Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jonah hadn’t expected to land the coveted internship position at IOBA’s central office on Capital Block even in his wildest dreams. The majority of his graduating class had applied to the single opening, some with significantly better aptitude scores and credentials, but the Intelligent Organism Biodiversity Agency was known for its unpredictable taste in applicants. The only people more surprised than him were his classmates. No one had even considered they would select a human for the position, given the species’ well-deserved reputation in the United Coalition.

The UC prided itself on having the most diverse population of intelligent species in the known galaxy. Each separate alien species was encouraged to integrate into their largely peaceful society. What had begun as an unheard-of fantasy had morphed into a playground for some of the most high-tech cities of the modern era, fostering an incredible array of scientific discoveries and innovative solutions for its citizens to enjoy. Its sky towers gleamed above the horizon as impressive displays of architecture, complete with aquaponic integration systems and aesthetics primarily inspired by the archaic cyberpunk motifs that past generations had written about in old fictitious texts.

The founding of the UC was framed as a triumph of creation that had reshaped the galaxy’s idea of a successful future, but there was one hiccup in the UC’s past that most biographical texts grazed over. Several dozen generations ago, the planet that the UC was built upon had been known by its single intelligent, ruling species as Earth. Humans had found themselves on the brink of environmental collapse when the first extraterrestrials contacted one of their many opposing governments, and the result had been instantaneously explosive. Despite their relatively young age, humans proved to be a vicious species largely unwilling to consider the idea of intergalactic cooperation even if the incentive to that union was the assured survival of their planet.

The extraterrestrials who made first contact were none other than the founding species of the UC. They had begun the pursuit of a perfect foundation for their early concept of a utopian, biodiverse society. They recognized that the planet called Earth had good bones. Its ecosystem was naturally varied and temperate the way few astral bodies were. The environment was in desperate need of repair, but other civilizations had already developed ozone clearing technology to tame uninhabitable moons.

Humans fought the integration every step of the way, even as their home planet began to heal around them. They sparked violence whenever possible and were seemingly never dissuaded by the massive casualties these conflicts created on their side. It wasn’t that they lacked intellect as a species, but rather that they had a deficit in experience. Their weapons were outmatched at the highest level, and their understanding of the importance of cross-planetary diplomacy was non-existent.

After the proverbial dust had cleared with the United Coalition standing as the obvious victor, only a handful of humans remained, seeing no other option besides total cooperation. The UC claimed they had never intended to be cruel and immediately began integrating humans the same way they treated other species who were slowly lining up to be included in the prospective society, but their image was forever tarnished. As the generations passed, human numbers dwindled, bobbing up and down somewhere in the vulnerable conservation status. Still, stories of their ancestors' senseless rebellion stayed with them, an unshakable stain on their name.

A month into his six-month internship with IOBA, Jonah still felt in over his head. Most of the staff he interacted with just viewed him as an automated paper filer at best and a personal barista at worst. He could feel how people looked at him, xenomorphic eyes towering over him glazed dark with dismissal. He was always treated civilly; humans typically were in the UC despite their reputation as discrimination was largely against the founding platform of the UC and the moral compass of most who choose to reside there. But there was something passive-aggressive in the way people simply didn’t expect him to be there. If he was being honest, his personal appearance was likely a significant factor there; round, freckled cheeks and a soft jaw framed by light, curly hair made him look a few years younger than he was. Unless they knew him personally, most other staff he interacted with probably didn’t even know he was a graduate of three higher education programs.

On the rare occasion he was assigned a task of more consequence, the sheer amount of new information stuffed into every text size eight e-file gave him a tension headache after a few measly pages. There were so many administrative odds and ends the IOBA monitored concerning the maintenance of sentient biodiversity across the continent that he hadn’t been aware of. He’d studied the company in-depth as part of his program, but many of the nuts and bolts of their operations remained confidential even to academic programs.

As a government branch, the IOBA was considered a cornerstone of the United Coalition. Their key mission, above all else, was to monitor and maintain the biodiversity of sentient species in the UC. Jonah quickly learned that the ‘monitor’ and the ‘maintain’ part of their mission were separate departments in every way but title. Half of the IOBA was dedicated to tracking population numbers; birth-death ratios, rate of immigration and emigration, any rare instances of cross-species integration, and statistics of injury and disease. It was essentially terabytes and terabytes of numeric data with the occasional trend analysis graph.

The first project the analytics department assigned him kept him up so late sorting data that when he tried to go to bed that night in his 150 square foot micro-apartment, strings of numbers swam behind his eyes as if they had been burned into his subconscious. He’d nearly passed out against a stranger’s back while riding the light rail on his way to work, only jolted out of his stupor by a noisy family of exopods just in time to catch his transfer station.

About a week later, when the opportunity to assist in a new maintenance-related project came across his desk, he snapped it up without even bothering to read the description. He’d take anything as long as he never had to spend an entire 12-hour day creating visuals to display the slight increase in Luxtarian hovercraft death over the last decade.

He swiftly learned the maintenance department’s projects were much more varied, bordering on the abstract at times. After analytics identified a problem in the population, it was whisked off to a meeting room full of off-beat scientists and researchers who lived for problem-solving. They reminded him uncannily of his old classmates, academics wholly dedicated to their niche fields of study. His workplace conversations became more lively as the scientists who saw him flitting around their labs checking equipment for overuse began to learn his face. He graduated from being a piece of office equipment to a sounding board for a cast of colorful staff eager to share the details of their projects with anyone who would spare a moment to listen.

He hadn’t considered the increase in camaraderie would come with an equally increased proximity to potentially sensitive projects until one of the site supervisors called him into a private meeting. He inadvertently picked at his nails during the short walk over to her office, glancing tepidly at the smooth, carbon fiber panel door. Miss Gaiacothica had exchanged a handful of words with him in passing, mostly amicable greetings when they happened across each other. However, he’d never been called into a one-on-one conversation with her before. She seemed friendly enough, past her spindly, spider-like exterior. Jonah had seen enough Araniaks during his time in the Capital Block that the crown of eyes encircling their heads barely registered to him.

“Jonah,” Miss Gaiacothica began as he reached down to lower the stool across her smooth steel work desk until the seat was low enough for him to clamber onto it with some semblance of grace. He’d been considered somewhat tall in his primarily human town, but here in the Capital, he found himself dwarfed by most species. “You’ve made a great addition to our department since you were transferred onto our equipment upkeep project. Not only have we seen an even greater decrease in avoidable equipment damage than we expected, but the other staff have expressed to me that they quite genuinely enjoy having you around. You get along fantastically with everyone, and heaven knows the researchers love having someone to prattle to about their passion projects.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jonah replied after she paused, nodding his head gratefully. “But I feel like it’s not likely you called me to your office just to praise my performance, as much as I appreciate it.”

“No, you’re right,” the Araniaks sighed, “I just wanted to make sure you know that we really do like having you here before I told you about the project.” She leaned over her desk, one set of hands fiddling with the button on her lab coat before sitting back in her chair heavily, a loose bolt squeaking in protest.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. The project?” Joah prompted.

“My apologies. I don’t mean to be vague,” she explained, “I’m trying to think of the right words.” She turned towards her computer screen, pecking a rapid series of numbers on a keypad built into her desk to unlock the console. “There’s an ongoing project that we’ve kept purposefully secret from you. It’s not anything unethical, of course, just a bit… sensitive regarding the subject matter. I’m sure you’ve noticed, but we don’t have any other humans on staff. It’s not something we’ve done on purpose. Our staff is quite small. Few species are represented in our office because of numbers alone. Honestly, I should’ve considered how to approach a human joining our staff vis-a-vis this project earlier.”

The wheels in Jonah’s head started turning at an exponential speed as he began to speculate which project she could be referencing, but he came up with nothing.

“So, I’m sure you’re aware that our department’s biggest concern is the species on our critically endangered list, yes?” She waited for Jonah to nod before she continued. “Over the past few decades, we’ve become known as a refuge for those who had to seek asylum due to planetary destruction, which is exactly the sort of thing the United Confederation was founded for. But the majority of our attempts to assist these species in their repopulation efforts have failed. Perfect breeding pairs are rarely as simple as one fertile male and one fertile female as it is in your species, mine as well, for that matter. Artificially simulating breeding environments in a lab setting has resulted in minimal success. A few species have already been lost to time forever by our failures.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jonah sympathized, hearing the genuine upset in her voice. “But very little of this is new information to me. I haven’t heard many details about the critically endangered projects, but I assumed that was because not much progress was being made presently… not that that’s anything to be ashamed of!” he added hastily, “Scientific progress is rarely linear.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you there, but about half a year ago, we had a breakthrough with HARP.” Miss Gaiacothica explained, sliding a single whip-thin finger across her trackpad as she moused through the folders labeled by serial number. “The Human Assisted Reproduction Project.”

“What?” Jonah questioned, momentarily distracted from his usual professionalism, “That- how have I never heard of this if it was such a big breakthrough?”

“It was kept from you deliberately,” she sighed, “I apologize for the lack of transparency. Interns usually just come and go without much consequence. We just hadn’t anticipated you’d become such a valued member of this office.”

“That’s understandable, I suppose,” Jonah conceded, “but you’ve yet to explain the contents of the project.”

“We stumbled into it somewhat by accident, if I’m being honest. Wan-Kitku was looking into the possibility of certain species being able to act as surrogates for species that lacked a breeding pair since our attempts at artificially simulated environments had gone so poorly. We weren’t expecting much of an outcome, but we didn’t want to leave any avenue unexplored. That was when he discovered that certain humans possessed the ideal physiology for incubation, not for just one species, but all intelligent species currently recognized by the UC.”

“All intelligent species?” Jonah parroted, brows drawn together in disbelief. “That’s- that’s scientifically unheard of.”

“That was my reaction when Wan-Kitku presented his findings, but the results don’t lie,” the Araniaks responded as she opened a sub-folder on the screen. “We’ve seen more success with HARP than all other attempts combined. It’s been slow going in certain ways. We’ve discovered that not every human possesses the universal breeder trait, and even among those who do, biological compatibility with individuals of a species varies. Beyond that, we’re not in the interest of sexual slavery. Every human in our program is a consenting adult here of their own volition, and all of our participants are being compensated handsomely. It was easy to request a funding increase after the success of HARP.”

Jonah’s eyes wandered to a point behind Miss Gaiacothica’s multi-eyed head as he tried to process the information being thrown at him. “So,” he paused, unsure of where to start. “How many participants do you have?”

“Presently? Two,” she answered, “Our biggest hurdle has been finding subjects who both fit the biological profile and wish to participate. As it turns out, that is a very small demographic of individuals, which I can’t blame them for. I’m not sure if I’d be able to participate in a project like this personally should the hypothetical situation arise. We’ve gradually increased the compensation amount, which has helped, but only slightly. HARP has single-handed stopped the extinction of nearly a dozen species already, but from a net value perspective, we’re still in the red.” She explained as she highlighted all of the files in a folder before entering a command on the keypad. “I’m sending you a document that explains the basics of the program just to ease your mind about the project, but if you have any more questions, please don’t hesitate to ask me. If you’d like to request a transfer after this, I understand and assure you no one will take it personally, but we’d really like it if you stayed.”

“Honestly, you could be committing war crimes, and I’d still rather stay here than do another analytics project,” Jonah signed, “I just- I’m curious who’s spearheading the project. It’s… odd to know that I’ve been talking to all the people working on this project all this time without knowing.”

“Understandable,” Miss Gaiacothica said, nodding slightly, her eyes blinking open and closed in a staggered rhythm. “Wan-Kitku is the lead on biological profiling. He’s been working closely with Rizo to develop non-invasive diagnostic equipment. Mi’anna has been handling the technicalities related directly to interspecies intercourse. And I’ve been handling cross-department communication; marketing, community outreach, et cetera.”

“Alright, OK,” Jonah replied, letting out a breath, “I appreciate your transparency, and I understand why it was kept from me until now. It’s a lot to process, but I’m not upset. It sounds like you’re approaching everything ethically, and I can’t deny the massive potential this project has for conservation.” he concluded as he slid off of the stool, the heels of his shoes landing solidly on the smooth tile floor as he stood, brushing an invisible speck of dust off the front of his slacks. As he began to step towards the door, he paused, turning back to Miss Gaiacothica “Does everyone know that I’ve been told?”

“It was discussed, yes,” she answered, “Although whether or not everyone remembered that was happening today, I couldn’t tell you.”

“Ah, fair enough. Well, again, thank you for your transparency. I’ll take a look at that file and let you know if I have any follow-up questions.” he said with a curt bow as Miss Gaiacothica bid him a goodbye over her shoulder, already occupied with another project. He schooled his pace until the heavy office door slid shut behind him. As soon as the tell-tale hydraulic hiss stopped, he whipped around on one heel and began striding towards the central lab, wrestling his datapad out of his bag as he walked. A preliminary scan of the document his supervisor sent him showed little of interest outside of what he had already been told, but he’d only gotten the chance to scroll through the first few pages before the frosted glass wall of the lab came into sight at the end of the hallway.

He slipped his datapad back into his company-branded shoulder bag as the automatic doors slid open, unlocking with a heavy click as it sensed the RFID in his badge. Mi’anna’s head snapped up when he entered, her ruddy armored skin shining under the lab’s LED lightning. She didn’t have eyes to read, but he could tell by the way her tail twitched sharply with agitation that she was fully aware of the conversation he was coming from. Rizo was hunched over a centrifuge on the other side of the lab, the feather-like structures on her arms undulating rhythmically as she taped away at something on her datapad seemingly unaware of Jonah’s presence.

“Jonah!” Mi’anna greeted him, the nervousness filtering out of her body language as she sensed his steady heartbeat. “I’m going to take it as a good sign that you’re still here.”

“I’m not planning on going anywhere, no,” Jonah replied, “But I have a couple of questions about HARP.”

At that, Rizo’s gaze whipped up to meet his, large pupils shrinking slightly as a nictating membrane flickered in and out. “Oh shit, that was today?”

“It was,” Jonah answered as he stopped next to a somewhat clear countertop a few feet away from her.

“Oh, thank god,” she exclaimed, discarding her datapad on the nearest uncluttered vertical surface. “Keeping that from you was the hardest thing I’ve done in my life! Every time we talked, I just wanted to blurt it out so bad, but if I did, Miss Gaiacothica would’ve had my head.” Her clawed hands waved animatedly as she talked, forcing Jonah to lean back as she approached to avoid getting cuffed across the head. A binder balanced precariously on an upper shelf took the brunt instead, tumbling to the floor in a flurry of archival papers. “Shit,” she swore, snatching the binder from the air with a predator-like strike. “Anyway, I knew you wouldn’t mind. I mean, yeah, sure, it’s probably kind of weird to think about, but you’re a scientist just like us! You understand the greater implications this project has. And it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong anyway. I’ve met all the participants, and they’re lovely. Oh! You should start joining me to do scans! It’d be so nice to have another human there, wouldn’t it?”

“Slow down, Rizo. I can barely understand you,” he held up a palm, letting out a soft chuckle. Rizo’s excitement was infectious, if not a bit overwhelming. “I’d be open to coming with you to scan participants if Miss Gaiacothica approves. It probably would be reassuring to have another human there. But, speaking of the diagnostic process, what is that like? Miss Gaiacothica mentioned you were trying to make it noninvasive, so I’m just curious what you’ve come up with. Are you able to do it without taking blood?”

“No blood, no needles, not even a hospital gown,” she confirmed, her voice swelling with pride. “This scanner is one of the most successful medical devices I’ve ever made by far. Its uses are a little niche, sure, but I’m working on that.” She bounded across the room in a few strides, waving her keycard against the sensor panel of a featureless black cabinet in the corner Jonah had never paid any mind to. “Ta-da!” she exclaimed, holding up an angular device about the size and shape of a hair dryer. The far end was covered by a smooth, carbon black panel that reminded Jonah of a hospital defibrillator.

“How do you use it?” he questioned as Rizo walked back with the scanner. “Is it a contact thing, or does it read more like a heat gun?”

“Very similar to a heat gun, actually. Just think of it as an endocrine heat gun. It couldn’t be an easier process. For example,” she explained, flipping the gun around to face her chest as she held down a switch on the handle. It let out a series of beeps at varying frequencies before emitting a harsh error sound. “The screen displays a simple reading, but it sends a slightly more complex report to my datapad. See?” she motioned at the small screen embedded in the top of the machine, which displayed a gradient bar on the bottom with a red side and a green side. A small pointer sat stationary on the red side beneath a large number two flashing on the screen. “Every non-human species we’ve scanned reads somewhere between zero and ten. The majority of humans, a little over 90%, read between fifteen and twenty. The highest we’ve seen is sixty-five, but only a forty percent compatibility is needed to qualify as a candidate. Individuals have such a high degree of variability, so the numbers seem low.”

“Huh, so what would you say is the margin of error?” Jonah questioned, tilting his head to the side as he tried to think of what wavelength it was operating with to get those readings.

“From what we’ve seen so far? Less and 1%!” Rizo exclaimed, “Let’s see what you’re at. You’ll definitely beat my two percent, but the highest we’ve had a human male score is seventeen.” He held still reflexively as the gun emitted the same sequence of electric tones before letting out a rapid series of dings, far different from the harsh buzz it made after Rizo’s scan. “What?” Rizo exclaimed loud enough that a few lab techs quizzically looked up from their desks. “That’s not right.”

“What’s not right? What does it say?” Jonah rushed to ask, moving forward to try and peer at the screen.

“Nothing, nothing, let me just try again,” she said, stepping back with a palm secured protectively over the screen. “Hold still. It probably caught you moving or something.”

Joah halted in his tracks, follow-up question dying in his throat as he held his breath, heart beating in his stomach as he focused on staying as still as possible. It repeated the same series of noises, a few beeps as it took a reading, followed by a rapid succession of tinny, mechanical dings.

“No fucking way. This must be broken,” Rizo shook her head as she looked at the screen for a long moment before she rushed past Jonah to the counter she’d discarded her datapad on, the scanner still in hand.

“What is it saying?” Jonah repeated, voice tense as he emphasized the words. He tried to peer down at the screen, only to be blocked again as Rizo moved it around to the other side of her body.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rizo replied absently as she focused on pecking rapidly at the screen of her datapad. “It’s an error. 100% an error. I’m just trying to figure out why.”

“I thought you said it had a margin error of less than 1%?” Jonah questioned, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Well yeah, but that doesn’t mean it can’t make an error,” she replied dismissively, stopping to look at something on her datapad. Jonah watched as her avian pupils widened just a fraction, body completely still for a moment before she began tapping away at the screen again. “Alright, I’m just gonna get Wan-Kitku over here, and he’ll know what the deal is. I made the machine, but he engineered the program, so I’m sure he’ll know.”

“What’s going on?” Mi’anna questioned, multi-tonal voice pitched up with curiosity as she walked up to them.

Jonah craned his head up to look at her with a sharp huff. “Rizo scanned me with the HARP scanner, and apparently, it errored, but she won’t tell me how.”

“It errored?” she parrotted, the disbelief evident in her voice. “What kind of error code did it display?”

“It didn’t display an error code,” Rizo explained, taloned foot tapping audibly on the tile floor. “It displayed a false reading.”

“The same false reading twice, presumably,” Jonah added crossly. “Not that I would know since you refuse to show me for some reason. I really don’t care what the number is if you’re sure it’s an error.”

“Oh, I’m positive it’s an error,” Rizo shot back as the central lab doors slid open. “Which I’m sure Wan-Kitku will confirm right now. Wan! Your code is running an error, and I can’t figure out why.” She shouted across the lab, uncaring of the number of lab techs that turned towards them, looking somewhere between curious and irritated.

“My code would never be running an error post-trial phase,” Wan-Kitku answered cooly as he delicately stepped over the pile of papers still scattered across the floor. The long blue tendrils on the back of his head flicked across Jonah’s back as he shouldered his way towards Rizo’s datapad. “Especially not my HARP code. Oh, hello Jonah,” he added on, blinking down at the more petite man as if he’d just seen him, “I take it you didn’t find the news about HARP too disconcerting?”

“Hello, Wan. And no, the main thing I’m finding disconcerting is the fact that Rizo won’t share the details of this error with me, considering it was on my reading.”

“Why were you scanned?” Wan-Kitku asked, thick brow ridge pinching together quizzically.

“I was just showing him how it worked!” Rizo hurried to explain, “So, of course, that’s the one moment it doesn’t. Just take a look at this.” She thrust the datapad into Wan’s hands. His fingers grazed along the thin edges gingerly as he regarded the screen for a moment before looking back up at Rizo, mouth turned down slightly at the edges as if he’d just tasted something sour.

“These results are certainly… unexpected, to put it mildly,” he began, “but what makes you so sure they are erroneous? Nothing is loading improperly, and there are no contradictory values.”

“No, there’s no way this is a real result, right?” Rizo looked down at the datapad again, muttering something under her breath.

“OK, seriously, please tell me what’s going on here,” Jonah pleaded, squeezing his arms tighter across his chest as he looked up at Rizo.

Wan reached down to brush a hand across his shoulder and met his exasperated gaze, saving Rizo from having to reply. “I will go with you to the testing room and perform the scan a third time to assure that there are no external factors affecting the outcome then I will share the result with you. You have my word.”

“Fine, fine, that’s fair,” Jonah agreed curtly. “Lead the way.”

The testing room Wan-Kitku brought him to was behind a locked door he had presumed was an unused office and down an elevator that led to a hallway entirely dedicated to HARP, complete with a waiting area for prospective participants and a separate color scheme comprised of calming light blues and grays with a pop of deep red.

“Oh my god, has this been here the whole time?” Jonah asked, staring wide-eyed at the unidentifiable aesthetics. “Are we even in the same building?”

“Technically speaking, yes, but we have gone down several floors. This wing sits under the IOBA conference center at the same level as the aquaponics lab. It has a separate entrance near parking lot four for the convenience of the participants. Not that we have had many to speak of.” Wan explained clearly as he used his key card to open a door adjacent to the designated waiting room area. “For the highest degree of accuracy, you should empty your pockets and remove your jacket. Feel free to set anything you’d like on the table here. Normally, none of those things would affect the scan result, but we’re treating this case as an outlier.”

“Right. Removing as many external factors just in case. I understand,” Jonah replied as he shrugged off his slim, piped overcoat, laying it neatly on the small table along with his bag. His pockets were practically empty to begin with, but he deposited the tiny bundle of trash and a single hair tie on top of his coat anyway. The testing room was mostly bare, with three walls painted the same shade of cornflower blue and the wall to the right of the door painted gray. A small table rested against the far wall, and a canvas chair sat in one corner, but no other furniture to speak of.

He stood in the center of the gray wall and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as Wan-Kitku moved to stand in front of him. The machine seemed to calibrate for an eternity before that familiar dinging radiated through the deathly silent room. Jonah opened his eyes, watching how Wan’s brow lowered for just a moment before he strode forward.

“Alright, what does that mean? What’s the reading?” he demanded as he tried to peer at the screen. Wan didn’t make him work for it, simply lowering the screen until it was level with Jonah’s eye line.

“Ninety-seven percent,” he responded as Jonah’s gaze landed on the flashing digit. His mouth parted in surprise as he watched the number blink one, two, and three times before looking up at Wan’s glassy yellow eyes.

“I- Rizo told me the highest score was in the sixties,” he said dumbly.

“She was correct, until now, that is,” Wan replied, releasing the scanner as Jonah grabbed the handle with both hands, staring closely at the number as if it would change the moment he looked away. “Please do not feel pressured to do anything you do not wish to do, but you understand that we must have a meeting to discuss this reading. If you are amenable to it, I’d also like to run some additional tests to narrow down exactly what in your biology is causing your reading to be so high.”

“Right, yeah,” Jonah answered, only half listening to him as the gears in his head turned and stuttered rapidly, trying to digest the situation.

“Before we leave this room, there is something I’d like to ask you in confidence,” Wan started, placing a gentle palm on Jonah’s shoulder, prompting him to look up from the device, “We’ve seen a consistent deviation in readings from humans with primarily male reproductive organs and ones with primarily female reproductive organs. To date, you are the first male to display a qualifying number, but certain values on your scan are more representative of a human female reproductive system. While I understand that you are a male of your species, I thought I’d take this time before you are being quizzed by multiple individuals to ask if you know of any anatomic deviation in your physiology regarding your reproductive system?”

Jonah sighed as he dropped the device down to his side. “Yes,” he answered, his tone completely flat. “Medically speaking, I’m intersex, meaning I possess elements of both typical human male and female physiology.”

Wan-Kitku nodded, “yes, I’m familiar with that term; however, I was unaware that it occurred in humans. It’s a relatively common phenomenon in many species, including my own, but none of the human scientists I’ve referred to have mentioned it.”

“Humans still have some odd hang-ups around sex and gender,” Jonah explained with a grimace. “Intersexuality occurs in about 1% of humans, but it’s rarely discussed.”

“That is strange and unfortunate,” Wan said as his wide nose bridge scrunched up in distaste. “I apologize if this is a sensitive topic. Do you know specifically which ways your physiology deviates? There are some test panels I may be able to omit.”

“I have a traditionally female vagina, cervix, and uterus, but no ovaries. My hormonal levels fall somewhere between male and female levels across the board, so many of my secondary sex characteristics read male,” he replied, prattling off medical terms as if he were reading them out of a textbook.

Wan nodded as he spoke, head tipped to one side. “If I am not misunderstanding then, you are entirely infertile?”

Jonah’s brow lowered as he answered, mouth twinging to the side. “A little forward, but yes. Why do you ask?”

“Ah, apologizes. I did not phrase that question gently,” Wan replied as he began to walk towards the door, hand slipping from Jonah’s shoulder. “I only bring it up because several of our previous theories surrounding why certain humans were more compatible than others centered around fertility levels, but your test shows that is unlikely.”

Jonah hummed curiously as they exited the room, his mind switching into problem-solving mode like a valve opening a new direction on a pipe, suddenly flooding all of his nervous energy towards another task. “If anything, I would assume that the bodies of humans who are more biologically capable of rearing their own children would be less likely to take on an extraterrestrial surrogate.”

Wan-kitku nodded thoughtfully as he called the elevator back to the lab. “There may be truth to your theory. I’m unsure if we’ve investigated a negative correlation, but I will be sure to look into it.” The elevator doors slid open with a hiss relieving the familiar off-white and black tones of the lab floor. As they stepped in, Wan spoke again, “I suggest you use this moment to compose yourself. I suspect the few days will be something of a whirlwind for you, but just remember, at no point should you feel pressured to do anything you do not wish to do.”

“Thanks, Wan,” Jonah replied, letting out a long steady breath as he watched the numbers above the door count up. “I’ll remember that.”

Wan-kitku’s prediction turned out to be entirely correct as Jonah spent the next few days being herded from room to room. He snapped at several phlebotomists before declaring that he would either strangle someone or pass out if his blood was taken one more time. Despite the mind-numbing amount of time some took, the additional scans didn't bother him. What did annoy him was the look of confusion he saw across every other radiology assistant’s face, followed by the sheepish downturned gaze when he told them that ‘yes he was, in fact, a man’ and ‘yes, that was, in fact, a uterus.’

After two and a half full days of tests, he found himself sitting at a modest table in an intimate conference room looking at an exhausted Miss Gaiacothica. Wan-Kitku sat on her right, while a taller gentleman with a square jaw and a mossy complexion sat on her other side with a datapad in his hands. Jonah didn’t know his name, but he’d seen the man before in passing, often rushing down from the finance office muttering about investors and department spending.

To Jonah’s surprise, Wan was the first person to break the silence. “Our testing has been exceptionally consistent at pinpointing the physiological cause of your high HARP capacity score. It seems that your specific hormonal profile as it is influenced by an atypical endocrine system combined with the presence of a typical human uterus, but the lack of certain accessory structures is almost certainly the cause. The only unfortunate thing about this discovery is that it is unlikely we will be able to recreate this biological environment in any present or future HARP participants.” He ended his explanation, looking across the table at Jonah with his eyes downturned, mouth in a hard straight line. Jonah recognized the subtle expression as an apologetic one.

“Meaning I’m quite special, huh?” Jonah joked half-heartedly, fingers fiddling with the outer seam of his pant leg under the table.

“Yes, to say the least,” the stern man on Mis Gaiacothica’s left spoke up, adjusting his tie with one finger. “Your unique biology could single-handedly make HARP one of the IOBA’s most successful programs to date. HARP has already been groundbreaking, but with even a single participant capable of partnering with any species, we could save entire civilizations. I’m not sure if Miss Gaiacothica has made you aware, but there are a handful of vital species that have been consistently incompatible with previous HARP participants, and the IOBA has invested interest in quite a few of those species. To put it simply, we’re willing to go to any lengths to persuade you to participate in HARP.”

“OK, I’d prefer if we phrased it more gently than that,” Miss Gaiacothica cut in, waving a spindly hand gracefully in a placating motion. “I know it’s been a strange couple of days for you, Jonah. I urge you to consider Mr. Abhion’s offer, but please feel like you have to do something you don’t want to. It remains of the utmost importance to me that all of the participants in HARP are entirely there of their own volition.” She turned her crown of eyes down at the mossy skinned man, Mr. Abhion, with a heavy look, too fast for Jonah to properly read.

Mr. Abhion avoided Miss Gaiacothica’s weighted gaze, staring straight ahead at Jonah as the younger man fidgeted in his chair. “Let me explain the offer before I present you with the fine text,” Mr. Abhion began, unlocking the datapad with a swipe. “You’d be allotted a monthly allowance of three thousand standard units, in addition to a complimentary one-bedroom apartment located within Capital Block city center.” Jonah’s eyes widened before he could control his expression. That proposed salary was twice what he made interning at the IOBA plus an apartment in the city center, likely about equal in value. Very few could afford to live in the city, least of all interns like himself who lived in residential sky towers comprised of thousands of micro-apartments. Mr. Abhion took in his startled expression with a barely concealed smirk before he cleared his throat and continued. “We’ve also noticed in your employee file that you’re from a small human settlement in the central region. Your father must be having a hard time after leaving the AG mines, no? If it’s amenable to you, we’d be more than happy to send an additional two thousand standard units a month to your family and set the IOBA’s public outreach program on some betterment programs for the community there.”

Jonah blinked owlishly, head leaning forward in disbelief. The last thing he had expected to hear about in this meeting was his family, and their mention left him feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. Mr. Abhion was doing everything in his power to show Jonah that he held all the cards in this negotiation, and it was working.

“All that would be expected of you is your regular participation in HARP.” Mr. Abhion said with a flat smile as if he was selling Jonah a car or explaining an investment, not recruiting him into an alien sex program. “Month-to-month schedules will vary depending on the individual needs of HARP clients. I’ve drafted up a few example schedules in the contract here, but we’re requesting a certain degree of… flexibility from you. However, I can assure you now that you won’t be expected to engage with more than two separate HARP clients in a given week at the most.”

Miss Gaiacothica opened her mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it as Mr. Abhion taped a finger sharply on the table in front of her.

“I imagine this is a lot to process, but I’ll just tell you this now,” Mr. Abhion spoke again as Jonah started and the datapad, brows furrowed low. “This is by far the best deal I’ve offered anyone. The IOBA is willing to offer you anything for your participation in this project. The contract even has entire sections dedicated to fulfilling requests you have after signing. Beyond that, you’ll single-handedly be saving entire intelligent species who are staring down the brink of extinction. Many of these species have a single generation left before they’re lost forever. But your participation in HARP will change all of that.”

Jonah let out a hard breath, heel tapping up and down on the floor as he closed his eyes, steeling his nerves, before opening them and affixing Mr. Abhion with a stern look. “Give me the contract. I’ll sign it.”

Chapter Text

Jonah’s belongings completely unboxed filled a pitiful percentage of his new apartment, some books on a shelf there, his worn nightstand woefully out of place next to a tasteful synthetic leather couch, a rug he’d totted from apartment to apartment laid at the foot of the bed. It didn’t feel like his apartment at all, even as he readjusted one of the two art prints he owned to hang evenly above the bed. He’d requested new bedding since his twin-sized comforter covered only a fraction of his new queen-sized bed, but even under the tightly woven synthetic bamboo blanket a representative for the IOBA had swiftly provided him, he fidgeted at night, rolling from side to side restlessly. The mattress felt distinctly new, a hexagonal rubber blend that molded to his body perfectly, providing just the correct amount of resistance against every curve of his body. It felt like he was floating, but he still couldn't bring himself to fall asleep.

He’d been given a couple of days to move into his new housing arrangement and digest the situation. An ‘adjustment period’ as they’d called it in the email he’d received just moments after leaving the meeting with Mr. Abioin. He wondered not for the first time how many people were involved in his situation behind the scenes, sending emails about him and attending meetings he would never hear about.

Tracking email chains was the last thing he wanted to do with his dwindling personal time. As stylish as the interior of his new apartment was, all sleek, swooping lines shining off the polished, faux wood laminate floors, he preferred to spend his time looking outward at the buzzing city, taking in the constant stream of light and motion. A massive octagonal panel window on one side of his bed displayed a panorama of fluorescent architecture and towering greenery alongside a corporate-run luxury apartment building. He’d looked up at that building before from the light rail and wondered what kind of people lived there; diplomats and big-wig government overseers, most likely. From the ground, it appeared massive, geometric form stretching up into the sky until it disappeared from view, but from here, it just looked like another building, as mundane as the single-family apartments he passed on his way to work.

He laid back on his mattress with a huff, watching the pink and blue prims of lights from his window dance across slick gray panels in the ceiling. Yet another message pinged to his personal communication line as a reminder that his participation in HARP started the next day. He’d tried to silence the insistent thing but found that IOBA had a way to bypass ‘do not disturb’ using the government’s disaster alert system. Did they think he’d possibly forget? And on some off chance he did, it wasn’t as if they didn’t know where he was.

As midnight approached and sleep continued to evade him, he finally caved and leafed through the drawers in his cabinet for a sleep-aid, locating the slim purple bottle among a pile of miscellaneous medications addressing everything from lethargy to nausea. Placed on the top of the stack, he saw an unfamiliar opaque bottle resting label down.

“Are you serious?” he muttered to no one in particular as he flipped the bottle over in his hand, reading the bold red text with a sour look “Drive Tonic Xtra! Libido enhancement capsules for mammillary species”. “Well, that’s… pretty damn bold of them.” he mused aloud, teeth clenched as he tossed the bottle into the farthest back corner of the drawer with a loud rattle.

Half a sleep pill took him out for the night, and the next thing he knew, he was blinking his eyes open with a groan to sunlight bouncing off the neighboring sky towers before filtering into his window. An alarm buzzed around his head as the speakers in the wall pinged, notifying him that his presence was requested for a meeting in an hour.

“Brilliant,” he muttered sarcastically as he slid the downy comforter down with a hand and pushed himself to sit. He allowed himself a brief moment to watch the hovercrafts glide along the midair skyway, their streamlined chassis’ cutting through the city like sharks in a tide, before he forced himself from bed, toes flexing against the mercifully heated floor.

He had just finished brushing his teeth as another IOBA intern, a young humanoid woman with a thick shock of white hair pulled into a tight bun on the back of her head, knocked at his door with a bundle of clothing in her arms. He inspected the plain canvas shirt and short set as she explained he was expected to wear it to his first HARP assignment to ‘avoid dirtying his personal clothing,’ she’d reasoned. He tried not to think about the implications of that as he dressed quickly, grabbing a small meal pack from the fridge before the woman reappeared at his door to escort him.

His apartment was no more than a twenty-minute walk from the IOBA’s headquarters, but the woman led him to a private craft parked in front of the building adorned with a small IOBA logo on the rear window. A featureless datapad rested on the seat with instructions to read the enclosed content flashing in eye-straining white text. He pulled open the one-page document labeled simply with a serial number followed by the text ‘HARPcand_ver’. It displayed a species name followed by a basic set of physical descriptors such as height, weight, and diet, followed by a name. The name Baimirion glared at him on the page accompanied by an intimidating set of characteristics; eight feet two inches tall, three hundred eighty-five pounds, identifying by he/him pronouns in the common tongue, hailing from a deep space planet.

The private craft floated up to a docking bay tucked behind one of the smaller buildings connected to the IOBA’s main office. The woman wasted no time leading him through a garage so clean it was practically sterile and down a slick chrome elevator to a lower basement level. The doors hissed open, revealing a humble foyer with two frosted glass doors on opposite sides of the room. She scanned a key card against one of the doors, motioning him through down to the furthest door of four down the hallway.

“I assume you’ve read the provided document on the way over as well as the information we’ve sent you throughout the week?” the woman questioned, speaking to him for the first time since they’d entered the building. Jonah nodded simply in response, eyeing the black, carbon fiber door in front of him.

“Good,” the women replied curtly, “The client awaits through this door.”

“What?” Jonah shot back incredulously, eyes wideneing. “I won’t receive a briefing? No introductory meeting or anything?”

“The provided document was your briefing,” she explained simply, already sounding irritated with his bewilderment. “Now, if you would please proceed to your meeting. The client has already been waiting for some time.” She waved her keycard against the door before punching in a code on a concealed keypad below the scanner, prompting the door to slide open.

Jonah shot her one last skeptical look over his shoulder before turning towards the dark room, taking a cautious step forward before thinking better of it. He straightened his spine, pulling his shoulders back into a proper posture, and took a few pseudo-confident steps into the room.

Immediately, a looming figure caught his eye, resting casually on the bed, chin resting in the palm of one of four massive hands.

“So,” Jonah began hesitantly as he tried not to focus on the hydraulic hiss of the door locking shut over his shoulder. Rhythmic bass-heavy music hummed softly throughout the dim space. “I take it you’re Baimirion?”

The man’s midnight blue skin rippled with subdermal lights as he rose to stand from the enormous bed in the middle of the room. Two thin sets of eyes angled up towards the crown of Baimirion’s head, blinking once as they turned in his direction. Jonah struggled to read any signs of recognition on his face. He swallowed hard as the man’s mouth opened a fraction, long bioluminescent tongue whipping behind his teeth as he began to speak.

“Yes,” he spoke, low timber voice resonating through the room, sending a visible shiver down Jonah’s spine. “But for a… paramour such as yourself, I ask that you call me Baimir.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Baimir,” Jonah replied, struggling to identify what exactly constituted an appropriate greeting in their situation. His left hand fidgeted with the seam on the side of his plain canvas shorts. “I’m Jonah, although I’m sure you knew that already as you’ve already been given a file on me.”

Baimir nodded, the lower of two sets of arms crossing curtly behind his back, pulling the featureless top the IOBA had provided him tight across his chest. “As you have been given a file on me, yes?”

“I have,” Jonah confirmed, “Although the content was somewhat lacking; a clearance issue presumably, which seems counterproductive since I’ll be… experiencing, for lack of a better word, some of that redacted information.”

“You were not informed of the details of my reproductive biology?” Baimir questioned, head tweaking to the side; all four of his eyes narrowed scantly. “I was led to believe the contrary by my IOBA liaison. However, It has been some time since I made that request. None of the other HARP volunteers proved viable, so I have been in something of an interim.”

“Ah, well, as you may have been told, I’m a bit of a special case,” Jonah said with a soft, self-deprecating chuckle as he moved forward away from the door, wandering to a chaise lounge across from the bed. On further inspection, he realized the sizable bed in the center of the room was not a bed at all but rather a raised platform with a coated padding on the surface, taking up about a ten by ten space in the center of the room across from a thin rectangular mirror.

“Yes, you’re truly an exceptional individual,” the larger man replied as he took a heavy step towards Jonah, still leaving a conservative amount of space between them. Not only was Baimir tall, but he had the Herculean build of an apex predator. His limbs were thick, padded with muscle and adipose tissue underneath deep, polished skin, illuminated by the diffused red light embedded in the ceiling. “I find myself extremely grateful that the IOBA paired us together. I will not take up much of your time. With your biology, the incubation period should be no more than five days, at which point the eggs will have developed enough to withstand an external environment.”

Jonah tried to distract himself from the details of Baimir’s statement by allowing his analytical brain to rise to the forefront. “Do all sexes of your species produce eggs?” he questioned, taking a seat on the chaise lounge, the synthetic velvet fibers brushing up against the back of his legs.

“Yes, all members of my species possess both the ability to produce eggs and an accessory structure that triggers fertilization,” Baimir explained, taking another half step towards the couch. Jonah slid up against the backrest of the chaise lounge and motioned his hand towards the free space, silently offering the seat. “Back in my homeland, there was a specific type of rock formation that provided an ideal environment for fertilization to take place. These caverns existed in abundance for eons, but an unprecedented ecological decline disrupted the mineral balance that made these structures functional to us, effectively rendering my species infertile. But the IOBA’s testing has shown that your human uterus is capable of triggering the self-fertilization process.”

“Fascinating,” Jonah mused, genuinely intrigued by the biological implications, “But wouldn’t that make this a very short-term solution? One clutch of offspring is hardly enough to sustain a species forever.”

“That would be true, but joint efforts between the IOBA and scientists from my home planet believe they can rear offspring to be reliant on a new fertilization environment if they are able to introduce it while still in the fetal development stage.”

“That’s incredible. Your species has survived solely on true parthenogenesis for far longer than my species has been alive. Although, I suppose the rarity of parthenogenesis decreases quite rapidly once you look outside this sector.” Jonah stopped himself from rambling further as he looked toward Baimir, meeting his deep fuchsia eyes, completely void of an identifiable iris or pupil. “What do you need from me to start?”

Baimir blinked rapidly, head leaning back as he moved a hand towards Jonah before seemingly thinking better of it and stalling on the chaise lounge inches from his leg. “I do not wish for this to be an unpleasant experience for you so please, inform me, how would an interaction like this begin were it a standard human mating?”

“Well, we’d usually use slang like “hooking-up” instead of saying mating, for starters,” Jonah chuckled. “But linguistics aside, if you were, let’s say, taking me home from a bar, we might start by kissing, maybe some… fondling.”

“Is that what you enjoy?” Baimir asked, sliding his hand across the synthetic velvet until his knuckles brushed Jonah’s thigh.

“I-,” Jonah paused. He hadn’t thought of what he wanted. “It sounds odd to say, but I’m not completely sure. Does your species have sex for pleasure?”

“Yes,” Baimir answered, “While traditional intercourse is not required for reproduction, we experience arousal, which often leads to sexual activity between one or more partners. These states often increase in severity and duration as a clutch builds inside us.”

“Oh, so it’s probably been a while since you last….” Jonah trailed off, eyes scanning over Baimir as he suddenly became aware of a growing mass in the other man’s lap.

Baimir sighed, “Yes, I will confess to you this has been the longest period in my life without releasing a clutch, and it has long since started to… affect me. I’ve been attempting to contain myself as much as possible to avoid frightening you.”

“Alright, then how’s this for an agreement,” Jonah reasoned, standing from the dark chaise lounge abruptly before sidestepping, stopping in the space between Baimir’s legs, their eyes nearly level. “Your body knows what it needs, and, at the end of the day, I’m here to help you. Use me however you’d like, and I’ll let you know if something is hurting me.”

“Are you certain?” Baimir asked, leaning back as his upper set of arms moved subconsciously towards Jonah’s waist. “Once I start, I am not sure I will be able to stop.”

“Mmhmm,” Jonah hummed affirmatively, taking another half step forward until his chest pressed against Baimir’s. One of his hands hovered above the bulge in Bairmir’s shorts, feeling heat radiate off the fabric. “Use me.”

Bairmir rose to stand in a single motion, his upper set of arms plucking Jonah off of the ground by his waist. It was as if Jonah’s quiet command flicked a switch in Baimir’s head, as hands suddenly roamed across the blond’s skin, rough palms sliding under fabric, pushing it aside to chase the feeling of friction up Jonah’s back.

Jonah gasped as a wall pressed up against his back, shoving his torso flush against the other man, dappled violet subdermal lights flickering under Baimir’s skin where they made contact. A slimy appendage passed over his parted lips, smearing a line of viscous fluid across his chin as Baimir’s tongue snaked between his teeth, lapping over Jonah’s mouth experimentally.

A hand slid up his back to grab at his hair, pulling his head down until his throat fully extended, allowing Bairmir to crane his head down to meet Jonah’s, looming over him fully, encompassing his body against the wall. His legs came up to fasten around the other man’s waist, torso too massive for Jonah to lock his ankles around. He let out a tense breath as he felt his cock rub against the firm, ridged skin across Baimir’s abs through his thin shorts.

Baimir’s rough lips pressed sloppily against his, saliva slicking the skin between them as Baimir’s tongue began to lick into his mouth. A sweet, musky taste washed over his tongue as Baimir pressed into the space behind his teeth before backing out slightly and swirling the appendage around Jonah’s mouth, muting his heavy pants. Saliva began to drip out of the sides of his mouth in thick globs as Baimir flooded him with the sweet liquid, forcing him to swallow it down.

He heard the ambient music crescendo in the back of his mind as Baimir’s tongue slipped down his throat, pointed tip snaking deeper as the appendage grew wider in his mouth. His tongue pulsed with soft bioluminescent light, glowing a muted red through Jonah’s skin as it thrust in and out of the boy’s throat experimentally. He could feel it undulating, pulsing erratically as it delved into his esophagus, dripping saliva into his stomach.

He didn’t know if the saccharine flavor of Baimir’s saliva was simply a product of his chemical profile or if it dually functioned as an aphrodisiac. He felt his body growing hot as Baimir’s tongue vigorously fucked his throat, pulling back just in time to give him a gasp of air before plunging back in just as deep. His body burned where they touched, heat radiating beneath his skin as Baimir’s rough hands grasped at him, rubbing across his back and legs as if he were madly searching for something. The fabric of his shorts began to dampen against the other man’s stomach, light gray fabric darkening as he subconsciously rolled his body against Baimir, letting out a muffled moan around his thick tongue as the friction shot straight to his cock.

His brows pinched in confusion as a weighty bulge pressed against his ass, grinding against him as their bodies moved. There was a texture to it he couldn’t identify, a distinct valley in the middle accompanied by a series of points and ridges, not to mention the sheer size of the mass.

He let out a wet cough as Baimir’s tongue slipped from his throat, spraying heavy droplets of saliva across his face and neck.

“I can smell your arousal,” Baimir panted, his voice husky in Jonah’s ear, so low it made him shiver. “Your body wishes for more, wishes for me.”

“Yes, yes,” Jonah replied breathlessly. “I want you.” A deep growl rumbled for Bairmir’s throat as he turned from the wall, continuing to hold Jonah’s body flush against him before he dropped the more petite man on the bed platform, hands leaving for a moment before returning to grab at the hem of Jonah’s shirt, ripping it over his head, smearing saliva across his face as the shirt collar dragged over his head. His second set of hands made quick work of his own top, casting it off on the floor.

He hooked his lower set of arms under Jonah’s hips and dragged him to the platform's edge, kneeling between his legs as he snagged his fingers under Jonah’s waistband and tugged his shorts down, leaving his cunt bare. His skin glistened with fluid, evidence of his arousal as his cock twitched under Baimir’s gaze.

“Beautiful,” Bairmir spoke reverently as his hands returned to Jonah’s hips, his upper set of arms pushing Jonah’s knees towards his chest, exposing him further. “Look at the way you drip for me.”

“Please, just touch me, plea-ah-” Jonah yelped as Baimir’s mouth descended on him, massive tongue circling his cunt as he pressed the saliva-soaked appendage against every crevice. The thin tip flicked against his clit, pulling another moan from his throat as Baimir encircled the tiny bundle of nerves. He experimented with different patterns, starting with a back and forth motion, then small circles traced delicately over the sensitive nub. He twirled his tongue around Jonah’s cock until he could taste the liquid oozing faster from his cunt.

“You taste so- so sweet,” Baimir murmured against Jonah’s cunt, the lower half of his face shining wet in the soft red lights. “I could eat you out like this forever, and I’d never tire of the taste.”

He pressed his tongue against the eternity of Jonah’s cunt, head bobbing from side to side between Jonah’s legs as he ground the muscular appendage against him. Jonah felt viscous rivets of saliva drip down his perineum, forming a puddle beneath his ass as he squirmed against Baimir’s mouth. The man’s thick tongue slithered against him, brushing against every nerve as Baimir licked against him as if he were starving, searching out every last drop of slick that dribbled from his needy entrance.

Baimir pulled back for a moment, lightly panting as he watched the way Jonah’s cock twitched. Saliva dripped across his cunt, pooling in his entrance, causing it to pulse open and close at the sensation.

“Oh, oh god,” Jonah gasped as Baimir dove back in, lapping at him with a renewed vigor. “You- your tongue, it feels so good. I- ooh fuck-” he threw his head back, a moan ripping itself from his throat as Baimir’s tongue plunged inside him. The tip pushed up at his upper walls, lapping and pressing at a ribbed patch of skin a few inches past his entrance. His knees shuddered into Baimir’s firm grip, trying to snap shut as the sensation of the other man’s saliva coating his walls made his eyes twitch back into his head.

Baimir pulled at his hips, pushing himself impossibly closer as he delved his tongue deep into Jonah’s cunt, madly exploring his insides, pressing up against the limits in Jonah’s body.

“Ah, ha, oh, you-” Jonah fought to speak, “You’ll want- ah, want to find another- another ring of m- mm- ah- hole there. It’s- you can go under it- it- it’s higher than you’d- ah think- oh god.”

Baimir’s tongue pressed up against the entrance of his cervix experimentally, tip carefully snaking its way into the tight hole.

“Mm-hm- that- that’s where you’ll want to-to aim for-ah, when-” Jonah trailed off, biting his lip as Baimir’s continued to prod at the entrance to his womb, tongue undulating against all the sensitive nerves deep inside him as it worked itself into the tight ring of muscle. Baimir’s hands slid down his legs, wrapping around his ankles and spreading them apart as his lower set of arms continued to hold Jonah’s hips flush against his face. Hot saliva soaked up Jonah’s back as his pelvis lifted off the ground, pressing even harder against Baimir’s mouth as the man continued to ravish him.

The thickest part of Baimir’s tongue rhythmically pressed up against the ribbed patch of skin on his upper walls, sliding firmly back and forth across the sensitive spot. Jonah’s hands gripped fervently at the platform's edge as heat pooled in his gut, sending static shocks of pleasure down his limbs as his cunt spasmed, letting out tiny spurts of liquid into Baimir’s mouth. The man hummed against him, the sound wet and muffled, buzzing softly against his cock. Lights danced across the ceiling as tears pooled in Jonah’s lash line, blurring his vision as his eyes twitched shut tightly, head rolling back against the bed.

He let out a sharp breath as a heavy, unfamiliar weight began to build in his stomach. He forced his head up off the bed, looking down between his legs to meet Baimir’s eyes as the other man’s mouth rocked against him. Wet, slurping noises filled the room as a thick mixture of Jonah’s slick and Baimir’s saliva poured down his skin, soaking his legs and ass with the slick, hot liquid. All four of Baimir’s eyes locked onto his, heavy-lidded with contentment as his fingers dug into Jonah’s hips, leaving behind a fan of dark bruises across his skin.

“Nngh, f-fuck, Baimir, I- I’m,” Jonah struggled to speak, voice broken by staggered moans. “I’m- I’m close. Ah- oh god, oh!”

A wave of pleasure crashed over him, whiting out his vision with a rush of euphoria so powerful it made his ears ring. His legs shuddered in Baimir’s grip as the other man chased after his spasming cunt, swallowing down every last droplet of slick that gushed from the fluttering entrance. Time blurred as his brain reeled from the sensation, every nerve in his body lighting up with ecstasy. He could feel his cervix twitching open and closed as Baimir’s tongue stayed lodged in his deepest hole, burying further into the tight ring of muscle, spilling thick globs of saliva into his womb.

His legs felt limp in Baimir’s grip as he collapsed boneless against the platform, panting hard. Baimir’s tongue pulsed in him a few more times, pulling a mindless whine from his throat as his body twitched at the overstimulation. The appendage slipped from his cunt, leaving it clenching, spitting out rivets of slick and saliva that dripped into the sizable puddle under his ass, pooling over the edge of the platform onto the floor.

“You are truly a heavenly being,” Bairmir whispered, releasing his grip on Jonah’s hips and ankles as he moved onto the platform, body covering the more petite man. His upper set of arms braced above Jonah’s head as he continued to pant. His senses began to return, vision blurring just as one of Baimir’s hands came down to grab his jaw, fingertips reaching from temple to temple as he tipped Jonah’s head back.

Jonah’s lips parted without resistance as Baimir’s tongue licked into his mouth again, swirling up behind his cheeks before it dipped down his throat, lazily fucking in and out. His eyes fluttered shut as the sweet liquid flooded his mouth, a subtle salty tinge left behind from his own slick.

Baimir pulled back, flicking droplets of saliva across Jonah’s face as he let out a soft, wet cough, still fighting to regain his breath. “I have never felt a stronger desire to mate than I do at this moment,” Baimir leaned down next to his ear, voice practically a growl as he spoke. “Look at what you are doing to me.”

Jonah forced his head up, muscles responding sluggishly, as Baimir leaned back, his body towering over Jonah’s as he kneeled over the smaller man’s hips. Jonah felt his eyes widen as his lust-addled brain struggled to comprehend what he was seeing.

Baimir had managed to slip his shorts off without Jonah noticing, freeing not one by two large members that now stood up against his stomach, tips weeping with a tinted blue fluid. The upper one was wider, about the width of a soda can, with a curved tip tinted a darker shade of blue. A patchwork of nubs lined the lower half of it, outlining a thick vein that spanned the underside of his cock from base to head.

The lower appendage was narrower but longer than the first, a little over a foot long if Jonah had to guess. It was lined with thick ridges that came to a tilted point with a large slit. The broad, flattened head oozed droplets of transparent liquid.

“O-oh,” Jonah stuttered, fumbling for the words as a dark blush washed across his face. “You have two.”

“Yes, I assume this detail was omitted from my paperwork judging by the look on your face,” Baimir replied, grabbing the upper appendage with one hand. “From my research, this one functions similar to a human penis. Upon orgasm, it releases a fluid not dissimilar to semen to fertilize the eggs and prepare the cavity for oviposition. The lower one is an ovipositor.”

“I don’t think both of those will fit in me,” Jonah admitted, watching as Baimir’s hand stroked up and down the thicker member, slicking it up with the milky blue fluid Jonah could only assume was precum.

“They are not meant to be inserted together,” Baimir explained, “Although simultaneous stimulation is rather pleasurable, they are able to act independently.”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure if you noticed while you were… down there, but I have another hole that can… be used like that,” Jonah explained, looking off into a corner of the room as his blush darkened. “It isn’t part of my reproductive system, technically speaking, so you can’t use it for… that, but I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to, you know, try it.”

“Is that what you would like?” Baimir asked, voice low as he released his cock, appendage standing firm, weeping against his stomach. His hand dropped down to Jonah’s leg, tracing up the inside of his thigh until his rough fingertip brushed the other man’s slick soaked cunt. “Would you like me to fill both of your holes?” he questioned as his finger dipped down to Jonah’s ass, circling the tight ring of muscle, spreading hot saliva across his skin.

“Y-yes,” Jonah replied in a whisper, barely audible over the music. “But, you have to prep that hole more. It doesn’t self lubricate.”

“That should not be a problem,” Baimir said as his slick finger pushed into his ass, bobbing in and out steadily, sinking in just a fraction further each time. Jonah let out a soft groan as Baimir’s finger reached the last knuckle, the thick digit fully inserted into him, much deeper than his own fingers could ever achieve. The larger man flexed his finger in Jonah’s ass, pressing up against his walls purposefully, forcing the tight cavity to stretch around him.

“Incredible,” Baimir breathed out as he began to pump his finger in and out of Jonah’s hole, lining up a second finger alongside the first. “This feels completely different than your cunt. I cannot begin to imagine how pleasurable it will feel to be buried in both your holes.”

Jonah keened as a second finger worked itself through the tight entrance of his ass along with the first, slick and saliva squelching audibly as Baimir’s fingers stretched him open. Baimir’s other hands began to rub along his skin, tracing up the side of his body reverently as the taller man leaned over him, the hand thrusting in and out of his ass never breaking stride. His feet flexed against the platform’s edge, slipping on a puddle of saliva pooled on the edge of the bed. A rough hand traveled across his chest and moved to circle his nipple, pinching the rosy bud and rolling it between two broad fingertips.

“Ah! Oh, that’s-” Jonah moaned, unsure of what he was trying to say. Baimir’s fingers began to scissor inside him, stirring around in his ass, firmly pushing his walls apart.

“You are opening up so well on my fingers,” Baimir praised as he continued to pluck at Jonah’s nipple with one hand, another coming up to grab at his hair. “I cannot wait to see you stretched open on my cocks, to feel how you clench around me.”

“Yes, yes, please,” Jonah moaned mindlessly, head pulled back against the platform. “Fuck me, please, fuck me.”

“Patience, I do not wish to hurt you,” Baimir replied as he began to work a third finger into Jonah’s ass. “But if you continue to beg like that, I may not be able to help myself.”

“Nnhg,” Jonah whined as a third finger forced its way into his ass, the sting gradually dissipating as Baimir began to pump in and out, using the layer of spit on Jonah’s skin to slick up his insides. Baimir’s other hand pinched his nipple harder, clenching it and tugging lightly until Jonah keened. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Please just fuck me. I want you to fuck me open on your cock, please.” Jonah mewled, hands clawing at the bed as he writhed under Baimir’s massive form.

Baimir chuckled, “To think how shy you were when we began. Now you beg around my fingers like a bitch in heat.” He pulled his fingers from Jonah’s ass, watching as the hole clenched around the sudden emptiness, spiting out a droplet of slick he’d fucked inside. His hand left Jonah’s nipple, leaving it reddened and sore, as he moved to grip Jonah’s waist, his fingertips nearly touching around the smaller man’s torso. He flipped Jonah over to his stomach in a single motion, using his lower arms to navigate Jonah’s legs, folding them underneath the blond’s body. Jonah gasped as he was effortlessly manhandled into a kneeling position, his back flush against Baimir’s chest, arms pinned in an iron grip.

“I will give you what you want,” Baimir growled in his ear, bassy voice reverberating through his skull as the alien began to slide his members between Jonah’s legs. The upper one pressed against his cunt, massive head catching on the underside of his little cock, smearing precum against his skin. Jonah shivered with an unexpected euphoria as the nubs that lined the lower half of Baimir’s cock dragged against him, catching on his entrance before moving forward to rub against his cock. The midnight blue head pushed through his thighs, glistening under the red lights as Jonah’s cum coated the appendage in a thick layer of slick.

The lower set of Baimir’s arms grabbed at his hips, moving Jonah back and forth like a ragdoll over his cock as his upper hands latched on to the smaller boy’s arms, hooking through his elbows to pull them behind his back. Jonah shivered as the softly pointed head of Baimir’s cock snugged up against his cunt, nestling the very tip into the shallowest part of his entrance. Just as Baimir began to pierce his silky skin open, he pushed down slightly, fucking through Jonah’s thighs once again.

“Fuck, please,” Jonah moaned, on the verge of tears as the thick nubs dragged over his cunt, thoroughly drenched with his slick. He’d already cum on Baimir’s tongue once, but his body begged for more. He’d never felt more desperate, heat radiating across his skin as the idea of being fucked pushed every other thought out of his head. He was helpless in Baimir’s forceful grip, whining as his hips were pulled back and forth, clutched so tightly between the other man’s massive hands that he couldn’t even grind against Baimir’s cock.

“Tell me exactly what you want,” Baimir ordered, teasing his cockhead on Jonah’s entrance again before sliding through the blond’s legs.

“Fuck, I want you to fuck me, please,” Jonah hurried to reply, voice cracking. “I-I want you to fuck my cunt. Ah-I want you to fill me- fill me up with your cocks. Ooh fuck- I want you to use me. Please, just use me. Fuck me, please.”

“When you beg to sweetly, who would I be to deny you,” Baimir replied, his free hand grabbing Jonah’s jaw, forcing him to look up into Baimir’s slitted fuchsia eyes. He stilled Jonah’s hips, resting his cockhead against the slick, plush skin of the smaller man’s entrance. He watched the way Jonah’s eyes rolled as he pushed in slowly, cunt stretched marginally looser by Baimir’s tongue. With a final jerk of his hips, the head sank into Jonah’s heat, pulling a yelp from the other boy’s mouth as it pierced him open. Baimir’s tongue had a startling amount of girth, but it didn’t hold a candle to Baimir’s cock. Jonah’s eyes shut tight at the harsh sting as his skin stretched around the massive intrusion, cunt fluttering uncontrollably as it struggled to adjust.

Baimir continued to sink in, either unaware or uncaring as Jonah whined at the burn. It felt like he was being split in two as, bit by bit, Baimir buried himself in Jonah’s cunt, pulling back with an unyielding grip on Jonah’s hips. He whimpered as the first thick nub pushed up his cunt before penetrating him with pop, dragging against his inner walls. The increased friction caused the tears building in his eyes to bubble over, tracking down his cheeks as he sobbed.

“Shh,” Baimir hushed his sobbing, “You’re taking me so well. I promise it will be pleasurable soon.” Jonah just whimpered in response as the nubs slid across his g-spot, making his cock twitch with pleasure as his cunt let out a spurt of fluid around Baimir’s length. He could feel the hooked tip moving inside him, pressing up against his upper walls, forcing itself deeper inside.

“It- it’s so big,” Jonah stuttered, “Fuck, you’re- ah- you’re stretching me so much. Oh god-” Baimir ground up against his g-spot with the textured surface of his cock as he pushed in further. His hand left Jonah’s jaw and traveled down his body, dipping down to his slick cocklet where it was flush against the underside of Baimir’s member. He grabbed the little appendage between two fingers and began stroking it rapidly. Each nub along the surface of Baimir’s cock pinned his dick harder into the larger man’s grip, almost distracting Jonah from the burning stretch in his cunt as Baimir continued relentlessly sinking into him.

A wall of flesh pressed against his ass as Baimir bottomed out, plunging the largest of the nodules that lined the base of his cock in with a thurst. His cunt clenched around the intrusion, pressing every perfectly placed nub into his sensitive walls, pulling a moan from his throat.

“God, you feel even better than I imagined,” Baimir groaned, voice rumbling with content over his shoulder. “Truly a heavenly creature.”

“Ah, oh my god. I- I can’t believe you fit,” Jonah exclaimed, looking down between his cunt stretched around Baimir’s length, the man’s second cock still hanging untouched between his legs, oozing translucent fluid onto the bed. “Do you-” he panted, “is just- ah- just the one inside enough?”

“I must fill you with the fluid from this appendage first before my ovipositor will release,” Baimir explained, one finger lazily drawing circles on the tip of Jonah’s cock as the boy fluttered around him. “Although I appreciate your eagerness.”

“Ah ha,” Jonah replied, letting out a noise halfway between a laugh and a moan, “Mm- well, I live to please. Quite- ah- quite literally nowadays.”

Baimir’s hands flexed around his hips as the other man pulled Jonah off of his cock, letting each ridge catch on the lip of his entrance before popping out, strings of fluid still connecting them to Jonah’s skin. He used his thumbs and pushed down on Jonah’s sacrum, tilting his hips forward, forcing his back into a steep arch as Baimir’s cockhead just barely began to slip from his cunt. Before he exited fully, he snapped his hips into Jonah, a resounding, wet slap echoing across the room as he filled Jonah’s cunt at a new angle.

“Fuck!”Jonah screamed, hands spasming behind his back as he threw his head back into Baimir’s chest. The other man began pistoning into him fervently, all his patience waiting for a perfect release spilling over. Jonah’s body shuddered back and forth, pinned in place by Baimir’s grip, unable to do anything besides moan and take it as the other man pounded him. “Oh- oh- f-fuck- oh my god-” he panted, moans being punched out of him by each of Baimir’s bruising thrusts.

He could feel cramping deep in his stomach as Baimir’s cockhead rammed up against his cervix every time he bottomed out, pointed tip shoving at the tight ring of muscles before slipping underneath, fucking his cunt deeper. The nubs lining the base of Baimir’s member dragged against his g-spot as the new angle pressed his upper walls down against the other man’s thrusts. He bit his lip to stifle a moan as his cunt fluttered, fluid dribbling out around Bairmi’s cock, further soaking the inside of Jonah’s thighs.

Baimir fucked like a machine; stokes long and hard, but above all, relentless. He didn’t show a single sign of tiring as he pistoned away at Jonah’s heat, filling the room with a wet ‘slick, slick, slick’ sound as Jonah continued to drip lewdly around his cock. Each time Jonah thought he felt the heat of climax building in his gut, it inexplicably receded, leaving his eyes red-rimmed as each edge made him fight back a desperate sob.

“Why- why can’t I-” Jonah cried, “Ah- ah- why can’t I cum? Oh god- it feels so good. I wanna cum.”

“Ah, it seems your body has become in sync with mine,” Baimir explained, voice low and possessive in his ear. “It is a trait of my species. You will only cum when I do. Until then, you will just feel pleasure. It is a trait displayed when the submissive partner fully submits themselves to be dominated.”

“Please, please cum,” Jonah begged, too desperate to consider the implications of Baimir’s sentence.

“I am close,” Baimir grunted, pulling Jonah’s hips up higher, aiming his thrusts straight at the smaller man’s cervix, gradually coaxing the loosened passage open just a fraction more. “I must assure that your womb is completely filled.”

“Fuck, please, you’ll fill it. I’m certain. I can feel it. I can feel it so deep,” Jonah persuaded him. “You're so deep in me- ah- up against my womb. Please fill me. Oh god- pump me full. I’m gonna go crazy, please, please.” His body felt burning hot, consumed by the drag of Baimir’s cock pistoning through his cunt, pounding against his deepest limits.

He felt as Baimir’s thrusts tapered off into quick, rapid strokes narrowed in on the deepest passages in his cunt. It was an animalistic kind of pumping meant to accomplish one thing; breeding. Jonah’s vision blurred out to nothing as he felt Baimir’s cock shudder inside of him before a wave of hot cum flooded his cunt, spurting up against his cervix as his body spasmed. He seized in Baimir’s arms as every muscle in his body tensed with pleasure, a choked noise tearing from his throat as he threw his head back into Baimir’s chest, eyes rolling back into his head before twitching shut. He could feel the tide of cum pushing against his walls, stretching his abused cunt further as it tricked out around Baimir’s cock in fat rivets, smearing down his legs.

Baimir pulled out his cock halfway out, dragging all of the ridges along Jonah’s spasming walls before he slammed back in, curved cockhead driving straight against Jonah’s cervix. The smaller man squealed as he felt the very tip of Baimir’s cock pierce the tight ring of muscle, pumping cum directly into his womb.

“Oh, ooh-f-fuck,” Jonah moaned, “I- ah-anatomically I shouldn’t- oh god, shouldn’t be able to feel that-that deep. There aren’t those kind of- fuck aren’t those kind of nerves. But- but I can- I can feel you. I can feel your cum in my womb.” Jonah’s head reeled at the sensation as he tried to explain the phenomenon, not entirely sure if his words were intelligible or not. It shouldn’t be possible, but he could feel a burning heat spilling somewhere deep inside him and a heavy weight below his stomach as his body shivered at the sensation. It felt foreign, so entirely like anything he’d felt before, but simultaneously, so good. It was as if liquid pleasure was pouring through his veins, leaving him twitching and dizzy against Baimir’s chest as the man finished unloading inside of him.

“You’re taking me so well,” Baimir praised as he pulled his cock back, feeling Jonah’s cervix squeeze shut around him, continuing to clench open and close as Jonah rode out his orgasm. “So, so well. You’re perfect, truly perfect,” he murmured against Jonah’s skin as his cock slipped from the other man’s cunt, spilling massive globs of a vicious, pale blue liquid onto the platform.

Jonah whimpered mindlessly as he felt rivets of cum pouring from his reddened cunt, spilling down his shaking thighs as we struggled to regain his breath.

“Do you wish to recover, or would you prefer I begin fucking you again as you are?” Baimir asked, sounding utterly unaffected by his climax as he lowered Jonah to the platform, laying him face down as he continued to pant.

“Hah, no- I- I’m fine,” Jonah replied breathlessly, “I’ll- I’m good. Keep going.” He pushed himself up onto his elbows, head tilting down, spilling a shock of sweat-soaked, curly blond hair over his eyes. Baimir grabbed at his hips with a single hand, dragging him effortlessly to the edge of the bed by his waist. The platform was clearly built to Baimir’s size as it came to the top of his thighs as he stood, lining Jonah’s ass perfectly in front of his pelvis as the more petite man’s legs hung off of the side, feet nowhere near touching the ground. Jonah shivered as pools of saliva and cum dragged along his stomach, seeping along his chest. Baimir leaned over him, two hands bracing against the bed next to his head while another gripped at the meaty part of his ass, spreading Jonah open with his thumb.

