Aarde: (No Pictures or Appendix)

By J.B. Williams and Stephen Zimmer

Holden Hosenheim is a Division 4 Agent, working under the Shio Branch. His job is to protect the Great Society of the Aarde Union and the Connected City, Shio, from the Revivalists, a narco-funded rebel group that produces and sells a memory enhancing drugs called N-Light. It's a hard job that he is content with.

But when an extraction mis

• Language: English
• Publisher: JB Writes Stuff
• Release date: Sep 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798218249649

J.B. Williams

One day I was born and decided to just roll with it.

Book preview

1

Planet: AARDE

System: LYOS

Sector: AARDE [Federation of Sol Systems Vassal]

Date: 20-JUN-2433

Holden Hosenheim never knew his middle name.

But he knows his citizen identification number is 0000-000-0111-505.

He knows it by heart, too. He is not sure if anybody else knows theirs by heart, but if they don’t, shame on them.

As for the problem of not knowing his middle name, he does not care about that. To him, it is trivial, and this has always led to one of three outcomes.

The older, fading generation would show him pity, for the lack of a middle name is the burden of a bastard. His generation would not care, for middle names are a piece of an era that they want dead. They gladly tore apart the past, to make way for the Great Society of the Aarde Union, and many even renounced their middle names as proof of loyalty. The newest generation, those not loyal to the GSAU would look at him with disgust; for not only is he a bastard, but it was his generation that took their future from them. The ones loyal to the established order don’t bother asking his name, unless he is placing an order.

That said, while those not loyal to the GSAU complain about a lack of a future and the fading of the past, Holden is not concerned about their grief. The past is meant to fade, and the future of Aarde will be the same as its present, and as Agent 505 of Division 4, he will make sure that it stays that way.

(((A)))

A convoy of four armored, long blocky carriers bounces down an uneven road. Dust trails them, and a field of tree stumps and dead grass with sparse trees and abandoned homes dot the landscape, with rising towers in the distance behind them. Sunlight shines through the carriers’ tinted windows, and eight armored personnel inside the carrier bob in their seats, with their short barrel rifles held close to them.

All of them are wearing black vests, gloves, and pads, with thick, dark gray underclothes. Their faces are covered by shemagh scarves, patterned with black, gray, and white-feathered stitches. Black hats and thick headphones with mouthpieces rest on their heads, and dark sunglasses cover their eyes. Their vests have D4 and select numbers in white printed on them, and their belts have extra ammo, plus a holstered pistol and a knife, cuffs, and brown spray can.

The people inside are quiet, and they are a mix of three humans, four avian humanoids called Avus, and a canine humanoid called a Lupinak. The Avus have talons for hands, long and thin tails that reach their knees, and small curved beaks. The canine humanoid has a thick tail going down to his shin, and his ears are stubby, fluffy, and triangular. The Agents' features are hidden by their outfits, and for the aliens, their tails are covered by sleeves.

"Three minutes to location," says a voice over the radio.

Spray down, orders a human with a nasal voice; he is a small, but bulky man named Quinton Passman, also known as Agent 105, and 105 is printed on his vest.

The team pulls out brown cans and spray themselves with a brown mist that smells like dirt and grass. The aerosol lingers in the air, and some cough, while one of the Avus speaks in a series of chirps and squawks, which makes another Avus laugh, a sound like a warbling whistle.

The lone Lupinak, Holden Hosenheim, Agent 505, pulls out a pocket watch and flips it open. Its gold case is dinged, some green has tainted its surface, and a white dove carrying an olive branch has faded. With it being open, a loud, uneven ticking floats into his ears. The hands on the watch twitch, with the seconds hand retracting one second before jumping two seconds. The minute hand trembles as it moves towards its next mark, and the hour hand remains stiff, only jumping to the next number when the hour is up,

Holden watches the seconds hand move, and he only looks up when Quinton speaks.

Remember, in and out. Nice and quick, says Quinton.

"Two minutes," says the voice over the radio.

The humans clench their rifles tighter, some of the Avus exchange nervous chatter with a mix of chirps, clicks, and squawks, and Holden slips his pocket watch back in its pouch and taps his rifle’s barrel against his snout. The carrier rattles and the convoy turns on a bend, and speeds towards a two-story house surrounded by dead plants, and old rusted and gutted vehicles.

"One minute."

You know the drill. Numbers only. Nobody reveals their faces or names, for any reason, says Quinton.

The carrier grinds to a halt, and the other three carriers speed past them and park on the other sides of the house. The interior flashes green, and Quinton stands up while the back opens to make a ramp.

Go! Go! Go! orders Quinton.

The team rushes out with Holden in the lead and his rifle ready to fire. His boots kick up dust as he approaches a door, passing rusted skeletons of old cars and a shed made of metal. He stops by the door and waits just past its frame, while the others get in position.

"Breach!" orders the voice over the radio.

Holden shoots the doorknob off, and an Avus kicks the door open before rushing inside. There are angry and surprised shouts and glass shatters as the team swarms the interior. Holden is the second to last to enter, and he finds himself in a living room with old furniture and dust being illuminated by the beams of light shining through the curtain.

