Chapter Text
“I can’t believe we took this job,” Certo muttered into their helmet, striding down the hallway just ahead of Caleb. He looked around the ship as they walked through it, peeking into abandoned rooms, probably looking for something to steal. It wasn’t really understandable, considering how much the two of them were getting paid, but they supposed it was just a habit of his.
“So where is this thing we’re collecting the jizz of?” He asked after ducking out of yet another trashed room.
Certo shrugged and frowned at him from inside their helmet. The blueprint projected in one corner of their vision did little to help. “I’m not quite sure,” they admitted after a moment, “but it’s not jizz, it’s a skin secretion like a hagfish or like our sweat.”
“So this dude’s getting high off alien sweat?” He seemed disappointed, peering into a new room through the doorway. “That’s not very sexy.” There was something in his tone Certo didn’t like, a twist of curiosity that could only lead to trouble.
“Yeah, he probably dilutes it though,” they tried to warn, “the uncut stuff can mess you up.” They paused, waiting for him to pay attention. When he looked over at them, they took a sterner tone. “Don’t take your mask off; I don’t want to deal with you getting eaten or something.”
He nodded, obviously only half-registering their words, and moved ahead. Certo sighed, giving up on trying to get him to behave. Honestly, they didn’t know why they tried in the first place. If he got eaten by a huge alien monster it would be all the better for them.
After a few more minutes of walking, the two of them came to a closed door, the first one they had seen on the ship. “That’s a good sign,” Caleb said eagerly, pulling his gun out and shooting the magnetic lock.
With a rusty shriek, the door slid open, exposing a large, dim room. Pale tentacles squirmed up the walls and onto the ceiling, nearly covering the floor. Caleb rushed in before Certo could get out any sort of warning, and reluctantly they followed.
Slimy, fleshy bits squished under their boots, and they experimentally ground one under their heel. It pulled back, away from their feet, but slowly moved back to rest across their laces. More similar appendages started to writher towards them, a few lifting their tips up off the floor. Certo wrinkled their nose.
“Jesus Christ, these things are disgusting.” They stamped on another tentacle, twisting their boot heel until the thing came apart under the rubber. “But I honestly don’t know why I keep getting surprised by this kind of thing anymore.” Trying to remain calm, they pulled a gun from their belt, firing a laser into the appendage getting a little too friendly with their pant leg.
It shriveled and dried, crumbling in an instant. But there were plenty more to take its place, squirming around Certo’s boots and raising themselves up to wave lazily in front of their helmet. They oozed pink goop, whatever their employer had wanted so badly, and the readout on their visor indicated some kind of pheromone.
Dragging the lip of the container along one tentacle, they started the collection process, working away for several minutes, gathering probably a years worth of goop. If they hadn’t been getting paid a small fortune, they would have left and ignored their employers calls.
“Caleb!” They looked around, suddenly noticing the absence of any swearing or sexual commentary. If there was any way for him to get fucked up and high on tentacle juice, he would do it, they knew well enough by now.