Two firm shapes pressed up against him, one prodding at his ass while the other slotted its pointed head just in the entrance of his fucked out cunt, still oozing cum. Baimir’s fourth hand grabbed his hips, pulling him firmly back onto the dual appendages. The lower member pierced him first, its titled, flat head nestling into his cunt, displacing globs of cum as it entered him. Baimir’s upper cock was lined with small nodules on the lower half, but this appendage was comprised entirely of firm ridges, slick, scale-like plates overlapping each other from base to tip.

Jonah mewled as the first ridge popped through his entrance, followed by another and another and another, each sending a spike of pleasure through his gut. Baimir let out a satisfied hum as he worked the head of his cock into Jonah’s ass, pointed tip snaking through the stretched ring of muscle. His cockhead sunk in Jonah’s ass, pushing the hole open to its limits as his massive cock began to bury itself in Jonah again.

“Ooh- oh f-fuck!” Jonah screamed as he was overwhelmed by the sensations. His asshole burned as his skin stretched painfully around Baimir’s massive cock, forcing his fists to clench by his head and a renewed wave of tears to build on his lashline. Simultaneously, Baimir’s ovipositor slotted into his cunt, its dull spines rubbing against the oversensitive nerves on his upper walls making his cock twitch with pleasure against the corner of the platform.

The pain dulled much quicker as his body yielded to the intrusion, the sting dissipating into a dull ache that quickly became a euphoric buzz as Baimir continued to sink into him, stuffing both of his holes full. He moaned wantonly as the tiny nubs began to slide into his ass, rubbing up against the stretching ring of muscle before settling inside of him with a pop.

He felt the moment the tip of Baimir’s ovipositor caught on the edge of his cervix, but instead of slipping down into the open space below it, Baimir bore down on the tight ring of muscle. The pointed tip of its tilted flat head snugged up against his cervix as Baimir snapped his hips forward suddenly, forcing the ovipositor past his cervix into the deepest parts of his cunt.

Jonah let out a choked scream as Baimir began sinking into his womb. It felt like the appendage was shoving up against his stomach, moving his organs aside to make room. It kept going, further and further into him, ridges popping through the ring of muscle as it hit impossible limits inside him.

“You took me much more easily this time,” Baimir mused, looming over Jonah’s back as he began grinding his hips against the blond’s in a short figure-eight, stirring both his cocks in Jonah’s holes, pushing up against his walls. The cock in his ass pushed up towards his cunt, sending an electric shock of pleasure through his body as the cock in his cunt writhed deep in his womb, churning up the massive deposit of cum inside him.

“Ah! Oh god, I-I,” Jonah stammered, “I’m s-so full. I didn’t know- oh fuck- I didn’t know I could be this full. You-you’re all the way in me.”

“I have not felt the pleasure of fully sheathing myself in another for so long,” Baimir confessed, his hands repositioning on the bed to slide down Jonah’s arms, pinning his wrists near the side of his head. “Can you feel my body pulsing inside of you? It’s becoming so eager to release now that you are ready to accept my clutch. Every fiber in my body is begging me to breed you.”

“Yes, yes, I can feel it. I can feel you,” Jonah replied, legs tensing in the air as Baimir continued to grind into him. “Oh god, I can feel you.”

Baimir let out a low, self-satisfied growl as he began to pound his hips against Jonah’s ass, filling the room was a rhythmic, wet slapping as the twin appendages pumped into him simultaneously. The feeling of each textured cock dragging against his walls collided into an overwhelming torrent of sensation. His thoughts fizzled out into a puddle of white noise as his limbs twitched against the platform. Bairmir’s thrusts rocked his body back and forth like a ragdoll, pinning his little cock between his hips and the surface of the bed, further adding to the assault of euphoria.

He could vaguely hear a series of rhythmic, punchy moans echoing throughout the room, and it took him a moment to realize that those sounds were coming from him, a little ‘ah, ah, ah’ punching from his throat each time Baimir bottomed out. He was certain he would’ve come already were his ability to climax not tied to Baimir’s. It felt like his nerves had been unraveled, splayed open across his skin as his body was ravaged by massive alien cock. Each thrust shot a bolt of electricity through him, leaving him entirely limp on the bed, moaning senselessly for more. His conscious brain had been fully peeled away, revealing a more animalistic part of himself that only knew hedonism. He could feel the moment his body yielded to that lower self as his thoughts dissipated into an unreachable fog leaving behind the simple desire to be fucked and dominated.

“I will not last as long this time,” Baimir grunted, head hanging over Jonah’s prone form as his thrusts began to grow quicker, losing rhythm as his body fought to bury itself as deeply as possible in Jonah. “My body is so desperate to release in you. I can feel it preparing.”

“Hah- ah- c-cum in me, please. Oh god, please, please cum,” Jonah babbled, out of his mind with the feeling of cock stretching him out, filling him deeper than he thought his body could take.

Baimir let out a rumbling groan, hand clenching hard on Jonah’s hip as he spoke. “It’s coming, it’s coming,” he said, voice growling in his ear as a thick bump pushed at Jonah’s already stretched entrance before popping through the tight hole.

Sparks shot through Jonah’s body as his orgasm blindsided him. He barely registered the feeling of the firm ridges of Baimir’s ovipositor pressing up against his g-spot as the lump passed through, causing fluid to gush from his cunt as his entrance clenched tight around the thick appendage. A second bump followed the first, followed by another and another until his pleasure-addled brain lost track. He felt hot rivets of fluid dripping out of his ass as Baimir unloaded inside him, cum flooding deep into his body, jettisoning into every nerve fucked raw by Baimir’s cock. Jonah’s stomach cramped as the first slowly moving mass halted momentarily at his pierced cervix, bumping up against the tight ring of muscle.

Baimir grunted, heavy form pinning Jonah to the bed as he began grinding his hips brutally against Jonah’s ass, rocking firmly side to side, making Jonah keen as his cock dragged across the platform under his body. Jonah felt the moment the first bump began to penetrate him, squealing as his cervix was stretched open as the mass worked its way through the tight hole deep in his cunt before popping out into his cum-flooded womb.

Jonah’s legs shook as he felt a condensed weight sinking into his stomach, pushing against his skin as he lay prone on the bed, arms pinned by Baimir’s unyielding grip. His vision blurred in and out as he struggled to orient himself. He felt high on pleasure, entirely undone by Baimir’s cocks. Cum flooded out of him in thick trails as his legs hung over the side of the platform, shuddering limply. His vision speckled out to black, eyes rolling back into his head as the pleasure became too much for his body to process, only to come back a moment later, still splayed beneath Baimir’s body as the larger man sunk a final mass deep inside of him with one last grunt.

“So good,” Baimir murmured as he began to pull his hips back. “You took it so well.” Jonah moaned out something unintelligible as Baimir’s cocks began to exit him, nubs and ridges dragging against his aching walls as his holes continued to twitch around the other man’s lengths. The head of Baimir’s cock slipped from his ass with a pop as the cockhead caught on the tight ring of muscle freeing a torrent of cum to bubble out of the hole, painting the back of his legs a creamy blue. A moment later, his ovipositor finished backing out of Jonah’s cunt, each thick ridge sliding against his overstimulated g-spot before pulling free with a wet squelch.

Baimir righted himself, slipping a hand under Jonah’s waist to flip the limp blond onto his back. Jonah allowed himself to be rolled over, wincing as he felt a renewed wave of cum stream from his ass over the edge of the bed into a growing milky blue puddle on the floor.

“Incredible,” Baimir whispered, voice gravely as he looked at Jonah’s sprawled form, limbs twitching with the aftershocks of pleasure, both holes puffy and reddened as they oozed torrents of fluid. “Can you see my clutch settling inside of you?”

Jonah forced himself to look up, head shaking as his neck struggled to hold the weight. His usually flat stomach pudged out ever so slightly near his navel, a rounded mass smaller than a football settled beneath his skin about eight inches long and no more than four across.

“Oh fuck,” Jonah replied dumbly, bringing a shaky hand up to touch the bump and finding it firm beneath his palm. “So… that- that’s it?”

“You say that as if you are dissatisfied,” Baimir replied as he seemed to catalog the mess of fluids around them for the first time.

“No! No, that’s not what I meant,” Jonah rushed to clarify behind clenched teeth as he began to push himself up onto his elbows. “Just… I hadn’t thought about what happens now.”

“I believe we will be imminently contacted by an IOBA staff member and escorted to a washroom. After that, you will continue to be monitored by IOBA until the clutch is able to survive in a laboratory setting, at which point they will induce a pseudo-labor and raise the clutch in a simulated environment.” Baimir explained as he offered Jonah a hand. Jonah accepted, wincing as his sore ass pushed against the bed. “There are no appropriate words in either my language or yours to express my thanks to you. I am forever in your debt for this. The survival of this clutch means the survival of my species, and it is only possible because of your willingness to dedicate yourself so wholly towards this cause.”

Jonah looked away, unable to meet Baimir’s eyes as the man thanked him. “I can’t begin to understand what it feels like to face the possibility of extinction the way you have. I’m glad that the IOBA is able to help,” he replied, finding himself avoiding accepting his genuine gratitude.

His thoughts whirled as he shakily redressed, wincing as his clothes dragged rivets of cum and saliva along his skin, instantly soaking the fabric. The next moments passed in a whirlwind as two stern-faced women greeted them flatly at the door, leading them each in opposite directions toward separate washrooms. Jonah showered as quickly as he could on shaking legs, eager to collapse in bed as his body begged for rest. His hand kept falling to his stomach, palm laying over the barely visible lump. He closed his eyes, typing his head against the shower wall as his head buzzed, sheer exhaustion dulling the endless stream of questions pinging around his head. In a way, he still wasn't entirely sure what he’d gotten himself into, but he knew one thing, it was too late to turn back now.

Chapter Text

“I’d like to lodge a formal complaint,” Jonah said behind clenched teeth as he hammered away at a windowless office door in the IOBA’s finance department labeled with a brushed chrome plaque that read, “Iplole Abhion, Special Program Manager.”

“Um, sir?” a lanky reptilian humanoid dressed like a bank teller inquired behind him, a tray of coffees in his hands. “Do you have the clarence to be here?”

Jonah flashed his badge from the pocket of his work slacks irately before jamming it back in with a swear as the laminated corner caught on a taught edge of fabric. The waistband dug into his stomach to a painful degree, leaving red imprints on his skin. He’d dressed professionally to give himself the best chance at making it to Mr. Abhor’s office without being stopped, but none of his office attire accounted for the additional lump he was carrying in his abdomen. He’d been forced to settle with the single pair of black slacks that had a bit of stretch and a slightly oversized oxford button-up his brother had gifted him at his first college graduation. A thigh-length faux wool overcoat left undone over the top mostly concealed how his shirt buttons pulled if he turned too far or sat down, but nothing stopped the way his pants pressed into his stomach with every step.

Jonah huffed as the reptilian man shrunk away towards the finance lobby. Fortunately, the man had been too timid to take an honest look at his ID, as even a swift glance would’ve revealed the words INTERN stamped in yellow across the bottom, and a swipe verification would have shown that the IOBA revoked his access to all labs and personal office spaces following a “department transfer.”

“Mr. Basset,” a voice spoke cooly behind him. Jonah’s head snapped to the side as Mr. Abhion rounded the corner from the main lobby, broad shoulders framed by an architectural suit. “One of my assistants told me a human was making quite the commotion in front of my door. Despite context pointing to the contrary, I almost didn’t believe it would be you. This is rather bold of you. I could easily justify having security escort you out.”

“Well, Mr. Abhoin,” he shot back, eyes narrowing as he straightened his back, pulling his shoulder blades down into a stern posture. “I wouldn’t be acting so unprofessionally if you had responded to any of my messages. Your radio silence forced me to seek you out myself.”

“I hardly believe four days classifies as ‘radio silence,’” he replied as he approached, passing his briefcase from one hand to the other to grab the badge from his belt. “But since you’ve gone through all this trouble to make yourself a nuisance, I will entertain your request.”

His office door opened with a high-pitched beep revealing a quaint room occupied mainly by an L-shaped desk housing a sizable computer unit with a dual monitor that spanned several feet. For guests, a smaller chair sat up against the corner next to a glass-covered display shelf holding various plaques and memorabilia. Any horizontal space outside of that was occupied by potted plants of every imaginable size and shape. Thick twisting vines lined the window, holographic fibers shining in the sun. Next to that, a plant with massive leaves shaped like inverted umbrellas pulsed softy, basking in the gentle spray of a humidifier that sat near it on the desk.

“I didn’t take you for a gardener,” Jonah commented offhandedly, stepping across the office to stand in front of the faux-leather reading chair. He observed an orchid-like plant with long bell-shaped flowers swaying gently under an AC vent in the ceiling.

“I’m less of a gardener, more of a collector,” he responded as he moved around the desk, setting his bag on a dark, steel filing cabinet in the back corner with an audible thump. “Each plant is native to a different sector.”

“Really?” Jonah questioned, eyebrows raising as he surveyed the room again, taking in the glaring dissimilarity between each plant. “How do they all survive in the same environment like this?”

“Each has been genetically modified to thrive in a similar climate while maintaining the elements that make them unique. It’s truly a marvel of science. Without the IOBA’s research, these plants would never have been able to grow as fruitfully as they do now,” Mr. Abhion explained, “But I suspect you didn't storm into my office, through several off-limits areas, might I add, to ask me about botany.”

“No, I think you know why I’ve gone through all this trouble,” Jonah replied, continuing to stand as the larger man calmly took a seat behind his desk. “Or you would if you’ve bothered to look at any of my messages.”

Mr. Abhion just watched with a low brow as Jonah crossed his arms, eyes traveling pointedly up and down his form as if he were watching a child throw a tantrum. “I’m afraid I’ve found myself rather busy these past few days, so I can’t say I have,” he explained.

“Pardon my unprofessionalism, but I believe that’s bullshit,” Jonah shot back, “I know how important this project is to the IOBA, and I know how important I am to this project. It would contradict everything I’ve seen so far for you to ignore my contact requests entirely. You’ve been disregarding my messages deliberately. Why?”

“That’s quite an accusation,” Mr. Abhion replied, subtly turning his chin up at Jonah, “I assure you, I’ve been in contact with your handler. You’ve not been forgotten.”

“My handler? Are you referring to the woman who’s been leading me to and from my apartment while hardly speaking a single word to me?” Jonah questioned, one eyebrow pitching up to his hairline. “I haven’t even been told her name.”

“Well, yes. We don’t pay her to entertain you. Her primary duties are escorting you to and from HARP meetings and performing wellness checks as needed,” Mr. Abhion clarified as he crossed his broad-knuckled hands across his desk curtly. “Her name is Ter’ione, by the way. I’m certain it was in one of your introductory emails.”

“It’s not a wellness check I’m in need of. I need my questions answered,” Jonah buckled down, “The file I was given before my first HARP meeting was severely lacking, and I wasn’t told I’d be meeting my first client so quickly. Going forward, I’d like to request more detailed files on all of my prospective clients, including specific anatomical and physiological information, sent at least twenty-four hours in advance. I’d also like a schedule that specifies which meetings are with clients and which are clerical or medical.”

“Mr. Basset, you have to understand,” the other man replied with a barely concealed sigh, “The majority of the species involved in HARP are explicitly under the IOBA’s protection. They’re in a very precarious situation, and their safety is of the utmost importance. All information concerning them, including their biology, is on a strictly need-to-know basis.”

“I’m about to have their dicks in me. You don’t think I need to know?” Jonah snapped, slamming his palms on the edge of the desk as he leaned down to stare Mr. Abhion in the eyes. “I’m trying to be professional here. I’m trying to go through all the ‘right channels’ requesting the most basic pieces of information with all that nice, fluffy corporate language, and you’re treating me like not only an outsider but a child. I am giving my life to this project because, at the end of the day, I believe in the change we’re making, but if you keep me shut out like this, I will grow to resent you and, by extension, this project.”

Mr. Abhion’s eyes narrowed slightly, watching expressionlessly as Jonah’s harangue ended, leaving them eye-to-eye, faces only a few feet apart in a drawn-out moment of uneasy silence.

“I… sympathize with your frustration,” Mr. Abhoin replied, voice tense as he broke the quietness. “But it seems your emotions may be getting the better of you. I will contact Ter’ione to escort you to a medical check,” he held up a mossy-skinned hand as Jonah opened his mouth to speak, “but I will keep your wishes in mind going forward. It’s not in my power to release the documentation you’ve requested; however, I will contact my superiors and voice your concerns. Additionally, your HARP appointments will now be labeled as they are assigned to you to avoid any confusion going forward.”

Jonah let Mr. Abhoin’s words ruminate in his head before he stepped back from the desk, arms returning to cross over his chest. “I hope you know I expect to hear back about my request for improved briefings,” he said, a hint of a challenge to his voice.

“As you should,” Mr. Abhoin conceded, “Now, please, go wait in the lobby. Ter’ione should be here to collect you shortly.”

“Tell her not to bother. I know the way,” Jonah dismissed as he turned to leave, striding out of the office before the other man could comment. Jonah hardly described himself as confrontational, but something about Mr. Abhoin made him bristle like a catty drunk in a rowdy bar. Every word out of his mouth made Jonah want to look for an excuse to fight. He was just so wholly corporate. His sentences sounded like they were copied and pasted straight out of a multi-department chain email. He didn’t work with people; he worked with projects.

The towering glass doors separating the finance lobby from the IOBA’s central hub slid open with a hydraulic hiss as Jonah strode forward, keeping his steps quick and confident to dissuade any wayward eyes from inspecting him too closely. The easiest way to blend in was to act like you were meant to be there. That ideology alone had gotten Jonah past four separate front desk agents on the way to Mr. Abhion’s office. It was only when he nearly walked face-first into the double-wide automatic doors separating the offices from the lab area that he remembered the IOBA had revoked his lab clearance.

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath as he looked at the flashing red access panel above the doors. This was the kind of door that sensed a key card several feet away to accommodate heavier flows of traffic instead of making each patron swipe their card on a panel. He’d walked through it carelessly so often during his internship that it took him a few seconds to realize why it wasn’t opening.

He glanced nervously over his shoulder, finding the hallway behind him blessedly deserted. It was an odd hour of the day, not early enough for staff to be just arriving, but still too early to justify a lunch break, so Jonah wasn’t surprised. He’d been very opportunistic when selecting this time frame, but he hadn’t accounted for stranding himself about as far away from any easy exit as possible. While he’d grown quite close to the researchers in the IOBA maintenance lab, they’d never had any reason to swap personal numbers. They rarely had free time to spend outside of work, and most of that, they chose to spend enjoying the few solitary hobbies they had the energy to maintain. Each employee was issued a work datapad with its own contact number for working hours, so there was no reason to contact each other on personal devices in the building, but he’d turned his lab-issued datapad back into the IOBA. He scrolled through his contacts hastily; family member, family member, friend back in the central region, old classmate, family member, old classmate. He cursed his past self aloud for not saving any work numbers to his phone.

He whipped his head over his shoulder, checking the hallway one more time before he opened the browser on his phone, typing in the IOBA’s government website and scrolling madly through their limited public directory. Finally, he got to the G section, letting out an audible sigh of relief when he saw that one of the two names listed there read “Sahirs Gaiacothica, senior laboratory sciences supervisor.”

He clicked the number, listening to the line ring once, twice, three times as he looked down the hallway anxiously, foot tapping on the ground. Just as he was about to go to voicemail, the line clicked open, a series of muffled sounds playing over the speaker as if someone were rustling fabric by the mouthpiece.

“Jonah!” a familiar voice spoke, sounding hurried as something dropped onto a desk in the background, “This is you, yes? I have this number saved as yours.”

“Hey, yes, it’s me,” Jonah replied, smiling broadly as he held in a sigh of relief. “I’m actually at the lab right now. Or, well, I almost am. I forgot they revoked my lab access, so I’m stranded at the main door.”

“They revoked your lab access?” Miss Gaiacothica parroted, “That’s unusual. We are still supposed to be seeing you weekly at a minimum. In many ways, you still work for us, although the circumstances of your employment have changed.”

“I was surprised as well, but it wasn’t exactly a choice I got to make,” Jonah replied, the corner of his mouth twitching down with annoyance. “Regardless, I’d be very appreciative if someone could come let me in before my handler tracks me down.”

“Of course, I’m messaging the lab channel as we speak. Someone should be there to retrieve you shortly,” she assured as the faint sound of tapping echoed over the line. “Why is your handler looking for you?”

“Oh, not for anything important,” Jonah replied dismissively, “I just may have… sort of broken into the finance department and to talk to Mr. Abhion only to end up yelling at him and leaving before my handler could come to take me to a medical appointment. Mind you, a medical appointment Mr. Abhion assigned just to get me to leave”

The mechanical clicking sounds stopped leaving the line deathly silent as he finished relaying his story. “You… yelled at Mr. Abhion in his own office and are now evading the staff assigned to you,” she clarified, her voice slow and tense.

“Um, yes?” Jonah replied sheepishly. “Listen, I know it sounds bad-”

He was cut off by loud laughter and the sound of something falling on the desk as Miss Gaiacothica slapped one of her hands down on the hard surface. “Oh gods, you’re probably one of the only people in this entire building you could get away with that without any repercussions,” she guffawed, “If I were speaking to you on a private channel- oh, I shouldn’t., Well, here I must say I formally disapprove of your actions.”

“Right, right,” Jonah chuckled, “If anyone asks, I’ll say you thoroughly reprimanded me.”

“Exactly,” she agreed as her laughter tapered off. Jonah spared a glance through one of the narrow glass panels in the center of the door and was greeted by the sight of Wan-Kitku striding down the hallway. The tendrils that sprouted from his skull swayed behind him as the towering man fiddled with a datapad as he walked, eyes trained somewhere on the floor in front of him.

“Oh, Wan is here. I’ll see you shortly, I assume,” Jonah said, waving a hand to catch the other man’s gaze.

“Yes, see you shortly, Jonah,” Miss Gaiacothica replied before ending the call.

Wan opened the door with a wave of his broad palm and greeted Jonah curtly before leading him back to the central lab. As they talked, Jonah couldn’t help but notice how Wan-Kitku’s eyes seemed to gaze somewhere past him as they spoke, rarely meeting Jonah’s eyes and never looking at the bump under his Oxford shirt. It was hard to garner much else from the somewhat stoic man’s body language, but the way his fingers constantly found something to toy with as they walked made Jonah suspect it was something adjacent to nervousness. Why, though, Jonah hadn’t the faintest idea.

“Miss Gaiacothica has requested we proceed with your medical check first to avoid any potential complaints from Mr. Abhion,” Wan explained, walking past the main lab doors to a more private processing room. “You may have a certain level of immunity to any consequences he could enact, but we do not.”

“Ah, she told you about my little stunt already, it seems,” Jonah chuckled sheepishly, obliging to enter the exam room at a polite wave of Wan’s hand.

“She was quick to share with the main lab staff, purely out of jealously, I suspect,” he replied, standing in the doorway as Jonah moved to a hard, plastic chair on the other side of the room. “Many of us have wished to, as you would say, give him a piece of our minds, especially lately. But, as you know, he has almost sole control over the lab’s funding and where we can spend our resources, so we have held our tongues.”

“How did I never hear about him during my internship? He sounds like he holds a lot of power in IOBA. It’s odd I’ve never heard of him,” Jonah asked, a hand coming up to press at his stomach as he sat down. He clenched his teeth behind his cheeks as the waistband of his pants pressed painfully into his skin.

“He was recently transferred here from an off-world headquarters after the previous special program manager stepped down,” Wan explained as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing his chest. “He was on Vichi.”

“Vichi? I wasn’t aware IOBA had a headquarters on Vichi,” Jonah replied, eyebrows furrowing together as his other hand rested in his lap, tapping at his forearm restlessly. His specific knowledge about Vichi was limited. He knew it was a hot, lush planet on one of the inner rings of a nearby galaxy called Aphus, which was infamous for its jungle-like ecosystems and massive fungi groves. It had a few notable cities capable of facilitating deep space travel, fostering a small tourism industry for more adventurous travelers. However, the planet itself was scarcely populated by sentient life. “You mean a full headquarters? Not an outpost?”

“That’s what I was told, yes,” Wan nodded, “Although that was my first time hearing of it as well, and I’ve been with the IOBA for over two decades now. Perhaps it is new? Or maybe they have a niche focus area?”

“Maybe, I suppose. But a headquarters implies a larger clerical force than you would need for any niche research field I can think of,” Jonah reasoned.

“It is only occurring to me now that I may be revealing confidential information to you,” Wan-kitku said, one hand dropping from his chest to fiddle with the corner of his closed datapad as one of the tendrils on the back of his head flicked back and forth over his shoulder.

“Oh, relax. I just go from my IOBA owned apartment to my IOBA appointments and back again. Who would I tell? I’m under constant staff surveillance.” Jonah assured, leaning back in the chair until his head hit the wall. “Who told you about the Vichi headquarters in the first place?”

“Mi’anna,” Wan replied, “After you were… recruited, she took a brief trip to Vichi for a meeting with some big-name off-world staff about the developments in HARP. I assume she wasn’t permitted to share the details of the meeting or its attendants, but she did share the location. Speaking of Mi’anna, that is who we are waiting on. She’s been the one performing HARP medical checks since her specialty is in biology and internal medicine, which I’m sure you knew. Although, if your familiarity with each other makes the appointment awkward, you may request a different technician.”

“Gyno appointments are always awkward, especially for me. I’m sure it will be fine,” Jonah dismissed his concern distractedly, eyes traveling to an undefined spot on the ceiling as he pondered the information Wan had just revealed. As far as he was aware, all the biggest names in the IOBA resided at the central headquarters in Capital Block. The few that didn’t would be expected to travel for specifically consequential meetings. The only exceptions would be established scientists and field experts residing in research outposts who would join councils electronically when needed. Holding a meeting with such gravitas at a headquarters so obscure it was seemingly unknown by the majority of staff seemed outlandish unless there was something he was missing.

“Please do not investigate further into the headquarters on Vichi. In hindsight, I am quite certain I was not meant to tell you about it,” Wan sighed.

“I can’t promise that, but I promise I won’t do anything to implicate you,” Jonah replied, temporarily shelving that line of thought as he heard footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Mi’anna turned into the small room, nearly running headlong into Wan-Kitku where he had posted in the door before ducking nimbly under the taller man’s arm.

“Jonah! It’s good to see you again,” she greeted him, setting her satchel down on the counter by the door before opening one of the overhead cabinets to rummage for supplies. “I heard your first meeting was quite successful.”

“I suppose on a technical level it was,” Jonah replied, letting out a stifled huff as he shifted uneasily in his chair, leaning to the side to lessen the pressure against his stomach. He was sure the seams along his waistband had imprinted an irritated pattern on his skin. It felt like sitting at a dinner table after an overindulgent meeting multiplied by a factor of four.

“You seem uncomfortable,” Mi’anna pointed out, turning back to Jonah as she spread a sterile field out on a smaller table behind her.

“Well, yes,” Jonah admitted, “I didn’t think I’d make it all the way to Mr. Abhion’s office in my sweatpants, and my slacks don’t really accommodate my… additional baggage.”

“Are you worried that it might be damaging the clutch?” Wan-Kitku spoke up, still loitering in the doorway as Mi’anna began to set up.

“Their typical environment is deep space rock formations, Wan. I think they’ll be OK,” Jonah huffed.

“He’s right. Jadievlious eggs are exceptionally durable once fertilized. There’s very little Jonah could do to damage them at this point,” Mi’anna agreed, setting a speculum down on the table with a clank. He tried not to eye the offending device too obviously. “Now, get out of here, Wan. We have an exam to do, and I don’t think Jonah would prefer you standing in the open doorway during it.”

“Oh! I’m sorry- I didn’t mean-” Wan fumbled for words, “I will take my leave now. We can catch up more with the rest of the staff later.”

“I’d like that,” Jonah smiled, standing as the taller man turned to exit the door. “This should be quick anyway, right Mi’anna?”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed an affirmative, shuffling around loudly in a drawer on the side of the exam table. After a few moments of metal hitting metal, she triumphantly held up two medical stirrups.

“Uhg, I forgot that a medical exam, in this case, is essentially a pap smear,” Jonah groaned as he shouldered off his coat, leaving it on the seat of the chair as he walked over to the smooth plasteel exam table.

“Essentially,” Mi’anna agreed as she slotted the stirrups in their holders on the corners of the table. “We’ll also take your blood pressure and do a UA. Maybe an ultrasound, depending on how things are looking. I’m not expecting to find much, honestly.”

“Tomorrow is the big appointment, right? That’s when they said they’re finally gonna pop these suckers out of me,” Jonah said, leaning a hand on the table as Mi’anna worked.

“Not how I’d phrase it, but yes, that’s when we’re planning on inducing a pseudo labor and placing the eggs in an artificial incubator for the rest of their development,” she explained.

“Brilliant. Then I get a couple of days to myself before you all find another alien to fuck me,” he chuckled as he undid the button on his taught waistband, holding in a relieved sigh as the pressure on his stomach let up.

“Us? Your client selection process is way outside of this lab. We’re told who you’re paired with as soon as you are,” Mi’anna’s tail flicked against the cabinets as she spoke.

“What?” Jonah questioned, one eyebrow quirking up, “I thought Wan-Kitku and Miss Gaiacothica oversaw HARP assignments?”

“They do, but not for you. You’re sort of in a league of your own. All of our other match-ups are heavily restricted by biological compatibility,” she explained, one finger tapping against the edge of the table as the armor on her forearm rippled. “Mr. Abhion is typically the one who informs us who you’ve been paired with, but I suspect that information is being passed on to him from even higher up.”

“Could it be from the panel you met with at the headquarters on Vichi?” Jonah asked tentatively, narrowing in on Mi’anna’s face to catalog her reaction.

She jolted back ever so slightly in her seat, spine straightening tensely. “Who told you about that?” she questioned back, hand stilling on the table as her tail whipped along the floor.

“It’s not polite to answer a question with a question,” he replied, one hand moving to rest on his stomach reflexively as Mi’anna faced him directly, eyeless face trained on his forehead as she analyzed his pulse. “I ran into an intern in the finance office with a loose tongue. Some kind of lizardfolk with a real nervous look about him.” he lied, pushing a thumb into the distended skin under his navel as he spoke. He found one of the textured groves where two eggs sat against each other and shoved. He was sure Mi’anna’s ability to pick up on biological fluctuations would sense it, and he just had to hope the disturbance of hard-shelled eggs with their own pygmy heartbeats shifting against each other would conceal any physical indicators of his falsehood.

Mi’anna stared at him for a long moment, a heavy silence blanketing the room before she sighed heavily. “Jesus, how did they even find out? I can’t even count the times they told me to keep my mouth shut, and it got all the way to a finance intern already? What a shit show. Mr. Abhion will be out for blood if he finds out.”

“It seems like he’s out for blood more often than not, honestly,” Jonah replied, focusing on concealing the spark of joy he felt at his successful lie as he spoke. “But since I already know and it seems to pretty directly concern me, would you mind telling me what the deal was with that meeting? It seems really odd to have a meeting like that on some obscure planet where there’s a headquarters so small nobody even seems to know about it.”

“Oh, it’s not small at all. I mean, it’s not as big as central, but it’s pretty massive,” Mi’anna corrected before shutting her mouth hard, seemingly thinking better of it. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“How about you just tell me if there was anything that directly concerns me?” Jonah bargained, “That seems fair, right?”

“Look, Jonah,” she held up a hand, “I get that you want to know what’s going on. I get that, OK? But there are a lot of very complicated things that are coalescing into this project because of your involvement. And overall, that’s a very good thing. It really is. But there’s some messy behind-the-scenes stuff that comes with that, and you’ll really be better off if you just drop it and let the people who are sorting it out sort it out.”

Jonah looked at her a moment, mouth tightening into a flat line as he mulled over her words before he replied, “Alright, fine. I’ll take your word on it.” In reality, he didn’t plan to halt his unofficially budding investigation, but he could tell by the trajectory of their conversation that it wasn’t likely Mi’anna would indulge him any further.

“Thank you. Now, let’s get this exam over with so you can say hi to the rest of the lab staff. It’s been off not having you around this past week,” Mi’anna said as she grabbed a blood pressure cuff and motioned for Jonah to sit on the table.

The first half of the exam proceeded like a typical doctor's appointment; she took his blood pressure, drew a small blood sample, and questioned him about any symptoms. After the less invasive test had concluded, she left the room and instructed Jonah to strip down into a hospital gown. He sighed in relief as he slipped his too-tight work slacks off despite knowing that the pap smear portion of the exam was rapidly approaching.

He stared up at the ceiling anxiously as she began the exam, trying to ignore the feeling of cold metal tools slipping inside him. Despite his attempt to ignore the situation, he noticed the moment Mi’anna’s hand tensed, body going uncharacteristically still.

“Uhg, what is it?” he groaned irately.

“Uh,” she began hesitantly, “They’re- it looks like they’re ready to come out,” she explained, slipping the speculum out as she leaned back on her stool.

“Out? Like right now?” Jonah questioned, snapping his legs closed the second he was able to.

Mi’anna just nodded, turning back to the counter to hurriedly tap something into her datapad.

“OK, so, what do I do?” Jonah asked, sitting up on the exam table only to be greeted by a sharp twinge in his stomach just behind his navel. “Fuck- I was under the impression this was supposed to go differently.”

“It was, but we’re here now,” Mi’anna replied flippantly, “Honestly, this is probably better for you in the long run. The original plan was to have this happen in front of a pretty large staff, which is completely unnecessary medically. They’re using it as a weak excuse for observation. I’m almost positive. I predict you’ll be able to pass those eggs by yourself with no medical assistance and very little pain. Human birth is an extremely arduous process. This is nothing in comparison.”

“So, what, I just push them out for you to put in a special box, and then we’re done with it?” Jonah clarified, one eyebrow pitching up skeptically. “Seems too easy.”

“That’s basically it. At least if my theories are correct,” Mi’anna explained, ”The only factor I’m uncertain of is how to signal to your body to expel the eggs. We could use a cocktail of artificial hormones, but I think there’s an easier way.”

Mi’anna paused for a moment, one finger tapping at the countertop. “Which is?” Jonah prompted after she didn’t elaborate.

“So, I’m sure you know that birth and sexual pleasure for species like humans overlap only in rare cases, and the association of the two stems more from pornography than anything else,” she reasoned, “Well, this isn't true of many species, especially of those that implant nearly intact eggs in another individual like Jadievlious'. Since your body has proved to be highly adaptable, I believe it would be more effective to cater to the birthing process of the species you are carrying rather than your biology.”

“Was that just the most long-winded way to say you think I should masturbate?” Jonah deadpanned, eyes narrowed slightly.

“Rather blunt, but yes,” Mi’anna conceded, “I’ll leave the room, of course. As soon as I’m able to leave you with a suitable temporary container for the eggs, of course.”

Jonah winced, his stomach twitching again as a weighty feeling began to gather above his pelvis, gradually sinking lower as it became more intense. ‘Fine, fine, OK,” he hurriedly agreed as his abs shuddered under his hand. “Are you getting the container thing or what?”

“Someone should be bringing it imminently,” she nodded, stepping towards the door as she glanced down at a message on her datapad. “I’ll leave something in the room for you to ping me should you need assistance.”

“Uhuh, fine,” Jonah replied, a pale flush beginning to bloom on his cheeks as the sensation continued downward. He started up intently towards a blurry point on the ceiling as the door clicked open just a fraction before shutting again. There was a loud clunk next to him as Mi’anna set down a large rectangular machine that vaguely resembled a toaster oven with four padded cups about the size of Jonah’s fist.

“OK, I set the pager on the incubator. Just ping me if you need anything at all, but I’m going to leave you be. I’ll pop back to check on you in an hour if I don’t hear anything.” Mi’anna hastily explained as she heard Jonah’s breathing quicken.

The door closed with a metallic clang as the tumblers locked shut from the outside. Jonah wasted no time leaning back on the reclined exam table and slipping a hand under the hospital gown before he thought better of it and pulled the thin garment up underneath his chest. His blush darkened as his fingers were met with a splash of liquid as his cunt shuddered, squirting out clear fluid combined with something thicker into a puddle under his ass. He leaned forward to look between his legs and saw distinct streams of milky blue pooling on the plastic-lined exam table. Baimir’s cum had a unique, almost pearlescent hue that made it immediately recognizable under the fluorescent lighting as it dribbled out of his cunt.

From a grander biological perspective, it wasn’t unbelievable that Biamir’s cum had stayed in him for over four days. He’d read a whole scientific paper on the phenomenon of long-term sperm storage in bamboo sharks during his master’s program, so he understood that what he was seeing now wasn’t that odd from a scientific perspective. Some animals on Earth alone were capable of retaining semen for years in desperate breeding situations. However, that didn’t stop the shock he felt watching as another glob of tinged cum oozed out of his pulsing cunt.

He dropped a hand between his legs and scooped up the cum experimentally on two fingertips just as more dribbled out to take its place. It felt just as hot and thick as when Biamir had pumped him full. He could almost feel the phantom sensation of Baimir’s cock piercing him open as he watched the viscous liquid drip slowly down his fingers before pooling in his palm, leaving creamy trails across his hand. The memory made his cock twitch, prompting his other hand to come down to rest on the shuddering appendage.

Something deep within him cramped as he began running his fingertips along the underside of his cock, coating it with cum and slick as he teased his rapidly hardening member. He pulled back slightly and tugged at his cock, stopping at the head to pinch his clit between two fingertips before he dipped back to his entrance and repeated the motion. He jacked himself off slowly, panting as the weighty feeling behind his navel grew until he could feel a heavy mass pushing at something inside of him. It felt a little odd, but there was no pain. It reminded him of the first time Baimir entered his cervix, grinding his massive, tapered cock against the tight ring of muscle until it gave way. However, it wasn’t exactly the same.

When Baimir had fucked his womb open, it had been a foreign object piercing him open from the outside. This sensation came from within him as the weight concentrated into a condensed lump prompting his body to shudder around it. He felt his cunt clench open and closed hard, emitting a wet squelch as it pushed out more cum, before a spike of heat shot through his abdomen.

He let out a startled yelp as the sensation ebbed away before returning more intensely than before. His eyelids fluttered as he stroked his cock faster, pumping his fingers up and down until the cum began to froth up against his skin. His body quivered in relief as the pleasure from his ministrations made the sharp tinge deep in his body transition into something closer to a searing static feeling that traveled down his limbs, pooling in his gut and filling his body with a pleasant buzz.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the exam table as the sensations blurred together into a euphoric cloud. He almost didn’t notice when the heavy feeling in him lessened in a single moment before he felt an unfamiliar pressure slowly sliding through him. It felt almost identical to the ribbed edge of Biamir’s cock as it pushed up against his walls. He moaned aloud as his cunt clenched around the egg, pulling it forward as he felt each textured bump drag along the skin of his cum coated passage.

Another torrent of cum seeped from his cervix, pushing the egg along until he felt a broad shape squeeze up against the inner border of his entrance, catching on the lip of his cunt as the narrower end of the egg ground up against his g-spot.

His hips twitched off the table as the egg pushed back against the ribbed patch of skin along his upper walls again, forcing a spurt of liquid to gush out onto the table. A choked moan slipped from his throat as his cunt spasmed, driving the egg out of a wet pop. His eyes twitched shut as a wave of ecstasy washed over him, whiting out his vision as his head snapped back against the table. Another mass followed the first as his muscles seized, thighs shuddering as he came. He could feel the cum pooling hotly under his low back as he climaxed, cock twitching as another egg forced itself from his soaking hole to rest by the first. He laid boneless against the table, momentarily trying to avoid the way his stomach contracted in preparation to spit out another charge.

The eggs were larger than he’d first suspected, about four inches tall with the diameter of a soda can, if he had to estimate. They had a raised, wave-like pattern along the rounded sides that tapered to a smooth point. A line of bumps almost identical to the ones he felt on the lower half of Baimir’s cock wrapped around the thicker portion of the shell. Baimir’s body had been vibrant and colorful with his deep blue skin and photoluminescent patchwork, so Jonah was surprised to see that his eggs were rather plain in comparison. They varied in shades of brown, from a light sienna tone on the tallest ridges to a nearly black hue closer to the embryo. Although, it was hard to get a detailed look at them behind the thick coating of cum slowly dripping into the divots on the shell before oozing into a puddle under the eggs.

He felt another heavy pop deep underneath his stomach as heat flashed through his body. He was still panting from his first orgasm, but his body didn’t seem to care. A renewed wave of slick squirted from his cunt as it clenched open and closed again, further soaking the two eggs on the table. His cervix cramped hard before stretching open around the final egg, ridges catching on the tight ring of muscle before it slipped through, propelling into the first one with a clack that reverberated through his body.

“Oh- fuck,” he swore under his breath as his body ramped back up faster than he’d ever felt before. In an instant, he snapped from refractory period to moments away from another orgasm as his body seized around the eggs, squeezing until he could feel the ridges along each shell grinding against his walls. One hand dropped between his legs as he felt the first egg breach his entrance, pulsing back and forth, shoving up against his tight cunt before receding into him as he struggled to push the egg out.

He clenched hard, forcing another stream of liquid out around the egg before it shot out into his hand, cum covered shell slipping along his fingers before dropping down to join the others in a pile between his legs. His building orgasm waned for a moment before another wave of heat bubbled in his cut as the final egg pushed forward against his entrance, griding perfectly up against his g-spot with its textured lower half. The nubs around the thicker portion of the egg shoved up against his upper walls, wriggling back and forth as his cunt struggled to push it out. His other hand grasped at the edge of the table as he moaned behind clenched teeth, panting hard as he felt his cock begin to quiver with an impending climax.

The egg popped out around a thick glob of cum, bumping up against his fingers as it tumbled onto the pile. He clenched his teeth as his orgasm began to recede, leaving his body taught and buzzing like a live wire with anticipation, only to be denied release as the egg slipped through his slicked-up cunt effortlessly.

“Godammit,” he swore, one hand balling into a fist on the table as he ran his fingers along the top of the offending egg with his other hand. “Are you serious?”

He palmed at the egg, feeling gooey rivets of cum slip along the wavey ridged surface before picking it up and affixing it with a scrutinizing glare. His cunt continued to pulse, likey to clear the residual semen from his cervix, but the feeling of hot cum streaming past the deepest parts of his body before dribbling out of his entrance inadvertently kept him just on the edge of orgasming.

He groaned under his breath, brain firing at half speed as he was continually denied release. The egg in his hand felt heavy as the peaked bumps on its underside pressed into his palm. He tentatively lowered his hand back to his cunt, egg clasped between his fingers with its textured tip pointing towards his entrance. He clenched reflexively around the egg as he pushed it back against the silky red skin at the very front of his hole. Keeping a careful grip around the broader base of the egg, he slipped the top half into his cunt, moaning aloud as the ridges pushed against his walls before he pulled it back and repeated the motion.

His hand sped up almost immediately as he began fucking the egg in and out of his cunt, knuckles bumping up against the rest of the clutch as he fervently shoved the tip of the shell through his tight hole. The egg only entered him a few inches, but his body shuddered as his orgasm built back up even more intensely than before. He pushed down with his heels, arching his back off of the table as he continued to thrust the egg inside of him. The puddle of liquid he’d been sitting in dripped down his back as he squirmed above the table. His hand spasmed as his thrusts lost rhythm, tapering out into a series of twitches and jerks as he squirted hard, releasing a torrent of slick and cum combined in a marbled slurry all over the clutch and onto the floor in front of the table.

Liquid dripped off the table as he fell back into the puddle, limply dropping the egg in his hand as he collapsed, thighs pitifully twitching with the aftershocks of his climax. He started at the ceiling, panting hard for a solid minute before he was able to form a meaningful thought.

A quick glance between his legs revealed that the eggs were all intact, not clean, but clearly undamaged. He sat up sluggishly, cringing as he felt rivets of rapidly cooling liquid drip down his back into the impressive puddle under his ass. After picking up the first egg, he decided against cleaning them off before placing them in the transport incubator. He had no way of knowing if they gained any benefit from the cum of their parent species, although with the durability of the shell, he doubted it was a permeable membrane.

The cum slicked eggs slotted perfectly in their designated pockets due to either careful research or a very good guess. He shut the incubator with a loud thunk, turning a latch on the top opening container before standing next to it, pleased to find his legs seemed stable enough.

After about twenty minutes and an upsetting amount of paper towels, he’d managed to restore both his body and the room to a somewhat respectable state. Although there was nothing he could do about the trashcan, which was now overflowing with obviously cum-stained rags. There were still a few residual trickles of cum dribbling from his cunt as his cervix attempted to clear itself of Baimir’s massive load, but he shoved a wad of tissue in his underwear and decided he would deal with that later.

Only after he’d redressed, buttoning his slacks easily over his now flat stomach, did he decide to page Mi’anna. It took her less than a minute to come knocking at the door, voice low with caution, but Jonah didn’t miss the inquisitive lit to her questions. His head felt soft and floaty, like his thoughts were lined with TV static as Mi’anna came in and gave him a brief exam, ensuring his body had recovered from his first, now complete, encounter. She gave him a small shot which he hardly felt to aid his more sensitive areas in tightening back up after going through an abnormal stressor and cleared him to return to his apartment. He hesitated to leave, not wanting to miss out on his reunion with the lab staff, but finally yielded after Mi’anna assured him that Miss Gaiacothica would be demanding that his lab access be reinstated.

Ter’ione met him in the lab’s central hallway, one talon-like foot tapping irately at the smooth tile as she glanced at something on her phone before meeting Jonah’s eyes.

“Did you not understand I was meant to escort you to your appointment?” she asked, voice hard in a way that made Jonah suspect she knew the answer.

“I did. I just took myself, OK?” he replied, struggling to keep the slur out of his voice as he crossed his arms across his chest definitely, hoping he wasn’t swaying while he did so. “I can do things by myself sometimes. Funny enough.”

Ter’ione looked him pointedly up and down before sighing and turning to Mi’anna. “Is he cleared to leave?” she questioned, “Furthermore, is he cleared to be scheduled again?”

“I’m fine,” Jonah shot back as Mi’anna responded over him.

“He’s clear to leave,” Mi’anna replied, resounding voice mostly drowning out Jonah’s clipped response. “As for your second question, physically, his body has already recovered, well, outside of some temporary… disorientation. Rather miraculous, honestly.”

Ter’ione just nodded, bidding a curt goodbye to Mi’anna as she motioned down the hallway for Jonah to follow. The short journey back to his apartment passed in a blur as he stumbled through his door like a drunkard. He was still grounded enough to force himself to take a thorough shower, rejoicing as the reservoir of cum inside of him finally seemed to drain, a few last specks of cum staining his towel as he scrubbed his skin clean. He barely remembered falling into bed because the next thing he remembered clearly was waking up to the sound of a call ringing through the speakers in the wall around his bed. Bright late morning light shone through his window as he fumbled for his phone, opening the device with a wave of his hand before forcing out a rough, “Hello, what?”

“I need to meet with you,” Ter’ione’s voice projected into his ear, flat and toneless. “It is eleven now. I will meet you in the office space in your apartment in two hours.”

Jonah just grunted out an affirmative before dropping the call and forcing himself upright. It was only then, over twelve hours after he’d entered his apartment that he noticed an orchid-like plant with azure bell-shaped flowers sitting on his dresser, swaying gently in the soft morning breeze blowing in through his cracked bedroom window.

He’d never been much of a botanist. The few times he’d attempted to keep plants to stave off the loneliness while living in educational dormitories with strict no pets policies had never been very successful, so even seeing a plant blooming so vibrantly in his space felt unsettling.

It was a distinct plant, something exotic and non-native to earth. The only time he’d ever seen it before that moment was the day before when he’d watched this same plant basking in the spray of a humidifier on Mr. Abhion’s desk.

Chapter Text

“You’re joking,” Jonah deadpanned, the words slipping out before he could filter his gut reaction into something more gracious.

“I know it’s a somewhat unexpected request,” Ter’ione replied, voice flat and unwavering. Jonah barely registered her unenthused tone since he’d learned that was simply her manner of speaking. “But your contract discussed this possibility.”

“Do you mean in the two paged document I signed in my initial meeting with Mr. Abhion or the 40-something-page document corporate emailed me after the fact? Because if you’re referring to the second one, which I’m almost certain you are, you’ll have to forgive me for not committing every clause to memory,” Jonah replied with a caustic chuckle, one hand waving animatedly through the air as he spoke.

“The first document you’re referring to was your agreement. The second was your contract,” Ter’ione explained plainly. “If you neglected to read your contract, then you should expect to be caught off guard. HARP is a complex project, and the needs of our clients vary highly. Unlike the other HARP participants, you cannot veto a match-up as clients are assigned to you by necessity. Given this request, you must understand the importance of this particular assignment.”

“You want me to get fucked in front of a panel of scientists because you want to know how this recently discovered species breeds, and you can’t seem to figure it out via any other means?” Jonah relayed, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “I have a doctorate-level understanding of extraterrestrial biology. I don’t understand why I can’t just relay the events. I’m fully willing to write an academic paper on it.”

“You may have a doctorate in a related field,” Ter’ione began, “But you are not a specialist. A retelling through your eyes is not nearly equivalent to a live observation panel. Ideally, we’d have a member of the species explain themselves, but communication efforts have only provided a fraction of the required information.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jonah muttered under his breath as one hand came up to the bridge of his nose, holding it between two fingers as he replayed Ter’ione’s words in his head. As a scientist, he could see the truth to her statement, although he’d never thought he’d be applying that mindset to voyeurism. “Can you explain to me how communication efforts have failed? Or is that information confidential as well?”

“Veks are an exclusively telepathic species. All the translators we’ve hired thus far have explained that their method of communication is too abstract to put in quantifiable terms beyond a few rudimentary descriptions. They communicate primarily in feeling and conceptual imagery.” She explained, long digitigrade legs crossing under the table.

“Aren’t the researchers worried that only observing such an unusual, manufactured mating will provide them with atypical data?” Jonah reasoned, “It isn’t as if they’re observing a natural behavior under normal circumstances.”

“That has been taken into consideration, but Dr. Grelain has hypothesized it won’t be an issue,” Ter’ione said, “He’s led more successful research expeditions to the dying moon Veks are native to than any other scientist alive. His team has found a variety of native fauna there carrying Vek eggs. Although all of those creatures have become too irradiated to be viable, leading us to where we are now.”

“So they’re a brood parasite?” Jonah clarified, one eyebrow pitching up to his hairline, “And every one of their host species have become unusable?”

“To put it simply, yes,” she agreed as she absentmindedly tapped a long-nailed finger on her knee. “But our scans show you should be a feasible substitute.”

“Of course,” Jonah responded, failing to keep the bitter tone out of his voice. “Could I argue for some sort of financial compensation for this addition at the very least?”

Ter’ione’s sharp chin bobbed up and down as she nodded curtly. “I’m sure that can be arranged. I’ll contact Mr. Abhion this afternoon and update your schedule accordingly. You should receive a message when that compensation comes through. If you find the amount unsatisfactory, please let me know.”

“Alright, fine,” Jonah yielded, “Do you have any estimate of when the meeting will be?”

“It’s a high-priority item,” she replied, already setting her datapad on the table in preparation to send out emails. “Your acceptance was expected, so there is very little preparation left. It should be no more than three days out at the latest, but ideally as soon as tomorrow.”

Jonan nodded absentmindedly, eyes drifting to an unidentifiable point behind Ter’ione’s head as he tried not to overthink his acceptance. He’d had an exhibitionism phase during his bachelor’s, but that was mainly due to an over-enthusiastic boyfriend and the boredom of a small town bubbling beneath his skin. Their most daring escapades involved handjobs under tables and quickies in the woods, nothing close to having kinky alien sex in front of an academic panel full of field experts cataloging every detail for a research journal.

A few hours later, while he was lazily stirring a batch of egg substitute while he waited for his toast to pop, his datapad pinged from its place on the dining room table. He pulled the frying pan off the burner and set it precariously on the corner of the stove with a loud clang before rushing over to the slim device, opening it with a swipe of his hand across the flashing notification “HARP calendar updated!”

The new assignment glared up at him in eye-straining red text; noon to seven tomorrow. Jonah had known Ter’ione was serious when she explained they were trying to schedule as soon as possible, but seeing the booking blocking out his calendar cemented the reality of his situation. He ate dinner in a strange silence, yielding to his tendency to overthink.

Sleep came with an unexpected ease. Perhaps his body had simply become used to the irregularity of his situation, or maybe he was just tired. Regardless, the following day came without fanfare as his alarm blared over the in-wall speakers, alerting him that it was currently nine am. A new message from his handler flashed on his datapad, communicating that she would be by his apartment promptly at eleven-thirty, which left him two and a half hours to mull about his apartment.

He burned thirty minutes with a blisteringly hot shower, trying not to dwell on the fact that he would most definitely be in dire need of another shower after the meeting if his last encounter were any indicator. His standard-issue canvas shirt and shorts set had been provided in advance, taking away any time he could’ve dedicated to selecting an outfit for the day. Breakfast and coffee only managed to occupy another hour of his time, no matter how slowly he nibbled at his toast or how many extra cups he poured. That left him another hour to scroll disinterestedly through apps on his phone, feeling the time tick by agonizingly second by second in the back of his head.

The knock on his door almost came as a welcome interruption from his internal spiral of restlessness despite the events to follow. She greeted him professionally before motioning him to follow as they descended towards the apartment lobby. Her willingness to hold a conversation was still minimal, but she seemed more amenable to entertain his occasional commentary as they endured the brief ride to the IOBA’s headquarters.

The craft whisked by the front entrance, pulling off around the side of a building, through an industrially gated entrance until it approached a featureless concrete and steel hanger-style warehouse tucked behind the sprawling main office. The outbuilding was completely concealed in the shadow of the multi-storied headquarters, barely visible until you were right on top of it, which Jonah suspected was by design.

The vehicle glided to a stop in front of an unadorned steel door inconspicuously situated under a minimal overhang facing the thinnest side of the C-shaped parking lot. A few other hovercrafts sat at rest, scattered scarcely against the grander buildings.

“A bit of a change in scenery,” Jonah commented as he stepped from the vehicle, looking for any feature on the sheer warehouse walls that would give him an indicator of its contents.

“We required a special facility to both house the Vek and accommodate the observation panel,” Ter’ione explained, dismissing the autocraft with a stiff wave. “There is a less industrial entrance via an underground passage off the genetics lab, but we have been permitted to use this more direct backdoor.” The clacking sound of her blocky heels on the pavement echoed off the steel panels as she approached the entrance, keycard in hand. A heavy set of tumblers released audibly as she unlocked the door, moving to stand behind it to courteously motion Jonah inside.

The area immediately past the doorway had been sectioned out into a small communal space occupied by a conference table, a private office tucked in one corner, and a humble kitchen space spanning the far wall.

“This is a meeting space. The main floor is past these doors,” she said, ducking gracefully past Jonah and striding across the room to a double-wide door behind one of the haphazardly placed conference chairs.

Researchers had already begun filing into the main warehouse space, conversing with each other animatedly or corralling themselves to a seat to peck away at a datapad. The room was sizable, but it wasn’t as large as Jonah had expected from the exterior. The back door to the furthest wall looked about 30 feet across, cramped with a line of chairs around the perimeter. In the center of the main room, backed up against the wall to Jonah’s right, a smaller structure had been built, three walls consisting of tall windows reinforced with evenly spaced steel grilles. The only non-glass wall in the interior room was covered entirely by an industrial roll-up door, currently shut with a blinking red light overhead. A long line of desks screened by a series of old-school computer monitors sat opposite the roll-up door in the exterior room. A few people in dark polo shirts buzzed around the computer set up, checking screens obscured from Jonah’s view.

“Hi! You must be Jonah!” An older humanoid man with heavy plated skin began enthusiastically, smiling wide as he reached for Jonah’s hand. “I’m Dr. Grelain. Thank you so much for agreeing to the observation panel. You can’t even begin to understand what this information will mean to our research efforts. We’ll learn much more from this single encounter than from weeks of expedition efforts regarding the Vek's reproductive behaviors. There’s only so much eating freeze-dried egg substitute on a deserted moon waiting for a chance sighting that a guy can take.”

Jonah chuckled lightly, allowing the personality he’d cultivated over a decade of funding galas to take over. “I can’t say I miss that part of the research field tips. I did an entire semester at the satellite post on Phorix 80. I don’t think I’ve eaten canned peas since.”

Dr. Grelain’s eyes widened slightly, eyelids lifting over his blue sclera as the corners of his lips twitched down before his previous smile flickered back. “Oh! I wasn’t told you were a scientist. It’s quite rare to spend a semester on a research base for a bachelor's. You must’ve gone to a private school.”

Jonah’s smile tightened as he leaned back slightly. “Actually, it was for my doctorate. I have a Ph.D. in quantum biology from the Showa UC Institute of Science and Technology.”

“Oh,” Dr. Grelain said again, gaze darting over to Ter’ione with an expression too fast for Jonah to catch. “That’s fascinating! I can’t believe I didn’t hear about this earlier. Well, if you have any specific questions for me before we begin, please do not hesitate to ask, but I believe Ter’ione should be more than capable of preparing you.”

He turned on his heel and walked hastily over to a few researchers huddled around a monitor on the other side of the room before Jonah could reply, leaving him standing next to Ter’ione in the corner.

“He didn’t seem too thrilled that I have a related education,” Jonah pointed out, leaning on one leg as he turned to face Ter’ione. “Now, why could that be?”

“I’m uncertain,” she replied, one hand falling to fiddle with the buckle at the top of her computer bag, “I have had very little face-to-face interaction with Dr. Grelain, so I cannot say I’m familiar with his mannerisms. Regardless, the meeting is set to begin in just a few minutes. Are there any specific questions you have before we begin? If not, I will inform the panel that we are ready to begin.”

“Hold on. Wait,” Jonah started, “I do have some questions. For starters, how is this supposed to go? Do I just go in there, wait for someone to open those big doors, and hope for the best?”

“A somewhat crude way of stating it, but essentially yes,” Ter’ione explained. “Vek’s thrive in a low light environment, so the container has been specially designed. A gate across the opening will allow the Vek’s tentacles to reach through while keeping its main body safely away from the light.”

“I’m sorry, tentacles?” Jonah parroted, “I’m getting fucked by a tentacle monster? Like from those old animated porn movies from the 2000s?”

“Veks are a very sentient species, so ‘tentacle monster’ would hardly be appropriate,” she replied, “but, in a way, yes. Do you have any more questions?”

“Well, yes, but none that I really know how to ask at this point,” Jonah sighed. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out as we go.”

“Perfect. As your human saying goes, ‘that’s the spirit,’” Ter’ione said, an awkward smile pulling at the corners of her lips for a moment before dropping back to her usual curt expression. “The entrance to the observation arena is this way.”

She waved him towards the platform, pointing out a see-through door tucked in the corner, disguised in the predominantly glass walls. It clicked open at a wave of her key card, allowing Jonah to ascend the short set of steps and enter the small square room. From wall to wall, Jonah estimated it was about 12 feet across. Each wall was made entirely of thick glass save for a few feet of metal trim at the top and bottom and a scattering of vertical grilles for support. The rows of chairs on each side of the arena slowly began to fill as people noticed his arrival, each scientist situating themselves eagerly in a seat with a laptop or datapad at the ready. Dr. Grelain stood in hushed conversation with a group of four or five scientists behind the line of desks opposite the roll-up doors, occasionally gesturing at one of the computer monitors.

“I will inform the panel that you are ready, and we should begin shortly,” Ter’ione said as she moved to close the door, “Try not to be nervous. I’m sure you will hardly notice the panel.”

“Sure, right,” Jonah replied with a concealed huff, hand fiddling with the seam on his shorts. The door closed with another metallic click, and he watched as Ter’ione strode across the room to Dr. Grelain. They exchanged a few muffled words before she turned on heel again, meeting Jonah’s eyes briefly with a short nod before she exited the room through the door they had entered.

A speaker fizzled to life behind him before Dr. Grelain’s voice projected through the small room. “Alright! Thank you again for your contribution, Jonah.” The enthusiasm in his voice almost hurt Jonah’s ears. “Are you ready to begin?”

He flashed an OK sign toward Dr. Grelain before he could second-guess himself, watching as the doctor’s hand dropped from the slim headphone set in his ear to tap at something on the desk before he took a seat behind the monitor. A mechanical buzz sounded behind him as the light above the door flashed to green, prompting the roller door to begin a slow ascent upward.

He turned to watch as the door rattled, revealing a set of smooth bars across the pitch-black opening. As the door crept open, a single shape began to slither out from a gap in the bars. A deep magenta tentacle with a flower bud-shaped tip a little bigger than Jonah’s fist snaked out into the room, swaying back and forth across the space before it paused, facing Jonah directly.

It approached him cautiously, bobbing as if he might dart to the side in front of it. Jonah watched in his peripheral vision as more tentacles began to float out into the room as the door cleared, but his gaze narrowed in on the bud-shaped tentacle as it neared his face.

“Um, hello,” Jonah began hesitantly, unsure of what else to say as the tentacle stopped about a foot in front of him, ridges along the sides of the bud rippling ever so slightly. “I’m Jonah. And you are?”

He flinched as a tentacle brushed up against his forearm and a vision of bluish morning sun filtering in dappled patterns across the ground flitted through his mind. Inexplicably, somewhere in his mind, he realized it was a greeting. His body relaxed, allowing the smooth tentacle to wrap around his forearm.

The bud-shaped appendage in front of him weaved back and forth again. The way the textured patches of skin that ran down its curved sides rippled led Jonah to believe it served some kind of sensory purpose as opposed to the featureless tentacle that was slowly winding up his arm.

“Oh!” he started again, pulling his elbow back reflexively as another slim tentacle brushed across his other arm. “Alright, OK.” These tentacles seemed smooth and textureless all the way down, tapering gradually at the tips. At the broadest spot, they looked about the size of a baseball bat, narrowing to the diameter of a finger with a slight darkening gradient.

Pictures of foreign flowers decorated with ruffled crimson petals flashed through his mind. He looked up just as the bud-shaped tentacle split open, three smooth flaps fanning out, revealing a grouping of smaller tentacles writhing back and forth animatedly. Before he could comment, a cloud of hot mist hit his face, entering his mouth in a wave as he gasped in surprise. An overwhelming saccharine taste flooded his tongue, layered with a musky, animalistic smell that nearly made him cough.

“What-“ he stammered, swallowing hard as he felt the mist solidify to liquid in his mouth, dripping hotly down his throat. The fume wafted through the air in front of his face, filling his nose with the strong honey scent every time he breathed. In response, a vision of writhing pink skin and liquid dripping flashed through his mind before he felt the heat start to pool in his gut.

“Oh, fuck, of course,” he huffed, rubbing his legs together uncomfortably as he became hyperaware of how the seam in his shorts brushed against his cunt. The tentacles wrapped around his arms tightened as he squirmed. “An aphrodisiac.”

All at once, a grouping of tentacles descended on him, nudging at his legs, brushing against the back of his head, writhing against the small of his back. A tentacle slipped under the hem of his shirt, pulling the garment up to his chest experimentally as another tentacle looped around his waist, rubbing at his stomach.

He gasped as one of the smooth appendages slipped down the back of his shorts, gliding across his ass and between his legs. It stopped at his cunt, nudging at his rapidly dampening entrance a few times before it slipped forward to rub at his cock. The thin tip flickered up and down the sides of his little dick, slowly coating the appendage with the slick it had gathered from his cunt. He bit his lip in an attempt to stop the moans that slipped from his throat each time the tentacle brushed his clit, prompting another tentacle to stroke against his jaw.

The appendage exploring his cunt continued its path between his legs, slipping past his cock as it made its way up across his stomach. A few other tentacles made quick work of slipping under his waistband and pulling his shorts down, leaving him bare from the chest down as the larger tentacle glided between legs, pressing against his skin hard enough to pull him up onto the tips of his toes.

His weight sunk into the tentacles, slowly winding around his ankles as the broader appendage between his legs traced its tip along his sternum and through the dip in his collar bones before circling the back of his neck. His skin felt burning hot, the heat bubbling and pooling in his gut unbearably as the tentacle looped gently around his throat, pressing firmly into his skin but not enough to restrict his breathing.

He felt the smooth, dampened tip flick at the corner of his mouth as the tentacle undulated back and forth, grinding intensely up against his cunt. All of his weight was pushing his cock into the thick appendage as the Vek fully lifted him off of the ground by his pelvis.

“Ah! Fuck-” he keened, knees attempting to buckle together only to be immediately pulled back apart by the multiple tentacles that had found their way around his legs. As his thighs stretched apart, the lips of his cunt spread open around the broad appendage between his legs, forcing the increasingly sensitive skin around his entrance directly onto the pulsing tentacle. He could feel the sheer muscularity of the appendage as the creature rutted up against his heat, squelching audibly as it smeared slick back and forth across his thighs.

As the long tentacle snaked along his jaw, it drove his head to the side, moving his gaze directly towards one of the large glass walls. His face flushed as he made eye contact with one of the researchers in the back row who was glancing intermittently between the spectacle in front of her and a thin laptop perched on her lap. Her face reminded neutral, eyebrows pinched together curiously as their eyes met, before she returned to her computer to type out a rapid series of observations. Jonah’s legs reflexively attempted to twitch shut against the unyielding grip around his ankles as embarrassment flushed through his body, only to be rapidly overcome by the burning arousal building under his skin.

The broad tentacle wrapped around him nudged its tip against his lips before it snaked into his mouth, bobbing shallowly in and out as it began to explore the orifice. It traced along the back of his teeth, flicking up and down before it settled on his tongue, twisting around the appendage. The saccharine taste of honey tinged with something darker and muskier flooded his mouth as the tentacle played with his tongue, pushing up against the cheeks until his mouth was thoroughly coated.

Images began to flash through his mind, blurring together into an indistinguishable fog of color and movement as the appendage incessantly probed his mouth. He hadn’t had many one-on-one interactions with telepathic beings before, but the way the Vek was bombarding him with disconnected strings of thoughts made Jonah’s head spin. It occurred to him somewhere in the back of his mind that telepathy was a two-way street, and the Vek might have been digging for information.

He let out a muffled sound around the tentacle as the appendage dipped deeper into his mouth, slipping along the very back of his tongue before pulling back again, only to repeat the motion a moment later. He choked hard, body jolting inward as the tip thrust against the back of his throat. The tentacle pulled back immediately, resting passively in his mouth for a moment, before a renewed wave of honey-like liquid seeped out onto his tongue, slipping down the back of his throat. He felt the muscles in his neck relax almost instantly, and before he could guess why, the tentacle plugged into his throat.

It sunk past his uvula, oscillating back and forth as it worked itself deeper. Jonah shut his eyes tight, expecting the unpleasant feeling of being choked again but found that his throat remained completely lax as the tentacle began to bob in and out, backing out until the tip brushed his tongue before plunging back in even deeper than before.

The more the tentacle thrust into his mouth, the more the shaft between his legs rubbed against his cunt. He could feel rivets of slick dribbling from his entrance with each pass, dripping down his thighs and coating the tentacle until the appendage was completely doused against his skin. A stifled moan forced its way out around the tentacle in his mouth as he felt his cock drag back and forth against the broad appendage, quivering as the friction sent electric shocks of pleasure through his body.

He gasped as the tentacled back out of his throat, dragging across his lips as it maintained its grip around his neck. Droplets of a thin amber liquid scattered across his cheek as the tentacle retreated.

“Hah- what,” he began to ask around heavy panting breaths as he felt his body tip forward, guided by the tentacles wrapper firmly around his limbs. The tentacle around his neck unwound, backing up to the center of his sternum to support his chest as his torso became parallel to the floor. He realized that he was now bent over at a full ninety-degree angle with his ass facing one of the glass walls, giving about a dozen researchers from all over the continent a perfect view of his hole as the broader tentacle slipped to the side to wrap around his upper thigh. He could feel his cunt lips slipping together as a glob of slick dripped down the underside of his twitching cock.

