FSE

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"HEY MAN, NICE JACKET." The cheap soundwaves of Rodko's e-voice translator bounced around the strip mall's narrow back alley. Ahh. Pleasant vibrations.

The well-dressed human male, much to Rodko's befuddlement, responded with a courteous "thank you" in their native Primary tongue, and then proceeded down the dimly-lit and trash-filled street. Apparently the quartet of figures adorned in tattered rags and designer mob-scars failed to impress the underlying connotation of the compliment on the oblivious human. Pulling a gun may send the message.

Rodko slithered toward the human. Usually the soarkago thug's nudibranchian body was enough to intimidate vertebrate forms of life -- especially simians like this particular brand of ape. Unfortunately, it seemed that a bit more force would be necessary with their current prey. Annoying.

Still, at least the young human was an easy mark. Or were they an old human? Rodko could never really tell with humans. They were one of the less common subspecies of intelligent monkey life among these parts of West Boilim. Ugly too. But that was an opinion the cutthroat held for all simians, even the lumbering trio of larboytans at his command. Not that he paid the three for their looks. He employed them for their physical strength. And larboytans were especially strong when compared to humans. Lucky for Rodko's crew.

With a bit of flourish, Rodko used his right gelatinous appendage to withdraw a Soarkago Holler-Shot from his midsection holster. He watched the human's pupils dilate at the large chrome-finished pistol. That's better.

"Li-" The human cleared his throat before continuing. "Listen uh, sirs," he addressed the gang. "You can have the jacket, I-"

"And the watch," Gleeta added in his own baritone voice. The hulking gorilla-like subordinate briefly stood up on two feet to emphasize the point with a large wrist, before resuming a quadrupedal position typical of the larboytan species.

"And the watch!" the human quickly corrected. "But I don't have anything else! I don't have money you-can-check!"

Rodko's gurgles spilled through the translator. "HAVE A BRAIN NO? STYLING MONKEY LIKE YOU TELLING ME YOU DO NOT REMEMBER BANK PASS?" Rodko's e-voice device was doing its best to interpret and correct his poor grasp of Primary, but it had its limits. That's what you get when you refuse to shell out for pricier models. He'll have to steal a more expensive one some day.

The human examined their derelict surroundings. "I don't see a..." he sputtered before locking eyes on a machine situated some small distance away under an overpass. "...an ATM." He sighed. There was a reason Rodko's crew chose to hang around this spot.

Gleeta and Gorchev (Rodko's dumber lackies) hooted and hollered when they saw the look of understanding cross the human's face. Noisy idiots. It wasn't a huge deal but Rodko made a mental note to admonish his underlings after the deed was done. The whole point of choosing a river-adjacent ATM under a busy overpass was sound concealment! Well, that and to dispose of the body. They were at least practiced enough to keep that little detail secret from their victims. Panicky prey is tough to control.

With Rodko's signal, Gleeta and Gorchev literally strong-armed the human, while Garvy remained on lookout. The big slug and his two soldiers lead the unfortunate soul toward the river. Busy overhead vehicle sounds loudened to a crescendo by the time they reached the lonely ATM at the river's edge. Rodko always had a knack for finding good vibrations. The pride of his clutch.

"GO," Rodko gurgled as loudly as he could -- the translator raised its volume accordingly. "CASH OUT," he commanded. His underlings jeered and filled in the space around him and their victim. The crowding irritated Rodko a bit but he let it slide.

The human's hand hovered near the holoscreen. Hesitation written all over him. The surrounding air vibrated in the roar of motors. So loud! It almost felt like there was an engine roaring right behind them.

Rodko encouraged the human by leveling his pistol in their face.

The victim drew a deep breath, and entered in their passcode. Rodko and his cohorts leaned in around the 3D display -- eager for a preview of their payout. The number came up.

Three fat bird eggs. Zero dot zero zero in Comity cash. No money. This bastard!

The little broke ape used the momentary confusion to try and snatch the gun from Rodko's appendage, but he only grasped air. The gang leader had easily moved the weapon out of reach.

Resounding laughter pierced the cacophony of traffic.

But Rodko wasn't amused. Far from it. What a pain! It would no longer be enough to kill this simian. Now he would have to hurt him. Really hurt him. A lack of respect isn't something to be tolerated. Especially in front of his crew.

Rodko's left appendage shot out and wrapped itself around the human's neck like a noose. The two subordinates holding his arms released their grasps in surprise, and Rodko felt tapping on his back. Probably Garvy becoming nervous at the turn of events. Whatever.

The human pawed ineffectively at Rodko's limb as it slowly began to squeeze the life out of him. Little guy sure is durable for a human! Granted it's been a while since the slug choked someone out, so perhaps they've gotten rusty. How embarrassing. At least the flailing skinbag was beginning to turn purple. Should only take another minute or so.

That incessant tapping on Rodko's back was getting on his last nerve though. He did have one free appendage. Perhaps he could multitask and slap some sense into his anxious henchman.

So Rodko turned around to put the idiot in their place.

"YOU BETTER-" Rodko's translator cut off in in lieu of its owner's confusion. The figure that had been prodding him wasn't a part of his crew.

They were some type of lithe simian attired in motorcycle-wear adapted to their anatomy. One of the typically-lankier bipedal types. Definitely not larboytan then. Another human?

No.

The newcomer had a long prehensile tail, sharp conical claw-like nails on the exposed digits of its hands and hand-like feet, and it sported a helmet that elongated toward the back. The chest beneath its hardened vest was quite modest, yet the way the creature's skinny waist transitioned to wider hips suggested a female anatomy. Which brand of intelligent monkey was she? Her tail was too long to be a yoyoitan, and they certainly weren't Piwaatan. In fact they almost resembled-

The world erupted into intense pain. Its source: Rodko's lower abdomen, where the motorcyclist's balled fist buried into the slug's lesser stomach. The gang leader doubled over as the biker retracted their fist, opened it to present claws, and in a blur of blood, etched their mark into Rodko's appendages.

The slug dropped both human and gun -- instead focused on hot hot pain. His eye stalks quivered and faced in opposite directions.

No need to tell his subordinates to kill the bitch: they were already in action. Charging toward the backstepping motorist; Gleeta was the first to take a heavy swing that the stranger sidestepped with ease. Gorchev attempted a grapple to equally poor results.

It was fascinating, if not frustrating, to watch the stranger nimbly sway and dodge around the larboytans' meaty fists. The biker's counter-attacks were distributed with the precision of a practiced martial artist, though thankfully her clawed strikes had negligible effect on the larboytans' tough skin. Not too surprising, but still reassuring. larboytans were typically hired as muscle for a reason.

The ensuing scramble was becoming a dizzying one to follow, so Rodko looked past the commotion to observe a slumped form lying facedown in the concrete. Garvy the lookout. Clearly unconscious, if not dead. No time to mourn. A little ways past the body idled a motorcycle partially obscured in shadow. The overpass noise must have concealed the assailant's arrival. A double-edged sword.

Goddamnit!

How long had this weirdo been watching them? Were they targeting the same prey? And more pressingly, what was it about their physique and movements that felt so naggingly familiar?

A sudden strong vibration jolted Rodko's attention back to the fight. The motorist was laying in a pile of garbage next to a pushcart -- one they had evidently been bodily tossed into. Guess one of the larboytans finally landed a blow on the helmeted simian.

Gleeta looked proud of his work, but he was hardly finished. The larboytan rolled his shoulders, resumed a quadrupedal position, and confidently took his time approaching the downed target.

Clutching the side of her head through their helmet, the motorist punch-drunkenly got back on their feet, and then for the first time, spoke: "Flash-Eye! Breakpoint! Addendum! Cut this part out, it makes me look bad. Insert jump-cut to mmh, sayyyy, Boilim River history."

Both Rodko and the supine human victim responded to the martial artist's ramblings in painful incoherent noises. Did Gleeta knock the sense out of the stranger? What the hell was she going on about?

That was when Rodko noticed the helmeted simian's tail swinging erratically behind her. Something caught the light on the end of it. Like foil? Like a piece of discarded trash she had discreetly skewered on her tailtip?

And then it hit Rodko. Or rather, quite literally, it hit Gleeta. Before Rodko could issue a warning, the motorist swung their tail like a slingshot, and the discarded fast-food fastball'd into the larboytan's face.

Gleeta roared in rage and jumped to a standing position to scrape the gunk out of their eyes, an opportunity the motorist took to dart up to the hulking thug and swipe at their legs with a clawed foot. The hulking beast shrieked in pain and collapsed to the ground.

The larboytan's fall caused heavy vibrations, but curiously, Rodko was also detecting another lighter set much closer to his body. His eye stalks lowered to find the human fumbling with Rodko's discarded soarkagan pistol. Naturally he was failing since it wasn't designed for simian hands. Apparently the dumb ape was unaware that you had to snake a tendril through the spiral chamber to reach the trigger. The human did succeed in one thing though: pissing Rodko off. It was bad enough that his men were making fools of themselves. Now this!?

Pain be damned, the circus act must end. Despite nerve endings screaming at him, Rodko stretched out their wounded appendage, yanked the gun out of the human's clumsy fingers, pointed it toward the sky, and pulled the trigger.

Soarkago pistols are sometimes compared to canon-fire, and rightly so! The shot was loud. Louder than the traffic. Loud enough to cause both his men and the helmeted assailant to freeze and focus squarely on him.

Rodko pointed the weapon toward the biker, and the translator interpreted his strained threat: "NOW YOU. YOU WILL MAKE THE NIGHT WORTH IT. WILL TAKE YOUR MONEY. OR I KILL TWO MONKEYS TODAY. COMPREHEND?"

Truthfully Rodko wished nothing more than to just shoot the bitch right here and now, but the the pain he felt in his gunning tendril was a less-than-gentle hint that he'd probably miss. Not that the biker needed to know that.

There was a stillness in the alley that extended to what felt like an hour. The motorist's helmet may have obfuscated her expression, but he knew that their gears were turning. To Rodko's satisfaction, the motorist finally sighed and raised their hands in surrender.

"Flash-Eye, disengage lock." The biker's words triggered a reaction in their helmet: the entire contraption split vertically. The motorist then leaned their head back and shook, which caused the halves to fall behind her back and dangle from straps on her collar.

And as the helmet came away, Rodko's worst suspicions were confirmed.

Piercing orange eyes. Diamond-shaped pupils. Spiky light-grey facial markings around the motorist's large eyes and thin mouth contrasted heavily against their smooth and hairless obsidian skin. The sleek angular facial features and the four conical horn-like appendages protruding straight back along the sides of their head gave them an immediately recognizable draconic feline-like look.

Enimigoan.

