20. Tyrxie

Chapter 20

Tyrxie

Leap of Faith

M y heart pounds in my chest as the ground rushes to meet me. The filthy white stone streets are hard and unyielding, promising my imminent demise. Suddenly a flagpole extending from the wall, fluttering with the emblem of the Suns of Omega upon it, grabs my attention.

With desperation and gritted teeth, I attempt to seize the pole as I hurtle past it. The jarring force of the fall wrenches it from my feeble grip, tearing through my arms and shoulders with a brutal intensity. Yet it disrupts the horrifying momentum somewhat.

I try to brace myself for the brutal impact as I land in a heaped pile of rubbish, still with an incredible force knocking the wind from my lungs as my head whips forward and back, causing an explosion of stars to swim in my vision and bone deep agony lancing through me. The only sound is my rasping breaths and my sight darkens further as I lie embedded, hidden amongst, foul smelling refuse... but I’m alive.

Is this where I belong?

With a sudden jolt, I rise on shaky legs, uncertain if I lost consciousness for a moment as my mind swims with a disorienting blur, making it difficult to assess my situation. My hands tremble as I examine my battered body, identifying numerous cuts and scrapes littered over my extremities, but nothing appears broken. A miracle perhaps brought about by my satchel loaded with clothes and the... warvisor.

Realization pierces through the fog of my mind like a bolt of lightning, igniting a frantic panic, but I resist the urge to check the mask is still intact. Scanning the dirty street, seeing it empty of beings, yet with so many windows, privacy is far from guaranteed. I need to get away from here as the Suns of Omega may seek revenge on me, and Triandale instructed me to seek his old friend Katarian, a member of the Gorgons Wrath gang.

Can he be trusted? No one can. But what choice do I have?

It’s like Triandale said, change requires courage, and now I’m on the verge of getting what I always wanted. This is what I wanted, right? Yet the nauseous sensation in my stomach and the intense isolation tug at the back of my mind, causing my mouth to dry. The troubling thought compels me forward on unsteady legs, as my muscles ache and throb in protest with every step.

But I continue walking without direction, determined to walk off my injuries and escape the Suns of Omega territory. Once I get my bearings, I can begin the search for the location of the Gorgons Wrath and sell Xandors mask. Even now, the thought elicits a touch of excitement that is consumed with a gnawing dread and a sense of wrongness I’m trying to suppress.

Every filth ridden street leads to another exact copy of itself. The same arrangement of large white buildings on either side, only the graffiti, rubbish and disheveled aliens, gives any indication of difference. Disorientation threatens to overwhelm me as I cast frantic glances over the area. Only the crystal spire that is the heart of Omega Flux Station serves as any kind of anchor in this sea of sameness.

I’m lost, always lost.

Soon I lose track of the streets I’ve rounded, each one leading forever onward, as I glance over my shoulder to see no one following me. I breathe a little easier, as I assume I’m now out of the Suns of Omega territory. Yet I would swear that each new street brings a heightened level of degradation. People slumped against walls, wearing rags with trembling hands begging for credits as others lie passed out, a scoomer inhaler clutched in their frail hands.

Averting my gaze from them as shame washes over me, knowing now we’ve dealt scoomer on stations before, that I’m complicit in the misery that surrounds me. But that’s the least of my worries. Within the building doorways are congregations of various aliens, speaking in hushed tones as I pass, some nodding in my direction, their eyes narrowing, their curiosity piqued.

I don’t belong here; I don’t belong anywhere.

Unknown voices jeer at me from the countless windows, causing my breath to hitch my steps to hasten. A growing nervousness takes root, spreading its tendrils through my core, recognizing I’ve made a terrible mistake. This forsaken place will never be my home. I’ve traded one nightmare for another. Once again, I curse being a female, from an unknown species... A human, at least according to Xandor.

My alien strangeness is like a beacon I can’t turn off. I draw the unwanted attention of others, especially males. I hate attention, the eyes of others on me, judging me, sizing me up. My gaze shifts as I look for an escape, but every street is the same, littered with more suspicious stares.

