Clorita and HALAT wandered through the bustling concourse of the Nebula Nexus, neon lights reflecting off polished floors, the air filled with overlapping voices hawking their wares.
They stopped in front of a particularly loud booth. A massive holosign flickered above it:
"Test Your Skills! Face Off Against Our Combat Droid—Win Glory and Prizes!"
In the centre of the ring, a sleek humanoid combat droid ran through a series of intimidating warm-up movements. Flashes of energy coursed through its reinforced frame, its limbs moving with eerie precision as it demonstrated rapid combination strikes. It wasn’t just for show—this thing was built for combat.
Clorita’s grin widened. “Spark, this has your name written all over it.”
HALAT tilted her head, analysing the droid’s movements. “It exhibits advanced articulation and a combat-adaptive AI.” She paused. “Its speed is noteworthy.”
Clorita gave her a playful nudge. “That sounds a lot like ‘this could actually be fun’ in Spark-speak.”
Before HALAT could respond, the booth’s owner, a scrawny, iridescent-skinned alien with too much enthusiasm and not enough sense, zeroed in on them.
“Ladies! You look like warriors! Care to test your mettle? Only ten credits for a round with the quadrant’s finest combat droid!”
Clorita smirked. “Oh, we’re not testing anything. Spark here is gonna wipe the floor with it.”
The alien chuckled nervously. “Well, let’s not get cocky. The droid is undefeated in 37 matches.”
HALAT stepped forward, her voice calm. “Define the parameters of engagement.”
The owner blinked. “Uh... first to disable the opponent wins. Just don’t break it.”
HALAT nodded. “Understood.”
AS HALAT STEPPED INTO THE RING, A MURMUR RIPPLED THROUGH THE CROWD.
She didn’t look like a fighter.
Her frame was sleek, refined—too pristine for combat. Unlike the bulky combat droid before her, HALAT’s design was elegant, almost decorative. The soft glow of her optics, the smoothness of her synthetic skin, the way she carried herself—it all screamed luxury, not lethality.
The audience wasn’t impressed.
“They sent a hostess bot in?” one onlooker scoffed.
“No way she lasts more than five seconds.”
“Easy money.” A burly alien waved his betting slip. “Put me down for fifty on the droid.”
Even the booth owner looked unsure. “Uh, miss? You sure about this?”
Clorita, leaning against the ring’s edge, smirked. She was the only one here who knew what was coming.
She folded her arms. “Oh, she’s sure.”
HALAT said nothing. She simply tilted her head slightly, scanning the droid, calculating.
The announcer cleared his throat, still looking doubtful. “Alright, folks! Let’s see if our challenger can last against our state-of-the-art combat droid—the first to disable their opponent wins!”
The droid’s optics flashed red. It was programmed for performance, designed to put on a show. It moved with controlled aggression, precision-crafted for destruction.
HALAT just stood there. Unmoving. Unbothered.
Someone in the crowd chuckled. “She’s frozen up! This’ll be over quick.”
Then the droid lunged.
And everything changed.
The combat droid closed the distance fast, moving with the mechanical efficiency of a programmed killer. It went straight for HALAT’s head— a textbook opening strike, designed to disorient and weaken.
But HALAT was already three steps ahead.
At the very last second, she shifted. Not a hurried dodge, not a desperate lunge—just a slight, elegant tilt of her body, allowing the strike to slice through empty air. The droid’s fist whistled past her face by millimetres.
The crowd gasped.
HALAT didn’t react. No stumble, no panic. Just pure calculation.
The droid adjusted, launching a follow-up—a rapid one-two combo, metal fists striking at angles no ordinary opponent could block.
HALAT didn’t block. She watched.
Her optics flickered, tracking the droid’s movements with unnerving precision. Every strike it threw, she dodged by the thinnest of margins. A pivot here. A sidestep there. Effortless.
And that’s when the whispers started.
"Wait… she’s not just lucky.”
“She’s analyzing it—holy void. She’s studying the droid mid-fight.”
“That bot’s not even touching her!”
Someone cursed loudly as they realized they’d bet on the wrong fighter.