Rodko recognized them as a female enimigoan. Anyone in West Boilim with half a braincell knows you don't touch a female enimigoan. The criminal had heard plenty of horror stories about what the enimigoan mafias do to those that mess with their females. Even Rodko's worst crimes pale to the tortures they inflict on their enemies.

"GORCHEV, GLEETA. GRAB GARVY. WE LEAVE. NOW," Rodko commanded.

The two standing larboytans gave Rodko a look he could only describe as dumb animal. No time to explain. "WE DO NOT HAVE MONEY FOR FAKE LIMBS, MAN. YOU TWO WANT TO GET SLICED UP BY ENIMIGOANS? THEN STAY."

His men may not be bright, but they're loyal. The enimigoan watched in silence as Gleeta and Gorchev grabbed Garvy by the wrists and began dragging him away. Rodko stayed there for a moment, staring at the silent figure. He had a lot to ask. Wondered if he should beg forgiveness to be on the extra safe side.

Nah. He'll risk retribution if it meant saving at least an ounce of his pride tonight. And so, he turned his stalks away, and joined his men on their way back into the city's shadows.

Ears rang. Vision danced. Each breath was tinged with fire. Daniel lay flat on his back with a collar of pain around his neck. The human's eyes swam in the overcast night sky: a blanket painted in violet and emerald hues by the city's sea of shifting lights. With some concentration, he could pick out the faint silhouette of a vacuum-ship above those clouds. It was reminiscent of the one he'd arrived on a few weeks ago. Wait, weeks? No, days. It felt longer.

Sudden nausea forced the man to roll over and dump his stomach's contents onto the filthy pavement. Mostly acid. He would like to say this was the lowest point in his life, but it was on level with the turn things had taken for the past Comity month. He was wiping his mouth, when something entered his awareness.

A voice.

Someone was speaking to him in muffled words. Daniel checked his ears for cotton, then picked his head up to find the voice's owner crouched at his feet -- and staring down at him.

Female enimigoan? Ah right, his savior. Their form looked consistent with what Daniel had seen in interstellar casts back home. However, their biker attire was of an unfamiliar style -- like most things on this world were to him. It was an odd combination of utilitarian and boutique elements: form-fitting yet somewhat wrinkled mauve fabric around their thin arms, slim waist, large thighs, and long rope-like tail, while the beige portions around their chest and calves were a little less, uh, highlighting, and rather more for physical protection.

Peering up at her face, Daniel observed the stranger's typical enimigoan characteristics: an angular feline-like facial structure accompanied by two pairs of horn-like protrusions that appeared to grow off the back of their upper skull and lower jaws. Ornate ebony-tinted markings highlighted her facial features: spiky elegant designs that individually outlined the perimeter of her large eyes and thin lips. Daniel knew of course that enimigoans were technically a simian lifeform: part of the Simian Hang-Up grouping along with humans, yoyoitans, larboytans, piwaatans, and various other species he was too dizzy to recall.

The enimigoan leaned in a little. There she goes producing those distant words again! Daniel silently watched her chattering away. Those facial markings...they're bristled? Oh! They're fur. Huh. White finely-manicured facial fur. It reminded Daniel of thick clown paint. He laughed stupidly, and immediately regret it. It hurt like hell.

A quizzical look crossed the enimigoan's visage, before she stood up and disappeared from Daniel's field of view. The human rested his head back on the pavement to drunkenly eye the sky. Wonder where the stranger went? Oh who cares. The ground sure felt comfortable. He could feel himself drifting.

That is until the man felt the enimigoan's iron grip under his pits, followed by a quick yank into an uncomfortable standing position -- a startling display of strength considering the biker's thin frame.

Daniel's feet stumbled about like a toddler while the enimigoan pulled him away from the riverbank. The overpass shrunk into the distance; and took its cacophony of traffic noise with it. Noise! His sense of hearing was returning! Now to find his voice. Perhaps then he could ask his latest man-handler to quit being so rough. The human was going to try just that, but instead he was startled when the tugging biker abruptly halted, and spun Daniel around.

So there they stood. The alley's two lone occupants. Face to face in the cold air.

Well, more like face to neck. The human had to tilt his head back to look into the enimigoan's coral-tinted eyes. She was a fair bit taller than he was. Around 6'5" if he had to guess?

With a raised hand and a long uncurled finger: the stranger pointed their sharp digit toward the sky, before slowly panning it a few inches from Daniel's face. Unsure of what else to do, the human simply followed the movement with his eyes. After a bit of this she retracted her hand and spoke.

"Can ya talk?"

Daniel's head felt like it was full of air. It was odd to hear her clearly for the first time. Can he talk? What a silly question!

Daniel nodded.

The enimigoan gave the human an odd look. Was that annoyance? Bemusement? Oh, right. He should probably find something to say. How about this?

"Th-" Thanks for saving my life, was what Daniel wanted to say, but the words refused to leave his inflamed throat.

Ok, maybe he couldn't talk.

The enimigoan hummed and scratched her ear. Woah. Daniel forgot how large and angular their species' ears were. They were usually pressed flat along the sides of their heads, so their presence was subtle. The movement also revealed that the enimigoan's horn-like protrusions didn't actually sprout off the back of her skull, but rather grew backward from the top and bottom ridges of her ears.

Oh she's speaking again.

"Human embassy's nowhere close. What're you doing out here?" The stranger's Primary carried a Yoyoilim accent, but was easy enough to understand.

Daniel glanced over his shoulder at the distant ATM, then back to the enimigoan. He blinked.

The air was heavy with silence. Maybe he should give words another shot!

"It's nice-" Daniel sputtered hoarsely. He gave up on pleasantries and decided to just introduce himself. "I, I'm-"

"An idiot?" The biker supplied helpfully. "I know. Only an idiot would go for a soarkago's gun," she explained in amusement.

Rude! Daniel would have loved to explain himself to this stranger, but his throat advised against the stress of unnecessary conversation.

The enimigoan barked a command over her shoulder. "Flash-Eye! Pause recording."

The disassembled helmet dangling off the biker's back responded with an electronic chirp. Its owner returned to scrutinizing Daniel from top to bottom. The human found those large eyes to be one of the tougher pairs to look at. They conveyed so much. He reflexively checked his watch to retreat from her gaze. Recovering from the brink of death may have left his head cloudy, but at least his mind was clear enough to read the time.

The time... the time!

"Ms...ms..," Daniel trailed with a hand motion to let the stranger answer his implicit question.

The enimigoan poorly hid a snicker behind a closed fist. She sure seemed pleased with herself. Daniel didn't get what was so funny.

"Nite, N-I-T-E," Nite spelled out.

"Nite, N-I-T-E," Daniel clarified. "I must. Must be going." And with those scant words the human made to hurry past the stranger.

"Tah tah tah!" The tall biker moved to block his path.

The human froze. He wasn't sure when they had done it, but Nite's tail made a single loop around his ankle like a cuff. Its squeeze was gentle, yet firm enough to communicate the intent: you're not going anywhere.

Alarm bells struggled somewhere in the back of Daniel's head to make themselves heard through his confusion.

"You haven't been here long have ya?" Nite asked sardonically. "Nothing's free in Boilim. Specially' a life."

The clouds above made good on their promise of snow, and the first flake dampened Daniel's shoulder. It was the least of his concerns. The man contemplated whether he could escape the creature that stood before him. Even if he could remove her tail from his leg, there was the vague memory of the way she handled the larboytans. How quickly she moved. It would be foolish to physically challenge her.

"I. Agh," Daniel grasped his neck in frustration. "No money!" He coughed out. "Wasn't lying to those thugs! You want payment? Here-"

The human began unclasping his watch -- the most expensive item left in his possession. Parting with material goods had become easier as of late. It was hardly the first time.

Which was why he was surprised when clawed fingers wrapped around his wrist to snap the watch's lock back into place.

"I don't want your things," Nite explained as she stepped around to the human's side. "Come, walk with me?"

She made it sound like a request, but it sure didn't feel like one. Especially when she put an arm around Daniel's shoulders to grip him like a vice. Great. Now he really couldn't get away.

The human had to adjust his gait to match Nite's walk. Awkward affair. She clearly had longer legs than him, but what Daniel found puzzling was that she somehow appeared to have grown a couple inches since their introduction. Glancing down revealed the the reason: her feet were more, well, hand-like than a human's. She was using the clawed "thumbs" of her feet to act as stilettos -- as though she had donned high-heeled shoes.

"I want your story," Nite said as they moved along.

"Story," Daniel parroted.

"Your story. I wanna know how a furhead ended up on our mean streets. Never seen one of you up close before! You soar thumb, you..."

Furhead. The word was considered a slur for humans back home. But home is far from here, and it was hardly the time to be concerned with questionable language. Said furhead looked up at his captor, only to find that the enimigoan was lost in some monologue. Daniel found it difficult to focus on her words. Difficult to focus on anything really. There was a distracting hint of a smile on her. A devious demeanor in the way she carried herself.

"...I take the strange where I can get it. It's my job understand? And you?" Nite bent down to hover near Daniel's ear. The human didn't look, but suspected she was in a full grin. He knew those teeth were sharp. "I can hear the strange on you. The kinda thing my followers'd eat up." Nite paused her rant, so she could swing them both about to point at the lonely ATM at the end of the alley. "I just came for some scan' on an urban legend I'd been tracking. The Riverside Disappearances of Dummy District." Her pointer finger switched locations into Daniel's cheek. "But then, I found you here. A Comity boy on Yoyoilim! A far more intriguing story~-"

The human jerked his face away from the enimigoan's finger. Rather than judge her reaction, he remained fixated on the motion of his own feet. The gears in his head span. Only, fruitlessly.

"Aw. Forgot you humans got stiff skin like the yoyoitans. Relax! I'm not gonna hurt ya."

Daniel preferred the biker when he couldn't hear her.

"Eyes up. Ride's here."

The ride in question was idling under a dim street lamp. Upon closer inspection, Daniel was surprised to find that it was a model he was acquainted with: an F.B. Solution's SnowCutter. One of the cheaper fossil-fuel based motorcycles that he had designed the navigational hardware for. Decent gig when he had it. Not a well paying one, but then none were anymore.

"Right, so here's what's gonna happen," Nite said as she released Daniel to his own wobbly feet. "I'm gonna ask you some questions. You give me allll the detail I need. On scan o'course. Then we split. Not a bad deal right?"

With a theatrical twirl, the enimigoan parked her rump on the bike with one leg crossed over the other. There she sat: patting an open seat while her tail gently swayed in anticipation.

Daniel gingerly rubbed his aching head. Urban legend? Who was this motorist? Were they some sort of journalist? Criminal element? They wanted to take him somewhere? Where? Is this a trick? Could they be trusted? Would he make it to his hotel in time? Would he make it to his hotel at all?

The questions played on a loop in his scatterbrained mind. He was so wrapped up in putting the pieces together that he barely reacted when the enimigoan got up, grabbed him by the shoulders, and guided him to the rear seat of her motorcycle.

