by Naomi Lucas
His canines emerged, popping out his teeth as they clattered on the ground at his feet. His nostrils flared with the smell of fresh copper blood—potent and thick enough for him to taste it in the air. Gunner reared his head back as his snout shot out from his skull, pulling and tugging, tucking and twisting his elasticized skin until it stiffened into place. His lower legs haunched and his tail thwacked against his back legs. Metal on metal.
It felt so good.
Brent squirmed, choking under his grip, bloodshot eyes wide with terror. But the squirming, the fishy movements of an agonized struggle was what really got him.
Really made him crave fish.
A low rumble formed in the back of his throat. A growl filled the tiny space. Gunner pulled back his lips and the guns on his cheeks cut in half as his mandible dropped to reveal the sharp teeth behind them. He puffed one hot breath over Brent’s face before he tore it off.
The body he held took time to die. It seized and flapped and fought him until the very end, and once it finally stopped, he’d already shifted back into the man he pretended to be. One who watched blood pool at his feet with blood-red eyes.
Gunner released the corpse and reached for the shower cord, feeding it back into the wall and screwing the top head back in. When he was done, water spewed over him and gurgling spurts. The time still ticked in his head.
He washed the blood from his body, from beneath his nails, and his hair, then lifted his foot and washed that off too before stepping out and away from the husk crumbled at the bottom. He searched around the floor and found all of his teeth, disposing of them in a nearby trash receptacle.
When Gunner was done, he used his visuals to scan for any lingering evidence of his person, finding nothing but wayward nanocells already crumbling in on themselves and dying.
He left the water running and the corpse beneath it, closing the door behind him to pick up his clothes, dressing in record time.
He stilled. His fingers straightened and clenched at his sides as a slow smile lifted his lips. Gunner moved to the nightstand next to the bed and opened the side door. In it lay one of his guns. He could always sense when one was nearby.
His gun. An AMT AutoMag Starnaught III. Not one of his favorites but one of his personal stock all the same. Oh, sweet baby, gunner girl. He traced his fingers along its side before he grasped it and checked its chamber. His bullets remained within, unfired and perfect. He lifted the weapon to his nose and breathed. Disgusted and excited by the smells that flooded his nose.
It smelled like the man he’d just killed.
Gunner returned to the bathroom and cleaned the metal, ignoring the body in the shower and rubbed his own smell back all over it. He found a leather gun strap and banded it around his inner thigh, covered by his pants, and secured his firearm in place.
An extension of himself. His first taste of conquest with the job at hand.
He made his way back through the crew deck, eager to get to his cell. An airy chuckle escaped his lips. His cock was stiff from the action.
The security feeds surged and fizzled once to account for the time lost.
The elevator doors opened and the sour smells of the brig returned to him full force and with it, Ely’s weak sweet smell hidden like a needle in a haystack within. Gunner reached for his boots when a familiar laughter stopped him.
A familiar smell accompanied it. He straightened and followed the noise and ended up at the same room he passed earlier.
“Juke’s got a spot to fill.”
“Of course he does. Fucker can’t keep a ship this big running with what he’s got,” the man snickered.
That laugh. Gunner dropped his boots letting the noise echo heavy and hard down the hallway.
“What was that?”
“Hell if I know?”
“Shit must’ve fallen over,” one of them sighed audibly. “I’ll go check it out.”
“You do you,” the man with the laugh grunted.
Gunner waited, listening to the footfalls steadily coming closer to his location. His hand stretched out, fingers spread, as he loosened his joints. The lights dimmed above him and he closed his eyes. The woosh of air being expelled sounded, the last noise of a man who hadn’t kept his guard up while stepping into the hallway.
The lights went out. Gunner opened his eyes, grabbed the man by the back of his head, and pulled him against his chest. He felt the guard’s racing pulse before he snapped the man’s neck.
“What the—?” A series of noises—a steel chair skidding, an intake of breath, items hitting the ground—filled Gunner’s ears from the room beyond. “What’d you do to the fucking lights!?”
