The first sun of her den-mate’s absence consisted of Sunundra wondering what to do with her newfound abundance of time. With little cleaning to do, her usual hobby of explosives manufacturing became the default activity to occupy herself. Yet, after having done so while idly conversing with her strange friend, it didn’t feel as fulfilling as it once did.

Bill showed an interest in the process, and though he was typically confused by her explanations, she appreciated the attempt nonetheless. Besides, each session led to him obtaining more of a foundation for future inquiries, even if he only approached the subject because it was something she found catharsis in. He was at least sure to familiarize himself with the basics, though he would never study the materials enough to gain an intimate understanding. Still, every curiosity and observation noted aloud welcomed her to speak of that which few others deign to concern themselves with. Her pack-units only wanted to know what to expect from her utility, not how it was achieved.

Inversely, her strange den-mate pressed into the realm of art with suggestions and murmured thoughts on occasion, his musings tackling novel concepts that she had dismissed before truly contemplating them. She found listening to it captivating and more than a little endearing. In fact, he was the reason she came to a breakthrough in shrinking the size of her latest creation!

Instead of using a sub-thermal charge after the rippers, he suggested that the compound in her sparklers—the one responsible for condensing moisture from the air into a fog—could be a possible replacement. Well, it was more that he wondered aloud, but the idea was interesting enough to attempt. It avoided the issue of the burner setting off the sub-thermal charge. All she had to do was settle for a slower cycle, decrease the number of nodes in the ripper, and have the mist act as an external heat sink for the former.

The result was a creation of both their minds, culminating in her most compact high-penetration charge yet! Her chest warmed with each one she crafted, the once solitary task now joined by another, if only in spirit.

Variants based on those conversations were quickly assembled over the following suns, ranging from a string of adhesive ripper charges, to specialized area-of-denial devices which would smoke out large rooms while plummeting the ambient temperature. The difficult task was creating an appropriate backing without having bombs stick to her fur, which had inadvertently led to such several times—something she was glad Bill wasn’t around to see.

It was troublesome to appear competent when covered in tiny squares.

Her most recent creations erred on the side of ‘rather deadly’—barring any utility-focused items—but mostly because she was only getting a proof of concept down for each type, with tweaking them to her liking coming later. They were still very much too uncontrolled for actual use just yet, regardless of how many she had made.

She exhaled slowly, frowning at the clusters of explosives on the coffee table, unsure if she should fault her friend for encouraging the deviation or thank him for prompting her to explore various options.

Either way, the pale-furred female had gotten a little too wrapped up in making sure she could recreate the models and now possessed more than she was comfortable having. Three large piles of ‘boom’ sat upon the coffee table, any dissatisfaction that she should have felt was replaced by a soft smile as she pictured the human coming back and excitedly ruining another plate to witness the less destructive designs. Colours, patterns, and sequences had all been tested and were thus now ready for tuning. Hopefully, with how long he was to be away, she should have plenty of time to make these more recreational than lethal.

Her eyes wandered from the assorted explosives in the main area to the odd clock embedded in her bedroom wall. The ‘numbers’ had incremented quite a few times already, though not in any meaningful way. Bill admitted that he was unfamiliar with the symbols and it seemed to change arbitrarily anyway, so she mostly gave up on keeping track of it. Not that it helped with missing him every time it increased. The subtle shift in the environment brought her thoughts back to how quickly the scent was fading, whittling away at her fraying nerves. Thankfully, it was a comparatively more drawn-out process than when he first left; she could still smell him on the couch and whatever traces settled in her room from when he tended to her. She could still pretend his warmth was near. She could still ignore the gaping hole his absence caused within her soul.

She could still deny the itching in her blood to find him.

Rest had become an unreliable metric to measure his absence, but it was only partly caused by the disquieting isolation crawling deeper into her stomach. Prototyping frequently kept her awake, and when that wasn’t a factor, she found herself glancing at the doorway, somehow expecting the taps of his arrival to echo down the hallways once more.

He was out there somewhere. He would be back. She just needed to wait.

And so the suns continued, each subsequent one making her motions more sluggish. Firecrackers became her obsession for a stint, her paws crafting them absently while she was lost in a daze. They didn’t take much to make, and she had an excess of the required powder, so it hardly mattered how large the pile got. All she cared about was how happy he had been indulging in a simple act of adolescent whimsy, and how intoxicatingly mirthful she felt in return. His smile became hers. His joy became hers.

All she wanted was to be his as well.

A shake of her head discouraged the notion from taking root. Recon was a warning about growing too expectant when receiving kindness. She should learn that lesson and keep her expectations low.

She should…yet she missed him… She missed him so much.

His touch. His voice. His steady heartbeat. His comforting scent…

She felt numb without it now. Memories of the suns spent upon the church’s steps came to mind—a kit gazing at the roadways, waiting for her den to come back… To forgive her for what she was… Yet they never would, and never did.