As far as kidnappings go, it was one of the easier ones.

Cheap dinner napkins are hardly ideal for cleansing bloody claws, but you gotta work with what you get. The piwaatanean diner's restroom was off-limits. Likely to keep druggies from dirtying up the thing. What can y'do? Nite doused the flimsy paper in their cup of water, and proceeded to work it roughly against the sharp keratin at the end of their fingers. They cursed under their breath at the poor results, and tossed the crimson-stained napkin into the growing pile at the corner of the table.

At least the ache in the enimigoan's chest had dulled. Lucky really. Thinking back, the larboytan's strike should've turned Nite's ribcage to dust -- even if it had only clipped them. But Nite's biker uniform was more than just an aesthetic choice. The breastplate intended to absorb the shock of a motorcycle crash happened to work decently well against giant fists too. Who'da' thunk it?

Nite reached over to grab another napkin from the dispenser, when they sensed the gaze from the human sitting across the table.

The enimigoan returned the stare while mid-grab, only for the human to quickly refocus on stuffing himself.

Propping an elbow against the table; Nite's chin rested on their fist as they examined the human in curious fascination. The little homo sapiens didn't seem to notice, or at least, pretended not to notice the enimigoan's inquisitive appraisal. Poor sod wore a colorful bruise around his neck, and the light snow on the ride over had turned what was his bush of wavy brown head-fur into a wet salted mop. Little guy kept futilely pickin' strands from their pale face to keep it out of their greasy stew. He shoveled chunks of meat and vegetable into his maw without abandon. How long had it been since the human had a decent meal?

Nite contented themself with studying the human's hungry fervor through the steam of their dark tea. The enimigoan wasn't particularly hungry. In fact, they weren't even a fan of the cuisine piwaatans' were big on, but then that wasn't the reason they chose this joint to conduct the questioning.

Movement out of the corner of the felineesque simian's eye drew their attention past the human and down the aisle of dingy tables. A four-foot piwaatan was not-so-discreetly scuttling to each booth to loan illegal synths to anyone silly enough to take that crap. O'course, they sniffed out a good mark: Nite's dinner guest. The enimigoan would have to save the furhead. Again. Great.

That turned out to be a much easier task this time around. A glare in the dealer's direction accompanied by a quick flourish of Nite's tail sent the shady bug-eyed salesman in the opposite direction. Good choice fella! Even if the piwaatan had been dumb enough to pick a fight with an enimigoan, they would have to be extra stupid to earn an enimigoan matriarch's ire.

Or what the piwaatan likely thought was a matriarch's ire anyway.

Satisfied, Nite returned their attention to the human. He had been completely oblivious to the silent interaction that took place. The danger that surrounded him. Sigh. It's a good thing Nite's feminine figure warded off most potential dangers.

Their feminine figure.

Few outsiders knew of Nite's secret: Enimigoan Hormonal Divergence Syndrome, or EHDS. A genetic condition that presents itself during puberty for those of the enimigoan species unlucky enough to win the drawing. He was what fellow enimigoans vilifyingly referred to as a mimic. A false matriarch.

Nite is male.

The enimigoan carried the physical appearance of an attractive -- if Nite may be so immodest -- female. Afterall, he had the token characteristics: a lithe yet toned frame, slender waist, effeminate hips, thick thighs on long legs, and a long ropey tail.

But there were o'course minor (ahem) differences. Nite had no breasts for instance. Fortunately for him, enimigoan females have smaller breasts on average than other Simian Hangup species, so he passed off the lack of extra tissue as being a particularly flat-chested female. Naturally there was the item between his legs too, but he had learned methods to tuck it into his clothes in a convincingly inconspicuous manner.

There was however a third difference he could do little to hide. A difference that fellow members of his species could pick out quite easily to discern Nite's sex and condition. His height. Enimigoans, both male and female, were supposed to be the tallest simians around. Most males reach around 8 feet. The average female height was 7'4". But mimics? Typically only averaged around 5'10".

Nite stood at 6'5". Impressively tall for a mimic (thanks dad), but still a little shorter than the shortest females of his species. Short enough to raise suspicion from his kin.

But hey! That's why Nite picked this diner. He wasn't the only one with a distaste for piwaatanean food. Most enimigoans couldn't stomach their bitter vegetable concoctions. Fat chance he'd run into other enimigoans here.

A sudden fit of coughing brought Nite's attention back to his human interviewee.

"You alright?"

The human finished sputtering into a cup of water, then opened his mouth to speak.

"Tah tah!" Nite interrupted before he could utter a word. Does this guy have no sense for his own health? The human's daze may have diminished, but he shouldn't be stressing his throat. Only an hour since his strangling, and he wants to use his voice like nothing happened.

Begrudgingly, the human grabbed a napkin and the pen Nite had lent him. After a quick scrawling, he pushed the napkin across the table. "Swallowed too much." It read.

Nite's ears twitched reflexively -- causing his upper horns to do the same. The enimigoan leaned back in his seat to study the messy eater. He recalled how stiff the little fellow had been against his back on the ride over. The enimigoan felt a little bad about taking advantage of his delirium to coax him into coming along for questioning. And Nite couldn't help but find the human... pitiable. Like a wounded animal out of its element.

Yet, the human's green eyes were filled with a determination to cut through their bleak circumstances. A contradictory fire in their belly that added up with the brave (and stupid) actions they had taken to fight back against the soarkagen in the alley.

Green. Heh. Humans were quite out of place in Boilim. In the past 30 years, this was the first one Nite had met in person. The long fur that grew almost exclusively from their heads and the small colorful irises surrounded by bright white sclera were characteristics unique to humanity. Strange exotic simians.

But this particular fellow's most befuddling aspect wasn't in the repertoire of typical human characteristics. Rather it was a human detail he lacked that caught Nite's interest.

Where were his tattoos?

It hadn't been immediately obvious, but the human's lack of tattoos set him apart from those depicted in interstellar casts. Usually these simians were covered in bright colorful decorations that they appeared to accumulate with age. This one should've had at least a few! The designs were often located in plainly visible areas like the face or limbs, but no such tats were apparent on this human. Granted, they were wearing jeans and a long-sleeve jacket. Perhaps some were hidden beneath his clothes?

Nite extracted the small cube-shaped scanner from the disassembled helmet hanging off his back, and placed it on the table. Couple'a taps on its top square put it in short-radius mode, and off to the races! Time to start the interview.

"What's your name?" Nite asked.

The human paused mid-spoonful, and after a moment of thought, jotted down his answer.

Nite raised a brow at the response.

"I guess 'Idiot' isn't doing it for you anymore?" It read.

Ooh? A bit of sass shining through? Perhaps the drenched furhead really was recovering from his ordeal. "Mm, don't bite the hand that literally feeds you," Nite retorted with a toothy grin.

Silverware clattered when the human shrank back.

Nite dropped the smile and hid his sharp digits -- a display of non-aggression that hopefully the human understood. "Hey hey relax!" He wasn't sure what frightened the poor sap, but he took a jab in the dark. "Killer smiles are just a larboytan thing! Smiling's usually a good thing among enimigoans! Just like you humans. Promise."

The human's breathing slowed down, before they sunk into a slumped position. He stared into his bowl for a moment, as though making up his mind on something. Finally, he wrote a single large word on a soup-stained napkin.

"DANIEL", in large lettering.

Nite shook their head affirmatively and risked a small smile. No reaction this time. Weird! Can table that for later. "Daniel! Danny. Dan. Mind if I call you Dan?"

Dan stared blankly at Nite.

"A Comity name if I ever heard one." Nite sipped his tea in thought. "You from one of the Com worlds?"

Daniel scribbled his answer with eyes focused intently on their paper. He tore up a piece and started again. Every now and then he'd chance a glance up at Nite, then quickly return to his writing. What a bundle of nerves! Finally, he finished his writing.

"I grew up on Wind One. Mini-housing block in York Septima. It's the largest suburb within the largest city on the only continent."

The geography lesson wasn't really necessary. Wind One is well known. Youngest of the Comity planet-states after Earth Three. Like the other Com worlds, it was rumored to be the closest thing to heaven incarnate. A utopian republic whose citizenship was a precious and difficult thing to obtain. The United Comity was the defacto superpower of the cosmos. Most humans had the privilege of being born on a Com world. Not surprising. As the inaugurators, the human species became synonymous with the Comity.

So why would one leave utopia? Especially for this dump?

"Wind One's a beautiful place from what I've seen on casts," Nite mused.

Daniel glanced around, as if comparing his surroundings. "Yes. I guess it is." He wrote.

"So what brings you to lovely Boilim? Vacation?" The enimigoan asked in jest.

"Work," Daniel wrote in earnest. "I have a job interview tomorrow. An early one." He underlined.

The human's less-than-subtle request to speed things up wasn't lost on Nite, but he brushed it off. The furhead's story had already started on an odd note. The Comity was the commonwealth of opportunity, but this guy was searching for work here? On Yoyoilim?

"Don't take this the wrong way, but that's kinda backwards! I know people that'd kill to get a Com world permit. It's the picture o'the big time."

Daniel's expression darkened. This type of probing was a gamble. It would either shut the interview down, or encourage the interviewee to delve deeper than surface-level talk.

"I couldn't afford to live there anymore." He sloppily scribbled.

Eyes closed in sympathy; Nite nodded. "You were fired."

Dan coughed with eyes wide in indignation. "NO" he wrote in large capital letters. The human then followed up with another napkin. They were really making a mess of the table. "I just couldn't afford to live there anymore. Rent kept rising. Wage didn't." The sentences were delivered in tiny handwriting.

"That so?" Nite concealed his surprise after squinting at Dan's words. Poverty was common in Boilim, but it seemed out of place on a Com world. Was it his job? Blue-collar work rarely receives proper appreciation anywhere. But even in the UC? "What kind've work do ya do?"

Daniel began writing his answer, then grimaced as he scratched something out on the paper -- which tore it a bit. "I'm a was a full-mark engineer."

"F.M. Engineer?" This time Nite couldn't hide his surprise. If the human was telling the truth, then it was quite strange that he was in financial dire straits. It took years of study and hard work to achieve any level of proficiency in full-mark engineering. For many on Yoyoilim it was their ticket off-world, even if only as a temporary work license on a Com world.

"F.M. engineering's a big deal around these parts. Huh. You live in an expensive area before you quit?"

Nite didn't appreciate the look Daniel gave him. Like he asked a stupid question.

"There isn't any cheap housing on Wind One. Nor any of the Earths. Not anywhere in the Comity." The words poured out Daniel's writing hand quickly and half-heartedly. Nearly illegible really. Probably circumstances he's had to explain multiple times.