As if sensing his embarrassment, a barrage of imagery flashed through his mind again, full of calming scenes with an undertone of erotica as the Vek continued to lower him until his chest hit the floor, elbows spread forward in front of him with his back steeply arched. His torso was nearly perpendicular with the lightly padded bottom of the glass enclosure, ass stacked over his chest as the tentacles around his legs held his lower half up high. Strong appendages forced his legs further apart until they formed a wide V with his cunt spread wide directly towards the ceiling.

He felt a foreign shape settle near his entrance as a smaller flower-bud-shaped tentacle positioned itself over his clit before its petal-like structures split open. It enveloped his cock, oscillating over his small member in a sucking motion.

“Ah, oh- fuck,” he moaned against the thinly padded flooring as the tentacle tugged at his cock, “Ooh my god.”

Wet, slurping sounds filled the small room as the tentacle secreted a clear, viscous fluid all around Jonah’s cock, pulsing emphatically around the appendage. It mouthed at him vigorously, spitting droplets of slick out onto his skin as it massaged every side of his cock with the hot, textured interior of the flower-bud shape. Jonah could feel a velvety topography of bumps and ridges along the Veks’s skin as it rubbed against his dick, sucking hard with some sort of mechanism deeper in the bud.

He squealed as a cluster of smaller tendrils in the bud folded his clit experimentally before wrapping around the tip of his cock as the exterior portion of the tentacle continued to eat him out. The aphrodisiac sent his body into overdrive, increasing every sensation tenfold. The constant feeling of friction against his clit combined with the hard sucking around his cock shot electric shocks of euphoria through his body at rapid-fire. It was beyond overwhelming. He couldn’t tell where pleasure began and pain ended as his body struggled to process how the tentacle rubbed at his cock. It was as if the tentacle were trying to milk him, sucking and pumping at his member rhythmically. His hips shuddered and squirmed against the tentacles gripping his legs as he clawed mindlessly at the ground.

“Ah! It’s too much!” he cried, “oh my god! Fuck-f-fuck, ah!” The bud-shaped tentacle continued to pulse around his cock, inner tendrils lashing at his clit as it twitched and shuddered in the Vek’s grasp. The tentacle looped around one of his arms worked itself under his shoulder against the ground, curving around his jaw. It squirmed through his lips, slithering against his tongue and flooding his mouth with the sweet, viscous fluid.

He reflexively sucked at the smooth, dripping tentacle as it pumped the liquid into his mouth before slipping deeper down his throat. It lazily fucked in and out, stifling his pitiful mewls around the thick appendage as it gradually sank lower. He could almost feel as the tentacle snaked itself deep into his throat, flexible musculature winding its way past the barrier of his esophageal sphincter, bumping up against the entrance to his stomach.

His eyes fluttered closed as overwhelming pleasure buzzed throughout his body, dissipating across his skin and filling his head with a euphoric fog. It felt as if he were in a lucid dream anchored to reality only by the sensation of tentacles caressing him, exploring his body, finding all the spots that made him twitch and moan. Most sexual encounters involve a gradual increase in pleasure until climax, but this clearly wasn’t how the Vek functioned. There was no peak or valley as the tentacles pleasured him, only continuous waves of heat and ecstasy crashing over him in an immeasurable torrent.

Jonah couldn’t tell if he stayed like that for minutes or hours. At some point, one of the tentacles began to nudge at his asshole experimentally, lubing itself up with the slick that oozed from his cunt before snaking its slim tip into the hole. His eyes rolled back into his head as one of the tendrils lashing at his cockhead slipped back towards his cunt, slithering in and out of his soaking entrance. It flicked at his upper walls, fluttering at the ribbed patch just a few inches in his cunt, prompting a renewed wave of fluid to squirt out around the slim appendage.

His vision blurred out, and the next time he came to, the tentacle in his asshole had worked itself a few inches deep, oscillating against his tight walls before it began to pump in and out, driving itself deeper and deeper into his ass on each thrust. The bud-shape tentacle around his cock stilled before releasing his reddened appendage with a resounding, wet pop. The tense muscles in his abs and legs relaxed in a single moment like a marionette getting its strings cut as the sucking sensation on his clit stopped. He shivered as the longer tendrils slipped from his cunt, splattering globs of slick across his skin.

The thick appendage slipping lazily down his throat backed out of his mouth, prompting a long series of coughs from Jonah as his body fought for air, but the tentacle pistoning in and out of his ass continued at an unbroken pace.

“Hah, ah- hah-” he panted, coughing out globs of fluid so viscous it was more accurately a goo. He could feel a weight sitting in his stomach as if he had just chugged an extra-large soda. He just hoped there was some sort of nutritional value in Vek secretions. The fluid sloshed back and forth as the tentacle in his ass picked up its pace, rocking his body back and forth against the floor.

“Jesus Christ, what- nngh,” he groaned, hands gripping against the padded flooring as his chest rocked against it. “What fucking time is it?” he wondered aloud.

“It is currently four forty-five,” a crackling voice answered from a speaker in the walls. Jonah’s head snapped up to the far wall as his fucked out brain connected the voice to Dr. Grelain. Some researchers sitting along the perimeter seemed to have filtered out at one point, but dead center in front of the glass enclosure sat Dr. Grelain and his small group of underlings who rapidly glanced from Jonah back to their computer screens, pecking away at old mechanical keyboards.

The doctor himself sat in the center of the desk, face lined up between two monitors to give him a perfect view of Jonah held ass-up by about a dozen tentacles as the Vek began to rub at his entrance. Dr. Grelain leaned back in the hard plastic chair with a low, shaded brow and the hint of a smile tweaking the corners of his wide mouth up.

“Enjoying yourself?” he questioned into the mouthpiece around his head, broadcasting his voice around the room as Jonah stared back at him with wide eyes. “The Vek seems to be having an absolutely marvelous time. Four and a half hours is a long time for a brood parasite to spend with its host. But you knew that already, didn’t you? You are a scientist yourself, after all.”

An image too quick for Jonah to catch flashed through his mind, something with streaks of silver and the smell of tire smoke, before a loud bang filled the room. Every researcher started in their seats as one of the Vek’s broader, more muscular tentacles rammed itself thunderously against the glass wall directly in front of Dr. Grelain’s face. The doctor’s arms windmilled frantically as he fought to keep himself from tipping backward in his chair. After a moment, the front legs of his chair fell back to the tile floor with a clatter, and he looked up with a huff. The cheery faux expression on his face had vanished completely, replaced by a vicious snarl as he gripped the arm of his chair in a white-knuckled fist.

“You ungrateful piece of shit. I shouldn’t have-” he growled, cutting himself off as he clenched his jaw shut. The scientist on his right stared up at him with eyes so wide Jonah could make out her shocked expression behind her glasses.

The tentacle retreated, leaving an amorphous smear of amber liquid on the otherwise undamaged glass, and returned to brush along the top of Jonah’s head. A rapid flicker of the same gray, desolate shape flashed through his mind again before it was replaced by a pinkish cloud as the tentacle in his ass resumed plunging itself in and out of the tight hole.

The appendage that had rammed against the glass stroked along the side of his face in a way that almost felt reverent before wrapping around his temples, looping over his eyes, and effectively blindfolding him. One of the tapered tentacles continued to nudge at his cunt, sliding back and forth between his slick folds. It wiggled side to side, grinding against his overstimulated cock before backing up to his entrance and repeating the process. It pushed harder against him on each pass, dipping further and further into his heat before slipping forward to rub against his cock.

“Ooh fuck,” he moaned quietly under his breath as the familiar buzz of pleasure began to spread through his gut, muffling his thoughts once again. The finger-sized tip placed itself against the plush, red skin of the front of his entrance before it began snaking inside, slowly working itself into his dripping cunt. It squirmed against his walls, pushing them apart to make room for the rapidly widening shaft. He hissed as he felt his cunt lips stretch around the tentacle as it filled him, growing broader and broader until it felt about the diameter of a coffee mug. He expected a sting of pain as his body struggled to adjust to the intrusion, but the sensation of his cunt stretching around the tentacle made his eyes roll back into his head. Maybe the aphrodisiac had rewired his pain receptors, or perhaps the pleasure was overriding it, but Jonah found he didn’t care.

The tip squirmed up against his deepest limit, shoving up against his stomach before it doubled back, folding it two to nudge up against his cervix. The tentacle pounding his ass shuddered and buried itself deep inside him as the appendage in his cunt began to work itself into the tight ring of muscle. He could feel the tentacles pushing against each other through the barrier between his cunt and his ass as they pulsed in tandem.

His eyes widened as he felt something bulging through his already stretched ass a moment before he felt a forceful burst of hot fluid unload deep inside him. He had no idea how far the tentacle had gotten in his digestive tract, but he swore he could feel the liquid pouring into one of his organs as the Vek pumped him full of a thick, white fluid. Somewhere in his half-functioning brain, he noted that it was a different substance than the amber fluid it had filled his mouth with earlier as he felt the liquid ooze out of his stretched ass, pouring down his back in hot rivets. A lust-riddled voice somewhere in his animal brain, brought closer to the surface with every thrust, keened wantonly at the sensation.

Simultaneously, the tentacle in his cunt sunk itself a few inches into his cervix, making much faster progress than Baimir had as his muscles yielded eagerly to the intrusion under a heavy fog of aphrodisiacs. He could feel a distinct weight shifting behind his navel as the tip pressed at something deep inside him. It snaked along the inner walls of his womb, pulsing side to side as it inquisitively mapped the surface, deciding how each feature inside of him would affect its clutch.

He turned his head to the side as another moan slipped from his lips, cheek pressing into the flooring, slick with the Vek’s amber fluid under his skin. A few scientists milled about on the other side of the glass; some seated with datapads still watching him aptly, a few others talking in the background while shooting him intermittent glances as they discussed the spectacle with their colleagues. When he’d first entered the room, the exterior space had been brightly lit while the interior cage had more subdued lighting, but at some point in the last hour, the lighting in the main room had been dimmed. Consequently, his appearance reflected on the glass had gone from barely visible to clearly outlined against the darker background. He caught his own gaze for a moment, taking in the way his face was splattered with amber goo, cheeks flushed dark as he panted. His eyes wandered up to his stomach, widening as he watched the skin under his navel bulge as the tentacle continued to wind itself deeper into his body.

The broad appendage in his womb stilled momentarily before it began to pull back, writhing against his twitching cervix as it wriggled through his cunt. He could see his cum coating the tentacle in a slick layer of clear fluid, glistening under the lights as it paused in the air for a moment before nudging at the tentacle still buried in his ass.

The large bud-shaped tentacle that had met him as he entered the cage drifted closer to his stretched cunt, bobbing up and down rhythmically, head pinched closed. It rested its pointed head against him passively, rolling subtly in lazy half circles to coat itself in Jonah’s slick before it pressed into his entrance.

“F-fuck, that’s too big-” he swore as the fist-sized tentacle shoved determinedly at his cunt, lashing side to side when it was met with resistance. It popped forcibly through his entrance with a wet squelch, immediately sinking itself further inside. He could feel his hole fluttering and tensing before it relaxed, yielding to the massive insertion as the aphrodisiac coaxed his body open.

His thighs quivered as the large textured bud dragged against his g-spot, forcing tiny spurts of fluid out around the rapidly widening base of the tentacle. The shaft behind the tentacle had initially been about the size of a few of Jonah’s fingers, but he could feel his cunt stretching open as it grew larger and larger, inflating to the diameter of Jonah’s fist by the time the Vek’s tip bumped up against his cervix.

He bit his lip as he felt another tentacle press up against his ass, winding against the base of the first one before it slid itself through the stretched hole. Globs of hot cum oozed down his sacrum, displaced as the two tentacles wound around each other, coaxing the newcomer deeper and deeper into him. He could feel them wiggling in his asshole, pressing up against his walls as they bobbed in and out, fucking him simultaneously.

His eyes fell to the mirrored glass again, briefly entranced by the motion of two tentacles animately pumping in and out of him, writhing and flexing in a way so alien to him it was captivating. They were only a couple of feet away when he noticed them, dark lumps buffered by pockets of white liquid visible through the Vek’s skin. He tracked them with fascination as they slowly made their way through the shaft of the widened bud-shaped tentacle, inching closer and closer to his fluttering hole.

The bud-shaped tentacle throbbed inside him, petal-like flaps pulsing open steadily, allowing the bundle of smaller tendrils to snake out, squirming against the deep walls of his cunt with their whip-like tips. The smaller tentacles explored him for a moment before diving into his cervix, fanning open in the tight hole, stretching it open like a three-pronged dilator.

His hands clenched hard against the padded floor as he felt the tip of the fist-sized bud nudge up against the opening deep inside of him, still much larger than the hole even as the smaller tendrils coaxed his pliant, fucked-out muscles open.

“Ah- fuck,” he choked out, body jerking back and forth as the tentacles in his ass picked up their pace, sliding his chest back and forth across the floor like a rag doll. “I- I don’t know if that- ah- if- mm-” he was cut off as the tentacle looped around his jaw pressed against the corner of his lips before slipping into his mouth, twisting around his tongue before diving down his throat. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt the appendage grow honey-sweet in his mouth, oozing viscous, saccharine liquid from its porous skin all the way from Jonah’s lips to his stomach.

He moaned obscenely around the tentacle, arms going slack on the mat as he was fucked from both ends, every hole in his body stuffed with writhing tentacles. His nerves were alight with electric shocks of ecstasy tapering out to a heavy fog of pleasure as the sensation traveled down his limbs in waves. He couldn’t tell if the colors flashing behind his eyelids were from his brain or the Vek as he melted into the enormous alien's grip.

He felt something hot pooling under his navel as the large tentacle worked the upper half of its bud-shaped head into his cervix, flexing open in the tight hole as cum began to dribble through its parted tip. He gasped as the first lump pushed up against the stretched opening of his cunt before slipping through forcefully as the Vek’s tentacle clenched around it, driving it through his entrance. He could feel the egg pressing against his walls as it traveled deeper, erotically bumping up against the tentacles pounding his ass through the thin barrier between his holes. A second bump and third almost immediately followed the first, pushing their companions further in to make room.

He didn’t know if his body was trying to draw the eggs in deeper or push them out as his cunt clenched fervently around the lumps as they approached his cervix. What he did know was that these eggs felt good. His experience with Baimir had certainly been pleasurable, but whatever aphrodisiac the Vek produced had been preparing his body for this single moment. A dam inside his drug-filled brain burst open in a torrent of pure ecstasy as he felt his body writhe in the tentacle's unyielding grip as if he were possessed.

He wanted to beg the Vek to fill him. He ached to plead with this giant beast to pump him full until his body couldn’t take it anymore, until he was overflowing with cum and eggs and aphrodisiac and whatever else the Vek would give him. But all that came out of his mouth were a series of garbled, unintelligible sounds broken up by choked moans.

The tendrils in his cervix fanned open wide, anchoring themselves firmly in his guts as the first egg reached its target. He felt a pop reverberate through his stomach as the Vek’s tentacle convulsed, driving its first egg into his womb followed by a searing gush of cum. His thighs shuddered hard with pleasure as the second egg pushed through, then the third, and the fourth. With each egg, the colors behind his eyes grew brighter, and the static in his brain became thicker until he lost the ability to comprehend the waves of sensation flooding his body.

The Vek pumped him with eggs one by one until his belly pudged with the clutch, suspended in a heavy pool of cum. His vision spotted in and out, still swirling with a phantasmal wash of fragmented images. He watched in the mirrored glass as the Vek began to methodically unwind its tentacles from his limbs. It picked Jonah’s chest off the ground, leaving behind strings of amber goo as its tentacle backed out of Jonah’s throat before slipping from his lips, splattering cum across his cheeks and hair.

The tendrils wrapped across the walls of his womb retreated into the bud-shaped tip of the tentacle in his cunt, squirming around his cervix purposefully as they left, rubbing something oddly cold against his deepest limit until the stretched hole squeezed shut with renewed integrity. As the tentacle fully freed itself from his womb, the first clear image that he’d seen since his encounter with the Vek began snapped violently to the forefront of his mind. Lush, green leaves created a mosaic of vibrant flora that stretched to the horizon under the gaze of a swirling astral body blanketing the sky. He felt a mournful keen deep in his chest as the scene melted away, prismatic scenery fizzling out to dead brown and gray tones as the smell of steel smoke choked his lungs. A monstrous shape built of geometric edges rose through the blackened plumes as grinding sound burst through the earth with such violence Jonah felt the shock reverberate through his jaw.

Light flooded his vision as he was jolted back to the observation cage, panting on the floor as the Vek’s tentacle slipped from his cunt, lapping at his gaping hole with an icy hot appendage. He shivered as he felt his cunt flutter shut, slowing the streams of cum flowing out of him to a steady dribble that traveled down his stomach, pooling hotly under his chest.

The tentacles in his ass were the last to retreat, still wiggling shamelessly in his fucked out hole even after the Vek climaxed. His chest lifted from the ground as the alien righted him, tentacles exiting his asshole as the Vek moved to set him down on his back. He shuddered as an impossibly large wave of cum spurted from his ass, flowing into a massive puddle between his thighs.

The Vek slid a tentacle carefully along his forehead, slipping down to press reverently at his temple before the alien jerked back, dozens of tentacles pulling back between the bars across its dark containment unit. The moment its final appendage disappeared into the shadows, a buzz followed by a metallic shudder sounded through the small space as the sheet metal roller door began to rattle shut.

“The Vek has completed its mating cycle. You are free to leave whenever you’d like, though if you wish to stay and catch your breath, you are also allowed to do so.” A voice sounded from a speaker in the corner of the room. Jonah’s brows pinched together where he lay staring up at the ceiling as he cataloged the unfamiliar voice.

He forced himself up to his elbows, chin tucked against his chest as he looked down through the far glass. One of Dr. Grelain’s assistants was leaning away from a speaker on the table while the doctor himself sat in the center of the desk, eyes shaded low with his arms crossed obstinately across his chest.

“Just- just get me some towels or something,” Jonah groaned, asshole fluttering open and closed as it continued to unload cum onto the floor. “And maybe some wet wipes? As many wet wipes as you can get.”

He felt something shift inside him as he pushed his torso further off the ground, prompting him to take a hesitant look down at his stomach. Baimir’s eggs had shown through his belly a little, but it hadn’t been a dramatic change. He’d just appeared pretty bloated for a few days and primarily confined to sweatpants for the sake of comfort. The Vek’s clutch had to be about twice the size of Baimir’s. He wasn’t swollen enough to cause any damage to his skin, but distention was unmistakable.

He looked about four months pregnant from his decently thorough knowledge of human gestation. The bump was round and solid to the touch, beginning just above his navel and swelling most widely over the lower part of his stomach. Not enough to be severely bothersome, but enough to be unignorable.

There was a curt knock at the door, which Jonah found a little ironic since the room was almost entirely made of glass, before a pile of towels was deposited on the floor by a skittish-looking researcher.

He dragged himself to his feet, trying with varying degrees of success to avoid the manhole cover sized cum puddle on the ground as he laboriously rose to his feet, one hand flashing out to the side for balance before he remembered to account for the additional weight in his torso. Another glob of cum freed itself from his ass, streaming down the back of his legs as he reached down for one of the towels.

“No wet wipes?” he complained half-heartedly as he began the herculean task of cleaning himself off, starting at his face. He looked down curiously at the patches of amber goo across the white towel he’d smeared off his cheek. That thought to take a sample for testing flashed through his head before he reminded himself that he had neither the tools to do that nor the clothing to hide it.

“I’m sorry. We could not find wet wipes,” the assistant replied over the loudspeaker embedded in the wall directly over his head. “You will have to make do with that until you have able to shower.”

“A bit of an oversight on your part, but alright,” Jonah replied, unfiltered comments slipping through his lips uncharacteristically as he found he couldn’t be bothered to match their corporate linguistics. “How long do I carry these? With all the talk of exhibitionism, I forgot to ask beforehand.”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked,” Dr. Grelain’s voice repossessed the speaker. Jonah’s head snapped up to stare as the doctor rose to his feet, that artificially sweet smile pasted across his face like a nasty rash. “That’s sort of like the second part of this observation. We have some educated guesses about Vek’s gestation periods, but we’re really not sure. As I’m sure you already know, all the other animals we know of that were hosting Vek eggs were deceased when my research team found them. Unfortunate, really.”

Jonah’s eyes widened on the doctor's face as the hand dutifully scrubbing the back of his legs tensed to a stop. Before he could comment, Dr. Grelain let out a pitchy laugh.

“Oh, don’t look so worried!” he guffawed, one hand gripping the back of his chair as he motioned at something on the monitor obscured from Jonah’s view. “The IOBA would never do anything to put you in danger. Do you understand what a valuable asset you are? No, no, you’re not in any danger. But,” he added, moving around to lean on the desk, “Your comfort and safety is also my number one priority, I assure you. So, judging from what I’ve seen, I’ll be sending you to the medical ward for monitoring for the duration of the Vek’s internal gestation period, just in case.”

“What?” Jonah questioned unbelievably, “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? Especially considering my apartment is about five minutes away from the IOBA med center. You’re not honestly suggesting this is that high risk?”

“Well, a scientist like yourself should understand that I’m just taking every precaution I can,” Dr. Grelain replied, a venomous bite hidden under his otherwise appropriate speech. “We’ve also considered that an intense encounter with a creature as telepathic as the Vek can be traumatizing psychologically. Did you see anything particularly… upsetting?” His deep blue eyes pinned Jonah with a scrutinizing glare, the smile dropping from his face for the briefest moment.

Immediately, the image of dying leaves and choking smoke flashed through his head as he remembered the scene the Vek had projected to him in perfect detail, each leaf crisp and distinct as it wilted under the watchful gaze of a massive planetary body. He didn’t have any concrete reasons to distrust Dr. Grelain outside of personal dislike, but every voice in his head screamed at him to lie.

“It greeted me,” he began hesitantly, “I saw some abstract stuff while it was… you know, but that’s pretty much it. Nothing upsetting, as you put it.”

Dr. Grelain’s eyes narrowed once more before he waved a hand through the air amicably. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said, voice frosted with his meaningless chipper tone, “Still, a thorough psych evaluation couldn’t hurt. You may recall something later, after all. Finish cleaning yourself off. Well, to the best of your ability, that is, and someone from the med center will escort you to your temporary accommodations. I’ll find some time to stop by as well, just to say hi and see how everything is going, of course.”

“Of course,” Jonah parroted behind clenched teeth. In his head, a few things clicked together simultaneously like pieces of a 3D puzzle snapping into place. He’d almost certainly seen something he wasn’t meant to see, and it was up to him to figure out what before the good doctor confirmed it himself.

Illustration

Chapter Text

With all the true crime he’d watched late into the night over underwhelming microwave meals during his bachelor's, Jonah had always imagined he’d react differently to being taken somewhere against his will, whether that was being arrested or kidnapped or whatever this involuntary hospitalization was. He’d spent most of his life having to put his money where his mouth was in the sphere of academia, and adapting to that kind of environment came with some spitfire. But when a stern-faced, alligator-like man appeared in the doorway, shoulders nearly spanning the entire frame, casting a visible shadow across the floor of the glass cage, he didn’t throw a fit. He didn’t kick or scream or try to slip behind him into the crowded hallway and run out through that wide, empty parking lot. Instead, he looked the man up and down with narrowed eyes, hoping the look came across as composed rather than tired despite how he felt, and pulled his shoulder blades down until his spine became rigid like the steel rebar that stuck out of the dilapidated concrete structures that decorated the streets of his old home town.

The hand on his shoulder was heavy but not painful as the man’s palm pushed into his collarbone, guiding him towards the back door with a steady pressure. A sharp breeze greeted him as the door opened up to the nearly deserted parking lot, and he didn’t miss the way the guard’s fingers tensed as Jonah moved to rub at his bare upper arms in an attempt to stave off the frigid air. He heard footsteps heavier than Ter’ione’s feather-light padding behind him but resisted the temptation to turn as he schooled his face to look as calm as possible, picking his chin up higher.

He scanned the C-shaped parking lot again, eyes flitting back and forth, hyper-alert as he searched for anything out of place. He had to remind himself that the situation had changed. This wasn’t just a research project he’d fallen into a cornerstone role for due to unforeseen circumstances. Something more complicated, and potentially much more sinister, was playing a role here. It was a new game, and he had to play his cards right.

A few hovercrafts were scattered against the back of the large building that blocked the lot off from the main road, presumably the back of the IOBA’s main office. His photo memory of the floor plan of the massive complex was spotty, mainly focused on the areas he’d specifically frequented, but his previous role as a floating temp provided a decent picture. He was almost certain the building in front of them was the IOBA’s import warehouse, where they processed incoming packages and physical data, mostly from off-world outposts.

An eight-seat passenger craft painted with the IOBA’s signature muted green tones but devoid of their even more recognizable logo lingered a few feet from the exterior door, engine still running as a feline woman with a medical mask regarded them expressionlessly from the driver’s seat. Jonah found himself doing a double take, unused to seeing a manned craft in the city. Manual vehicles were still commonplace for interstellar travel or navigation in hostile terrain where machines had yet to surpass sentient decision-making, but Jonah had never seen one on Capital Block.

“Aren’t we just going to the medical wing?” Jonah questioned, sparing a sidelong glance at the heavy-browed, saurian guard.

His jaw shifted slightly, alligator-like scales portraying very few facial notable queues.

“In a way, yes,” a soft voice replied as Dr. Grelain’s assistant stepped around Jonah’s other side. “We’re going to a… specialized extension of the medical wing.”

“Specialized?” Jonah repeated, eyes narrowing ever so slightly despite his attempts to maintain a neutral face. If he hadn’t been making a conscious effort to catalog every detail around him, he might’ve missed the way his heartbeat began to accelerate, thumping fasted under his jaw as something about that word set off a warning bell in his head.

“Yes,” The assistant replied casually, seemingly unaware of Jonah’s wariness. “You’re a special case, so you require specialized care. It makes sense, does it not?”

“Isn’t all of the IOBA’s medical wing highly specialized? I mean, it’s not like it’s a normal hospital. They exclusively deal with rare biology and xenomorphology.” Jonah argued. The hand on his shoulder began to push him forward, but he leaned back into it and pushed his heels harder into the asphalt. “I know people who are leaders in niche fields relating to extraterrestrial reproduction. There’s nowhere more specialized than the IOBA medical center for this.”

The assistant opened their mouth to reply, lips twitching down as they internally debated what to say next. Their posture stayed firm, but Jonah saw the assistant's hand thumb anxiously at the lanyard around their neck that held their clearance badge. “Well, I-”

“Nowhere more specialized on paper,” A timber voice from the still open warehouse door cut in as Dr. Grelain stepped out onto the asphalt with a heavy wool coat draped neatly over one arm. “Did it ever occur to you that the IOBA has some medical research projects they’d prefer to keep out of the public eye?”

“Well, ethically no,” Jonah replied, allowing the sharp edge in his tone to surface as he watched the scientist approach with a cautious gaze. “We’ve both taken scientific ethics courses, I assume. I believe in medical transparency. Details of certain projects might be better off as private information, but I can’t imagine any ethical project that would benefit from being kept out of the public eye.”

Dr. Grelain’s eyes dropped to the ground as he chuckled. “Your ignorance is almost endearing.” he mused, seemingly talking to himself more than he was to Jonah. “Childlike, really.”

“Excuse me?” Jonah snapped back, lip curling up indignantly as he leaned away from the doctor, only to be stopped by the unyielding hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, if only I were more like Iplole, then I’d have some fluffy, legal explanation, some footnote on your contract, or something equally inane, but I’ve never been a fan of legal jargon. I’m a scientist, not a court monkey. As a man of science yourself, you must understand, no?” Dr. Grelain began, one hand waving leisurely through the air. There was a pleasant smile plastered across his face, lips pulled up towards his cheeks as he spoke, but a mismatched expression in his eyes made the hairs on the back of Jonah’s neck stand up pin straight.

“Iplole? As in Iplole Abhion? You…” Jonah’s eyes traced the familiar line of the doctor’s prominent, squared jaw down to the deep teal plating that lined the back of his broad knuckles. He scraped through all the species-specific information in his head he’d picked up over his years of textbooks and lecture halls before the details about a certain post-amphibious terrestrial with notable colonies in former southern Mexico surfaced. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the similarities in Dr. Grelain’s features earlier.

“You’re related to Mr. Abhion,” he stated, words tumbling from his mouth as soon as he made the connection.

“Ah ha, we have quite the strong family resemblance, don’t we? You’d never know we’re only cousins,” the doctor confirmed as he took a lackadaisical step forward. “But I assure you, I am nothing like Iplole. He thinks everything can be solved by a long meeting and a signed piece of paper. He’s watched you from the sidelines requesting all this information, breaking into areas above your clearance level, and most recently asking around a non-existent base on Vichi? And what has he done? Waited patiently for you to move on to a new topic to push and prod at?”

“What the fuck is going on,” Jonah’s facade of calmness broke as the doctor continued, ignoring his outburst entirely.

“What he doesn't understand, however, is that you're a scientist, just like me. When a question worms itself into that little head of yours, you’ll never stop. Only two meetings in, and your name has been in at least one email in every goddamned department from here to the outer rings. No, you’ll never stop prodding, especially now since I’m sure that Vek told you something, and your resistance to tell me only confirms that. I’m taking a different approach before Iplole digs himself an even deeper hole. So, whether you get into that craft willingly or unwillingly, it makes no difference to me, Jonah.”

“So you’re truly just kidnapping me now. Is that what’s happening?” Jonah sneered, experimentally jerking his shoulder forward out of the guard's crocodile-like hand only to be held firmly in place as iron strong fingers dug into the soft skin underneath his collarbone. “You can’t possibly think this will work out for you. Laboratory sciences will notice my absence in just a few days, and they know me. Whatever cover-up you have planned won’t work. I can promise you that.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about the logistics of it,” Dr. Grelain dismissed him with a wave, “Just get in the car.”

Jonah looked between the hovercraft and Dr. Grelain, jaw tense as he surveyed his choices before he let out a clipped sigh. “Fine, I’ll get in the damn car.” he yielded, taking a step forward. His shoulder twitched as the guard’s grip stayed firm. “Could you tell your muscle to let up a little? Jesus Christ, I’m choosing to go willingly, OK? No need to fucking strong arm me any more than you already have.”

Dr. Grelain tipped his chin down at the guard, waving a hand permissively as he stepped to the side of the van door. The claws digging into his shoulder vanished as the reptilian man released him without a word. Jonah rolled his shoulder experimentally, rubbing the heels of his hand into the sore spots forming along his skin as he stepped forward, noting the amount of space the guard permitted behind him.

Dr. Grelain reached down to a manual handle disguised into the sheer, heavy-paneled van, sliding the steel door open as Jonah approached. Jonah watched him out of the corner of his eye as he kept his head straight forward, looking somewhere past the synth-cotton upholstered bench seats in the van’s interior. The doctor’s eyes stayed fixed on him as he approached. One, two, three seconds, Jonah counted in his head.

The moment Dr. Grelain’s eyes flicked over his shoulder towards the driver, Jonah dropped low to the ground, heart pounding with adrenaline as he bolted to the side, shoulder slamming into the hovercraft as he sprinted towards the back of the car. The guard let out a clipped swear as he tried to grab Jonah, hands coming to where Jonah’s head had been just a second before.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered a clipped laugh from Dr. Grelain that made his stomach clench, but he shoved the sensation down as he forced the muscles in his legs to push off the pavement. The guard’s lumbering footsteps pounded behind him as he hurled himself past the vehicle, running towards one of the partially open vehicle bays of the IOBA’s main building. He knew that the back of the lab bordered the import warehouse. All he had to do was make it to the lab. Even if Miss Gaiacothica and the other lab staff couldn’t stop Dr. Grelain at the moment, if they knew what was happening, they’d be able to contest it through the proper channels within the IOBA. All he had to do was make it to the lab.

He didn’t notice the moment the sound of the guard’s footsteps stopped, too focused on the door as he sprinted closer and closer. Thirty meters, twenty meters, he could hear the sound of machinery inside the warehouse unloading boxes from a pallet. Ten meters, the sharp sound of compressed air. His first thought was that it must’ve been another piece of machinery in the unloading bay. He was so close he could hear pistols depressurizing, but how could that sound have come from behind him? Five meters, a piercing burst of pain in the back of his thigh. He cried out reflexively, a strangled sound he’d never heard from himself before forcing its way through his throat as one of his hands whipped down to his hamstring. It felt as if a sea urchin had embedded itself between the flesh and the muscle in the back of his leg, a harsh lacerating sensation spreading to his hip as he forced his body to keep moving.

Four meters, by the time he felt the dart with his hand, he knew it was too late. He heard Dr. Grelain’s well-worn oxfords tapping unhurriedly across the pavement as his left leg collapsed underneath him, hip rolling inward, pitching his knee into his other leg crookedly as he fumbled back to his feet.

Three meters, he tried to push off the ground, only to be met by a complete lack of response as the muscles on the back of his leg shut down. He crumpled to the ground with a clipped swear as his quad spasmed. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his throat as he braced his hands on the cold, rough asphalt, tiny pebbles digging into the fleshy part of his palms as he pulled himself forward in a facsimile of a crawl.

Two meters, Dr. Grelain’s slack-clad legs appeared in front of him, blocking the path between Jonah and the warehouse loading dock with an impressed whistle.

“I respect the effort, Jonah. I really do,” he said, bracing his broad-knuckled hands on his knees as he leaned down. Jonah looked up at him between sweat-soaked blond curls, brown eyes turned black in the shadow of the IOBA’s warehouse. “Honestly, I probably would’ve chosen the hard way too if I was in your shoes.” he mused conversationally, waving the air pistol in his hand that he’d kept concealed under his coat over Jonah’s head. “That’s exactly why I was ready for this sort of thing.”

“Fuck you,” Jonah spat, panting as his mouth became uncomfortably dry. He felt his shoulders sway side to side over his hands as he locked his elbows.

“I’m impressed you made it this far, with the extra baggage too. Impressive, it really is.” the doctor mused, “How much do you know about anesthetics?”

“I know that-” Jonah replied, swallowing hard, “That you shouldn’t shoot people with them.”

“Ha ha, witty little thing, aren’t you?” Dr. Grealin replied, “But, no. Hollywood really got tranquilizers wrong, you see, but what’s new? It would be almost impossible to completely sedate someone with a simple injection. The odds of overdose would be simply much too high, especially with the little biological wild card you’re carrying around. General anesthesia is quite complex, but what it’s not hard to do is incapacitate someone. A lovely little cocktail of ketamine, synth-xylazine and a neuromuscular blocking agent has you on a one-way trip to la la land, but you’ll be conscious the entire time, well, technically conscious.”

Jonah’s vision began to swim as if he were looking at everything through the haze of heat off of too-hot asphalt, a buzzing sensation fizzling behind his eyes as he looked up without moving his head. The warehouse door a few meters behind Dr. Grelain was cracked open at the bottom, likely just to allow a breeze into the otherwise stuffy factory as the staff settled in for the evening shift to catalog that day’s shipments. They were likely low-brow staff, as far down the totem pole as you could be, with no connections to upper management, but it would only take one person mentioning it to the right manager before the internal gossip train would work its magic.

Jonah inhaled, feeling the air move through his nose as he expanded his rib cage as much as possible before he let out a guttural scream. Dr. Grelain scrambled immediately, taunting composure dropped as his panicked hands grabbed at Jonah’s shoulders. Ground shaking footsteps vaulted forward as the guard emerged from wherever he’d halted behind Jonah, pulling him back by the collar of his shirt as he continued to shriek as if he were being burned alive right in the parking lot. A forearm looped around his chest, pulling him back into a stone-like set of legs as an enormous hand clamped over his mouth, thumb pressing against the side of his orbital bone as the guard snatched his jaw in a bruising grip.

“Is everyone OK out here?” a concerned voice sounded behind Dr. Grelain, causing the doctor to whip around on one heel, air pistol still clenched in one hand. Dr. Grelain’s broad form almost entirely blocked Jonah’s line of sight where he was pinned against the guard’s legs, kneeling on the ground with one hand fruitlessly clasped around the guard’s wrist, but he could see the edge of an apron as one of the warehouse staff ducked under the steel roller door into the parking lot, a cluster of shadows barely visible behind them.

“Yes, everything is fine. Everyone go back to your stations or whatever it is that you do. This is above your clearance level.”

“Um… OK,” the voice replied hesitantly. A face appeared in Jonah’s field of vision as the worker leaned to the side, peering around the doctor. Their eyes widened as they met Jonah’s gaze. He tried to shake his head in the guard’s grip as his vision tilted to the side. The ground pitched underneath him as if he were on a sailboat rocking in the waves, and if he hadn’t already been kneeling on the ground with the entirety of his weight supported by the forearm across his chest, he’s sure he would’ve stumbled to the floor. “Should I get my boss?” The worker asked again.

“No, no, this is above their clearance level too, I’m certain,” Dr. Grelain dismissed them. Jonah lifted his hand from the guard’s arm, trying to ignore how his fingertips were rapidly going numb, and held it up palm out with his thumb tucked in, closing and opening his fingers, trying to fumble through the sign for help. “The fuck are you still doing here,” the doctor hissed over his shoulder, “Take him to the car already.”

“I don’t know,” the worker mused uneasily, “she has like an orange badge or something. That’s pretty high up, right?” Jonah’s vision doubled as he was pulled up quickly, eyes unable to track or reorient, but he thought he might’ve seen the worker turn and say something to one of the shadows behind the door before he was turned back towards the van, still hovering in wait.

Dr. Grelain’s arguments fizzled out behind him as the guard’s hand left his mouth, returning to his side a moment later as his body was shifted in the man’s grip before he was pushed into something soft lining the hovercraft’s trunk. He tipped his head sluggishly back into the floor until he was looking towards the front of the vehicle, unsure if he was seeing everything upside down due to the position he was in or not. The back two rows of the craft’s interior had been taken out, creating a massive trunk space lined with padding similar to gymnastic flooring.

A manic type of giggle left his mouth before he could stop it. “The trunk of a van, huh? Wooow, original.”

His body was tugged forward again as the stoic guard grabbed his arm, clamping a hefty plasteel band around it, which he pushed up against one of the van’s interior walls prompting a loud buzz from a mechanism somewhere in the cuff.

“Oh fuck you,” Jonah swore, head lolling back into the matting again as he tugged halfheartedly at the cuff. “Where would I even go? Redud- redbud- re- overkill much.”

He kicked out clumsily as the guard’s rough palms pushed his legs further into the van before the trunk slid shut with a heavy mechanical clunk. The smooth black ceiling above his head was lined with a subtle hexagon pattern that his eyes struggled to focus on, white lines warping and bending the moment he tried to narrow in on a specific spot.

He couldn’t tell if seconds or minutes passed as he lay on the floor, struggling haplessly to corral his thoughts through the drunken haze of sedatives before one of the front doors opened and slammed shut again a moment later as Dr. Grelain’s timber voice sounded in the cab. Jonah thought he heard his name somewhere in the jumble of sounds.

“I can’t hear you,” he volleyed back, tongue heavy in his mouth, “because you drugged me with sooo much ketamine.”

If Dr. Grelain tried to speak to him again, he didn’t hear it. The doctor was right when he said Jonah would only be technically conscious. He’d gone under general anesthesia before for a minor surgery once when he was in high school. He knew what it felt like to attempt to count backward to ten under the watchful gaze of an OR nurse only to wake up what felt like a moment later in a post-op room. His time in the trunk of that van felt as if someone had diced up reality with a pair of craft scissors and pieced it back together into a patchwork mockery of perception. The sounds around him merged and flowed together, eternally backed by the buzz of highway wind as the sensations against his skin were picked up and mixed like sediment on the ocean floor.

He could feel the phantoms of tentacles tracing along his skin, not probing or seeking him out the way they had during their encounter in the glass cage, but simply feeling. The scene the Vek had shown him at the end of their meeting rose to his mind again, the monstrous outline of steel machinery rising high into the smoke-filled sky fought through his drug-induced haze. The sound of metal grinding against stone grinding against metal against stone… He heard the earth split in two as the sky died above him. The Vek’s visions echoed in his skull, reverberating against the base of his spine. He was a reverb chamber. He was a vessel. The steel shapes looked down at him, predators eyeing injured prey.

The steel shapes looked down at him, familiar scenery. He’d been raised in a barren place, one of the last notable purely human colonies on earth, tucked away in a barren desert. He’d grown up surrounded by stone and misery as the few humans unable to accept what Earth had become continued to mine through their mother’s core. A facsimile of a home. But they continued to mine, and mine, and-

The thick trunk door slid open, casting a ray of sunlight across Jonah’s face. He squinted blearily up at Dr. Grelain as the man looked down at him, bracketed by the guard on one side and his assistant on the other. He giggled as he met the man’s eyes before he dropped his head back to the floor. He understood now. Mining. They were mining. He understood.

“Well, it seems like you had a fun ride,” Grelain commented as the guard moved forward to undo the cuff on his wrist. He looked up and saw a bloody patch of missing skin along the bony edge of his wrist, right where his ulna ended.

Jonah just laughed again and shook his head against the mats, hair falling past his forehead as he held a palm over his eyes. The IOBA was mining. They were killing worlds and then making it their mission to repopulate those displaced species on their own monopolized planets. The Vek told him everything, had given him the blueprints to understand it all, but he just hadn’t been able to put it together until then.

“Oh, Dr. Grelain,” he began as his near manic, drunken laughter subsided. He tilted his palm back to look at the doctor, index finger still resting on his brow. He may have just imagined it through the haze of ketamine cocktail still running rampant in his system, but he thought that for the first time, he saw fear in the doctor’s eyes. “You’re going to regret this. You’re going to regret this, I swear it.

Chapter Text

There was a lake just a few miles south of Jonah’s hometown that filled the empty basin of an inoperable mining site he and the other kids in his neighborhood often escaped to on their hand-me-down manual bicycles. The water was an opaque shade of algae green that turned black as soon as the sun began to creep down the mountains. Vertical, rust-plagued cliffs lined the crater, making it impossible to exit from anywhere besides the north end, but there was a scalable platform on the far side perfect for jumping off of through the eyes of a bored adolescent.

Jonah found himself up there often; when his first boyfriend broke up with him for the girl across the street with curly auburn hair who always laughed with the back of her hand over her mouth, when his first university rejection letter came, delivered in an unassuming envelope to his father’s old house, when his sister simply didn’t come home one day. No matter what weighed on his mind, the sun always looked the same as it set.

The water was usually a little too cold in the lake basin, but today it felt perfect s his body hit the surface, plunging down until his feet brushed smooth stone. He could barely feel the water on his skin as he pushed off the bottom to ascend. Shadows crept up the stone-carved cliffs as the sun vanished, leaving room in the sky for the stars to shine dimly through the ever-present layer of refinery smoke. The sky always looked undersaturated here, as if it hadn’t been printed out with enough ink, but when Jonan looked close enough, he could see the smog shifting through the air like water in a lazy current.

He stayed there, floating on his back in the coppery green lake as the sky turned darker and darker, casting the desert in a thick umbra as the new moon lingered invisible behind the smoke. The still water ebbing against the side of his head blocked out the ambient noise of rustling brush, surrounding him in an unbreakable silence, allowing his thoughts to be miraculously still. The idea that there was something he was forgetting lingered at the edges of his vision like a phantom, disappearing as soon as he turned his gaze to look at it.

A vacant feeling began creeping through him, starting at his fingertips as he drifted limply in the stagnant water. It was a profound emptiness unlike anything he’d felt before, a sudden physical and spiritual vacancy that pulled the air from his lungs. There was something he was forgetting.

A steady beeping sound reached his ears, starting so softly he might’ve imagined the sound crescendoing into a relentless mechanical drone reverberating through the water. There was something he was supposed to be doing, wasn’t there?

The night sky grew darker and darker, each faint star dissolving into nothing no matter how hard he tried to bring them into focus. He blinked hard, wincing as the beep, beep, beep sound drilled its way through his skull, and when his eyes opened again, he was greeted by the sight of featureless, white concrete.

Jonah turned his head slowly to the side as he attempted to process the new visual input. Something soft yielded under his skull as he rolled across what he could only assume was a pillow. To his right, the source of the incessant beeping glared back at him in the shape of a heart monitor displaying his pulse and recent blood pressure. Behind that was a wide door with a thick slotted window in the center and a small sink beside it. To his other side, there was a blank wall and a seemingly empty roller cart resting in front of an oxygen tank strapped to the wall.

He attempted to lift his right hand to rub at his still bleary eyes but was abruptly stopped by a wide padded cuff strapped to the railing on the side of the bed. His other arm had been left free, a thick gauze pad wrapped around his wrist. An IV dripped a clear liquid steadily into a butterfly needle tapped to the back of his cuffed hand, but a glance at the IV bag hanging above his bed revealed that it was a simple saline solution and a medication that he recognized as an antiemetic. He debated carefully removing the drip for a moment but decided against it for the time being.

The image of the empty sky above the old flooded quarry drifted through his mind again as he rubbed hard at his eyes with his unchained hand. A sharp sting radiated through his wrist under the bandage, but he ignored it in favor of trying to pin down the persistent feeling that he was missing something.

A heavy mechanical noise sounded from the door as the tumblers clicked open, revealing a humanoid in a set of pastel blue scrubs leafing through a datapad with one hand. She looked up as she entered, her eyes widening as she caught Jonah’s gaze.

“Oh! You’re awake,” she began in a bright tone, setting her datapad down as she moved across the room, but not before discretely pushing a few buttons on the bottom of the screen. “How are you feeling?”

“...fine,” Jonah answered hesitantly, reflexively pulling at his restrained hand again as he tried to shift into a sitting position. “Is this really necessary?” he asked, motioning at the cuff with his other hand.

“So sorry about that. It’s just policy with patients coming out of medically induced comas in case they react violently,” she explained, opening a drawer on the roller cart to pull out an empty cup.

“Medically induced coma?” he parrotted, rubbing at his shoulder with one hand as a deep ache in the joint made itself known.

The nurse stood up, plastic cup in hand, and leaned closer to the bed. “Yes, unfortunately. You were in a nasty car accident. What do you remember? It’s not unusual for patients in your situation to lose their memory of the accident.”

He repeated the nurse's words in his head, rolling them over carefully. Something felt off, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. The smell of refinery smoke from his dream lingered in the back of his throat. As he considered relaying that to the nurse, a sick feeling bubbled up in his stomach, and he decided to hold his tongue.

“What happened?” he asked instead.

The nurse smiled behind her medical mask, eyes sweetly scrunching up at the bottom. “You were on your way to your second HARP appointment, and a truck struck your vehicle. They’re still investigating, but it looks like the AI driving in the vehicle malfunctioned. Some kind of one-in-a-million error. That was just two days ago.”

Even though he had nothing substantial to go off of, he instinctually knew that everything out of her mouth was a lie. Both he and the nurse glanced up as the heart rate monitor accelerated.

He immediately tried to dismiss it with a sheepish laugh. “Sorry, it’s just a lot to take in,” he explained, slowing his exhales, forcing his heart to beat calmly while his head spun with questions.

“Of course,” the nurse replied as she turned to the sink before handing him a half-full plastic cup of water. It was only when he reached out to take it that he realized his mouth was unbearably dry. She continued to speak as he downed the cup. “Your vitals all look fine. The doctor will come to check on you later, but for the time being, your program director has been waiting to talk to you.”

He dug for the correct name as he set the empty cup on his lap. “Iplole?”

He mentally cursed his slow recall as he saw the nurse’s brow rise quizzically. “Mr. Abhion, yes.” she corrected before turning to grab her datapad. “He should be coming by shortly. Until then, feel free to page the nurse's station with the button by your hand there if you need anything.”

Jonah looked down at the slim plastic button decorated with a plus symbol as the nurse left the room, realizing that she’d almost certainly left him cuffed on purpose. The icy feeling of paranoia crept up his spine. Something was deeply wrong here. If the restraints had truly been to help disoriented patients waking from comas, he’d have no use for it anymore as he was clearly conscious.

She’d said he’d gotten into an accident on his way to his second HARP appointment, but that wasn’t right. The more he thought about it, the more he was sure he’d met his second appointment, the telepathic Vek.

He let in a sharp inhale as his free hand snapped to his stomach, pulling the gauze on his wrist painfully as his palm hovered over his navel, his completely flat navel. Normally, he’d be thrilled by the knowledge that he was unhindered by anything as parasitic as alien eggs, but the realization that something horrible might’ve happened to the Vek’s clutch made a wave of anxiety surge through his chest. The feeling of emptiness that plagued him in his dream made sense now.

Memories of the encounter with the Vek slowly trickled back into his mind; arriving at the warehouse, the panel of scientists, greeting the Vek, it was all there. Then he remembered the final vision, the message the Vek had embedded in him at the end of their meeting; the towering shapes, the smoke, the mines, the mining.

His breathing picked up as he fought down the white-hot feeling of anger at the realization. So this was how Dr. Grelain planned to cover up the holes Jonah was slowly uncovering in the IOBA’s story. He thought he could erase their mistakes with the right combinations of chemicals and complicated gaslighting. Jonah suspected if he started to ask too many questions, best-case scenario, he’d be dismissed as delusional and as a worse case? He didn’t doubt for a moment the IOBA could make him disappear.

He looked between his cuffed hand and the bandage on his left wrist just as the door clicked open again. Mr. Abhion looked exactly as Jonah remembered seeing him last, architectural suit buttoned neatly over his wide frame as he entered the room with an expressionless gaze.

“Mr. Basset,” he greeted with a polite nod, “I apologize for this unfortunate turn of events. The IOBA will cover all of your medical expenses since this accident happened while you were more or less on the clock, but it’s a miracle you weren't more injured.”

“It seems that way,” Jonah replied, counting his inhales and exhales nervously as Mr. Abhion approached. He towered a few feet over Jonah’s head as most extraterrestrials did, but looking up at him supine on a hospital mattress, he looked monolithic. “The nurse said we were hit by a truck? Is Ter’ione alright?”

Mr. Abhion nodded as he stopped by the bed, hands folded neatly behind his back. “Yes. Ter’ione walked away with no injuries, save for a few bruises. There was a critical failure in the oncoming vehicle's CPU, rendering it unable to stop. Truly astronomical odds.”

“That’s what the nurse said, too,” Jonah replied carefully, “but if I’m being honest, I don’t really remember the accident. I remember the morning before, but not much else. The nurse said we were on our way to a HARP appointment when it happened?”

“That’s right,” he confirmed, “Luckily, your injuries were fairly minor, save for a rather severe concussion, hence the very brief medically induced coma. Once the medical team confirms you have no symptoms of a traumatic brain injury, you should be free to return to your apartment.”

“And then it’s back to work, I presume?” Jonah replied with a short, cynical laugh.

“If you feel you need more time to recover, I’m sure we could accommodate that, but otherwise, yes,” he answered, “As unfortunate as this has been, there are still several species that need the IOBA’s assistance, and by extension your assistance, urgently. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” he agreed, “I feel pretty good, all things considered, so I should be fine for work. How soon will you try to reschedule the appointment I missed because of the accident?”

“Ah, I’m afraid that client is no longer viable for the program,” Mr. Abhion explained, face as stoic as ever, “There are a lot of factors that go into being accepted into HARP for both participants and clients, so this sort of thing happens on occasion. Luckily, there’s quite a substantial list of clients waiting for your availability, so we should be able to schedule someone else in as soon as the doctors give you the green light. Depending on how your next appointment goes, my boss has suggested you be allowed a short vacation. We’re aware this can be a stressful endeavor, and we want you to remember that we do have your health in mind.” A short knock reverberated throughout the room as someone rapped their knuckles on the other side of the door. Mr. Abhion reached a hand up to absentmindedly straighten his tie as he glanced over his shoulder. “Ah, that must be the doctor. Well, with that, I’ll excuse myself.”

He turned to leave just as the door swung open. Jonah half expected Dr. Grelain to be waiting on the other side, fake saccharine smile plastered on his square face, but instead, he was greeted by the site of a middle-aged cephalopodic man in a crisp white lab coat.

He had to remember that he was playing the role of this theoretical self who had no memories from the moment he stepped into the hovercraft to meet the Vek until now. That hypothetical self would never have met Dr. Grelain, would never have known what a Vek looks like, and certainly would never have known about the IOBA’s mining operations.

The doctor examined him in relative silence, exchanging the occasional word with the nurse over his shoulder and asking Jonah simple questions here and there. The exam itself was unassuming, but Jonah didn’t miss the way the nurse’s eyes sharpened, attentive to each of Jonah’s responses. The cuff restraining him to the bed frame was finally released as the doctor unraveled the dampening bandage around his other wrist, revealing a quarter-sized scab on the bony protuberance below the outer edge of his palm. There was a dark crimson dappling around the circumference of his wrist, physical confirmation of his spotty recollection of the events that occurred after his encounter with the Vek.

“How’d I get that?” he asked, trying to keep his voice nonantagonistic. He wanted to sound curious, not suspicious.

“Ah, you woke up a few hours after the accident quite disoriented and combative. I’m afraid you hurt yourself on the restraints. Fortunately, there was no nerve damage from the compression, but let the medical staff know if you start experiencing any numbness in your hand, just in case. You also dislocated your left shoulder, but we were able to repair the tissues while you were under, so you shouldn’t have any issues besides some lingering soreness.” the doctor explained as he removed his gloves, tossing them in the bin near the door.

Jonah purposefully avoided looking down at the thick gauzy padding that lined the interior of the restraint still secured to the bedframe next to his now unbound hand, a massive juxtaposition to the heavy metal cuff the guard had used to secure him in the van.

“So, am I cleared to go home now?” he asked, finding it harder and harder to resist the temptation to pick at the tape securing the IV on the back of his hand.

“I’d say so,” the doctor concluded, picking up his datapad as he stood to leave the room. “I’ll notify your program director while the nurse removes your IV, and then you should be on your way.”

Jonah thanked the doctor politely and held his hand out as the nurse approached his bedside, careful not to tug on the line. She looked him directly in the eyes once more, expression primarily concealed by the paper face mask over her mouth. He saw a steely flash of something dangerous as she looked at him attentively, but as quickly as it came, her expression melted back into a pleasant pseudo-grin.

She removed the IV swiftly without any more significant commentary. By the time Mr. Abhion reentered the room, he was attempting to rub the adhesive off the back of his hand with only marginal success.

“We may go as soon as you’re ready. I have a craft waiting in the parking lot,” Mr. Abhion said, watching with a tired expression as Jonah swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful of the metal railing.

“That’s great, but I’d love some pants first,” Jonah replied, trying to ignore the unpleasant sensation of cold, sterile air blowing across his back through the gap in his hospital gown. “Underwear preferably as well. Maybe a shirt, if you're feeling generous.”

“Alright, there’s no need for the sarcasm,” Mr. Abhion sighed, one hand coming up to the bridge of his nose. “There’s supposed to be something in one of the drawers over there,” he explained, waving towards the roller cart next to his bed. “I’ll just wait in here. Please be quick about it. I’ve had an incredibly long day.” his sentence trailed off at the end as if it were an afterthought as he entered the small bathroom, shutting the door behind him with just a little too much force resulting in a loud slam.

True to his word, there was a neatly folded set of heather gray sweat shorts and IOBA branded T-shirt in the bottom drawer, as well as some slippers and a pair of boxers that were one size too big to be comfortable, but it was certainly better than nothing.

He got dressed quickly, both out of an unexpected sympathy for Mr. Abhion and his personal desire to leave the unsettling hospital room. The ache in his shoulder flared up to a steady burn as he lifted his arms over his head. He wracked his brain for what could’ve caused that injury before the faint memory of slamming his shoulder into the hover-van started to come together. The doctor said he dislocated it, but he hadn’t registered the pain at the time. Adrenaline is funny like that, he supposed.

Curiously, he lifted his left leg off the bed, looking at the underside of his thigh, and as he suspected, a deep purple bruise colored the skin there. He prodded at it, wincing as he felt the hardened tissue underneath, a telltale sign of injection site swelling.

The realization that they had underestimated him so severely didn’t particularly come as a surprise. Had he been someone who didn’t know what an injection site hematoma looked like, who wouldn’t have realized the type of cuffs they had on him now could never have caused his injury, and who wouldn’t have known to trust his initial reaction that something was off he may have yielded to the calculated insistence that he’d simply been in a car accident and everything was fine. But he’d spent his entire life batting in a playfield much too large with a name tag that read ‘ignorant human’ slapped right onto the front of his babyfaced forehead. Being underestimated was his home turf.

As soon as he finished pulling the shorts up around his hips, he walked over to the bathroom door, rapping his knuckles against the heavy synth-wood door.

“Alright, I’m ready,” he informed, kneading the thumb of his other hand lightly into the tendons on the front of his sore shoulder. He took a wide step back as the finance director moved past him wordlessly. “You’ll have to lead since I have no idea where we’re going or where we even are, for that matter.”

“As expected, considering you’ve been unconscious for the past two days,” Mr. Abhion began explaining as he turned down one of the stark hospital highways, looking over his shoulder to ensure Jonah was following. “We’re at the Silver Valley Medical Center. It’s a private hospital on the edge of the city partnered with the IOBA. The IOBA medical center is more equipt for research and experimental treatments, while you required care from a proper hospital, so we had to bring you here.”

Jonah noticed that the round LED elevator buttons only lit up once Mr. Abhion was close enough to touch them. It could’ve been a proximity light, but Jonah suspected it was sensing the RFID in his badge the same way the IOBA’s lab doors operated. They spent the rest of their short walk to the parking circle in front of the building in uneventful silence. Jonah continued to subtly scan the space for details but found nothing of note once they entered the more public part of the hospital.

A small four-seat private craft waited for them just outside the doors, decorated with the IOBA’s logo in its back window, identical to the vehicles they used to take him to and from his HARP appointments.

Mr. Abhion sat in one of the seats facing him, his broad suit clad back to the front windshield as the hovercraft’s doors pulled shut with a hiss of air. The noise echoed through his head, too similar to the sound of the dart gun firing from Dr. Grelain’s hand as he sprinted desperately for the warehouse door, so sure he’d be able to make it to the lab in time. He’d been so sure…

“Are you anxious?” Mr. Abhion questioned, snapping him out of the memory. “This is the same craft you got in your accident in, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I didn’t think it’d be a problem since I still don’t really remember the accident, but I guess some part of me still knows,” he reasoned, allowing the genuine flash of panic he’d felt to show in his body language. He felt an odd sense of gratitude at the fortuitous timing of his brief traumatic flashback.

“That would make sense,” Mr. Abhion nodded with a cold sense of sympathy as he leaned back in the faux leather seat, one hand drumming on the back of his briefcase. “We should take this time to discuss HARP scheduling. Your doctor informed me that you are clear to return to work, physically at least. Do you have any objections to me trying to schedule you?”

“No, I don’t. I’d actually like to get back to it as soon as possible. I feel kind of guilty that I wasn’t able to meet my last client, even if it couldn’t be helped,” he replied, backing his honest answer with a complete lie. Seeing the IOBA’s selection of clientele would potentially be the most legitimate information he could gather without raising any alarms. If he were lucky, he’d get another client like the Vek who would have a way of giving him information covertly, not that his encounter with the Vek was a situation he’d specifically like to repeat.

“I’m glad to hear that. There’s a relatively long list of clients we’d like to pair with you, so I should be able to get something scheduled for tomorrow. Expect an email with your updated schedule sometime tonight.” Mr. Abhion replied as he flicked his datapad open, screen held vertically away from Jonah’s line of sight.

“Are you the one who makes the schedules, or is it someone above you?” Jonah asked, prompting a stern look from the other man. “I mean, don’t tell me if it’s classified, of course. I was just curious.”

“I help make your schedule, but I do not have the final say,” he answered, “As with any influential program, there are multiple overseers.”

“Right, right, that makes sense,” Jonah nodded absently, turning to look out the heavily tinted windows as they pulled onto the skyway. An endless tide of slender cement buildings with stylishly mirrored windows shot by as they flew back to the IOBA headquarters. It was odd to think that this was the first time he’d truly left headquarters since the HARP project started, and even then, he hadn’t spent a single moment free from their watchful eye. To think a simple internship had somehow devolved into an involuntary detainment slash personal clandestine operation.

Mr. Abhion dropped him off at his apartment without fanfare. A simple goodbye and the hovercraft was pulling back onto the skyway with the stern-faced finance manager inside sending rapid emails about Jonah’s next alien sex partner. At first, the choice to drop him off unsupervised felt like a careless one, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized this IOBA-run apartment complex was probably coated with surveillance equipment enforced by so many redundancies it’d be impossible for one person to take the system down. In addition, the lobby was always staffed by a rotational security guard in front of the only public elevator up to the complexes, and its proximity to the IOBA’s headquarters meant the entire force of the organization could descend on this location in just minutes. They weren’t worried about him being alone here because he was never truly alone as long as the IOBA logo flickered on the side of the building.

His apartment looked exactly as he remembered leaving it down to the coffee-stained mug sitting abandoned in his sink. The only outlier was a plain paper bag in the center of his small kitchen table with a piece of paper stapled to the side reading “HARP JB personal items.” In it, he found his phone, work datapad, and the shoes he’d been wearing the day of the ‘accident’ all wrapped neatly in clear plastic that reminded him uncannily of the bags they used to store crime scene evidence.

It only took him a few minutes to find traces of stalkerware on his phone in one of the obscure folders in his settings. Who knew the rants about jailbreaking software his old dubiously tech-savvy friend from high school forced him to endure would come in handy? He wasn’t knowledgeable enough about the software to even attempt to remove it without immediately alerting whoever had been assigned the uneventful job of monitoring his data, so he stored that information away for now. If it was just location tracking, he could use that to his advantage, but if it cataloged his activity like he suspected it did, that could be a real hindrance.

He began cleaning the small pile of dishes spoiling in the sink, eager to occupy his hands with something mindless while he attempted to process the onslaught of information he’d endured over the past few days. No miraculous revelations surfaced, and before he knew it, rays of the setting sun began to glare under the half-lowered blinds of his west-facing windows as evening approached.

His datapad pinged loudly, sharp plastic corners vibrating incessantly against his chrome-plated kitchen table until he snatched the device up, opening it with an irate swipe. A “HARP calendar updated” notification glared back at him from the top of the screen. The datapad beeped a second time as an email from Mr. Abhion came in, replacing the message with the subject line “JB HARP Appointment 14/12 Client Notes.”

His brief spark of excitement at the idea of receiving comprehensive information on his new client was quickly squashed as he opened the one-paged attachment. He’d be meeting with a Kynakian tomorrow, a canine-like alien that reminded Jonah a lot of the old-school bipedal werewolves he’d read about in vintage horror novels. There was no information about where they hailed from, their reproductive anatomy, or even a name. He huffed, closing the document and scanning the brief email for an explanation.

Buried in Mr. Abhion’s wordy, corporate jargon, Jonah pulled out a few notable pieces of information; this appointment would be in an offsite complex the IOBA was using to house the displaced Kynakians and that Kynakian mating involved “multiple clients,” so he should “prepare himself accordingly.” He brushed off any specifics, simply saying that the Kynakian's would explain during their meeting.

He sighed. He could tell that Mr. Abhion was attempting to satiate his request for more information on his clients by providing the bare minimum, but at least the man was taking his wishes into mind, even if the result was less than satisfactory. He’d mention it to Ter’ione and see if he could prod for a little more information about his next client.

Come to think of Ter-ione, he’d yet to hear from his assigned handler. Despite the apathetic bird-woman being thrust upon him as a mandatory babysitter, he found himself missing her quiet company. At times, he had to remind himself that she was an assistant just like he’d been, the lowest tier in the company, at the mercy of whatever inane task a superior requested that day. Their life paths likely weren’t so different, years and years of secondary education finally leading to a coveted position, only to be faced with a towering corporate hierarchy. Ter’ione must’ve played her cards right to land a job directly under the special program director. He was jealous, in a way. A month ago, he would’ve done anything to be in her place, back when he was falling asleep at his computer sorting through terabytes of data on localized mortality rates by species and profession for the analytics department.

He shot a brief message to Ter’ione asking if she’d be the one escorting him to his appointment tomorrow, but his phone remained silent the rest of the evening.

As he lay down to sleep, he was plagued by patchwork memories of Dr. Grelain and his attempted escape. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of the warehouse door growing closer and closer. He could feel the soles of his feet slamming against the rough asphalt. He reached his hand out to the door. It felt close enough to touch, or had it? He wasn’t sure what they’d done to alter his memory so severely, but he was confident the sedatives played a role. The scene began to warp as soon as he was shot, colors melting together, twisting, writhing shapes. Even if they hadn’t done anything to him after that point, his memories of the event would’ve been inconsistent and fuzzy at the edges, but his two-day period of unconsciousness implied there was more at play.

Memory alteration was never a field that had interested Jonah. He didn’t care for the implications of it, despite some arguments for positive psychiatric applications. He remembered catching wind of some promising research surrounding the topic after a scientist off-world successfully cultivated an “ideal blend of natural psychedelics,” but he hadn’t bothered to read any articles on it. Curiosity crept into his thoughts, a persistent itch that he resolutely forced down. He couldn’t risk researching it on either the IOBA's computers or his personal devices, so, for the time being, he filed it away into the quickly growing list of “questions to be investigated later.”

He placed a hand absently on his stomach as he lay on top of his blankets, staring up at the ceiling. A bitter taste lingered in the back of his mouth as he wondered what had become of the Vek’s clutch. His chest felt heavy with guilt, ribs weighing heavily against his lungs despite knowing there was nothing he could’ve done. Then again, when did logic have much sway over profound emotion?

Another hour passed, and sleep continued to evade him, hiding behind a cinema of poorly edited imagery as his fractured memories continued to loop, coming in and out of focus with each repetition. He pulled himself up into a seated position with a disgruntled sigh, rubbing at his eyes with his unbandaged hand. He padded blearily over to the bathroom, avoiding looking at the time on his phone, and opened one of the pirmarily untouched drawers below the sink. The small basket of pill bottles rattled noisily as he leafed through the pile, purposefully ignoring the gaudy bottle of libido enhancement pills he’d tossed to the back of the drawer during his first night in the apartment. He easily located the slim purple bottle, flicking the plastic lid open with a pop. Just as he began to pour a single sleeping pill into the palm of his other hand, he stopped, outstretched fingers shaking. The idea of taking any medication to affect his mental state dredged up a powerful wave of nausea as he stared down at the unassuming bottle. His free hand flew to his mouth as his chest jolted, forcing him to lean to the side, madly fumbling for the edge of the toilet as he gagged hard.

The feeling passed as quickly as it came, leaving him irately tired, hunched over on the bathroom floor, surrounded by a spattering of tiny white pills spilled across the dark tile floor. He cleaned them up in a daze, flushing the spilled tablets down the toilet before he fell back into bed wearily, hoping that sleep would grant him pity.

The next thing he heard was his alarm buzzing as a robotic voice declared the time as nine am. He wasn’t being picked up from his apartment until six that evening to meet his next client, but he wasn’t sure if he was grateful for the free time or not. On the one hand, there were a lot of housekeeping things that had become neglected in the recent whirlwind of events, but on the other hand, he knew he would use most of the time to drive himself in circles, unproductively ruminating over his growing list of questions and hypothesis.

He spent the rest of the day watching the minutes tick by as he alternated between a list of miscellaneous chores and maddening contemplation. He repeatedly cursed his inability to do any additional research as he ran through the same series of events over and over again. Around noon, he finally caved, pulling a piece of scrap paper from a half-full notebook tucked into an abandoned box he’d procrastinated sorting. It was lucky he even had paper in his apartment since the majority of his research and note-taking were conducted digitally. He began by making a list of theories;

1) The IOBA was conducting illegal mining operations off-world and using HARP to repopulate those displaced species on their own monopolized planet.

2) The IOBA, or maybe the entire United Coalition, had a classified headquarters on Vichi, likely for facilitating their illegal operations.

3) Both Mr. Abhion and Dr. Grelain were deeply involved in whatever was going on, but Mr. Abhion majority answered to someone above him.

He started at the short list, displeased with his third theory's lack of specifics, but decided to leave it for now. If this were a typical research project, he’d craft a detailed hypothesis from his theories and develop a test to confirm or deny it. Since that wasn’t directly feasible, he began a second list of things he’d learned that led him to those theories, followed by a third list of unanswered questions until the paged was scribbled border to border with choppy sentences and question marks.