I shift my eyes downwards, attempting to hide my otherness. As I rub my trusty locket resting in my pants before switching to brushing the handle of my pistol, drawing as much reassuring comfort as I can. In my distraction, I fail to notice the approaching figure from behind till a gasp escapes me as our bodies collide for the briefest moment.

Yet I can feel their probing hands dart over my armor into my pockets. “My apologizes,” his voice drips with feigned courtesy, the hooded flaxen furred Jungarian male inclines his head with a fanged smirk as he hurries past. Panic’s icy grip clutches my heart, knowing already with certainty he’s stolen something from me. With frantic touches, I assess my belongings.

Stupid, stupid, negligent bitch!

Everything seems intact until my hand reaches for my locket... No, no, no! Anything but the locket! Crushing despair rests where my locket once was. Without thinking, I pursue the thief, driven by a shocking, desperate need for the only comfort left to me in this entire unforgiving universe.

“Wait!” I cry out, sprinting after him, drawing everyone’s attention, as my breath becomes frantic in my pursuit. The hooded Jungarian, almost out of sight, turns, his eyes widening with surprise, before he accelerates, spurred on by my desperate pleas. Tears threaten to spill as I implore him, “Please, not my locket!”

My hysterical begging words have no effect on the thief as he continues to flee. My heart pounds in my chest as my legs pump harder than they ever have. I Ignore the jeering, laughter from the spectators, and the alarm bells, alerting me of the danger I’m inviting, but I remain focused on my locket, I will not give it up, not ever.

Lost in the frenzy of my pursuit, I lose track of the countless identical streets I transverse, but no matter how hard I push myself, I can’t close the yawning distance of the fleeing thief. As my lungs burn and muscles ache, the creeping dreaded realization dawns on me... I can’t catch him . Already he’s almost out of my sight.

I’m useless and helpless.

Pitiless despair and exhaustion almost cause me to surrender in defeat. Until in the distance, the Jungarian thief crashes into a huge black-skinned Tuskarian. Despite the thief’s forceful sprint, he bounces off the Tuskarian as if he’d charged into a solid arcweave wall, sending him crumpling to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, I draw closer, my stolen locket within reach once more.

The Tuskarian delivers merciless stomps down upon the thief, that twists my stomach at the savage efficiency of it. Nearby now, I can see the Jungarian lying motionless, covered in blood, perhaps lifeless, yet I feel no sympathy for him, only a weariness of the looming Tuskarian and what his intentions are.

I slow my pace, just a few steps from the grisly scene. The Tuskarian wastes no time rummaging through his victim’s pockets with meaty hands, lining his own pouches with various trinkets. As I wonder if I’ve exchanged one thief for another. “Um... Excuse me, can I have my locket back?” I ask between panting breaths.

The Tuskarian appears not to have heard or chooses not to, as he unclasps the first thief’s wrist console, examining the device with a critical yellow beady eye. I resist the urge to recoil at the same eyes as Hyanxa, the color of danger. Yet I persist with one hand outstretched, the other fingering the handle of my pistol. “Give me my locket back!” I demand, my fear replaced with an irrational, forceful desperation.

He halts, his eyes flicking to the gun in my holster and then to me. The Tuskarian takes his time standing, towering over me as tall and broad as Quad. His large glimmering white tusks protrude upward, from thick lips a contrast to his black skin as dark as the void of space. “Credits?” He rumbles his voice deep, gesturing with an open chunky, calloused palm.

What if he takes my credits before stomping me?

Yet I have no choice as I wave my wrist console over him, setting the device to send a hundred credits. I lament the loss as my meager share as a crew member keeps me poor, but I would pay every credit I own if it meant the return of my precious locket.

The Tuskarian acknowledges our transaction with a solemn nod, prompting him to search through his brown polymer jacket. I scrutinize his every movement for a hint of betrayal, my hand still resting on my pistol, preparing to use it. “This it?” he inquires, presenting the polished gold locket which looks minuscule in his thick hands.

Relief floods through me at the sight of it, forcing me to reach a greedy hand out to snatch it. Yet before I can grasp it, his fist clenches around the locket, leaving me stunned and incredulous. “We had a deal!” I protest, my voice trembling with indignation.

“More credits first,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for negotiation as he brandishes a threatening finger.