Nite hummed after reading the message. He was glad he remembered to put his contacts on that morning. "Brainy gig. It doesn't pay the bills?" Nite had been drumming his claws on the table -- though he stopped when he noticed the human's wince.

Daniel just shook his head morosely. He didn't even bother lifting his head. It seemed he was contemplating how to word his response. Finally, he passed his answer down the table. "Expect more of me. I'm just the first wave. I can't sell skin." Another napkin. A few old ones fell off the table. "Eventually, selling skin won't supplement enough money either. Even for those that can."

Nite went slack-jawed. "Selling skin... you tried prostituting!?"

Daniel's head shot up. "WHAT!? No!" He unexpectedly exclaimed aloud. "Skin space! Selling skin space!" He corrected hoarsely.

Startled, Nite did his best to not openly laugh at the human's incensed reaction. "Your voice feeling better?"

Frustrated, Dan tried to write a response, only to punch through two more napkins in a tantrum.

Nite let a snort escape.

With a derisive glare at the pen, the human decisively rolled it across the table, before slumping back in his seat. "Skin ads," he muttered.

It was an odd inflection, but the furhead was clearly done with writing, and Nite wasn't going to press the issue.

The enimigoan motioned for him to elaborate.

With a huff, Daniel rolled up a sleeve to present his bare forearm.

Then yelped when Nite suddenly reached across the table for him.

Dan's retreating arm wasn't quick enough to stop the enimigoan from running a finger across its length. Curious texture. Smooth like his kin's skin, yet unlike the epidermis attributed to Nite's species, the human's fur follicles actually sprouted a tiny bit. Just enough to be visually noticeable.

Dan just sat there clutching his arm incredulously.

"Hmm... oh!" Nite pointed a finger in excited realization. "The tats! I was gonna ask why you didn't have any! Noww I gotcha."

Daniel exhaled through his nose. "Right. Some Comiteers convince themselves that skin ads are a choice. A style. Most see through it though. Wages stagnated over the years, and additional income became a necessity. Selling parts of your body for ad revenue was the most lucrative approach, though how much longer that'll be the case is anyone's guess."

What a revolting practice! Loads of content to farm off that topic alone. Nite would have to remember to grill Dan on it later.

Daniel pushed his bowl away. Still some stew left. Perhaps he had lost his appetite. "I only had one real option to stay afloat. An Off-world Visa."

A simple enough explanation on the surface, but it didn't shed light on the furhead's particular choice of world. Nite found himself drawn to Dan's neck bruise again. "Why Boilim? No offense, but it's no place for a delicate creature."

The human gave Nite an indignant look. Or rather gave Nite's forehead an indignant look. It seemed that Dan never quite looked him in the eye, but would instead try to approximate eye contact. Was that a human thing or a Daniel thing? Had Nite known he'd be interviewing a human today, then he would've prepared by researching their quirks and mannerisms. Perhaps even contacted his content creator connections that were versed in intelligent simian studies. Another thing to table for later. The enimigoan would have to make a list of topics to revisit later. He'd do it... later.

"Yoyoilim and Enimigetti are the only two worlds where the cost of living is low enough for me to rent an apartment," Daniel explained. "If I land the job, I should be able to get a place in the southern blocks of West Boilim."

Well that checks out. Though Nite found it amusing that Daniel bothered bringing up Enimigetti -- the homeworld of Nite's species. Sucks to admit, but if Yoyoilim was a trash can, then Enimigetti was a landfill. Naturally the human would pick Yoyoilim.

That piqued a question though. "The southern blocks? Real frugal! And dangerous. Yoyoilim engineers can afford more than that! Surely you can do better on an F.M. wage. Hell the engineers I know-"

"I cannot work wherever I like!" Daniel exploded. Several patrons turned to the human's outburst with a mix of curiosity and annoyance, before they noticed his company and returned to their food.

Nite observed the fuming furhead in silence. Dan was lucky that the enimigoan found the human's anger adorable on some level. A feistiness hidden beneath layers of timid reservation.

Daniel broke the silence. "...I have to work for a Comity company. Doesn't matter that I'm off-world," he strained out. "That's how the Visa works." Deflated, his nerves simmered down. "...a Com salary is my only choice, and-"

"A Com salary is only just enough to pay the bills on Yoyoilim," Nite finished solemnly for Daniel. "Mmh. The UC really squeezed you huh? I had no idea things had gotten so bad."

Daniel didn't respond, but instead scratched his mane aggressively as he stared out the window. His curls were starting to return to form. Too bad they'd soon be drenched again.

Nite felt he knew the answer to his next question, but asked anyway: "What happens if you break the contract?"

"Then the Yoyoilim government sends someone after me, you know, to make sure I go back to Wind One. Back to a life I can't live. And with a fine to top it off. The rest of my life would be spent working off a debt I can never repay. Probably on one of the Comity moons. Maybe even Earth One."

Com moons? First wave? Lot of information to digest, and frankly, check for validity. But Nite knew one thing: there was a story he could spin out of all of this. A development hidden behind the rosy Comity media. Something Nite's cynical viewership would lap up.

A screeching noise from the bar attracted the eyes of the restaurant's patrons. The piwaatanean bartender made some shrill guttural sound. They then picked up an egg, and threw it against the far end of the wall.

Nite cursed in Enimigetti.

As if on queue, everyone started paying out and grabbing their things to leave. Bewildered, Dan returned his attention to Nite, only to find the enimigoan fishing into a suit compartment near their thigh. They extracted a wad of bills, dropped it into the table's autolock tip receptacle, and then shot around the table to pull Daniel out of his seat by the wrist.

"Time to go Dan."

"Ah! Hey-"

"Bartender threw the egg. It's closing time."

"Egg," Daniel repeated dumbly.

Nite should've suspected the human wouldn't be familiar with piwaatanean customs, but he wasn't up to explaining it right now. The enimigoan chided himself for losing track of time.

He had a live event to host in like an hour and a half.

"I've got an errand to run comin' up." Nite explained while tugging Daniel along toward the exit. "Pick this up tomorrow yeah? Stick behind me. It's gonna crowd." Whatever response Daniel provided was lost in the commotion of patrons leaving the establishment. Nite looked over the sea of piwaatans and yoyoitans coalescing at the bottom of the stairwell that lead to the building's parking garage.

No time for this.

With a fluid grating swipe, Nite scraped the ceramic floor with their right foot's leading toe-claws. A dozen or so angry faces spun to inspect the source of the offensive noise, only for the smarter ones' blood to drain when they recognized it came in the form of an enimigoan "matriarch".

Enough of a path opened up in the nervous mob for Nite to pull his stunned captive clear of the restaurant.

The enimigoan was gliding through the dimly lit parking garage when he became aware of a force yanking on their grip. Ugh. What now?

Nite turned to find the human was trying to pull free of his grasp. Some choice words were in order. Until he saw his eyes. Wild. Darting about. A look that slowed Nite's pace to a stop.

The human's face hardened. They steeled themself and managed to quell their shaking. But Nite could still feel the fear pulsing erratically through Dan's wrist. That false bravado. What was the purpose?

To cover up shame. The circumstances may be different, but shame is a universal feeling. One Nite had been familiar with for most of their early life.

Guilt abruptly attacked the enimigoan. An uncomfortable feeling that coursed through his stomach to the tip of his tail. Here stood this nervous little creature at the door to destitution, and on a world they were wholly unfamiliar with. An assault victim who barely escaped with his life, only to be roughhoused and interrogated by a stranger they had just met. A living being treated like they were simply another item on Nite's agenda.

Lost in thought, the enimigoan's grip softened. Enough for the human to pull their hand free.

Life is full of little grievances. Everyone knows that. Daniel knew that! He'd been a good sport! Really! But a near-death experience? Followed with some light kidnapping? On the night before the most important interview of his life!? That's the recipe for breaching his tolerance.

The human was (again) surprised by the strength of the enimigoan's grip, but with some struggling, he finally managed to pull himself free of her grasp. Daniel stared her down. (Well ok, he stared her up). How little things change. He felt small his entire life. Even when he lived amongst his own in the Comity. A socially inept recluse who failed to navigate a world where connections meant everything. Apparently it wasn't enough to be manipulated by agendas hidden behind pleasant faces. Now he must live on a world where the average inhabitant could physically push him around too.

Perhaps it was unwise to rebel against the one denizen of Yoyoilim that had thus far shown some hospitality, but stress had plucked away at Daniel's rationale all night, and if he couldn't have control over anything else, then he at least demanded it over his autonomy.

Who even was this person? Sure, the enimigoan saved his life. Bought him stew, too. Yet the stranger offered few details about themself or their intentions.

"Who are you!?" Daniel finally blurted.

Save for the gently swaying tail, Nite remained stock-still. Her face-paint-like fur highlighted expressions, but Daniel still found her face difficult to gauge. Not that he was particularly great at reading emotions from fellow humans either. The employer-mandated psych tests he purchased years ago made him aware of that fault.

The enimigoan wore a lopsided frown. Those eyes. They were... confused? Sad? Was that concern?

"We've been through this. I'm Nite. I research-"

"No! No, I mean like," Daniel waved his hands around. Where would he even begin? "I'm getting murdered in the street, then you show up and you're like a martial artist or something? Then I spend the rest of the night answering inane questions instead of preparing for my job interview in, in oh fuuooouuuck-" Daniel checked his watch. "I'm finished!"

He didn't wait for her response. The man no longer cared to learn Nite's motives for future interrogation. So, he turned on his heel, and walked.

"Where you goin'?"

Nope! Not answering! Daniel kept walking. The last time he was shellshocked enough to play along with the enimigoan, he literally let her take him for a ride. Granted, it was only to grab a bite to eat, and to answer some personal questions. And, considering her species and what Nite was demonstrably capable of, he should probably still be intimidated. But he wasn't going to let logic get in the way of righteous indignation. Not this time!

So, lazer-focused, he put distance between him and the nosy enimigoan -- who thankfully did not seem to follow. Rail lines closed? Let them be damned! Daniel walked on. Past the garage's departing vehicles. Up the stairs. And finally, out into the snow.

Which had worsened. Atrociously so.

The flakes were like little needles piercing the human's skin. His flimsy coat sacrificed function for fashion, and after the night's events, it served for neither.

No matter. He had a job to do before the job interview, and that was to complete his trek to the hotel. Imagine! Maybe he could even prepare!

If he didn't catch hypothermia first.

The streets were mostly empty of pedestrians. Only an idiot or a very desperate individual would walk through this weather. Minutes stretched toward eternity in the frigid cold. Every strained step put a dent in his hope. He would be lucky if he made it at all at this rate. Perhaps he had acted rashly? Another personal failure? No! Daniel killed the thought. Anger kept him moving, and he would take anger over shame any day.

