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    Mau-Nis strolls purposefully through the corridors. The lights flicker above him, eerie shadows dancing on the walls and ceiling.  His cloak is activated and he has no reason to fear a sudden ambush. In fact, the oomans of this station have every reason to fear him. He is a yautja with a score to settle.


    At the next bend in the corridor, Mau-Nis stops to listen. Several oomans are milling about. Fear and indecision alter the oomans’ voices, making them strained. They are deciding their next course of action. No need. Mau-Nis has already made that decision for them. They will die.


    Targeting the furthest ooman, in order to create chaos in their midst, Mau-Nis blows out the man’s chest with a single plasma blast from his mech-arm gun. The ooman sprawls backward, dead long before he hits the floor. A female guard turns to face where the blast originated. She levels her large gun in that direction.


    “What the hell!” the female cries.


    There is a metallic slice and the female’s gun arm goes flying in another direction. She screams and grips the remaining portion of her arm with her only good hand. Mau-Nis calmly steps around her. He is satisfied that she will succumb to her injury. No need to kill her as he will the others. Two down; four to go.


    A male guard to Mau-Nis’ left levels his weapon and spins in a half-circle. The ooman’s fear is so great that his eyes bulge in their sockets. Mau-Nis rids him of his fear. Mau-Nis ejects his brand new arm blade from its metal sheath. Severing the ooman’s head from his body, Mau-Nis watches where it rolls. Three down.


    “Oh shi—!” a fourth ooman yells.


    Mau-Nis severs the ooman’s head with a throwing disc—mid sentence. By now, Mau-Nis is grinning sadistically. He is enjoying the expressions of hopelessness plastered on the oomans’ faces. Each one of these sorry oomans will perish by blade, disc or caster. Without a clue as to which sin they are actually being punished for.


    One of the two remaining ooman guards attempts to run. Mau-Nis grips his throwing disc firmly and aims for the retreating ooman. He releases the disc with tremendous force. The ooman is lifted off of the ground as the throwing disc slams into the meaty flesh below his shoulder blades. The body flips midair and the dead guard lands on his stomach. Mau-Nis turns with satisfaction towards his final quarry.


    A tall muscular man, the guard holds his weapon tightly and turns this way and that. Mau-Nis deactivates his cloak and stares cruelly at the frightened ooman.


    “What the hell? What the HELL!?” the ooman screams, backing away. “What the hell are you?”


    So busy is the ooman, trying to ascertain exactly what Mau-Nis is, that he doesn’t notice Mau-Nis’ plasmacaster angling to fire. Gun in hand, the guard stares across the distance at Mau-Nis. Right until the very moment when the plasmacaster blows out half of his chest and back.


    Mau-Nis smiles with satisfaction as the body slumps and then falls with a wet thud. He casually glances around him. Other than the ooman female bleeding her life force onto the floor, all is still. The female moans as she drags herself along the floor—already delirious from shock and loss of blood. Mau-Nis crosses to her. Standing above the ooman female, he reaches into a metallic compartment on his leg and removes a small aerosol. She will die, but she need not be in excruciating pain. For what she has allowed to transpire under her gaze, dying is punishment enough. Gripping the ooman female’s hair, Mau-Nis wrenches her head back. The female’s eyes widen as she spies the alien face hovering feet above her.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    “You’re…You’re one of them,” the female manages to say. “Dr. Boyd’s child…He’s one of you!”


    Mau-Nis’ mouth twists angrily and he releases the female’s head. He replaces the aerosol in the compartment where he retrieved it from. In that moment, Mau-Nis realizes the ooman female is not merely an innocent bystander doing her duty. She is a willful accomplice to evil. Ejecting his arm blade, Mau-Nis rams it through the ooman female’s back. Blood erupts from her mouth and her eyes roll up into her head. Wrenching his blade free, Mau-Nis takes a step backward. The female’s body slides to the ground. Only five skulls will adorn his back from this battle. The female’s head can remain where she has fallen.


    -


    -


    N-Vorl and Teresa stride silently down the Administrative Corridor. Every few seconds, N-Vorl sneaks a glance at Teresa. Teresa’s mouth is set in a firm line and she seems completely devoid of emotion. N-Vorl’s hand flexes by his side. He cares very little for this mood which has settled over his lover. He already misses her witty remarks and sharp replies. It was what made him love her. Yes. That’s what it is. Love.


    N-Vorl smiles inwardly and glances at Teresa yet again. She catches him looking and turns to face him.


    “What’s wrong?” Teresa asks. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”


    Teresa’s hand goes to her cheek and she averts her eyes. She shifts her weight and unconsciously moves away from N-Vorl.


    “I…They tried to take Vor’taalnis and I fought them,” Teresa says. “As you can see…I lost.”


    N-Vorl stops walking and furrows his brow.


    “You fought them. You tried to save our son,” N-Vorl chitters defensively. “There is no shame in that! Any wounds you carry…Should be viewed with honor. Many never live to tell the story of their scars.”


    Teresa sighs and looks anywhere but at N-Vorl. She bites down on her bottom lip and lowers her head.


    “Then, they are the lucky ones,” Teresa says. “We, humans, don’t see things the way you yautja do. Beauty is—. Looks are everything. Those who bear scars are seen as damaged, and are easily cast aside. But emotional scars…humans hate those most of all.”


    N-Vorl’s face twitches as he processes what Teresa has said. He studies her very carefully, from head to toe.


    “Do you no longer believe that you are beautiful…Because of the scars?” N-Vorl inquires.


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    His peers at Teresa with half-lidded eyes as he awaits her answer. Dr. Boyd inhales deeply and then slowly releases the breath. She squeezes her eyes shut and exhales a second time.


    “I am afraid…,” Teresa begins. “I have become that which I was sent to create. A monster.”


    N-Vorl’s mouth draws tightly shut and his eyes narrow even more. Gently pulling Teresa to him, he shakes his head.


    “You are not a monster!” N-Vorl argues. “You are Dr. Boyd. You are Teresa. You are my mate. The mother of my descendant. But, you are not a monster!”


    “Really?” Teresa says sadly. “Then, where is our son?”


    N-Vorl finally acknowledges the weight which is on Teresa’s shoulder. The weight of failure. It is her belief that she could have done more to save their son. In truth, there was little she could have done. Not alone.


    “Your plan to use the implants…It is a good one,” N-Vorl reassures Teresa. “It will work. We will get our son back. We will do it together.”


    “It’s good that at least one of us still has faith in me,” Teresa says.


    Placing a hand under Teresa’s chin, N-Vorl tilts her face upward.


    “Always,” N-Vorl replies with a sly smile.