A group of four male Lupinaks of various colors is on their knees with their hands on their heads, and rifles are kicked to the side by a pair of Avus. Two of the Lupinaks are in their early twenties, one is a late teenager, while the other is nearing forty.

All of them are wearing traditional Lupinak tunics, consisting of light long sleeves, pants, thick belts, and boots. Their attire has simple colors, but their bands have patterns styled in woven, feathered, or knots.

What's the meaning of this! says the oldest male.

We’re searching the premise, says Quinton, as he passes Holden and stares at them. Where are you hiding the contraband?

You can’t come in here! This is private property! says the teenager.

I wasn’t talking to you, Sparky, says Quinton.

"Vegnish cooshki," snarls the teenager.

Quinton yanks out his pistol and whacks him in the jaw. He falls to the ground, clutching his mouth with blood pooling past his fingers and staining his fur and clothes.

The oldest leaps up, just for Quinton to slam the butt of his pistol between his eyes. The Lupinak crumbles with blood trickling between his eyes, and he tries standing again but is kicked in the ribs, and then stomped on the back, before being pinned with the pistol pressed against his skull.

Take them outside except for this one. 505, come with me, orders Quinton.

The Avus speak with harsh squawks, clicks, and hisses as they cuff the Lupinaks, while Quinton drags his victim to the dining room with Holden in tow. As this happens, Holden’s watch ticks in his ears, and his feet test the floorboards and his fist taps the wall, but he doesn’t feel anything strange.

Small teams of Agents are moving around the house, ripping open cupboards, checking drawers, and tearing holes in the wall. Some are also moving upstairs, and others are tearing apart the floor.

When Quinton and Holden are in the dining room, Quinton shoves his victim in the chair, holsters his pistol, and pulls out a scanner and a case of sealed q-tips.

505, help me out, says Quinton.

Holden forces the Lupinak’s mouth open, and Quinto rubs a q-tip along his cheek. Once that is done, Quinton puts the q-tip in the scanner and waits. Holden releases the Lupinak and places his hand on his knife’s hilt, the sheathdisplaying a faded dove with an olive branch on it.

A few seconds later, the scanner beeps, and Quinton sits down, reading the information with his expression hidden. But Holden knows his brows are scrunched and his lips are puckered. As this happens, the noise of breaking wood and glass fills the air, and the ticking brings Holden’s ears to twitch slightly.

"You are not the owner of this household, Mr. Gorvin Yeshniv," says Quinton.

Gorvin, a Lupinak with brown fur, light brown eyes, dark brown mane on his head, and a thick tail, presses his hand against his wound.

"Gorvin Talos Yeshniv," says Gorvin.

Holden frowns behind his shemagh scarf, and Quinton stares at him for a few seconds.

"Right," says Quinton. Why are you on this property, Gorvin?

I’m watching it for a friend, says Gorvin.

Jarvis Vaan Luken? says Quinton.

Gorvin is silent, and Quinton nods at Holden.

Holden draws his knife and presses it against Gorvin’s throat.

"Jaq!" cries Gorvin.

Quinton leans forward, and Holden’s fingers twitch due to the ticking. His hand slides towards his pouch but stops when Quinton looks at him. When Holden retracts, Quinton looks at Gorvin.

You do know who Jarvis is, right? says Quinton.

He’s a businessman. Real estate. He was going to renovate this house as a summer getaway, says Gorvin.

This is a weird spot for a getaway. And you are house-sitting, right?

Gorvin nods. Yeah, you should see the pool he has in the back. It’s very nice.

Quinton snickers and looks at Holden. I like this guy. He’s funny.

That wasn’t funny, says Gorvin.

Quinton’s voice becomes darker. Oh, so you’re not funny? Then why are you wasting my time!

Gorvin smirks, and Quinton looks at Holden again.

505, do your thing, says Quinton.

Holden presses his knife harder against Gorvin’s throat and begins sawing back and forth, tearing through the layer of brown fur and skin, and drawing blood.

"Jaq! Stop! Stop!" says Gorvin.

Stop, 505, orders Quinton.

Holden pulls the knife back and rubs the blood off on his sleeve while Gorvin leans forward and holds his neck, now stained in red, like his tunic. He swallows, and his nostrils flare as he glares at Holden with his ears splayed.

"Judiez," growls Gorvin.

Holden’s canine ears flick, but he remains quiet while the ticking taunts him, and Gorvin looks at Quinton. Behind Quinton, Agents are still tearing apart the place.

If there is any contraband, I can show you where it will most likely be, says Gorvin.

Any tricks? says Quinton.

No. The shed out there, Jarvis told us not to look in it. If the contraband is on this property, that’s where it’ll be.

Alright, up and at ‘em, says Quinton.

Holden pulls Gorvin up, binds his hands behind his back, and then follows Quinton out of the dining room. When they enter the living room, Quinton snaps at two Avus who are standing by the fireplace, inspecting decorative plates.