The man was so intent on carrying himself through the wind that he hardly noticed the surrounding flakes brighten in a headlight's beam. A motorcycle's purr left little room for mystery. He turned to observe the vehicle that had very slowly kept pace with him. And its driver.

That damned enimigoan again.

She wasn't really steering. Rather, Nite simply leaned on the console with propped elbows. Her helmeted head rested on fists while she gazed at Daniel. The human couldn't see past her visor, but he had an imagination. He imagined an infuriating grin.

"Nice weather we're having!" She yelled over the combined sounds of wind and burning fuel.

Apparently Nite had taken the time to don a long off-white puffer coat over her motorcycle wear. It flowed down to thick boots she had (presumably) slipped over her weird foot-glove things -- despite the boot's awkward fit near the seams of the motorist's shin guards. Even her long tail was adorned with a hose that matched the coat's style. It funneled from the base of her appendage towards its tip with a puffy ring pattern that effectively made the entire length appear thicker. Softer too. Hell the enimigoan looked so insulated and warm. Agh!

Doing his best to ignore her, Daniel returned his attention to the frigid sidewalk. His march continued while, much to his chagrin, the motorist kept by his side.

"Guess I was a little rough, yankin' ya around n'stuff! My bad yeah!?"

Wordlessly, Daniel found a way to frown harder.

"You really gonna go through this shit to the hotel on Chiseler 14th!? I heard humans're all about endurance but damn! That's six miles!"

Daniel swiveled in surprise. "How did you know where I'm going!?"

"Let's seeee Daniel Odetris ! Had your first name! Job title! Location o'course! Newsies let slip that there're only like, fifty humans in Boilim, so I began by lookin' up Comity job sites and cross-"

"OkNevermindPleaseLeave!" Daniel should have known better than to give any real personal details to an investigator, self-proclaimed or otherwise.

"Man don't get so wound up! We had a deal! Still saved your life y'know! And fed ya stew!"

Daniel broke into a sprint.

"Woah hey!" The bike easily kept up with his run, though he noticed the enimigoan had at least graduated to holding the handlebars.

"You're gonna bust yer'ass stupid! Slow down!"

This time, Nite didn't respond well to Daniel's silence.

The enimigoan swerved her vehicle to block the path. Dumbstruck, Daniel terminated his run, but the black ice beneath his feet cared little for his desire to stop. Heart firmly in throat, he fought to keep his balance in a slide toward the biker's blockade.

He crashed. Specifically, he crashed into her.

Bliss! Toasty warmth! Such insulation.. There they remained in the frozen moment. An accidental embrace that felt heavenly enough for Daniel to nearly forget who the heat belonged to. Nearly.

"Let go," he commanded into her coat.

Nite snorted. "I'm not holdin' ya."

Daniel quickly pushed himself off the enimigoan, and chose to attribute his blush to cold weather.

Visible breath puffed from Nite's helmet. "You have any sense of self-preservation!?"

"Of course!" Daniel spat. "I'm trying to get away from you aren't I!?"

"Don't be short with me furhead! I'm on a tight schedule too ya know! Difference is I'm goin' outta my way to hel-"

"I don't want your help! I don't need anyone's help!

Daniel punctuated his outburst by slipping and busting his ass.

"..."

The pain of impact shot straight up Daniel's rump, through his neck (as though that didn't hurt enough) and into his stubbornness like an arrow. He rocked back and forth in an effort to distract himself from the pain. It didn't work, but the forced pause did give him time to think. Think about how ridiculous it all is. How ridiculous he is. Anger feels good. Until it doesn't. Then you're just left feeling like a moron all over again.

The helmeted enimigoan tilted their head, but were otherwise silent. Surprising really. If ever there was an opportunity for a biting remark, now was it. They hadn't been shy about expressing their feelings before. Why so quiet now?

After letting the pain (and the ire) recede to nominal levels, the human rose back to his feet. "Listen, I uh, maybe I overreacted... to your physical treatment. Sorry," Daniel apologized reluctantly. "But I'm not getting back on that motorcycle."

Without looking away, Nite reached a hand over to the bike's rear console, and turned the heat to its max settings. Even Daniel could feel it from where he stood, and how the rush of warmth melted away at an already ebbing resolve.

"I'm not getting on the bike!"

___________________________________________

Bout' a minute after Dan got on the bike, Nite found himself reaching around the human's shoulders to adjust a strap on the spare helmet he lent for the ride. Mr. Independence futilely futzed with the floppy headwear before submitting to Nite's offer of assistance. The enimigoan thanked the heavens for a visor that hid his smile from Dan. It was becoming clear that he was dealing with one of the more neurotic examples of the homo sapiens species. At least the fuming furhead seemed to have tuckered himself out from his little escapade. Future questioning with this guy would likely require some finesse, but that's alright! Nite didn't mind a challenge. Especially when it came to gettin' paid. And hey! The stranger the case, the better the material!

The human flinched when the enimigoan's hand inadvertently brushed his cheek. Oops. Right. Guy's iffy with touch. Is it timidness around simian females? Even those of differing species? The truth of Nite's gender would probably relax Dan's nerves in that case. Amusing thoughts, but it's more likely that the human was still a tad rattled from nearly dying earlier in the night.

Almost done fiddlin'. The spare helmet came with the motorcycle's purchase -- what a deal! Unfortunately it was constructed with a yoyoitan's cranium in mind. Not personally a problem for Nite since he could instead wear Flash-Eye: a sturdy custom female-enimigoan-fit design. But for Dan? Yoyoitan physiology didn't match his head either, and the extra helmet was his only option. Too bad. Humans have the flattest faces among the known Simian Hang-Up species, and theirs was especially plane in comparison to yoyoitans and their long proboscises.

Nite sat back and observed his handiwork.

"You look great!"

The human looked like a deflated mosquito. Don't laugh.

Daniel's floppy-mask-head shifted.

Nite doubled over cackling.

"It's your helmet," the human huffed.

Nite chortled. "Yeah! On your flat face!"

Dan made like he was about to dismount, but then he thankfully thought better of it. "Can we just go!?"

Nite spun to face the bike's dash, reached back to tug the human's wrists, and then wrapped Daniel's arms around his waist like a belt. He followed up with a grasp of the handlebars and an order to the flustered human: "Hold tight flat-face! We'll be flyin'."

Dan didn't seem to catch that "hold tight" was more than just a figure of speech. There wouldn't be any slow ridin' for the human's sake this time around. Good thing there's a fix for difficult riders! The same fix Nite used on his tween nephew oughta' work on Dan too. "I'd prefer to keep my tail free for messin' with the radio and temp controls'n'shit, but since you're bein' a kid-", Nite coiled his lengthy tail around both himself and the human behind him. His clothed appendage circled the pair thrice before running out of length, and tightening such that they were securely bound. "-there. Now I won't have'ta collect ya off the pavement."

A human heart thrummed nervously against Nite's back, but Dan groaned his acceptance. With all preparations in order, a juvenile thought crossed the biker's mind. Should he do it? It'd be a little mean. It's always so funny though... "we'll take off on five! Sound good?"

"Sure," Daniel muttered distractedly.

"Five."

The bike exploded to life! Dan's yelp quickly washed out in the building crescendo of 130MPH acceleration.

Familiar adrenaline took hold of the enimigoan as they whipped around bulky vehicles, leaned in through shortcuts, and broke too many traffic laws to count. A less-skilled motorist would be ill-equipped to follow Nite's stunts -- especially in this weather -- but the enimigoan had been at this since he was a kid. The bike may as well have been an extension of his body at this point. And cops? What about em'? Flash-Eye's police detection mod coupled with the biker's knowledge of speed traps tended to suffice. He'd only gotten three violations in the past two years!

If Daniel's grip had been loose before, it certainly wasn't now. Nite felt the human's arms tighten with each bump and turn. It was... kinda precious.

An electronic voice from Nite's PDA indicated that their destination was halfway away. The enimigoan removed the device from its magnetic holder to review the location. If his sister were here she'd thwack him for multitasking on the road. But she wasn't, so hah!

As usual, Nite worked to maintain a positive attitude. It's important if you wanna stay sane in his business. Scans of Dan's chosen hotel on the net looked nice enough. Too nice. Fake nice. Especially for a spot on 14th. Buuut Chiseler had been undergoing gentrification for the past few years. Perhaps Dan's lodging would be on the safer side of the coin flip?

"Tsk." Nite frowned at the map. It'd help if the destination point weren't so vague. That'll make shit confusing when they get there.

"Hey furhead!" Nite yelled over the wind.

Dan looked over Nite's shoulder. "Could you quit calling me that?"

"No! And also! Take this for a sec!" Nite passed the PDA over his shoulder to Dan. "This image sucks! Which one of those buildings is your hotel!?"

"The little blue building highlighted next to the green ones," Dan sardonically explained. "Have you never used a map application before?"

Nite would've rolled his eyes if Dan could see them, but with no audience it would've just been bad drivin'. The enimigoan wasn't annoyed with Dan. Well, he was a little annoyed with Dan, but he'd get him later. No. Nite was annoyed with the oblivious speciest choice the app designers made. He thought shit like that was outlawed. Third-party garbage. "Could ya be a little more descriptive!?"

"What do you mean? It's the blue... oh!" Dan flustered. "Oh I forgot I'm sorry! I apologize! Really!"

Nite laughed it off. "Don't worry bout' it! Few folks get chummy with ennies long enough to remember little facts about our eyes! I don't blame you for forgettin'! Shitty map app though! Couldn't've they have at least tested the thing with one of us!? That's what I get for trying a new one!"

Indeed, Dan had forgotten that enimigoans -- at least compared to the other known Simian Hang-Up species -- can only distinguish a small range of colors. Enimigetti is often described (by assholes) as being a particularly drab world. Well, those assholes are kinda right! Nite's no evolutionary expert, but it sorta explains why his species struggles to distinguish between blue and green hues. There just isn't much of those colors on Enimigetti.

Gasp! Blue and green!

"Oh hey! Dan! Do you have green eyes!?"

"Pardon?"

"I saw you had pretty eyes! I can tell it's a different color from the reds and oranges of... pretty much every other simian species side' from human! I just kinda assumed they're green but now that I think of it, I guess that means they could be blue instead y'know!? I wouldn't!"

Dan was silent. Did his heart rate go up? The human wasn't getting sick was he? Maybe he touched on some weird cultural thing?

"I say somethin' wrong!? Didn't mean anything by it!"

"No! You're right... they're green.

"Eyy! I had a 50/50 shot and I nailed it! Am I good or what!?"

The flurry of snow wore down over the ride. Thank goodness. Even Nite in his getup was getting sick of driving headfirst into little daggers. Dan didn't say much except to quietly comment here and backseat-drive there. He sure acted the part of a prince for a fella' one step removed from homelessness. At first Nite thought the human was talking to himself, but it eventually dawned on the enimigoan that he was trying to engage him directly.

