They were deathworlders, yet they were.. adorable. Fluffy, furry, almost havenworlder-like. Then the pirates saw the human stand back, shrug, and walk away, and realized the massive error in judgement. Good thing, the crew let them live, mostly. -- Anon Guest
"I crave violence," snarled Jahn. "When are we surveying the next semi-hostile world? I want to hunt."
Human Jon sighed. "So... competitive team tag in the gym isn't doing it for you?"
"Simulating hunts with the pack? Is not the same as hunting with the pack. Chasing down prey and making a kill. The fresh blood! The excitement! The taste of fresh meat... The printers can't ever come close. I just want to sink my teeth into something that struggles..."
As if in answer to Jahn's vexation, the ship shook, almost knocking them both off their feet. Through the nearby airlock, forced open in quick succession, came a pack of cogniscents in mismatched Livesuits. Some of extremely dubious integrity.
Jon raised an eyebrow.
"Surrender, Human," said the Spokesgoon, threatening her with a weapon.
"Okay," said Jon, raising her hands. "Jahn? Sic 'em."
The worst part, the pirates said later, was the maniacal laughter as a seemingly harmless little fluffball began tearing them all to pieces with claws and teeth. Not all Deathworlders are obviously Deathworlders on first sight. In this case, one might charitably call Jahn's floof her protective camouflage.
Protective, in the sense that it let her get closer to her prey.
They survived. Barely. Mostly because they begged Jon to, "Call off your beast!"
"But I surrendered," said Jon, who had assumed the position. "You're supposed to take me to your brig."
"I un-order you to surrender! Get them off us!"
Jon strolled up to the latest bubbling jet of gore and lifted Jahn by the scruff of her neck. "Fun time's done, darling. Hit the showers. They surrendered."
Jahn panted to a halt. Shook herself back out of bloodlust. Licked her lips. "Sweet powers, that was exactly what I needed. Think I need to get checked for the Luck Gene?"
"After you take a shower. We're going to need the Forensic Cleaners[1] after this mess."
"I am immensely satisfied," said Jahn.
"I'll thank the pirates on your behalf. After I drag them to Medical."
[1] Cleaners are made to avoid any lingering trace of violence, strictly for the sake of forensic investigation. For the post investigative cleanup, there's Forensic Cleaners.
[Photo by René Riegal on Unsplash]
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