Hey, you two, come with me, says Quinton.

The two Avus, labeled as 615 and 622 on their vests, drop the plates and follow Quinton. The plates shatter and Quinton throws his hands up.

Seriously? says Quinton.

615 starts chirping, but Quinton waves him off.

Whatever, follow me, says Quinton.

The group goes outside, and they pass the other three Lupinaks, who are on their knees with their hands on their heads, guarded by four Avus aiming their short barrel rifles at them.

Quinton leads his group around the side of the house, each of their steps kicking up thin clouds of dry dirt, and they pass a few of the abandoned vehicles before they reach the shed. It is a simple structure, made of old, splintering wood and a metal roof.

The door is also metal, but when 615 pulls on it, they find that it is unlocked. A rush of stale, hot air rushes out, making the pair of Avus wave away the air and cough. Inside are coolers, bags of clothes, and boxes of junk.

You two, search the shed, says Quinton. 505, take this prick and follow me.

The two Avus begin throwing out the coolers, bags, and boxes, and Quinton leads Holden near the abandoned vehicles. Holden keeps a tight hold on Gorvin, and the three watch the two work in silence, while the ruckus from the inside of the house provides some background noise.

How much contraband are we going to find? asks Quinton.

Gorvin shrugs. I don’t know. It’s not my house.

Quinton grunts and Holden checks his watch, which earns him a glare from his superior.

Will you stop checking that thing? says Quinton.

Holden quickly puts it away, and Quinton shakes his head.

Voj dang, I swear you’re obsessed with that stupid thing, says Quinton.

Is that a full hunter pocket watch? asks Gorvin.

Holden’s ear twitches, and Gorvin smiles.

It’s a nice watch, but your profession is much too dangerous for it. Maybe you should retire and go for something more peaceful, says Gorvin.

Maybe you should shut up, says Quinton.

I wasn’t talking to you.

But I’m talking to you, and if you speak again, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.

Gorvin’s muzzle scrunches and his ear and tail twitch, but he remains quiet, and the three resume watching the pair of Avus.

A couple of minutes later, 615 stops and kneels as he tilts his head in question. In the back of the shed is a trapdoor with a thick padlock on it. He tugs on the padlock and speaks to 622 in fast clicks and chirps.

622 nods and runs to their vehicle, passing Quinton’s group in the process. Holden checks his watch again, and Gorvin glances at him out of the corner of his eye.

A minute later, 622 returns with bolt cutters and goes to a padlock on the trapdoor. 615 steps back, so 622 can work, and a few seconds of struggle passes before the lock breaks. Then, 622 opens the trapdoor and-

A flash of fire and black smoke blasts Holden, Quinton, and Gorvin back. Shattered wood and broken metal twist in the air and bounce on the ground, as the shock wave shatters the glass.

Holden’s head cracks against the ground, and his ears ring and his vision spins as he lays on the ground, gasping for air. But despite the ringing, he can still hear the ticking.

Dust rolls over the three, but it quickly dissipates, and Holden rolls to his knees and coughs. One arm quivers, and his fingers dig into the dusty dirt as he presses his other hand against his chest.

He wants to take off his shemagh scarf to get more air, but that would compromise his identity. He needs to leave it on.

Off to the side, Quinton lays on his back, groaning and cursing, but before Holden can approach him, a pair of human Agents rush to him and help him up, while the Agents from inside the house swarm outside. They have Quinton sit on his knees, and they put their hands on his shoulders and talk to him, but Holden can’t understand them, since his ears are still ringing and have the uneven ticking in them.

Holden’s limbs throb, and his heart beats heavy. He winces and pushes himself to sit on his knees and feels the back of his head. His head still feels loose and is throbbing, but there is no blood on his hand, and his hands shake, as he looks at the crater that used to be the shed.

He takes deep breaths and opens his pocket watch. The hands are still twitching and indecisive, and he sighs with relief. Next to him, Gorvin lays motionless in a pool of blood, with wood and glass piercing him. Then, there are multiple bursts of gunfire and short, sharp screams.

Son of a- Quinton scrambles to his feet, draws his pistol, and Holden follows him, while the Agents aim their weapons at the source.

Nearby, the three other Lupinaks lay dead, riddled with holes. Their blood is soaked up by the dry ground, and Quinton yanks down his shemagh scarf, revealing a blocky, yet pudgy, face with black eyes, pasty skin, and thin dark hair.

He stomps towards the four Avus standing over the bodies. They are chirping and squawking excitedly, and one of them kicks the teenager’s corpse.

What the fuck did you birdbrains do! screams Quinton as he rushes to them.

The Avus stop and look at him, and one of the executioners speaks in fast clicks, chirps, and squawks, and is immediately punched in the beak by Quinton. The Avus drops, and the other three lunge at him, but they are held back by the human Agents while the other Avus shout at them in their avian language.

While this happens, Holden pulls out his watch and watches the pair of hands slide along their circular path, with the ticking in tune with the seconds. After a few seconds pass, he puts his watch back and looks at Gorvin's corpse, and then at the small crater that was once the shed.