"You're speakin' damn soft back there Dan! Your throat hurtin' again!?"

"Huh? No. I just didn't want to hurt your ears."

Nite nearly swerved from a fit of giggles.

"What is it! Agh I-" Dan began before self-correcting. "What is it this time?"

"Our hearin' doesn't work that way silly! Just cause' us ennies' got amazin' hearing doesn't mean the world is louder on us! C'mon my guy! I thought you were an engineer!"

"An engineer yes! A bioligist no!" Dan retorted.

D'aw. Nite just wanted to tease the furhead! Not embarrass him.

"Ey' neither am I! I just live in my body! Besides!" Nite gave Dan a little squeeze with his tail. "That was cute, you bein' concerned and all!"

The human coughed. "Remind me not to be next time!"

Nite's laugh echoed around the interior of a road tunnel. Dan returned to relative silence for what little was left of the trip. Though the human did seem to thank whatever deity he worshipped when he noticed the bike decelerating. One rolling stop later, and they were Illegally parked at the foot of Dan's destination. Helmets off.

Nite jumped straight to passing judgement on the hotel: "Kinda looks like shit man, but I don't think you'll be gettin' murdered in there."

"Is that so? What a relief," Dan grumbled.

"I won't need to hold your hand to the front steps will I?" Nite turned to the human with a smile. They weren't having it. Too soon perhaps!

The human dismounted and just kinda stood by the bike for a moment. They must be wrestling with some sort've parting words. "Thanks for saving my life, feeding me stew, and driving me here," Dan counted off with his fingers. "Oh and uh, I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Nite beamed. "Apology accepted flat-face. I gather you don't hate me now?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

Nite snorted. He thought he detected a flicker of a smile on the human. Could've been the enimigoan's imagination though.

"Well we'll work on that next time. And remember there's a next time." Nite pointed an ominous claw. "Not done with you yet." Nite was in fact already brainstorming some titles for his piece on the struggles of one of Boilim's first human residents. The Comity Reject of Dummy District was a contender. Hmm.

"Yeah yeah I owe you that much at least. See you around." Daniel spoke over his shoulder as he walked away from Nite and his vehicle. "If we meet again than my job interview went well." Dan paused to think before he continued. "If not, well, you could do a story on the first human to hang himself in in this city."

Dark! Nite was glad the bad blood thinned in him enough to joke around though. Because surely he's joking! Yeah! He's jokin'!

On that uplifting note, Nite waved Dan off, watched the human disappear into the hotel, and then he hit the road again.

The ennie was well on his way when he gave himself mental pats on the back. Time for the last item on tonight's agenda: the live scan event. Oughta' be a walk in the park! Or a walk in the creepy ol' crime scene in this case. The enimigoan had done a hundred of these types of shows, but his fans always appreciate the occasional classic.

There was a nagging nakedness. The kind of feeling you get when you forget something important.

Bah. Oh well. Nite wasn't gonna let it dampen his mood. Not when he's on such a roll. An easy win with the live event comin up, and an even bigger win on the horizon with the human story! Speakin' of the human story, Nite wondered if he should call Dan to decide where they're meeting tomorrow.

Call.

Call.

Call.

"Ah fuckin' shit! Shit shit shit..." Nite's expletives swung wildly between Primary and Enimigetti as he pulled the sharpest and most illegal of turns he could muster. The enimigoan wished it was on scan because it probably looked cool -- what with the way he drifted and kicked up a fine cloud of snow -- but the folks on the sidewalk that got sprayed with said snow would probably disagree, if the volley of insults and thrown objects were any indication.

Nite grit his teeth as an empty can bounced off his helmet. How the fuck could he have forgotten to get the human's contact info!? Fuck! Ten minutes driving and now he's gotta turn back!

And he's gotta let his followers know the live event will be delayed. He can already imagine their bitching now. How dare they!? Like they've never made mistakes!? Fuck them!!

Nite reminded himself not to get carried away. Breathe in. Breathe out. Remember: positive attitude.

Oh the positive attitude can bite his ass too! Nite floored it. Looks like he'll be reuniting with Dan sooner than he thought.

Serpent clouds faded into the wind. Each stream of frigid particles emanated from Nite's calculated exhalations. He absorbed the thrumming growl of the bike's engine. Felt the contrast between cold wind and warm steel.

Centering. The first principle taught in [i]KinetiLaqi[/i]: one of several key ancient enimigoan martial arts. Nearly all of his species train under some clan-specific flavor of KinetiLaqi as soon as they can walk. Nite's upbringing was no different. Up to a point anyway. Before his soft exile from the clan. Another painful memory.

That won't do.

He acknowledged the bitter recollections like old acquaintances, then sent them on their way. Even recent additions, like the ten-minute-old memory of dropping Dan off without a means of contact.

Browsing net sources for Dan's number hadn't worked. Already tried that stunt when the human stormed off during his tantrum at the diner. There [i]was[/i] a number listed, but they were off-world digits. No coverage for those on this planet. He must've gotten a new number that data brokers haven't had a chance to nab yet.

Ugh. Right. Back to the present. Breathe in. Wait. Breathe out. Wait. Breathe in...

Opening his eyes, Nite killed the bike engine with a foot swipe.

Weather had calmed during his hasty return. Bit'a time saved thanks to nature's mercy (and, admittedly, reckless drivin'). Not enough to avoid tardiness to his own live show, but hey.

[i]Crunch, crunch, crunch[/i] up the snowy path. Enimigoan footprints dotted and weaved around the frozen vehicles at the foot of the hotel.

He'd informed his viewership via net media about the delayed event on his drive back. Responses were mixed. Token whining? Plenty! No surprise there, even if it still kinda' annoyed him. At least his hardcore base is mostly understandin'. They accept the odd blunders here n' there. Just best not to make em' a habit.

Course' explaining the [i]reason[/i] for the delay helped a ton. To do so, Nite employed a rare but sometimes-useful technique: Honesty. [i]Selected[/i] honesty. He told his audience that some unexpected overtime work came up in lieu of a Big New Story. A [i]human[/i] story. The Dan story! He even supplied some early scan shots of his encounter with the human -- bloodshed and all! Though he did leave out, to his convenience, that the delay was due to a personal foible. Selected honesty!

So now he had extra time, [i]and[/i] plenty'a drummed up interest for his next killer series. Sometimes Nite's genius surprises even himself! Hah!

Snow, impeded by the looming hotel, ceased its fall upon the enimigoan.

Funny thinkin' back. The itinerary should've been simple. Get some scan on the dummy district disappearances, grab tea, do some prep-work, and then hit the suburbs for his live scan event.

But Dan happened.

Their chance meeting threw a wrench into Nite's machine. A [i]golden[/i] wrench. An in-the-flesh human caught outside of the Comity embassy! He recalled the moment the little fella punch-drunkenly smiled up at him in that filthy alley. Euphoria filled the enimigoan's veins; spiraling his tail into an electric twist. An inexplicable sensation at first! But! Then! In a flash of genius (if Nite may (again) be so immodest) he figured it out! Dan was a divine message delivered from the heavens! A prime opportunity for viral content! That's gotta be it!

Giddily, the content creator approached the wooden doors at the front entrance. His hand froze on the handle's metal. Not from cold, but from curiosity. Ennie ears flinched.

There's a hidden world accessible only to those with gifted hearing: an open plane to the likes of Soarkagans and enimigoans alike. Those mollusc creatures may have ennies beat in auditory perception, but enimigoan hearing is still pretty damn good. Good enough for Nite to detect subtle conversation on the other side of the door. A rather one-sided conversation by the sound of it. One of the voices belonged to a yoyoitan.

And the other? Human.

Daintily leaning forward with arms crossed behind his back: Nite placed a large ear against the door. Theatric movements were habitual to the content creator by this point. His immediate audience consisted only of a few bundled-up teens freezing their asses off for a smoke, but hey: they're people, Nite's an entertainer, and everyone can use a little entertainment. The ennie placed a sharp finger against his lips in a shushing motion to the loiterers, who graciously minded their own business.

It was easy to tell from the human's voice that he was becoming exasperated. A feline grin tugged at the simian's features. Juice here.

So, he waited. Cuz' hey! When it comes to mining info on your subject, eavesdroppin's a perfectly valid technique.

---

Torn wallpaper. Stained carpet. Warped chairs. Even behind wet strands of hair, the lobby presented itself poorly. Worse than one would even expect from the hotel exterior. Daniel's examination followed the irregular layout of the room. It was divided into ascending segments that funneled towards the singular source of working light in: a glass booth.

No line. One receptionist. Their silhouette cast a long shadow across the steps.

Daniel approached for a closer look.

Lounging in an office chair with their feet upon a desk, and a plate of half-eaten food in their lap, was the final gatekeeper between the human and a decent night's rest. Yellow eyes, surrounded by a bright red and blue visage, were trained on a small television. The vibrant facial coloring of the indovidual's species seemed at odds with the their listless demeanor. Adorned upon what Daniel knew to be the individual small circular ears was a wired headset that connected to the TV monitor.

Yoyoitan.

The receptionist was a yoyoitan: a non-human Simian Hang-Up species that Daniel was decently acquainted with. Their small but notable presence on Wind One provided the human with some sense of familiarity.

Enough familiarity to know that [i]this[/i] yoyoitan was ignoring him.

The tired human knocked on the booth's glass.

Fluorescent light played off a long, red, and aged proboscis that contrasted starkly with the blue pigment around the yoyoitan's eyes. While it was possible that the headset prevented the receptionist from hearing the human's approach, they definitely should have [i]smelled[/i] Daniel coming. It's no secret to those that brush with yoyoitans that their sense of smell trumped all other simian lifeforms.

Forcefully, Daniel knocked again.

Round black pupils finally shifted to the human at their step. The yoyoitan rose from their chair: revealing a red-furred tail. It was a shorter tail in comparison to an enimigoan's, but still just long enough to convey the receptionist's infuriatingly lethargic nature with its sway. He placed his headset upon a holder on the side of the monitor, before turning to address the human. A short-length blonde crew-cut sprouted from the yoyoitan's head, but that was nothing unusual among his species. Sure, their bodies were covered in dense fur, but said fur could grow no longer than a couple of inches at most. Apparently the ability to grow lengthy "scalp-fur" was a uniquely human characteristic. There were letter shaped windows on this yoyoitan's vest. The holes were shaped such as to allow his abdominal fur to spell out a name in vertical letters.

Y ' V

e r

e

k

t

a

So, [i]Ye'Vrekta[/i] was the receptionist's name. Daniel had seen this tradition of self labeling on Yoyoitan clothing back on Wind One. Usually Yoyoilimi lettering, but as in like this case: Primary. It's attributed to a certain Yoyoilim subculture, though the name escaped the human at the moment.

