then Ivanenko, and now Thompson. The other humans were down and out, suffering from whatever took Thompson and the others, but the H’hish were perfectly fine. Physically that is. A little winded, but physically fine.
Mentally...
Mentally, we’re fucked. We’re falling apart at the seams, as the human idiom goes. I’m not even over Cyborg’s death, and now I’m losing my whole team. Jay’va felt the energy of the universe crashing down on her and sweeping her along in a tidal wave.
Jay’va buried her head in her hands, feeling the hopelessness and grief pile up on right after the other because she was just that fucking lucky of a H’hish—
“ —va...”
And not to mention, she also had to deal with that thing that happened back in her cell. From that odd smell. Her head was a mess afterwards and now her memories would forever be scarred by these events—
“—COLONEL JAY’VA!”
Startled, Jay’va whipped her head around, searching for the H’hish shouting her name. “WHAT?! What could you possibly want?!” she snapped.
Gigi’ish did not flinch at her harsh words. He just held out the stolen Port Dev for her and said one name: “Vallion.”
Yeu’ish was helping Fuku’kon tend to Lt. Gen. Murakami when a Comm came in from Maj. Gen. Vallion. The escape plan was changing. Seize control of the ship. Kill all the guards. Kill anyone who stood in their way.
Then.
Then.
Then they would put the humans into the infirmary. Heal them while making their escape back to the A.F. Made sense, for the still living humans, but Yeu’ish knew as Murakami’s pulse ceased, the dead had little chance of revival. But who knows? she thought, humans always prove to be more resilient than they seem.
Krellion leaned against the central control console, watching as the ship’s security droids and feeds went down; listening as communications between guards decreased. The humans and dulgo arrogantly thought they would escape. Their little jailbreak could not succeed.
“The filth moved exactly as you predicted, Captain,” said Krellion as he pushed himself off the console. “However, I am hesitant about the extent of the neurological damages this experiment of yours could cause to the cargo.” As he spoke, Krellion pulled up the vital charts of the human cargo, assessing the current oxygen saturation levels.
Zeelot did not spare Krellion a glance as they pulled the charts towards their position. “These dulgo are as weak as the humans with whom they cohabitate. Once enough of the humans become ill, the dulgo will panic and be at our mercy. The fondness they carry for the humans will lead to their surrender.” Zeelot was correct. Already, more of the humans began showing symptoms of oxygen oversaturation and the duglo were becoming increasingly concerned for their human companions’ welfare.
Still, waiting was tedious and Krellion had no interest in toying with the cargo as Zeelot did. “As you say. Oh, these humans will do well as servants of kulgo. They are exhibiting better resistance to oxygen toxicity than the other humans,” he noted.
“Add that to their profiles,” Zeelot ordered before seating themselves down to watch the carnage.
Carnage of all Krellion’s hard work. His hard work in fixing all the neurological and physiological issues with which the humans were prone, yet Zeelot wanted to test Murakami’s loyalty and the abilities of her crew.
But my opinion does not matter. All that matters if my work wasted for a needless experiment or two. Aaaannnnd I must revive Snell again.
But whatever, Krellion truly had no say in the matter, so he just stood and watched as the cargo neared the hangar and the humans began collapsing. A few humans even fell into seizures. Krellion spoke in hushed tones to his fellow kulgo as they all became increasingly worried about the health of their cargo. The amount of overtime they all had to put forth into fixing the damages Zeelot’s experiment was causing became a headache, especially when they were due to arrive at the Market any gulkib from now. If I have to revive a single human or dulgo, I swear by the mighty reign of Ghayz Tadmir’lis, I will leave this vessel and take my team with me...
As Krellion fumed, the overhead lights dimmed and a odd chill ran down his back. He glanced at the other kulgo and they appeared as confused as he did.
However, the confusion was over within a heartbeat because within that heartbeat, the emergency lights began to flash and the alarms blared. Warnings flashed on the ship’s control console about oxygen levels increasing in the room. For Krellion, he only needed less than a qulib to understand the events that were transpiring.
The dulgo figured out the cause of the humans’ collapsing, but they were foolish to think they could kill a kulgo so easily. H’hish had higher oxygen tolerance than any humans, and kulgo as fine as Krellion and his team more so. Even the Pollikon had high oxygen tolerance. And whatever creature Captain Zeelot was, they would not fall to such a lowly and pitiful revenge tactic. Already, the room was filled with twice the oxygen levels needed for a kulgo to comfortably breathe in air and already Krellion’s team worked on combating the increased oxygen levels. “These dulgo are simpletons,” one of his team said with a laugh. Another kulgo added, “They are as clever as the humans.” Krellion could only agree with his team. The dulgo were as slow witted and unimpressive as the humans.
So that brought to question why Captain Zeelot remained so calm, and why they had such a smug look on their face. Just as Krellion opened their mouth to ask, Zeelot spoke first. “I will be returning to my quarters. And do not disturb me.” Their warning carried an additional meaning, one of which Krellion did not wish to invoke.
Swallowing his trepidation, Krellion refocused on the monitors, tracking the remaining guards and the locations of all the escaped cargo, but they were gone. The Pollikons, the ones he could see on the vids, deceased. Brutally so. The humans, remained were he last saw them, but he could see most of their life signs were gone. He and his team had their work cut out for them to revive all the worthless filth. The dulgo and other cargo were nowhere to be seen, as could be said for the escape pods. None of them showed up on the life signs monitor. They were out of range of the transmission. They jumped ship.
Murakami talked big about the loyalty of her crew, but the dulgo escaped the first chance they got. Pathetic. Dulgo are as cowardly and weak as those humans.
Krellion was so lost in his superiority that he never heard the knocking.
Only the sound of the room engulfing in flames.
After that, he only felt the searing pain of his death.