He goes to the edge, passing the mangled Avus Agents and the burnt splinters and twisted metal, and he kneels to look inside the hole. There is nothing there.

Holden rubs his hands together, sits on the ground, and stares at the unending stretch of dirt and tree stumps. Then he reaches up to his scarf and grips its fabric. He is about to pull it down, but stops, drops his hand, and stares out again, and there he remains.

2

The afternoon sun beats down on Holden and sweat soaks the inside of his hat and scarf. The sun’s rays are dimmed by his sunglasses, and his steps are sluggish, as he paces around the crater and ignores the blood in the dirt.

The bodies of the departed have been moved. One section for the Agents, another for the Lupinaks, and all the bodies are covered by weighted black tarps. The ticking is steady in Holden’s ears, and his fingers tap his rifle in tune with its beat, as the Agents mosey around with various items lined up, ranging from boxes to books, and clothes to bags, as well as a rifle, a pair of pistols, and steak knives.

The rest of the Division 4 Agents have pulled down their scarves, revealing their faces. The Avus also took off their hats and headsets, so that their colorful feathered crests can move freely. The only one who hasn’t removed their cover is Holden.

Hey, take off your mask, orders Quinton.

Holden looks at Quinton and sees him holding two bottles of water, with one held out to him.

Holden hesitates but puts the headset around his neck and pulls off his scarf and hat, revealing thin gray fur covering his canine face. Thick, dark gray fur covers the top of his head, and the same color moves down to trace his muzzle and curves down at his whiskers. His gray eyes are also surrounded by dark gray fur, like that of a raccoon. With the hat and scarf off, Holden runs his gloved hand through the thick fur on his head to wipe the sweat off, and Quinton smiles.

There you are. There’s Grumpy, says Quinton.

He gives Holden the bottle of water, and after Holden starts drinking, Quinton resumes speaking.

Xajil Ojin is on his way here, he says. Just a warning, he might not be happy about the mess.

Why would he be happy? asks Holden, his voice having a low growl. We have four dead suspects, two dead Agents, and a hole in the ground.

The good news is that all these Lupes were in the system, so we aren’t at a dead end. We search their records, scout their internet history and bank accounts, interview associates on their social media friends list, et cetera, and we’ll be back on Jarvis Vaan Luken’s trail.

Holden grunts and Quinton sips his water.

Don’t get moody with me. You didn’t have to kill anybody today, says Quinton.

"They didn’t have to kill anybody," says Holden.

They were resisting arrest, and that’s the story we’ve all agreed on.

Holden grunts, sips his water again, and looks at the Agents standing around or working. The ones that are working are taking inventory or photos, and the ones standing around are doing it in the shade offered by the house.

By the way, we have fifteen minutes until Xajil arrives, says Quinton.

Holden checks his watch and returns it after a few seconds while looking at Quinton.

How did they resist arrest? asks Holden.

They shot at us. The teenager got up close and personal, so I decked him, but he kept at it, so we shot him, says Quinton. As for you? You did nothing special. All you did was blast the door. You got nothing to worry about, other than making sure your paperwork matches ours. So…

Quinton puts his hand on Holden’s shoulder and leads him to the group under the shade, while whistling to the others and ordering them to huddle up. Once everyone is bunched up, Quinton starts speaking.

Here’s the deal, Xajil Ojin is coming in less than fifteen minutes, and we got a mess, so let’s make sure our story is airtight, says Quinton.

Will the Lupe cooperate? asks a human Agent; he is labeled as 344 and has light brown skin and a shaved head. He is Victor Viken.

He will, says Quinton.

The group stares at Holden skeptically, and he calmly sips his water.

We don’t have much time, so let’s get started! says Quinton.

The group spends the next few minutes going over the details of their story, and while the Agents are frantic and stressed, Holden is calm on the outside. On the inside, his thoughts are a blur, and he frequently checks his watch, while trying to keep his ear from twitching due to its ticking.

Time is going by fast, and when it reaches the fifteen-minute mark, Holden hears a faint mechanical scream that gradually gets louder. He looks in the direction of the sound and sees a dot in the air rapidly approaching their location.

Xajil is coming, says Holden.

Quinton turns to where Holden is looking, and waves everyone out of the shade.

Alright, let’s look pretty for the boss! says Quinton.

The Agents scramble around, doing last-minute checkups on the assorted items and parking their vehicles in a neat row at the edge of the property. When the screaming engines become noticeable for everyone, Quinton orders everyone into a line, and it goes Avus, then human, with Holden at the very end of the line. He puts his sunglasses and hat back on, and he rests his hand on his knife hilt as the dot gains features.

Hey, get your hand off that thing. What’s the matter with you? says Quinton.

Holden removes his hand, and Quinton sighs and puts on his hat and sunglasses. Holden is quiet, and he stiffens like pulled wire when the craft is above them, with sunlight reflecting off its black paint and tinted windows.