The corpse sagged and Gunner lowered it softly to the floor.
“Lenny, you there? This better not be some trick!”
He stepped over the body and began to laugh.
“Shit, man, what’s wrong with you? Turn the lights back on. Ballsy’s going to kill us for this!”
No, I’m going to kill you for this. Gunner continued laughing, cackling as he moved closer to his prey. The bones in his face vibrating, hoping for another shift again. The darkness couldn’t stop him. He knew where his victim was without night vision, without lights.
“Stop laughing, Lenny...”
It only made Gunner screech and chuckle louder, moving in a steady circle around the guard, disregarding the chairs and toppled supplies in his way. This is fun. His laughter became genuine. Freshly expelled sweat thick in the air, and the stench of fear replaced everything else in his head.
“I’m going to kill you for—”
Gunner roared with laughter. He closed the distance and grabbed the man before he could slither farther away and bellowed the noise into his terrified face.
It drowned out the struggle as Gunner pulled the man upright and let his own eyes bleed red with light. An angry moment of recognition.
The guard punched him in the gut before reaching for the gun hanging off his side. Gunner expelled air and covered the guard’s hand with his own. The man’s finger pressed over the trigger, and Gunner pushed his own over it, crushing it and wrenching the man’s wrist to face away.
They twisted to the ground, filling the room with bellowing threats and grunts, and, of course, laughter. Gunner straddled him on the floor, gaining leverage. He kept the gun pointed away, pressing into the man’s broken finger bones to subdue him, with only the red of his eyes to illuminate the scene.
With his other hand, he slammed the guard’s head into the floor and fought the gun upward. His prey kicked out his legs and rammed his fist into Gunner’s nose.
“You don’t give up, do you?” he chuckled through the momentary sting.
But time was ticking and he’d already spent far too long outside his cell.
The ship’s sirens blared off as if fate itself watched the events unfolding and knew his thoughts.
“I’m going to kill you! I’m going to fucking kill you!” the guard screeched.
Gunner tsked, “I told you that you to watch your skin.” And with one final sickening giggle, he crushed the bones in his grip and pushed the barrel of the gun into the pirate’s mouth, silencing what he no longer wanted to hear. The gunshot was muffled but echoed enough to alert any others who may be nearby.
Before Gunner could watch the guard’s last twitch of life, he was up and leaving the room, picking up his boots in the hallway.
But stopped when he noticed the extra rations lying about. Gunner scooped them up and pocketed them.
He blinked the red glow away from his eyes and whistled his way back to the brig, hearing the sounds of running feet somewhere far off in the ship’s hallways. The darkness stayed with him until he passed through the brig’s doors. The lights remained off, shrouding the units in its perpetual pitch.
The blaring sirens hid the sounds of his passage as he slipped into Royce’s unit and killed him swiftly and silently. He pulled his jacket off the body and hung it over his shoulder.
F
our dead tonight.
Gunner dragged Royce’s body to the cell door, clawed the man’s wrist and hooked his arm around the bars, letting his blood drain over the lock. He pushed the cell door closed, checked Ely’s lock, and re-entered his own cage.
With one final laugh escaping him, he rested his back against the chilly wall, right next to where Ely crouched on the other side, and leaned his head back.
Fuck patience. His palm ran over the firearm hidden under his pants. He seeded back outside his body and triple-checked the security feeds, sending another surge through the system, and adding more confusion to the already growing chaos. He wasn’t on any of them, and regardless of any crumbs he may have left behind, he couldn’t really bring himself to care.
He rested his arms on his knees and flicked his half-grown thumb with his middle finger, letting the satisfaction flow over him, and the feel of his gun on his thigh was like a lover’s caress. Exhaustion settled in and his body pulled him down into the throes of sleep, reminding him that energy was neither created nor destroyed but it sure as hell had left his systems.
Seventy-nine occupants left.