I’m desperate and he knows it.

A sinking feeling pulls my guts to the floor, sensing that I have no choice but to be taken advantage of. “Fine, fifty extra. But not a credit more,” I lie, as I transfer the additional credits to the hulking Tuskarian.

He nods once again on receipt, and to my surprise, holds out the locket. I waste no time snatching the item with speed, fearing he might repeat the same trick. Relief washes over me as I examine the object, rubbing the familiar smooth surface before tucking it back into my pocket where it belongs.

The Tuskarian snorts, blowing out a plume of air from his big snouted nose before turning to leave as he inspects the other objects he’s stolen from the Jungarian. I stare at his broad back as he marches away, torn between gratitude and unease, contemplating asking him for guidance, knowing I can somewhat trust him if I have the credits to pay.

There’s no one else. I’m all alone and lost out here.

“Wait!” My voice echoes through the narrow streets, halting the Tuskarian in his tracks. “Do you know where I can find the Gorgons Wrath gang? I’m looking for one of their members who goes by Katarian,” I inquire, hoping this stranger can lead the way.

He turns, running his yellow scrutinizing eyes over me, as if he’s only just now registered my presence. My skin crawls under his glare, feeling like a specimen in one of Mod’s jars as an uncomfortable silence stretches on. I almost retreat, thinking he lacks the wit to answer. “Yes, I can lead you to them,” he finally answers, holding out his palm yet again. “For a price.”

There’s always a price.

I blow out a deep exhale in mock exasperation, already predicting his request. Yet his demand fills me with relief. Trusting his motivation is simple greed and nothing more sinister, and that I’ll soon sell Xandors mask, putting this terrifying business behind me. “Okay, a hundred credits. That’s all I have left,” I lie, although not by much. My entire savings have dwindled to a mere fifty credits.

The Tuskarian nods in acceptance as his wrist console beeps with the transfer notification. “Follow,” he commands curtly, setting off down another nondescript street without waiting for me.

I struggle to keep up with his long, heavy strides that force me to half-jog alongside him. We travel in silence for a time, as my mind is already in a tangled muddle trying to discern each identical street, searching for any sign or clue that might set it apart. I wonder if I’ll ever grasp the intricacies of this place, and how my guide can tell the difference.

“What’s your name?” I ask, overcome with a sudden curiosity.

He snorts as if annoyed. “Urgnaw,” he grunts, giving nothing away.

He keeps secrets like me.

Undeterred, I press on, eager to glean any insight into how he navigates this maze-like landscape, knowing if I’m to live here, I’ll need the same skill. “How can you tell the difference between the streets? They all look the same to me,” I admit, glancing around the dirty area.

He sniffs before tapping his large, snouted nose. “By smell,” his answer only fuels a lingering disappointment and familiar regret of being born a ‘human.’

If I was big and strong, like a Tuskarian, I’d be safe.

Despite that, I wrinkle my nose, sniffing the air, finding only the same pungent stench that has permeated since arriving on this cursed tier. There must be another way? My attention turns back to the surroundings, which appear to be growing rougher, with increasing levels of broken street pavements, rubbish and unknown graffiti. But it’s the hooded and shadowy figures peering out from the broken windows that send a shiver down my spine.

“Is this the right way? This place seems... dangerous,” I venture, trying to maintain composure, despite the growing unease that pricks the hairs on my neck.

“You seek gang, don’t be surprised at danger,” Urgnaws snorts. His simple and non-emotional answers give me a strange surge of confidence, and I’m glad of his hulking, intimidating presence.

“Why is this tier so poor?” I ask, trying to learn more about my new home.

“You speak too much,” Urgnaw huffs in protest, blowing two large puffs of air out his snouted nose. I almost laugh at his allegation. The crew always accuse me of the opposite.

I hope they yet live... Mod, Job, and Quad.

I continue, determined to wrangle as much knowledge from Urgnaw, not sure I’ll have another opportunity to ask questions. “The second tier isn’t nearly so poor, and I know nothing about the first tier,” I rephrase my question, hoping he’ll reply.