The multiple screaming turbine engines force Holden’s ears down to dull the pain, and thick clouds of dirt are kicked up with the rushing air pushing against the Agents. The craft is large and looks like a metal brick, with stubby wings that have fat turbine engines on their tips, and its long tail has two more small engines. All four engines are on ball-and-socket joints, and the nose is like a dull spear tip.

The engines rotate as the craft slowly lands with four legs unfurling from beneath it. The legs buckle a bit when the craft lands and the engines die down, leaving overlapping hums that vibrate Holden’s ears. He flexes his hand, and his eyes focus on the craft, as a pair of miniguns roll out from beneath it, and a ramp opens from its underside.

After the ramp touches the dirt, an elderly male Avus walks out with four escorts wearing Division 4 armor and armed with short barrel rifles. The Avus they are guarding has red plumage with a purple crest that has black tips. His eyes are gold, but they are weighed down with dark bags. His small, curved beak is also black, with a gold stripe running down the middle, between his nostrils. His talons are quite sharp, too, and his tail mimics his crest’s pattern.

He is also wearing a black suit with a red tie, and a gray vest with a gold chain hanging from his pocket. This is Xajil Ojin, Director of Division 4, Shio Branch.

The Agents are quiet as Xajil approaches them with steps that Holden can barely hear, and when he stops, his eye ridges scrunch slightly and his round, gold eyes dart over each of them. He puts focus on the Avus Quinton punched.

No one moves, and he walks past them and approaches the crater where the shed used to be, while his guards remain watching the Agents. Xajil stops for a moment to look at the dark red areas where the bodies used to be, and then resumes going to the shed’s crater.

He looks inside the crater, his crest twitches, and then he goes to the two dead Avus Agents and lifts their tarps. After inspecting their bodies, he returns the tarps and goes to the line of dead Lupinaks. He looks under each tarp to inspect their bodies. Several minutes pass before he goes to the house.

Holden tilts his head slightly and sees Xajil inspecting the door he shot. He looks back when Quinton clears his throat. Several more minutes pass, and Holden blinks sweat out of his eyes, and his ear and nose twitch.

The ticking from his watch is loud, and four Agents in front of him, two Avus and two humans, smell like the dirt spray.  When Xajil returns, he is talking on a phone with bird-like noises, and when he hangs up, he stops in front of the group and looks at Quinton.

Quinton Stool, step forward, says Xajil; he has a slight hiss in his heavy, gravelly voice.

Quinton obeys. Yes sir?

I told crime scene investigators to remain back until I gave the call for them to move forward. I just finished the call. Is there anything you want to tell me before they begin their investigation?

No sir.

Nothing at all?

Nothing sir.

Step back in line.

Quinton goes back in line, and Xajil talks to the Avus Quinton punched, and when that talk ends, he goes to Holden. Despite the older Avus being in front of him, Holden still looks past his shoulder and sees a cloud of dust approaching them.

Holden Hosenheim, is there anything I need to know before the CSIs begin investigating? asks Xajil.

Holden hesitates. There was…

Quinton’s jaw tightens.

Trouble. The four Lupinkas resisted arrest, and the shed was rigged with explosives, says Holden.

Xajil scrutinizes Holden, and the Lupinak stares back, digging his fingers in his palms to hide the shakes. He lets spit pool in his mouth to keep himself from swallowing. When Xajil looks down to pull out his watch, Holden swallows, and then his eyes look at the Avus’s hunter pocket watch. The gold plating is smooth and polished, without any symbols, and when he clicks it open, he sees the hands are going their route without any numbers or symbols to show him the time. The watch is also completely silent, with the seconds hand traveling smoothly in its circle like an ice skater.

When Xajil closes his watch, Holden’s eyes snap up, and the Avus looks at the line of Agents.

All of you get back into your vehicles and return to HQ. CSIs will take it from here, says Xajil.

The Agents quickly return to their respective vehicles. Inside Holden’s carrier, Quinton takes a deep breath and then laughs. The driver, an Avus, starts the engine, and the carrier rumbles to life and leads the way down the road. One by one, like a thread, the other carriers follow, and Quinton moves to Holden’s side and slaps him in the arm again.

You had me worried there for a second, says Quinton.

Holden’s hands tremble and he takes a big gulp of water, while Victor leans forward.

Don’t scare us like that, says Victor. I thought you were going to rat us out for a second there.

Holden takes another big gulp and then throws away the empty bottle, and Quinton laughs again and pats Victor’s leg.

You know, from the raid to the bomb going off, and now this… Man, I can use a drink! Bar after the paperwork? says Quinton.

Hell yeah! says Victor.

The other Agents voice their agreements, and Holden bangs his head against his seat. He rubs his shaking hands together, then pulls out his watch to check the time. After that, he returns the watch, closes his eyes, and lets all the outside noise fade away. Soon, it is just him and the ticking in the darkness.

Ti-Tick. Ti-Tock.

Ti-Tick. Ti-Tock.

Ti-Tick. Ti-Tock.