Deciding to challenge his own perception of Ye'Vrekta's behavior, Daniel decided on politeness.

"Hello! I'm here for the room I reserved several days-" Daniel paused to frown at a suspiciously bullet-shaped aberration in the glass, "...several days ago! Should be under 'Daniel Odetris'."

Two little words rolled off the receptionist's tongue in surprisingly good Primary. "Cast Man."

Noting the human's confusion, Ye'Vrekta pointed a dull digit at the monitor. It was receiving an interstellar cast of a program seemingly recorded on Earth Three. A soap opera full of humans by the look of it.

[i]Cast man[/i]. Most species only interacted with humans via some form of cast. No surprise Daniel received so many strange looks on this world. The novelty of meeting a human in person had not worn off here.

"What a privilege." The corners of Ye'Vrekta's grin were just visible behind his spade-shaped proboscis. "My first human tenant. An early [i]first waver[/i]. Welcome, cast man."

"It's Daniel..." the human quietly corrected. Already his brain was working to combat a rising tide of worry. "The Comity Extended Hand Program gave me your location."

"Yes yes human, I've been expecting you," his proboscis flared with an accompanying look of what might be disgust, "though I hadn't expected to detect... enimigoan upon you. How curious."

"It's a long story."

"I'm sure it is," Ye'Vrekta smiled. "Rest easy. You'll be safe from those beasts here."

Perhaps in a different situation, Daniel would feel compelled to comment on the blatant speciesism. This wasn't it.

"Now then." The yoyoitan presented his waiting hand.

Daniel fished around his jacket until he felt the crumpling of paper. Out came a tattered reservation receipt, which he impatiently planted into the transactional tray.

Unimpressed yoyoitan eyes danced over the document. Ye'Vrekta hummed, before neatly folding the paper, and placing to the side.

Room key. That's what Daniel expected next. Instead, he was again facing the yoyoitan's waiting hand. Confusion wrote itself across Daniel's features.

"I'm afraid there's been a mistake."

"[i]What[/i] mistake?"

"A matter of payment. The numbers. They fall short."

"I don't understand." Daniel's frustration melted into his words. "[i]Read[/i] the receipt. It's all been taken care of."

Ye'Vrekta shrugged. "You'll have to take that up with your Comity."

"Fine! Tomorrow! I [i]need[/i] sleep! Give me the key! We'll sort it all out tomorrow!"

"Apologies," Ye'Vrekta clucked, "but It does not work that way. I do not run a charity. No payment. No lodging. Feel free to shop elsewhere."

"What!?" Daniel finally broke. "What the fuck, [i]what[/i]!? Shop where!? With what!? This is the place I paid for! [i]Your[/i] hotel!

Raising his hands in mock concession, Ye'Vrekta made a show of pondering Daniel's situation. "Perhaps we can work out a deal."

Like a refund? Somehow Daniel knew that was off the table. Through a pinched bridge of the nose, he repeated his latest mantra: "I don't have any money."

"That's quite alright, cast man," the yoyoitan coldly gestured at something on Daniel's person. "There are always [i]options[/i]."

The stupid watch.

Really should have hidden the blasted device by now.

Sigh. "You're lying about the numbers, aren't you?"

Ye'Vrekta said nothing. They both knew the answer didn't matter.

Robbery in the United Comity is subtle and difficult to triage. A poison that drains you of life so [i]slowly[/i], that by the time you notice the damage, it has already run you through.

So that's one differing aspect of Boilim life that Daniel could appreciate. Theft here seemed overt. Obvious and to-the-point, like the hotel receptionist's open paw.

Exhausting, but his fate did rest on tomorrow's interview. What's one more material parting? Daniel unclasped his watch, and dropped it in the receptionist's hand. He thought the yoyoitan would look pleased with their successful extortion. Instead they seemed to be gawking through him at-

An obsidian streak [i]shot[/i] under Daniel's armpit like a viper's strike. The slender appendage infiltrated the booth's transaction slot, engulfed Ye'Vrekta's wrist, and [i]yanked[/i] his arm through the gap. A sudden pressure on Daniel's shoulder forced him into a kneeling position. It was an ideal perspective to watch an enimigoan claw pluck Daniel's watch out of the entangled yoyoitan's hand.

Dazedly, Daniel traced the rogue appendage back to its owner.

"Nite!?"

Daniel's onslaught of questions died the instant the enimigoan's hand launched toward him. The human flinched back in shock, only to find that Nite's fist had frozen inches from his face.

From it, dangled his watch.

Oh.

The lithe enimigoan had discarded her coat. The helmet was off: dangling in segments behind her back. Her arm was offering the watch back to Daniel, but her head was fully turned away from him. With pantherine focus, she poured her vicious intent onto the yoyoitan caught in her snare.

A strange sound not unlike a snarling beast reverberated from her.

This wasn't the Nite that probed Daniel over a cup of tea. This was the Nite that stared down a Soarkagan killer in the street.

Oh God.

___________________________________________

Spend enough time around a particular species, and you pick up on the melody of their form. The rhythm of the yoyoitan's fear was a welcome tune, but not the only source of fear in the room.

With the struggling receptionist in Nite's coil, the enimigoan gave Dan a side-glance.

Technically the content creator had already gotten what he came for. When he snatched Dan's watch from the would-be thief's palm, Nite had also quickly taken the opportunity to touch his own watch to the device: which traded their contact info.

Mission accomplished? Only...

He knew that the human was puttin' on that brave face again. The drum of his heart combined with universal body language betrayed hidden emotions. Fear. Confusion. But underneath it all, Nite swore he detected something else.

Relief? Relief at Nite's arrival?

Regardless, Nite wasn't gonna stand around and let this slumlord slimeball of a yan' push the homeless human around.

Speaking of, he probably shoulda' been focusin' harder on said slimeball.

Shit.

Nite shrieked in pain as they reflexively removed their tail from the yoyoitan's hand. A chair wobblily clanged into the back of the bastard's booth from the sudden momentum. Their impromptu weapon lay on the booth's desk: a bloodied steak knife.

Asshole stabbed Nite with an eating utensil! Piece'a' shit! The enimigoan cradled his bloody tail tip. Pain from the puncture wound stung, but it paled to the shame of lettin' this slimy fuck catch him off guard.

He's sure been distractable since the alley fight. What is [i]with[/i] today?

"[i]Of course .. the scent .. of an ennie matriarch[/i]," Ye'Vrekta realized in pained breaths, "..careless of me. I should have suspected," he muttered, before clambering to his feet.

With vibrating horns, Nite looked up from his injured appendage in restrained fury. Colorful movies depictin' ways to shred this yoyoitan played out in his mind.

"...Nite?" Some feeble voice spoke to him in the room.

Slow breaths hissed through the clenched daggers that made up Nite's teeth, while the yoyoitan-shaped meat doll cowered at the far end of their little booth.

Slow breaths.

Breaths.

And then calm. Not all transgressions are worth flippin' out over.

Millenia of evolution across the harsh landscapes of Enimigetti had conditioned its progeny to react [i]violently[/i] to spilt blood. A useful adaption in the might-makes-right ancient times of the homeworld, but one that's more of a detriment to modern enimigoan life.

[/i]Only two destinations await a raving monster: a grave, or a cage[i]. KinetiLaqi is as much an art for combat as it is to temper the animal within.

Nite's admittedly a lil' wishy-washy bout' following the old teachings, but he tries!

So with some effort, the feline simian forced his sneer into a twisted smile. Rather than address the long-nosed simian, he turned to Dan.

"See human?" Nite gestured toward the fuckface behind the window. "That's why I love this degenerate city. [i]Content[/i]! I'm always findin' new lows to cover..."

The destitute engineer stuttered out something incomprehensible, like he was still tryin' to figure' what to make of the situation.

"...like," Nite returned his attention to Ye'Vrekta, "a con artist preyin' on desperate foreigners." The enimigoan's smile dropped. "You play a sick game."

Rubbing his wrist, the yoyoitan quickly regained his smug demeanor. Probably used to takin' hits from pissed clientele. Though he was at least keeping a healthy distance from the booth receptacle. Given the receptionist's cropped proboscis, and the lettering upon his vest, Nite determined that Ye'Vrekta was part of a minority yoyoitan culture that practiced Narehe'it: a spiritual belief system that commanded the practitioner to explore their natural gift of smell.

"Mmh, yes, I do play the 'sick' game," Ye'Vrekta admitted. "The things we do to survive this city devoid of morals, wouldn't you agree enimigoan?

Nite didn't answer, instead electing to test the booth's integrity with a scrape of his claws (much to Dan and the yoyoitan's chagrin). Sturdy stuff. Even a larboytan would have a rough go breakin' it.

Unplugging his ears, Ye'Vrekta yammered on about whatever skeevy sales pitch he was preppin' to offer. "Tell me, what clan were you born of?"

Nite's etchings transitioned into something more defined: a symbol. An emblem.

The mark of the Viciougee clan.

"There ya have it. Personally I don't have time to break into your lil' safety bubble to chop you up myself. But I promise ya," in a fluid motion, Nite produced the cubic recording device from his disassembled helmet, "I can find someone with the time."

Ye'Vrekta quickly clocked the recorder's indicator light, and almost tripped over himself. It had already been scanning. "Now wait! Ple-"

"[i]Unless[/i], you give the human here a free stay. Then I might forget about [i]this[/i]," Nite painted a streak of blood across the booth with a flick of his tail.

Dan yelped, and Ye'Vrekta's nose flared at the macabre demonstration.

O'course, the threat was a bluff. Outside a select few, it'd be a cold day in hell before any fellow Viciougee ennies came to Nite's aid. They could care less if one of their [i]false[/i] matriarchs died, much less got pricked.

"Let's not be hasty!" Ye'Vrekta pleaded. "This scanman, he is just one of many to come!"

Dan glared.

"This is a lucrative venture! One I'm willing to cut you in on if you," Ye'Vrekta paused to sniff again, "if you, as you say, forget..." Ye'Vrekta held up his knife. A strange contemplative look washed over his face. His spiel died as he studied the bloodied tool in his hand.

Weirdo. Doesn't matter. "Free room for the furhea-, I mean Daniel. That's the only deal that'll save your skin."

The long-nosed simian seemed too transfixed on their blade to register Nite's ultimatum.

What a joke. Doesn't the bastard know he only got lucky with the first stab? "Wanna have another stab at me? Come on then! Try it."

Worryingly, the corners of a knowing smile leaked from behind the yoyoitan's proboscis. Something had [i]clicked[/i] in Ye'Vrekta's head. Not good. "No need. This knife already defeated you." As if to explain, he ran a finger across the stained blade, and dabbed a bit of Nite's blood upon his large nose.