Clorita grinned. “Told ya.”
HALAT finally struck.
The droid aimed a heavy blow at her torso—she caught its wrist mid-motion.
The crowd froze.
The two figures locked in place, machine against machine, for one agonising second. The droid’s servos whined as it tried to overpower her grip.
Then HALAT’s fingers tightened.
With zero hesitation, she twisted—hard. A sickening metallic screech filled the air as the droid’s entire arm wrenched out of its socket.
The audience erupted.
“WHAT?!”
“SHE JUST—DID SHE—?!”
“THAT DROID COST MORE THAN MY SHIP!”
HALAT let go of the dismembered limb. It clattered to the floor. The combat droid, still standing but sparking violently, attempted to recalibrate—but HALAT was already moving.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
A single calculated kick to its weakened knee joint.
The droid collapsed.
Silence.
Then Clorita, ever the showman, threw her arms up. “AND THAT, folks, is why you don’t judge a bot by her cover!”
The arena exploded into cheers, groans, and frantic arguments about who had just lost the most credits.
HALAT simply stepped over the wreckage and walked out of the ring.
Victory. Efficiently achieved.
The booth owner bolted into the ring, his confident grin replaced with wide-eyed horror.
“You—you broke it! That droid cost me 20,000 credits!”
Clorita hopped over the ropes, barely holding in a laugh. “Alright, let’s not get dramatic. It’s just a... temporary malfunction.”
“Temporary?!” the owner shrieked. “It’s scrap metal! You owe me compensation!”
Clorita sighed, crossing her arms. “Fine. What’s it gonna cost to fix?”
“20,000 credits!”
Clorita snorted. “For that tin can? Be real—it couldn’t even block a basic strike. I’ll give you... 500 credits.”
The owner’s jaw dropped. “Five hundred?! That wouldn’t even cover diagnostics!”
Clorita shrugged. “Look, it’s not our fault your droid couldn’t handle a fair fight.”
“Fair fight?! She tore its arm off!”
“Yeah, but only one arm,” Clorita countered. “If you’re building a combat droid, maybe make it combat-ready next time.”
The crowd chuckled, and the owner’s glare hardened. “Fine. Two thousand. Final offer.”
“Done,” Clorita said, handing over the credits. Grinning. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
HALAT followed her out of the ring. Her tone was as steady as ever. “The droid’s structural integrity was insufficient. Its failure was inevitable.”
“Yeah, Spark,” Clorita said, smirking. “But next time, try not to cost us a month’s worth of fuel.”
She patted HALAT’s shoulder, then paused.
“Wait. Do we get a prize for winning?”
The booth owner, now sulking, shouted from behind them. "Your prize is that I didn’t charge you full price!"
Clorita groaned, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. We won and still lost.”
HALAT nodded solemnly. “A paradox of combat efficiency.”
BOB’s voice crackled through their comms. “Oh, don’t worry, Clorita. There’s always next time.”
Clorita rolled her eyes. “You know he’s gonna ban us from his booth, right?”
HALAT simply kept walking, unbothered.
"Irrelevant."
When Clorita and Halat finally boarded the Duj, the bridge doors whooshed open, revealing them buried under an absurd number of shopping bags.
HALAT strode forward like a well-balanced cargo unit, effortlessly carrying at least ten oversized bags in each hand. Meanwhile, Clorita struggled, wobbling under a precarious tower of purchases. A sleek hover-cart floated behind them, piled so high with boxes that it beeped in protest every time Clorita jostled it.
Zog, who had been peacefully lounging in his captain’s chair, nearly spilt his LubriCoffee at the sight. He took one long, horrified look at the mountain of shopping bags before slowly setting his mug down.
"What. The hell. Is all that?"
Clorita huffed, finally dumping the bags onto the nearest console. "Souvenirs."
HALAT, ever composed, set her bags down neatly and added, "These are Necessary acquisitions for personal and operational efficiency."
Zog’s eye twitched. "Necessary? Spark, I swear if you tell me you bought ‘combat-enhanced stilettos,’ I’m walking out the airlock."