3

Darkness surrounds Holden. Ticking thumps in his ears, and cold, sharp wind rushes past him with flashes of heat bashing against him. There is a mechanical screaming behind him, and metal tears and glass shatters, as alarms sound off.

Each alarm brings a small flash of red in front of him, slowly revealing a console with broken screens and a steering stick. The ticking gets louder, and the darkness breaks to clouds of various shades of gray rolling over each other, and flecks of snow slipping through jagged holes in the windows. Firelight reflects off the interior, and when the clouds break, a vast forest of snow-covered trees appears, and-

Holden jerks awake, heart racing and hands clutching his rifle tight. His eyes dart around the jeep, and he sees Quinton and Victor casually chatting, while the Avus talk among themselves. When Quinton sees Holden, he grins.

Grumpy finally woke up, says Quinton. Did you have a good sleep?

Holden wipes his face. No.

Of course you didn’t, says Victor.

Hey, we’re about to enter the city, says Quinton. There’s also been a change of plans. When we get the paperwork stuff done, we’re going to hit the clubs instead of the bars. Maybe get laid. Club chicks are better than bar chicks, anyway. Bar chicks are fucking ugly, disease-ridden rats that steal your kidney.

Holden nods and Victor pats Quinton’s shoulder sympathetically.

By the way, you’re invited, says Quinton.

I can’t. I’m busy, says Holden.

Doing what?

Work.

Watching TV is not work.

Holden glares at Quinton. Then the Avus driver chirps and clicks, and Quinton looks out the window and smiles.

Alright, we’re almost home, says Quinton.

The carrier passes a large sign saying Welcome to Shio in three languages. The runic letters of Gacerean, the language of the Gacerean Lupinaks, which says Wevnoonut Shio, the swirls and orbs of the Avus, which they call their language Avir. Their words say Sheshna lo Shio. Lastly, a mix of jagged and swirling letters that make the Aarden language; it says Hivnoosh lot Shio..

The sign is inside a brick structure, surrounded by a row of large lights that would be active during the night. Above it is a hollow, gold five-point star, with hands shaking inside it. There are smaller lights underneath it. Decorative flowers surround the sign, and off in the distance is a large city, with a ring of closely packed, large towers of Shio looming over the roads and smaller buildings.

They sparkle in the sunlight, and the surrounding buildings get smaller the further they go. The interstate leading inside the city is ten lanes, with the two outer lanes empty and the remaining eight crowded.

The convoy enters the city using one of the segregated, freshly paved outer lanes. It is marked with a blue shield and a crossed-out civilian vehicle. The eight lanes the civilians use is crowded with small vehicles that shine in the sunlight. All of them are decorated in their special ways, creating a disorienting river of a multitude of colors and patterns, and some are blasting music loud enough to rattle the windows of the jeep.

Holden’s hands clench at that, but the others don’t seem to mind, and the convoy keeps a steady pace. They pass underneath lampposts that have rings of cameras. Stretching across the entire highway are billboards depicting flashy advertisements of food, services, events, and movies. They also have lines of cameras on either side, and lights hanging beneath them.

Flying overhead are blocky aircrafts spewing bright blue exhaust from their round engines. Each of them is holding large trailers with claw-like latches, and the trailers have corporate logos stamped on them.

Due to the segregated road being empty, the convoy can travel at great speed, passing the sludge of civilian vehicles with ease. Though, while they travel, Holden sees graffiti scribbled on the wall in Gacerean, saying, Mevmo Vagsten! or, as translated, "Remember Vagsten!"

Holden watches the graffiti, and when it is out of sight, he notices Quinton and Victor staring at him. Nobody says anything, though. A few more minutes pass, and the convoy reaches the buildings of the Outer Ring of Shio.

They still get separate lanes, but now they must deal with traffic lights and stop signs. As they travel, they pass broken sidewalks with lampposts that have rings of cameras, old garbage cans with worn down decorations of mountains and trees, and numerous businesses with bars on their windows and doors, and advertisements clutter their walls. There are plenty of abandoned buildings collapsing on themselves, too, and a billboard towering over the slum reads: A Brighter Future, From the Improving the Impoverished Foundation

The broken sidewalk is crowded with Avus, humans, and a few Lupinaks, and a few other alien species in the Federation of Sol Systems that have immigrated to Aarde. Some of the modified humans look very different from other humans, so for all he knows, some of the aliens could very well be humans with tampered genes or augmented body parts.

However, the similarities all the alien species have is that they are all holding either greasy bags of fast food or oversized bags from various stores. They are also wearing clothing ranging from bulky, eyesore clothes, to Lupinak tunics desecrated with obnoxious colors and patterns and ornaments.

There is also a group of people gathered outside a police station, carrying signs in various languages that demand an end to police brutality or lower food prices. They are quickly pepper sprayed, beaten down, and cuffed.

They also pass a group of Lupinaks watching the scene unfold. They are gathered at the steps of an apartment complex repaired with patchwork and are wearing traditional Lupinak tunics. The Lupinaks watch the police, and then look at the convoy go by.