Chapter Eight
ELODIE HAD GONE INTO a trance, twice, in the last who-knew-however-many hours.
The deep jet-black darkness of the brig, and the overwhelming sensation of losing one of her much-needed senses had thrown her into a fitful mess, setting her on edge as she strained to listen to any and every sound around her.
When she had just begun to acclimate to the lack of sight, the ship’s siren screeched, scaring sanity right back out of her.
Now she couldn’t see nor hear.
She’d been locked up for two and a half weeks but this was the first night she had truly felt alive again. Pressing her hand over her thrumming heart, she took pleasure in the feel of it under her palm. She slid it up to clasp her neck to feel her racing pulse. It was wild and wonderful and it was hers alone.
Elodie squinted, but the darkness remained impenetrable. No one could see her.
Maybe he can. She briefly thought of her new neighbor but shrugged it off, enjoying the freedom darkness gave her far too much to care.
At first, she’d been wary, thinking it was a trick, but after so much time, with no change, she relished the sudden privacy.
Elodie ran her hands over her body, massaging the aches and knots away, reaching up under her clothing and readjusting the band around her chest for the first time since she was imprisoned. Everything itched and she had the time and leisure to alleviate it, rubbing the raw parts of her body that had begged for so long to be released. It was bliss.
I could forego a half-cycles food for this.
She wanted more, and even though she was certain she’d be partially deaf from the sirens by the end, it was worth it. Every small comfort couldn’t be taken for granted.
Giddiness assailed her when she should’ve been tired, and excitement where she should’ve been afraid. She stood and stretched, feeling the pressure on her muscles melt away as she moved around without restraint, keeping her arms out in front of her to feel her way.
She raised her arms over her head and leaned back. Clenching her eyes shut, she, let the sounds flow over her. A cool breeze fell across her stomach. The feel of blood pumping freshly throughout her limbs had her lowering back to the ground and reclaiming her spot. Next, she slid off her shoes and let her feet breathe, wiggling her toes and bending the arches of her feet.
Now, if only the sprinklers would go off. She was willing to risk a cold shower even if the chill made her sick afterward.
Small comforts. I’ll pay some prices for small comforts.
A draft hit her and she put her shoes back on, allowing one knee to fall to the side as she hugged the other to her chest.
Her eyes went in the direction of the brig’s door. Had it opened? It niggled but she chalked it up to paranoia, squinting toward Gunner’s cell. She leaned against the bars they shared and rested her head on them. Her mind wandered, and she welcomed the escape.
The cold air suddenly vanished and a thick, heavy, encapsulating bubble of heat surrounded her.
Her nose twitched and the smell of rust and sweat filled it. Her focus zeroed in. She stiffened.
It’s him. It’s all Gunner. The heat and the salt, and now when she inhaled more, there was that same faint smell of hops from that first day. The smell of Gunner’s jacket.
Sweat beaded her brow and she leaned in to rub it across her knee. The more she took in the smells surrounding, the more she was consumed by it. The more she liked it. It was thick and overpowering, dark and gloomy. For a single moment, the smell made her feel at home.
She scooted a little closer to his side and basked in his scent, closing her eyes and letting her mind craft a fantasy to take her away. One where she didn’t have to be on edge every second of every day. One where she could appreciate his smell for what it was to her—desirable—and not feel bad about it. She let the walls fall away until she could imagine herself for who she really.
A woman. One who wasn’t alone among men. Only one man.
She let go of her knee and curled her hand around the bar below her head, the backs of her fingers coming in contact with his clothes on the other side. A sizzling twitch took her by surprise, but she didn’t shy away from the contact.
Elodie felt him move and press closer to her even though she wasn’t sure if he really knew she was there. She wiggled her fingers, seeking more contact, actually wanting him to know she was there, but Gunner didn’t move again.
Stop wanting dangerous things. Not with this heat he gives off. His body was warm, far warmer than what could be normal for any man.