Urgnaw snorts in resignation, his tone weary. “First tier is for the rich. You need fifty thousand credits just to buy access. Second tier for trade only. The rest of the shit festers here.” He inclines his head toward a dilapidated building.

I suppress a gasp at the staggering amount, wondering if the sale of Xandor’s mask will be enough to buy access to the first tier. Hope kindles within me at the prospect that I might not have to endure this oppressive place after all. “What’s tier one like?” I inquire with haste, anticipating his response.

“Don’t know, but can’t be worse than this dung heap,” Urgnaw grumbles, his expression twisted with disdain.

“Is that why you seek credits? To buy access to tier one?” I ask, already guessing the answer.

“Yes” Urgnaw nods, casting his eyes to a disheveled building much like the countless others. “Silent now, we are here,” he commands, striding through the open doorway without bothering to check if I follow.

My heart pounds in my heart as I scan the surroundings, searching in vain for any sign of gang symbols or markings that characterized the Suns of Omega territory.

Maybe the Gorgons Wrath are more secretive?

I step through the doorway, stunned to see the interior has been turned into a makeshift bar. The walls and rooms of the apartments are gutted, leaving only supporting columns, creating an expansive open area. Ragged patrons occupy the space, their drunken revelry creating an atmosphere thick with tension.

A creeping sense of unease cascades through my mind, as many of the occupants glance towards me, a mixture of wonder and annoyance etched on their faces. A few whistle in my direction, causing me to recoil, a surge of fear threatening to overwhelm me. “I don’t know about this,” I confess, my voice trembling with uncertainty.

“Katarian, is just through there,” Urgnaw urges, pointing to one of the few remaining rooms towards the end of the hall. “Just a little further. But if you’re scared, you can make your own way back. I’ve already been paid; I care not what you decide.” He shrugs, his tone unperturbed.

I’ve come too far to turn back now!

With tentative steps, I follow Urgnaw through the gloomy expanse, trying to ignore the gawking looks and my mounting unease. The low dim of the muttering customers mirrors my own confused thoughts. My heart pounds in my chest, threatening to burst with nervous tension as Urgnaw stops before the door, gesturing towards it. “Aren’t you coming in?” I inquire, my voice as unsteady as my trembling hands.

Urgnaw shakes his broad, tusked face. “No, the Gorgons Wrath have no love for me.” He releases a heavy grunt for emphasis. “Better for you to go in alone.”

I peer up at the looming, hulking Tuskarian, disappointment mingling with anxiousness at his words. “Thanks... thanks for leading me here,” I manage to stammer, offering a weak smile.

Urgnaw responds with an almost imperceptible nod, his yellow eyes betraying no hint of emotion. With a deep breath, I steady my nerves, unsure what in the void awaits me on the other side of this dingy building. Placing one hand on my pistol, I crack open the door, holding my breath as I squeeze through the gap.

As my eyes strain to adjust to the darkness, I make out the interior of a tiny, cluttered room. Dirty bed sheets are strewn across the floor amidst empty bottles and discarded scoomer inhalers.

There’s no one inside. I’ve walked straight into a trap!

The revelation hits me like a bolt of lightning, stealing my breath away. But that’s nothing compared to the brutal blow that connects with the side of the head. Pain explodes through my consciousness as the savage force carries me crashing to the ground. My vision swims in a sea of stars, and the metallic taste of blood coats my tongue.

Frantic terror shakes my hands as I fumble for my pistol, my mind teetering on the edge of consciousness. Through the haze, I can just make out the silhouette of Urgnaw as he wrestles my gun and large knife from my holster with powerful hands. I think I yell in protest, but it’s hard to tell amongst my agonized confusion. No one comes to help as I crawl away from my hulking assailant.

No one ever helps.

Urgnaws, yellow wicked eyes gleam in the menacing darkness, the darkness that usually provides refuge now shrouds my imminent death. His rough hands yank off my satchel with such force, he lifts me from the floor until it slips off my shoulders, releasing me. I groan in pain and shock, trying to shuffle away from the giant, my savior now turned attacker.

He grunts in anger as he upends the contents of my bag on the ground. With each item of clothing that falls, he narrows his beady eyes in annoyance as he exhales with fury through his snout. Until Xandor’s mask drops with a heavy thud. With my back against the corner, I watch as he examines the object with a steady gaze, sniffing it until an expression of confusion spreads across his hardened features. He roars with frustration, hurling the mask to the floor.