Clenched fists. Nite felt his own claws dig into his palms. Even Daniel raised brows at the enimigoan's stiffened change in disposition.

"..I've trained my nares better than most yan'," Ye'Vrekta smugly explained. "They've traveled scapes' barely touched by the undisciplined. The leaves of a Harlenque tree. Waters of the Lo'Qweeri stream..."

Old memories, the [i]worst[/i] ones, fought for the surface within Nite.

"...the scent of an enimigoan matriarch's blood." Ye'Vrekta concluded darkly. "Yours [i]almost[/i] matches. Almost..."

"...but not quite."

The moment of discovery, when the veil is pulled back to reveal Nite's true nature. His disease. His status as a [i]mimic[/i]. Over time the sting of such revelations had lessened. Afterall, he had learned to embrace his feminine body as one that matched with his personality and soul. There was no longer shame in others learning of his hidden gender. Merely disappointment. Disappointment that he had one less social and political tool at his disposal.

So why did he feel so affected [i]now[/i]!?

It wasn't shame... it was more like fear? Nite glanced at Dan, who didn't seem to quite understand what was going on. Yeah, it'd be unfortunate for him to learn Nite's truth here. Harder to get info out of him if the human doesn't trust him. But that should merely be disappointing. Just another hurdle for Nite to jump over, and he's jumped plenty!

So why the fear!?

It doesn't matter! There's no time to explore that feeling now. He can't let Dan know. He just [i]can't.[/i]

"You're no matriarch," Ye'Vrekta gloated. "How could you be? You're not even-"

[i]Female[/i] is probably what the creep was gonna say, before he was drowned out in the shattering of wood and metal against the booth glass. With a foot, Nite had grabbed a lobby chair and swung it with a decisive roundhouse-kick motion. Naturally it wouldn't do any meaningful damage to the barrier, but the explosion of splintered furniture did frighten the yoyoitan into falling on his ass with swallowed words. Good enough!

Daniel appeared similarly startled. Poor guy's been struggling to say his piece the whole time. Too bad! Nite's leaving and he's comin' with.

Coiling his bleeding tail-end around the human's wrist, the enimigoan pulled Dan's stumbling ass out've the building and into the cold.

___________________________________________

[i]She prevented a robbery.

She took your number without asking.

She protected you.

She's using you.

She bought you a meal.

You'll owe her.

She saved your life.

Coercion?

You don't know her.

But who do you know?

You're indebted to her.

Debt is binding.

She rescued you from a slumlord's hold.

And now you have nowhere. [/i]

Waves of panic began to close in.

[i]And now there's nowhere.[/i]

Daniel's fingers parted so he could look past the frigid hands he had buried his head in. Through them he could see Nite stop mid-pace to pick up on Daniel's rising nerves.

"Hey," the enimigoan said.

"I'm dead," Daniel nearly whispered.

"Huh?"

"I'm homeless remember? This hotel. It was the one roof I had." His voice slowly increased in volume. "I almost made it. So close..."

"Hey!"

Shooting up from the steps, Daniel looked past the enimigoan into nothing.

"Where are the homeless shelters here? Are they commuting distance to my job interview?? Nite do you know if-"

"Hey!" Nite took a step toward the frantic human. "Calm down!"

"-I'm homeless but am I [i]officially[/i] homeless?" Daniel rambled on. "Oh fuck can I prove I'm homeless!?" Daniel's strung out face found Nite's perplexed one. "I-I don't have any papers to prove it!"

Nite looked confused. "Papers? Prove you're homeless?" She visibly shook the questions from her head. "It's going to be fine Dan-"

"Fuck! Are there warm places to sleep in this city!? You have to tell me where they are! You [i]HAVE TO TELL ME[/i]-"

"LISTEN STUPID!" Nite clasped her talon-like hands around Daniel's shoulders. "YOU CAN SLEEP WITH ME!"

"..."

Daniel's train of thought derailed into a ditch.

___________________________________________

That particular combo of words hung stiffly in the air. Even Nite hadn't expected them to fly out of his mouth in [i]that[/i] order.

Suddenly realizing he hadn't released his grip, Nite quickly let go of the human to take a step back.

"C'mon you know I didn't mean it like that!" The enimigoan looked away. "I meant like at my place you can crash-"

One of the stupid porch-loiterers whistled.

"-on the couch at my place!" Nite finished before scowling at the jeering youths. A foot-swipe of projectile snow with a tacked on "Shut the Fuck Up" sent them scurrying off.

After a lifetime of awkward silence, "oh" was all Dan came up with. Cold seemed to be rosin' up his face already. What does he have a condition?

"C'mon," Nite jerked his head at the bike. "I've got shit to do. Let's get outta here."

Dan nodded in awkward compliance. Maybe Nite oughta embarrass him regularly if it makes him this cooperative.

Grabbing the enimigoan's discarded coat along the way, the pair shivered on down to the motorcycle. Nite opened the bike's rear compartment only to frown at its vacancy. O'course this'd be day he forgot to pack medical supplies. Fuckin' great. Whatever. He's got an event to host.

Dan saddled up to the flamboyant biker without much fuss this time around. Could surmise that he felt too depleted n' defeated to mouth off. Good! Nite could use the silence. Afterall, the panicked human was not a planned addition to tonight's crime scene exploration. How the hell is he gonna sort this? Ugh.

His tail hurt.

The enimigoan took one last look at the false veneer of the "respectable" hotel they were leaving. Slumlord lowlife! Thinks he can summon Nite's old demons and get away with it? Just means the ennie content creator has got another topic to add to his backlog. He'll make sure to rip Ye'Vrekta's operation wide open, in due time.

Fueled by Nite's anger, the bike blasted off into the city.

Soft human arms jerked at the take-off to find purchase around Nite's waist. The way they clung for desperate life teased a feline smirk out of Nite's dour mood.

Maybe things aren't turning out [i]so[/i] bad.

___________________________________________

With some shame, Daniel had to admit he was still reeling from Nite's slip of the tongue.

Even now, [i]especially[/i] now, that he was nestled up so close to his enimigoan driver, it was hard go keep the more primal neurons from firing off in his brain. He felt like a nervous high schooler accidentally touching an attractive woman.

[i]That[/i] was one small detail he had been trying to keep his masculine brain from exploring all night. There's no way around it. Nite... was physically attractive. Ridiculously so. She even checked some xenophilic boxes Daniel didn't know he had.

Perverse thoughts. That's all they are, Daniel decided. The result of a life lived in social solitude. With effort, he shut down his id's distracting observations.

It was clear by this point that sleep was a lost cause. The engineer-to-be banked on the hope that he could hammer down some coffee-equivalent before the job interview, then pass out for a century after it was all over. Do enimigoans keep caffeinated beverages around? Where was this nutty biker taking him anyway?

He was going to tap on her shoulder to ask, when Daniel's blood-stained sleeve came into view. The place where Nite had ensnared him to get them away from the hotel. As the city lights flashed past them, the human engineer studied the enimigoan appendage encircling them. Now that the human thought of it, her tail wasn't coiled as tightly around him as the last time they rode. He looked to the side to see that the last nine inches or so of their tail length was hanging loose in the wind. Beneath the cloth that adorned it, he thought he could make out a blossoming bloodstain.

Right.

Nite was bleeding.

Moreso, she was bleeding because of him.

Warm breath puffed out in a sigh. The debt wouldn't start paying itself back. Now was as good a time to begin as any.

So, Daniel reached into his jacket.

___________________________________________

Torn cloth makes a peculiar sound at its separation, one Nite discerned from the deluge of noise surrounding their drive through the populous city. Horned ears flexed beneath the enimigoan's helmet. Huh. The tearing sound came from Dan.

Then he felt it.

The human was peeling back the ringed bit of puffy cloth around Nite's tail tip.

"Daniel!" The enimigoan shot a look over his shoulder at the molesting furhead. "Th'fuck man!?"

A sting of pain from something touching Nite's injury made him serve and nearly slam into oncoming traffic.

Naturally, [i]that's[/i] when Daniel chose to pipe up. "Watch the road you maniac!"

"Watch the!?- you're fingerin' up my wound and [i]I'm[/i] the maniac!? Tell me why I shouldn't throw your ass off!"

"I'm bandaging it!"

Wind howled around the speeding pair.

"What!?"

"I'm bandaging your wound!"

"No I heard that I just-.. alright I'm pullin' over!" Nite began decelerating into the shoulder lane. "You're so fuckin' weird man!"

Findin' a secluded spot in the sprawling metroplex isn't easy, but a brightly lit (and outside of workin' hours) strip mall seemed like an alright choice. Nite parked the bike in a spot under an evergreen situated a little distance from the highway. A cursory search from the enimigoan revealed no immediate danger. It'd do.

The low-rumbling bike was large enough to work well as an impromptu bench: one they could sit side by side on with ease. Without asking, Dan picked up where he left off on Nite's appendage.

The feeling of the human's nimble engineering fingers around his tail made the enimigoan dig his claws into their plush seat. So difficult to place. It hurt and yet... brought a tingling warmth to his center. Strange.

Where'd he get the bandages though? "You had wraps with you this whole time?"

"No."

Realization came to the investigatory content creator. The tearing sound. The way Dan seemed to be shivering more than usual.

"You ripped up your fancy jacket's inner lining? The hell's wrong with you?"

Dan shrugged. "My clothes are already in a sorry state. I might as well get some use out of them," he deflected.

Pursing his lips, Nite didn't fully buy it. Not with those involuntary tremors. Gonna do somethin' about that.

"Ha-wha!?" the human yelped in surprise when the enimigoan wrapped an arm around Dan's shoulder to to bring him in. Hip to hip now, Nite began rubbing Dan vigorously with both his pair'a hands, and the unscathed parts of his clothed tail. "Um-"

"Shush. Can't have ya turnin' into an icicle. Not on my bike you don't."

Dan had become stiff as a board.

"Did I say to stop?"

That seemed to kick the human outta' whatever was going on in his skull. He resumed his work on Nite's tail.

Errant flakes collected around the pair as they sat together under the lone plaza tree: Dan mending the enimigoan's wound with his own garment, while Nite did his best to keep the little human warm. Minutes passed in an odd sort of silent tranquility.

It took a moment for Nite to realize the human had stopped wrapping again. He was gonna reprimand him before the words caught in his throat. Daniel had... fallen asleep against the enimigoan's side.

Nite grabbed the PDA off his dash. He couldn't believe what he was about to do.

He informed his audience that there would have to be another delay.

The ennie content creator finished up the mending job that Dan had started, while being careful not to wake the human restin' on against his side. He couldn't help one minor indulgence though. Nite took the chance to run a gentle claw through the human's wavy mane. So [i]that's[/i] what human fur feels like. A hidden smile formed. One he aimed down at the silly, sweet lil' creature nestled against him.