The clock dinged five o’clock by the time he finally crumpled the piece of paper in one hand, feeling slightly less pent up but no closer to a conclusion. He set the crumpled wad in the sink before grabbing a light stick from one of the kitchen drawers watching absently as the paper crumbled into a mess of black char in the tiny flame, making sure to block the view of any potential cameras throughout the process. He washed the burnt remnants down the sink, casually slipping the lighter back into its drawer along with a ladle he grabbed from the drying rack.

He took a quick shower with the knowledge that all of the effort he put into being clean now would be immediately nullified by whatever was about to happen during his HARP appointment, but the hot water still eased his achy shoulder. The deep abrasion on his wrist still stung as he removed the bandage, but a layer of thin new skin had begun to form over the wound. He rubbed the pad of his thumb lightly over the pinkish spot, certain it would scar. He was grateful for the injury in a twisted sort of way. It was a permanent mark, forever reminding him of the memories the IOBA nearly took from him.

There was a sharp knock at the door as he sat on the couch, aimlessly passing the time by sorting through his neglected email inbox. Ter’ione stood in the doorway, silverish hair slicked back into a severe bun as she greeted him with a curt nod.

“Good evening, Jonah,” she greeted politely, hands resting formally on the outer seams of her pant legs. “I’m glad to see you are well.”

“Ter’ione!” he exclaimed before he reeled himself back in at the woman’s unchanging expression. “Uh, I’m glad to see you’re OK as well. I mean, they said you were OK when I asked, but I haven’t heard from you since then. I tried texting you last night.”

“Apologies, I have been away from my personal devices recently,” she answered, “but I appreciate your concern.” She turned over her shoulder and began walking briskly down the hallway before Jonah could question her further. Any attempt Jonah made to spark conversation on their way to the car was met with curt, one-word replies. By the time the hovercraft pulled out of the apartment complex’s parking lot, Jonah had just about given up.

“How long is the drive?” he asked, one finger tapping restlessly on his knee. “Mr. Abhion didn’t say where we’re actually going, just that it was off-site.”

“Approximately 30 minutes,” she answered before pulling out her datapad, propping it up on her crossed legs. Jonah let out a quiet huff, annoyed at her sudden resistance to communicate. While Ter’ione had never exactly come across as chatty, she’d become gradually more talkative as they spent more time together. However, it seemed she’d completely regressed to her stiffly formal manner of speaking overnight. Jonah filed it away in his perpetually growing list of questions.

It was odd to travel to the outskirts of the city twice in just as many days after his extended period of isolation in the IOBA’s headquarters. The herculean sky towers gradually gave way to sprawling neighborhoods of two-story condos dappled with petite grocery stores and concrete strip malls.

About half an hour later, the automated craft began drifting to the right side of the highway before exiting into a neighborhood Jonah had never heard of before. They glided by a mixture of factory buildings and tightly packed apartment buildings painted in varying shades of beige that ran together the longer Jonah stared. They came to a halt in front of an unassuming warehouse decorated with sprawling panels of alternating black and brown siding. Jonah squinted out the window, scanning for any sign or logo, but found the windowless building devoid of identifying features.

Ter’ione silently led him to a door on the side of the building, unlocking it with a tap of her keycard against the proximity reader. Jonah anxiously thumbed at the edge of his T-shirt as they entered. He wasn’t thrilled to return to a warehouse so soon, even if this one bore little resemblance to the ones tucked behind the IOBA’s headquarters. The paranoid part of him felt that it may have been a vindictive choice to send him here off all places, but he tried to dismiss the thought.

Instead of walking into a communal space as he had in the Vek’s building, they entered into a wide hallway lined with humble offices, each decorated with personal trinkets and photos. They turned a few corners until Ter’ione stopped at an exceptionally larger door, its frame stretching several feet above Jonah's head, spanning his entire wingspan side-to-side.

“This is where the Kynakians are being housed. It’s a type of courtyard the IOBA has constructed for forest dwellers,” she explained, hands folded neatly in front of her. “They should be expecting you now.”

“Alright,” Jonah replied with a long exhale, “I’ll see you later then, Ter’ione.”

She swallowed as he looked her in the eyes earnestly, inspecting her dark irises for any hint of familiarity. A misplaced idealism might’ve clouded his judgment, but he thought, for a brief moment, he saw a flash of something somber in Ter-ione’s eyes.

“I’ll see you later, Jonah,” she replied in an uncharacteristically soft voice as he opened the heavy door, closing it so gently behind him it didn’t make a sound until the tumblers twisted shut.

Chapter Text

The courtyard was much larger than Jonah had expected. A dense thicket of trees obscured his view on both sides, all underneath a high glass-paneled ceiling that reminded Jonah of an old gothic church designed after the wooden architecture of an arched merchant ship. A spattering of walled tents peaked out between the lush evergreen trees to his right.

A broad figure posted between the door and the only visible gap in the trees turned his head down to look at Jonah, dark eyes shaded under a sharp brow. His face reminded Jonah more of a cat than a canine, short muzzle twitching as he observed Jonah cautiously with upturned eyes. His massive shoulders rounded steeply, pitching his posture forward. While he stood bipedally now, Jonah could see he was built in a way that allowed him to run on all fours. His shoulder blades were spread wide, giving him an impossibly broad silhouette, and his arms hung down low, thick, clawed fingertips stopping just above his knees.

“You are the one helping us from the IOBA, yes?” he verified as Jonah stopped a few feet in front of him, close enough to be conversational but still leaving a conservative amount of space. Jonah squared his posture, lifting his chin higher until he looked the significantly taller man in the eyes. He felt his heart rate thrumming just a fraction faster through his chest as he realized the man was naked, a dense coat of fur formed along his navel, mostly concealing the contours between his legs, mostly.

“Yes, I’m Jonah. I’m from the HARP program,” he confirmed, folding his hands politely in front of him as he waited for the canine-like xenomorph to respond.

He started down at Jonah again over the bridge of his dark, triangular nose before sniffing the air loudly, taking a few short steps towards Jonah. Jonah felt his spine straighten reflexively as he allowed the man to sniff him, staying uncomfortably still. The muscles in his digitigrade hind legs flexed visibly as he leaned down to the shorter man, taking one last audible sniff before he straightened back up.

“They did not lie,” he huffed, turning towards the center of the clearing before Jonah could reply, the hulking muscles in his back shifting as he looked back over his shoulder. “Come. I will bring you to the others.”

Jonah hurried to follow as the wolfish man began to walk further into the courtyard, lengthening his strides as much as he could without full-out jogging to match the xenomorph’s pace. His hand moved across his body as he began absentmindedly rubbing at the delicate scar tissue forming on his wrist with the thumb of his other hand, a new nervous tick he seemed to be picking up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” Jonah inquired as they moved through the thicket. Each tree cast an elongated shadow across the mossy green turf as the sunlight filtering through the curved glass ceiling began to vanish behind the city skyline.

“I am Barekt, commissioner of the Lchkian pack, second alpha,” he answered, halting momentarily to turn to Jonah with a polite nod.

“Alpha? Like old wolf pack theory?” Jonah asked. Barekt let out a short grunt as he continued walking. The sound was neither particularly negative nor affirmative, so Jonah could only assume it meant ‘sort of.’

“Kynakians do not have ‘male’ and ‘female’ like humans. We choose the way we look, the pronouns we like. Most alphas choose male, most omegas female or neither, but it doesn’t matter,” he explained, “Alpha and omega describe our biology. The number before it is about reproductive role. It’s a formal greeting.”

“Ah, I see,” Jonah, “I’m not sure there’s a human equivalent I can respond with.” Well, I suppose I could say my full name if that’d be more proper.”

Barekt stopped abruptly, forcing Jonah to lean back to avoid running his chest straight into the back of the wolfish man’s massive arm. “Wait here,” he directed, motioning to a platform in the center of the sizable clearing.

“Alright,” he agreed as Barekt turned and disappeared through the trees across from the short trail they’d used to enter. The platform he’d been referring to was an approximately six by six rectangle of concrete inlaid with an artistic pattern of clear, silverish stone along the beveled edges. A plush layer of mossy greenery covered the top of the platform, similar to the Earth native mood moss but darker in color with a mottled purple pattern just barely visible through the plush leaves. Four cracked columns were posted at the corners of the platform, each comprised entirely of a midnight blue opalescent stone dappled with glittering white specks that reminded Jonah of stars on a clear night.

Jonah took a tentative step towards the column closest to him, watching how the rays from the setting sun cut through the dark gem, dancing off the glistening sediment concentrated around the stone’s core. A severe crack marred one of the flat planes on the side of the column, the deepest part of the gouge spidering off into two smaller branches directly at Jonah’s eye level. Without thinking about it, he reached a hand up reverently, mesmerized by the myriad of blues reflecting through the core of the stone like moonlight filtering in through a pitch black sea. Something in the column seemed to thrum as he neared it with his fingertips, a bassy sound that rumbled along the back of his ribs. He could feel a cold aura radiating off the polished surface as his palm drifted closer, closer to the stone.

“So, Barekt was right,” a gravelly voice sounded behind him. Jonah jerked his hand back as if he’d grabbed a blade, pulling his arm to his chest as he whipped around to face the outside of the clearing. The thrumming feeling in his chest began to steadily dissipate as he looked up at another Kynakian man standing with his arms crossed over his bare chest, leaning comfortably against a tree to his side as if he’d been there for a moment. “The IOBA did not lie.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jonah rushed to explain, “I have no idea what I was doing. I shouldn’t have touched anything without permission, especially things that I have no idea what they are because I assure you I have no idea what that is, so if it’s important, I am so, so sorry. I-” he rambled, still clutching his wrist to his chest, shoulders tensing anxiously as he prattled on.

“Don’t be,” the wolfish man cut his apology off with a nonchalant wave of his hand, somewhere between a human hand and a paw with angled metacarpals in his palm to support the weight of his torso when on all fours, but fingers and claws long enough to still be dexterous. “You did exactly what I expected you to.”

“These serve some sort of purpose, don’t they? They feel a little too important just to be decorative,” Jonah asked, forcing his shoulders down lowered his hands to his sides.

The man nodded, short triangular ears flicking as he stood upright, pine needles rustling as he removed his body weight from its sturdy trunk. “They do,” he answered, “but before that, I should introduce myself. I’m Ivak, Lchkian pack leader, first alpha.”

Jonah ducked his head in a polite nod as he replied, “I’m Jonah Basset, but I think you knew as much.”

“Yes. The IOBA seems to love nothing more than sending papers, documents and documents full of serial numbers and technical nonsense.” he huffed, uncrossing his arms as he began to move across the clearing, “I don’t know if you know, but you’re not the first HARP participant they’ve sent us.”

Jonah’s eyebrows furrowed together as he watched Ivak approach with an even, relaxed gait. “No, they didn’t mention that,” he said, cataloging that information in his head for later. “What happened?”

“What happened?” he parroted, the corner of his mouth twitching up cynically, revealing a sharp set of canines. “They sent us someone so incompatible we would’ve had better luck impregnating the dirt then brushed us off with ‘oh well, we tried.’ She couldn’t feel the stones like you could, and worse, she stunk of another species. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve guessed they sent her to us straight from the bed of another one of their clients. It was insulting.” He took a deep breath, stopping a few feet in front of Jonah. “With that said, I hope you understand why we were a little hesitant to meet you. Nothing personal.”

“It’s alright. I didn’t really notice, to be completely honest. I assumed it was a cultural difference,” Jonah shrugged, “I have no idea what a typical level of hospitality is for Kynakians.”

“We’re usually a very warm people,” he explained, “but after we were forced to leave our homeworld, we’ve become more cautious around outsiders.”

“I don’t blame you,” Jonah replied with a soft, sympathetic smile, “I imagine that’d be pretty traumatic.” He paused for a moment. He wasn’t sure exactly how, but he was confident they were under some kind of surveillance. There was no way the IOBA trusted him, especially after the Vek incident. Putting him with a client already displeased with the IOBA felt too coincidental to be anything but a trap. However, it was still a logical follow-up question if he continued with his idea of playing a version of him who didn’t remember the Vek incident. He took in a steady breath and decided to take the risk. “Do you mind if I asked what happened?”

“I-” Ivak paused, “... It’s complicated. But it’s in the past now,” he replied, tone firm. Jonah doubted he’d get much else out of him on the topic, not by asking directly anyway. “How much do you know about our mating ceremony?”

“Not much, I’m afraid,” Jonah answered, watching as Ivak moved around the platform to one of the adjacent sides. “The guy who led me here mentioned a little bit about alphas and omegas and something about a numbering system, but that’s mostly it. I know I’ll be… uh, meeting with more than one of you tonight as well. When I asked for more information, I was told you’d be able to explain it better.”

“A lazy excuse, but they’re probably right,” Ivak said, resting one of his broad palms on the stone pillar between them. “To put it simply, alphas provide all the genetic material, and omegas raise the young. There’s no semen and egg as you’re probably used to. Multiple alphas will lay with an omega until what we call a bond occurs, meaning zygotes form from the semen of multiple alphas, if we’re being technical. We use the word ceremony to talk about it because this isn’t something we do often. It’s a sort of special occasion. We normally wouldn’t want outsiders involved in it, but after we left our homeworld, we discovered that our omegas couldn’t make the bond anymore. We’ve tried to recreate the ceremony exactly as we would’ve done on Aphus Central, but it hasn’t helped.”

Jonah’s eyes widened at the name Aphus Central. The largest planet in Aphus, its namesake galaxy, colloquially known as an intergalactic leader in synthetic woods and sustainable logging. Since Jonah had no specific interest in mahogany furniture, he hadn’t known much about the planet until recently. However, he did know that Vichi, the mysterious planet where Mi’anna had attended her clandestine meeting about HARP, was also in Aphus.

“The IOBA’s research hasn’t helped either, not until now at least,” Ivak continued his explanation, seemingly blind to Jonah’s revelation. “I saw the stones resonate with you. That’s the most promising sign we’ve had yet. The IOBA has designed a device that can transfer a zygote between omegas, or omega stand-ins, I suppose. We just need someone who can make the bond.”

“And for the next generation, the IOBA has told you they can make sure this group of offspring will be able to procreate in the United Coalition, right?” Jonah confirmed, moving a hand up to the other side of the pillar as he felt the reverberation begin in his chest.

“Yes…” Ivak replied, ears pulling back skeptically, “How did you know that? You said you hadn’t been told much.”

“They didn’t tell me,” he answered calmly as his palm came to rest on the cool stone surface. “One of my other clients was in a somewhat similar situation, so I made a guess. That’s all.” He thought back to his encounter with Baimir and ironically realized that he felt innocent back then. Sex with Baimir had been elementary compared to what he knew now. He missed that feeling, in a way. The chill of the stone felt soothing against the sanguine patches of thin scar tissue circling his wrist.

“So, how do we start?” he prompted after a brief moment of silence.

Ivak looked up from the stone, dark eyes resting on Jonah’s face. “Well, to start, the pack leader, myself, mates the selected omega in front of the participating pack members to confirm that you’ll be able to make the bond.”

“How can you tell?” Jonah asked.

“It’s an instinctual thing,” Ivak replied, “The stones will also give certain signals. And before you ask, no, I don’t really know how they work. They’re old relics from Aphus Central, not technically needed for the ceremony, but they help.” he dropped his hand from the pillar and moved around the platform again. “After that, things get a bit more… carnal. We’ll have to figure out how we’re going to use the IOBA’s fancy tool to transfer the bonds to our omegas, but our first omega, Akali, should be handling that. If you’d be more comfortable doing the first part of the ceremony in private, that’s an option.”

“I’m open to doing it however you’d prefer,” Jonah answered, watching as Ivak circled the platform until the towering, werewolf-like man was standing in front of him, “There’s not a lot that embarrasses me anymore.”

“I keep forgetting this might not be that strange to you,” Ivak mused aloud, cautiously reaching a hand out to rest on Jonah’s shoulder. “I’ll call the pack, and then we can begin.” Jonah nodded, forcing his muscles to be relaxed under Ivak’s hand as the larger man’s clawed thumb rubbed lightly at the crook of his neck.

If Jonah had given it a little more thought, he probably could’ve concluded that “calling the pack” meant howling, more specifically howling very loudly, very close to his ear, with no explicit warning. He winced hard as the dual-toned sound reverberated through the air, piercing through the artificial forest as the sunlight finally faded from the sky.

As Ivak’s howl puttered out, Jonah heard rustling in the brush first to his right, then behind him as figures began to emerge from the treeline. He turned over his shoulder to look as another figure appeared in his peripheral vision but stopped when he caught sight of movement directly in front of him. Heat rushed to his cheeks as his gaze traveled down the line of coarse, grizzled brown hair on Ivak’s stomach until he stopped at the sight of a massive cock unsheathing, ruddy red skin dripping with either precum or lubricant, Jonah wasn’t sure. His bulbous cockhead continued to inch forward, its base about even with the bottom of Jonah’s ribcage due to their height difference.

“Are you intimidated?” Ivak asked as Jonah continued to stare dumbly as the wolfish man’s cock extended, longer and longer, until finally, a bulbous knot soaked with clear fluid pushed its way out of the sheath, exposing his entire length.

“Not exactly,” Jonah replied, swallowing nervously as he felt the traitorous blush across his cheeks grow impossibly darker. “I just- may I?” he stammered, motioning vaguely between the man’s legs.

There was an unreadable sheen in Ivak’s dark eyes as he sniffed the air, triangular ears turning forward attentively. “Oh, you’re not intimidated,” he concluded, voice growing lower as his lip twitched up into a dangerous smile. “You’re eager.”

“I-,” he fumbled for a defense as a few hushed laughs sounded around the clearing, “I mean, would you rather I not be?” he questioned rhetorically, waving a hair through the air for emphasis. “You should take it as a compliment if anything.”

“Calm down, pup. I’m just teasing,” he dismissed with an easy chuckle, inching closer until the tip of his cock was inches from Jonah’s stomach, his grip growing firm on the human’s shoulder. “I’m happy that you’re excited. It’ll make the whole night much more enjoyable.”

“Is there a specific way we have to start or…” Jonah questioned, turning his head to the side to avoid Ivak’s gaze. A smaller Kynakian, just shy of seven feet tall, with slimmer shoulders and a slightly narrower muzzle, sat on a downed log a few feet behind the platform. Their dark eyes narrowed in on Jonah’s, one hand resting casually on their knee as they intently surveyed his face.

His shoulders jolted as Ivak grabbed his chin between the thumb and forefinger of his other hand, the pads of his fingertips pushing into Jonah’s skin as his face was turned back to meet Ivak’s gaze. “Don’t look at them. Right now, you focus only on me,” Ivak ordered, voice lowering into a formidably deep range that sent a pronounced shiver down Jonah’s spine as Ivak released his jaw.

Jonah opened his mouth to reply but cut himself off with an involuntary yelp as Ivak hoisted him deftly into the air by his hips. His fingers completely covered the span of Jonah’s lower back as he lowered the more petite man onto the edge of the platform. The moss had a surprisingly pleasant texture against Jonah’s skin, plush and velvety without the usual dampness he’d expect from its terrestrial equivalent.

He was forced to fall back onto his elbows as Ivak situated himself between Jonah’s legs, massive frame encompassing him. Jonah reeled, hands gripping reflexively at Ivak’s bicep as he felt the man’s cock brush his stomach. The Kynakian ran his hand roughly across Jonah’s back, claws slipping underneath his thin cotton T-shirt. Ivak growled when the fabric grew taught over his knuckles, stopping his hands from sliding over the back of Jonah’s shoulder.

Jonah only had a moment to process the feeling of claws hooking into the fabric over his spine before the noise of ripping fabric sounded through the clearing as Ivak tore into the shirt. Jonah let out a startled sound as the collar pulled at the front of his throat before it split apart in the wolfish man’s grip. Ivak wasted no time tossing the offending garment to the side, ignoring the chorus of whistles from their enthused audience. A few heckling comments sounded through the clearing, urging Ivak on as his hands returned to Jonah’s back, pulling the smaller man against him fervently.

The underside of Ivak’s cock pressed into his midriff, ruddy tapered head stopping just below his sternum. Teeth nipped at the side of his neck as Ivak’s hand trailed down along his ribs, claws grazing lightly across his skin until his thumb hooked around his thigh, fingertip inching closer to Jonah’s crotch.

A pleasurable sigh escaped his lips as Ivak rolled his hips forward, his heavy knot grinding against Jonah through his rapidly dampening shorts.

“Please undress me, please,” Jonah urged, voice soft and breathy as Ivak continued to rut against him, rubbing the fabric of his shorts back and forth, palpably soaking the material from both sides.

“Patience, pup,” Ivak chided, “We have all night.”

Jonah tried to formulate some witty comment about how Ivak hadn’t seemed very patient when he was ripping through Jonah’s clothes, but the retort died in his throat as a massive thumb pushed against his cock through his shorts, prodding curiously until he hit an angle that made Jonah gasp.

“What a nice sound,” Ivak mused, his tone low and taunting as he began rubbing circles around the spot, grinding against the shaft of Jonah’s little cock. “I can only imagine how you’ll sound when I breed you for the first time.”

“F-first time?” Jonah questioned, hips squirming vainly in the wolfish man’s unyielding grip. With one hand wrapped around his hip and the other inquisitively fondling the contours between his legs, it almost looked as if Ivak were playing with a toy. He shifted his hand again, eyes trained down as he pinched Jonah’s cock between two fingers, massaging rhythmically until Jonah gasped again. “Ah- how- how many times are you planning on…” Jonah trailed off, legs fidgeting around Ivak’s hips as he felt a new wave of slick fluid dribble out of his cunt, smearing across the inner seam of his shorts.

“How many times? Oh, pup,” Ivak chuckled lowly, the hand on Jonah’s hip releasing only to immediately snatch his jaw, pushing his chin up until the back of his head pushed into the plush moss. Ivak leaned forward, chest pressing Jonah’s body into the platform as he poised his canine-like fangs next to Jonah’s exposed throat. “As many as you can take.”

Jonah shivered, barely processing the hoots and howls of encouragement at the alpha's response from their audience as he felt wholly overpowered by Ivak’s dominating presence. The other clients Jonah had engaged with so far had been domineering in their own ways, often giving in to their instincts after a few gentle encouragements from his side, but their dominance had been a side effect. Ivak was a being built to overpower. Jonah swallowed hard, Ivak’s breath hot on the collum of his throat as a tinge of fear traveled down his spine. To his surprise, instead of being turned off at the potential danger, Jonah felt his body moving independently of his stalled brain, hips twitching between Ivak’s legs as the wolfish man straddled him.

The massive hand over Jonah’s crotch crept up to his waistband as Ivak leaned back, looking down at the dark flush across Jonah’s freckled cheeks with a smug grin.

“I thought you said things like this didn’t embarrass you?” Ivak questioned, running a clawed finger lightly along the exposed skin above his shorts.

“I-it’s not,” Jonah fumbled, “I’m not embarrassed. I’m just… impatient.”

“Impatient?” Ivak parroted. His hand stopped, two fingers hooked in his waistband, poised to pull the garment down. “Impatient for what, pup. Say it.”

“I-Impatient for you to fuck me,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What was that? I don’t think I caught that,” Ivak jeered, releasing Jonah’s jaw in favor of bracing his hand on the platform. “I want the whole pack to hear you this time.”

Jonah’s hands fidgeted in the moss as he swallowed hard. “I want you to take my pants off and fuck me already.” he began, holding Ivak’s predatory gaze. A pack member off to his side whooped enthusiastically as a few more behind him chuckled to each other. “I want you to fill me up with your massive cock and fuck me full of cum, please. I can take it. I’m so turned on. Just fucking touch me already, please.”

A few more pack members joined the chorus of voracious cheering as Jonah internally balked at his own words. In the heat of the moment, he was aware of his tendency to beg. However, as foreplay, Jonah often found himself too reserved to engage in much dirty talk. But the moment Ivak had prompted him, the words came tumbling out before he could process what he was saying.

Ivak’s dark eyes widened for a moment before he barked out a laugh, a droplet of spit flying onto Jonah’s cheek as he continued to loom over the more petite man. “Quite a mouth on you all of a sudden, huh pup? We’re gonna have a lot of fun with you tonight. I can already tell.” His laughter resided into a pleased growl as he ripped Jonah’s shorts down in a single motion, backing up for the briefest moment to pull them off before he tossed the garment into the trees.

He pried Jonah’s legs apart, one massive hand wrapped around each thigh as he shoved his knees back into the platform. Jonah let out a startled gasp as the wolfish man leered down at his spread cunt, hot breath palpable against his skin. Ivak leaned closer, inhaling deeply as Jonah squirmed in his grip.

As Jonah opened his mouth to speak, Ivak's tongue lashed out, licking a thick, wet strip up the other man’s cunt. Jonah let out a strangled swear as he felt the wolfish man’s flat, dog-like tongue push against his hole before lapping against the underside of his cock. Ivak repeated the motion, his vice-like grip around Jonah’s thighs tightening as he writhed against the platform.

Spit dripped down his ass as Ivak continued lapping at Jonah’s cunt, his pace gradually increasing. His strokes were sloppy, but the surface of his tongue was wide and velvety. What he lacked in precision, he more than made up for with enthusiasm. A soft growl rumbled in his throat as he licked deeper into Jonah’s cunt.

His large, flat tongue folded as he worked it eagerly into the tight passage. Jonah shuddered, hands snapping down to grab at Ivak’s head. He could feel the wolfish man’s tongue squirming inside him, slipping against his inner walls as Ivak pulled back, lapping over his cock again before he licked his way back into Jonah’s cunt.

His tongue bobbed shallowly in and out as Ivak’s strokes quickened. Jonah keened behind closed lips, hips twitching harder in Ivak’s grip as he squirmed mindlessly, unsure if his body was trying to escape or push closer to the borderline overwhelming sensation as Ivak continued to lap vigorously at his cunt. With one last subdued growl, Ivak pulled back, the fur around his chin dampened lewdly with slick and spit.

“Perfect,” Ivak growled, voice low and rumbly in Jonah’s ears. “You’re a perfect vessel.” Jonah was unable to respond as he lay under the larger man panting, little cock twitching needily at the sudden lack of stimulation.

Ivak wrapped both of his hands around Jonah’s back, palms fully encompassing his shoulder blades as he picked the more petite man up. Jonah could feel Ivak’s monstrous cock erect against his tailbone as the wolfish man flipped them around, rotating until Jonah’s back was pressed against his chest.

While laying on the platform, he’d only been able to hear their audience gathered around the edges of the clearing, but now he was fully facing the pack from his new spot in Ivak’s lap. Barekt sat closest to the platform, leaning forward attentively while one hand leisurely stroked his rapidly growing erection. Next to him, a smaller Kynikian rested with her legs spread wide, puffy cunt on full display as her dark eyes traced down Jonah’s body.

It was hard to get a solid headcount in the dim space, but Jonah could see at least two more rows of Kynikians behind them, predominantly sizable alphas with a few shorter figures scattered between them. His legs pressed together shyly, only to be pulled apart by Ivak’s forceful grip. The wolfish man lifted Jonah’s feet over the outer sides of his hairy thighs, spreading him for the entire pack to see.

The thick base of Ivak’s cock pressed against his cunt, shaft poised upright between his legs, head coming all the way up to his navel. He looked down at the peaked head as a droplet of milky precum oozed out, prominent against his ruddy red skin.

“Are you ready to take me?” Ivak asked, hands looping around his waist, fingers overlapping in front of Jonah’s stomach as he lifted the smaller man up slightly. “I can feel your little cock twitching. So needy.” he taunted as his shaft dragged against Jonah’s cunt.

“Yes, yes, I’m ready,” Jonah replied, his voice pitching up into a debauched whine as he leaned back against Ivak’s broad chest, rolling his hips further up the man’s length until his cockhead slipped across his cunt, catching on the upper edge of Jonah’s entrance.

One of Ivak’s hands dropped from his waist, resting around his thigh as Jonah snugged the pointed tip of Ivak’s cock in the shallowed part of his cunt. Even with the tapered head, Jonah felt the stretch almost immediately, cunt tightening reflexively before he forced it to relax. A line of slick fluid dripped down the underside of Ivak’s cock as Jonah looked up expectantly at the wolfish man.

“Well, are you waiting for permission?” Ivak questioned as he caught Jonah’s gaze. “I want the pack to see you work yourself open on my cock.” Jonah looked forward just as Ivak’s other hand left his waist, dropping his body down on the man’s massive cock. He squealed as he felt the enormous length force its way into his cunt. Ivak’s bulbous cockhead disappeared entirely, the divot behind his head popping through Jonah’s entrance, aggressively stretching him open in the wolfish man’s lap.

A few pack members further back in the clearing cheered as Jonah’s legs shook, body adjusting to the intense stretch. Thighs suddenly unable to support his weight, his body continued to sink down, gravity slowly piercing Ivak’s cock through him. He bit his lip hard, unable to stop himself as he took the monstrous cock centimeter by agonizing centimeter.

“Shh,” Ivak reassured, one hand whipping a tear off Jonah’s cheek as it fell from his lash line. “Your body will learn in a moment.”

Jonah whined pitifully, cunt spasming helplessly around the massive intrusion until the burn slowly faded as a new sensation pooled in his gut. A few droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead as he felt his body temperature rise, the heat concentrating in his stomach just a few inches below his navel. He looked down between his legs, panting hard. Ivak’s cock had worked itself about halfway into him, bulbous knot still a few inches away from his entrance. The visible part of Ivak’s shaft was gradually becoming soaked with clear fluid as slick poured from his cunt,

He felt his cunt yield to the man’s cock with unexpected ease. His hips twitched greedily onto his length before he could process the change. The intense stretch was still there as he sank down his shaft, but instead of bringing pain, the friction lit his nerves up with a mind-numbing pleasure.

“There you go, pup,” Ivak coaxed, his hand dropping back to Jonah’s waist, looping passively around his ribs. “Feels good, huh?”

Jonah nodded mutely against the wolfish man’s chest. His abs cramping as Ivak’s cockhead prodded against something deep inside of him before plunging in further.

“I’ll admit, I was worried when I saw how small you were. I was thinking, ‘how could such a little thing possibly take alpha cock without ripping in half?’ Sure, the pseudo-heat I’ll trigger will help, but even then,” Ivak mused, leering over Jonah’s shoulder to watch as the last few inches of his cock sank into the human’s cunt.

“The IOBA assured me it wouldn't be a problem. Said you’d proven to be real good at your job, but I didn’t really believe it, but now I’m sure,” he trailed off for a moment, hand tightening around Jonah’s thigh before the massive ropey muscles in his forearm flexed, shoving the smaller man down hard. Jonah’s startled yelp quickly dissolved into a wanton moan as Ivak’s knot shoved up against his stretched hole. The Kynikian’s cock was completely buried inside him, cunt stuffed blissfully full.

“Your body was made to take monster cock, wasn’t it?” Ivak jeered, hips jolting as he continued to rut his knot up against Jonah’s entrance, pulling a breathy whine from the human’s throat. “Wasn’t it?” he repeated, grinding forcefully into Jonah’s heat, jostling his hips side to side.

“Ah! Yes, yes, yes!” Jonah hurried to reply as Ivak’s cock pushed against his walls, stirring up his insides. He could feel Ivak’s weighty cockhead bumping against something deep in his stomach that made his mind go blank. “I was made to take monster cock! I was made to be stuffed full of monster cock. It feels so good, so deep,” the words tumbled uncontrollably out of his mouth. A logical part of his brain protested, bewildered by his behavior, but it was quickly stifled as Ivak’s cock continued churning inside of him, his massive knot teasing at the rim of his stretched hole.

“Fuck, fuck, I love it so much. I love monster cock. I love your cock, please, please. Please fuck me,” he prattled on feverishly, hips rolling with Ivak’s, trying to push his cock even deeper inside. “Please breed me. Breed me with your monster cock. I need it. I was made to be bred by monster cock. Oh, god, please, I was made for your cock.”

The pack watched Jonah beg with hungry eyes, little cock twitching over their alpha’s knot. “Look how desperate he is for it,” one voice said from somewhere in the trees. “He’s begging louder than a bitch in heat!” another taunted. “Are all humans monster sluts, or is it just this one?” Barekt let out a low chuckle in front of him. “I wonder how long he’ll last?” the omega next to him questioned.

Ivak let out a hungry growl as he pulled Jonah up a few inches by his waist before slamming him back down, hips slapping audibly against the smaller man’s ass. Jonah’s begging trailed off into unintelligible moans as Ivak began fucking roughly into him, sliding him up and down over his cock like a human fleshlight. He started with short, forceful strokes. The head of his cock stayed buried deep in Jonah’s guts as he bobbed a few inches in and out.

“Oh- oh,” Jonah’s breath stuttered each time Ivak’s knot punched up against his entrance, stretching him open even wider around the grapefruit-sized bump. “Yes, yes, fuck me!”

“I was trying to control myself,” Ivak grunted as he picked Jonah up higher, hips snapping up powerfully as he pulled the petite man back down. “I really was, pup. But when you beg like that, it makes me want to ruin you.” He pistoned his hips relentlessly into Jonah’s heat, bouncing him up into the air with the sheer force of his thrusts. Jonah’s arms went momentarily limp by his sides as his body shook on the man’s lap, brain stuttering to a halt as Ivak fucked every thought right out of his head.

He could feel the pack's eyes on him; some laughed as they watched how his body quivered helplessly on their alpha’s cock, some obscenely stroking their impressive lengths as they waited for their turn.

A line of spit dribbled down his chin as his tongue peeked out over his bottom lip, mouth stuck half open in a perpetual moan as Ivak’s cock drilled into him relentlessly. Ivak propped an arm behind him on the platform, keeping Jonah flush against his chest as he leaned back slightly. Jonah screamed as the new angle tilted Ivak’s cock forward, dragging heavily against his sensitive upper walls.

His cunt spasmed, squirting clear fluid onto the grass in front of them as Ivak’s tapered cockhead rubbed against Jonah’s G-spot. Ivak let out a self-satisfied chuckle as he slammed the more petite man back down on his cock. His knot caught on the edge of Jonah’s entrance, but he forced the human’s body down, hips swaying as he worked the massive gland into Jonah’s fucked out cunt.

“Gh- f-fuck!” Jonah swore, wrenched from his stupor as Ivak began to muscle his swollen knot into the tight passage, cockhead writhing against an impossibly deep point below his stomach. “Oh god, fuck, it’s too big. Ivak, it’s too big. I can’t- ah!”

His body slipped down in Ivak’s lap as the knot popped through his entrance, sinking into his cunt with a loud squelch. A strangled gasp pulled itself from his throat as his eyes rolled back into his head, thighs quivering in Ivak’s lap as his orgasm crashed over him. He clenched fervently around Ivak’s knot, cunt desperately trying to milk his cock as the wolfish man let out a throaty groan, hand tensing around Jonah’s ribs.

Ivak’s hips rocked back and forth as he abruptly yanked Jonah’s body up, praying his knot out of Jonah’s cunt with a pop before sinking the large nodule back in.

“Ooh god,” Jonah gasped mindlessly as Ivak continued to thrust his knot in and out of Jonah’s abused cunt. His eyes fluttered as he felt the knot shudder. Ivak let out a low grunt as he pistoned his rapidly swelling knot up into Jonah’s entrance one last time, holding the smaller man’s body down as his cock twitched, releasing a flood of cum deep in Jonah’s cunt.

Ivak’s hips jolted, the thick vein on the underside of his cock pulsing as he came. Jonah whined as a hot wave of cum swelled forward, only to be locked in by Ivak’s massive knot. He could feel Ivak’s cock pumping him fuller and fuller, stuffing him with cum until his belly threatened to distend under the wolfish man’s hand.

“You’re taking my cum so well,” Ivak praised with a low growl, “But I can’t be too greedy.”

“Huh?” Jonah questioned dumbly, still panting against Ivak’s chest as the man’s cock stilled inside him. Ivak’s fingers tightened around his waist as he tugged Jonah’s body up, pulling his partially swollen knot from Jonah’s cunt. A torrent of thick, white cum gushed from his gaping entrance, pooling on the platform between Ivak’s legs before overflowing onto the grass.

His half-hard cock bobbed between Jonah’s legs as Ivak repositioned the human on his lap, pulling Jonah higher up on his chest. With a shaky hand, Jonah pushed sweat-soaked blond bangs off his forehead as Barekt rose to his feet, moving to stand between Ivak’s legs.

The other Kynakian looked down at Ivak over Jonah’s shoulder, dark eyes unreadable in the moonlight as he asked in an uncharacteristically formal tone, “Alpha, can I proceed?”

He tipped his head back just in time to see Ivak’s chin bob down as he nodded silently, looping his hands under Jonah’s thighs and lifting them up. Jonah looked away shyly from the other man’s face as Ivak brazenly presented his cunt, remnants of the alpha’s load trickling from his entrance, creating sloppy puddles in the wolfish man’s lap.

Barekt leveled his cock between Jonah’s legs. It was almost identical to Ivak’s; deep crimson skin soaked in a clear layer of precum with a thick, smooth head ending in a gentle taper. His cock seemed a little shorter than Ivak’s but still gargantuan by any human standard. The shaft curved upwards slightly, showing off the thick vein that ran up the underside of his cock before it disappeared into his significantly smaller knot.

Jonah bit his lip nervously as Barekt took a half step forward, using one hand to maneuver himself until his tip gently prodded at the more petite man’s cock. For a moment, Jonah questioned his ability to endure another round so quickly before his lagging body caught up, and he realized that the initial wave of exhaustion he’d felt after cumming around Ivak’s knot had already vanished. His little cock twitched eagerly as Barekt slowly thrust his hips forward, grinding his cock between Jonah’s legs.

Jonah’s hips writhed in Ivak’s lap, seeking out more friction as the underside of Barekt’s cock rubbed against his cunt. “I’m ready. I can take it,” he whined. Ivak let out a low chuckle next to his ear as his hands tightened around Jonah’s thighs, restraining his eager fidgeting. “Come on. Please, fuck me. Fuck me again. I can take it, please. I can take it.”

“Be patient,” Barekt tsked disapprovingly at his pleads the way someone might discipline a child. “I’ll fuck you at whatever pace I please.” He slowed his already unhurried movements, leisurely sliding his cock through Jonah’s folds, coating his shaft in a thick layer of cum as his knot rubbed at Jonah’s entrance before he backed up, repeating the motion.

Jonah threw his head back against Ivak’s chest with a whimper as the alpha’s unyielding grip on his legs forced him to endure Barekt’s incessant teasing. Thick droplets of cum dripped onto his stomach as Barekt smeared Ivak’s load across his skin, painting his thighs white. Jonah rolled his head to the side as wet sounds began to echo through the clearing. Motion in the trees immediately caught his eye, and it only took him a moment to realize that several members of the pack had turned their attention to each other after Ivak had knotted him. What had started as a spectacle had quickly descended into a massive outdoor orgy.

The omega he’d seen watching him so intently earlier caught his gaze again, one hand gripping a handful of fur on the back of an alpha’s head between their thighs. He could hear the larger Kynikian lapping enthusiastically at the omega’s cunt as they watched Jonah intently.

“Having fun?” the omega questioned, forearm flexing as they shamelessly braced the alpha’s head between their legs. They laughed tauntingly as Jonah started disbelievingly back at them. “You look so cum drunk. I’d be surprised if you still remember your own name.”

“Akali, be nice,” Ivak chastised, “Don’t pretend you were any better the first time you were in his position.”

Barekt regarded the teasing omega with a dismissive look as he continued rutting his cock between Jonah’s legs, feeling how the human’s reddened cunt clenched and unclenched eagerly, forcing out messy globs of cum and slick.

“Yeah, after four or five loads, maybe,” Akali shot back, waving their free hand flippantly through the air. “He’s completely cock drunk after one knot. I can’t wait to see what he looks like by the end of the night. You alphas love your omegas all fucked out and needy though, don't you?”

A low, irritated growl sounded from deep in Barekt’s throat as he reached a hand forward, carding his claws through Jonah's damp, blond curls before he grasped a handful of strands in his massive fist. “You say that as if he isn’t enjoying it,” he argued, hips pulling back until the tip of his cock nestled in Jonah’s entrance, tapered head pushing in just a fraction. “Go on. Tell Akali how much you’re enjoying it.”

Jonah stuttered, head affixed in Akali’s direction as he met the omega’s dark eyes. MIndlessly rambling to Ivak in a haze of animalistic lust before the man fucked him had been one thing, but the idea of confessing his debauch desire to a spectator made him choke up.

“Come on, pup,” Barekt prompted, grasping his shaft with his other hand as he slapped his weighty cockhead against Jonah’s cunt. “I know you can beg real nice. Let’s hear it.”

“Ah,” he gasped as Barekt swatted his hypersensitive cock with a wet slap, slap, slap. “I-It feels good. It feels so good. I want it so bad. I want to be fucked again.” he felt his hesitation crumble into nothing as the words tumbled out of his mouth. “I need it. I need to be filled again. It feels so good. I can’t- please. Ah!” he screamed as Barekt snapped his hips forward, burying his cock up to the hilt in Jonah’s cunt, knot and all. Cum spurted out against his skin as it was displaced by Barekt’s massive length.

“Ooh fuck, yes,” he moaned, eyes fluttering as Barekt’s cockhead pressed into the little spot deep inside him that made his toes curl. The larger man chuckled over him, a fistful of blond hair still grasped in one hand as he positioned his other on Jonah’s waist.

“See, Akali,” Barekt said as he tugged his half-swollen knot against Jonah’s entrance before driving his hip forward again. Jonah gasped, legs shuddering in Ivak’s grip. “He loves it, don’t you?” He accented his question by pulling out, knot popping free as he slid his cock out of Jonah’s cum filled cunt, before thrusting in again with the same amount of force.

“Yes, yes!” he keened as Barekt’s pace gradually accelerated until he was jackhammering in and out of Jonah’s cunt like a machine, loud slapping filling the clearing as he bottomed out on every thrust.

“Oh- f-fuck. I love it. I love it,” he moaned, body jerking like a ragdoll against Ivak’s chest as Barekt slammed into him fervently. Time blurred together as Barekt fucked him against his alpha’s chest. Slurred moans slipped from Jonah's lips, punctuated around Barekt’s thrusts as each stroke punched the air from his lungs.

He barely noticed when Barekt’s knot began to swell, catching on his entrance as the node engorged until its size was comparable with Ivak’s. A whimper escaped his throat as the wolfish man forced his cock inside one final time, sinking in with a grunt as Jonah’s cunt stretched around the gradually inflating knot.

Jonah’s eyes rolled back into his head as he felt a surge of hot cum bubble up in his guts, spilling out around Barekt’s cock as the man pumped his load deep inside. His body twitched helplessly as the sensation of being filled again sent him over the edge, whiting out his vision as he came.

His legs flopped limply onto Ivak’s thighs as the alpha dropped him, panting desperately as Barekt, leaned back, cock firmly locked in Jonah’s cunt. Ivak grabbed his waist, lifting him effortlessly off his lap as he slid to the side before setting him back down on the edge of the platform. Barekt’s hand wrapped around his back, palm spread wide over his spine as he lowered Jonah down until he was supine on the soft mossy altar.

A large shadow appeared over him, blocking the moon high in the sky through the courtyard’s paneled glass ceiling. He looked up at an unfamiliar Kynikian towering over him as his breathing gradually evened out.

“Hello, I am Dobru, attendant of the Lchkian pack, fifth alpha,” he greeted formally as his erect cock bobbed a few inches from Jonah’s head. Jonah’s eyes crossed on the massive shaft waving above the head as he processed the radical juxtaposition between his shameless erection and his proper tone. Seemingly unaware of his bewilderment, Dobru continued his introduction, waving his hand towards another Kynikian who had appeared behind Barekt. “And that is Vyshko, assistant commissioner, third alpha.”

“Uh, hello,” he replied awkwardly. They felt far past introductions at this point, considering they’d just watched Jonah take two massive loads of cum while begging like a whore on the lap of what was essentially an alien werewolf, but who was he to deny customs?

“Are you ready?” Barekt asked, bracing his hands on Jonah’s thighs. He looked up at the man before realizing that Barekt directed the question over his shoulder at the newcomer behind him. Vyshko appeared slightly older than the other Kynikian’s he’d seen so far. There was a light spattering of white hairs across his muzzle extending to the longer furs under his chin broken up by a formidable scar that marred the side of his face, narrowly avoiding his eye.

A curt nod from the older Kynikian was the only warning he got before Barekt jerked his hips back, pulling his still swollen knot from Jonah’s cunt with a grunt. A gasp left Jonah’s lips as he felt Barekt’s cock slip from his entrance, followed by an overflow of cum gushing hotly against his skin as it flooded out of his cunt.

The moment Barekt stepped back from the platform, Vyshko strode forward, snatching Jonah’s hips with both hands as he snapped his hips forward, pistoning his sizable cock into the human before Barekt’s load had time to escape.

“Jesus fucking-!” he swore, hands fisting in the moss hand enough to turn his knuckles white. Vyshko immediately picked up the pace, wasting no time waiting for Jonah to adjust as he began drilling into the smaller man’s cunt. A prominent squelch, squelch, squelch noise filled the clearing as he pounded through two loads of cum, his monstrously thick shaft preventing more than a few droplets of cum from tricking out.

Dobru laughed above him as he reached down to run his claws lighting over the back of Jonah’s neck before he grabbed a handful of hair near the base of his skull. “Sorry, he’s never been much of a talker,” Dobru half-heartedly apologized, turning Jonah’s head until his cheek pushed against the moss. “It’s been a long time since we got to do this, you see? And seeing you beg for our alpha like that really didn’t help.”

Jonah struggled to focus, vision blurring as his body jolted across the platform. His cunt felt oversensitive, like every nerve was firing at maximum capacity. He could feel each vein drag against his walls as Vyshko pistoned away, long strokes striking the entrance of his cervix while his knot stimulated Jonah’s G-spot on every backstroke.

“We used to fuck an omega like this at least once a lunar cycle, but we’ve been in the UC for, what? Four months now?” Dobru continued, seemingly uninterested in whether Jonah was following his monologue or not. “Four months without a mating ceremony all because the stupid IOBA forced us out of Myradr. Do you have any idea how worked up that makes you? I could barely contain myself when Ivak was mating you. God, the sounds you make-”

“Just put your dick in his mouth already!” Akali’s voice called from somewhere behind him, cutting Dobru off.

The logical part of Jonah’s brain had been forced into submission the moment Ivak began toying with him, but it was still present enough to scream in protest somewhere in the back of Jonah’s mind as Dobru silenced himself with a huff. His initial plan had been to take clients again to gather information from them, but that had fallen apart spectacularly as soon as the carnal, increasingly dominant, whorish part of him took over.

He tried to recall Dobru’s brief tirade of information, struggling to remember even the basic details as Vyshko’s cock drilled in and out of him, flooding his body with stimulation. ‘They’ve been in the United Coalition for four months. The IOBA forced them out of their home for some reason. They’re from Myradr,’ he summarized, hips rolling involuntarily into Vyshko’s thrusts, drawing him in deeper as his tapered cockhead hammered away at a little spot so far inside it was as if he could feel it directly in his head. Something slick and heavy pressed against his bottom lip before it slid into his half-open mouth, stifling his soft gasps.

‘UC for four months. IOBA forced them out. From Myradr,’ he repeated in his head, the words melding together, like threads overlapping, knotting together until the individual strands became indistinguishable. His nose screwed up at the overly salty taste of precum as Dobru began to push into his mouth, forcing his jaw open to its limit. The wolfish man let out a satisfied groan as he began to thrust shallowly in and out, dragging his bulbous cockhead across Jonah’s tongue a few times before he delved deeper, pressing up against the back of the blond’s throat.

Tears welled in his eyes as he gagged around Dobru’s massive length, but the euphoric feeling of Vyshko’s cock sliding in and out of him quickly stifled the uncomfortable choking sensation.

‘Four months,’ he forced himself to recall again as the thick vein on the underside of Dobru’s cock dragged across his tongue.

‘IOBA forced,’ the words repeated. A line of spit trickled down his chin as Dobru’s hand-knotted tighter in his hair. Vyshko’s cock twitched inside him as the man’s thrusts became more rapid, cock backing up just a few inches before he pistoned back in.

‘From Myradr…’ the mantra flitted through his head for a second, immediately replaced by a mindless haze of red-hot euphoria as Vyshko snapped his hips down, pinning Jonah to the platform as his knot swelled in the human’s cunt, stretching him open again as he pumped his load up against Jonah’s fluttering cervix, adding his cum to the growing slurry in the smaller man’s womb.

Jonah let out a choked moan around Dobru’s cock as he came, body writhing feebly in the moss. Dobru’s timber voice reverberated unintelligibly over his head, unable to pierce the veil of white noise that enveloped him as another wave of pleasure seized his body, buzzing through his limbs as he arched off the platform.

He panted hard as Dobru’s erection slipped from his mouth, a trail of saliva lewdly connecting his lip to the man’s spit-soaked cockhead. “... this’ll be it. I can feel it,” Dobru’s voice slowly came into focus as the Kynikan moved around the platform.

“After only four?” an unfamiliar voice sounded a few feet away. “That’d be lucky.”

“He’s just saying that because he thinks his cum is such a fucking gift, Bata,” Akali scoffed to his side. “A pretty bold claim after Vyshko just fucked the little human’s brain out.”

He wanted to debate with the cocky omega by informing them that by human standards, he was above average stature-wise, but the argument fizzled out as he felt Vyshko’s knot tug at his entrance, hips shuddering to a stop as he emptied his load. Jonah could feel the cum sloshing inside him, not dissimilar to the feeling he got when he drank too much water before a jog. The sensation was equally as unusual as it was erotic.

Jonah’s cunt stretched open as Vyshko pulled his knot out with a grunt, hands dropping from Jonah’s hips, leaving behind a row of shallow punctures along his pelvic bone. Dobru dove forward, slotting his body between Jonah and the other Kynikian as he retreated back.

A pronounced wet squelch sounded as he drove his cock into the surge of cum attempting to escape Jonah’s overfilled cunt. Thick droplets splattered across Jonah’s thighs as Dobru rutted animalistically against his womb. His hips bucked wildly, chasing the orgasm he’d come so desperately close to while fucking Jonah’s mouth.

“Hah, ah- ah-” Jonah gasped mindlessly, unsure where his previous orgasm ended and his impending one began. “Oh god, I’m so full. I- f-fuck. So much cum. I can’t. I can’t take another. I’m so- so fucking full.”

The Kynikian’s thrusts halted for a moment before the wolfish man chuckled. “Oh, you can take it, puppy,” Dobru grunted as he climbed onto the platform, kneeling low over Jonah’s prone form as he pushed the other man’s knees up towards his ears, pinning him in a mating press.

A few stray drops of cum oozed out onto his stomach as Dobru slammed back into him, immediately adopting a brutal pace as Jonah squealed beneath him. The new angle drove Dobru’s cockhead even deeper inside, violently churning the reservoir of cum sloshing inside of him. Jonah’s thighs quivered uselessly around the Kynikian’s massive form as another climax buzzed at the edges of his vision, pleasure pooling in his gut.

“Ha, you say you can’t take it, and then you moan like that?” Dobru taunted, hips slapping loudly against Jonah’s as he pressed the smaller man hard into the ground with every thrust. “Still want me to stop now?”

“Noo- uh,” Jonah slurred, “No, don’t stop, don’t.”

Dobru pushed his thighs down into the platform, folding his body nearly in half. “I can feel your womb, puppy,” he jeered around a series of throaty grunts as his thrusts became more erratic. “I’m gonna pump you nice and full. Gonna breed you like a good little bitch.”

“Ooh fuck, yes, yes,” Jonah moaned, his hands spasming in the moss by his sides. “Ah- breed me, please. God, I want it. I need it. Oh fuck, oh- I’m close. I’m so close.”

A long pitchy moan pulled itself from his throat as Dobru’s knot slammed into him, swelling against his G-spot as the Kynikian’s load gushed inside him, cockhead buried past his cervix as his walls stretched to accommodate the excessive mass of cum being forced inside him. His legs twitched in the wolfish man’s grip as pleasure wracked his body. He could feel his skull pressing into the moss as he threw his head back in ecstasy, eyes rolling back into his head.

A discordant hum reverberated through his ear as he blearily registered something shifting below his navel before a warm buzz radiated through his stomach, pulling him from his post-orgasm stupor.

“Wh-what?” he muttered, head still reeling as Dobru leaned back with a self-satisfied grin, cock still locked in Jonah’s cunt. A faint blue light diffused across the Kynikian’s dark fur as the stone pillars bracketing Jonah’s head began to pulse with a soft glow.

“Oh my gods,” Akali swore off to the side, rising to their feet in the corner of Jonah’s vision as Ivak approached the bottom corner of the platform, resting a broad palm on one of the faintly vibrating stones.

“You made the bond,” Ivak explained, his tone hovering between reverent and elated. Jonah instinctually dropped a hand to his stomach as the warm buzz continued to pulse through his abdomen in time with the pillars.

Dobru shot another arrogant smile over his shoulder as he steadily pulled his hips back, working his sizable knot from Jonah’s cunt with a pop. Jonah could feel his cunt gaping as Dobru backed out, cum bubbling out of him, soaking through the moss as it formed a hot puddle under his ass. Jonah looked down as a soft bulge in his stomach slowly began to deflate as the massive loads gushed out sloppily between his legs.

“So, hah-” he panted, forcing himself onto his elbows, “What now? I’m supposed to give it to someone… somehow, right?”

“That’d be me, puppy,” Akali cut in, pushing Dobru back with a hand on his chest. “Well, the first one, at least.”

“Uh- how?” he questioned, prompting a smirk from the omega. “Ivak said the IOBA made… something for that, right?”

“Oh, they sure did,” they replied as they lifted their hand above the platform, revealing a long, silicone-coated tube. There was a smooth, transparent panel peaking through Akali’s fingers, displaying a single button in front of some type of motor too small for Jonah to recognize. Kinked sections bracketed the control panel, presumably to provide mobility, and each symmetrical end was capped with a smooth, oblong taper. “Have you ever seen a fancier double-ended dildo? A couple of suits gave us this new version earlier today, and I can’t lie, I’ve been dying to try it out.”

Akali’s other hand grasped Jonah’s thigh as they climbed onto the platform between the blond’s legs, shamelessly drenching their fur with cum as they kneeled between Jonah’s legs. Their clawed hand inched up to his stomach, pressing down on his swollen belly with the heel of their palm. The omega laughed as a fresh wave of cum poured from Jonah’s twitching cunt, forcing a throaty moan from the human’s lips.

“Aw,” Akali cooed mockingly, “those big mean alphas stuffed you so full, didn’t they? Your poor little cunt is still gaping.” They leveled one end of the device with Jonah’s entrance as they spoke, the heel of their other hand still grinding into his stomach. “Don’t worry, puppy. This thing should fix you right up.”

Jonah let out a breathy moan as Akali slid the smooth dildo inside of him, overstretched cunt futilely trying to clench down on the slim device. It sank up to the control panel without resistance, tip solidly wedged up against his cervix as he rolled his hips into Akali’s touch, his body desperately seeking more stimulation.

“What a little whore,” Akali taunted, fucking the dildo in and out leisurely, angling the tip against his upper walls with a deft twist of their wrist. “You’ve already been impregnated, you know? But your slutty little cunt is still hungry for more. You were just made to be a breeding bitch, weren’t you?”

Jonah opened his mouth to reply, either to rebuke the omega’s claims or beg for more, he honestly wasn’t sure. Before he could find out, the device buzzed to life inside him, emitting a powerful vibration.

“Ah! F-fuck,” he moaned, hips bucking wildly at the sudden stimulation, pinned in place by Akali’s firm hand on his stomach. As someone with a cunt, Jonah had owned his fair share of vibrators in his lifetime, but this device felt distinctly unique as it buzzed away inside him. Maybe it was simply because the nerves in his inner walls had already been pounded and stretched beyond their limit, unraveling him into a hypersensitive mess that mewled pitifully at the slighted touch. But he suspected something was different about the device, either electrostimulation or neurostimulation if he had to guess. He found he didn’t care at that moment as Akali sank the dildo deep inside him, driving it as far up against his cervix as they could.

The potent vibrations rumbled through his abdomen, cunt fluttering around the device, gradually closing over the slim insertion until it was snugly lodged inside him. Akali let out an impressed whistle as they pulled the dildo out before thrusting it back in experimentally, feeling how Jonah’s cunt firmly tightened around the smooth silicone.

“Well, would you look at that,” they mused, sounding genuinely impressed. “All those alphas fucked you so loose, I was worried it wouldn’t work. I guess all those IOBA scientists have gotten real good at keeping you nice and tight, huh?”

They bobbed the dildo rhythmically in and out, massaging his walls with the pleasurable vibrations as he twitched and whined under their hand. “Don’t answer that, puppy. I know all the alpha cock already fucked you stupid.” they jeered, free hand sliding up his chest as they leaned over Jonah’s prone form. Their claws grazed lightly over Jonah’s nipple, delicately circling the rosy nub before they pinched it between the pads of their fingers.

“Ah! That- hah- it’s sensitive,” Jonah yelped as Akali rolled his nipple between their fingertips, the hand between his legs still steadily plunging the dildo in and out of his cunt. The relentless vibrations buzzing through his walls made it hard to focus on anything else as cocky omega toyed with him.

“Akali,” a voice scolded from above them. Jonah turned to the side to see Ivak reclined against one of the pillars, brown drawn low as his massive cock bobbed over the altar. If the thick droplets of precum oozing from his cockhead were any indicator, he’d been enjoying the show until Akali’s teasing began to bore him. “Get on with it.”

“Alright, alright, I was getting to it,” Akali yielded, releasing Jonah’s reddened nipple as their hand dropped to the back of his knee, folding his leg over his torso.

Jonah gasped as the position spread his entrance wide, tightening his cunt around the dildo as Akali’s hand stilled around the base. The omega lifted their body up, hips balanced over Jonah’s as they lined the other side of the device up to their slick soaked pussy, sinking down on it with a sigh. They lowered their weight until Jonah could feel their cunts pressing against each other, his little cockhead rubbing against the omega's thick clit as Akali experimentally rolled their hips.

“Ooh, that is nice,” Akali hummed, grinding their hips together until both of their cunts were a mess of cum and slick. Jonah whined as his cock slid against the Kynikian’s skin, pinned between their bodies as the omega pulled his other leg up to his chest.

“Moan for me like I’m an alpha,” Akali whispered low in his ear as they pinned Jonah in a mating press again, vibrating dildo pressing deeper into both of them. “Tell me how it feels as I fuck their cum right out of you.” They preened as they rutted their hips up and down, fucking both of them on the device.

“Ooh, it feels good. It feels so good- so good,” Jonah gasped as Akali drove the dildo harder against the entrance of his cervix, its tapered, vibrating tip purposefully engineered for maximum stimulation. Akali fucked him with short rolling strokes, grinding their cunts together as the dildo bobbed up and down between them.

After a few minutes, the omega repositioned, stepping over Jonah’s prone form until their legs were slotted together. They pushed Jonah's ankle up over his head, using his leg as a handle as they bore their hips harder down on the smaller man’s cunt until he whined under the omega. His little cock twitched pitifully against Akali’s clit as they rocked into Jonah vigorously, reveling in the man’s desperate whimpers.

“You gonna cum, puppy?” Akali questioned as they tipped their pelvis back, driving the dildo’s tapered tip harder against Jonah’s upper walls.

“Mmhmm,” Jonah nodded fervently, stifling a moan behind closed lips.

“Well then, be a good boy and beg for it,” Akali ordered as they deepened their thrusts, grinding their clit into Jonah’s slicked-up cock each time they bottomed out. “Beg me to let you cum.”

“Please, please. I wanna cum,” Jonah wailed, mindnumbing vibrations rapidly devolving him into a shameless slut as pleasure obscured his rational thoughts in a thick fog. “Oh, I’m so close. It feels so good- so good in my cunt. I want it. I wanna cum, please, please.” He could feel his body circling the edge of climax, legs quivering around Akali’s as his pleading tapered off into an intelligible moan.

“Such an obedient puppy,” Akali praised, “Go on then, cum.” they commanded, slapping their cunts together as they sank the dildo in up to the hilt.

That single word forced him over the edge, body seizing with please as he let out a strangled whimper. Immediately after the initial wave of pleasure hit him, he felt the vibrations pulsing deep inside him, humming as if the device were alive. His hips bucked hard against the omega’s heat as he felt something cramp under his stomach before the buzzing ramped up, intensity doubling as it bore down on his cervix.

“Ah! What- what is that?” he gasped, hands grasping at the moss as his body arched off of the platform.

“Have you already forgotten what we were doing?” Akali replied, locking their hips together as the device pulsed. “The bond.”

“Is that what- oh!” he yelped as the pointed tip dipped into his womb with a short thrust, buzzing vibrations transitioning into a dapper rumble. Jonah could feel the condensed bundle of heat slowly dissipate from his belly as the device sucked the excess cum from his body. Akali moaned blissfully over him as liquid began to move through the dildo, its silicone surface distending as it pumped the remnants of the alphas loads into their body.

Jonah quivered bodily as the strange device operated inside him, its sensations both strange and pleasurable. Its pulsing gradually began to slow until the device flicked itself off, leaving both Jonah and Akali panting.

A chorus of cheering roused him from his stupor as the pack let out a joyous roar. Even after his multiple shameless displays of desperation, Jonah felt his face flush with embarrassment. Akali wasted no time pulling the dildo from both of their slicked-up cunts, dropping the device on the edge of the platform as they turned to face the pack, one fist raised in the air victoriously.

A group of smaller Kynikians rushed forward from the treeline, crowding eagerly around Akali as they inspected the omega's stomach. Jonah scanned the group blearily, counting nine omegas before they backed away as Ivak pushed through the crowd.

“It was a success!” he cheered, leaning down to grab Jonah’s bicep, pulling the human into a sitting position. “I didn’t want to place too much hope on the IOBA’s technology, but the bond has been passed viably to one of our omegas. Their plan will work.”

“Perfect,” Jonah panted, leaning back on one hand as he folded his legs closer to his chest, attempting vainly to avoid the puddles of cum that soaked through the moss. “I’m glad it worked so well. I mean, that’s my job, after all.”

“Are you ready to go again, or would you like some water or something first?” Ivak questioned.

“Ah, right,” Jonah replied, taking a deep breath as he recovered his stamina. “Some water would be great. How many more am I doing tonight?”

“Oh, I really wasn’t kidding when I said as many as you can take,” Ivak answered, waving a hand at another Kynikian over his shoulder.

Jonah blinked at him owlishly. “Come again?”

“Well, each bond takes around four to six alphas, Although the next ones might be easier since you still have some material inside you. And each omega can carry up to two bonds,” Ivak explained as the numbers wheeled through Jonah’s head, “The IOBA is coming to pick you up tomorrow at ten, so we have about fourteen more hours.”

Jonah fumbled with basic mathematics as he tried to process Ivak’s explanation; nine omegas capable of carrying up to two bond each, a minimum of four loads per bond, eighteen times four…

“Seventy-two!” he gasped aloud, startling the massive xenomorphic canine next to him.

“Uh, something like that?” Ivak said, setting a hand on Jonah’s shoulder in what was meant to be a placating gesture. The massive fingers resting on his skin just reminded him of what was to come. “Don’t feel too overwhelmed. However many you can manage is fine.”

“Right, right,” Jonah dismissed his reassurance, too aware of his own habits as an overachiever. “I’m about to really earn that vacation.”

Chapter Text

A part of Jonah hadn’t expected Mr. Abhion to follow through with his tentative promise of an upcoming vacation, but here Jonah was, staring out the window of an eight-seated desert trawler rumbling along the only road into Colkirk. Although hovercrafts had been commonplace in United Coalition cities for several generations, they never rose to popularity in Jonah’s hometown. Their contactless propulsion created unmanageable clouds of dust that clogged their exhaust systems, making maintenance on them an unprofitable uphill battle. Colkirk was one of the few towns in the UC that relied entirely on wheeled vehicles for all of its imports and exports, including artificial gold, a bioengineered lithium substitute used in the CPUs and batteries of every electronic device in this half of the known universe.

Technological advances in mining equipment made the job less dangerous than its historical predecessor, but the A.G. mines still had a hellish reputation. Grueling hours of intense physical labor often kept workers underground for days navigating pitch black tunnels through the limestone quarries.

The residents of Colkirk maintained a strange pride in their work, believing it to be one of the only “real trades” left on what was formerly Earth. Their hubris made the local government unwilling to acknowledge the grim realities of their vocation, leading to little improvement in working conditions. But the humans persisted in their ways as they had always done. It seemed being stuck in the past was the very nature of Colkirk.

The truck jolted over an embankment as it turned into the city, large wheels sinking into the worn treads. Rural houses with chicken wire fences separating red dirt lawns gave way to concrete condos stacked on top of each other, only accessible by rickety metal staircases with the paint buffeted away on one side.

They rolled past his father’s company-run apartment complex, not a single light on in the windows even as the sun began to inch closer to the horizon, shining crimson through the layer of fine dust and smog that permanently coated the sky. The desert trawler rattled on, creeping deeper into the city. Shops began to bleed together in an urban sprawl of two and three-story buildings patched with metal siding and sepia-stained tarps. He looked out fondly at some of the familiar shops. There was Lori’s diner with its eternally malfunctioning soda machine but the best double-decker cheeseburger on this side of the galaxy, and Jonah would die by that claim. Next to it was Helix’s, the dive bar that had terrified him as a wide-eyed high schooler with its fluorescent pin-up girl sign and blacked-out windows. Little did he know at the time, but he’d lose his virginity there after a wild night facilitated by fake IDs and apple pie moonshine during his junior year.

He knocked a hand on the dust-rimmed window, motioning the driver to pull over. As he stopped to exit, Jonah passed a fifty to the man, who nodded curtly, taking the bill and slipping it into the inner pocket of his jacket. Physical currency was a relic in the UC’s cities, but in Colkirk, cash continued to reign king. Many of the local stores and restaurants had caved and adopted systems of accepting credits, but paying with them would immediately flag you as an outsider.

“Thanks for the ride,” he remarked, pulling the strap of his worn canvas backpack higher up on his shoulder as it began to pull at his collar. “On the off chance anyone from the UC asks, you dropped me off at the Nova Tech apartment on Broadway.”

“Of course,” the driver replied with a gruff chuckle, “Like I’d tell those suits anything other than where they can shove it.”

“Appreciate you,” Jonah thanked again as he turned to descend the riveted steel trawler steps. As his old boots hit the dirt, he turned, waving a hand in front of his face in a casual salute. “Safe travels.”

“Safe travels,” the man replied as he pulled the heavy gear shift back before he pulled away from the curb, resuming his final ride across town before he drove out to the quarry to pick up the miners that were lucky enough to surface tonight.

He scanned the lightly populated streets for a familiar figure before a voice shouted down the block.

“Jonah! Hey,” a man clad in an oversized denim jacket adorned with a hodgepodge of sun-bleached patches called out as he strolled down the cracked sidewalk, gravel crunching under the heel of his scuffed military boots. He whistled as Jonah waved back, looking the other man up and down with his foggy blue eyes. “Damn, you haven’t changed a bit. You using some of that fancy anti-aging tech they got in the UC?”

“Hardly,” Jonah laughed, “You know I’d never do anything to keep the baby face on purpose.” A hand clapped over his back as the man pulled him in for a friendly hug, cheek turned into Jonah’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Emmet,” he greeted as they stepped away. “It’s been way too long.”

“And who’s fault is that Mr. I got a fancy job in Capital?” Emmet shot back, no real fire behind his accusation.

“Oh, you’re one to talk Mr. has never replied to an email in his goddamn life,” Jonah bantered.

“Those channels aren’t secure, and you know it,” Emmet argued, waving a reprimanding finger in Jonah’s direction as they began to saunter along the main road.

“Actually, I need to talk to you about some… tech stuff,” Jonah tried to explain, acutely aware of his compromised phone currently burning a hole in his pocket. He had debated leaving it at his apartment but had decided against it at the last minute, deciding it might seem too suspicious.

“Tech stuff?” Emmet echoed, “What like office tech, lab tech?” Jonah shook his head, putting a finger in front of his mouth in the ‘shh’ motion before he pointed at one of his ears, hoping the other man would pick up on his silent message.

Emmet’s eyebrows knitted together momentarily as he squinted quizically at Jonah’s impromptu sign language before his eyes widened. “Oh, alright, tech stuff. Got it,” he nodded, “Let’s get some food at Lori’s before we head to mine, sound good?”