Clorita snorted. "Relax, Captain Budget. We didn’t spend that much."
Zog crossed his arms. "I don’t believe you."
Clorita grinned, patting the hover-cart. "Come on, Zog, we got you something."
That made him even more suspicious. "You bought me a gift? Why do I feel like this is a setup?"
HALAT stepped forward, holding a sleek, polished mug emblazoned with the words:
"Galaxy’s Most Reluctant Captain."
She handed it to him without a word.
Clorita smirked. "Thought it’d go nicely with your permanent grumpiness."
Zog stared at the mug, circuits buzzing faintly with irritation. "Hilarious. I’ll treasure it forever."
"Oh, but wait," Clorita said, tossing him a glossy, gift-wrapped package. "This one’s serious."
Zog eyed it warily. "If this is a prank, I swear—"
He unwrapped the package to reveal a sleek, high-end multi-tool, engraved with:
"Captain’s Fix-It-All Companion."
Zog’s expression softened just a little. "Alright... this is actually useful."
"You’re welcome," Clorita said, grinning. "Figured you could use it for all the times this ship tries to kill us."
HALAT nodded. "The device was heavily discounted after my negotiation."
Zog raised an eyebrow. "Negotiation? Should I ask?"
Clorita waved him off. "Nothing to worry about. Spark just... persuaded a guy into giving us a deal."
HALAT tilted her head. "His operational inefficiency suggested he would not survive a prolonged confrontation."
Zog sighed, clipping the multi-tool to his belt. "Well, thanks, I guess. But next time, just bring me a sandwich."
Clorita grinned. "Sure thing, Captain Fix-It."
Zog leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Alright. Now, seriously—what did you break?"
Clorita waved him off far too casually. "Nothing major. Just a... minor misunderstanding at a demo booth."
Zog frowned. "Define ‘minor.’"
HALAT spoke evenly. "The demonstration droid’s structural integrity was insufficient to withstand standard combat techniques."
Zog blinked. "Plain Galactic, Spark."
Clorita let out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine. HALAT may have... disarmed the combat droid."
"Literally," HALAT added, her tone deadpan. "The arm detached during engagement."
Zog groaned, rubbing his temples. "You tore the arm off a combat droid? At a public demo?"
"It was for demonstration purposes," HALAT clarified. "Victory was achieved efficiently."
"And gloriously," Clorita added with a grin. "You should’ve seen the crowd. They were eating it up."
Zog wasn’t buying it. "Let me guess—‘minor misunderstanding’ means there were consequences."
Clorita shrugged. "Nothing we couldn’t handle."
Zog exhaled sharply. "Which means you’re leaving something out. Like how much this little stunt cost."
Clorita flashed her best innocent grin. "Now, Captain Interrogation, don’t sweat the small stuff. We got you that multi-tool, didn’t we?"
Zog pointed a finger. "Don’t deflect. How much?"
HALAT’s optics flickered faintly. "The monetary exchange was irrelevant to the demonstration’s outcome."
Zog glared. "That’s not an answer!"
Clorita grinned wider. "Fine. Two thousand credits."
Zog nearly choked on his LubriCoffee. "TWO THOUSAND?!"
Clorita shrugged. "Technically, it was a discount. The guy wanted twenty."
Zog buried his face in his hands. "I swear, one day, I’m gonna vent you both into deep space."
BOB’s voice chimed in smugly. "Oh, Captain, but then who would entertain you?"
Zog groaned. "I hate all of you."
Clorita kicked her feet up on the console. "Love you too, Captain Fix-It.
Clorita patted his shoulder, her grin widening. “Relax, Captain. Let’s just say it was a bargain compared to what we usually break.”
Zog groaned again, sinking deeper into his chair. “I swear, one of these days, you two are going to bankrupt this ship.”
“Technically,” HALAT said, “the Duj does not rely on traditional currency.”
Clorita snorted. “See? We’re fine.”
Zog muttered something unintelligible, reaching for his LubriCoffee. “Fine. But next time you wreck something, I want a full report. Credits included.”
Clorita raised her mug in a mock toast. “You’ve got it, Captain Curious.”