The convoy drives a few more minutes until they reach a wall separating the center of Shio from the rest of the city. The wall is thirty feet high, solid concrete with lights in even intervals and barbed spikes angled out.

Round drones with propellers fly around, and the convoy stops at a secluded gate house, where a guard wearing a blue tunic underneath a dark blue vest wait. The guard is a human, and he speaks Avus with the Avus driver. After they talk, more guards come out with mirrors attached to poles. They inspect the vehicle and check everyone’s IDs before they are let through.

Once they are let through, they enter Shio’s center; it is informally known as the Core. The towering structures of the Core pierce the sky. They give Holden a sense of vertigo, and they are connected to each other through ringed walkways.

Drones fly around the streets and more of the aircrafts carrying trailers sail overhead. The streets are freshly paved, the sidewalks are decorated, the walls are built with fine materials and have expertly crafted murals depicting humans, Avus, and other alien races of various crafts working in harmony underneath the star with the shaking hands. There are Lupinaks, but they are off to the side.

The convoy turns to a long building with towering pillars, tinted windows, and mason work that resembles broken glass. The convoy turns to the edge of the building and enters a brightly lit garage with smooth concrete pillars and new paint, and there are lines of vehicles like their jeeps.

They park their jeeps, and when they get out, the teams sign entrance logs and return their weapons, radios, and keys to an armory, which is being watched by a dark-skinned human with short hair, and an Avus with green plumage and a red and blue-tipped crest. Most of them exchange small talk, but Holden remains quiet when he turns in his rifle and pistol. When he is about to leave, the human clears his throat.

Holden looks at him questionably.

The knife? says the human.

It’s mine, says Holden, as he tightens his grip on his knife’s hilt. He looks at the human’s tag. Sower.

No weapons allowed in the facility, says Sower.

He’s fine, says the Avus, his tag saying Hajir, and having the same hiss and lisp as Xajil. He looks at Holden, and his smile reveals the sharp fangs behind his beak. Sorry, Holden. He is in training.

Sower looks at the rulebook, but Hajir puts his hand on top of it and shakes his head. Then Quinton puts his hand on Holden’s shoulder and pulls him away from the window.

Come on, Holden, let’s get cleaned up. The quicker we get done, the quicker we can do fun stuff, says Quinton.

Holden nods and follows Quinton out. When they reach the locker room, the Agents are already taking off their uniform and putting them in hampers or stacks. Scarves for one, pants for another, shirts for the third, underclothes for the fourth, and the vests are stacked on a table. There is a wall of washers and dryers, and a conveyor belt with hangars leading to a large device that can be compared to a miniature, and very thin, car wash. Nearby is a table with a pictogram on proper folding and hanging procedures.

The Agents are in front of their respective lockers and grabbing their towels and cleaning products. Each of them is very fit with muscles of various sizes, from toned to large. Even the normally lanky Avus are comparable to their human allies, and some of them have faded scars to go with them.

When Holden reaches his locker, marked 505, he is quick to unlock it, and his hands shake as he pulls his gloves off and removes his hat, scarf, vest, and clothes. His hands are marked with faint scars, and the black fur on his head goes down his spine and to his large tail. He grabs his towel and caddy of body care products and goes to the shower, with his knife and watch in the bucket.

The shower is next to the locker room, and his heart is heavy, and his breathing shallow as he goes into the steamy room. The multitude of showerheads spraying out the hot water creates a ruckus of hard patters that is suffocating. He chooses one at the very back that has a privacy curtain and turns on the water.

The rush of water immediately pelts his head. The mix of sweat and grime break apart and trail down his brawny shoulders, go down his snout, and splatter down below. He closes his eyes and bangs his head against the wall, and-

Holden Hosenheim, says a new, pleasant voice.

Holden blinks and finds himself sitting in the hallway, his hand clutching his watch and his knife sheathed on his hip. He is wearing gray slacks, a white shirt, and a gray blazer, with black shoes. He smells like pine, his fur is no longer thick with grime, but smooth and soft, and he is looking at a young, female Lupinak.

She has cool gray fur, cadet gray for her mane, which is tied into a ponytail, and light blue eyes, and her tail has some white fluff on the underside. She is wearing a simple blue uniform that includes a skirt, jacket, and long socks. Her tag says Tia, and if Holden remembers correctly, her first name is Summer. But he only heard it in passing, when she was talking to someone else, so he could be wrong. That said, Holden stares at her, and Tia points at the door.

They are ready to see you, says Tia with a smile.

Holden nods, stands up, and gives her a quick look before entering the room. It is spacious, empty, and brightly lit, with their flag hanging on the wall at the far end. Quinton and Victor are there, talking and laughing with a pair of humans and Avus.

The four are wearing crisp blue suits with the star pin and polished black shoes and medals on their chests. Quinton and Victor are dressed casually, though. When they see Holden, Quinton grins and waves him forward. Holden swallows and goes forward, one hand on his knife hilt and the other thumbing his watch. When he is by the group, Quinton sees what Holden is doing, and he sneers and waves at the knife and watch.