“That sounds great,” Jonah agreed, “You can get food from all over the galaxy in Capital Block, but nothing really compares to Lori’s.”

The heat from the flat top stove radiated over the bar as they relayed stories from the past few years, talking about old friends and new ventures. It seemed most of their friends from grade school had gone one of two routes; they either relented and found a lovely heterosexual partner to settle down and have kids with while working a menial job that managed to put food on the table, or they vanished off to some faraway city and sent a letter to their folks every Christmas. Jonah had always known which option he wanted to take.

“Speaking of old friends, Florian wants to meet up with you. He’s practically been harassing me ever since he heard you were coming to town,” Emmet explained over an unsightly mouthful of cheeseburger.

“What?” Jonah questioned, caught off guard by the sudden mention of his ex. “How’d Florian even know I was coming to town.”

“Oh, everyone’s heard about you coming back to town,” Emmet replied, balling up the greasy tinfoil wrapper as he polished off his burger. “Big shot IOBA researcher coming back to visit little old Colkirk out of the blue? People’ve been talking.”

Jonah scoffed, “They’re giving me too much credit,” he dismissed, swirling a fry uneasily in the reservoir of ketchup pooling in the corner of his red plastic diner basket. “I’m just an intern. I clean lab equipment. It’s hardly monumental work.” Of course, his internship remained the story on paper. While HARP wasn’t a classified project, he’d been told that his personal involvement in the project was to stay on a need-to-know basis. Mr. Abhion reasoned that it was for his safety, but everything he said had been called into question in the wake of recent events.

“Right, your internship,” Emmet emphasized, tilting his head pointedly to the side as he spun around on the bar stool, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans as he stood. “We should continue this conversation at my place. You’re gonna love my new apartment. It’s right above Whiskey and Rose.” He slapped two twenties on the table, waving curtly to a waitress strolling by, steel coffee pot in hand. “Make sure you have all your stuff.” he winked, motioning to Jonah’s pocket.

Jonah stared at him a moment before it clicked. “Right, right,” he nodded, fishing the phone out of his jacket, setting it screen down on the table in between their discarded plates. “Phone is in my backpack, wallet’s in my pocket. I’m good to go.”

“Perfect,” Emmet grinned, motioning Jonah towards the door. “You remember where the Whiskey and Rose is, right?”

While The Helix had a reputation for being the town’s resident dive bar, locals knew that Whiskey and Rose was where the real debauchery thrived; designer drugs, escorts, bounty hunting, bribery, anything that operated under the table ran through Whiskey and Rose.

“Of course,” Jonah replied as they turned onto the street, “Do I even want to know what you had to do to get one of those apartments?”

“Oh, nothing horrible, don’t you worry about it,” Emmet answered, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m just in good with the owner, is all.” He lowered his voice, putting a hand on Jonah’s shoulder as he leaned closer to the other man’s ear. “You can’t believe what people will pay for the right kind of information these days. That’s why you came looking for me before anyone else, isn’t it?”

“I came to you first because we were best friends for like eight years, asshole. Who else in this shitty town has seen me piss drunk, ugly crying over a bush on the side of the road?” Jonah replied, shoving Emmet’s shoulder hard before he paused for a moment, “But… I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a favor to ask you.”

“That little tech problem you mentioned?” Emmet prompted, “I gotta say I’m dying to know what problem is so big that even ‘wiz kid’ Jonah is asking for my help.”

“It’s-” Jonah began before he thought better of it, glancing over his shoulder warily, trying to picture every possible spot for a camera or microphone.

“Relax,” Emmet consoled as the narrow windows of the Whiskey and Rose came into view. “Out here, the only worry is eavesdroppers, but if it’s something real sensitive, you can wait until we’re in my apartment. It’s probably the most secure place on this side of the Rockies.”

“I’ll wait,” Jonah replied, prompting a curious look from Emmet as he unlocked an iron safety door off of the sidewalk. “I don’t want to risk it with this.”

“Well, if you didn’t have my attention before, you definitely have it now,” Emmet commented as they ascended a narrow flight of concrete stairs between the bar and a neighboring building until the stone leveled out into a short hallway with a few numbered doors on each side. Emmet’s keys gangled noisily as he unlocked the first door on their right, marked with a faded outline of an A where the letter had presumably fallen off.

Emmet’s studio apartment was dim, illuminated only by the dying sun filtering in through a red tapestry tacked over his window and the ambient fluorescent lights from his extensive computer set up, complete with three monitors of different sizes and a sprawling, L-shaped desk covered in discarded papers, glass soda bottles, and a menagerie of trinkets. A kitchenette no wider than four feet was embedded into the wall next to the door, bracketed between a fridge and a floor-to-ceiling wardrobe covered in old posters. A mattress was shoved into the corner under the window as if it were an afterthought, while the couch on the opposite wall looked like it saw significantly more traffic.

Emmet tossed his jacket onto the couch without looking as he wheeled his desk chair around. “Now, please, tell me everything,” he prompted as Jonah took a seat on the sofa, sinking into the plush polyester cushions. “It’s something to do with your fancy organization, isn’t it?”

“It’s about the IOBA, yes,” Jona confessed as he struggled to find a place to start, “I’m pretty certain they’ve installed some pretty advanced stalkerware on my phone. It’s made it impossible for me to do any research without worrying about them breathing down my neck the entire time.”

“Research on what, exactly?” Emmet inquired, legs spreading wider as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped together.

“I’ll just cut to the chase,” Jonah divulged, “I believe they’ve been running illegal mining operations on non-United Coalition planets, displacing those resident sentient lifeforms with the resulting ecological destruction, and then reintegrating them within the UC.”

“Holy shit, that is a massive claim there,” Emmet replied, grasping his hands in his lap, one heel tapping at the floor. “What’ve you got to back it up?”

“Nothing concrete yet,” he sighed, leaning back into a blanket across the back of the couch, “I didn’t exactly come to that conclusion in an orthodox way. There was a lot that wasn’t adding up, and then I had an… encounter with a telepathic creature called a Vek. They sort of put the information into my head in an abstract way. It took me a while to sort it all out.”

“A Vek?” Emmet questioned, “I’ve never heard of that. Where are they from?”

“I’m not sure,” Jonah admitted as Emmet rotated his chair to power up the monitor closest to the sofa, looking at Jonah out of the corner of his eye as he worked. “All I was told is that they’re from a dying moon. But if I had to take a guess, I’d say that moon is probably in Aphus.”

“That’s a pretty specific guess,” Emmet replied, tying rapidly away at his keyboard the second the device finished booting up, “Why Aphus?”

“Well, someone accidentally let it slip to me that the IOBA has some sort of classified headquarters on Vichi, which is in Aphus. And then another species that was coincidentally displaced told me they’re from Aphus Central,” Jonah explained, “So, I’m figuring their mining operations are probably based there.”

“Not a bad location for a secret illegal mining operation, honestly. It’s pretty isolated. A lot of untouched nature,” Emmet affirmed, eyes fixed on the glowing monitor screen, “Hmm, there’s not a lot on anything called a Vek.”

Jonah let out a frustrated huff, leaning forward to peer at Emmet’s computer. “Fuck, I figured some of it would be classified, but I thought there’d be something,” he griped, staring over the inconclusive search results. “Try… try looking up a Dr. Grelain.”

“First name?” Emmet asked, frowning as Jonah simply shook his head in response. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot anyway. And… oh, alright. Looks like that’s not a common name. Lucky us.”

He scrolled through a few postings from academic journals and universities, pulling up various pictures from funding banquet photoshoots to headshots. Jonah felt his heart rate spike as Dr. Grelain’s face stared back at him from the screen, waving to an audience clad in academic regalia.

“Him. That’s him,” Jonah blurted, pitching forward to grab at the arm of Emmet’s desk chair. He felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach as the doctor’s eyes gazed back at him through the pixilated photo. He could almost feel those eyes on his skin, leering down at him, adrenaline pounding through his body as he fought uselessly against a drug-induced haze.

“Alright, what about him?” Emmet prompted, “How’s he involved?”

“I- he-” Jonah fumbled to explain, the memories pushing incessantly at the corners of his vision as he grasped for the words. “I was running and… he-” Jonah stopped himself, grinding the heel of his hand against his brow. That wasn’t the beginning. Of course, that wasn’t the beginning. How could he be so stupid? “No, he studies the Vek. That’s right. He’s a researcher who… studies the Vek.”

“Are you ok?” Emmet questioned, placing a hand tentatively on Jonah’s shoulder. Jonah jumped back at the touch as his breath began to come faster, his chest shuddering as he inhaled shallowly, exhaling just as quickly.

“I’m fine,” he panted, his voice nearly inaudible as blood began to roar in his ears, heart hammering in his throat. “I-I’m fine.”

“Well, that’s clearly bullshit,” Emmet gauged bluntly, turning to face Jonah fully as his hands hovered awkwardly around the other man, careful not to come too close. “Have you ever had a panic attack?”

“No- it’s not,” he shook his head, arms wrapping around himself as he folded forward, staring at a spot of red dirt ground into the carpet between his feet. He swore he could hear the sound of an air pistol firing, and he struggled to reassure himself that it must’ve been the curtains fluttering in the wind. “It’s not just- where- tell me where we are.”

“We’re at my apartment,” Emmet began, “In Colkirk. It’s about, I don’t know, eight o’clock. You can kind of hear people in Whiskey and Rose through the floor if you listen really close.” Jonah forced himself to pull in a full breath, ribs expanding against his legs as he replayed Emmet’s words in his head. “You’re nowhere close to Capital Block. They’re, what, two or three hundred miles away? There’s no surveillance equipment here. No one is listening in. You’re safe.”

Jonah’s hands gradually released their bruising grip on his biceps as his breathing slowly evened out into something shaky and vaguely painful sounding but manageable. “Thanks,” he sighed, sitting up slowly, pulling his knees up to his chest as he leaned back against the cushions. He felt Emmet’s eyes trained on him nervously as he looked self-consciously past the other man.

“You good?” Emmet questioned again.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Jonah replied, voice quieter than he had intended. “So, uh, this guy studies Veks. That’s how he’s involved. And as you saw, all the information about Veks is scrubbed so-”

“Hey, wait, pause,” Emmet cut in, “You wanna tell me what that was about? What’d this guy do?”

“He- I found out some stuff I wasn’t supposed to; all the stuff the Vek told me about the mining. And he caught on. I’m not sure how, but he caught on really fast,” Jonah recalled, suddenly feeling cold even as the residual desert heat seeped through the glass window panes. “They were going to take me somewhere. I tried to run, but he was expecting that. He shot me up with some horse tranquilizer bullshit and hauled me off to a hospital on the edge of the city. I woke up a few days later after they did god knows what to me. I’m pretty sure they thought they’d be able to just… delete all the memories right before they drugged me, or just fuck them up enough that I’d doubt myself, maybe. Everyone around me was in on it, telling me I was in a car crash. But I remembered. There’s evidence of what happened they couldn’t erase.”

Emmet listened intently as Jonah spoke before he leaned back in his chair with a hand on his chin. “That’s fucked up,” he responded grimly, “I sort of have an idea of what drugs they might’ve used. There have been a lot of advances in that field, mostly under the table. How long ago was this?”

“About a week,” Jonah answered, watching with his head pressed back against the couch as Emmet stood and walked over to the kitchenette, pulling two mismatched glasses from the cabinet over his head.

“You’re might still experiencing side effects then,” Emmet explained, pulling a growler filled with distilled water from the fridge. He grabbed the glasses in his other hand, setting them all down on the end of his desk with a clang. “It depends on what exactly they used, but it was probably a cocktail anyway. Insomnia, flashbacks, nausea, hallucinations, irregular heartbeat, double vision,” he listed, filling the glasses before passing one to Jonah, “Could just be PTSD, though.”

“I don’t have PTSD,” Jonah shot back automatically, grimacing as he took the glass gratefully from Emmet’s outstretched hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Tell me why you think you’re immune to PTSD then,” Emmet chided sarcastically.

“That’s not what I meant,” Jonah sighed, taking a long sip of the brisk water, still tinted auburn after the filtration process. “I’m just… processing everything. That’s all.”

“Sure, right. That’s definitely what healthy ‘processing’ looks like,” Emmet scoffed, making brackets in the air with his fingers to emphasize the word.

“Can we just move on?” Jonah requested, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he felt the beginning of a headache building against his skull. “Dr. Grelain. Something came up on him, right?”

Emmet gave him one last poignant look before he relented, turning back to the monitor. “Yeah, Dr. Rythin Miod Grelain. There’s an article about some alumni speech he gave at the Monarch Technical Insitute about ten years ago,” he replayed, scrolling through the short article as he scanned the paragraphs of text. “They cited him as ‘one of the IOBA’s leaders in field research,’ but there are no specifics. He majored in Ecology and Evolution with a minor in synthetic biology. Oh, and apparently, he played intramural lacrosse.”

“Is there any mention of research articles or dissertations?” Jonah probed, setting his water glass down as he stood up to lean over the back of Emmet’s chair, critically glancing over the screen. “Any projects he was involved in, maybe?”

Emmet leafed back through the results, typing his full name into a few more web browsers with increasingly questionable, plainly coded layouts. “Nothing,” he concluded, clicking back to the original article.

“Does it mention any family?” Jonah questioned.

“Uh,” Emmet hummed as he scanned the text again, “Oh! Yes, actually. It looks like he’s an MTI legacy student by a few generations. It only mentions his mother by name, though; Dr. Uuma Hechtin-Grelain.”

“Hechtin?” Jonah repeated, feeling a twinge of familiarity tapping at the edge of his memory. “I feel like I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

“Well, if it was her, it probably wasn’t recent. She died four years ago,” Emmet reported, pulling up a short obituary article from a new list of search results. “A tragic and unexpected stroke while she was on an off-world outpost, according to this.” He flicked back to the other browsers, head tilting in surprise. “Oh, but she has quite a few research articles available. Well, sort of. It looks like they used to be public since I can only find them through reposting forums now; The effect of increasing deviation of pollinator subspecies on the Vulon Aradia-nova germination process, A retrospective analysis on the epigenetic risks of modern artificial reproductive technology and how to mitigate them, The role of mineral composite fluctuation in the fertility rate of Jadi- Jadievliolus? These sound legit to you?”

“Wait, show me that last one,” Jonah requested, leaning over the other man until his chest pressed into Emmet’s shoulder as a screenshot of the article loaded. A quick scan of the introductory paragraph confirmed his suspicions. Jadievliolus was a deep space-faring xenomorph native to the outer planets and asteroid belts of the Aphus system; a familiar four-armed, bioluminescent xenomorph. He’d seen the name on his very first briefing, but it had slipped somewhere to the back of his mind. At the time, there was no real reason to commit the name to memory outside of individual curiosity.

“Jadievlious is another species involved in HARP,” Jonah explained before he snapped his mouth shut, teeth clicking together audibly as his eyes widened.

“HARP, huh?” Emmet replied immediately, looking at Jonah over his shoulder with a startlingly neutral expression. “As in the Human Assisted Reproduction Project?”

Jonah’s fingers dug into the backrest of the desk chair as his thoughts reeled for a rationale. HARP wasn’t a classified project. He could still make the information he’d acquired align with his supposed internship role. “You’ve heard of it?” he questioned, attempting to mask his horrified reaction as simple curiosity.

“Of course I have,” Emmet answered, voice just a fraction quicker than his typical relaxed cadence. “When the IOBA got desperate for human subjects for their fucked up breeder project, guess where they came? Colkirk is one of the last human cities left in the UC, after all. They thought it’d be easy pickings.”

A sour taste pricked the back of Jonah’s throat as Emmet spoke, but he shoved his trepidations to the side. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s definitely a… complicated project. A lot of the scientists who’ve contributed to it honestly don’t mean any harm. I think a lot is going on above their heads.” he tried to clarify without giving away too much of his personal involvement, “If you didn’t catch on already, HARP is how they’re trying to reintegrate the species they displace. I think they might be making them biologically dependent on the ecosystem in the United Coalition too, but that’s still a running theory.”

“Why not just go for test tube babies?” Emmet asked, “Seems a lot less complicated.”

“They tried that,” Jonah answered with a shake of his head, “I’m sure they saw success for some species, but the results were unsuccessful for many. There’s a lot of variation in reproductive catalysts across different species, and artificial reproduction as a field has never really been able to keep up.”

“That’s a lot of very specific information for an intern to know,” Emmet replied. Jonah’s elbow slipped to the side as the other man rotated his chair, turning to face him with his eyebrows drawn low, his eyes shaded in the low light. ”You want to start being honest with me?” he asked, his tone even and frigidly serious in a way Jonah had only heard from him a handful of times.

“I-,” Jonah stuttered, caught off guard by the shift, “I don’t know what you mean. I’m telling you everything I know.”

“Alright, if you’re going to be like that, why don’t I just tell you what I know,” Emmet rebuked, leaning forward into Jonah’s space. The blond stepped back warily, starting when his knees hit the blanket-clad sofa. “The IOBA rolled around in their fancy cars talking up this project, but no one was buying it. Folks paid me to do some digging, and what do I find? The project is about using humans as incubators, so naturally, I let everyone know, and people told the suits to shove it. I thought that’d be the end of it, but I was wrong. Interested parties start paying me to dig deeper, and, oh boy, I start finding massive evidence of scrubbed data.”

Jonah fell back into the cushions, eyes frozen on Emmet’s face as the man relayed his story.

“The one problem is, someone really did their homework. They’ve clearly hired the best in the business to keep all their dirty laundry under wraps. But as I’m trudging my way through this data, all of a sudden, the letters JB keep popping up. Eventually, context tells me it’s a person, but I didn’t think much of it before I passed some of the raw files along,” Emmet continues, his mouth screwing up to the side, eyes glancing down to the side. “Unfortunately, someone on the other end put two and two together before I did. Rumors started leaking about a former Colkirk resident who agreed to join HARP. People started asking me about you,” Emmet trailed off for a moment with an exasperated sigh. “People know what you’re doing, Jonah.”

Jonah felt his breath stop as he stared at the other man blankly. “Everyone knows?” he asked after a moment, his voice sounding unsettlingly small.

“Well, not everyone,” Emmet explained, “Most of the older folks in town never really got involved with the HARP shit. The IOBA wasn’t targeting them. You’ve also been gone for a long time. Not everyone remembers your face.”

Jonah dropped his head into his hands before his eyes snapped back up to look at Emmet’s face. “What exactly do you know about my involvement?” he scrutinized, “Just that I’m a participant in HARP?”

“Well… yeah,” Emmet replied, eyes narrowing quizically. “Is there something more? I’m going to be completely honest; I think people have been a little too caught up on the getting impregnated by aliens part to look much deeper.”

“Uhg, I hate the word impregnate, but that’s beside the point. There is more to it,” Jonah answered, “My involvement was meant to remain classified. I have an extremely high biological compatibility score, to put it simply. With standard HARP participants, potential match-ups are limited, but they’re able to put me with anyone. It’s why I’ve had inadvertent access to all this information, but also why I’ve been under such tight surveillance.”

“Shit,” Emmet huffed, leaning back in his chair, “You’ve found yourself in quite the mess here, haven’t you?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Jonah agreed with a nervous chuckle, one hand nervously tapping at his knee. “Are you still willing to help me now that you know?”

Emmet fixed him with a glare. “Are you fucking kidding?” he snorted, “You think I’d just be done helping you all of a sudden now that I know you’ve been taking alien dick for the government? I mean, I don’t agree with the project at all, yeah, but biology has always been your shit, not mine. If there’s something you can gain from it, then by all means,” he shrugged, one finger running absently around the lip of his empty water glass. “Also, I already knew when you walked in. I just wanted to hear what you had to say first.”

“Jesus Christ, you scared me for a second, Emmet,” Jonah sighed, “I thought you were about to toss me on the street or something.”

“I’d never do that to you, Jonah,” Emmet replied, “Honestly, after all the shitty men you dated in college, this isn’t really a jump.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jonah rebutted, swatting him on the arm as he turned back to the monitor with a chuckle.

“Alright, alright, where were we?” He asked, half to himself as he scanned the open pages on the screen. “These Jadievlious guys that Dr. Hechtin-Grelain, mother of our number one suspicious bastard Dr. Grelain, wrote about are in the HARP program.”

“Could you get that article for me somehow? I want to read it later,” Jonah asked as he peered over Emmet’s shoulder. “Jadievlious are also native to Aphus, which means almost, if not every client I’ve had so far has been from somewhere in the Aphus system.”

“Which is also where this supposed secret headquarters you’ve caught wind of is supposed to be, right?” Emmet clarified, typing away at the noisy mechanical keyboard once again. Jonah nodded as he watched Emmet begin scanning through all the search results for Aphus; from obscure adventure travel blogs to succinct commerce reports, everything looked normal on the cover.

“There’s too much information to sift through for me to find anything quickly,” Emmet concluded after a few minutes of scanning, “I’ll have to work on it for a few days, but if there’s something out there that doesn’t line up, I’ll find it.”

“I’m going back to the UC in two days,” Jonah replied with a frown, “I won’t have any way to communicate with you once I’m there.”

“Oh, absolutely not. After what that Grelain guy did, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go back without some way of getting in contact,” Emmet declared, “I’m hooking you up with a burner. Just figure out how to hide it. Stuff it in a teddy bear for all I care, as long as they’re not sending you through a metal detector.”

Jonah wanted to argue and say that the odds of a burner getting found were too high, that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hide it, that he was fine on his own, but one poignant glare from Emmet had him snapping his mouth shut. A nagging thought drifted to the front of Jonah’s mind as a lull of silence hung over them. He wrung the sleeve of his jacket in his hand before asking, “There’s one more thing that’s been bothering me,” he began, “Something the IOBA did. I’m just not sure how to get answers.”

“Alright, hit me with it,” Emmet prompted.

“It’s-” Jonah searched for the words, “I want to know exactly what they did to me in the hospital. I know they did something to try and mess with my memory, yes, but there’s more. Right before it happened, I had an… appointment with the Vek. I had its clutch, but when I woke up in the hospital, it was gone. I want to know what happened to it.”

“Hmm,” Emmet hummed, processing the information, “That was only a week ago, right? If I had to bet, I’d say that information is probably on their internal system. I’d have to have a physical link to get in.”

“Fuck, so I guess that option is out,” Jonah huffed before Emmet cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“No, no, that’s not what I said,” he rebuked, “I need a physical link. That doesn’t mean I have to be there. I’d just need you to plug a remote link into the network for me.”

Jonah scoffed, “You say that like it’s easy. I’m under constant surveillance, Emmet. How could I just slip away to plug some of your hacker shit into a port to a secure government network? That’s straight out of Mission Impossible.”

“You’re overcomplicating it,” Emmet rebuked, fishing through a stack of filing cabinets under his table. The sound of paper and plastic rattling filled the room as he sifted noisily through the cluttered drawer. “The remote link is essentially a flash drive. It literally couldn’t be more discrete. And I don’t need you to break into a server room or anything. Any computer hard-wired into the network will work just fine.”

Jonah knew his only shot at accessing a computer on IOBA property that would have a direct enough connection to their system was through the lab. However, to his knowledge, his lab access was still revoked despite Miss Gaiacothica’s promise to reinstate it. He would have to rely on someone to let him in from the inside, preferably someone who would be able to plead plausible deniability to his lack of permission, should the situation arise.

“Do you think you’d be able to get me the phone number of one of the researcher’s in the IOBA lab?” Jonah asked.

“Who? Just anyone or someone specific?” Emmet replied as he pulled something too small for Jonah to see from the cabinet before he slid the metal drawer shit with the side of his boot.

“Wan-kitku Sarro. We were friends while I was interning. He developed the testing algorithms for HARP, but I trust him,” Jonah explained, deciding to leave out that Wan had been the one to stumble upon the information that created HARP in the first place. “I think he’ll be my best shot at getting to a computer without raising any alarms.”

“I should be able to swing it,” Emmet shrugged, setting a featureless silver flash drive down on the table between their water glasses just as his phone began to buzz in his pocket. “Fuck, it’s probably Florian again. The dude has been harassing me all day.”

“You said he was trying to get ahold of me back at Lori’s, didn’t you?” Jonah recalled, swallowing nervously. “Does he know about… you know.”

Emmet hissed awkwardly through his teeth as he glanced at the message. “I mean, I haven’t asked him specifically, but odds are yes. And yeah, he’s asking about you again. Nothing weird. He just wants to know how to get a hold of you since he doesn’t have your number. Not that it would do him any good right now since your phone is still at the diner.”

“Just give him my number. It’s fine,” Jonah replied with a nonchalant wave. “I’ll send him a message as soon as I go back and grab my phone. Then it’s back to pretending to be an ignorant pawn who doesn’t know about all these potential crimes against humanity.”

“Yeah, there’s probably no way for me to get all that stalkerware off your phone without alerting whoever is monitoring it,” Emmet shrugged, “I’ll swing by your dad’s tomorrow and hook you up with that burner, though. Make sure it’s powered down anytime you’re not using it, just in case they’re using an EMF detector.”

“Right,” Jonah nodded, trying not to overthink the consequences of getting caught. He didn’t have any specific reason to believe they were regularly checking his apartment, but he couldn’t rule it out. “Well, I should probably head back to Lori’s before they close.”

“Damn, I didn’t realize it was that late,” Emmet commented as he glanced at the time on his computer, a sprawling list of search results on Aphus still plastered across the screen. “You leave Friday morning, right? Hit me up sometime tomorrow night. I want to go over this stuff again before you head out.”

Jonah stood, saying goodbye to Emmet with another comradely hug, clapping his hand against the other man’s back before they separated. He could hear the heavy base of a mellow synthpop track booming through the floor as he descended the flight of stairs next to Whiskey and Rose. The sun had completely vanished below the horizon, leaving just a hint of pink lingering over the dunes as night set in. The air had already grown cold, prompting Jonah to pull his duster tighter over his chest as he turned down the sidewalk, ignoring the subtle look that the bouncer shot him as he left.

It felt odd to wear his old clothes after being stuck in officewear for so long. He’d been able to break out his collection of patched cargo pants and worn canvas boots while doing field research during his degree programs, but they’d been sitting in a bag collecting dust in his closet since he moved to Capital Block.

He reached Lori’s just before nine, waving sheepishly to the waitress they’d seen earlier, explaining that he’d forgotten his phone. She fished it out from behind the hostess's stand with a relieved smile when she realized he wasn’t a customer about to try and order a few minutes before they closed. Four messages from Florian immediately lit up the screen as he held the device in his palm.

From: (06M)4487-09180 -sent 20:42

Hey Jojo, it’s Florian. Emmet gave me your number. You’re in town?

From: (06M)4487-09180 -sent 20:43

Heard some interesting rumors about you. Let’s catch up.

From: (06M)4487-09180 -sent 20:50

You free tonight?

Chapter Text

From: (06M)4487-09180 -sent 21:02

I’m staying in the McCauley’s old loft. We can talk there.

Jonah felt his throat tighten as he contemplated facing his ex after rumors of his involvement with HARP had thoroughly circulated his former social circles. He and Florian hadn’t separated on bad terms, per se. The moment Jonah completed any useful general education credits he could take at Colkirk’s more affordable community college, he applied to every technical institute across the country with enough scholarship opportunities to make it attainable.

He had always been clear about his desire to leave Colkirk, but Florian thought his restlessness was just an adolescent phase. The man attempted to dissuade him with each rejection letter that came, but inevitably, a reputable university on the East Coast saw the potential in his scientific aptitude scores and offered him a place in their practical transgalactic biology department and an attractive scholarship deal.

He’d offered Florian the opportunity to move with him. There would undoubtedly be more career opportunities outside of Colkirk for him to take advantage of. But predictably, Florian refused and issued Jonah an ultimatum; stay in Colkirk, or leave and end their five-year relationship. Jonah wanted to lie and say the choice had been difficult.

He quickly added Florian’s name to his contact list and typed a reply.

To: Florian Arari -sent 21:02

Ok. Pick me up?

From: Florian Arai -sent 21:03

Sure. Where are you?

To: Florian Arari -sent 21:03

In front of Lori’s.

From: Florian Arai -sent 21:03

Be there in 20

He sat on the bench underneath the window of Lori’s just as their fluorescent open sign flickered off. The lingering rays of sunlight glowing over the very edge of the horizon had vanished entirely, leaving behind an indistinct blanket of night sky as steel smog obscured the stars. He pulled his backpack into his lap, shivering as the increasingly chill air breezed across his skin. The bag left an imprint of red dirt across the thighs as he rummaged through it before pulling out an old sweatshirt worn around the sleeves with a university seal plastered on the front. He shouldered off his overcoat for a moment, pulling the jumper over his head, before relayering the jacket on top.

He could feel curly strands sticking up on the back of his head, ruffled by the hood of his sweatshirt, and he self-consciously tried to smooth them before he relented with a huff. The arid desert air had never agreed with his hair; then again, the coastal humidity of Capital Block had never benefited him on that front either.

Even on main street in the center of the city, network speeds felt frustrating slow after he’d spent the last few years growing accustomed to the lightning-fast connection in Captial Block, so he passed his time people-watching as small crowds began to drift in and out of the bars in varying stages of inebriation. Seeing homogenous clusters of humans without a single xenomorph in sight felt almost unsettling. Growing up here, he had assumed that was the norm, but as soon as he stepped off the light jet to a new city on the east coast as a wide-eyed twenty-year-old, he was overwhelmed by an amalgamated blend of intergalactic creatures, not a single other human in sight.

Learning not to stare had been a steep learning curve, but after a few years, he found himself preferring the diversity over his homogenous upbringing. He found the experiences of his professors and classmates fascinating, just as they found his. It was easy to see that humans were remarkably similar to the other sentient lifeforms that occupied the United Coalition. However, that was a fact that most residents of Colkirk willfully refused to accept.

It wasn’t long before his phone buzzed in his pocket, a text lighting up the screen.

From: Florian Arai -sent 21:25

I’m here. About a block away across from the bookstore.

From: Florian Arai -sent 21:25

Green truck. Can’t miss it.

Just as Florian promised, he spotted the parked vehicle easily, engine still rumbling, the hood rattling loosely against the chassis as he idled. Red light from the brakes reflected across the contours of his face as he leaned out of the driver’s side window. His auburn hair was tied back into a loose braid, strands appearing almost black in the low light.

“Hey Jojo,” he greeted with a two-fingered wave as Jonah approached the truck. “I almost didn’t think you’d show up.”

“Why? It’s not like I’ve ever stood you up before,” Jonah questioned back as he opened the passenger door, stepping up into the lifted cab.

“Not exactly,” Florian replied ambiguously as he pulled away from the curb. The sizable offroad tires rumbled noisily against the pavement as he maneuvered a sharp U-turn, driving back the way he’d come. A wooden palette slid across the sheet metal floor of the canvas-covered trunk, thudding against the opposite wall. “Little birdy just told me you’d be in town all of a sudden, and I thought it was too good to be true. Big shot scientist Jojo coming back to grace all of us common folk here in Colkirk with his presence? What are the odds?”

“What? You miss me too much?” Jonah retorted sarcastically, tossing his phone into the bottom of his bag before he set it between his legs on the floor of the cab.

“There are certain things I missed about you,” Florian shrugged, “The sass ain't one of them, though.”

“Unfortunate,” Jonah huffed, “And I didn’t miss the way you consistently want my personality to be more suited to your tastes. But you didn’t harass Emmet for my number to list the things you don’t miss about me.”

“No, I didn’t,” Florian confirmed, eyes fixed on the road as the pavement disappeared, replaced by packed dirt marred with prominent tire tracks. His hand tensed around the steering wheel as he glanced over at Jonah, his eyes unreadable under the shadow of his brow. “It’s been a while. I thought we might be able to catch up a little.”

Jonah looked over at him, eyebrows lowering quizically as he processed Florian’s change in tone. “Oh,” he said after a moment with a chuckle that was mostly air, leaning back against the seat with an unbelieving shake of his head. “What? You having trouble getting it lately?”

“No,” Florian shot back defensively as the truck lurched over an embankment, “You’re just sort of… unique.” he tried to explain, his word choice earning him a cross glare from Jonah. “What? I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just sayin’ you’re a good time is all. Take the compliment.”

On the one hand, Jonah wanted to be mad that Florian’s main reason for contacting him had been for meaningless sex, but, at the same time, the idea sounded startlingly tempting. Jonah had never had an exceptionally high libido, but since he began participating in HARP, he’d noticed his sex drive steadily increasing as the days went on. It had only been a few days since his massively exerting encounter with the Kynikian pack, but he already found himself growing restless as the proposition of sex made him squirm in the canvas-lined bucket seat of Florian’s truck.

“If you want to fuck, just say that,” Jonah replied as the two-story cedar plank barn appeared in the distance.

Florian blinked back at him momentarily before his gaze returned to the road. “You didn’t use to be so blunt,” he finally concluded. “So, I take it that’s a no?”

“That’s not what I said,” Jonah corrected as they pulled off again down a long curved driveway, dust billowing behind them as the tires displaced the less tightly packed dirt. “Honestly, I could use the stress relief.”

“Wait, really?” Florian questioned as he eased the truck to a stop, jerking back the old parking brake.

“Don’t act surprised that I agreed to fuck you,” Jonah scoffed as he pulled the passenger door open, jumping out onto the packed dirt driveway. He looked back at his backpack on the truck’s rubber-matted floor, his bugged phone buried somewhere inside, before he slammed the door shut as Florian clambered out the other side.

“That’s not- I’m not surprised just,” Florian fumbled to explain, “I don’t know. You didn’t use to be so forward.”

“A lot has changed since the last time we saw each other,” Jonah replied, shrugging nonchalantly as he sauntered around the canvas-covered truck bed. Florian met his gaze, his confused expression melting into something more taunting, his eyes unreadable in the low light.

“A lot has changed, hasn’t it?” Florian agreed with an arrogance in his voice that made Jonah stop in his tracks a few feet away from the other man. “You always thought there was something redeeming about all those UC Martians, always wanted to get out of Colkirk to prove that ‘we’re not so different after all!’ or whatever bullshit they’re preaching nowadays,” he began, taking a few nonchalant steps forwards Jonah. “But I never thought you’d agree to be some alien cock whore, not in a million years.”

“Goddammit,” Jonah swore, crossing his arms protectively over his chest as he fought the urge to step away from the other man. It was easy enough to translate his fear into anger. “I should’ve known this would just be about the whole HARP thing. If you’re going to berate me about it, whatever, but why bother inviting me out here for a quick lay if you’re just gonna be a dick about it?”

“No, no, Jojo. You got it all wrong,” Florian dismissed as he stopped in front of Jonah, their chests just a few centimeters apart. Despite having a few inches over Florian, the look on the other man’s face made him feel like Florian was the one leering down at him. “I invited you out here because of ‘the whole HARP thing,’ as you put it.”

Jonah’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows lowering uncertainly as he processed Florian’s statement. Florian let out a sharp exhale somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle.

“Come on, just follow me inside. No point in standing out here,” Florian explained as he turned towards a side door on the barn, motioning for Jonah to follow as he began unlocking the metal bolt.

“Fine,” Jonah huffed as he walked towards the building, a sarcastically chivalrous wave of Florian’s hand prompting him over the threshold. If a sliver of arousal hadn’t been persistently lingering in the back of his mind like a splinter embedded in the pad of a finger, he probably would’ve called off their impromptu hook-up. But the desire to satiate that stubborn feeling combined with an increased sense of confidence since the last time he’d been with Florian stilled his anxious thoughts. Florian was nothing compared to Baimir, the Vek, the Kynikians, or even the phantom feeling of Dr. Grelain’s eyes on his skin.

The McCauley’s barn was a humble building, just a few stalls with an open area in front of the main door stretching down the center of the packed dirt floor. A small hay loft occupied the back half of the rafters, half full of neatly wound bales. A few loose bales were scattered around the main floor, stacked in short piles along a walled-off corner, which was likely Florian's room. Jonah wandered towards one of the fences off stalls, resting his hand on the thick top rail. The wood felt rough under his hands, but the absence of large splinters told him it was well-maintained.

Jonah turned back towards the door as Florian walked over to him, peeling his overcoat off as he walked and tossing the garment onto a hip-height haybale by the wall.

“So, what? Are you gonna fuck me already, or are you just going to taunt me about HARP more?” Jonah queried, leaning back on the fence as the other man approached.

Without commenting, Florian leaned close to him, their bodies just a breath away from touching. Jonah felt the rugged oak fence press up against the small of his back as Florian stepped between his legs, nudging Jonah’s thighs apart with his knee.

“You know what I think, Jojo?” Florian whispered, grabbing the back of Jonah’s neck and pressing into the other man’s throat until he could feel Jonah’s pulse thrumming under his fingertips. “I think you need to be reminded what you are.”

“Oh?” Jonah prompted, his voice just as low. “And what is that exactly?” His hands gripped at a rung on the fence by his hips as Florian’s knee pushed up against his crotch.

Florian leaned forward until their chests were flush against each other, head tilting down until his mouth hovered over Jonah’s ear. “You’re human,” Florian hissed, relieving how the whispered statement made Jonah shiver. “Or has all that monster dick made you forget already?”

“Mm, I see what this is,” Jonah hummed, trying to conceal the way Florian’s breath ghosting across the shell of his ear made heat pool in his gut, amplifying the feeling of the other man’s leg pushing against his clothed cock. “You’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” Florian repeated, tightening his grip on the back of Jonah’s neck, digging his fingertips into the wiry muscles there. “As if. No, I’m… disappointed. You let all that invader education get in your head, and now you’re whoring yourself to whatever space monster those suits hook you up with. What a waste. It’s really just sad to see.”

Jonah gasped as Florian’s other hand slid up his ribs, cold palm gliding underneath his shirt. “But I haven’t given up on you,” he continued, pushing the pad of his thumb across one of Jonah’s nipples. “Remember how I used to make you scream, spread out so pretty on my bed? How many of those monsters knew what makes you tick like I do, huh Jojo?”

“Ah, you’re thinking too highly of yourself,” Jonah replied, holding back a gasp as Florian pinched his nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the perky bud between the pads of his fingertips.

“We’ll just have to see about that then, won’t we?” Florian chuckled, “But I’m not the only one in town who wants to remind you that you were made for human cock, not whatever tentacle bullshit those Martians have.”

Florian’s hand slipped out from Jonah’s shirt as he took a half step back, his grip remaining on the other man’s throat as he pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He tapped at it with one hand for a moment before he flipped the screen around in front of Jonah’s face, the fluorescent glare shining across the other man’s cheeks as his eyes widened.

There was a massive group chat on the screen, the top bar displaying an uncountable stack of profile pictures. Old messages hovered above the new text bar describing sex acts in short exclamations and an untasteful amount of emojis. Florian had a new message typed up but not yet sent at the bottom of the screen.

I have the HARP bitch. Come to McCauley’s barn anytime tonight if you want to show him real cock. All welcome, no condom required.

“Don’t look so startled. I’m not going to hit send,” Florian chuckled lowly, “You are, if you want to, of course. I won’t complain about having you to myself for the evening, but there are a lot of people waiting to get their hands on you after all those rumors started going around. I figured it’d be more fun if everyone had a fair chance to make you admit that a human can fuck you better than any alien ever could.”

“So that’s what this is about? Some superiority competition?” Jonah summarized, eyes flicking between Florian and the phone screen as another message came in asking for an update. “You want me to admit that humans fuck better than aliens? That’s a little childish, even for you.”

Florian just shrugged. “Maybe, but what have you got to lose?”

Jonah eyed the screen for a moment longer before he forced his arm to move before he could contemplate his decision anymore, swiftly tapping the send button while trying to ignore the smug look on Florian’s face.

“Good boy,” Florian praised as he slid the device back into his pocket, releasing his bruising grip on Jonah’s neck. Jonah could hear his phone buzzing with replies as he rubbed at the side of his throat, shooting Florian an irritated look and hoping it distracted from the flush across his cheeks.

“Don’t be so smug,” Jonah chastised.

In lieu of a response, Florian grabbed a coil of rope from a hook on the wall and a thick quilted saddle pad from a stall door, tossing it on the fence to Jonah's side. “Take your jacket and everything below the belt off, then face the fence,” he ordered as he unwound the rope, sliding it through his hands.

“What, no ‘please?’” Jonah scoffed under his breath as he turned around, standing in the middle of the draped saddle pad as he shucked his jacket off, tossing the duster over the rail to his side. He steadied himself on the fence, tugging indiscriminately at his laces until they loosened just enough to slip his socked feet out of the worn canvas boots. The idea of standing on the packed dirt floor in his socks made him shudder, so he pulled those off as well, balling them up in his shoes as he set them a few feet to the side under his jacket.

He undid the button above his fly and paused, expecting a wave of embarrassment as he prepared to take his pants off, but, almost as surprisingly, there was none. He shucked the garment down, pulling his boxers down with them. The tightly woven material bunched around his knees as he struggled to work them down his shins with some semblance of grace, shaking them off his feet with a huff.

He heard a soft startled noise behind him, almost too quiet to hear, as he leaned over to the side to lay his discarded pants with his other clothing.

“Not as shy as you used to be, I see,” Florian commented as his eyes traced across Jonah’s bare ass, the back half of his cunt peeking through his legs.

“Disappointed?” Jonah chuckled, “You were always into the blushing virgin type.”

Florian strode towards him, planting a hand firmly on the railing to his side as he pushed his weight into Jonah’s back. “Stay cocky while you still can,” he chided, sinking further down until he forced Jonah’s chest to the railing, folding the other man under his body.

Jonah allowed himself to be pinned down, listening intently as he heard cloth rustling as Florian searched for something with his other hand. Florian’s hands appeared in front of his face as the other man shifted to his elbows, upper arms bracketing Jonah’s shoulders as he balanced his forearms on the fence. He held the loosely coiled length of rope draped over his palm in one hand, and in the other, a chrome pocket knife, still in the closed position.

Jonah’s eyes widened as his gaze stopped on the identifiable shape, brushed metal handle glinting in the barn’s dim sepia-tinged lighting. Florian chucked over him, chest shaking against Jonah’s spine as he ran his index finger deliberately across the back of the sheath.

“Oh, don’t go all quiet on me now, Jojo,” Florian tsked before he flicked the blade open with a metallic shing. He tilted the knife back and forth, watching how the light danced across the blade’s smooth chrome plane. “This can’t be scarier than all those big bad monsters you’ve had inside you, now can it?”

“The competition was never about who’s scarier,” Jonah replied as the blade slowly approached his face before Florian brought his hands together, sliding the blade underneath a section of rope directly in front of his forehead.

“So who do you think is scarier then, hmm?” Florian prompted, forearms tensing as he ripped the knife through the thick hemp rope, letting the freshly cut section drop to the floor. “Humans,” he asked, making Jonah startle as he slammed the knife down, the blade sinking into the top of the fence with a thwack, “or aliens?”

Jonah exhaled tensely, head dropping to look at the ground as Florian ran a hand across his shoulder, tracing down his arm. His second reaction to the question was an academic explanation that any sentient being could be cruel. To say one is ‘scarier’ than the others would be a gross simplification. But his first reaction was the memory of a broad cerulean-plated face, and a massive hand clutched around the handle of an air gun.

“... aliens,” he replied in a whisper so quiet it was mostly air as Florian gripped his wrist with one hand, pulling over the fence until it touched a rung closer to the floor.

“Interesting,” Florian hummed as he wrapped a length of rope around Jonah’s wrist, looping it over the railing, lashing him to the fence with the expertise of a farmhand before he repeated the process on the other side. The resulting position left Jonah bent over the top rail, padded saddle blanket pushing at the bottom of his ribcage with his hands tied around knee height opposite the fence to his legs.

“This is new for you,” Jonah commented as Florian stepped away to admire his handiwork. “Worried I’ll be too rowdy?”

“Hardly,” Florian scoffed as he rummaged for something out of Jonah’s line of sight. “Some of the other guys suggested it, and I thought it’d be fun. This though?” his footsteps approached again as he returned, brushing his fingers up Jonah’s spine, hand grazing his tailbone before it eventually settled at the base of his skull. “This was my idea.”

“What are you talking about?” Jonah questioned, trying to look over his shoulder only to be halted when Florian’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck.

“How familiar are you with tech in the BDSM sphere?” Florian asked, “You never used to be into that stuff, but you didn’t use to be into getting fucked full of alien eggs for money either, so…”

“Not very,” Jonah replied shortly, cutting off his trailing sentence.

“Well, a lot of folks got tired of fumbling around with old-school blindfolds, so these babies have become really popular lately,” Florian explained as he waved a small device in front of Jonah’s face. It was no bigger than a nickel pinched between the man's thumb and forefinger—a square of dull metallic prongs surrounded by a raised border protruding from one side. “I’m not totally sure how it works, honestly. Something about electric signals temporarily affecting the part of your brain that your eyes go to.”

“I know how they work,” Jonah cut in again as Florian pulled the device back. He shivered as the cold piece of metal pressed against the base of his skull, slotting between the thin muscles that ran vertically up the top of his spine.

“Of course you do,” Florian jibed, an eye roll audible in his tone as he anchored the small machine, his other hand leaving Jonah’s neck. “So you know what happens when I press this button, right?”

Before Jonah could nod affirmatively, a brief static shock buzzed through his skull, tingling through his head like tiny pinpricks before his vision abruptly cut to black.

“Lights out,” Florian quipped, “and now we’re finally to the fun part,” he boasted, unzipping his fly with one hand while his other traced back down Jonah’s spine before his fingers hooked around the other man’s hip.

Jonah flinched as Florian’s other hand suddenly appeared on his thigh, prompting a chuckle from the other man as he traced a line up Jonah’s leg before he grabbed his ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh. Jonah let out a quiet noise of complaint as Florian’s nails dug into his skin.

“You always had a nice ass. Bet those aliens never appreciated that,” Florian mused, finally releasing his grip as Jonah dropped his head down to the ground with a stifled groan. A line of red crescent moons marred the side of Jonah’s ass as Florian dropped his hand lower, tracing underneath his cheek until his fingers brushed the other man’s cunt.

He slid two fingers forward until he pressed up against the underside of Jonah’s cock, before he slipped back to repeat the motion, spreading the slick fluid dripping from Jonah’s cunt through his folds. “Wow, this wet already?” Florian laughed, stokes smoothing out as he coated Jonah’s skin. “You’ve become a real whore these past few years, huh? You think that’s why they picked you?”

Jonah let out a heavy breath as Florian’s hand dripped further between his legs, circling his cock. The motions were clumsy, but he still found his hips twitching greedily into the touch.

“If you’re trying to jerk me off, you’re doing a shit job of it,” he countered.

Florian scoffed, “I’m just trying to slick you up. Thought I’d be nice and prep you a little, but if you’re gonna be like that,” Jonah gasped as two fingers sank into him without warning, rapidly shoving in up to the knuckle. “I don’t have to be nice.”

Jonah’s thighs tensed as Florian scissored his fingers in the tight passage, forcing his walls apart before he thrust in and out of his cunt a few times, filling the barn with a loud squelching noise.

“I can’t believe you’re still tight,” Florian marveled as he continued vigorously finger fucking Jonah’s cunt, feeling how the other man clenched reflexively around his hand. “They give you something to keep all those aliens from fucking you lose?”

Jonah's retort correcting the misconceptions about vaginal elasticity died in his throat as he felt droplets of fluid dripping down the back of his closed thighs. He pushed back into the other man’s hand, his body craving stimulation deeper than Florian’s fingers could reach.

“Fuck me with your cock already, dammit,” he swore as Florian’s fingers hammered in and out of him, fingertips dragging against his wall enough to stimulate but not enough to bring any real relief from the incessant feeling of need gnawing at his nerve endings.

Florian’s fingers slipped from his cunt, leaving a trail of liquid dripping between his legs. He heard a wet skin-on-skin sound as the other man slicked himself up with the residual fluid on his hand before a smooth cockhead pressed up against his cunt.

“How bad do you want human cock, huh Jojo?” Florian taunted, pushing in just enough to spread Jonah apart a fraction but not enough to fully bury his head in the other man’s cunt.

“It’s not because it’s human cock,” Jonah challenged, trying to push his hips back, only to be stopped by Florian’s grip on his waist.

“You really want to argue with me right now?” Florian questioned, rocking the first few centimeters of his cock in and out of Jonah leisurely.

“I’m not arguing. I’m just refusing to feed your ego,” Jonah refuted again, “Want to make me admit human cock is better? Then fucking prove it, Florian.”

The front of his thighs slammed against the padded railing as Florian thrust into him with a bruising amount of force, cock sinking in until his balls slapped loudly against Jonah's skin.

“F-fuck!” he swore behind gritted teeth as Florian began pistoning into him, pulling out until his cockhead nearly slipped from the other man’s cunt, before slamming in powerfully enough to shove Jonah’s body forward as far as the bindings on his wrists would allow.

Florian’s cock wasn’t unimpressive by human standards, but it paled in comparison to Jonah’s recent escapades in both length and girth. The subtly painful sting he’d become accustomed to was absent, and strangely, he missed it like the burn of tequila down his throat. There was something pleasant about the discomfort, or maybe it was just the anticipation of what followed.

Knowing this, he hadn’t expected to gain much from being fucked by Florian, but his previous hypothesis turned out to be pleasantly false as he moaned around the other man’s fervent thrusts. He could tell the insertion was smaller, but the feeling of something dragging against his walls with mindnumbing friction as Florian thrust into him still made him writhe. His feet fumbled against the packed dirt floor as he fought to remain standing under Florian’s brutal strokes before he yielded, collapsing entirely against the fence.

Maybe his lack of sight amplified the sensations, but he swore he could feel each vein along Florian’s cock sliding against his fluttering walls as the man pounded away at him, chuckling at the little breathy sounds that escaped Jonah’s throat.

“Where’s all that big talk now?” Florian taunted, using his grip around Jonah’s hips to pull the other man back into his thrusts. “Is that how you are? All big talk until you finally get a dick inside you?” A hand appeared on Jonah's jaw, making him jump as Florian pulled his head back, fingers looping around his neck. “Come on. Answer me, Jojo.”

“I- that’s not,” Jonah fumbled for a response, staring blindly up at the ceiling as Florian’s hand flexed lightly around his extended throat. “Not really a question.”

“Too complicated for you?” Florian asked, his tone sickly sweet with mockery. “Let me dumb it down. Behind all that wit, are you really just a dumb little cock slut?”

Florian’s brutal pace didn’t stall as he taunted Jonah, his hips slamming into the other man’s ass like a jackhammer as he watched Jonah process the statement, his mouth partially open as each thrust punched a little gasp out of his throat.

Jonah barely registered the sound of gravel crunching outside as a vehicle approached as he struggled to formulate a response. The completely wanton part of him that seemed to be surfacing more frequently in his HARP appointments was kept at bay for the time being by his annoyance with Florian’s arrogance. He didn’t want to feed the man’s ego anymore, especially now that he knew this entire thing was born out of the need to establish sexual dominance over the extraterrestrials the residence of Colkirk so famously hated. Still, he could feel the desire to shamelessly prostrate himself under Florian’s hand bubbling in his gut.

“You-you're still thinking too- oh- h-highly of yourself, Florian,” he forced out, his desire to abate Florian’s ego momentarily winning out.

Despite his blinded state, he reflexively tried to snap his head to the side as he heard the barn door creak open, but Florian’s hand, still firmly looped under his jaw, held him in place.

“Oh, perfect timing,” Florian exclaimed, coming to a halt as he buried himself fully in Joah’s cunt. “Jojo, you remember Alhan and Jay from school, right? I’m not sure if you ever met Rider, though. I suppose now is a good a time as any for first introductions, right?”

Jonah tried to ignore the rest of their greetings as he focused on catching his breath, cunt fluttering intermittently around the other man’s shaft. He only half listened as Florian gave Alhan a set of directions, something about passing him an unnamed item. However, Florian regained his full attention when he felt a smooth rubber shape press against his cock, wedged between his body and the saddle pad.

“Remember all those old textbooks that called humans ‘the tool users?’ It’s supposedly how we made it to the top of the food chain back in the day,” Florian mused before he clicked a button, and the wand vibrator between Jonah’s legs buzzed to life, “So, I’d say this is fair game, wouldn’t you?”

He didn't wait for a reply before he resumed pistoning in and out of Jonah’s cunt, one hand looped around his body to hold the vibrator firmly against his cock while the other clutched at his hip, pulling him back into the thrusts.

He could hear voices in the background as the newcomers commented on his body, urging Florian on until his hips slapped so loudly against Jonah’s ass that he felt bruised. The rumbling vibrations shot through him with a mind-numbing pleasure, buzzing against his clit. The combined sensations brought him close to cumming embarrassingly fast. He bit his lip as his thighs quivered, knees buckling into the fence post.

“F-fuck,” he swore, biting his tongue to stifle the whimpers threatening to slip from his throat as he dropped his head. A hand clasped in his hair, fingers knotting through blond strands as someone jerked his head back, forcing a gasp from his lips.

“You about to cum, Jojo?” Florian asked, the smirk audible in his tone, “He always shakes like this when he’s about to cum,” he explained, voice projecting to the side as he addressed one of the newcomers.

“Cute,” a timber voice laughed before a hand settled on his shoulder, nails tracing along his skin until a broad palm stopped on his spine, making him aware of the way his whole torso was quivering. “You actually gonna let him?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Florian replied with a grunt as he pistoned in forcefully, thrusts slowing as he took his time backing out, hips only retreating a few inches before he leisurely sank back in. His grip tensed around Jonah’s hips, fingertips digging into the soft spot of tissue above the crest of his pelvis hard enough to leave marks. A breathy whine escaped Jonah’s closed lips as his thighs twitched around the vibrator. “Think I’m just gonna fuck him ‘til I bust.”

“So we all just get your sloppy seconds then, huh?” A third voice chimed in somewhere behind Florian.

“Obviously. I dated this bitch for five years. I get dibs,” he scoffed, readjusting his grip on Jonah’s hair as he pulled the other man’s head back until his chin pointed up at the ceiling, shoulders straining as the action pulled against his bound hands. “Isn’t that right, Jojo? Who’s this cunt belong to?”

Jonah coughed, throat straining as his neck curved back. “Me, bitch,” he forced out, still unwilling to feed Florian’s ego even as the steady hum between his legs made it harder to think.

Florian growled as the other men around them chuckled at his failed banter. His hand vanished from the back of Jonah’s head, allowing the other man to collapse forward over the fence.

“I see why you two never worked out,” the man near his head spoke, hand tracing over his trapezius until blunt nails grabbed at his collarbone. “He’s way too much for you to handle.”

“Shut the fuck up, Alhan,” Florian spat back, “Like you could do better.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Alhan replied with a low chuckle that promised something debauch. In place of a reply, Florian let out a petulant growl, grip tightening on Jonah’s hip again as he resumed his brutal pace. His strokes hadn’t been gentle before, but his motions were driven by egotism and belligerence this time. Jonah let out a yelp as Florian’s hips snapped against his ass audibly.

The sudden change of pace reminded him of his first HARP appointment when Baimir had snatched him off the ground after Jonah’s command of “use me” had triggered some bestial instinct in the xenomorph.

Jonah’s previously ruined orgasm was reconstituted with an embarrassing speed as the combined sensations of the vibrator's monotonous buzz on his cock and Florian’s brutal thrusts made his body writhe.

Jonah had always responded better to a harsher touch in the bedroom, but perhaps his steady collection of alien encounters fueled that preference. It was the only way he could explain the startling speed his first orgasm crashed over him, pulling a strangled swear from his lips.

He felt Florian cum a moment later, still reeling from the white-hot wave of euphoria as the other man spilled inside him. Florian leaned over his spent body, chest bearing down on Jonah’s back as he pressed deep into the blond’s cunt, balls twitching against Jonah’s as he let out a tense groan.

“Fuck,” Florian let out a gravelly curse as he rode out his orgasm, breath heavy behind Jonah’s ear.

An alto voice laughed behind him laughed. “Been a while since you got any tail, huh?”

Alhan responded with a scoff, nails scraping against Jonah’s scalp as his fingers flexed. “Oh, you’re one to talk, Jay. Your own wife will hardly fuck you.”

The other men chuckled at the taunt as Florian righted himself, releasing his bruising grip on Jonah’s hip as he pulled back. Jonah shivered as he felt the other man’s already softening cock slip from his cunt, only for it to be replaced by a cool hand on his ass, fingers spreading his lips apart.

“Damn, after getting railed by all those Martians, you think he’d look fucked up back here,” the final new voice spoke, huskier than Alhan’s but not quite as deep. “But this pussy could belong to a fucking porn star.”

Jonah let out a sharp laugh that devolved into a huff as he fought to catch his breath. “Not how it works, dumbass.”

A calloused hand snapped shut around his jaw, fingers digging into the soft skin underneath his chin as Alhan’s other hand dropped from his hair. “You might be able to get away with mouthing off to Florian, but that stops now.”

Jonah’s teeth clenched as he tried to squirm away from the relentless vibrations against his oversensitive clit, only to be held in place by a second hand on his ass. The metallic sound of a zipper being tugged open, followed by the rustling of heavy fabric, sounded in front of his face before the smooth skin of a cockhead pressed against his lips. Unthinkingly, he allowed the intrusion to enter his mouth as Alhan’s other hand grabbed at the crown of his head, fingers knotting into his hairline.

Jonah shuddered harder against the vibrator, hips jolting hard enough to shake the second man off. A terse whimper slipped from his throat, muffled around Alhan’s cock. The other man responded by thrusting in further, using his cage-like grip on Jonah’s head to keep him still as he gagged. The second man’s hands returned to his hips, one set of fingers looping around his waist while another pressed along the puckered rim of his asshole.

Tears welled in his lashline as he trembled, assaulted by sensations from both sides. He shut his eyes tight, trying to relax the overtaught muscles along his spine as he struggled to take deep breaths through his nose. His crude attempts to calm himself did nothing to stifle the surprised moan as a cold, slick finger slipped into his ass, prodding at the twitching ring of muscle.

Each thrust of Alhan’s cock against the back of his throat seemed an eternity long, but before he knew it, the overwhelming vibrations against his cunt tampered back out into a pleasant hum as his refractory period ended. Unthinkingly, he pushed back against the hand probing his ass, leaning into its touch as a second lubed finger worked its way inside.

A whistle sounded behind him as the fingers scissored back and forth. “What a fucking sight,” the second man commented. Jonah’s brows knotted quizically for a moment before he felt a hot glob of cum dribble from his cunt, hanging from his lips for a moment before it dripped onto his inner thigh. He couldn’t see anything, much less his own rear, but he could imagine the debauch sight of the thick fluid oozing from his hole, painting lines of white along his skin.

His eyes widened uselessly as he heard the click of a camera shutter behind him, followed by Florian’s familiar laugh.

“Chill out, Jojo,” Florian said dismissively, likely noting how he tensed up at the sound. “These are just for us. Promise. We wouldn’t want it getting out that we fucked around with the Martian whore of Colkirk, would we, boys? Not great for the reputation.”

“Yeah, I can’t say Delora would be thrilled to know I got my fingers buried in some slut’s ass right now,” the voice behind him commented, shoving his fingers in hard until his knuckles pressed up against Jonah’s skin. “She just wouldn’t get it. It’s not like we’re fucking some common whore. He’s a deserter. We’re just doing our due diligence as the last real human outpost and all that.”

Jonah fought the brief urge to roll his eyes. The people of Colkirk always spoke as if they were involved in a great war; humans vs. non-humans. He hadn’t left the fight. He couldn’t have when there had been no fight to begin with. Still, many of his former friends and classmates in Colkirk viewed his career decision as a deep betrayal.

“You’re making this seem so valiant, Jay,” Alhan chuckled above him, thrusting lazily in and out of Jonah’s lips, seeming to take more pleasure in using Jonah’s mouth as a cock warmer than truly fucking him. “Too afraid to admit you just wanted a gang bang?”

“It can’t be both?” Jay replied, slipping a third finger in, cocking them up against the walls of Jonah’s ass before dragging his fingertips back out. “He’s ready back here. Anyone else want first dibs?”

“I want him as soon as Alhan’s done with his mouth,” a voice spoke from the side. Rider, Jonah’s memory supplied. “I wanna hear him while I fuck him.”

“I got a better idea,” Florian cut in, his voice moving closer. “Finish the fuck up, Alhan. Anyone else want his mouth right now? Going once?” he asked as Alhan’s still-hard cock slipped from Jonah’s lips. He coughed, neck suddenly sore as the constant weight pushing against the back of his throat receded. “Going twice? Three times? Alright,” he finished just before his hands appeared on Jonah’s wrists, undoing the knots deftly.

Jay stepped away, his fingers leaving Jonah’s ass, leaving a trail of lube across one cheek as Florian hauled him upright by the shoulders. “Come here, Jojo,” Florian said teasingly, pulling Jonah away from the railing.

Jonah stumbled blindly across the uneven barn floor, held upright only by the heels of Florian’s hands grinding into his upper arms. After a few steps, they stopped, and the other man’s grip vanished. Jonah took the moment of stagnancy to reorient. He could hear another set of footsteps approaching slowly but gathered the other two men must’ve been waiting for Florian to finish his unknown task. He’d done a quick scan of the barn as they’d initially entered, but what little he’d been able to observe of the floorplan was escaping him.

Thinking in his current state felt like dredging through waist-deep water. He clenched his legs together anxiously, trying and failing to curb the waves of lust gnawing at his nerves. The rebuilt desire for release clogged his synapses like molasses making his thoughts slow and ungovernable.

Florian’s hands returned after a moment as the other man slipped the rope back over each wrist before drawing them together in front of Jonah in a few quick motions before he stepped back again. As Jonah opened his mouth to voice his confusion, his conjoined hands jerked upward as the rope pulled his wrists above his head.

“What the hell? Did you set this up or something?” Jonah questioned, tugging experimentally against his new bonds.

Florian just laughed. “It’s an old cattle stall, Jojo. There’s an anchor tie above you. Pretty handy, huh?”

A set of footsteps approached him swiftly, one hand running along his hip before a body pressed up behind him. “Ah, I get it,” Rider’s alto voice chimed in his ear as the man’s cock pressed into the space between his legs. “We can use both of his little holes at the same time like this. Who wants Florian’s sloppy seconds, then?”

“Stop calling it that,” Alhan’s voice growled in front of him as another hand traced along his ribs. “Most of a gangbang is ‘sloppy seconds.’”

The comment slipped out before Jonah even registered it. “Not just Florian’s. You’re all getting Martian sloppy seconds.”

Before the last syllable left his mouth, a rough hand snapped up his jaw in a familiar grip, grasped around his bone like a steel vice. “I think I liked you more with my fucking dick in your mouth,” Alhan hissed, his face so close Jonah could feel the other man’s breath on his cheek.

Jay let out a short chuckle behind him. “What? He ‘too much for you to handle’ now, Alhan?” the other man mocked, one hand dropping between Jonah’s leg as he stroked himself.

In place of a reply, Alhan dropped his hand from Jonah’s ribs, grasping behind the slightly shorter man’s knee. Jonah fought to keep his other foot on the ground as his leg was hiked up past his hip with a sharp tug. Alhan wasted no time sheathing himself in Jonah’s exposed cunt with a quick snap, pulling a strangled swear from the blond’s lips.

“You’re not too much for me, bitch. Are you now?” Alhan taunted, grinding against Jonah with so much force that he would’ve stumbled without the other man pressing against his back.

“F-fuck,” Jonah swore, eyes fluttering as Jay sank his hips forward, thrusting into Jonah’s ass. The blond’s gently stretched hole struggled to accept the intrusion before finally yielding as Jay’s cockhead slipped past the first ring of muscle.

“I asked you a fucking question,” Alhan reasserted, pulling out shallowly before pistoning back in as Jay bottomed out.

“A-ah! F-fuck, yes. No, wait, no,” Jonah struggled to respond, not remembering which answer Alhan was looking for.

Jay grunted, pushing Alhan’s hand off the back of Jonah’s knee and grabbing the blond’s leg. He shifted his hips forward, leaning back and hiking Jonah up higher against his chest until the other man’s foot barely touched the packed dirt floor. The slight change titled Jonah’s pelvis forward, pressing Alhan’s cockhead against his upper walls and allowing both men to push in just a fraction deeper.

“Go easy on him,” Jay placated, repositioning his grip on the back of Jonah’s knee until he was sure it was firm. “You expect the bitch to be able to answer you like this?”

“That’s the second time you’ve gone cock dumb tonight, Jojo,” Florian taunted from a few feet away. Jonah could almost picture him in his head, arms crossed smugly over his chest, leaning against the far rail of the cattle stall. “On human cock, no less.”

“I’m not-” Jonah tried to rebuke, “N-not cock-ah c-cock dumb.” His voice stuttered as Alhan and Jay slowly began thrusting in and out, only backing up an inch or so at first, pulling out further and further until, a few strokes later, they were both pounding Jonah. He could feel each cock slide out, leaving both holes startlingly empty before they both pistoned back in, filling him perfectly in synch. His hips bounced up and down with the strokes, his heel sinking into the floor as they pulled out, only to be jolted back onto his toes as they thrust back in, balls slapping audibly against his skin in the echoey, open space.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he swore mindlessly, bound hands gripping mindlessly at the rope over his head.

“You like that?” Jay grunted, a smug tone lining his voice as his fingers dug into the plush skin of Jonah’s ass, holding the blond’s weight.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed affirmatively, nodding as much as he could with his jaw still in Alhan’s grasp. “Ah! It’s good. It’s good. Really good- fuck-” his voice was cut off by a pitchy whimper as Alhan’s cock rubbed against his G-spot, pushed further into the spongy patch of tissue by Jay’s cock pressing him forward. He could feel the way both men's cocks squeezed together through the thin barrier inside him. The sensation made him dizzy.

“Oh! I’m- I’m gonna cum, please,” he whined, thigh shaking in Jay’s grasp. “K-keep going, please, please, please.”

“Go ahead, whore,” Alhan replied, voice low and gravelly right in front of Jonah’s face. “Cum if you want. Or don’t. One way or another, we’re just gonna keep fucking you. We’ll fuck you till you sore, until you don’t think you can cum anymore. And then, you know what? We’ll just keep fucking you. Cause that’s what you are tonight. You’re just a stupid, cock drunk, human cum dump 'cause that’s all you are to those fucking Martians too.”

Jonah’s head dropped back into Jay’s chest as Alhan dropped his jaw, likely leaving a row of red crescents pressed along his skin. His base leg buckled as a particularly bruising thrust from Alhan sent him over the edge. He collapsed back into Jay’s grip, legs shuddering as both men continued fucking him through his orgasm.

True to Alhan’s word, neither broke their pace even as Jonah twitched and fluttered around them. Jay’s hand slipped from his ass to his other leg, grabbing behind his knee and hoisting him up so he was fully aloft against the taller man’s chest, tips titled even further forward into their thrusts. Jonah’s eyes began to water again as Alhan's cockhead slammed into the same spot over and over until he could feel a cramp starting to form somewhere beneath his stomach. He could feel slick patches of discharge and cum smearing across his thighs, wetting his skin as his traitorous cunt begged for cock even as he came down from his high.

It was impossible to tell how much longer the two men spent with him, but Jay was the first to finally relent, cumming deep in his ass with a shudder and a groan. Jonah nearly sobbed as the other man’s softening cock slipped from his hole, but his respite was short-lived. Before Jay finished setting him down, another body appeared behind him, filling the space. Rider thrust in before the other man’s cum even had time to dribble out, burying himself in Jonah with a groan.

Two or three loads later, which seemed to be the only way Jonah could hope to track the time, a few more men came to answer the call of the group chat. That was when Jonah completely lost track. Streaks of cum had dripped down to his knees by the time Florian freed his arms from the overhead cattle stall, only to bring him back over to the padded fence. His ass felt raw, and he could feel his cunt cramp up as each new man entered, but he continued to beg and moan around each thrust. A few moments of clarity had him questioning when he had truly become such a whore, but more often than not, he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Each taunt only made him smile; each cruel name just made him moan louder. He’d never fancied himself into degradation, but there was something intoxicating about all these men trying so hard to break him. Trying so, so hard to break him and failing.

The night felt impossibly long but oh so short at the same time. And before he knew it, all the other men had bowed out, leaving just him and Florian sprawled out on the floor of the cattle stall. There was something heavy and strange to the silence between them. Jonah reveled in it.