She’d been in this position before, leaning into the bars, her thoughts lost in her head when her dad was still with her. This was different. With her father, it’d been security; with Gunner, it was comfort.
Gunner was attractive. Elodie had noticed it early on. It was in the way he moved and the air he had about him. There was something so vastly different about him compared to the other men that surrounded her that she’d taken notice. Not only did he frighten her, he lured her in. There was a rawness in the way he moved, the way he spoke, and it was so exacting that it demanded her to believe in it.
Everything about me is fake. She wiggled her fingers again feeling his clothes abrade her knuckles. I know fake. He’s not fake. He smells so good. Her throat closed up when a warm breath fell across her temple.
Elodie didn’t jerk back even though her instincts warned her too. Instead, she remained still in hopes of prolonging the moment, knowing his lips were a hair's breadth away.
If things were different...
The thought was almost too dangerous to complete. She clenched her eyelids tighter.
If things were different, I wouldn’t even be in this situation.
His breath caressed her forehead and she sighed with contentment.
She didn’t know how long they remained that way but when the sirens finally stopped, she wasn’t prepared for it to be over.
Elodie sat upright and pressed both of her hands to her ears, trying futilely to get the throbbing to go away, kneading the flesh at the crux of her lobe. Real sound slowly returned, and with it, the voices of the others around her. The lights came on with a warning flicker.
The door groaned before her vision fully returned and another, very different bout of chaos ensued.
“Holy shit!” Kallan’s voice eclipsed the rest. “Royce?”
His exclamation was followed by others and she tore her attention away from the guards storming into the brig to look at the man on the other side of Gunner’s cell. Elodie’s eyes widened.
“Everybody stand up!” One of the guards screamed.
She followed the order without thought, staring at Royce. He hung up against his cell door, his arm hooked and crushed through the bars over the door’s locking panel. Blood flowed over it, dripped beneath it, and ran in rivulets of rusty burgundy to pool on th
e floor.
That smell...
“Get in the center of your cells and put your arms above your heads,” the same guard roared.
Gunner stepped forward, blocking her line of sight to Royce’s body. She glanced at Gunner, but he was looking at the guards.
Shit. Elodie scrambled to the center of her cell and raised her arms. Everyone else was already in position and she was thankful no one was paying attention to her. They were all staring at Royce’s hanging, blood-drained body.
“What do you think happened here?” one of the guards said, covering his nose. “Man, the smell in here is foul.”
“I don’t know,” another replied, “but maybe it caused the alarms to go off? Doesn’t explain the others though.”
Others? She didn’t like the sound of that and only prayed that her dad wasn’t among these others.
“Ballsy’s going to get his dick shot off for this and we’re the ones he’s gonna take it out on. Damn, did he claw through his wrist? It’s all torn up.”
Elodie chanced a look back at the guards who inspected the cell beyond. She hadn’t known it then, not in the darkness, and not next to Gunner, but that the brig smelled once again like blood. She’d been too focused on her sudden freedom and Gunner’s proximity to realize. She gagged.
“Maybe he couldn’t take it any longer,” one of them mused.
“Fuck! And we’re going to have to report this to Juke. Shit, we may be dead too after this news. Lost flesh... He hates losing a profit.” The guard stepped back from the body, holding his nose with one hand, while the other rested on the gun at his hip. Her gaze zeroed in on it as he unbuttoned the clasp and lifted it out of its sheath. He rested his hand on it, a finger hovering over the safety. “Let’s get him down and take him to the other corpses. Doc’ll want to inspect him too.”
Her arms went numb above her head.
Other corpses...
“I’m not touching him.”
“Get the androids then!” The one with the gun turned his attention to the rest of the brig and she snapped her gaze straight ahead, hoping not to catch his eye. She recognized him, and recognized the others too. They all had shifts before, but she didn’t see the ones she hated most among those who were there. Out the corner of her eye, several androids moved forward and began to work on Royce’s body.