Come on, you’re killing me with that quirk! says Quinton.

Holden reluctantly clamps his hands in front of him, and Quinton puts his hand on Holden’s arm and points at him, while flashing a grin at the four.

This guy and his quirks. Every day is a struggle, says Quinton.

The four force a smile, but Holden sees the discontent in their eyes. Smells it too.

I’m here to file the report about the incident during our raid, says Holden.

Don’t worry about it, says Quinton.

Holden stares at Quinton with a mix of shock and confusion.

What? says Holden.

They got it taken care of, says Quinton.

We all agreed that they resisted arrest. Your role was minimal, and everyone was saying the same thing anyway, therefore, your testimony is not needed, says one of the humans. A pale, bald man with dim green eyes. This is Darius Jules.

Also, no one will care, says an Avus. He towers over everyone, has a blood-red beak and eyes, and dark gray feathers with a black and white crest. This is Caro Naji. Xajil won't rock the boat too much and will gladly sweep it under the rug just to avoid the headache.

Then why am I here? asks Holden.

Simple. We need you to sign a packet that solidifies the accuracy of everything and acts as a nondisclosure agreement, so that way nobody goes blabbing about anything other than the established narrative, says Quinton. Victor, give him the packet.

Victor goes to the desk behind the group and gives Holden a folder. Holden flips through it and sees that it contains talking points and specific details regarding the incident. From the bombing, to the Lupinaks resisting arrest, and various other details, as well as the legal jargon of an NDA.

I… Holden looks up and sees everyone staring at him critically. Accept.

Good. Let’s get trashed, says Quinton.

4

The dark purple night sky has almost consumed the orange and rosy colors of the setting sun. The many shades clash in the middle, and the decorative lampposts have turned on with larger lights on the roofs of the Core’s skyline pushing against the oncoming darkness. Uniformed modeled cars decorated with various colors and patterns clog the street with different music playing from their speakers, and Quinton’s car is no different.

Holden sits in the back of Quinton’s car, ears hurting and fingers digging into his palm or scraping against the top of the other fingers as the music vibrates the speakers and windows. Holden has no idea what the musicians are saying. All he hears is noise, with an uncoordinated mess passing off as a melody.

What is this mess called? Is it electronic? Electronica? Electro-dub? He can never remember, but every time he hears it, he hates it. The good news is, that even with this obnoxious music, he can still hear his watch clearly. It is ticking in tune with his heart, as it always has and always will.

Quinton and Victor are watching the street signs while Holden is watching the cameras on the lampposts. He can see them adjust their lenses every so often, when someone in the crowded sidewalk does something wrong. Drones also fly around at a couple dozen feet, but the populace is too entranced by the music and colorful holographic displays projecting from the walls to care.

Back inside the car, the humans raise their voices so they can hear each other speak, and Holden reclines in his seat and looks at his hands. Tiny dots of blood are growing bigger on his padded palms and staining the gray fur on his fingers. He retracts his claws, tightly cups his hands together, and stares ahead. The lights and bodies drift by, and Holden closes his eyes and steadies his breathing.

In time, the chaos fades, but the ticking remains. When Holden opens his eyes again, Quinton and Victor are still talking. The car turns into a parking garage next to a towering structure resembling an obelisk, lined with tubes of slowly rotating neon lights representing the visible light spectrum. As the tubes spin, each color gets a chance to shine. From violet to indigo, blue to green, yellow to orange, and, finally, red to violet. It is a mesmerizing rotation, and when Quinton pulls into the parking garage, the first floor is illuminated with violet light. Quinton keeps driving until they get to the orange floor, and he takes a spot that is fortunately near a walkway, with its door surrounded by orange light.

They go through the door and walk down the fogged glass tunnel, and when they get to the other side, they are greeted by a large Avus and a normal, scrawny sized Avus. Both are wearing black clothes with neon orange stripes on their chest, and the scrawny one has a wrist-top pad with a card reader. Quinton pulls out his ID card and gives it to the scrawny Avus.

How's it going, Baju? asks Quinton, while showing his badge and pistol to the larger Avus.

The Avus nods, while the scrawny Avus, Baju Maju, types on his pad.

Another day, and maybe another ear replacement, says Baju. His pad beeps, and he returns the card to Quinton. Four hundred gailos fee paid. Enjoy your night at The Obelisk.

Oh, I will.

Quinton steps aside, so Victor and Holden can have their IDs scanned, and that was after they showed their badges and weapons (pistol for Victor, knife for Holden) to the other guard. Once they are done, all of them are given neon-orange bands and let in.

The thumping music shakes the walls, and Holden stays behind the two humans as they make their way down the hall. While walking, Holden looks over his shoulder and sees Baju inspecting more IDs from a group of humans and Avus, and he looks ahead when Victor speaks.

Four hundred gailos fee is bullshit, says Victor.

"Hey, no complaining. We had a bad day at work, so let's unwind, have some drinks,