He could feel Florian’s discomfort like thick, black smoke in the air, but all that meant to him was that he had won.

Florian didn’t put up a fight when he asked to use the other man’s shower and borrow a spare pair of clothes. He wasn’t planning on returning them. Florian didn’t ask.

The ride back into town was just as tense, but Joanh simply allowed Florian to seethe in his self-imposed silence as he fished his phone out of his bag where it had stayed securely on the truck floor. Only one message lit up his screen, and part of him was surprised to see even that.

From: Emmet Pylorik -sent 02:14

Hope everything is OK with Florian. Let me know if I need to kick his ass.

Jonah smiled softly to himself, face slightly turned away from Florian. He texted a brief reply before stashing the phone again, fully aware that Emmet wouldn’t be up to see it.

“Am I dropping you at your dad's?” Florian asked, finally breaking the silence. Jonah just nodded, buckling his bag in his lap. “Are you sure? Cause you don’t have to… I mean, he wouldn’t mind-”

“I’m sure,” Jonah cut him off tersely, setting his bag back between his legs with a purposeful thump.

“Alright,” Florian yielded with an annoyed sigh, turning off the main road toward the sprawl of Nova Tech apartments creeping across the horizon like barnacles clinging to the sides of rough stones in the tide. Despite the striking similarity between the building and the lack of landmarks, Florian navigated towards his dad’s unit easily. It had been years since he’d been here, but nothing had changed.

Jonah hopped out of the truck the moment it eased to a stop, slinging his bag over his shoulder and regarding Florian with a final look.

“Maybe… I’ll hear from you sometime?” Florian asked, there was no quiver in his voice, but Jonah could feel his trepidation in the air.

“Maybe,” he replied, shutting the car door, effectively cutting Florian’s olive branch at the stem as he turned toward the featureless line of doors, each marked with the same brand-standard font. 8191 stared him in the face, but he only held its gaze for a moment before his hand moved on its own, ringing the doorbell as he heard Florian pull away behind him.

Chapter Text

The purified air that had once been a refreshing marvel to Jonah’s soot-lined lungs felt uncharacteristically suffocating as he caught sight of the IOBA-marked vehicle waiting in the parking lot outside the rail station. Ter’ione stood patiently with her taloned hands clasped in front of a starched black pencil skirt while a shadow moved in the window behind her, features obscured by the tinted glass.

“Jonah,” she greeted with a curt nod, “I trust you found your time off refreshing.”

The corners of his mouth pulled down involuntarily. From their initial encounter when she’d silently led him to meet Baimir to their conversation before the incident with the Vek, he had seen hairline fractures appear in her icy, professional exterior. He couldn’t forget that recent events had called everyone’s motives into question, but something about Ter’ione felt familiar to him. He could see himself so clearly in her; constantly vying for the approval of her higher-ups in the subtle way that academia favored, all while grasping onto a sense of self for the inevitable day when she climbed high enough to use the skills you’d acquired without having to wait for someone to tell her what to do. It’s possible he was just projecting, but the idea that Ter’ione might be genuine in her role as his handler brought him comfort.

“Yes, I was overdue for a visit,” he replied with a soft smile as he set an internal resolve to break through Ter’ione’s cold persona yet again, “It’s good to be back, though. It might be sad to admit, but I get antsy when I’m away from work too long.”

“I relate to the feeling,” she answered, moving around the hovercraft to open the trunk as Jonah shouldered his backpack off. “I have also been away from my typical schedule during your leave.”

“Oh, did you get some vacation time as well?” he asked as he tossed his backpack in the trunk, heart spiking for a moment as the action reminded him of Emmet’s tech sitting in a Faraday bag near the bottom of the bag. There’d be no way something in the trunk could detect that, right? The thought flashed through his mind before Ter’ione shut the boot with a bang, startling him out of his anxious spiral.

He didn’t miss how Ter’ione’s eyes flicked forward to the shadow moving through the back window before she returned to meet his gaze. “Not vacation time, per se,” she began, her voice just a fraction softer than usual, “I was receiving some… supplementary training for my position.”

“Oh, has your role been expanded, or is it more of a policy update thing?” he questioned, forcing his voice to remain even as he processed the implications of Ter’ione’s admittance. From the change in her tone and her sudden return to frigid professionalism, his first guess was that she’d been reprimanded for the Vek incident. Jonah wasn’t sure where exactly her perceived failure was, but he didn’t doubt Dr. Grelain was the kind of person who looked for someone to blame whenever something derailed.

“More of a policy update, I suppose. Do not concern yourself with it much,” she dismissed as they moved around the cab, doors sliding open automatically, revealing a startlingly familiar face sitting in the rear-facing seat.

“Miss Gaiacothica,” he gasped, unable to stop the smile from blooming across his face. She turned to him with a pleasant grin, her legs folded neatly to the side across the faux leather seat.

“It’s so good to see you, Jonah. I’m so sorry I didn’t check in with you after I heard about your accident,” she greeted with a sympathetic drawl, scooting closer to the far window and patting the cushion beside her as an invitation. “I’m so glad to see you are alright. How was your time in Colkirk?”

“It was good!” he answered as he eagerly sat beside the researcher, thrilled at the prospect of seeing a friendly face. “How have you been? How’s everyone in the lab been doing lately? It’s been too long since I’ve been able to visit.”

“It has been too long,” she agreed with a nod as the hovercraft’s gull wing door hissed shut. “But we’ve all been fine. Business as usual, really. I’m afraid your life is the more interesting one at the moment. How was your family?”

“Oh, they’re fine,” he replied, trying to conceal the hesitance in his voice. “My brother’s still off-world, and my dad, well, same as he always is.” He smoothed out the legs of his trousers restlessly as the craft took off before clearing his throat. “Anyway, I noticed there weren’t any updates to my schedule while I was away. Is there something happening on the administrative end or…?” he trailed off.

Miss Gaiacothica hummed thoughtfully, but Jonah caught a hint of tension in her voice. “Yes, something like that. Nothing new, though, really. You have to understand how groundbreaking this project is, and with that comes a certain amount of unexplored territory vis-a-vis protocol. It’s not anything to worry yourself with.”

Jonah looked into the central set of eyes near the middle of her face, searching for a wisp of insight in the black porcelain pools, but all he could see was his reflection refracted across their hexagonal planes. “Well, if you ever need help, please let me know,” he sighed, leaning back into the plush seat, “I’ve held my own in front of my fair share of boards, you know? Ethics, funding, certification; they’re all the same. Bureaucracy for bureaucracy’s sake.”

“Truly,” she agreed, matching his posture, head turning to watch the buildings fly past them through the rear window. After a beat of silence, she spoke again, “I know you’ve just come home, but would you mind dropping by the lab for me? I want to remeasure your baselines. I know it’s only been a few days, but I want to be thorough.”

Jonah turned toward her a fraction before he remembered his new task, and an idea sparked to life in his head. The second Emmet had explained that they needed a direct connection to the IOBA’s internal servers, Jonah knew his only shot was through the lab. His original plan had been to sweet-talk Wan into letting him past the security doors, but the idea of deceiving his fellow researcher left a bitter taste in his mouth. The exam rooms didn’t have computers, but the nurses’ stations beside them did. If he timed it right, he might be able to catch one of the little nooks empty, and there were no cameras there since computer accountability was monitored via username.

“Of course. I appreciate the thoroughness,” he answered, forcing his voice to be even, relaxing his shoulders purposefully down into the seatback. “Do you mind if I drop my stuff off first, then just walk over on my own? Sitting on the light rail for so long has me all cramped up.”

“I will walk too,” Ter’ione cut in suddenly, “I mean,” she corrected, seeming almost startled by the force of her own interjection, “I would like to escort you for… company.”

“Oh, um, sure,” he agreed, poorly masking his hesitance with a closed-mouth smile. It was becoming increasingly clear that Dr. Grelain or whoever was calling the shots concerning him had shortened his leash. He only had to hope Ms. Gaiacothica would be able to scare Ter’ione off during his exam. The lab was her home turf, after all.

Jonah cleared his throat lightly before turning back to Ms. Gaiacothica, watching how her eyes flicked toward him. “Is there any chance you’ve been able to reinstate my lab access?” he asked, hoping not to sound too eager. “It seemed like we were both in agreement a few weeks ago that barring me from the lab is just inconvenient for everyone.”

“Oh, apologies,” she replied, head tilting down a few degrees into a subtle bow, “With everything that’s been going on, I’m afraid to say that it’s completely slipped my mind. You understand, yes?”

“Right, of course,” he nodded, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. Without lab access, he’d be unable to open the nurses’ station door, even if he could remember the catch-all intern login password they’d given him before his account was created. It was starting to look like he’d have to return to his original plan of relying on Wan-Kitku, as much as it pained him to do anything that might implicate the kind technician.

The rest of the short journey to his apartment passed in relative quiet save for the congenial comment exchanged here and there. As the hovercraft eased onto the pavement in front of the building, Jonah found himself briefly reminiscing about the hours he had spent on the light rail completing the same route that had taken them only a handful of minutes in their state-of-the-art IOBA-branded craft.

Ter’ione walked impatiently at his elbow as he moved around the car to remove his backpack from the front, her taloned feet mere inches behind his heels as he shifted the bag over one shoulder and turned to enter through the sliding glass doors.

“See you in the lab in about 30 minutes, Jonah?” Miss Gaiacothica called from the open window as the hovercraft engines whirred back to life with a low electric hum.

“Sounds perfect. See you then!” he waved back as the craft lifted into the air, a few stray leaves catching in the whirlwind of cool air across the pavement.

The elevator ride up to his apartment was spent in uncomfortable silence as Jonah kept his eyes forward, consciously trying to avoid Ter’ione’s intense amber gaze. He fought his heartbeat as the traitorous thing began to accelerate, pulse thumping in his ears. He could almost feel the burner phone and flash drive in his backpack burning a hole straight through the canvas into his shoulder blades. All he needed to do was stash the Faraday bag and bring the equipment. He repeated the list in his head as the light above the door flashed, carbon fiber panels sliding open with a ding: stash the Faraday bag, bring the flash drive, bring the phone.

The facial recognition caught him a few feet from the door, the lock audibly unclicking as he approached. Only a step into the entryway, he paused, finally looking back at Ter’ione’s face hovering above his shoulder.

“You can wait out here,” he explained with what he hoped was a cordial smile, “I’ll only be a minute.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a curt nod before her eyes widened slightly and the corners of her mouth tightened. “But,” she cleared her throat, “I’ll wait inside, actually.”

Jonah paused for a moment, hand still on the doorknob, blinking once before the part of his brain hardwired by social convention took back over. “Oh, sure. I- just take a seat wherever you’d like. I shouldn’t be long.”

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he thought as he strode across the studio, shouldering his bag off onto the bed as Ter’ione situated herself at the dining room table, hands folded neatly across her lap. He could feel her gaze on the back of his head as he slipped his overcoat off before he rummaged through his bag. He had to find something to pull out that made sense at the moment. As far as Ter’ione knew, he was just here to drop his stuff off and stretch his legs.

He couldn’t pull out any dirty clothing since that would seem odd, considering the whole dresser of neatly folded shirts and pants directly to his side. A toothbrush, perhaps? Would it seem odd to exercise a bit of extra oral care in the middle of the day? Out of time to debate further, he shoved the small Faraday pouch into his toiletry bag, blocking Ter’ione’s line of sight with his torso before he pulled the whole bundle out.

The job became straightforward when the bathroom door clicked shut behind him. He’d searched the bathroom for cameras ten times over, and a quick scan of the ceiling corners left him confident his previous assessments stood true. The flash drive was small, barely the size of the first joint of his thumb. With the exemption to pat-down searches his status provided him, he felt comfortable simply slipping the device into his pocket. The phone’s profile was a little more nerve-wracking, but it seemed to settle fine in the inner pocket of his coat, resting flush against his ribs.

There was still the matter of his contraband container, a slim Faraday bag no bigger than half a legal envelope that would raise eyebrows if found. A visual scan of the ceiling revealed nothing but sheer metal with nearly airtight seems and flush vents, unlikely to house any movable panels or accessible space behind the walls. The shower was minimal, just a tall block of metal and glass snugged up in one corner. In a spy movie Jonah used to love in high school, the kind that featured a dashing man in tailored suits and ample explosives, the man had hidden a key in the tank behind a toilet, but Jonah quickly dismissed the idea. He couldn't risk the water destroying his only unmonitored means of communication.

Nearly out of time, he abandoned his attempts to be clever and simply tossed the pocket-sized bag into the back of a drawer below the sink, behind the loose pile of pill bottles he’d found on his first night in the apartment. He couldn’t imagine a custodian bothering to dig through them, especially after seeing the embarrassingly large bottle of libido medication resting boldly on the top despite Jonah’s attempts to banish it.

Ter’ione stood stiffly as he reentered the main space, taloned hands brushing the wrinkles out of her skirt. “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

“Yes, thanks for waiting,” he replied, hyperaware of the petite little drive burning a hole in his pants pocket. He fished his official IOBA phone from the opposite pocket just to have something to hold in his nervous hands to prevent them from fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

The elevator ride down was no more relaxing than the first, spent in terse silence punctuated by the mechanical pre-recorded voice announcing when they reached the ground floor. Ter’ione remained glued to his shoulder as he turned out onto the sidewalk, nearly in lockstep with him to avoid striking his ankles.

A few minutes into the walk, it dawned on him that he hadn’t bothered to check if Wan-Kitku was in the lab today. The man rarely took vacations, but Jonah knew it’d be just his luck for the man to be off-world now, of all times. He tapped a quick message out on his phone.

To: Wan-Kitku Sarro -sent 14:38

Wan, it’s Jonah. Are you at the lab today?

Ter’ione’s head snapped back up as Jonah met her gaze as if he hadn’t noticed how her eyes were trained on his phone screen as he typed. He hadn’t bothered to conceal it either. It was pointless when he knew there was some IOBA goon at a computer screen reading every scrap of data that came through the device.

He decided to save her the social faux-pas and continue their brief stroll in silence. She could snoop as much as she wanted, or rather, as much as her superiors were demanding. As far as they would be concerned, he was just conversing with a friend.

The crowd of faceless suits walking the sidewalks around him morphed into a familiar sea of government employees cycling through the revolving doors of their respective offices.

When he first set foot on Capital Block a mere four months ago, fresh out of his doctorate program with that oh-so-coveted internship proposal in hand, all the buildings around the IOBA’s central office had blended into the background as a blur of mirrored highrises. Only in the last month did he realize the common theme between the otherwise non-descript buildings. Bumping up against the IOBA’s sprawl of labs on one side was a Planetary Security marshal training post, and situated on the other side was a United Coalition Department of Commerce administrative building. Across the courtyard rife with carefully maintained horticulture was a large courthouse bracketed by government-contracted legal council offices. As far as Jonah could see, the whole block was comprised of United Coalition-run organizations surrounding the IOBA in a protective layer of government-mandated concrete operated by a staff chained by thick contracts and security NDAs.

Jonah jumped as his phone chimed in his hand, tearing his gaze away from the crowd and back to the illuminated screen as a series of messages popped up one after another.

From: Wan-Kitku Sarro -sent 14:51

Did you get a new phone number? I did not have this one in my contacts.

From: Wan-Kitku Sarro -sent 14:51

Yes, I will be at the lab today. I am in the final construction phase of my second version of the HARP scanner with an improved diagnostic report. You would probably find it fascinating if you’d like to come by and see it.

From: Wan-Kitku Sarro -sent 14:51

If you want to, of course. I understand you may not be interested, considering everything. But the technology is “right up your alley,” as you would say.

From: Wan-Kitku Sarro -sent 14:52

Why do you ask?

Jonah felt one eyebrow raise as he waited for the typing symbol to finally vanish from the bottom of the screen. Wan’s typing speed was undoubtedly commendable, if nothing else.

To: Wan-Kitku Sarro -sent 14:52

I’m coming in for a check-up right now. Just wondering if I’d be seeing you :)

From: Wan-Kitku Sarro -sent 14:52

Certainly, I will make time to drop by.

As the IOBA’s spawning complex began to swallow the cityscape around them, Ter’ione cleared her throat, interrupting the white noise of chatter and electric engines around them.

“Are you and he- or uh, whoever you are texting there.” she began, one clawed hand fiddling with the button on her cuff, “Are you close?”

“Oh, Wan and I?” he prompted with a half smile, “I’d say so, yes. I only moved here a few months ago, and I’ve spent most of it in this building, so he’s one of the closest things I have to a friend. I’d consider us friends, too, you know?”

Ter’ione’s amber eyes widened, avian pupils dilating just a fraction as her pace faltered before she quickly recovered, hands dropping back to her sides. “Really?” she questioned, the corner of her mouth twitching as if she had more to say that she couldn’t bring herself to voice.

“Yeah, don’t worry though. It won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t feel the same way,” Jonah reassured as the towering tinted glass doors that led to the lobby opened with a hum, revealing the IOBA’s impressive lobby, complete with an array of primarily unused post-modern seating arrangements and a few bored security guards staring blankly into the center of the room. “I don’t know what your life is like outside of this,” he continued, “Maybe you have a bustling social life full of house parties and family gatherings and date nights with no need for weird work friends you’re being paid to babysit.” He laughed, stepping into the elevator as the system detected Ter’ione’s keycard, buttons lighting up blue with a cheery beep.

“Ah, no,” Ter’ione replied with a dry, dismissive chuckle, “I must admit this job keeps me quite busy. Additionally, any free time I have goes to studying, so no house parties for me, I’m afraid.”

He wondered just how much of Ter’ione’s life had been consumed by this project. In a way, he felt bad for her. Their situations were similar in a number of unfortunate ways.

Their small talk fizzed into silence as they continued to the lab, clerical wings giving way to sanitized linoleum floors and epoxy walls like two landscapes merging. As they reached the examination rooms, Jonah allowed Ter’ione to take point, following without comment as she led him through one of the dull metal doors, faded identification code plastered off to the side.

“Does Mi’anna know we’re here?” he asked, settling into the familiar chair in the corner of the room. Its thinning vinyl cushion and dated armrests had become as familiar to him as his own bed.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I neglected to tell you that your care has been transferred to a different physician as of today,” she answered, lingering against the far wall.

“What? Why?” he questioned more insistently, “I thought Mi’anna was the lead HARP physician.”

“Her title remains true for the other candidates, but given recent events, your care has been transferred to a board of physicians rather than a single provider. Mi’anna is on that board; however, she is not the lead physician.”

“Then who is?” he pried again just as a set of knuckles rapped against the door before a round-faced nurse poked his head in hesitantly.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Basset,” he greeted as he stepped into the room, hands carefully clutched around a small satchel of equipment. “Might I take some vitals before the doctor arrives?”

Ter’ione eased her way out of the room, tablet still in hand, as he extended his arm to the nurse, allowing him to secure a well-worn blood pressure cuff across his bicep. The nurse assessed him efficiently with minimal conversation before scurrying out of the room with a hushed thanks.

A second after the sheer metal door closed, it swung open again as a familiar face swept into the room, a freshly bleached labcoat adorning his shoulders. Amber orange tentacles dappled with shades of blush pinks, and greys sprouted from the man’s face and spine. He’d never gotten the name of the doctor who examined him in Silver Valley Medical Center, but the face had remained etched into his mind like a pencil drawing poorly erased.

“Hello, Mr. Basset,” he began, setting his table down on the counter as he pulled a set of three-fingered gloves from the container on the wall. “I’m happy to see you under more favorable circumstances. It’s alright if you don’t remember me well. I’m Dr. Anthcarro. How have you been?”

A switch in his head seemed to click to one side with an audible thunk like a heavy, iron lever in a mad scientist's lair. He turned off the Jonah that wanted to leap up and run from the room, the one that wanted to scream and punch the wall until something in his hand broke, the one that wanted to curse his fate and question how he could’ve been stupid enough to be caught off guard by this. What was left after that Jonah was gone was a cold politeness, the kind that shook your hand at a charity banquet while sipping watered-down champagne and asked about the weather.

The appointment passed in a blur as if a heavy fog suddenly obscured the room. He counted the lights on the ceiling as Dr. Anthcarro went through the motions of a typical exam. His requests were all routine and non-invasive: a vial of blood taken from his arm, a palpatory exam of his abdomen, and a standard Q and A session about his general health and mental well-being. He forged simple, noncommital responses, giving just enough detail to satisfy the doctor: his appetite was normal, the sun hadn’t been too much, he remembered to drink water while in the desert, he was coping fine. He knew all the right points to hit and all the right topics to cover to make the appointment end as quickly as possible until he was finally left in blissful peace. The oppressive air left as if sucked from a vacuum as the doctor exited the room, allowing him a moment to breathe before feeling of the contraband phone pressed against his ribs flipped all the breakers back on, relighting the light behind his eyes.

He stood abruptly and made his way over to the door. Upon his arrival, the hallway seemed virtually deserted, just a dead-end corner occupied by exam rooms and storage closets. Fortunately for him, he knew there was an unpopular, secluded nurses' station down here once used for logging reports when the room across the hall functioned as an operation room. A series of renovations rendered the room obsolete, consequently making the computer inconvenient to use. There was even a chance the door would be unlocked, as it was often neglected and considered unimportant by personnel.

The exam room door eased open silently as he peered into the hallway. After a moment of motionless silence, he stepped onto the pale, linoleum floor, trying to keep his pace casual. Halfway to his target, he glanced up to the side, heart jumping into his throat as he spotted the pitch-black lens of a security camera observing his every move. He froze on instinct, muscles tensing on reflex as he pulled in a quick breath, but before he could rethink his actions, a set of heavy footsteps began to echo down the hallway.

A towering figure emerged around the corner, long legs striding in front of him with a graceful yet vigorous pace, worn-linen lab coat trailing behind him. The tendrils sprouting from the back of his head quivered expressly, reminding Jonah distantly of a dog’s tail as Wan-Kitku spotted him.

“Jonah, I’m glad I did not miss you,” he greeted, the corners of his mouth arching up into a soft smile. “I do apologize. I would have been here sooner, but I got caught in conversation with Miss Gaiacothica.”

“That’s alright, Wan. I’m just glad to see you,” Jonah let out an uneasy breath, releasing some of the tension from his body with a sigh. “Although…” he trailed off, unsure of what to say. His window to get Emmet into the IOBA’s system was small and narrowing with every moment. Jonah desperately wanted to avoid implicating his fellow researcher, but it seemed the situation was leaving him no other option. “You’ve caught me in the middle of something. It’s hard to explain, but I could use your help for a moment.”

“Of course, Jonah, whatever you need,” came Wan’s unquestioning agreement, so genuine it made Jonah’s heart clench painfully.

“Can you just… pretend to show me something in this room,” Jonah explained, pointing at the unmarked door, “and then stand out here in the hallway for a moment until I’m done?”

“... I can,” Wan replied hesitantly, his eyes glancing curiously at the nurses’ station before falling back to Jonah’s face with a skeptical brow. “May I ask why?”

“I-” Jonah trailed off, “It’s very hard to explain, I’m afraid, and I don’t have a lot of time. I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make sure this doesn’t come back to bite you, so please-”

“I’ll do it,” Wan-Kitku cut him off, “You can explain later; for now, please just do whatever it is you must do. I trust you.”

Despite the looming guilt, Wan’s agreement filled him with relief like cool water over a fresh burn. His clenched jaw slackened as he looked up at the other man in earnest, hoping his gratitude was visible between the angle of his brow and the curve of his lips, mouthing a thank you as Wan mimed the motions of showing him across the hall.

The taller man opened the door for him, grabbing his shoulder with a gentle hand as Jonah began to step inside.

“I’ll be right here if you need anything,” he said as Jonah strode by him, flicking on the lights in the closet-sized room.

“I know,” the words slipped from Jonah’s mouth reflexively as the door shut between them. He allowed himself a second to breathe before pulling the phone out of his jacket pocket, mouth set in determination. The computer booted up with the push of a button and a cheerful chime as the screen cycled to an unassuming login page.

He dialed Emmet’s number on the burner, disguising the tremor in his hands by balling his fists up over the keyboard as he listened to the phone ring. His breath stilled in his chest, the air in his lungs held in a nervous suspension as he counted out the dial tones. One, two, three, fou-

“Jonah, hey, what’s up?” Emmet answered over the sound of rustling fabric, “Everything OK?”

“I’m in the lab with the flash drive,” he blurted out, fists unclenching as he poised his hands over the keyboard. “I have a computer here. Do you need me to unlock it before I plug it in? I can, but it’ll raise more attention.”

“I’ll need you to unlock it,” Emmet replied, sitting down audibly in his squeaky desk chair with a disgruntled sigh, “Will they be able to track you back to this if you do?”

“Not necessarily. I’m using the guest password,” Jonah explained, corralling his voice back down to a cautious whisper as he began typing in the username, IOBAlabguest01, and the password, which was just a scramble of the IOBA’s address. “It’s the one they give you before IT gets you into the system. There are at least a few hundred people in the building with this login info.” The computer unlocked with a cheery 8-bit fanfare, revealing the blank teal wallpaper. “OK, I have it. Do I just plug the drive in?”

“Yup, any USB is good,” Emmet confirmed. Jonah ran his fingertips along the side of the paper-thin monitor until he felt the hard edges of a raised USB slot near the corner. He shoved the little device in, glancing back toward the door quickly as a series of pop-up windows flashed across the screen before disappearing.

“OK, perfect,” Emmet said, voice slower as he concentrated, “Now, just give me a second to get through this security. Shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes with the direct connection.”

The low metallic sound of tumblers sounded from Jonah’s side, causing his shoulders to jump visibly. He scrambled to block the computer with his back before he caught sight of a broad azure face passing through the narrowly cracked doorway.

“Sorry to startle you, Jonah,” Wan apologized, stepping into the room before shutting the door gingerly behind him, one hand resting on the carbon fiber panels as if he were listening intently to something on the other side. After a moment of tense, breathless silence, he continued. “I know you requested I wait outside, but I’m afraid I look rather suspicious just standing in the hallway like that. I promise I didn’t come in just to look at what you’re doing… or to listen in on your conversation,” he added, noting the phone in Jonah’s hand. “But, in the event of someone else coming in, I thought I might be able to explain your presence by saying I am simply showing you something on the computer.”

“I- I don’t want you to have to lie for me, Wan,” Jonah fumbled to explain, feeling his pulse flutter in his throat. “I don’t want to put you in that situation for something you don’t even know about, no less. I can’t ask that of you. I just can’t.”

“Then tell me about the situation,” Wan prompted, approaching the more petite man. There was an almost pleading tone to his voice that Jonah had never heard before. The harsh fluorescent reflected off Wan’s dark eyes, brows drawn together in a way that made his chest tight.

“Is someone there with you?” Emmet asked, nervous voice spiking in Jonah’s ear over the tinny speakers. “I almost have the data. Please tell me you aren’t busted.”

Jonah tore his gaze to the side, cupping his other hand around the speaker. “There’s someone else here, but it’s OK. Just focus on what you’re doing,” Jonah attempted to absolve his concerns before he turned back to Wan. “It’s-” he tried to explain but found all reasonable lines of thought escaping him. “Please just walk away, Wan. This- you’re smart. You do good work here. It won’t- nothing will be the same again if I tell you.”

“Jonah,” Wan-kitku interrupted, a cool resolution in his tone. He took another step forward, one graceful hand held palm down in a placating motion. “You know better than anyone it is too late for me to walk away.”

Jonah closed his eyes and pulled in a tense breath, one hand grazing roughly through his bangs, fingers snagging on the thicket of disheveled curls before he let out a shaky exhale. Before he could force out a strained reply, Emmet began speaking in his other ear.

“Got it. I got it,” he began, filling the line with a torrent of staccato clacking sounds as his fingers flew over the keyboard. “First order of business: what happened to our Vek friends? Aaand… yup, right here on their internal servers. Woo, the IOBA’s external protections? Some of the best in the galaxy. But their internal security? Kiddy shit. Check the screen.”

Just as Emmet commented, a file popped up on the screen containing two links; one folder titled “HARP Candidate #024 Vek” followed by a smaller document labeled “HARP Incident Report #033, Participant #012 JB”. Before he finished processing the words, his hand moved over the cursor pad automatically, clicking the document open without a word. He scanned the first page, a silent bittersweet cheer for his sanity sounding in his head as the report summary confirmed everything he’d suspected waking up in that hospital, finally silencing that quiet but persistent voice of doubt lingering in the back of his skull.

“It is the belief of the overseeing board that participant #012, henceforth referred to as JB, came into contact with compromising information after exposure to candidate #024. By unanimous vote, the board addressed this as a breach of sensitive information and took all available precautions to mitigate the breach.

Immediately following the breach, JB was contained to Silver Valley Medical Center for a total of 55 hours. During that time, the Vek’s clutch was aborted, and he was administered reparative memory therapy (detailed below). The effectiveness of the therapy was confirmed by staff prior to discharge. His assigned medical team, headed by Dr. Anthcarro and Dr. Yviki, addressed several minor injuries, which they reported should cause no interference in his progression in the project, and continued his HARP-specific plan of care (detailed in medical record).

Dr. Damiklar’s team attempted to stabilize the Vek’s clutch, but due to the sudden nature of the interruption of their incubation cycle, seven of the nine ova were deemed unviable post-extraction. The remaining two have been transferred back to the IOBA’s main campus, where they will remain indefinitely.”

“What…” Wan questioned, his query dissipating into the air as he peered over Jonah’s head at the document. “What is this? I thought… this is the date of your car accident?”

“There was no car accident,” Jonah answered flatly, “I knew… there was never any car accident.”

“Looks like I can access your whole medical record here, too,” Emmet chimed in, “There’s too much to go over now. I’ll grab it now, and we’ll look it over when you’re in a safer location.”

“What have they been doing to you, Jonah?” Wan-kitku asked, a soft, sorrowful sound on his lips as he processed the reality unfolding before him. His hand hovered, half raised in the air, a subtle tremor in his fingers revealing the fragility of his composure.

Jonah sighed, unsure of where to begin. “Hang on, Emmet, just focus on getting the data you need. I need to talk to someone,” he explained, setting the phone down on the counter.

“Have you been completely honest with me?” he questioned, his nervousness morphing into distrust. He wanted, no, he needed to trust Wan-Kitku. He needed that thread of hope, another refuge in this new hostile world, but he couldn’t afford to misplace his faith. “Have you told me everything about HARP?”

“I-” Wan started before trailing off, hands falling back to his sides. He glanced at the screen again, the harsh white glow casting shadows below his eyes before he turned back to the other man. “No, not entirely. But I swear to you I knew nothing of this.”

“What haven’t you told me?” Jonah asked coldly, hands clenching over the keyboard.

“I knew this project was bigger than we had intended. After our initial success, the Planetary Security Bureau and the SOA stepped in,” Wan explained.

“SOA?” Jonah queried.

“Sentinel Oversight Agency,” he answered. “I had not heard of them until recently either. They are a department of the IOBA. I believe they act as some kind of regulating body, but I am not entirely sure. I’ve since learned they are the ones stationed at the headquarters in VIchi I mistakenly mentioned. Everything they say in accordance with HARP goes completely unchallenged. They’ve created an executive board with the PSB monitoring the entire project down to the finest details.”

“Do they often just swoop in and take projects out of the IOBA’s hands like that?” Jonah asked.

“No, not at all,” Wan said with a shake of his head, “Until now, I believed the IOBA had no designated regulating body outside of the standard court system, much less such a strong internal one. I have not heard their name mentioned in my twenty-year tenure, hence my suspicions. However, I’m afraid I know little else besides this. None of our orders have been particularly strange, but things at the lab have been… tense. Never before have we been asked to follow instructions so blindly. Miss Gaiacothica has assured us that all our tasks remain in the best interest of our projects and the IOBA’s core research goals despite the shift in management, but I, and the others, have worried that may not be true. It seems we were right to worry.”

“What sort of things have they asked you to do?” Jonah began to ask, but before Wan could answer, the screen in front of them began to flash with pop-ups as Emmet’s voice sounded from the phone.

“Fuck!” he swore, voice loud and overlayed with static, “I just got flagged by threat protection. They know they're being hacked, or at least they will know in a few seconds. I grabbed all the data you asked for, but you need to get out of there right now!”

“We’ll finish this discussion later. For the time being, I’d suggest we follow your friend’s advice.” Wan declared, using his lofty stature to reach over Jonah’s head and quickly log out of the computer before jamming his finger into the power button.

“They’ll have the IP address and cross-reference it to the camera in the hall,” he muttered frantically, eyes flitting from the powered-down screen to the door with wild desperation. He could feel the weight of impending disaster pressing upon his shoulders, driving his heels into the floor. They’d know it was him. They’d know he knew too much. It was all over.

“Jonah, you must not panic,” Wan-kitku’s face filled his vision as the other man leaned over him, one hand gripping his shoulder. His stygian eyes were set like steel, brow drawn low and determined, but the tendrils sprouting from his skull quivered where they hung on his back, evidence of his apprehension. “I will vouch for you. I will say you did not leave my sight. It may not be perfect, but it will certainly throw them off. I won’t let anything else happen to you, I swear it, but you must not panic.”

Jonah focused on the feeling of Wan’s fingers pressing into the back of his shoulder; a silent pact of solidarity formed in that fleeting moment. He forced his shaky breath to slow as he inhaled deliberately, feeling each rib expand before releasing it in an equally controlled huff, making the air linger in his lungs until he felt his thundering pulse quiet.

“Right, I-I’m sorry,” the words felt clumsy as he forced them from his mouth, a strange numbness on his lips. He slipped the phone back into his pocket as the buzzing from the speakers cut off abruptly.

“I shouldn’t- you’re right,” he reasoned to himself aloud. Taking his subdued agreement as a green light, Wan began to pull him from the computer, hand steady on his shoulder.

He flinched as the hallway’s sterile, fluorescent light hit his face. Was it this bright before? He wondered. Their footsteps echoed hollowly off the monotonous expanse of linoleum as they shuffled back into the adjacent exam room. The acrid scent of sterile alcohol hung in the air, seemingly more potent than before.

“Oh, you’re awake,” a strange voice sounded behind him, a pleasant tone distorted as it bounced off the epoxy-coated walls.

Blond curls whipped around his ears, sticking to his sweat-damp forehead as he jerked his head around, only to be greeted by an empty corner decorated with a too-colorful diagram of a five-chambered heart hung innocently on the back of the door.

“... a nasty car accident,” it spoke again, over his other shoulder this time. “... I was ready for this sort of thing,” a second, timber voice chimed in, its gravelly tone reverberating through his jaw. “Jonah.”

“Jonah,” Wan’s steadfast voice cut through the discordance as the hand on his shoulder tightened. “Do you hear someone coming?”

“No, I… we need to get out of here,” he declared, his breath accelerating into an unsteady pant.

Wan’s grip loosened, eyes softening as he searched the other man’s face. His lips parted as if to speak, but they fell shut a moment later as he abandoned the unformed words lingering on his tongue. “Sit here,” he ordered gently, navigating Jonah to a chair in the opposite corner. “I will check to see if the coast is clear.”

He dropped his head between his knees as the room pitched to the side, walls pressing in on him until it felt like his ribs were going to crack under the pressure, split apart at his spine like roadkill on the highway leaving Colkirk. Everything felt horrifically loud yet muffled, as if he were listening to a thunderstorm underwater. Dr. Grelain’s voice echoed in his ear as if the man were standing 20 feet behind him, echoing down the hall. The air vent buzzed above his head, white noise only adding to the cacophony surrounding him.

He couldn’t think. There was something warm and damp on his hands, but he didn’t know why. When had that happened? Had Wan-Kitku left him? His jaw began to shudder, teeth clenched so hard it felt like he was about to crack them down the middle.

“Jonah!” a voice snapped as a hand appeared on his arm. His head jerked up, and in a single moment, the sounds quieted as if they’d been manually turned down on a speaker. Awareness returned like a rubberband snapping against his skin as his eyes met Wan-Kitku’s concerned face. Embarrassment and guilt washed over him as he glanced around the unremarkable exam room before wiping the tears off his face with a rough hand.

“I’m sorry,” he hurried to explain, standing abruptly and ignoring the way Wan’s hands hovered nervously around him as if he might teter right back over. “I-I don’t know what came over me. I think I just got into my own head a bit.”

“You do not have to apologize,” Wan attempted to console him, but he shook the man’s hand off and began to walk towards the door.

“We need to go. We can’t be here whenever IT connects the dots and gets someone over here,” he tried to reason, “Was there anyone in the hall?”

“... no,” Wan answered after a poignant pause.

“Perfect,” he replied, opening the door with a shaky hand before he clenched them into white-knuckled fists, forcing the tremor down. “You can lead me to the lobby. Ter’ione should be waiting for me there; that way, there won’t be any time I’m unaccounted for.”

He shut down all of Wan’s attempts to investigate his strange episode as the man accompanied him through the winding hallways. A part of him felt bad about his frigidity, but he buried that voice deep past the clutter in his mind, focusing instead on processing the precious new information he’d acquired.

Ter’ione seemed wholly unsuspicious, sitting with her legs deftly crossed, tablet in lap as they rounded the corner. She greeted him and Wan-Kitku curtly, blandly, as if she were showing Jonah how tightly she’d plastered over the cracks in her composure.

“Jonah,” Wan-Kitku stopped him with a hand on his bicep as he turned robotically to follow his handler. There was something vulnerable and honest in his voice, just above a whisper, almost as if he were begging. Jonah swallowed against something bitter in the back of his throat. “Call me later, please.”

Jonah searched the man’s eyes, expecting, against his better judgment, to find a flash of white-hot malice like a snake hiding beneath a stone, laying in wait to strike at him, but, of course, there was nothing but softness in Wan-Kitku’s smoky black eyes as he reached out so desperately for a single drop of reciprocation ; the hint of something benevolent reflected back at him.

“I will, Wan,” he answered, his voice low, suddenly on the verge of breaking. “Thank you. I-I don’t deserve you.”

He turned his back on the sounds of Wan-Kitku’s denial, unable to watch the man give up anything else for his cause. Jonah only had to hope that today alone hadn’t been enough to send the poor researcher’s life crumbling down around his head, although Wan may have never had the chance to escape this unscathed in the first place.

The walk back to his apartment passed in a blur. He walked with his eyes fixed straight ahead, chin tilted down as the buildings crept by him like stars lighting up their windows one by one as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. Ter’ione bid him farewell at the door, her gaze stoic before she turned to leave for the night.

He wandered into the kitchen with an ambling gate, his feet nearly tangling against each other with every step. The water seemed to run slower from the tap as he filled the electric kettle before flicking it on listlessly, but as he sat and watched the bubbles coalesce through its clear, plastic exterior, he felt an anger resurge in his chest. Suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to complete his task, he abandoned his tea entirely, turning the half-warmed kettle off and jamming the redial button on the burner phone.

Emmet picked up after the first ring, “Hey, are you ok? Did you manage to get out of there?” he asked hurriedly.

“I’m fine,” he shot back, walking towards the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. His shoulders jumped at the oise as it slammed louder than he had intended. “I’m fine. Have you been looking over the data you got?”

“... a bit,” Emmet answered after a moment, “I started looking through it, but it started to feel invasive without you here.”

“You already know I’m fucking aliens for the government; how much more invasive can you get?” Jonah questioned incredulously, flicking the shower on in case any microphones in the main room were close enough to pick up his voice.

“Dude, this-” Emmet trailed off as the clacking of his keyboard pittered into relative silence, “You might want to sit down for this.”

“What?” Jonah snapped, cringing at the harshness in his voice as soon as the words left his lips, “What?” he repeated softer, “Just- don’t sugarcoat it. This whole thing is fucked. How much worse can it get?”

It was only when Emmet didn’t respond with a snappy little quip along the lines of ‘famous last words, man’ that Jonah knew what he’d found was truly terrible, giving him a few seconds headstart to brace before the words tumbled from the speaker of the burner phone bracketed by the soft buzz of static. “They’ve been experimenting on you, Jonah,” Emmet began, a strange stillness to his voice, “Without your knowledge, they’ve been performing tests, medications, experimental procedures. Pretty much any time you’ve been in medical, there’s been something happening that you didn’t know about. It’s all detailed here in your record, your extremely classified medical record. Seriously, you wouldn’t believe the protection that had on this. No major surgeries or anything, although it’s discussed a few times. They all got vetoed so they… so they didn’t leave noticeable scars. The bulk of it seems to be medication. They had it in fucking everything, dude, your food, even your water if they needed to. Up until recently, that is…”

Jonah drew in a shaky breath, trying to take in all the information with the mind of a scientist. He could get to processing the emotional element later. Right now, he couldn’t afford to be a victim; that would require safety and time. He couldn’t stop to lick his wounds while the lion was still in the room. He dug his nails into his palm and exhaled. “Until what?” he prompted, his voice shielded in a thick layer of ice.

“When they had you in that induced coma at Silver Valley Medical Center they implanted devices to administer the medications automatically. One on the nerves between L5 and S1? Sorry, some of this medical terminology is lost on me.”

“Lumbar 5 and Sacral 1. They’re vertebrae in the spine.” He answered rigidly, “Where else?”

“The second is between your endometrium and your myoi- myometrium,” he read off, stumbling over the more technical words. “And the last one is your left soleus.”

“Endometrium is the tissue inside the uterus, and myometrium is the muscle underneath it. Soleus is in the calf, below the gastroc.” He relayed as if he were reading the information from a textbook. “What medications are they releasing?”

“The one in the spine mostly releases something called blo- bolestroplase and some doxentin. It doesn’t say what for. The uh- uterus one is there for a few things; testosterone, ospemifine, bupanserin, cholanotide, and tropalind. That last one has a trademark symbol on it. Property of the IOBA, apparently, which feels like a slightly conceited note to have in your own records, but whatever.” Emmet bit back a sigh, “Last one is for tropalind again, as well a couple of other drugs; rifatamin, calcimex, and estrinteratone. Jesus, these are a mouthful. These mean anything to you?”

“A few, yes,” he replied, scribbling the names down in his pocket notebook with best-guess spellings as if the descriptions would materialize as subtext underneath each entry. “Everything in the uterine implant is probably hormonal. Calcimex is a calcium supplement, probably there to treat side effects if I had to guess. Doxetin is a nerve painkiller, if I remember correctly. That would make sense to place in the spine, but why?”

“There’s one more thing you should know about the spinal implant,” Emmet interjected, a renewed wave of apprehension in his voice. “It’s not a normal medical implant, well, not that any of these are exactly normal, I guess. But this one… the notes say it’s made of a ‘Metania sourced mammalian compatible stem c-seed.’ Jonah, I’m looking at the scans now. This thing is literally woven into your spinal cord. It looks organic.”

“Fuck,” Jonah swore, not sure where to start. All his years of study in biology were only helping marginally. There was only so much he could infer without fresh resources in front of him. Pharmacology had never been his strong suit; too linguistic. He cursed his past self for testing out of entry-level pharma. “OK, a stem c-seed, but from what? Where’s Metania?”

“Do you know what that is?” Emmet asked, a tinge of disbelief audible in his voice as clacking keys rattled over the line.

“Sort of. I know what it is, but I’ve never heard of one being used for an implant like this.” Jonah sighed, “It’s a sort of complex stem cell. It’s essentially a self-replicating organism capable of biological mimicry. It’s usually used to repair large pieces of missing tissue, but it’s a pretty versatile thing. This doesn’t sound like a typical stem c-seed, though.” he added, one hand drifting to his lower back.

He pushed his fingers into the groves between his vertebra, feeling each bony edge under his fingertips and wondering if the divots were shallower than before or if his brain was fooling him as he envisioned the strange mass beneath his skin.

“Fucking figures,” Emmet exclaimed, desk chair squealing as he leaned back with a curse. “Metania is a planet in Aphus. Damn, what the fuck is going on in that system? A better question is, how has the IOBA kept all of this on the low-down until now?”

“Do you think it’s more than just the mining?” Jonah asked, hand leaving his back as he leaned into the bathroom counter, one finger tapping at the smooth tile.

“It has to be. I mean, massive ecological destruction is bad, sure, but not exactly worthy of a coverup effort like this. Just apologize and send out some atmospheric scrubbers. Some corp does it every other year, granted not to this level, but still.” Emmet explained, “There’s definitely something more… wait, what did you say you me when you first explained this back in Colkirk?”

“What? That I learned from a telepathic being that the IOBA was running a secret mining operation?” Jonah guessed.

“No, no, you said more than that. You talked about using HARP to rebuild the species they’re fucking over.” Emmet prompted.

“Yeah, the destruction is displacing pretty significant populations, and to cover their asses, they’ve been using the HARP program to reintegrate those species in the United Coalition. That’s the conclusion I came to, at least,” Jonah explained, turning the words back over in his head as he spoke. “Wait… we’ve been thinking about the mining as a cause and the displacement as a consequence. What if-” Jonah paced across the small room, hitting the opposite wall in two strides. He could feel the pieces of the puzzle in his head scraping as coarse edges slotted together. “What if the displacement isn't a consequence but rather the intended effect?”

“Oh my god, I’m a fucking idiot,” Emmet swore, a renewed flurry of typing sounds filling the line, “I can’t believe I didn’t remember this sooner. About six or so months ago, someone hired me on a case about a missing person, this Volked girl. I didn’t think anything of it at first. Folks hire me to find people all the time. The cops are shit at their jobs; a PI is the only way to go for this kind of thing. Anyway, I go into it expecting the usual: bad boyfriend, secret drug dealer, whatever. But, instead, I found nothing. Nothing. It was like this girl hadn’t even existed. So I dig harder, and I started pulling up all this Volked independence movement stuff.”

“Volked independence movement?” Jonah parrotted, “I didn’t think there were any controversies when the Volked set up their first settlement on the UC? Weren’t they on a waitlist to get in?” The Volked were a small mammalian humanoid race that first established themselves in the United Coalition when Jonah was in grad school. He remembered seeing a humble little parade flashing in the footnotes of every news outlet played across the holo-screens that marred the skyscrapers or his old alma mater city.

“That’s what I thought too. Seems that’s what everyone thought,” Emmet explained, “Everyone but the Volkeds, apparently. This girl was part of a pretty sizable independence movement, well, less independence movement, more anti-integration movement. Their whole stance was that the UC had strongarmed them into moving. The moment one of the leaders spoke out against the partnership, they seemed to have an accident. So, the integration happened, but the resistance stayed alive, just not as vocal as before, until around six months ago when the UC decided to clean house. Anyone associated with the movement? Poof. Gone. All disappeared seemingly overnight.”

“Jesus, what’d you tell your client?” Jonah asked, slowing his pacing to a halt, one hand dropping to fiddle with the hem of his shirt.

“I told them to stop looking,” Emmet replied with a weighty sigh, “and that I was sorry. Nothing good was going to come of sticking our hands into that mess.”

“You think that was the IOBA?” Jonah questioned, fighting the urge to pick at his nails as he resumed his pacing.

“At the time? Not necessarily. I would’ve guessed the Planetary Security Berauro, but now? I can’t image that the IOBA wasn’t involved.” Emmet answered. “I think the real question is still why? What’s the real goal here?”

“It almost seems like they’re trying to build a monopoly, but to have a true monopoly, they’d have to have a product or a service that no one else has,” Jonah pondered aloud, stopping to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

“This might sound insane, but,” Emmet began, hands pausing on the keyboard, “Are they trying to monopolize life?”

“Monopolize life?” Jonah repeated over a stuttered breath that was somewhere between a gasp and a terse laugh. “No, that’s too broad. Corporations try to monopolize elements of life all the time: food, water, housing, but…” Then he thought back to an inquiry sitting in the back of his mind like a thorn against the back of his skull.

During his first HARP encounter with Baimir, he remembered the wonder he felt when Baimir explained how his species had survived off of pure parthenogenesis. It reminded him of his time as a young scientist, the kind who had nearly thrown up with joy after being selected for his first outpost research project, even though it consisted of three months of sitting in a cabin in the Arctic with nothing but black coffee and the same dehydrated gumbo. Intriguing as it had been, Baimir’s explanation instantly raised the question of sustainability, but the four-armed alien had simply explained that the IOBA would be able to rear the next generation reliant on a new fertilization environment.

Then, a week later, with the Kynakians, Ivak had confirmed that the IOBA had made them the same promise. This somewhat fantastical guarantee had bothered Jonah, but he had assumed it was the IOBA embellishing their capabilities. He hadn’t considered the increasingly more sinister explanation that the IOBA would keep to their word and recreate the fickle environments for reproduction using embryos and information no one else in the galaxy could hope to access.

“Oh my god, do you think… HARP is a trial program?” Jonah proposed, feeling as if a weight was slowly forming in the pit of his stomach. His fingers tapped out an unorganized rhythm on the side of the bathtub. “It's an insane thought, but if they could entirely control the ability to reproduce, own the rights to it… can you imagine the power? Every species in the United Coalition would be effectively trapped here, and with the uncontested control they already have over the infrastructure and the police force, there would be nothing anyone could do about it. A single board of directors would become the most influential force in the known galaxy just like that.”

There was a moment of uncharacteristic silence over the line, filled only by the sound of Jonah’s clipped nails tapping at the tile on the side of his bathtub and the faint rustle of linen as the wind pushed Emmet’s curtains aside. “What the fuck have we gotten into here?” Emmet asked, his voice flat and featureless in a way Jonah hadn’t heard before.

Jonah swallowed, his nervous hand coming to a standstill by his side. “I don’t know,” he confessed, “I didn’t know what… I just wanted to help, you know? And I really thought I could finally be useful. After fighting so fucking hard for just a little bit of respect as a researcher, I finally thought I could help,” he continued, the volume of his voice rising as the urge to cry was replaced by the bitter taste building in the back of his mouth. He choked his shouts back down, all too wary of ears listening through the walls. “I finally thought I could make a difference in a way that no one else could, and of course, they were just using me the whole time for some world-ending, capitalist, power-hungry bullshit.”

“Wait, Jonah, hold on,” Emmet interjected, pulling a cross snarl from Jonah.

“I swear if you tell me to calm down right now, I will drive to Colkirk right now and gut you,” Jonah hissed.

“No, no, that’s not what I was going to say,” Emmet hurried to explain, “Your… uh, upset is very justified. Understated even, if I’m being honest. But I think you just gave us our solution, Jonah. You said they’re having you do something no one else can, right? You are a cornerstone of this project. Without you, HARP is a half-fleshed idea at best.”

Jonah’s head perked up as he pulled in a shaky breath, but before he could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the front door, muffled through the tiled wall. “Fuck! Emmet, how long have we been talking? Do you think they could know?” he rushed to stand, “I have to go now. Can you send me the medical record by any chance? Oh, and I need you to look up the names of those medications. Fuck, I have to go, shit!” he broke off into an unintelligible string of swears, turning to the door before he one-eightied, turning back to face the toilet.

“I can’t send it to you, but I can text you tonight. It’s not likely they picked up on the EMF, but just to be safe, put the phone back in the Faraday bag asap,” Emmet hurried to explain, “Now go get the damn door and be safe. I’ll talk to you later, alright?” His final word was cut off as Jonah hung up the phone, turning off the shower before he kneeled on the tile floor fast enough to leave bruises on his knees.

“One second!” he called as he fished the Faraday pouch out from the bathroom drawer, slipping the phone inside as quickly as possible with the nervous shutter in his hands. Perhaps a drawer wasn’t the best place to continue hiding contraband, but, after a brief assessment, he’d come to the unfortunate conclusion that the furniture in this company apartment was made by a prison guard who retired into a successful interior design career. Every edge was flush, and every unit was bolted down, leaving Jonah with precious few hiding places.

A second knock sounded just as Jonah reached for the door handle, pulling it open to reveal the stoic face of Mr. Abhion standing on the other side with a tablet clasped in one hand and an IOBA-branded canvas tote in the other.

“Mr. Basset,” the reptilian man greeted with a sharp nod, “I trust your vacation was well enjoyed?”

“Of course,” he replied, trying to slow his breathing into something casual as his pulse thrummed in his ears. “The change of pace was very pleasant.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Mr. Abhion agreed with a sigh, glancing down at his tablet briefly as it let out a digital ding. He took a moment to study the screen, his mouth tensing before he looked back up. “Sorry about that. Just… putting out fires, as you might say.”

Something about the usually curt man’s demeanor seemed off; his shoulders, usually postured high and square, slopped toward the floor, his starched suit jacket pitched a degree lower than expected. His usual meticulously tied tie sat in a loose, haphazard arrangement around his squat neck, further emphasizing the uncharacteristic creases in his cobalt oxford shirt.

“Anyway, I’m here about your next assignment. It’s tomorrow, early. Someone will be here to retrieve you at five sharp. Please be prepared to leave and dressed in the supplied uniform,” he continued, extending the printed canvas bag across the threshold toward Jonah. It pudged out on the sides, stretching the IOBA’s round logo into a skewed ellipse.

“Ok, thank you,” Jonah replied, taking the offering with a careful hand. “Forgive my bluntness, but you seem rather… tired. Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes, yes, sorry. You know how it goes,” He sighed again. “When one thing falls apart, it all starts to wobble, then everyone is coming to you with this problem and that. Such a mess.”

Jonah forced his expression to remain neutral, keeping his jaw loose and his brow still as his thoughts whirled in a flurry of questions and alarm bells. Was this a result of the data breach today or still the aftermath of the Vek incident? Perhaps it was neither. Were the mysterious SOA higher-ups running HARP breathing down Mr. Abhion’s neck? Could it be Dr. Grelain again?

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, trying to be cordial the way funding banquets and appeal meetings had prepared him to be. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’ll tell you what I’ve told everyone else who asked me that question today; please just do your job, and I’ll work out the rest,” And with that, he turned on his heel, ambling back down the hallway in an off-center line as he turned his attention back to his tablet in hand, leaving Jonah standing in the doorway as that bitter, nervous lump returned in the back of his throat.

Chapter Text

The night was not kind to Jonah. He found himself gazing down at the darkened highrises from his lofty window, standing increasingly alone on the edge of consciousness as he watched the world around him succumb to sleep one by one. The relentless specters of what he now knew wrapped their foggy tendrils around his mind, turning the velvet cloak of night into a solitary landscape.

The clock on the wall counted each minute like a soldier marching on, trenching through the mud one agonizing step at a time. Each crease in his sheets dug into his skin like a blade; each shadow seemed to mock his futile attempts to rest.

He fought to keep his swirling thoughts at bay, stumbling through the maze of what-ifs and desolate conclusions that had become his mind.

A handful of agonizing minutes past three in the morning, he decided to prepare for the upcoming appointment solely because he lacked anything else productive to do. He scrubbed at his skin with the IOBA-provided scentless soap until his legs began to flush in patches of rosy pink. He found his gaze trained hollowly on the wall as if trying to find meaning in the patterns of water beading on the tile as they began to drip lazy trails down to the floor.

The bathroom mirror displayed a strange reflection. He traced a thumb along his jaw, turning his head side to side, examining the angle with narrowed eyes. His chin looked the same, still bore the same pale mark below his lip from where he slammed his head on the pavement as a kid, but the corners were sharper. He’d lost weight.

There was something different about the eyes in the mirror, something sharp in that chestnut hue, a strange ruddy undertone that he couldn’t seem to look away from. A sodden curl fell across his brow, blond strands tinged a lackluster dun by the water, a stark contrast to that foreign glint in his eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was the chemical implants woven through muscle and bone making his reflection seem so alien or if it were simply a natural consequence, his psyche shifting in response to the things he’d been subjected to.

He leaned down to examine his calf, fluorescent lights still glistening off beads of water dappling his skin. It yielded under his touch, the muscle soft and malleable bearing no new marks or lumps that Jonah could find, but he knew. A chemical rod, no bigger than a matchstick lurked between his muscles oozing an ominous cocktail of drugs, but to what end? He still didn’t know.

He’d reviewed the paperwork Emmet sent over, sans the attached images since their careful formatting was incompatible with his cheap burner phone, but without any additional resource material, he’d been able to garner very little outside of what was written verbatim on the pages. He’d spent an unfortunate amount of his sleepless night thinking himself in circles about the whole thing only to come up with nothing. Were they trying to make him complacent or mitigating some sort of awful side effect from his encounters? Jonah didn’t feel more complacent, if anything there was a feral edge in his mind he didn’t recognize. A vicious part of him that wanted to claw at the walls until his hands bled, until the carbon-fiber shattered under his grip. A part of him that wanted to arm himself with the jagged edges, to bury them into the soft underbellies of people who looked at him like Dr. Grelain had, people who thought he was weak, people who thought he was just a pawn to be yanked this way and that.

He snapped the cold tap on, splashing frigid water against his cheeks to stifle his strange musings. His thoughts didn’t used to run so wild, spilling out through the cracks at the lightest jostle. Maybe the drugs were changing him more than he realized.

The new uniform Mr. Abhion provided him the day before turned out to be a charcoal black wetsuit cut off at the legs about halfway down his thigh. It was a far cry from his standard barely-there shorts and shirt set, but it certainly queued him into the setting of his next appointment. He studied each thick seam in the neoprene, running his thumbs along the swooping lines.

The client file appeared in his calendar around four, clearly an afterthought or perhaps a way for Mr. Abhion to technically make good his word while still attempting to leave Jonah in the dark. He scoffed as he tapped the icon labeled ‘HARPcand_ver2.’ Fortunately for him, they hadn’t counted on his newly acquired insomnia.

His eyes widened as he scanned the first paragraph of text. This creature was another mind reader, not dissimilar to the Vek. Were they trying to set him up? What would they gain from handing him an unmonitored channel of communication like that, especially after what happened before? Doubt nipped at his heels like a persistent dog, thin and desperate, as he scanned the pages with fervor, curiosity siphoning new fuel into his sleep-deprived mind.

He had been matched with a Mariphyte, an ancient tentacled being hailing from a vast expanse of saltwater swamps on an undisclosed planet. The picture attached was dimly lit and no more than a few hundred square pixels, but he could make out a central mass of swirling pale shapes broken up by some sort of repetitive pattern. A brief description accompanied the photo;

“Mariphytes come in various sizes, with the average individual having a main body of about four meters tall. Their center mass is covered in a durable exoskeleton that blends in with the shallow, sedimentary swamp bed that comprises its preferred surroundings. The tentacles, ranging from ten to fifteen in number, average about four times their body size in length. They are dexterous, flexible, and equipped with highly specialized sensors at their tips.

The specimen participating in the HARP project identifies by the name Kiano. The specimen’s age is approximated around 70 years, within the ideal parameters of sexual maturity. The specimen measures four and a half meters in length, with a tentacle length averaging at 16 meters.”

He scanned further, breezing past a drawn-out section on color variations until their telepathy was mentioned again.

“This species is highly intelligent and enigmatic, remaining in isolated pods of two to ten Mariphytes for most of its life. They communicate using advanced telepathic abilities, enabling them to share complex ideas across numerous languages. Though their elusiveness has yielded minimal conversations, three reports of successful communication with researchers have been documented, as attached below [file not found]. Researchers have reported their telepathic abilities similar to that of the Psinarian Enyo.”

Now, that was a species Jonah recognized. The Psinarian Enyos were an infamous species amongst the IOBA, and mentioning them by name in the analytics department was bound to earn you some sour looks. Their integration into the United Coalition was one of the most well-known failures in the IOBA's history. While the incident itself was before Jonah’s time, he’d encountered several case studies and dissections of the event in his curriculum. Researchers attributed the lack of success to different things: cultural differences, diplomatic issues, and communication errors; however, knowing that he knew now, he suspected none of that was true. With their advanced telepathic abilities, a Psinarian Enyo would easily see through an IOBA representative’s lies and false promises. But that raised another question: if the Mariphytes had a comparable ability, how had they been coaxed to join the program?

He scanned through the file one last time, looking for anything relevant on behavior or breeding practices.

“Mariphyte pods gather in the central region of [redacted] approximately every four years in accordance with the celestial pattern of the planet’s lesser moon, [redacted], to breed. In this arena, the pods engage in a mental battle, using their telepathic abilities combined with ritualistic hypnotic displays to overpower each other. The victorious pods are granted their choice of carrier and genetic material. The breeding process involves the dominant Mariphyte merging its DNA with another, creating a gel-like substance that is then inserted into a reproductive pouch in the submissive Mariphyte. The dominant Mariphyte will often monitor its partners closely as the substance rapidly solidifies into a neonate Mariphyte before exiting the pouch. No more than ten centimeters in diameter, neonates are born blind and deaf, able to do little besides swim and feed on small algae.

Attempts to recreate this breeding practice with HARP participant #004, henceforth referred to as AS, have been unsuccessful despite a biological compatibility rating of 65 +/- 4. AS reports “Kiano said you have to provide another Mariphyte or… HARP candidate to emulate the Tal’eshar. Just the two of us together is not enough.” A third attempt with the addition of HARP participant #012 is in development.”

Jonah’s eyes flicked back across the final paragraph, rereading the words with a renewed intensity as he processed the information. Another HARP candidate? He knew there were others, two, according to Ms. Gaiacothica, but in the whirlwind following his encounter with the Vek, they’d slipped his mind entirely. He knew their compatibility scores were much lower than his, but clearly still high enough to be useful. Had they caught on to anything suspicious or were they blissfully complacent? Were they being medically manipulated in secret or was that unique to his situation? Questions flooded his mind but no answers came to light. One inquiry bubbled to the surface, hovering ominously above the rest. Was the IOBA playing some sort of angle by placing them together?

As five o’clock approached, the first hints of dawn began to seep across the skin with a pale shade of orange, declaring a blissful end to his spiral. True to Mr. Abhion’s word, a sharp knock sounded against the smooth carbon fiber door, startling him where he sat slumped over at the kitchen table, staring absentmindedly into a rapidly cooling cup of coffee.

Ter’ione stood at the door, posture was rigid, back straight and shoulders squared. Her taloned hands were clasped around a tablet, one finger tapping tersely at the corner.

“Are you ready to leave?” she asked, her face, framed by a severe bun pulled tight at the nape of her neck, was a study in composure, but there was that incessant, anxious edge in her tone she couldn’t seem to shake. She’d done her best to rebuild her icy wall of professionalism between them after the Vek incident, likely another consequence of Dr. Grelain, but Jonah had already committed her nervous mannerisms to heart, the pitch of her voice, the stubborn angle of her brow, the way she held her hands, always fidgeting, never completely still.

“Yes, Mr. Abhion was very clear. 5 o’clock sharp,” Jonah replied, slipping on his sandals before shucking an IOBA brand windbreaker over the wetsuit, for the pockets, if nothing else. “I got the briefing, by the way,” he added, unable to hold back the snide comment, “at 4am. Very nice. I’m glad you all are confident I’m such a fast reader.”

Ter’ione swallowed, sidestepping as he moved past her through the doorway. “I’m sure it was simply an oversight,” she justified, ducking her head a few degrees as she followed Jonah to the elevator, tapping at her tablet a few times with her harsh nails before lowering the device to her side.

“Of course,” he agreed bitterly, crossing his arms across his chest as the elevator began its descent to the lobby. He turned to look at Ter’ione as the woman stood deathly still, eyes fixed straight ahead and his ire fizzled out to nothing. He had no reason to be cross with her. Ter’ione certainly wasn’t the one calling the shots. If anything, he suspected she was getting yanked around just as much as he was.

“So, these Mariphytes,” he began, watching the way Ter’ione’s head jerked toward him as if she hadn’t expected to be addressed again, “pretty interesting species.”

“Indeed,” she agreed, making no move to elaborate further.

He tolerated the heavy silence between them for a few minutes as the pair entered the all-too-familiar IOBA brand autocraft parked outside, its sleek edges shining orange as the sun began to light the sky from beneath the horizon, but as they took off, his urge to fill the void got the better of him.

“They’re telepathic, right?” Jonah questioned, one hand fidgeting with the edge of his windbreaker.

“Yes,” Ter’ione explained, “Their telepathy conducts via the water, but as soon as you make contact, it should be no issue.”

“There will be another HARP candidate there, right? AS?” Jonah asked, glancing at the crowd on the sidewalk below them, faces meandering forward. The pads of his fingers pressed together, sandwiching the hem of his jacket between them as he feigned disinterest.

“Yes, her name is Aurora Singh. I don’t believe you two have been acquainted?” Ter’ione replied.

“No, we haven’t” Jonah was quick to answer.

“Well, you should have no trouble getting along with Ms. Singh,” Ter’ione began, “She’s been an asset to the program thus far.”

Jonah hummed, trying to iron the critical edge from his voice. “The briefing said they require the DNA of another Mariphyte to breed. How is that being provided?”

“Don’t worry. That has been taken into consideration. A synthetic alternative has been provided.” Ter’ione answered, her taloned finger tapping against the back of the tablet where it lay face down in her lap. His queries only seemed to fuel her agitation.

“A synthetic alternative?” he questioned, scientific curiosity taking over. “I can’t imagine it wasn’t made with some kind of source DNA. Did you ever have access to a second Mariphyte or is it mutated from the same specimen I’ll be meeting?”

Ter’ione’s jaw clenched just a fraction below her skin as her nervous amber eyes flicked down to the tablet as if looking for an answer before returning to meet his gaze. “To my knowledge, there is no second Mariphyte involved.”

“So it must be a genetically altered version of this Mariphyte, Kiano’s DNA,” he concluded, “Is there some kind of plan in place to reduce the negative effects of having such a low genetic variation? I mean, a population based on such a limited sample could be easily wiped out by a single pathogen. You’re kind of setting yourself up for an epidemic like that.”

“I am unsure. Such things are well above my scope,” Ter’ione replied, a snappy edge to her voice. Jonah took the hint and quelled his curious nature, storing the questions in his head for later research, if he ever got the opportunity, that was.

The sleek hovercraft whisked past the IOBA’s main entrance, silently gliding along the building's periphery until it reached an eerily familiar industrial gate. He took a measured breath through his nose, holding the air in his lungs before exhaling slowly, trying to tame the quiver in his hand. His heart fluttered in his chest, his pulse like an anxious, wide-eyed animal cornered in the garden by a wild dog.

Slipping through, they stopped short of the hanger-style warehouse that continued to haunt Jonah, lingering at the edge of his hazy memory like a specter. Its stark concrete and steel façade blended seamlessly into the shadow of the towering corporate headquarters. He felt his gaze lock subconsciously on the unadorned steel door a few meters in front of the autocraft. It loomed against the corrugated steel walls inconspicuously, unchanged by the events that had taken place behind its lock and key. He wondered if the Vek still bode in its inky cage, secured behind that steel roll-up door. Did it wonder what had become of its clutch? Did it wonder what had become of him?

Had the Vek known what it was doing when it placed those acrid, smoky visions in his mind or had it simply been reaching a hand out into the dark, grabbing on to the first bit of solid warmth it could find, even if it meant pushing its savior below the waves, unwittingly subjecting him to the same fate?

Ter’ione’s sharp amber gaze burned into the side of his face, all forms of subtly cast to the wind in favor of diligent observation.

Jonah tried to imagine an alternate version of himself, one that had never learned that HARP was anything but a humanitarian project, one who had simply fallen victim to an unfortunate accident on his way to meet the Vek. What would that person say at this moment? He asked himself.

“Sorry, I’m staring aren’t I?” he began with a light chuckle he could only hope didn’t sound forced. “It’s just… I’ve been with the IOBA for a while now and I had no idea there were so many more buildings back here. I didn’t think there was anything important past the import bay.” He hid the tremor in his hands by fiddling with his seatbelt, taking an extra fraction of a second to release the buckle.

“That is because there is not much of importance here,” Ter’ione explained, her tone ridgid as an oxford collar ironed stiff. The corners of her mouth twinged down, giving away a nervous energy that flickered beneath her stoic facade. Though her posture remained erect as she moved to exit the autocraft, every movement seemed meticulously measured, a delicate balance between decorum and anxiety.

“There is an entrance here to a wing of the underground portion of the facility that is cumbersome to navigate to through the main entrance.” her response sounded equally artificial as if she’d rehearsed it in front of a mirror.

He let out an agreeable hum as he exited the vehicle, the rough tarmac pushing unevenly into the bottoms of his sandals. The quiet hum of a second engine approaching forced his shoulders up, back tensing as his heart pounded wildly, ready to flee. A second autocraft pulled up beside them, its windows tinted dark, obscuring the faces of its occupants. Ter’ione continued forward, motioning him to follow without acknowledging the second craft.

Jonah spared a glance over his shoulder as he turned to follow, eager to catch a glimpse of his fellow candidate, but the autocraft remained motionless, its electric engine fading into silence.