He doesn’t know what it is! The cursed mask that has brought me nothing but pain and misery.

“You showed excitement at the mention of tier one, yet you have nothing!” Urgnaw bellows, his murderous gaze directed at me, causing me to shrink back in trembling terror.

Urgnaw steps forward, his glare burning into me as if I’m the source of all his troubles. Holding up placating hands, I scan the room, desperate for any means of escape. “I... I don’t have anything,” the words stammer from my quivering lips.

“I will buy my way to tier one, do you understand?” Urgnaw’s voice booms, towering in front of me now. The fervor in his voice drives me to squirm further into the corner, but the walls are unyielding. I cannot hide, I cannot run. “If you have nothing, I will take payment from your flesh,” his terrifying words shake my head with frantic movements.

“No... No please, I’m not worth anything. Just let me go!” I plead, my legs unsteady as I rise, my eyes searching for any shred of pity, yet I find nothing other than a merciless calculating stare. With desperation gripping my heart, I perform a frantic lunge at Urgnaw, hoping to catch him off guard and slip past him.

But he throws me back against the wall with a thick arm, as easily as a toy. Stars explode in my vision again at the shocking force that jolts through my head and neck. “You will be sold to a pleasure house.” Urgnaw’s ominous words hang in the air, my worst nightmare becoming reality. He produces a glowing metal device, its heat radiating in waves.

I’m I destined to always be a slave?

“The... The mask is worth a fortune. Take it and leave me alone!” I cry out. All other concerns washed away by the approaching horrifying male. To my dismay, my words have no effect as his eyes observe me like an object, regarding me as nothing more than znat that needs zapped.

“No, please!” I scream as his massive hands pull and haul on my armored vest. As the blood rushes through my ears and my heart races with mad panic, I lash out in desperation. Yet he’s as unyielding as a ship’s hull and my feeble resistance only stokes his anger.

He snorts before delivering a crunching blow to my stomach. With such force, it doubles me over, despite my armor. I wheeze rasping breaths through winded lungs, my vision darkening with bloodshot eyes. He takes savage advantage, finally ripping my armor over my head, tossing it to the side. Leaving me exposed, terrified, powerless, wishing I could be anyone other than this frightened, weak ‘human.’

“Please,” I whimper, straightening to see the same evil yellow eyes devoid of sympathy, devoid of mercy. He grasps my black shirt, yanking with incredible force, jerking my whole body. In frantic panic, I twist and turn my desperate attempt to break free. Yet his grip is as solid and immoveable as arcweave, the fabric rips and tears exposing my treacherous breasts that heave with terrified pants.

I will die before I let him brand me!

With no other option left to me, knowing this might provoke my death, I reach for one of my concealed knives strapped to my thigh. I scream in defiance, thrusting the short blade with all the strength I can muster into the brutal Tuskarians ribs. It penetrates through his thick hide, but before I can strike again, he roars in anger and pain, throwing me against the wall with such bone-shaking force it chatters my teeth and darkens my vision.

I stumble to my hands and knees, still clutching my knife, my last hope of survival. Until a savage kick into my stomach rocks my mind with agony, ripping the air from my lungs, sending me sprawling onto my back. Before I can even react, he stomps on my hand, sending a surge of lancing pain to torment my consciousness.

Urgnaw wastes no time wrenching my knife from my agonized fingers. Through blurred, horrified eyes, I watch as he lowers the humming, scorching device. “No... No,” my useless pleas come unbidden as my vision swirls and my mind hazes. I clutch onto his wrist in my final, desperate attempt to stop him, but it’s no use. I’m powerless before his incredible strength.

He presses the scorching instrument into my chest, and white-hot agony penetrates through my clouded mind with blinding intensity. My skin sizzles and chars where my heart once beat, now melted away, leaving behind only a broken shell of who I once was. The stench of my blistering cooked flesh assaults my senses and pain overwhelms me, forcing my eyes closed as I drift, lost amidst a sea of terrified suffering.

This is what I deserve.