Ter’ione moved with quiet purpose, her short heels clacking a muted rhythm against the tarmac of the solitude lot. Jonah trailed a few paces behind, eyes trained on the back of her head, pale hair glowing white, pulled taught against her skull. The pale light of the early morning sun cast long shadows that stretched and thinned across oil stains and crisp yellow parking lines.

Her trim silhouette cut an unremarkable shape against the industrial backdrop, a shadow walking toward a shadow. The door they approached was as forgettable as the rest of the building—flat gray, metal, and stubbornly nondescript, begging to be passed over by wandering eyes. It loomed at the far end of the lot, a sentry without face or name.

As she reached the door Jonah slowed instinctively, his pulse a little too loud in his ears as his body fought against the current of obligation dragging him forward. For just a moment, Ter’ione seemed to blend into the steel entirely, a piece of the scenery, rigid and unyielding as rebar through concrete.

The door opened without fanfare— no squealing hinges or damned screams or gapping maws. Ter’ione motioned his forward, holding the door open with one taloned hand, the other tightly clutching her tablet.

Jonah peered through the open doorway, eyes adjusting to the artificial light as he surveyed the unremarkable hallway that stretched ahead, its stark white walls bare and unwelcoming under the flat glare of fluorescent lights. The air was unnervingly still, carrying only the faint hum of distant machinery.

No signs adorned the walls, no plaques or numbers offered explanation or direction. It was a space designed for function, not for comfort. The faint tang of bleach lingered in the air, sharp and clinical, mingling with an almost imperceptible brininess that hinted at what lay beyond.

He stepped forward cautiously, trying to keep the tension from his shoulders as Ter’ione shut the door behind them.

“Is Aurora coming or is she already there?” Jonah asked, glancing back as Ter’ione turned towards the door once more. The electronic lock engaged with a sound that seemed too loud, a sharp metallic click that reverberated through the still air like a gunshot. Jonah’s eyes darted down to Ter’ione’s hands, shielded by her own body. Her fingers worked the keypad steady and deliberate, yet something about the act felt final as she hit the last button—too premeditated, too practiced. His own breath caught in his throat, shallow and uneven, as if the air had thickened around him.

“She will be arriving shortly,” Ter’ione answered simply, turning away from the locked door before motioning Jonah forward yet again. He searched for a clue in her eyes, grasping for a piece of humanity, a shadow of empathy, but all he saw were the artificial lights reflecting off obsidian pupils—ice cold and enigmatic.

At the end of the hallway, the monotony broke with a set of metal stairs that descended sharply downward. Their grated steps clanged faintly underfoot as Jonah advanced, a sound quickly swallowed by the thick silence. The stairwell was encased in smooth steel, guiding them lower and lower.

The air grew warmer the further down they went, tinged with the unmistakable smell of saltwater and something deeper, more primal. The descent felt interminable as each step carried them further from the world above. Stainless steel came into sight as Jonah approached the final step. The landing was cut short by a ten foot tall blast door, reinforced steel framed with thousand pound beams. To one side, a large freight elevator mirrored the blast door’s impressive stature. Massive panels of metal lined the walls, the monotony broken up by scuff marks and faded yellow block letters that read: WATCH YOUR STEP. Jonah briefly wondered what sort of cargo could warrant an elevator of that size, but he shoved that line of inquiry to the back of his mind. Better not to know.

Jonah jumped as the blast door sluggishly swung open, dragging its monumental weight with a groan. If Ter’ione noticed his alarm, she didn’t acknowledge it as she stepped past him through the gapping doorway. The floor on the other side was a seamless expanse of dark, reflective material, so polished it seemed almost liquid. As he stepped after her, their footsteps echoed softly, dampened by invisible acoustic panels hidden in the walls. Occasionally, a faint hum resonated from beneath their feet, a low-frequency vibration that added a sense of unsettling continuity to the hallway’s atmosphere. The hallway stretched on before them with an unsettling, almost predatory stillness, indistinguishable from the one above them, but the air was different. He breathed in, noting the scent of synthetic ozone that oozed from narrow vents in the ceiling.

The air was thermal and humid, draping across his skin like a blanket of hot mist as the hallway opened up into a hanger-like room. It carried a distinct tang of sea salt and metal and something earthy he couldn’t describe. The soft hum of machinery filled the industrial space, echoing off of the sheer concrete walls, covering the more gentle sound of flowing water.

At the heart of the complex, a monumental glass tank towered up into the high ceilings, disappearing an equally impressive distance down past the floor. On one end of the tank, there was a concrete platform coated with dark sand that sloped gradually down into the water, which sat still, an ominous, inky pool. The surface remained deathly still as they approached, throwing his reflection back at him.

The ambient light was minimal, leaving pockets of darkness where the shadows seemed to cling. Besides one nondescript door at the far end of the facility, the room was bare— no chairs or computers, no scientists waiting eagerly with tablets in hand, no Dr. Grelain looming off to the side with his critical gaze.

The soft clicking of tumblers echoed down the stairs, drawing his attention back towards the blast doors as several sets of footsteps reverberated off the metal floor above.

“That must be Ms. Singh,” Ter’ione explained, noticing his change in demeanor as he eyed the doorway.

Jonah froze, his ears straining, counting the cadence—one, two, three, four—each footfall distinct yet overlapping, a chorus of motion reverberating down the stairwell.

“Who else is coming? Just her and her handler?” Jonah questioned as he listened to the sharp metallic clang of boots hitting metal, the rhythm growing louder, sharper, like the ticking of some enormous clock counting down.

The corner of Ter’ione’s mouth tensed, “She does not have a dedicated handler like you. She is likely being accompanied by someone from the laboratory staff.”

The final few steps came with a heavier thud, the sound of bodies shifting as they reached the bottom. Long shadows seeped across the polished floor as four distinct shapes approached the blast door.

His eyes snapped up to three familiar faces; Ms. Gaiacothica smiled down at him softly, eight eyes blinking in tandem as her hand came to rest on the shoulder of a young woman in front of her. Wan-Kitku stood at her right elbow, dark eyes widening. Despite the reassurance of his former colleagues, Jonah couldn’t stop his gaze from landing heavily on the face of a reptilian man, his square jaw lined with geometric teal plates, thick brown low and scrutinizing. He looked just like the phantom that lurked in the corner of Jonah's vision late at night in the ill-intended shadows of his lonesome room; that same broad face carved with stern, angular features, the ridges of his cheekbones high and sharp, his jawline a granite ledge. His sapphire eyes seemed to glow faintly, cold and calculating, their slitted pupils betraying a hunter’s focus.

A smile bloomed slowly across his face, as though it had to be carefully crafted before it could reveal itself. It started at the edges of the mouth, curling upward in a way that felt more like a sneer than a grin—sharp, deliberate, and entirely devoid of warmth. His lips stretched thin, taut with something darkly amused, a cruel witness to the fear bubbling in Jonah’s gut.

Had he come to test Jonah’s memory, to see if he could stir the memories buried in his head by careful manipulation and chemical sedation? Or perhaps he was simply there to admire his handiwork.

A melodic voice cut through his anxious musings, drawing his eyes to the woman in front of Ms. Gaiacothica, “You’re Jonah, right?” she asked, stepping forward until she was close enough to offer a hand. “I’m Aurora!”

Her features were delicate, the subtle curve of her cheekbones, the gentle arch of her brows. Unruly dark hairs fluttered around her face, perfectly framing the sides of her heart-shaped jaw. Her lips, soft, pastel-pink, and slightly upturned at the corners, greeted him with a soft smile. But through her playful facade, there was a shadow in her gray eyes—a quiet mystery, a flicker of something deeper.

“Hi,” he greeted, shaking her outstretched hand as he tried to sooth his racing pulse. “It’s nice to meet you. This is actually the first time I’ve met another HARP participant.”

“Well, there’s only three of us, so I’m not exactly surprised,” she laughed, “Laurel’s a bit of a bore if I’m being honest, so you’re not missing much. How old are you? I think we might be around the same age.”

“I’m 34 as of a few months ago,” he replied, trying not to look at the face over her shoulder.

“Oh shit, really? I’m only 28,” she bounced back, her cheerful tone a stark contrast to the utilitarian space, “It's rare I meet anyone with a worse baby face than me! Where are you from? I’m actually native to the UC. I know, super weird for a human, right?”

“Alright Ms. Singh,” a timber voice made the hairs on the back of Jonah’s neck stand up. “You can talk his ear off another time. For now, we’re on a bit of a schedule.”

“Dr. Grelain,” Ms. Gaiacothica cut in with a chiding tone as the scientists stepped forward to join them by the tank, “Perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself before you go ruining their fun?”

Dr. Grelain sidestepped Aurora and stood before Jonah, towering and imposing, his very presence a troubling contradiction of intentions. His aquamarine skin shimmered under the dim, artificial lighting, each scale catching the light like the facets of a gemstone. The texture was rough, like an alligator's hide—ancient and ancestral.

His voice, when it came, was low and resonant, vibrating with a subtle, smug authority. Each word dripped with a bitter kind of faux-sincerity that made Jonah’s skin crawl.

“Jonah,” he said, elongating the name as though savoring it. “I’ve heard much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet in person.” His tone was smooth, polished, and entirely insincere, the faintest edge of amusement tugging at the corners of his eyes. This new persona was a far cry from the jovial, over-eager scientist he met all those weeks ago— comparably congenial and nondescript in a professional space, but he’d tamed his bubbly alter-ego into something smaller, a forgettable face. It made Jonah wonder how much was real.

He extended a clawed hand, a gesture of supposed openness that felt more like a calculated performance. His palm felt frigid in Jonah’s hand, but despite the bile rising in the back of his throat, he forced himself to return the doctor’s fake smile with an equally artificial front.

“The pleasure is all mine, Dr. …” he trailed off, “apologies, I didn’t catch your name the first time.”

His thin lipped smile widened, cheeks pulling up towards his ears. It was meant to appear genial but instead seemed more like a warning, a baring of teeth that hinted at the predator within.

“Dr. Grelain,” the good doctor supplied, gaze still trained on Jonah’s face, surveying every angle of his face as if he could pick meat off the bone with just a look, baring the secrets behind his paper mache mask. “I’ve heard you’re something of a scientist yourself, is that true?”

Jonah laughed— light, airy, fake like sugar spun glass. “Yes, something like that,” he replied, “I have a doctorate in quantum biology, but I haven’t done much interesting with it yet. I’m afraid.”

“Oh, nonsense, Jonah,” Ms. Gaiacothica cut in, “You were an asset to our department before you joined the HARP program. And now, your influence is even greater. One could argue you’ve done more for the preservation of endangered sentient life than any of us.”

“Yeah, don’t undersell us HARP participants!” Aurora chimed in, adjusting a cloth knapsack as it began to slip off of his shoulder. “You’re the newest one, yeah? And how many assignments have you had already?”

“Uh, just three, soon to be four I suppose,” Jonah answered, trying to keep his gaze from settling on Dr. Grelain’s face. He could feel the taller man’s eyes on him, shamelessly cataloging his responses, analysing his body language.

“Just three?” Aurora parroted, “Just? That’s three whole species saved. Most people are lucky if they’re able to do a fraction of that good in their whole lives.”

“I suppose,” Jonah agreed sheepishly, hoping the way his hands fidgeted at his sides, anxiously thumbing the bottom of his coat, came off as self-consciousness instead of fear. “What about you?”

“How many assignments have I had? Two successful ones, not counting Kiano yet,” Aurora answered, “You’ll like Kiano. He’s chill, very laid back, and good at pushing all the right buttons too, if you know what I mean.” She nudged him with her elbow, winking in a suggestive, over-exaggerated way that prompted a genuine laugh from Jonah.

Dr. Grelain cleared his throat loudly, cutting back into their conversation with that same mocking smile. “As fun as this all is, the Mariphyte won’t wait forever. Mr. Sarro, please brief our lovely participants and prepare to send them in.” He turned his head to meet Jonah’s gaze, blue eyes slightly narrowed in a way that betrayed his congenial facade to the keen-eyed. “Mr. Basset will be going in first.”

It was clear he felt no remorse. Under the subdued smile, his demeanor carried an unmistakable air of confidence, the kind that came from an unshakable belief in his own superiority. Yet now, he was trying—awkwardly, unconvincingly—to play the role of the affable diplomat, and Jonah seemed to be the only one that saw through it.

“Of course,” Wan-Kitku replied as Dr. Grelain stepped away, striding towards the unmarked door at the end of the room, disappearing behind it like a specter, leaving behind only the bounding pulse in Jonah’s chest.

“Since Ms. Singh has already been vetted by the Mariphyte, she will enter second with the necessary biological material,” Wan began to explain. His large, dark eyes, reflective and shimmering like deep pools of water, flickered steadily between the faces of his small audience, revealing nothing outwardly—but a closer look hinted at the faintest gleam of unease.

“Since Jo- Mr. Basset has yet to acquaint himself with the Mariphyte, he will enter first. Once the Mariphyte concludes you are a suitable match, which our biological profiling indicates he should, that will be when Ms. Singh makes her entrance. We will determine this timing either from a telepathic message from the Mariphyte himself or from Ms. Singh’s own judgment, should the timing appear off.” Wan continued. Every word he said was precise, professional, every gesture calculated to maintain composure, but the subtle signs were there for those observant enough to notice. A tendril closest to his temple coiled just a fraction too tightly. His long, elegant fingers twitched once before he clasped them behind his back, tablet held tightly. A brief blink of those vast eyes lingered a moment too long, as though he had to reset his composure.

“Any questions?” he concluded. Though his tone remained steady—calm and confident, his gaze occasionally flicked down, resting on Jonah’s face just a fraction too long.

Jonah swallowed the urge to pull the taller man aside, to cast aside their professional personas and lay their fears out in the light where they could be soothed into small things, dampened into anxious whispers rather than all encompassing screams. He could sense Wan’s meticulously concealed concern for him like a physical thing wrapped around his heart—squeezing and horribly heavy. Somehow, it had been easier when he was alone.

“Crystal clear, sir,” Aurora replied with a mock salute. The bag shifted over her shoulder again, and this time Jonah heard a faint clink before her free hand instinctively pressed against the canvas to steady it.

Jonah nodded an affirmative, glancing up at Ms. Gaiacothica, curious to see if she had any input. Seeing her and Dr. Grelain together had been nearly as shocking as seeing the doctor at all. She stood with her usual air of composed grace, shoulders loose, hands crossed politely in front of her, her towering frame casting a long shadow across the dimly lit room.

For a fleeting moment, curiosity eclipsed his fear, prompting him to open his mouth and ask, “How do you know Dr. Grelain? Is he with the department?”

“Oh,” Ms. Gaiacothica turned her attention to him, not expecting to be addressed, “In a manner of speaking, yes. His presence… graces our lab on rare occasions, but he spends most of his time in the field.” Her voice was smooth, almost soothing, as she addressed him, her mandibles clicking faintly with each word.

As she turned slightly, her head tilting in what seemed like a thoughtful pause, he caught something. It was fleeting, barely there—a tension in the curl of one mandible, a twitch of her eyelid that didn’t quite match the calmness she exuded. Her voice faltered for the briefest fraction of a second before picking up its usual cadence, smooth as silk, but the moment left a small, sharp doubt lodged in his mind like a small stone in the bottom of his shoe.

He dismissed it almost as soon as he noticed it. After all, she had been nothing but supportive, hadn’t she? But the memory of that tiny crack in her perfect facade lingered, gnawing at the edges of his trust. Perhaps the presence of Dr. Grelain was making him paranoid.

“What do I need to do to get ready?” he asked, shaking himself out of his turbulent inner musings.

“Not much, fortunately,” Ms. Gaiacothic answered, clapping her hands together for emphasis. “Wan and I will unlock the tank for you before leaving the hanger to allow you some much deserved privacy. Aurora will wait here for her queue. Don’t worry, the glass is quite dim. She won’t see much. Any more questions? Final thoughts? Concerns?”

Jonah and Aurora both shook their heads in tandem, albeit with different levels of enthusiasm.

“Perfect, then Jonah, if you’ll be so kind as to follow me,” she gestured with one of her many slender arms, her motions precise and fluid.

He allowed himself one last look at Wan’s face—his elf-like features sharp yet delicate: high cheekbones, broad flat nose, lips curled down into a faintly sour expression, before turning to follow Ms. Gaiacothica towards the gargantuan glass tank.

The mechanical door opened with no fanfare, just a faint mechanical click as the lock disengaged, before a perfectly rectangular portal stood before him, welcoming him into the shadowy space.

Jonah stood on the threshold, watching the artificial waves crawl lazily up the black sand before retreating back to the depths, a gentle back and forth, as if the water were dancing a waltz with the shore. As soon as he stepped forward into the enclosure, the door hissed shut behind him, frosted glass darkening until all he could see was a shadowy reflection staring back at him, blond flyaways haloed by the dim light.

The water was pleasantly warm, like a crystal blue lake warmed by the July sun, but the mild temperature did nothing to stop the shiver that crawled its way up his vertebrae as the liquid began to ebb up his calves, slightly more viscous than the water on the UC despite its familiar appearance.

A whisper swelled in his ear, a honeyed voice urging him to wade deeper into the water. Unthinkingly, he complied, the ball of his foot sliding along the artificial sand embankment as he took a deliberate step into the pool. The water lapped at the skin of his calves, leaving behind glistening trails as he stood looking down into the water. Pale beams of light punched through the waves, disappearing below the surface as the liquid greedily swallowed the facsimile sun offered by the dimmed overhead fluorescence.

“More,” the voice urged, “More. Step deeper.”

The muscles in his thighs tensed as his body prepared to obey, but he fought against the motion, clenching his teeth as he forced himself to pause, one foot hovering off the ground before he shoved it back into the rough sand.

“Are you Kiano?” he asked, hand twitching at his side as he held his ground, rolling his shoulders back until his posture was proper enough to make a ballet teacher proud.

He could almost feel the air change as the voice in his ear silenced, intently processing his hesitation. After a glacial pause, the voice rang clearly in his head, “You do not have to speak aloud. I can hear your thoughts as you wonder to yourself. You’re very concerned with your composure. Why is that, dear?”

“I have pride in my composure,” he thought, picturing each word hoping it would make his message clear. It’s one of the few things I can still control… his thoughts trailed on before he could stop them.

“Control is a fickle thing,” the voice mused, “We so hate to lose it, yet, it weighs so heavily upon our shoulders when we have it. Such a burden, and for what?”

“For power,” he answered.

“Yes,” the voice replied with a hum, “but more so because of fear. Are you afraid?”

Jonah swallowed, fists clenching at his sides. “Not of you,”

“Then let me help you let go, just for a moment,” Kiano’s voice coated his unruly thoughts like a heavy blanket, fabric nestling in the live-wire gaps between the droll of nervous questions buzzing in the back of his mind. “My voice is powerful, but it has its limits. It may feel strange at times, but I’m not able to make you do anything you don’t wish to.”

Jonah felt the grip on his psyche loosen, like a leash slipping through his hand. He allowed it to happen for a moment, letting the feeling of the water lapping against his calves grow warmer against his skin before his nervous heart thrummed back to life and his grip tightened. He could feel Kiano deeper in his mind, tendrils wound through the gaps behind his eyes, curling along the base of his spine.

The Vek’s telepathy had felt like a vivid dream, the kind you have right before you wake, but Kiano’s telepathy was a physical thing, as if the creature were perusing through his thoughts like a library, running one tentacle along a row of books looking in search of a particular title.

“Oh, dear, your mind is quite a mess right now, isn’t it? That must be tiring, dealing with all these heavy thoughts.”

“I’m alright,” he replied reflexively as a traitorous thought rumbled underneath him, churning up like river silt, I’m tired.

“Let me carry that weight, just for a moment,” Kiano urged, suffocating his hesitant inner voice whimpering at the edges of his consciousness with the tantalizing promise of relief. He allowed the creature to dig further, unclenching his hands from where they had unconsciously balled up into white knuckled fists at his sides. His compliance was rewarded by a soft hum and a satisfying warmth that crept down his spine, coiling pleasantly around each vertebrae.

“Oh,” Kiano’s voice rang in his head again, drawing out each syllable as if in awe, “There is fear here, yes, but beneath that, something powerful, something fierce…”

“You contain a devastating want,” Kiano continued to speak as Jonah’s body began to move on its own, stepping a few measure paces deeper into the water. “A vicious, animal desire…” His knees began to bend, one foot folding neatly behind the other as he lowered himself into the water.

“Lust and…” the creature’s voice reverberated off the back of his skull sending a bodily shiver down his spine as the water lapped at his hips. His knees sunk into the fine, black sand, parting around his weight.

“Carnage.” Something cool slithered across his lap, curling around the small of his back. The water around him stirred, fluorescent lights catching on the ripples, painting a swirling pattern on the surface of the pool as the outline of a dark shape floated up from the depths, its form still concealed by the gloom.

Skepticism flashed in his mind, a jagged edge among Kiano’s honey sweet whispers as the creature continued to wind its way up his torso, skirting along the angles of his ribs through the thin wetsuit. However, his body was unbothered by his objections to Kiano’s assessment of his psyche. The creature’s touch made his skin buzz even through the neoprene, heat pooling in his gut. He parted his legs subconsciously, sweeping the silky sand off to either side.

“How can you not feel it?” Kiano questioned, sensing the doubt in his mind, “How is it not burning you up inside?”

He considered the creature’s query more intently as his arms rose, fingers grasping at the zipper pull around his neck. Beneath Kiano’s velvety touch, he could feel it, the want.

It wasn’t new; in fact, it had been there almost as long as he could remember. He could see it in the memory of his younger self who pined after the handsome rancher boy in his grade, fumbling for his attention, awkward and doe-eyed. How his gaze had always wandered to the other man’s calloused hands and imagined what they would feel like against his skin. And it had only grown stronger when he finally got those hands on him, tugging at his hair, trailing up his thighs.

But the want was just a little thing then, demure and withdrawn, content to spend most of its time curled up in a distant corner of his mind. After Florian, few managed to coax the timid thing out of hiding. Jonah rarely had the time for such frivolities, at least, that’s what he had told himself.

Nonetheless, Baimir had found the want in him easily, tearing the little thing out from its secluded refuge and, god, had it felt good. He squirmed at the memory even now, as a second tendril began to slide across his lap.

Since then the want had only grown hungrier.

He tugged at the cool metal tab, feeling the teeth on his plastic zipper release one by one. The humid air clung to the bare skin on his chest as he peeled his wetsuit away.

“I feel it,” Jonah confessed, “when it serves me.” The zipper came to a stop just below his navel, revealing a long slit of alabaster skin, a stark contrast against the dark neoprene.

“When it serves you?” Kiano questioned, “no, this is not the kind of beast you parade around at your convenience. This is not a thing that tolerates a leash.”

He raised a hand across his chest, thumb hooking under the edge of his wetsuit as he slipped the garment over his shoulder, peeling the sleeve off of his arm.

“From the moment you set foot in this pool, I could sense it,” Kiano continued. The creature’s tentacles slipped across his bare collarbone, exploring his exposed skin, mapping his curves with a deliberate touch. “Something ravenous, eager…” The curls at his nape clung to something damp as another tendril curled around the back of his neck. “Begging me to touch.”

Jonah’s fingers grasped at the open zipper, peeling the neoprene aside in tandem with a prismatic blue tentacle. They moved like one being as Kiano guided his hand, his mind urging Jonah’s muscles to move like a marionette. The suit resisted slightly, the snug material dragging over the contours of his torso, momentarily clinging to the lines of his ribs before surrendering to his pull.

Droplets of water clung to his alabaster skin, gleaming like shards of glass in the low light. The black neoprene folded back, slipping free of his arms as he shrugged it off, the motion fluid, almost unintentional, yet carrying a certain quiet intimacy as Kiano supplied a wave of serenity in his mind, rewarding him for his compliance.

Against his better judgment, he savored the praise, eyes fluttering closed as he tipped his head back until curls dampened by the humid air clung to his spine. The tendril snaking its way around the back of his neck continued to brush against his baby hairs, gingerly picking up a few twisting strands. Another tentacle began to make its way down his back, sliding across his spine until it reached the folds of wetsuit pooled around his waist.

“Gorgeous,” Kiano’s voice purred in his head, “Show me more.”

The dark water lapped at his legs as he slowly rose from the shallow pool, the soft splash of movement echoing over the gentle hum of machinery. His hands, meticulous as if the movement of each finger were being orchestrated, gripped at the folds of his wetsuit bottoms, fingers sliding beneath the tight material. With a gentle pull, the fabric began to stretch, tugging against the curves of his hips as he slowly worked it down. The tepid water seemed to cling to his skin, droplets collecting on his thighs and calves as the wetsuit released its hold.

As the suit slipped lower, the subtle sound of rubber against skin filled the air, a final resistance before the fabric yielded. He stepped free of the wetsuit, the material pooling in the shallow sand.

He swallowed a heavy breath, jaw tensing as a wave of pleasure washed over him, traveling across his shoulders, down his hands, leaving his fingertips buzzing. His head felt heavy with the fog of another consciousness as Kiano continued winding deeper, weaving throughout Jonah’s thoughts like a honey soaked weed.

“What a divine thing,” Kiano mused, cupping a tendril under Jonah;s jaw and tipping his head to the side as if he were examining the man. “But still, you hide from me.”

“I’m not hiding from you,” he shot back instinctively. The idea of upsetting the Mariphyte rearing something ugly in his head. I’m being good, the quieter thought rang out.

“Do not lie to me,” the tentacle around his jaw squeezed, holding the bone in a harsh grip. “I hear every thought in that head of yours; the ones you bury, the ones you cast aside, I hear it all.” Kiano chastised, a second tentacle came up to caress his forehead, tenderly pushing his bangs aside as if he were playing with a beloved doll. “I’m going to ask you two questions. You will answer each one honestly.”

Kiano’s command thrummed through his bones, a hot metal spike melting through his skull, dissipating feverishly through his body. From the shadowy pool in front of him, there came a slow, almost seductive movement— more tentacles, warm and sinuous, slipping from the inky blackness with an unnatural grace. His arms hung limp at his sides as tentacles began to wind up his legs. They coiled around his skin with a renewed intimacy, the heat from their lengths seeping into his bones, wrapping tighter with every passing moment.

Each coil of the tentacles was pliant yet strong, curling around his ankles, across his calves, up his thighs with a steady, almost possessive force. They pressed against the skin, the warm flesh of the tendrils slipping over and around the curves of his hip, their heat spreading in slow waves, filling the air with an unsettling sense of tension. The pressure of them grew as they climbed higher, their movements growing more deliberate, as if each tentacle knew exactly where to go, wrapping with an intent that was both thrilling and disquieting.

Jonah tried to answer the creature’s demand, but his mind seemed devoid of the right words, all thoughts occupied by Kiano’s touch.

“I can feel you standing on the edge,” Kiano began, “Ready to take the plunge, and yet… What is holding you back from submitting to me?”

“I’m afraid of giving up control because I don’t feel safe,” Jonah thought back, the answer slipping out easily.

“You’re safe now,” he replied, caressing Jonah’s jaw as a tentacle wound around his inner thigh, inching higher and higher. “Repeat it to yourself. You’re safe now.”

“I’m safe now,” he thought obediently before any hidden corners of his mind still shielded from Kiano’s reach could mull the decision over more carefully.

“Good,” Kiano purred. Another wave of pleasure shuddered through his body. His knees collapsed inward, quivering under his weight, only to be held in place by the body of tentacles creeping up from the depths. “Now, will you give yourself to me entirely… forgo all forms of mental resistance… allow me to use you as I please”

He could feel the moment Kiano’s final question pulled him over the edge, falling down into the inky depths. Kiano no longer occupied a place in his mind as a simple houseguest. This time when he spoke, his mouth moved on its own, his thoughts formed entirely without his input, his body listened to Kiano alone.

“Yes,” he replied, falling blissfully over the edge.

Chapter Text

The tentacle holding his jaw slipped into his mouth. The taste hit his tongue like a wave, rich and intoxicating. The flavor was an indescribable sweetness—soft and velvety, like delectable ripe fruit, filling his mouth. But then, just as the sweetness began to settle, a rich, musky undertone unfurled as the tentacle pushed past his tongue, fervently exploring his mouth while he was helpless to do anything but whimper and drool around the eager appendage.

“That’s a good boy,” Kiano praised, “now show me the language your body speaks.”

Jonah felt a hand sliding across his ribs, trailing lower and lower. It was only when his fingers brushed the trim hairs below his waistline that he realized the hand was his moving on its own as if possessed. His eyes widened and he moved to look down on reflex, but the tentacle in his mouth forced his head back, pushing up against the roof of his mouth before it began to explore deeper.

He gagged around the slick appendage as it probed the back of his mouth with a deliberate curiosity. Kiano was not rushed in his ministrations, every movement was intentional, meant to explore, to gather information.

He shuddered as his fingers brushed against his little dick— hard and eager between his legs, desperate for the stimulation. His hips twitched impatiently into the touch prompting a satisfied hum from Kiano.

“So sensitive…” the Mariphyte purred, tentacles pulling his thighs apart as Jonah’s hand drifted lower, fingers rubbing at his clit with the perfect pressure promoting a muffled moan from the smaller man. “So reactive. Yes, a perfect submissive, but are you fit for the Tal’eshar?”

All Jonah could do to reply was choke and cough as the tentacle pushed deeper into his throat, coating his mouth in sweet briney fluid. His free hand came up to grasp at the tentacle, fingers slowly closing around the slippery appendage. With a gentle pressure, he began massaging the tentacle, hand moving back and forth as if he could draw it in even deeper.

Kiano purred in his head, rewarding him with delicious pressure against his clit. His hand began to rub circles against the side of his dick, mirroring the way he would jerk himself off in his own bed in the lonely hours of the night. He could feel Kiano digging through his mind, pulling out his memories of masturbation and sexual encounters, using them to fine tune his movements, making Jonah squirm and moan at each touch.

His cunt spasmed greedily, forcing droplets of slick down his spread things as his fingers continued to rub circles against the side of his clit. A muffled whine escaped his throat as his legs began to quiver in Kiano’s unyielding grip. His toes barely touched the sand as the Mariphyte lifted him easily, tentacles wrapped tightly around his legs and hips.

“I love the way you fall apart,” Kiano’s voice rumbled through Jonah’s head, the honeyed tones bouncing off the inside of his skull. He could feel the alien’s voice reverberating through his chest like a heavy bass at a rock concert. “The way you give up control… so pretty for me. Now show me how you cum.”

At Kiano’s command a wave of ecstasy crashed over him. His eyes rolled back as he choked and gurgled helplessly around the tentacle that filled his throat, swallowing mouthfuls of that musky, sweet liquid as his legs twitched and spasmed in the Mariphyte’s grip. His cunt clenched pathetically around nothing, reminding him of its emptiness, filling him with a renewed desire to be filled, to be folded over and bred like an animal in heat, whining mindlessly, wet and eager.

Kiano commanded his hands to stillness as he came down from his climax, one dropping limply from his groin back to his side, the other resting passively around the tentacle in his mouth as it slowly began to back out of his throat.

There was a moment of silence in his mind, but he barely noticed it over the incessant feeling of want gnawing at him like a rabid animal— desperate, shameless. He whimpered as the tentacle left his mouth, pursing his lips to suck each drop of the appendage before it pulled away.

“Incredible,” Kiano spoke in his head, tentacle wrapping loosely around his neck, “I have satisfied you, yet your desire only grows.”

“Please, please just fuck me,” he begged, droplets of fluid dappling his chin shining like gems in the low light.

“All in time,” Kiano replied, “First I must see if you will be suitable for the Tal’eshar like they say. You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, yes,” he babbled, unsure if he was talking in his head or out loud, uncaring either way as a thick tentacle began to rub up against his heat, massaging his entrance with the widest part of its undulating body, molding to his contours. His entrance fluttered eagerly at the friction as if it were trying to draw the appendage in, oozing a new wave of clear arousal.

The tapered apex of Kiano’s tentacle nudged at his dripping folds, pushing up against the plush skin of his cunt. Slowly, he entered Jonah, probing his passage bit by agonizingly slow bit as if he were mapping out every curve and fold.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, faster please,” Jonah groaned, hips quivering, unable to move, unable to seek more friction as an invisible force held him in place.

“Patience,” Kiano chastised, his voice echoing through Jonah’s head making him dizzy. The tentacle in him halted, cruelly retreating to the front of his entrance, narrowed tip just barely holding him open. “I thought you wanted to be good for me. You still want to be good for me, don’t you, dear?”

Tears gathered in Jonah’s lash line as he bit back another cry, entrance clenching and unclenching desperately. “I’m good, please,” he begged, “please, ah-”

His cries were cut off as Kiano slipped back in, probing deeper. Jonah threw his head back as his cunt stretched blissfully around the intrusion, tentacle growing wider. Each inch of it seemed to pulse with a life of its own, pearlescent patterns dancing in the low light. Kiano’s soft, almost translucent skin darkened as it swelled, twisting in a slow, deliberate motion as he delved further into Jonah’s heat.

Kiano paused once he reached the base of Jonah’s cervix, the tip of his tentacle flicking eagerly around the small hole, slipping into the pocket beneath it. A satisfied hum reverberated off of this inside of Jonah’s skull.

“Oh, yes,” Kiano purred. Despite the words being delivered directly to his mind, it felt as if the Mariphyte were talking to himself. “You will be perfect.”

The tentacle pulsed inside of him, sending a desperate shiver down his spine as he keened impatiently. His hips twitched, seeking friction as Kiano continued his passive exploration.

“Do you feel the way your body reacts to me?” Kiano asked, pushing against Jonah’s upper walls, his flesh rippling, practically vibrating. “Do you feel how it calls to me?” He focused his attention on the patch of ribbed skin just behind Jonah’s entrance, his tentacle twisting and arching, driving further inside to press up against his G-spot. His efforts were rewarded with a breathy moan and a surge of clear fluid, further painting the human’s already damp inner thighs until they glistened in the low light.

“Yes, you will be perfect,” Kiano repeated, ignoring the petulant whimper as he backed out of Jonah’s cunt. “So perfect for me.”

“Wait, please,” Jonah protested as Kiano’s tentacles began to loosen their hold, setting him unceremoniously in the shallow water with a soft splash. The black sand shifted and parted beneath him, sticking to his legs only to be washed off by the tepid waves a moment later. He sat partially upright, pushing damp curls from his face in a futile attempt to regain his bearings.

Before he could inquire about the sudden pause, the door to the tank opened with the hiss of a pneumatic lock. Aurora stood on the threshold, her nude body silhouetted by the factory lights. Her skin was pale like tropical sand, flawless in a way that seemed almost unnatural—gorgeous and untouchable, like a porcelain doll. Her hips were wide with gentle dips like the curves on a guitar, legs long and trim. Over her shoulder, she carried the same canvas bag and that same playful smile curling at the corners of her lips.

“Having fun boys?” she asked, sauntering into the room, her bare feet sinking into the dark sand. She lowered the bag, its contents clinking despite her cautious movements, and leaned down to produce a glass vial, big enough to fill her entire palm, secured with a neon yellow plastic seal.

The liquid inside was a deep, swirling shade of violet, glowing faintly in the dim. It clung to the sides of the vial like molasses, slowly shifting and settling, leaving thick trails along the sides of the glass. Tiny flecks of iridescent particles drifted lazily within, catching the light and casting fleeting, shimmering reflections.

“Do you want to do the honors, or should I?” Aurora spoke again, her voice echoing in his head this time. Her speech was different from Kiano’s, it didn’t reverberate and pool in the base of his skull or coat his thoughts like a thick honey—an internal conversation partner rather than a possessive force.

She turned the vial this way and that in her hand, as if she were goading a dog with a toy, as she stepped into the shallow end of the pool. Her gray eyes remained focused on the water in front of her, surpassing Jonah’s prone form entirely as the pool encompassed her legs, lapping at her calves, leaving behind shimmering droplets on her ivory skin.

Her head perked to the side, black curls bouncing around her ears as she listened to something unperceivable to Jonah’s ears. Her finger, tapping a steady rhythm on the glass vial, stilled as a single cobalt tentacle appeared from the depths. Jonah starred up as it passed over him, mesmerized by the subtle swirling patterns along the appendage. The top layers of skin had a subtle transparency, giving a glimpse of tissues below, of muscle fibers contracting and expanding in a rhythmic dance with every subtle movement, meticulous and purposeful.

Along the length of the tentacle, thick fluid pooled and trickled, the droplets glistening in the low light. The water clung to it in a strange union with the alien substance that oozed from beneath, a smooth, almost oily texture that coated the skin. The substance didn’t just rest on the surface, but seemed to seep into the tentacle itself, as though it was a natural secretion—thick and viscous, it dripped down subtle divots with a hypnotic slowness, its color shifting faintly in the dim glow, like liquid nightfall.

Aurora’s palm dropped open, her smile fading into a neutral expression before slowly returning, though this time it was different—softer, more languid. Her eyelids drooped, the weight of it giving her a drunken look, and her fingers barely responded as Kiano gently pried the vial from her grip, delicately cradling the glass container.

Her slate gray eyes dropped lazily to meet Jonah’s gaze as her hand fell limply to her side, alleviated of its mysterious burden. She moved slowly, rhythmically, her hips bobbing and swaying as she traced wide arches in the sand with her feet, giggling softly to herself.

“What do you think of her?” Kiano’s honeyed voice graced his mind once more. His eyes locked onto her, unwilling— unable—to look away. She moved with a grace that seemed otherworldly, pivoting effortlessly in a slow, deliberate circle. Each step she took sent a gentle wave across the surface of the shallow pool, the dark water trembling under her touch. Ripples fanned outward, distorting the faint reflections of overhead lights and bending them into shimmering arcs. The motion was hypnotic, a delicate display of fluidity and control, as if she were weaving something unseen into the air around her.

“She’s… nice, pretty” he struggled to reply, thoughts coming sluggishly as if through molasses.

“See how easily she yields to me?” Kiano questioned, another tentacle emerging from the depths, looping over her shoulders. In response, her lips parted slowly, a soft, plush tongue just barely slipping past as she tilted her head back. Her eyes closed contentedly, dark lashes fanning against her cheeks as the tentacle slipped into her waiting mouth. A glob of oily secretion dropped down her chin as she sucked on the appendage, gently bobbing her head back and forth.

Her shoulders were low and loose, arms resting easily at her sides. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest gave away the deep, steady breaths of someone utterly at ease. Her eyes remained softly closed, lids relaxed without a hint of tension as the tentacle explored her mouth easily, almost tenderly.

“See how at peace she is without those pesky thoughts in her head. So serene, so… simple,” Kiano mused, another tentacle coming up to stroke her forehead. Her eyes fluted open at the touch, gray irises nearly black in the low fluorescent light, but when Jonah looked closer there was a flicker of something; an arch of blue light, almost like a reflection, swirling in her pupils.

“Don’t you want to be like her?” Kiano’s voice purred, husky and deep, the tone rumbling through his chest. He wanted to nod, to offer some small sign of agreement, but his head felt impossibly heavy, as though it had been turned to stone and was now sinking into the fine sand beneath him. Each subtle attempt to move seemed futile, the weight pressing down on him, dragging him deeper into stillness.

He hadn’t noticed his eyes slipping shut, the haze creeping in like an invisible tide. When they blinked open again, Aurora’s face loomed over him, her jet-black hair cascading forward, framing her pale features in an otherworldly halo. Her eyes, impossibly wide and glassy, reflected the dim light with an unsettling sheen, that strange expression etched across her face now magnified up close.

“Don’t you want to be like me?” Her voice rang out, but it wasn’t hers alone—Kiano’s voice wove through it, a disorienting symphony of tones and inflections that tugged at his fraying sense of reality. It echoed in his skull, each layered syllable twisting into the next, leaving him unable to tell where one ended and the other began.

She straddled his chest, one hand buried in the sand by his head as the other trailed down his ribs, ripping the water around his body as she traced swirling lines on his skin.

“It feels so good to submit,” she crooned as her fingers crept higher, skirting along the side of his chest until she reached his arm. Another tentacle snaked up his opposite bicep, pushing it higher until it hit the sand above his head.

“Don’t you want to feel good?” she pushed his wrists together, pinning them in place with one hand. “To be good?” His torso stretched along the black sand, body laid out wide— arms bound his her grip, legs resting limply apart.

“All you have to do is sink deeper, let yourself drop, deeper,” Aurora’s voice chimed again, or was it Kiano’s? Jonah could no longer distinguish the two. Each word rang loud in his skull, reverberating like a brass bell. Her head tipped back, eyes closing in ecstasy as a tentacle slipped into her waiting pussy.

“Deeper.” A breathy moan slipped from her lips as her body jerked back and forth, eagerly accepting each thrust.

“Deeper,” Thick droplets of fluid traced slow, winding paths down her abdomen, glistening in the dim light as they moved with an almost hypnotic rhythm. Each bead caught the light, rich and glossy, shimmering like polished amethysts kissed by the sun. As they dripped onto Jonah’s skin, the heat of the liquid was immediate and startling, seeping through the fine layer of sweat and salt water already clinging to his body. The weight of each droplet lingered before spreading outward, the viscous substance leaving behind trails that glimmered like molten gemstones against the stark contrast of their bodies before being washed away by the gentle tide.

A wet, rhythmic sound filled the air as Kiano pistoned in and out of her faster, more fervently. His pace was a far cry from the leisurely patience he’d investigated Jonah’s cunt with, the gentle pressure and careful touch speaking to exploration rather than passion. With Aurora, there was no hesitation, no holding back. His pace was urgent, almost feral, as if every ounce of restraint had been cast aside in favor of raw desire.

Aurora’s head tilted back, damp black hair fanning across her cheeks as her plush lips parted in a silent cry. Her expression was a portrait of ecstasy, her half-lidded eyes and drunken, blissful smile a testament to how much she relished in every thrust.

Aurora’s head titles back, her damp black hair clinging to her flushed cheeks and neck, framing her heart-shaped face. Her plush lips parted in a silent cry, her chest rising and falling with every labored breath. The low light glimmered off her damp skin, highlighting the intoxicating beauty of her expression—a portrait of unrestrained ecstasy. Her glassy, half-lidded eyes shimmered with pleasure, that flickering blue light dancing in her blown pupils. A drunken, blissful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, a testament to how much she reveled in every powerful thrust.

Every shudder of her body, every soft moan pulled from her lips, fed a growing jealousy in Jonah’s gut, like a weed sprouting from fertile soil, greedily soaking up every drop of rain. His neglected cunt throbbed, the emptiness sharp and demanding, a physical ache that only compounded that stubborn want twisting in his gut. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling into the sand as he watched her, unable to move, unable to look away. The intensity of his gaze sharpened with every second, his lips parted in shallow breaths as Aurora’s bliss painted a picture of what he desperately craved but couldn’t reach.

A honeyed laugh echoed through his head, overlaid with a breathy giggle that slipped from Aurora’s lips as her gaze fell back to his face. Her free hand drifted down, fingers trailing across his chest, leaving a path of fire in their wake. She paused at the dip of his collarbone, her thumb brushing the delicate ridge as though savoring the feel of him. From there, her hand journeyed upward, caressing the curve of his neck with a featherlight touch before settling on the sharp edge of his jaw.

“Good pet, so good for me.” Kiano’s voice chimed, no distinction in who he was speaking to. For a fleeting moment, Jonah’s attention flickered beyond Aurora’s shoulder, drawn by a glare—the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off glass, before Aurora’s grip tightened.

Her fingers pressed firmly against his cheeks, commanding his full attention as she leaned in. The world blurred at the edges, her presence eclipsing his vision. Her lips crashed into his with fervor, the kiss an unrelenting clash of tongue and teeth. Her dominance was undeniable, her intent clear in every press and pull of her mouth, even as her body continued to rock, eagerly accepting every one of Kiano’s unyielding thrusts.

“Submit,” Kiano’s voice chimed again, echoing off the back of his skull, reverberating off of the inside of his teeth as Aurora licked into his mouth, chasing his taste with an animalistic intensity.

Aurora’s mouth parted against his as she moaned, her hips twitching and shuddering. Jonah drank in the sound, his lips moving against hers as her dark eyes fluttered shut, lids trembling before they rolled back.

For the briefest of moments, a crack appeared in the barrier between their minds, a delicate fissure that let Jonah glimpse the depth of her submission. It was intoxicating—a flood of emotions that weren’t his but felt so vividly real. He could feel her yielding, given freely, eagerly, without hesitation.

And with it, he could feel the rewards she reaped—the pleasure roaring through her like a wildfire, lighting up every nerve in her body with exquisite intensity. It should have felt overwhelming, yet woven through each blissful wave there was serenity—an encompassing peace that came with letting go. He could feel it as if it were his own: the tranquility of emptiness, the relief of abandoning control, the fulfillment of simply being.

Her fingers trembled around his wrists, blunt nails pressing into his skin as waves of ecstasy tore through her. Aurora's moans, raw and desperate, were muffled against Jonah’s mouth, half-sighs and fractured cries. The sound sent shivers down his spine, resonating through him like a second heartbeat.

Kiano’s relentless thrusts didn’t slow as he drove her deeper into her climax, pulling every last ounce of pleasure from her trembling form. His movements were mercilessly precise and powerful, as though his only purpose was to claim every inch of her, to take what she offered and then demand even more. Aurora’s cries grew more subdued, breath hitching as her grip on Jonah’s jaw grew weaker, but Kiano pressed on.

A few moments later his pistoning stuttered to a halt and he buried himself deep in Aurora’s heat with one final, viscous thrust, jolting her body roughly over Jonah’s prone form. Warmth spilled into her, a rush of crystalline blue fluid surging deep within before spilling out of her in thick, viscous globs. The slick substance coated her thighs, shimmering sapphire in the dim light as it overflowed from her stretched pussy, pooling onto Jonah’s skin below before the shallow water lapping at his stomach washed it away.

Aurora shuddered, her body slack and yielding, her lips brushing the side of Jonah’s mouth as she exhaled a shaky, contented breath.

“Shhh,” she whispered, her voice a soothing murmur, barely louder than a breath. Her lips hovered just beside his ear, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her exhale brushing against his skin. Slowly, she lowered her hips, a deliberate, languid motion that carried an unspoken intention, grinding her heat between Jonah’s legs. He could feel the cum leaking out of her in hot globs as she pressed against him.

He could feel Kiano still buried in her, pumping and pulsing, filling her past her limits. He pushed her down, forcing her to grind harder against him, rewarding them both with a spark of delicious pleasure like smoldering embers behind their eyes.

Jonah's senses blurred, drowning in the overwhelming tide of sensation. Skin slipped against skin in an erotic rhythm, the heat between them igniting something primal and all-consuming. Each subtle shift, each brush of her lips against his eager little cock, each thick stream of cum that smeared across his skin, sent shivers cascading through him, the friction so seamless, so electric, that it became impossible to tell where his body ended and hers began.

The boundaries of self dissolved, and with them, the clarity of thought. His mind became a haze, a tangled web of wanton sensations and emotions that left him disoriented and exposed, his mind unraveling, inner thoughts uncoiling with each touch. The steady press of her weight, the warmth radiating from her body, and the faint scent of her—something soft and wild—flooded his senses until there was no room for anything else.

Woven through that intoxicating closeness, there was something else. A whisper, a shadow, that tugged at the edges of his consciousness. Kiano’s presence loomed, subtle but undeniable, threading through his thoughts like an unseen current. Jonah couldn't discern where his desires ended and where Kiano's influence began as his tentacle slipped from Aurora’s pussy, dragging tauntingly against his heat.

A flood of cum poured out onto his lap, hotter and thicker than the dark water around him. Aurora shivered at the sensation, the muscles in her back quivering as her pussy clenched and unclenched, pushing more of the hot, crystalline fluid out onto Jonah’s skin, It clung to him, sticking to his thighs, mingling with the slick that flowed out of him, eager and desperate.

Two tapered tentacles slipped along his skin, trailing down his spread legs until they brushed the edge of his cunt. He quivered, unable to do anything more as they pushed into him just a fraction, hooking into the soft, silken flesh inside of him.

He whimpered as they pulled him apart, a gentle pressure coaxing him open a little more each time. Cum began to dribble into the shallowest parts of his exposed heat as Kiano teased and tugged at the rim of his cunt, exposing his delicate pink walls.

“Good boy,” Kiano purred, voice rumbling through his head, curling around his thoughts and coaxing them into stillness, suffocating any stubborn traces of resistance before they could even take shape. The inklings of defiance that had sparked in the back of his mind were silenced, crushed beneath the weight of Kiano’s presence as the creature's powerful tentacles pried him open, coercing his body to stretch and bend to suit the Mariphyte’s whims It was as though the voice itself seeped into his veins, smooth and insistent, erasing the space between his will and Kiano’s, until his own thoughts felt distant, leaving behind only emotion, raw and needy, the want—the need to be filled, to be bred thoroughly, primally.

Jonah didn’t even realize when he stopped fighting completely, when the last vestiges of his own will dissolved into the smooth undercurrent of Kiano’s command. His body became heavy with surrender, a vessel to suit Kiano’s needs, an empty hole to be pumped full.

“So good,” his honeyed voice mused again. Aurora’s hands slipped along his sides, pinching at his perk little nipples as Kiano’s tentacles continued to stretch him open, each pull against his walls deliberate, the movements unhurried. Their tapered tips pushed into the sides of his cunt, anchoring themselves as much as they could on the slick skin as they coaxed his hole further open.

“Nngh,” he moaned behind clenched teeth as cum pooled inside him, the thick liquid slipping into his gaping cunt, a slow gentle stream rather than a forceful torrent. The heat of it was undeniable, but it did nothing to satisfy the pathetic mewling creature Kiano had reduced his mind to. He wanted to beg, but the words tangled in this throat, all his logical thoughts reduced to putty, leaking out of his cunt into Kiano’s waiting grasp.

“You want to be good for me, don’t you?” Kiano asked with a particularly forceful tug. His cunt shuddered against the force, in opposition or anticipation, Jonah wasn’t sure, all he knew was that he wanted to be good for Kiano.

He tried to nod, tried to form some sort of declaration of agreement, tried to push his hips further into Kiano’s grasp, but his body was no longer his, all he could do was moan and tremble and hope that the overwhelming desire echoing inside his head would serve as confirmation.

“Oh, poor thing,” Kiano purred, “So needy…” A third tentacle appeared, settling against his exposed, pink flesh, not yet pushing, simply resting against the edges of his gaping entrance. This tentacle felt thicker, less tapered. Glossy skin stretching over a thick, rounded head lined with a minute series of holes, little puckered things like the suckers on an octopus carefully concealed in those entrancing cobalt patterns. “So desperate for me,” Kiano’s voice rumbled again, filling his skull.

The bulbous tentacle pushed into him, his stretched walls pressing around it before yielding to the intrusion. He keened, a mindless thing, as his cunt strained around the thick tentacle, clenching and quivering around it.

“That’s a good boy,” Kiano’s voice rumbled through his chest as the heavy, rounded tentacle forced its way inside of him, wiggling this way and that, forcing his walls apart to accommodate its size. “So good for me.”

“F-fuck… can’t-” unsteady words tumbled from his parted lips, Jonah himself not entirely sure what he was trying to say, body quivering under the pressure. Kiano pushed forward gradually, yet decisively, unaffected by the resistance that greeted him as Jonah’s cunt strained around the widest part of his bulbous appendage, the apex of it now buried a few inches deep.

“Shhh,” Aurora’s hand snapped back to his face, her eyes hovering over his. That strange light glinted in her pupils, ebbing and flowing in a way that captivated him. Jonah couldn’t look away, his senses trapped by the hypnotic rhythm of a light that wasn’t entirely her own.

“Be a good breeding pet,” She spoke, her words flowing softly, but when they reached his ears, they carried a familiar rumble beneath her sweet tone, a subtle undertone that twisted its way through each syllable, weaving into her voice like a hidden current.

“Gh- uhg!” he moaned behind tightly clenched teeth as the thick tentacle finally pushed past his entrance with a pop, sinking inside of him all at once in a way that drove the breath from his lungs.The base of its bulbous head was narrower, but still substantial enough that he could feel his cunt fluttering around it, slick and the viscous fluid that oozed from Kiano’s tentacles mingling, creating a prismatic combination of glistening clear and blue that painted his skin.

He wasn’t sure when his eyelids had fallen heavy, the world warping around him as his senses were no longer entirely his own. It wasn’t until a cold, smooth surface brushed against his lower lip that his eyes flickered back open, his mind sluggishly catching up with the moment. The room was shrouded in a murky half-light, but the strange vial in Aurora’s hand glinted with an unnatural brilliance. The faint glow from the vial danced across her features, casting her face in sharp contrast against the shadows, that hypnotic glimmer in her eye stronger than ever,

She held it carefully, her fingers wrapped around the cool glass, her thumb brushing against the edge. The neon yellow safety cap was long gone—lost to the din, discarded carelessly into the water. Aurora’s hand tipped the vial gently, and the fuschia liquid inside began to ooze out languidly. It gleamed like liquid gemstones, the iridescent specks inside swirling as the viscous substance crawled lazily toward his lips

Jonah’s breath caught in his throat, his mouth slightly parted, but the part of him that would pull back, the part of him that would question the contents of the strange liquid, was gone—suffocated beneath the weight of Kiano’s influence.

The liquid shimmered as it neared, and he was helpless to do anything other than welcome it as the taste blossomed across his tongue, a complex fusion of bitter and sweet, the sweetness masking something sharp and chemical. An acrid tang—almost like burnt metal—clung to the roof of his mouth, leaving a faint, stinging aftertaste that made his jaw tighten.

The fluid was thick and weighty, slick against his tongue as it poured into his mouth, coating it with a syrupy viscosity that clung to every surface. The dense, unfamiliar texture made him gag lightly before his throat worked to swallow it unquestioningly, almost eagerly.

The liquid didn’t dissolve quickly. It clung to him, seeping into the crevices of his senses. A strange ripple began to spread from his tongue through his body, a subtle heat that intensified as it traveled down his throat. His pulse quickened, a strange pressure building behind his eyes, and his breath caught in his chest as if something inside him was shifting, rearranging. The liquid seemed to settle deep inside him, like it was seeking out something, like it was trying to rewrite the very core of his being. He could feel it—subtle, almost imperceptible—but something was changing. Something inside of him was... waking up.

The tentacle inside him shifted, twisting, winding itself deeper with a sudden thrust. The motion made him keen, parted legs quivering as Kiano’s influence snapped back on him like a whip.

“Don’t fight it,” Kiano’s voice rumbled, the sound vibrating deep within Jonah’s skull, as the weight in his head intensified, pulling at his consciousness. The world around him warped, blurring and twisting, his body shifting in uneven, sluggish movements as if caught in a half-dreamed space. “Don’t think.”

Aurora pushed the vial more firmly against his mouth, and his lips cupped around it delicately, the reflex purly instinct. His compliance was rewarded with a surge of warmth pooling through his stomach, buzzing down to the tips of his toes.

“Just part of the Tal’eshar, pet,” Kiano’s voice came again, or was it Aurora speaking. He couldn’t tell. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

“Mmph-,” he murmured some kind of affirmative around the thick liquid as best he could as the final drops slipped down his throat, “mmm… mm-”

“There you go, all the way now,” the voice in his head purred again. Heat bubbled beneath his sternum, pooling like electric fire beneath his ribs. It radiated outward, igniting every nerve with a sharp kind of ecstasy. The sensation was almost overwhelming, yet utterly intoxicating, molten pleasure seeping into his very bones.

“That’s right, no more thinking,” The tentacle in him began to quiver, coming to life all at once. It burrowed deeper inside of him, its bulbous head squirming and twisting, carving out a space for itself against the deepest recesses of his body. Where there should have been pain, the searing discomfort of skin stretched too wide, there was only pleasure. Each movement sent waves of pure ecstasy rushing through him, igniting white-hot sparks that danced across his vision, blurring the edges of his perception. The pleasure radiated outward, wrapping around his limbs and pooling at the base of his skull.

He could feel Kiano’s sense of triumph as the monster continued to stir its tentacle deep inside of him, reveling in every muffled sound he forced from Jonah’s mindless tongue. The vial slipped away from his lips only to be replaced by a slick, conical tentacle a moment later. He licked at it eagerly, inviting it to fill his empty mouth.

"Yes," Kiano's voice rumbled, its resonant tone woven even deeper into Jonah’s mind, his satisfaction dripping off of that single drawn-out word, as though the very sound of it affirmed the inevitable result—complete and total submission. “Much better… so good for me now, aren’t you?”

“Mppfgh… mmm, mm-” he choked softly around the thinner tentacle as it explored his mouth, twisting around his tongue, painting over the lingering bitter taste in his mouth left behind by the strange vial with its own sweet fluid.

“So perfect…” Kiano thrust into his cunt, the tentacle lashing in the air as he forced himself deep. Jonah could feel the weight of it inside of him, heavy and intoxicating, as those little suckers dragged against his delicate inner walls. The friction was mind numbing, each little catch against those nerves deep inside of him sent a lance of ecstasy shooting through his spine. It was a pleasure far beyond sanity, far beyond what the human body was meant to experience, but the foggy realization only made him smile, the corners of his mouth twitching up around the tentacle snaking against the back of his teeth.

A wet, muffled giggle escaped his throat as the appendage slipped deeper—spit, slick, and cum bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

“So empty,” Kiano fucked into him with a steady rhythm, slow enough that Jonah became hyper-aware of each individual sucker dragging against his skin, their touch a maddening blend of pressure and friction, sweetly igniting every raw nerve they passed over. Yet fast enough that his body trembled with the force of it, muscles jerking involuntarily as the shallow water splashed and parted around his shoulders, his frame jolting against the sand beneath him. His thrusts were relentless, each brimming with intent—the intent to bruise, the intent to claim, the intent to breed.

Jonah’s body accepted each one like a precious gift.

“You’re so much sweeter like this” Kiano’s voice rumbled through his chest. “Fucked empty” He whimpered at the praise, his voice muffled as the tentacle in his mouth delved deeper, eagerly slipping down his throat. Drool slipped across his lower lips as he suckled at it, savoring the sweet fluid that oozed from it, coating the inside of his mouth and lubing his throat, allowing the slim appendage to slip even deeper.

A second set of lips appeared at the corner of his mouth as Aurora leaned over him, her dark hair hanging like a curtain around her face. She licked at the fluid spattered across his face, inching closer to the tentacle before her tongue met Kiano’s sweet skin. Her rosy pink lips latched around the appendage, licking and sucking as it fucked Jonah’s throat.

“Sweet and empty, just for me,” Kiano purred as he pulled back further, the widest part of his rounded head stretching Jonah’s entrance. The tentacle felt somehow thicker than before, hot and throbbing, heavily swollen as it prepared to breed.

“Mmph, gh-!” he keened at the pressure, the smothered sound suddenly cut off as Kiano pistoned into him. His steady rhythm fractured into a frantic, relentless pace, like a jackhammer pounding stone. Jonah’s back arched against the sand, hands grasping at nothing, hips shaking wildly as each animalistic thrust slammed into him. He could feel the apex of its bulbous head pressing against his cervix as Kiano adjusted his angle, bearing down intently on that little point deep inside of him. The tentacle bowed and bulged between his legs, shuddering with unrestrained pleasure before it gave one final thrust, burying itself deep.

The world fractured and splintered, its edges crumbling away as an overwhelming wave of ecstasy crashed over him. Whether it was his own pleasure or Kiano’s that surged through him, Jonah couldn’t say—and, in that moment, he didn’t care. The sensation consumed him entirely, a force so powerful it flooded every corner of his fucked out mind. His thoughts, once sharp and defining, had been confined, suffocated into nothingness, leaving behind an emptiness that existed to be filled, to be bred.

It was as though his mind itself had become a vessel, hollow and pliant, perfectly shaped to receive the pleasure that poured into him. The emptiness was no longer a void to be feared; instead, it was a perfect thing, pristine in its capacity to accept every relentless thrust, a body and a mind shaped with the sole purpose of serving this creature’s desires.

“Oh, yes,” Kiano moaned, that captivating voice still reverberating in his head.

Cum erupted out of each tiny sucker that lined the bulbous tip of Kiano’s tentacles, the hot fluid pushing against his walls in every direction, flooding his cervix. Thick, pearlescent globules spilled from his stretched entrance, forcing themselves out around the base of the tentacle as it kept pumping away, determined to fill him entirely, to leave no crevasse within him bare.

“Such a good boy.” he purred again, as the tentacle buried in Jonah’s cunt continued to pulse, his flow just beginning to taper off. “You take my seed so well.”

Jonah’s fucked out brain preened under the praise as the tentacle in his throat quivered, pulling back to rest on his tongue. A shaky moan slipped from his throat, wet and muffled.

“Such a beautiful thing,” the thin tentacle backed out of his mouth, tracing along his jaw as he felt his eyes flutter half-lidded, glassy with pleasure.

“Now cum again for me,” with the command, a renewed torrent of pleasure crashed over him. His cunt fluttered and quivered around the massive tentacle between his legs, milking every final drop of cum as his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Gh- f-fuck!” a mindless curse slipped from his lips before it was drowned out by a series of choked, shuddering moans. The tentacle began slowly slithering side to side inside of him, stirring up the deposit of cum deep inside of him. A renewed wave of it dribbled out from between his legs, and the stupid, mewling thing that had become his mind almost mourned the loss.

It teased him through his orgasm, probing and twisting in ways that made his breath hitch and his muscles tense. It pushed at him from every angle, examining the way each spot made him shudder, forcing his body to betray him in the most delicious ways. Aurora’s hand remained latched around his wrists, pinning him down with effortless control. He writhed beneath her, the movement more instinct than intent, a futile, animalistic rebellion that only seemed to amuse her. Fingers ghosted through his damp curls, nails scraping lightly along his scalp. He panted hard as the pleasure receded just a fraction, a single sliver of his mind falling back into place.

“Not bad,” Aurora’s voice came, both outloud and in his head, that dark undercurrent still pulling at her words, “For your first load.”

“W-what?” he stammered, the word tumbling from his lips, disjointed and uncertain. It felt foreign on his tongue, as if he were hearing a language that was almost English, but not quite.

“Shh,” Kiano’s voice came again, louder this time, sweeping over her soft influence and smothering it entirely. The sly smile that had danced on her lips faltered, slipping into something lax and neutral as that strange glint flickered back to life in her eyes. Her hand, which had been winding through his hair, froze mid-motion, suspended in the air as the rhythm of her touch abruptly ceased.

“Don’t think,” his sweet command rang out, gentle, yet undeniably firm. The warmth in his tone made it feel less like an order and more like an invitation, yet still, he couldn’t resist as it burrowed its way inside of him.

“Good boy,” the praise came flowing like honey, rich and soothing, as if it were earned. His breathing slowed, each inhale deeper than the last as an overwhelming sense of calm began to sink into his bones, puddling in the marrow.

“Don’t think.” Kiano repeated, the words a soft echo that held him in place. The tentacle in him wiggled again, coming back to life gradually as it retreated. His knees fell limply to the sides, quivering faintly as the bulbous tentacle pulled itself free with a near audible pop.

“The first load…” that voice came again as the cum flowed out of him in thick, unsteady waves, a deluge of viscous, sapphire fluid dissipating across his skin and into the water around them. “Is never quite enough.”

“Wouldn’t you agree?” the question echoed heavily in his skull, reverberating like a slow drumbeat, and he met it with a wave of instant agreement.

“Y-ye- ah… mmhmm,” some sort of shaky affirmative tumbled from his lips, forced out of his enthralled mind by the very intensity of the question.

“Very good,” his unquestioning acceptance was met with a shiver of pleasure—small but rooted somewhere deep within him. It wasn't a flood of sensation but a quiet promise, a promise that there was more to come.

“Hmm,” he hummed contemplatively, a slim tentacle rubbing along Jonah’s thigh as another brushed against his trembling cunt as if inspecting it, cataloging the way his little dick twitched in pitiful, erratic rhythms, buried in the mess of cum that continued to ooze out of him in thick globs. It pressed against him harder, pulling a whimper from his lips as Kiano pushed some of the viscous fluid back inside his fucked out hole.

“Yes, several more should suffice,” he purred, his voice low and velvety, “What do you think, pet. Would you like to be bred again?”

“Y-yes, ye-yesyes… p-plea- ooh…” his reply dissolved into a trembling moan as the tentacle began rubbing against the sensitive inner walls just behind his entrance, his touch smooth and deliberate as if savoring the sensation. Jonah’s eyes rolled back into his head, his body desperate for the touch, his hips shuddering as if begging for more.

“Very good,” Kiano praised as that thick, rounded tentacle emerged once more from the dark water. It trembled in the tepid air, quivering as if with anticipation, its slick surface glistening. The mesmerizing patterns of cobalt and sapphire rippled across its semi-transparent skin, swirling hypnotically as droplets cascaded from its length back into the undisturbed blackness below.

Time dissolved into something hazy and dreamlike, stretched thin and warped like light through deep water. Kiano toyed with their bodies as though they were cherished dolls, pliant and blissfully obedient in the iron grasp of his influence. Like finely tuned instruments, he played them, drawing forth soft, broken sounds—sharp gasps, pitiful whimpers, shuddering sighs—that spilled from their lips without thought, without resistance.

And Kiano reveled in it—the way their minds had been emptied completely, receptive and malleable under his touch. He took his time savoring the way he had expertly unraveled them thread by thread, shattering their minds until nothing remained but the capacity for pleasure and the animalistic desire to be filled.

When those little flickers of resistance sprouted in the back of Jonah’s mind, more a reflex than a conscious desire to disobey, Kiano was quick to smother them, fucking each traitorous thought out of his head until all that remained was that pathetic mewling thing begging to be bred. His submission was always rewarded with toe-curling thrusts—the kind that made him drool and quiver, his eager cunt leaking helplessly as it begged for another load.

And those, Kiano provided him in spades. He experimented with positions, angles, determined to leave no part of him unfilled. His cum flowed hot and endless, fucking him full over and over while whispering those sweet, enthralling words in his head.

His thighs pressed against his chest, shoulders pressed into the soft, black sand as Kiano folded him end over end. The humid air settled across his ass, presented up in the air, his pale skin a tapestry of slick and cum.

The thick, sapphire fluid oozed out from his fucked out cunt, dripping onto his face in sweet, heavy droplets, but he hardly noticed—too lost in the void of his submission, too eager to be pumped full again.

Unintelligible moans slipped from his mouth in the form of breathy, half-formed words as he begged to be fucked again, his needy mind aching for the feeling of Kiano’s tentacles twisting inside of him. His pleading call was answered as that deliciously thick, bulbous tentacle bullied its way back into his hole, pistoning deep inside him with a powerful thrust.

He keened, stupid and mindless, as Kiano fucked him fiercley, claiming every inch of him. Each thrust seemed to bury somewhere deep in his guts, sending a jolt of ecstasy up his spine straight to his head. His legs bobbed in the air, knees around his ears as the sheer force of it rocked his body.

“Such a perfect breeding pet,” Kiano’s voice buzzed in his head. It was as if the mariphyte was no longer addressing him, simply talking to himself, as if anything more complicated than a simple command was above Jonah’s comprehension.

Perhaps it was, he realized, a sort of giddiness washing over him as even Kiano’s simple sentence seemed to blur and crumble around the edges, overridden by the delicious sensation of his needly cunt being filled thrust after unyielding thrust.

He could feel the tentacle between his legs swelling, growing thicker and heavier as it prepared to release inside his womb for the sixth, seventh—no, maybe the eighth time? He’d lost count almost immediately, his empty, fucked out mind entierly uncaring—incabaple of keeping score.

“Yes,” Kiano’s honeyed voice praised him as the Mariphyte felt the sheer elation radiating through Jonah’s mind at the idea of being filled again. “Good boy… Are you excited to be bred again?”

Jonah tried to nod but he couldn't, his chin pinned against his chest by the way his body was folded ass-over-end. “Mm! Ye-yes!” the words came out slurred, punctuated by breathy gasps as Kiano’s aggressive thrusts continued pounding his reddened cunt, each thrust accented by a wet, squelching sound as he leaked and dribbled around the tentacle. His inner wall twitched, fluttering as if he could draw Kiano even deeper inside. “Ah- ah- pl- please-plee- ah! -ease… please! Buh-uh- b-bred me!”

“Good,” Kiano hummed in reply, an unmistakable sense of satisfaction dripping from that single word “ Now cum for me.”

His eyes rolled back into his head, his blonde curls pressing into the dark sand as his muscles locked and quivered, straining under the raw force of it—a sudden, violent surge of ecstasy that cracked through him like a whip. It spiraled downward, twisting around his lungs, constricting his breath, erupting from somewhere deep inside of him, overwhelming his senses and leaving him trembling, gasping for air as the aftershocks continued to ripple through him.

“Ooh-” a choked moan escaped from his lips as that increasingly familiar burst of warmth flooded through him, the tentacle between his legs pulsing rhythmically as cum began to flow down the long, virile appendage.

Kiano pumped him full like a breeding machine, his viscous seed flooding down the tentacle, releasing from those little suckers allowing him to release from every angle. His body graciously accepted every drop, allowing it to fill him far past his limits, but Jonah no longer had the capacity to care.

His stomach cramped as more cum forced its way inside of him, flooding into his womb, thick globs overflowing. They pushed their way out around Kiano’s tentacle, slipping down his stomach as it continued to bulge and swell before the flow finally tapered off.

A pitchy whimper slipped from his lips as the bulbous tentacle worked itself free, its intimidating diameter stretching his abused entrance before slipping free, allowing the deluge of cum to rush out. It splattered across his skin, slipping down his belly in vivid blue streaks, the liquid shimmering almost imperceptibly in the low light.

Then, a new sensation began to bloom beneath his ribs. His fucked out mind barely processed it—a weight settling beneath his stomach, solidifying with every second even as the cum continued to bubble out of him in hot, sticky waves. It was gradual, but distinct, something solid condensing deep inside of him, tightening and pulsing against his organs like a force of its own.

Cool hands appeared on his hips as Aurora’s face once again came into view. Her thick, wavy hair cascaded around her temples, momentarily blotting out the dim, buzzing fluorescents above as she gazed down at him. The corners of her lips curved upward, the hint of a smile barely contained.

“Finally,” her voice echoed in his mind, Kiano's influence still shimmering in her dark eyes. One of her long legs slid over his shoulder, her bare foot making contact with the cool, dark sand beside his head as she straddled his folded body.

He bit his lip, suppressing a jagged gasp as her pussy settled against his cock, still twitching in the aftermath of his orgasm. Her hips began to circle against his, her weight slowly settling into the touch.

His little dick shuddered between them, overstimulated before Kiano’s dominance trickled back into his limbs, quieting his nerves until the raw sensation melted back into a warm, pleasurable touch.

“Shh,” Kiano subdued him with startling—almost embarrassing ease. “Allow her to take it from you.”

“Mmm-” he moaned between closed lips as Aurora began to grind against him in earnest. Her movements grew more insistent, her body shifting in rhythm as that pearlescent, sapphire fluid oozed between them, staining their skin in shades of blue and midnight. The slickness between them intensified, their cunts sliding against each other in a desperate, aching need for every delicious bit of friction.

Damp hair cascaded around her temples, the waves clinging to her skin before curling around the base of her neck. She tilted her head back, her rosy lips parting as she let out a sharp gasp, her breath catching. Jonah could feel it too, a jolt deep in his core, something pulsing, humming in the pit of his stomach. The motion, though subtle, was unmistakable—a slow, rising pressure as that ball of weight inside him began to move.

He let out a low whine, the sound projecting from somewhere in his throat, as the small mass slipped through him, squirming against his sensitive inner walls. It wasn’t solid like an egg or even a cock—barely thicker than the cum still dribbling from his fluttering entrance. It felt almost like a short, soft tentacle, a living mass crafted from Kiano’s seed.

Aurora moaned, long and sweet as the compact tentacle brushed against her entrance, wriggling side to side as it worked itself into her pussy. Jonah could feel her pleasure pushing at the edges of his consciousness, warm and exhilarating, seeping through every inch of her body like liquid sunlight. The sensation was indescribable, a deep, glowing heat that settled into the core of her being, spilling outward in delicate ripples that thrummed with a life of their own.

She crumbled to the side as it disappeared inside of her, her body easily accepting the mass. It was the final crescendo, the culmination of Kiano's careful, deliberate effort—everything that he was— and she welcomed it, her body arching slightly in response, eager to take every bit. But just as quickly, the feeling began to dissipate, leaving her feeling weightless, boneless—her body spent with the effort of it all. She clambered off of Jonah, her limbs unsteady and clumsy, as though they no longer obeyed her, before she collapsed beside him in the warm embrace of the surf. Her chest heaved as she panted, each breath coming in sharp, desperate pulls, the tide lapping at her skin as she lay there, exhausted and overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

“You two have done so well,” Kiano’s voice rumbled through his head, an unmistakable edge of finality woven into his praise. The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning, before the shadow of his form began to sink back into the dark water, dissipating like the last vestiges of night before dawn.

Kiano’s influence retreated from his mind like a receding tide, gradually pulling away, granting him moments of clarity that flickered in and out like distant stars. With each passing second, his mind cleared a little more, the fog lifting, until, finally, the weight of it was gone entirely, and he was alone in his thoughts once again

Several sensations came back to him all at once, the warm water against his bare skin, the cool, soft sand beneath him, the pressure of his elbows and hips sinking into its dark embrace. He reached up, his fingers finding a twisted, damp curl of hair stuck to his forehead, brushing it away with a slightly shaky hand, feeling the odd stiffness in his limbs as if they had forgotten how to move fluidly, a marionette controlled by too many disjointed hands. The soft waves lapped placidly at his thighs, washing away the mess of fluids from his skin.

He wiped a smear of pearlescent, sapphire cum from his lip, the taste of it on his tongue suddenly too sweet. As his fingers moved into action one by one, the strange sensation too faded, steadily working its way out of his stiff joints.

Aurora stirred beside him, sitting up with a sharp blink, her gaze unfocused for a moment as she, too, worked to regain her bearings.

“That was not such a bad experience, was it?” Kiano’s voice suddenly resonated in Jonah’s mind again, no longer forceful or commanding, but simply present, speaking with a light ease. Jonah jumped, the sound catching him off guard. For the briefest of moments, he had forgotten the Mariphyte was still with them, his presence almost imperceptible beneath the water’s surface, a delicate dance of sapphire blue rippling just out of reach.

"No- I-" he stammered, the words struggling to form as his throat tightened. He cleared it quickly, trying to steady himself, but his voice came out hoarse, raspy, as though he had been holding his breath for too long. His cheeks flushed with heat, the warmth creeping up his neck as fragmented images tumbled through his mind, each memory swaying like murky water—disjointed, shifting, yet far too vivid to ignore. He could feel the lingering traces of it, the soft echo of pleasure still buzzing through his fingertips.

"Not bad at all," he managed.

He bent his knees closer to his chest, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that was more than physical as the memories continued to replay in his mind, the recollection of his submission leaving a strange feeling in his chest.

Jonah had always prided himself on his mind, on the sharpness of his intellect. It was his armor, his shield—quick-witted, strong-willed, a mind capable of navigating a world not built for him. Growing up in Colkirk, he’d been known for his book smarts, his passion for science, his unrelenting curiosity. These were qualities that set him apart, made him stand out. But they had never been appreciated there, not truly. The teachers praised him, but the others had never understood. His peers had labeled him a “know-it-all,” and, at worst, a sell out to humanity—a human traitor who had fallen for the teachings of the United Coalition.

Of course, when he’d left his small human town, he realized just how small his thinking had been, how limited his experiences. He’d been like a small-town girl told she was the prettiest in her neighborhood, only to arrive in the big city and find her looks were nothing special in the world of high-fashion models.

And yet, despite the humbling realization, his wit had always been the cornerstone of his identity, the thing he’d relied on, the thing he clung to when everything else felt unstable. To have it stripped from him in the face an overwhelming presence—it was disorienting. Strange. The fiery will he had always carried, the resolve that had defined his every action, was gone, and he felt entirely lost without it.

It wasn’t bad, per se. Not in the way he would have expected. There was something oddly comforting about the absence of that constant, grinding pressure to be sharp, to think, to solve, to control. There was a peace in letting go, a kind of quiet surrender that he hadn’t realized he needed so desperately. Peace had become a rare commodity for him lately, something he hadn't experienced in what felt like forever. Jonah hadn’t known that kind of serenity in so long that the sensation felt foreign, almost frightening. But it also felt... relieving, in a way he couldn't fully explain.

However, now that his mind was his own again, questions clawed at the edges of his consciousness, each one sharper and more insistent than the last, rumbling like distant thunder. The afterglow of his brief reprieve began to fade, and with it, his sense of peace. Jonah couldn't afford to linger in the afterglow of that momentary peace, not when the weight of what was at stake pressed down on him once more.

He needed answers and his window to obtain them was narrowing.

Though, he couldn’t help but feel a creeping unease, as if the very idea of leaving him unsupervised with a telepathic being like Kiano was a catastrophic oversight. With his history of picking apart half-hidden truths, gnawing at the edges of carefully constructed lies like a starving dog, pulling and prodding until the cracks widened into gaping holes, it was almost laughable. Almost.

No, this oversight was far too grave to be an accident. The more he thought about it, the more he doubted the authenticity of it entirely. Who would leave someone like him, someone so driven to uncover the truth, even against his own interests, in a situation like this? His mind raced with the implications, his pulse quickening as paranoia began to creep into the shadowy corners between each building question.

Jonah turned to the side, his gaze landing on Aurora, her face soft with concentration as she gently used the pool water to cleanse her skin. Her movements were slow and unhurried, almost meditative. He studied her face carefully, wondering just how much she knew, how much she understood of the game they were caught in. Could she hear him if he tried to speak with Kiano, if he reached out through their shared connection?

He paused, considering it. Would it even matter if she did? She was just in the dark as he was, swept into a situation far beyond her control, a good samaritan who had been unwittingly dragged into a program steeped in malicious intent. The irony of it stung. Aurora deserved the truth just as much as he did—if not more.

“Kiano,” he reached out his mind experimentally, closing his eyes in concentration as he tried to will the words into existence.

Kiano’s voice echoed in his mind, clear and distinct, cutting through his thoughts like a bell tolling in a quiet room. “What is it?” His tone was calm, perfectly neutral, but there was a subtle undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite place.

He opened his eyes again, trying to trace the shadows that hovered just below the water’s surface. “Where are you from?” he asked, his voice cautious even though it was only in his mind. “Sorry if it's personal,” he quickly added, “your species is just so fascinating.”

Almost immediately, a subtle shift occurred in the atmosphere around him—something cold, something sour that seemed to settle into his chest. A sharp, acrid taste lingered on the back of his tongue, like burnt rubber or the metallic tang of fear. It was unsettling, the sharpness of it cutting through the air between them, and Jonah could feel the weight of Kiano’s reaction before the words even arrived.

“Why would you ask about such things?” Kiano’s voice was colder now, almost imperceptibly, a question wrapped in layers of something Jonah couldn’t decipher.

His gut tightened, a knot of anxiety wrapping around his insides as his eyes widened, amber flickering in the din, but Kiano’s form, twisting and shifting in the depths, revealed nothing. The hairs on the back of Jonah’s neck prickled, his body instinctively tensing. There was something in the air, something thick and oppressive, an undercurrent of unease settling over his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

“I just…” he fumbled for the right words. The question itself seemed simple on the surface, but Jonah knew better. “I’m just curious, is all.”

“Well, you’d best reconsider your… curiosity.” Kiano’s reply came, his tone cool and cutting, leaving a baltic chill in its wake. “Lest’ you learn something you can’t unlearn.”

And with that, his form retreated, that swirling mass of shapes disappearing from below the water’s surface, slipping back into the depths like a shadow dissolving in the dark. The room, however, didn’t lighten. No, the air grew thicker still, charged with a palpable tension, an ominous presence that seemed to press in from every corner.

There was something still in the room, something that hadn’t left with the shape in the water. The predatory energy lingered, heavy enough to choke. It wrapped around him, squeezing his ribs tighter with every breath he took. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to move, but Jonah could only turn his head slowly, his body rigid. His movements felt calculated, as if the sudden motion might set off a chain of events, a trigger that would draw the attention of an unseen predator.

Aurora, who had seemed so harmless just moments ago, now sat with an unsettling stillness, short hair clinging to her face in damp, inky strands. The water lapped softly against her arms as she lounged, her posture relaxed yet unnervingly composed, like a hunter that no longer felt the need to hide from its quarry.

“Everyone’s talking about you, you know?” she said, her voice still light but laced with a subtle edge sharp enough to draw blood. “Incredible Jonah. His scores are so high! It’s a miracle! He can match with anyone.”

She paused, nonchalantly examining a wayward cuticle on her otherwise perfectly manicured nails. The salt water clung to her skin, drawing long glistening rivets down her chest like delicate jewels in the low light.

“Brilliant Jonah,” she continued softly, “He’s a scientist. He’s smart, too smart for his own good even.” There was no malice in her words, only a detached observation, as if she were commenting on the weather, but it sent a shiver down Jonah’s spine. She trailed her fingers through the shallow water absentmindedly, like someone with all the time in the world—and all the control in the room.

She was gorgeous in a way that made you hold your breath, the softness in her gaze stripped away and replaced with something sharper, colder.

“Curious Jonah,” She tilted her head slightly, her damp hair shifting with the motion, as she continued, “too nosy to leave good enough alone.”

Jonah stuttered, leaning away from her instinctually. Where her earlier friendliness had felt genuine, her presence now seemed layered, a constructed persona peeled back to reveal something predatory beneath. The cheerful girl was still there—but now it was clear she had never been entirely real.

“I-,” he struggled to find the words, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A smile bloomed across her lips but it was no longer welcoming; it was frigid, deliberate, a harlequin’s mask.

“What a stupid reply,” she laughed with a sort of demented mirth, “I was expecting better, honestly I was.”

“I don’t understand,” Jonah fumbled to reply, shoulders tense, raised like a dog's hackles. “What angle are you playing right now?” He felt like he was grasping at air, struggling to get his footing in a conversation that had been orchestrated long before he entered the room

She regarded his expression listlessly, as if she’d become bored, before dropping her gaze back to the water as if the patterns in the waves were speaking to her. Jonah opened his mouth, but was cut off as she raised her head sharply, droplets flinging off the ends of her dark hair, disappearing into the gloom with quiet plinks, leaving nothing but subtle circular patterns in the water below. “You know, that Elydrian is so sweet on you,” she began, her voice dripping with insultingly fake sympathy, “What’s his name again? Wan-Kiku or something?”

“He doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Jonah snapped, backing away from her, ignoring the way the sand dug into his knees. It felt sharper all of a sudden— less polished, small glass shards digging into his palms.

“Reelax, “ she dismissed his panicked look with a wave, drawing out the word in a way that felt anything but reassuring. “I won’t tell. I don’t have to.” A cruel smile crept across her lips, slowly, almost leisurely, as if she were savoring the moment. Her gray eyes, previously wide with innocent charm, now glinted with malicious delight, locking onto his with an unsettling certainty. “Everyone knows.”

Multiple responses flooded Jonah's mind all at once. He wanted to deny her accusations, challenge her information, question her motives, and ask who was controlling her. Had someone put her up to this? And why? But in the end, no words came. He sunk back into the sand, shoulders falling limply, a quiet surrender in the face of an overwhelming force.

In a few short sentences, Aurora made it unmistakably clear that she was holding all the cards, and the glint in her eyes told him she was enjoying every second of it. She didn’t just state her position—she wielded it, her voice smooth and unhurried, each syllable delivered with the precision of someone savoring the moment. The faint curve of her lips hinted at the enjoyment she took in his forlorn realization. This wasn’t just a display of power; it was a performance, and she was reveling in her perfectly casted role.

“I’m just here to let you know that you have two options. Don’t shoot the messenger. You really have no one to blame but yourself here.” she continued, her cheerful tone a blaring contradiction.

“Option one, sit down, shut up, do your job and enjoy a life of quiet luxury,” she explained. Her voice dipping slightly, theatrical and over-emphasized, as if she were sharing a private joke at Jonah’s expense.

“Not to sway your decision, but option one is what I’d choose in your situation.” She elaborated, letting her pauses linger just long enough to unsettle, her gaze steady and ice cold despite the smile on her face.

“Second option,” she held up two fingers, “you throw a tantrum, do all the kicking and screaming you want and after all that it changes nothing. You think you have some sort of powers here but you are a bug on the IOBA’s windshield at best. There are ways to use your… skills with or without your consent. Allowing you this much freedom despite all the problems you’ve caused has been lenient, more lenient than I would’ve been honestly, but I guess that’s just my human nature talking.”

Like a glass overflowing, his capacity for destitution was overwhelmed, shattered by her blatant display of arrogance—her staggering conviction that she held power over him. The last remnants of self-pity, of restraint drained away, and all that was left in him became rage.

He surged to his feet, water cascading off his body in shimmering arcs. The dark sand grated against his bare shins as the pool rippled violently in his wake, waves sweeping across the water, licking against the frosted glass. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white—a coiled spring finally snapping. For a moment, he glared at her, his amber eyes blazing with an intensity that made the humid air feel even heavier.

Aurora remained seated, her composure unbroken save for a fleeting flash of alarm in her dark eyes so quick Jonah nearly missed it. She straightened slightly, shoulder blades pulling back, her fingers twitching in the sand, as though bracing for something. That self-assured smile vanished, replaced by a poised neutrality that betrayed her unease.

“I won’t sit here and be given ultimatums by someone who’s just a pawn,” he spat, “Tell whoever sent you if they want results, come talk to me themselves.”

He turned sharply on heel, striding towards the exit without sparing her another glance. Behind him, Aurora rose gracefully, nearly silent, the ripples around her barely disturbing the water.

"You think you can just walk away?" she called, her voice pure venom. She stepped closer, deliberately slow, her smile sharp as broken glass, teeth bared. "Your time is running out, you know. You and that Elydrian coward."

Her words hit like a spark in dry tinder. He stopped mid-stride just past the narrow doorway, his entire frame locking, muscles tensed. With a guttural cry of rage, he whirled around and drove his fist into the metal wall just past the glass tank. The sound was deafening—a sharp crunch that reverberated through the hanger as the steel panel crumpled, a jagged crack spidering across the wall as it bucked under the sudden force.

For a moment, the room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the tank’s filtration system and the soft hiss of his breath. He didn’t look back at her, his hand still pressed against the ruined metal. She abruptly halted in her tracks, composure faltering entirely as her eyes flicked between the wall and his trembling fist.

Jonah remained motionless, his arm still outstretched. Though architecture wasn’t his area of expertise, he knew the steel composite was built to withstand a force far greater than anything he—or anyone else—could muster. He’d seen the lab’s walls take far more punishment: slamming doors, forklifts careening off course, heavy crates crashing down. It was rare that anything even left a mark behind. Yet here he was, staring at the cracked panel, unable to comprehend how something so seemingly indestructible had yielded so easily.

He pulled his hand back, bracing for the sting of broken bone and gore. His first two knuckles were spattered lightly with blood, droplets smeared across his skin, catching the dim light and glistening like drops of ruby paint. The rest of his hand was flushed crimson, skin reddened and irritated, but miraculously intact.

A flash of color caught his eye from the shadows, drawing his gaze back to the wall. Beneath the jagged fracture, a dull glow of hidden circuitry flickered to life, a concealed circuit board now exposed. He scanned the rows of compact buttons behind the wall, each marked with strange symbols— a language he didn’t recognize comprised of swooping lines and circular patterns. The buttons glowed faintly in hues of electric blue and yellow, the characters unrecognizable to his untrained eye. The panel had been designed to withstand damage, but now, with its secrets laid bare, it seemed almost fragile in the wake of the forceful blow.

He could feel Aurora’s eyes on his back, gaze darting to the fissure and back, gray eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and poorly concealed fear. Her pale face flushed ashen in the dim, fluorescent light as her hands clenched at her sides. She, who had once exuded the presence of a fierce predator, had been stripped of her power all at once. Her panther-like eyes, once narrowed with dominance, now reminded Jonah of a helpless rabbit staring into the jaws of a wolf.

The water rippled, its soft waves painfully loud in the quiet space as she stepped cautiously to the side, never taking her eyes off Jonah’s back. Her fingers trembled as she reached down to grab her bag from the sand, unable to entirely conceal her trepidation. She hesitated for a brief moment, as if unsure whether to touch it at all, before her hand grasped the strap. She redressed quickly, quietly. Neither of them wanting to break the heavy silence for entirely different reasons.

He took a single, careful step to the side as she approached, his eyes fixed on a distant corner of the room. Her feet carried her mechanically towards the door, each step hesitant, as if the ground beneath her might shift with every movement. When she passed Jonah, her body recoiled instinctively, hand clenched around her bag. For a moment, Jonah could hear her heartbeat hammering as she sidestepped, unwilling to come too close, as if the mere proximity of Jonah now felt like a physical threat. She jumped as the tank’s automatic door hissed shut, eyes flickering to Jonah’s face before she sharply turned her head away, damp black hair sticking to her cheeks.

Without looking back, she strode quickly toward the door on the far side of the room, her steps awkward and heavy with the unmistakable air of someone trying to flee from something dangerous. The tension in her shoulders was palpable, her body stiff with the effort of pretending she wasn’t afraid, but the frantic pace of her walk betrayed her.

The lock clicked shut behind her and Jonah was alone in the cavernous hanger. When he entered the tank to retrieve his wetsuit where it lay puddled in the shallow sand, Kiano did not remerge. The depths remained quiet, undisturbed save for the small ripples that formed around his legs as he stood in the shallows, feeling strangely hollow.

Cleaning and redressing felt like comically mundane tasks. The thick fluids washed away easily, a small mercy, he supposed. The neoprene, on the other hand, clung uncomfortably to his skin as he forced his limbs through the soaked garment. The wetsuit resisted at every turn, each snag in the fabric only fueling his ire.

He knelt in the shallows, dipping his hand in the tepid water. Faint streaks radiated into the gloom like red smoke as he gently wiped his bloodied knuckles clean, the pad of his opposite hand thumb tracing over the sharp little bones. He was reminded again that his knuckles should have come away shattered, fine bones reduced to fragments, but they felt undeniably solid under his touch. A few layers of skin had been scraped off leaving behind two wounds no larger than a cherry pit, their edges raw and tender, but nothing more. It was impossible, yet here he was, standing with hand unbroken, as if he had never struck the steel at all.

By the time that lonely door on the other side of the hanger creaked open again, Jonah had settled on the polished metal floor, his back pressed against the tank, arms draped over his knees, gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

Ter’ione approached without comment, her taloned feet clacking on the floor, nails filled sharp. There was something strained in her strict posture— a nervous tension she couldn’t entirely conceal. The silken white plumage that lined her arms stood on end as she crossed her hands across her chest, holding her tablet as if it were a shield.

When her voice came it was smooth and professional but there was something off in her tone—a faint tremor, the barest hint that all was not as serene as she wished to appear. “Did it go well?” she asked. Jonah suspected it wasn’t truly a question.

“Yes,” he answered simply, rising from the floor without meeting her gaze. “Aurora left ahead of me.”

Ter’ione responded with a quiet nod. Her gaze lingered on the human, sharp and assessing, as though weighing whether to say something or let the unspoken truth fester in silence.

As infuriating as Aurora’s self-important delivery had been, Jonah knew her message was real. He was running out of time.

A disgusting sense of deja-vu washed over him and he was unable to hold back the sardonic laugh that bubbled in his throat. Less than two weeks ago, he’d been in this same position, preparing to walk out into the same parking lot—his pulse pounding, his thoughts a whirlpool, and the weight of the inevitable consequence pressing down on him like a physical force. And now, here he was again, caught in the same loop, the air heavy with an all-too-familiar tension, as if fate had cruelly hit replay. This time, however, a single question rose to the forefront of his turbulent mind like a buoy rising above the tempestuous waves; would he allow it to happen again?

“Where are the others?” he asked, his expression neutral but his tone felt empty, devoid of inflection in a glaringly artificial way.

Ter’ione’s amber eyes surveyed his face, the corner of her mouth twitching anxiously. “Uh,” she stuttered, gaze flicking to the side as if she were looking for someone to feed her answers, “Some are still here… some have left.”

Jonah frowned at her noncommittal answer. “Where is Wan?”

She swallowed, leaning back. “I’m not sure,” she answered after a poignant pause, “he left before I came to retrieve you.”

“Did he say where he was going?” Jonah pried. She swallowed, her throat bobbing, posture curling inward as though shielding herself from the barrage of unwanted scrutiny.

“... the lab.” she relented, “I’m sure you can visit him later, but for the time being, we should-”

“I think you and I both know that’s not true,” Jonah replied, cutting her off with a gentle shake of his head, chin dipping to the side as if shaking off the idea. His eyes remained locked on Ter’ione’s—amber on amber, two stones colliding until one of them splintered.

A heavy silence followed, her lack of response telling him everything he needed to know. “Does that door lead to the lab?” he continued, pointing to the other side of the hanger.

Another tense pause followed before Ter’ione spoke again, “you won’t make it.”

“I’m going,” Jonah answered simply, “Either you stop me with physical force or you get out of my way.”

Ter’ione studied his face, gaze shifting from the sharp, iron-like edge of his brow to the corners of his lips, terse and downturned. It was as though she were searching for any sign—any fleeting moment of doubt, the smallest indication that he might soften. When none came, she exhaled softly, a sigh escaping her lips as she finally relented.

She made no move to step to the side, staying firmly in her place as Jonah circumvented her, glancing over his shoulder at her crestfallen expression. She seemed almost sad; eyebrows angled down at the far corners, her eyes shimmering softly in the low light as she watched him walk away.

With every step toward the unremarkable door, his bare feet padding steadily against the polished metal floor, a weight seemed to lift from his chest. The hangar was vast and empty, save the tank behind him—left deserted and void. The door ahead, simple and unadorned, anticlimactically blending into the background.

As he drew closer, the quiet air felt charged, like the calm before a storm. His decision was final, irreversible. His pace was casual, unhurried as if he were simply walking home, but each step carried a heavier meaning—an unmistakable defiance, the beginning of his refusal to be complicit any longer in the twisted games they played.

He didn’t glance back; he didn’t need to. The weight of Aurora’s words still hung in the air, suffocating, but now, it was his turn to take control. The door wasn’t much, but it was a barrier he was about to cross, a threshold into a new chapter of rebellion. His hand reached for the handle, and with a single turn, he opened it, walking through with quiet resolve.

Chapter Text

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be back here,” Standing on the other side of the door was a towering security guard, his presence dominating the narrow hallway. His broad shoulders filled out the navy blue IOBA issued uniform, the familiar insignia on his chest gleaming in the artificial light.

His alien features twisted in a mix of confusion and suspicion as he surveyed Jonah, multifaceted eyes narrowing, sharp jawline flexing as if trying to decide whether the human was merely lost or if his presence entailed something more sinister. Bracketed between a radio and a small stun baton, a sleek silver pistol hung in a Kydex holster on his belt, pulling Jonah’s gaze down like a barbed hook.

Jonah’s amber eyes snapped back to the guard’s face just in time to see the man’s hand move toward the radio at his side. His mouth opened, preparing to speak, and Jonah’s pulse quickened. Every second felt like the tick of a time-bomb as his window to act came and went faster than he could carefully consider his options. His heart pounded furiously beneath his ribs, a panicked war-drum growing louder in his ears, drowning out the world around him but the guard’s attention was momentarily split, distracted by the radio—Jonah knew it was his chance.

Without thinking, his body surged forward, driven by instinct and white-hot adrenaline. His fist shot out with brutal precision, connecting with the guard’s broad chest with a dull, heavy thump. The sound of impact was muffled by the sharp exhale that followed—the air crushed from the guard’s lungs in an instant. It was hardly the steel-shattering blow he’d miraculously managed earlier, but it was more than enough to destabilize, to throw off the guard’s balance and, more importantly, his focus. The radio slipped from the guard’s fingers, skittering across the floor with a metallic clatter as the man staggered back, gasping for breath. His bulbous eyes widened in pure shock, a ragged cough tearing from his throat as he fought to pull the breath back into his lungs.

Jonah barely registered the sting in his knuckles, the pain drowned out by a renewed surge of adrenaline flooding his system. His narrowed amber eyes gleamed with a predatory intensity, foreign and razor-sharp. Every muscle in his limbs was taut, body humming, fingertips tingling with electric fire. He could feel it—the shift, the moment when he finally stopped being the prey.

The guard’s chest heaved as he fought for air, his eyes narrowing in a mix of surprise and cold fury. “Fucking bitch,” he forced out between coughs, his hoarse voice filled with venom.

The guard’s hand shot to his side, fingers fumbling in desperation, searching for the stun baton or his gun, Jonah wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter. Jonah was already moving, already faster than the guard could react. He closed the remaining distance between them in seconds, his shoulder colliding with the guard’s abdomen.

The impact was brutal. The force of it sent them both crashing to the ground, the slick, cold tiles of the hallway offering no resistance as they hit with a bone-jarring thud. The guard’s head bounced off the floor with a crack, the sickening sound echoing through the narrow space. Jonah’s weight, while a fraction of his, pinned him to the floor, knees pressing into the man’s midsection. The guard’s hand shot for his belt, scrambling for his weapon, but Jonah was already there.

He grappled blindly around the man’s waist until his fingers closed around something cold, hard—curved steel. Jonah’s hand tightened around the grip as he yanked it free from the holster with a sharp slide of plastic over metal. The guard’s eyes went wide in shock as he realized his weapon had been taken from him, his teeth bared in a snarl of rage. His body twisted under Jonah’s weight, his remaining hand swinging out in a frantic, desperate arch.

The back of his bony knuckles connected solidly with Jonah’s shoulder, throwing him off balance as he tried to level the gun. He let out a strangled curse as the guard took the opening, bucking Jonah off with enough force that it sent him sprawling to the side.

For a split second, Jonah’s vision blurred, his breath knocked from his lungs, but he didn’t have time to recover. The guard was on him in an instant, a blur of motion, their roles reversed in an instant. Jonah barely had time to react before the guard’s clawed hand gripped at his face, driving his skull down into the tile with grueling force.

The guard’s other hand seized Jonah’s wrist with the force of a vice, yanking it painfully above his head where the gun was no longer a threat—just a heavy, inert weight in Jonah’s hand as his arm was forced down, pinned mercilessly to the cold floor.

“You fucking bitch,” the guard spat, his voice dripping with contempt. He shifted his weight, pressing his bony hip firmly into Jonah’s stomach as the human’s struggles grew weaker under his crushing weight. “Watching you was supposed to be an easy job, you know?”

His fingers flexed around Jonah’s jaw, claws piercing skin. A sharp jolt of pain shot through Jonah’s head as the guard’s nails sank deeper, drawing droplets of blood that welled up, warm and slick against Jonah’s skin. His breath hitched as blood trickled slowly down his neck, sticking to the wispy hairs at his nape before pooling against the ivory tiles.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone their pet human finally lost it,” he continued in a low, mocking tone, as though Jonah’s resistance had only added to his own amusement. “More trouble than you’re fucking worth, if you ask me.”

“Fuck you,” Jonah spat behind clenched teeth, the venom in his tone undiluted by the pain in his voice or the punishing grip on his jaw. His words were sharp enough to wound, but the guard didn’t flinch. Instead, he drove Jonah’s skull harder into the unforgiving tile. A jarring shock of pain exploded across Jonah’s vision, igniting a shower of stars behind his eyelids.

The guard's massive hand pressed down on Jonah’s face, pinning his upper lip mercilessly between his palm and Jonah’s own teeth, the pressure suffocating, the tender skin of his mouth bruising with each relentless squeeze. Jonah’s breath hitched again, coming faster and shallower—increasingly more desperate as pain battled for dominance over the adrenaline buzzing beneath his skin.

“Do you have any idea what they’re going to do to you now?” the guard asked with a cruel laugh, leaning in closer.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil too much,” the guard continued, his tone darkening, lowering into a whisper that crawled under Jonah’s skin. “But let’s just say... if I were you right now, I’d rather be dead-” His words cut off abruptly, drowned by a guttural curse.

Jonah’s teeth sank into the soft, vulnerable flesh between the guard’s thumb and palm, right where it pressed into his face. The bite was brutal and instinctive, like a tiger latching down on the neck of its prey, refusing to let go until nothing less than the stillness of death.

The guard let out a strangled gasp as hot blood surged into Jonah’s mouth, the metallic taste nearly choking him as it shot to the back of his throat. His jaw muscles tensed, clamping down impossibly harder as the guard’s hand twitched violently.

Jonah could feel the guard's grip falter around his other wrist for a fraction of a second, before tightening once again with renewed force, as if he suddenly remembered the gun still clutched firmly in the human’s grasp.

With a snarl, the guard settled for digging his elbow into Jonah’s shoulder, the sharp, punishing pressure sending a jolt of pain down Jonah’s spine. The guard yanked his hand back, trying to free himself from the vicious bite, but each tug was met with more resistance. The struggle had become a brutal tug-of-war between two forces unwilling to yield—one who felt victory was something entitled to him and the other who knew simply he couldn’t afford to lose.

Jonah’s teeth ached as the guard jerked again, pulling at Jonah’s jaw with such force that it felt like it might tear it off. But he only bit down harder, teeth grinding into tender flesh until it began to lacerate in his mouth like nauseatingly overcooked meat.

A wet growl tore from Jonah’s throat, the sound raw and primal, as his resolve hardened—he would be the one to walk away from this fight. Blood pooled in the back of his mouth, hot and metallic, choking him with every breath he tried to take.

With one final, violent yank and a sickening sound like tearing canvas, the guard’s hand shot back, wrenched free, but not without a brutal price.

“Fuck!” the guard roared, eyes wild with pain, his face contorting in an agonized grimace as he cradled his injured hand against his chest. A ragged chunk of flesh had been ripped from his palm, leaving a gory, gaping wound between his thumb and fingers.

The guard’s weight on Jonah lessened, but not entirely—it wasn’t mercy, merely instinct, but it was enough. His muscles screamed in protest as he twisted his body, scrambling for leverage. Jonah's fingers brushed against his other hand, still pinned above his head. He found purchase, gripping the cold steel and yanking with everything he had. The guard, still reeling from the searing pain, was slow to react. His fingers loosened, just enough for Jonah to slip free, his wrist, and the gun with it, tearing from the guard’s grasp.

For a heartbeat, everything seemed to slow—the guard’s eyes widened in surprise, but it was already too late. Jonah’s mind seemed to take a snapshot of the scene; the guard’s mouth opening, preparing to speak, his uninjured hand moving in Jonah’s peripheral vision.

A single gunshot tore through the hallway. The internal suppressor dampening the roar into something quieter but no less deadly—a distant thunderclap slicing through the narrow corridor. Jonah felt his heartbeat roaring in his ears, drowning out the echo of the shot as it faded into an oppressive, crushing silence, as if the very walls held their breath.

The security guard’s eyes went wide, disbelief etched into every line of his face. His gaze dropped slowly downward, locking onto the gun’s muzzle pressed hard against his chest, steel cold and unyielding. The weapon was wedged firmly in the narrow gap between them, as intimate as a blade.

For one horrifying moment, Jonah thought he’d missed. His stomach churned, dread clawing at his ribs. Had the pistol even been loaded? Had it misfired? But then the guard’s body betrayed him. His chest hitched, his muscles tensing, and a series of wet, guttural coughs tore free from his throat. Pink froth bubbled at the corner of his mouth, staining his lips as his hands instinctively grasped at nothing.

And then, like a marionette with its strings cut, the guard’s body crumpled against Jonah, a lifeless mass of muscle and bone. The force of it drove Jonah into the ground, crushing him under a blanket of dead weight. His lungs burned, his throat raw as he choked on hot, metallic blood still pooling at the back of his mouth. Each ragged gasp felt like a battle, his chest heaving as if he were drowning on dry land.

Gritting his teeth, Jonah twisted to the side, slowly, painfully. He managed to free one arm, bracing it against the cold, white tile to leverage himself up just enough. His jaw ached, his teeth throbbing as he opened his mouth and spat violently, expelling the shredded piece of flesh that had been trapped between his teeth. It landed on the tile with a sickening splat, mingled with dark streaks of blood that painted the floor in ugly hues of red.

He coughed again, his body convulsing as he tried to clear the blood from his throat. The sound was harsh and guttural, his body wracked with the effort. Finally, a rush of air flooded his lungs, sharp and cold and vital. Jonah gasped, his breath coming in shallow, frantic bursts as he shoved the guard’s limp body aside. The corpse slid to the ground in a graceless heap, limbs sprawling awkwardly.

Jonah stayed on his hands and knees for a moment, trembling. Damp blond hair clung to his forehead, darkened by sweat and matted streaks of crimson still flowing from the wounds scattered across his face. Ruby droplets traced slow, uneven paths down his skin, painting his cheeks red.

He dragged the back of his knuckles across his mouth, smearing the blood rather than cleaning it, but in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. The pistol remained gripped tightly in his hand, his knuckles pale with the strain despite the immediate danger having passed.

He rose to his feet, hand propped against the wall for stability as he forced himself to take a deep grounding breath. His blurry reflection in the polished wall told an ugly story; dark crimson streaks smeared across his mouth and chin, reaching upward to his nose like macabre war paint. Four puncture wounds, deep and angry, formed a cruel arch across his cheekbone and down to the soft skin beneath his jaw, left by the guard’s crushing grip. They oozed sluggishly, the blood warm and viscous as it slid down his neck. Another wound, jagged and larger, marred the other side of his face by the hinge of his jaw, the unmistakable mark of the guard’s thumb digging into his flesh.

Jonah’s chest rose and fell as he took a deep, shuddering breath, willing himself to focus. His mind raced, thoughts tumbling chaotically through the haze of adrenaline, but Jonah clenched his aching jaw and shoved it all aside—the blood, the hurt, the death—all of it banished to the edges of his consciousness for just a moment.

His hands tightened instinctively around the pistol as he forced the tremor in his grip to calm. Distraction could mean death—or worse. The guard’s venomous words gnawed at him, overlaid with Aurora’s thinly veiled threats still replaying in the back of his mind. He didn’t know exactly what awaited him if he failed, and he didn’t intend to find out.

Jonah forced his thoughts into alignment, each one clicking into place like the tumblers of a lock—find Wan, avoid capture. He laid his objectives out clearly in his mind, pushing the rising storm of emotions to the far corner of his mind, somewhere deep and buried where they couldn’t cloud his judgment. Survival came first. Everything else could wait. He just had two goals now—find Wan, avoid capture.

He glanced back at his warped reflection in the smooth, polished wall, frowning at his blood streaked skin. He looked like he’d been through hell—and he had—but he couldn’t afford to wear that so plainly on his face. He couldn’t afford a fire-fight every time someone saw him. No, he needed to at least attempt to blend in, to disappear into the background. The ability to walk through a crowd or past a stray worker without a second glance was paramount.

He needed somewhere quiet, secluded, a momentary reprise to clean his skin—clear his mind. He needed a plan, as much of one as he could form with the scarce information he had.

His amber eyes scanned the long hallway. Four doors—one to his right, two to his left, and one at the very end. His gaze settled on the first door to his left, noting the small sign labeling it as a supply closet. It seemed benign enough, and for now, he had no reason to doubt it. Moving to the door on his right, he rattled the knob, but it refused to budge. Locked. He didn’t linger, crossing to the second door on the left and testing it cautiously.

The knob turned. Jonah pushed the door open slowly, heart growing louder in his ears as he scanned the dimly lit interior for any signs of movement.

None came.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing what appeared to be a small breakroom. A modest kitchenette lined one wall, a smattering of mismatched furniture—hard, plastic chairs, a stained loveseat, a scuffed coffee table—cluttered the center, and a row of lockers stood neatly along the far side.

He flicked on the light, the fluorescent bulbs humming to life. Jonah’s bare footsteps were quiet, padding meticulously across the small room as he moved toward the lockers, both hands still clutching the pistol in front of him. The first few lockers he tried were empty, their metallic clangs echoing softly in the silence. But at the end of the row, his luck finally changed.

Inside hung a waffle-knit shirt on a wire hanger, its fabric worn but clean enough. Below it, a pair of work boots sat neatly, a little too big and a little too round, but close enough to the shape of his human feet to be serviceable. Alongside them were a few scattered personal items—an empty lunch box, a cheap watch, and a small folded towel.

Jonah’s fingers brushed the fabric of the shirt, taking care not to smear blood on the pale cream fabric, and he let out a small breath of relief. His blood-soaked windbreaker collapsed into a damp heap at the bottom of a plastic trash can. He cast it aside without ceremony, but the sound it made—a wet, heavy splatter as the soaked fabric folded in on itself—sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine. He forced himself not to dwell on it, not to listen too closely. It was just another thing he had to leave behind.

Cleaning himself in the small, scratched mirror above the kitchen sink should have been a morbid affair, but as Jonah rubbed at the streaks of blood drying like a rusted lattice across his face, he felt nothing. As the water flowed pink from his soiled hands, the hollow where guilt or fear should have been stretched wider, devouring the fragile things in his mind like a sinkhole.

His jaw clenched as he took a mouthful of the tap water, swishing it around in a desperate attempt to erase the taste of iron lingering like a ghost on his tongue. When he spat, the basin bloomed red. He repeated the motion again and again, each mouthful a step towards erasing the memory of the guard’s blood coating the back of his throat. Water soaked through the collar of his wetsuit, clinging to his neck, but he didn’t stop.

The gashes on his face burned as he scrubbed at them, trying to scrape the caked blood off his cheeks. They looked like five little knife wounds, cruel and sharp, and he knew they would scar. He didn’t care. A bruise was already beginning to blossom on his lip, the skin swollen as purple and black hues bloomed across the corner of his mouth, ugly and vivid against his pale skin.

His fingers gripped the countertop until his knuckles turned white, examining the face before him, but his reflection refused to look back properly, an unfamiliar man lingering in the mirror. His amber eyes gleamed unnaturally, cold and hard, like polished tiger’s eye. Each time he thought he had purged the remnants of what clung to him, every time he believed he had wiped the slate clean, another trace of it lingered, mocking him, a tinge of red caught in a wispy hair by his ear, dried in the fold beside his nose, clinging in the creases of his lips. Jonah feared he’d never be clean.

With hands still damp from the faucet, he grabbed the well-worn cream shirt from the edge of the sink and tugged it over his head. The fabric, soft and thinned by years of use, draped over his frame, hanging loosely off of his shoulders, but it served its purpose. It concealed the faint red smudges on his wetsuit beneath—a necessary deception, a borrowed shred of normalcy in a situation that was anything but. He adjusted the hem, ensuring the stains stayed hidden.

The wetsuit itself, snug and still damp in places, would have to stay. The fortuitous locker that had so generously offered the shirt hadn’t extended the same kindness to a fresh pair of pants. He grimaced at the thought but pushed it aside. There were no better options.

He turned his attention to the boots. They were clunky, scuffed, smelling faintly of grease and damp earth. He slipped them on one at a time, the synthetic leather stiff around his ankles. They were too big—just enough to make every step a calculated effort—but he made do, pulling the laces as tight as he could to keep them secure. The over-rounded toe box left his toes floating in the empty space, and he felt the subtle shift of his feet with each movement.

As far as a plan went, he came up frustratingly empty. Every possible course of action unraveled in his mind before it could fully take shape. He had no way of knowing what kind of resistance he would face beyond this room—whether whispers of his rebellion were confined to hushed conversations and encrypted messages, or if the facility was teetering on the edge of a full-scale lockdown.

The breakroom offered nothing else of use. No tablets, no abandoned phones, no improvised weapons, no first-aid kit. Just a scattering of mismatched office pens, half-filled water bottles, and forgotten lunches slowly decaying in the back of the fridge. A dull hum filled the space, the faint, artificial buzz of overhead lights casting everything in a washed-out glow. Useless. The whole damn room was useless.

But if he could just get his hands on a device—any device—he could reach Emmet. Even from Colkirk, thousands of miles away, he might be able to do something, anything; snoop through classified messages, wipe files, find some sort of blind spot in the security network. Jonah had never fully understood the depths of Emmet’s talent, only that his friend had a way of slipping through digital walls like a ghost. He’d watched him do it a hundred times before, back in their grade school days—crashing the administrator’s system, erasing detention records, pulling off small acts of electronic chaos with an almost supernatural ease. If anyone could tip the odds in his favor, it was Emmet.

And if nothing else, Jonah just wanted to send him a message. A single line, a warning, a goodbye—something—in case the worst outcome became reality. In case it was the last message he’d ever send.

He tried not to linger on the morbid thought.

As he straightened, the shirt swayed lightly against him, a reminder of borrowed time and borrowed appearances. He flexed his fingers, feeling the cool dampness on his skin begin to fade, and took a step forward, the heavy boots echoing faintly in the small room, heading back outside before he had the time to second guess himself.

The sterile hallway stretched before him, a lifeless expanse of polished tiles and dim, flickering fluorescents. It was eerily quiet, save for the hum of an air conditioning unit above his head. The guard's body remained where Jonah had left it, crumpled in an awkward heap against the wall, the splatters of red a sharp contrast to the polished, almost clinical space. He stared at the still figure for a moment, entertaining the fleeting thought of trying to hide the evidence—a half-formed plan to drag the body somewhere, shoving it behind a chair in the breakroom and hoping no one came in for a quick snack.

But the idea dissolved as quickly as it came. Jonah shoved it aside with a grimace. There was no way to clean up his crime without becoming a blood-soaked mess himself all over again. Besides, there were far more immediate threats than a body left in a desolate hallway. Aurora and Ter’ione had almost certainly sounded some kind of alarm, their warnings spiraling through IOBA’s comms. By now, his defiance wouldn’t be a secret—it would be a wildfire.

Still, he clung to one small hope: the very thing that had made HARP so dangerous might also protect him, at least for a little while. The secrecy surrounding the program was absolute, a fortress of classified files and encrypted emails. If Jonah knew IOBA—and he did—they would do anything to prevent the chaos of his actions from spilling beyond their inner circle. The last thing the organization needed was the prying eyes noticing the cracks in their carefully constructed facade.

He pressed forward, his boots heavy against the tile, the sound echoing in the hollow corridor. The quiet felt suffocating, amplifying every breath he took, every beat of his heart. Yet, he moved with quickie, with purpose, his mind already racing through the next steps, hand clenching around the cool steel in his grip. There wasn’t time to dwell on guilt or regret—not when the stakes were this high.

The door at the end of the hallway opened soundlessly, revealing a compact, sterile lobby illuminated by recessed lighting that cast a cold, bluish hue across every surface. The room was surprisingly small for what Jonah assumed was a central hub to this secretive lower level, barely large enough to hold its sparse furnishings and essential equipment.

Directly ahead, a narrow flight of steel stairs spiraled upward, their polished rails gleaming faintly in the artificial light. It didn’t take much imagination to guess where they led—up, back up to the surface, and hopefully, to the lab.

To the right of the staircase was a wall-mounted console, its interface softly glowing with rows of alien text and an ominous red lock icon in the corner. A cylindrical device, likely a biometric scanner, extended from its base, waiting silently for input. Jonah had seen similar setups before: layers of security stacked atop one another, designed to keep out anyone who didn’t belong with absolute certainty. He couldn’t help but wonder what lay behind the heavily secured doors lining the room's other walls, each marked with alphanumeric codes, but no clearly identifying signage.

On the far wall, a freestanding table housed a clutter of hastily organized odds and ends. A cold, half empty mug of coffee sat next to an abandoned lab coat, one he stole without guilt, layering it over his shoddy disguise.

A low hum vibrated through the room, almost imperceptible but persistent, like the heartbeat of the facility itself. Jonah’s eyes darted to a wall-mounted display flickering with a schematic of the facility. Its intricately branching pathways sprawled across multiple sublevels, a labyrinthine network that seemed impossible to navigate without guidance. In one corner, a blinking red dot marked an ‘anomaly’ near his current position.

He took a moment to study the map, his eyes tracing the seemingly disorderly pathways. Each overlapping corridor and chamber felt like a deliberate attempt to confuse and mislead, but Jonah forced himself to focus. The schematic confirmed his earlier suspicions—he was close. The lab was nearby, just past the stairs ahead, positioned to deposit him into what he had previously thought was a dead-end hallway right between the edge of the lab and Ms. Gaiacothica’s office.

But as he traced the map further, something else drew his attention: a massive room deeper underground, far below any of the other corridors or chambers. Its scale was staggering—if the measurements were accurate, the space was at least a hundred feet tall and just as wide, dwarfing any other part of the facility.

Jonah frowned, glancing over his shoulder. He tried to orient himself, aligning the schematics with his mental map of the hallways he’d already traversed. The main access point to the cavernous space seemed to be the freight elevator he had passed earlier. A cold weight settled in his stomach as he imagined what could require such an immense, isolated chamber. Whatever it was, it wasn’t on his immediate agenda—but the thought of it lingered in the back of his mind.

Jonah turned his focus back to the stairs. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. His objectives were clear—find Wan, avoid capture.

His boots thudded softly against the metal staircase as he ascended, his mind racing ahead of him. Every shadow, every distant echo felt like a threat, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching.

He gripped the pistol harder, its weight grounding him in the moment as his resolve hardened, steady and unyielding like iron forged under relentless heat. The top of the stairs loomed closer, ending in an unremarkable carbon fiber door, its surface marked with the familiar emblem of the IOBA. It looked no different from a hundred other doors he had passed in the building, hiding in plain sight.

His heartbeat quickened as he reached for the handle, the cool metal biting against his palm. He pushed, his breath catching in his chest when the handle didn’t budge immediately, meeting an unexpected resistance. Adrenaline surged through him, his mind racing through worst-case scenarios. Was it locked? Barricaded? Had someone anticipated his approach? But then, with a reluctant groan, the handle gave way, the door yielding with a stiffness that had nothing to do with security and everything to do with neglect.

Despite the stress of the scenario at hand, a sliver of tension eased from Jonah’s shoulders as the lab’s familiar walls came into view. The gleaming white panels, faintly reflecting the cold overhead lights, felt like a strange kind of comfort, if only because they represented a territory he understood. No alarms blared, no armed guards stormed in to intercept him, but the quiet wasn’t as comforting as it should have been.

Then, cutting through the quiet, came a voice—sharp but friendly.

“Jonah?”

The sound jolted him, and he turned to see Rizo skidding to a halt at the far end of the hallway. Her taloned feet scraped lightly against the smooth floor, nearly leaving marks in her rush to stop. She blinked, her large, expressive eyes narrowing slightly as she did a double take, a fresh thermos of coffee steaming in her hand.

“Rizo,” Jonah exhaled, forcing a neutral tone as he slid the gun behind his back, holding it there in a way he prayed looked casual. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet corridor. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Rizo tilted her head, feathers along her brow puffing slightly, an avian sign of confusion—or curiosity. “What happened? Shouldn’t you be—?”

“Do you know where Wan is?” Jonah interrupted, keeping his voice low but urgent. The sight of a familiar face brought a fleeting moment of relief, like a thin layer of aloe on a fresh burn, but he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. Aurora’s threat still rang true in his ears. Every second counted.

Rizo’s gaze darted from his face, the raw arch of wounds across his cheek bone and the ugly bruise blossoming on his upper lip, to his concealed hand, suspicion flickering across her sharp features. “Wan-Kitku?” she repeated, her talons clicking softly as she shifted her stance. “He’s in the storage vault, I think. Miss Gaiacothica sent him to grab some old equipment. Why? What’s going on?”

“Long story,” he said finally, keeping his tone clipped but steady. “I just need to find him. It’s... important.”

Rizo frowned, her feathers flattening slightly against her arms in a way Jonah recognized as an unconscious display of unease. “Jonah,” she said slowly, her voice lowering, that characteristic cheery tone lost under a heavy layer of scrutiny, “What aren’t you telling me? C’mon, I know it's been a little while, but you can trust me.”

Jonah’s throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. The weight of her gaze pressed against him, and he found himself wishing he hadn’t run into her at all.

Rizo tilted her head, stepping closer. The soft scuff of her talons against the tile echoed in the sterile hallway, the movement deliberate and cautious. Her long tail feathers quivered behind her, catching the faint hum of air currents. “Maybe,” she said, her voice coaxing now but laced with an unsettling edge, “we should go find Miss Gaiacothica first, okay? She’ll be able to figure everything out.”

Jonah took a step back, the space between them suddenly feeling much too small. Something in her tone tickling the back of his mind, a whisper of warning that fanned the flames of his adrenaline. Miss Gaiacothica... the name sat heavy, weighted down by a litany of unexamined memories. The door to the underground containment area right behind her office. Her presence at his appointment with Dr. Grelain. Her face in the hovercraft that had picked him up from Colkirk. Her involvement seemed omnipresent, woven through every moment.

Yet, he had always assumed, perhaps naively, that the grim details of HARP—the displacement, the destruction, the viscous pursuit of control—had been brokered over her head. It was easier to think of her that way, as his former mentor, the one who had smiled warmly at his questions and encouraged his curiosity. Nostalgia painted her in hues of honesty, and that illusion was a hard one to shatter. But now, those same memories took on a different light, casting shadows where there had once been clarity.

And Rizo... he wanted to trust her. There was a history of camaraderie between them, jokes exchanged over coffee, late nights shared in the lab. But the thought gnawed at him: she was the one who scanned him. Was her ‘mistake’ truly that—just a simple mistake? Or had it been intentional, a move orchestrated from above? Jonah’s mind churned, paranoia threading through his thoughts like a needle, stitching together doubts and suspicions until they bordered on a dangerous certainty. At this point, he couldn’t rule anyone out.

“It’s fine,” Jonah said, his voice steadier than he expected, though every nerve in his body screamed at him to run. He shifted his weight back, trying to create even more distance as Rizo continued her slow approach. “I’ll talk to her when I’m done.” The lie slipped from his tongue, grating against his ears.

Rizo paused, her gaze narrowing. “Jonah-”

“I’m fine,” he interrupted. “Really.”

The space between them grew charged, her lingering skepticism meeting his forced calm like oil and water. Jonah held her gaze for a beat longer than he wanted to before turning away, his mind racing. He had to move, and he had to do it quickly.

The sharp peck of fingers on a tablet screen reached Jonah’s ears as he rounded the corner, an unmistakable sound in the otherwise quiet hallway. It was likely Rizo, already reporting him, her suspicions solidifying into action. His pulse quickened, a visceral response to the growing sense of entrapment. It felt as though the walls were inching closer with every step, the simple corridors around him morphing into a claustrophobic cage.

But this was a maze Jonah knew well—its twists and turns, its shortcuts and dead ends. The aboveground lab was a mirror of its strange, secretive counterpart below, but here, he held the advantage. Countless late nights spent sorting files, running samples, and traversing these very halls had etched their layout into his mind.

His heavy boots thudded against the polished tile, each step echoing a little too rushed, too loud. Jonah winced at the sound but steeled his jaw, forcing himself to move forward. Hesitation would only draw attention. He had to act as though he belonged, as though he had every right to be there.

He veered down less-frequented hallways, tracing memorized paths. These were the quiet corners, the strange side corridors and maintenance routes that technicians rarely used unless they had no other choice. Pipes lined unfinished walls in some stretches, their surfaces glinting faintly under dim, utilitarian lights. The air smelled faintly of burnt ozone and the metallic tang of machinery.

For once, luck seemed to be on his side. He passed through deserted hallways and empty junctions, the labyrinthine layout of the building working in his favor. When he did encounter others, they were few and far between—harried researchers looking down at data on their tablets, technicians adjusting their headsets as they hurried to their next task. No one stopped him, barely sparing him a sidelong glance as they moved with singular focus.

The vault wasn’t far, situated at the very back edge of the lab, just before the loading bay and sandwiched between two larger observation rooms. Jonah knew its location by heart; he had spent many hours here cataloging old equipment, taking inventory, and passionately cursing the outdated filing systems that still relied on manual entry.

Unlike the rest of the lab, sleek and packed to the brim with state-of-the-art technology, the vault was a graveyard of obsolete tools and unused machinery. The dimly lit space stretched out like a forgotten museum of the IOBA’s past, filled with carefully sealed containers coated in thick layers of dust. Row upon row of shelves loomed overhead, each packed tightly with uncharged equipment deemed too important to discard but not useful enough to keep in regular circulation.

He slipped through the door, which gave a quiet hiss as it closed behind him, and took a moment to scan the room. The faint hum of the building’s ventilation system was the only sound, the air thick with the scent of disuse—stale plastic, faint traces of industrial lubricant, and the musty, earthy tang of dust lingering in the air.

“Wan?” he called as loud as he dared, his voice taught with urgency. The sound was swallowed by the cavernous room, the high ceilings and rows of towering shelves consuming the echo until it faded into silence. He strained his ears, listening for any sign of movement, and was rewarded with a faint rustle followed by a soft thud.

His heart jumped as he darted toward the sound, weaving through the towering shelving units, scanning the gaps between the rows. Dusty boxes and crates of equipment stood in disarray, some untouched for years, others hastily stacked as if abandoned mid-task.

Three aisles down, movement caught his eye—a tall, unmistakable figure partially obscured by the shelves. Jonah froze, his breath hitching as he took in the familiar shape. The figure was facing away from him, searching the rows in the opposite direction, clearly startled by Jonah’s voice.

The tendrils sprouting from the back of Wan’s head swayed gently in the still air, their patchwork gradient of cool hues shimmering faintly under the low light. Blues and greens and purples shifted like rippling water, an organic glow that seemed almost otherworldly in the stale, dim environment.

“Wan,” he said again, softer this time, his voice tight with the effort to contain his emotions. He stepped closer, careful not to startle the other man.

The moment Wan turned to face him, his dark eyes wide with worry, the subtle glow of his tendrils casting a faint halo around his face, he was the most beautiful thing Jonah had ever seen. Relief hit him like a tidal wave, strong enough to buckle his knees, and he rushed forward as recognition bloomed across Wan’s face.

Jonah’s arms wrapped tightly around Wan’s waist, his grip awkward but desperate, one hand still clutching the pistol. He pressed his bloodied cheek against Wan’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the crown of his head nestled against Wan’s ribs. The faint scent of antiseptic and something uniquely Wan filled his senses, grounding him amidst the chaos.

Wan tensed at first, his body stiff with surprise, but he softened almost immediately, his larger arms cradling Jonah’s shoulders. The warmth of Wan’s touch was soothing, and the way his body curved protectively around Jonah made him feel, for the first time in hours, like he wasn’t alone.

“I am truly sorry,” Wan said, his voice low and urgent, trembling with guilt. He bent his head, his chin brushing against Jonah’s damp blonde hair as if he could shield him from it all. “The last thing I wanted to do was leave. But Gaiacothica- she knows.”

Jonah let out a muffled sound of acknowledgment, his voice barely audible against the folds of Wan’s lab coat. “I know,” he whispered.

“She said I had two options,” Wan continued, his words spilling out in a rush. “Either I stayed here doing ‘something useful,’ or I waited locked in a quarantine room. I didn’t have a choice.” His voice cracked on the last word, and his fingers flexed against Jonah’s shoulders, gripping him as though afraid he might vanish.

Wan pushed Jonah back gently, just enough to see him clearly, and for the first time, he truly took in Jonah’s appearance. His brows drew low, a tense line forming between them as his dark eyes roamed over Jonah’s face. The worry in Wan’s expression deepened into something sharper, something anguished.

“Goodness,” Wan breathed, his voice shaking with alarm, “what did they do to your face?”

His hand rose to cradle Jonah’s cheek, his touch impossibly gentle, cupping his jaw as though afraid the slightest pressure might bruise. Jonah leaned into the touch instinctively, the warmth of Wan’s palm easing the cold ache that had settled deep in his chest.

Wan’s fingers ghosted across one of the bloody marks, the lightest brush enough to send a dull wave of pain radiating through his jaw. He winced but didn’t pull away, instead tilting his head into Wan’s touch as though the tenderness outweighed the pain.

He knew the wounds looked bad. He’d seen his reflection briefly—his rounded, almost boyish face now marred by five deep, jagged gashes. Four sliced across one side of his face, angry and raw, while the worst of them defaced his opposite cheek, impossible to ignore. But when he glanced up at Wan, there was no disgust or horror in those dark eyes, only unfiltered worry—no, something softer.

“It’s okay,” Jonah said softly, his voice hoarse but steady. He reached up to cover Wan’s hand with his own, squeezing gently.

Wan’s expression didn’t shift; his worry etched deeper into his features as he turned Jonah’s face slightly, his fingers brushing another wound as he inspected it. “This is not okay,” he muttered, his voice low and strained.

Jonah forced a faint smile, one corner of his mouth lifting despite the dull throb of pain. “The guy who did it,” he said, his voice tinged with a hollow edge, not quite satisfaction but something adjacent. “Well, he won’t be doing it again.”

His answer did nothing to soothe the concern plastered across Wan’s face, that deep, sorrowful line hanging across his brow. A moment hung between them, thick with things neither could voice—regret, sympathy, the bitter sting of helplessness. Jonah felt it settle in the back of his throat, an acrid taste that refused to let him fully relax, no matter how much he wanted to. He ached to let himself collapse against Wan’s sturdy frame, to bury himself in the solid reassurance of his presence, to shut out the reality of their crumbling world for just a second longer.

But reality wouldn’t wait.

After a tense, grounding breath, the sheer force of will that had kept him moving won his internal war. He knew what they were up against, knew the all too real lengths their adversaries were willing to go to, knew that every second wasted brought them closer to the worst possible outcome. And he wasn’t about to let that happen. Not to himself. Not to Wan.

So he forced himself to take a step back, even as every fiber of his being screamed for him to linger. His muscles shuddered with exhaustion, his body aching, spent, as if he had to physically tear himself away, as though something tangible connected them—skin, muscle, sinew, an unseen tether of comfort and familiarity that fiercely resisted every inch of distance. A deafening call to stay. The pull of solace, the tempting ease of avoidance.

He choked it down.

“We have to go,” Jonah said, his voice steady despite the weight in his chest. He didn’t quite meet Wan’s eyes, his gaze slipping just below, lingering on the pale, intricate patterns that danced across his cheekbones.

Wan simply nodded, the sorrow in his expression deepening. He didn’t ask where, didn’t question why. He didn’t have to. The blood on Jonah’s skin, the bruises forming across his lip, the barely restrained tremor in his grip where it still clutched a stolen pistol—he understood. The severity of their situation was written all over his body, woven through his frame.

He didn’t hesitate. Without another word, he turned toward the door, moving with the same quiet efficiency that Jonah had come to rely on. But even as he stepped away, his gaze lingered, watching Jonah as though afraid he might disappear if he looked away for too long.

“Wait.” Jonah reached out, catching Wan’s arm just as he began to pull away. His fingers curled around the fabric of his lab coat, settling just below the crook of his elbow. A fleeting moment passed—something reluctant, something unspoken. Jonah tightened his grip. “Your tablet.”

Wan blinked, then glanced down at the place where Jonah held him, his expression unreadable before he gave a small nod. “Ah. You are right.” His voice was calm, measured, but something about the way he hesitated made Jonah wonder what, exactly, had crossed his mind in that split second of silence. Wan fished the device from the large pocket sewn into the front of his coat, holding it up between them. “I should get rid of it. There is most definitely some kind of locator installed.”

“No- I mean, yes, that’s smart,” Jonah said quickly, “but actually, I need to see it.”

Wan’s eyes flickered with something adjacent to embarrassment before softening. A faint, muted flush crept up the edges of his ears, a deep plum color that stood out just slightly against his viridian blue skin. He exhaled quietly. “Right. Of course.”

He extended the tablet, and Jonah took it, his grip momentarily shifting away from the pistol still clutched in his other hand. His fingers itched as he set the weapon down on the nearest metal shelf, reluctant even in this brief oasis of safety. They were alone in the storage vault for now, but that meant nothing.

The screen came to life with a faint glow as Jonah navigated to the text app, his movements sharp, practiced. He typed in the number from memory.

Wan hovered at his side, watching at a respectful distance, but the way he leaned over Jonah’s shoulder, unintentionally looming over his shorter frame, divulged his intrinsic curiosity. “Who are you contacting?”

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, the words ‘Hey Emmet’ taking shape before he stopped, jaw tightening. A second later, he erased them with a frustrated shake of his head. Stupid. He couldn’t use Emmet’s name, not on an IOBA issued device where their messages would be far from private. If only he’d had the foresight to grab the burner phone still stashed away in his apartment. Not that it mattered anymore. With how quickly things had spiralled out of control, he doubted he’d ever set foot in that place again.

He lifted his gaze, meeting Wan’s eyes for a brief, searching moment before looking away before swallowing hard, forcing himself to focus.

“My friend,” Jonah said finally. His voice was quieter now, carefully neutral. “Emmet. He’s the one you heard over the phone when I pulled up my medical records.”

To: (06M)7766-84387 -sent 11:01

It’s Jonah using an IOBA tablet, burner gone. Everything’s fucked

To: (06M)7766-84387 -sent 11:01

Don’t know if you’ll get this in time

“Ah, some kind of tech savant then, I presume?” Wan concluded, “Do you think he will be able to help us?”

Jonah didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the screen, the cold glow casting sharp lines across his face in the dimly lit warehouse. His pulse pounded in his throat, each beat a frantic drumroll beneath his skin. The initial surge of relief he’d felt finding Wan-Kitku alive and unharmed had dulled, leaving only the unsettling truth of reality gnawing at his nerves. They were still trapped, still hunted.

If he were religious—one of the few humans who still whispered the old prayers, still lit candles against the vast and indifferent dark—he would have prayed. Prayed that Emmet was awake. That he’d see the message in time. That he wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t assume it was some kind of ruse, wouldn’t think Jonah was held captive somewhere and some IOBA goon had stolen his name.

The screen remained unchanged, blank and silent.

Jonah’s fingers curled against the tablet’s edge. ‘Come on, Emmet.’ He swallowed, feeling his throat constrict, suddenly too dry. The weight of Wan’s gaze pressed against him, expectant, even hopeful, but Jonah had nothing to offer.

Then—

A text bubble popped into the corner of the screen, a tiny little thing that felt like a rush of air flooding into Jonah’s starved lungs.

From: (06M)7766-84387 -sent 11:03

Ok, don’t panic

From: (06M)7766-84387 -sent 11:03

I’ll get you out

From: (06M)7766-84387 -sent 11:04

I left some goodies in their system. You need to ditch the tablet and hide

From: (06M)7766-84387 -sent 10:04

Wait for the chaos to die down then get out. I’ll try to drop some signals

From: (06M)7766-84387 -sent 10:04

Stay safe

“Oh,” Wan-Kitku let out a soft sound of surprise over his shoulder, scanning the messages. “That is a very helpful friend.”

A tense breath slipped from Jonah’s lips, part laugh, part relief. “Yeah,” he agreed, fingers moving quickly over the screen as he typed a final response before he shut the screen down, its light falling inert all at once.

His gaze flicked side to side, scanning the dim room for a place to stash it—somewhere fast, somewhere just inconvenient enough to deter a hasty search. The tablet’s internal beacon would eventually betray its location, but if he could slow them down, force them to waste time digging for it, that might be enough.

He crouched by a low shelf, rifling through a dusty crate of abandoned lab equipment. Old beakers clinked together as he pushed them aside, the sound sharp and grating. He worked quickly, shoving the tablet deep beneath a tangle of glassware and stray tubing, then snapped the lid shut with a quiet but decisive click. To throw off any immediate suspicion, he grabbed something smaller—a battered cardboard box filled with miscellaneous lab notes—and stacked it on top, slightly askew like everything else on the shelf, as if it had always belonged there.

It wasn’t the best hiding spot. It wasn’t even particularly clever. But it was just annoying enough that, if someone came looking, they’d have to waste precious time sifting through the mess. At least, that’s what he hoped.

A warm hand found his arm, fingers curling gently around his bicep with just enough pressure to ground him. The touch was steady, firm—not harsh, but insistent. Jonah’s breath hitched faintly as he lifted his gaze. Wan’s eyes seemed nearly black in the low light, but a subtle glimmer reflected in them, like distant stars hanging in the depths of a vast night sky.

Wan’s grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent reassurance, a quiet call to move. He pulled Jonah to his feet with an effortless kind of grace, careful and measured, as if coaxing him rather than commanding. Even now, even in this moment of uncertainty, there was a patience in his movements, a steadiness that Jonah, in a fleeting moment of weakness, allowed himself to latch onto.

Wan tilted his chin toward the side door, his long, ombre tendrils shifting behind him with the motion, catching the faintest glimmers of light as they swayed.

“Come,” he murmured, his voice low but certain. “I know somewhere we can hide.”