Truthfully, no one had asked for her company since then; the defect she suffered turned even the most promising possibilities into certain failures. Only Bill seemed pleased when she sat with him. Only he put so much thought into one that most chose to ignore.

Was he thinking of her now? Was he watching the recording of fireworks, suffering through his longing and wishing his Sunshine was there to comfort him? Was he eating at an empty table, missing her presence and receptive conversation, the echoes of her voice bringing melancholy in its absence? Was he resting throughout the moon, wondering if it was acceptable to ask for her to share in his warmth, soothing the loneliness with soft breaths and comforting dreams in the embrace of another?

Was he feeling as weak as she was?

A heavy blink brought a semblance of life to her deadening eyes, dry and irritated from however long she had been aimlessly staring while lost in thought. Her paws had stopped making more of the tiny explosives, instead shifting to a more familiar breach charge at some point. Unexpected, but not surprising—she had since moved most of her materials to the main area to avoid getting up frequently, so some habits were bound to surface.

A cursory check of the floor revealed a broad pile of firecrackers spilling outwards across the hardwood. Most had been connected by a single long fuse that would ensure a sequential activation, though it was anyone’s guess as to how long the final chain came out to be.

The worrying items were the new charges; it seemed she had skipped the directional phase of assembly and left them as little more than ruthlessly potent grenades. Even if it wasn’t a particularly difficult mistake to rectify, it would still take time and a delicate touch to correct—neither of which she had the will to provide when alertness proved so challenging.

She gazed at the bombs that were devoid of the usual care and meaning she prided herself on. They were not to earn the affections of others through flawless execution, nor to simply see her allies safe, then hopefully being appreciated for her efforts.

They were for destruction. Death.

They were for anything that got between her and the one her heart yearned for.

She scowled at the intrusive thought; an idiotic notion from a defective who was never to be loved, yet sought it with all she had. But it was just that: idiotic. Stupid. Greedy.

She had been blessed with what she spent her life praying for, yet still, she desired more.

A friend was enough. Because further was for those unlike herself. Companionship was enough. Because she should be relishing it while she could. Missing him was enough. Because the cohabitation would eventually end, and she was too scared to ask him if he would apply for a ‘pairing.’

There was no room for more, no matter how much it hurt to think so.

Even if he did agree, what would happen? Would he be forced to stay with her? She had no den to bring him back to, nor a pack to introduce. She had no employment now, and gaining it again would be arduous with her current condition—assuming they didn’t just imprison her for leaving without adhering to the proper protocols. Her savings were ample enough from a lifetime of service and little reason to spend it, so perhaps she could find somewhere more secluded for sale and begin anew. She had little other choice for when he left, but… It would also work if he remained…

His people typically lived in pairs, so he would be forgiving if their den was small and absent of others. Arrangements could be made for an education in whichever field he deemed interesting, and she could assist with translations so that he might find employment in something that made him happy…

Her tail flicked and swayed expectantly. She could almost see the glimmer of light resting in the dripping ooze of toxic tar that would otherwise be her future—the path to an existence worth living. All she needed to do was ask. She could speak with him, laugh with him, rest with him, and so, so much more… She only needed to consider his circumstances and address any issues as best she could.

Bill had said that he wished not to be a burden upon his kits, but would such be a concern if she were to provide for him as he had for her? It would be in a way that supplied funds and shelter rather than tending to an illness, but she could. His kits would know he was safe with her. They would appreciate that he was no longer alone. He would be her everything, and then his kin might visit to show him offspring their own. Bill would see they were healthy and thriving while he was away. He would be proud they had overcome their pasts, and his guilt for staying would dissolve…

Her heart beat as if it had been a crude facsimile all her life, deafening her ears with its thunderous thumping as it pumped true life through her veins for the first time.

It was possible. All of it was possible. To be with one who would greet her warmly. To have one who would happily share her company. To cease the endless moons smiling at the ceiling because faltering would only bring tears as sleep continued to escape her.

She would have a den to care for while they stayed. Sure, they would not be her kind, but such was now forfeit anyway. Even once they departed to their origins, Bill would be reassured by the visit and thank her for accommodating it. He would be jubilant and relaxed, holding her close while intoxicating her with his scent. His warmth. He would have one to spend his life with while knowing his progeny were well, and she would be satisfied in return, soaking in the affection from one so tantalizing close. She would burn to feel more.

So what if they sequestered away from the cities? She would go anywhere he needed, and her condition was unlikely to be accepted near them in the first place.

So what if their den was small? They would fill it just as much as any proper den-pack, and his laugh alone would engulf the structure with more joy than anywhere else.

Who cared if there would be few others at all? They needed nothing but each other’s company, the thought of keeping him to herself proving as addictive as the air she breathed.

It didn’t matter if she would never receive the gift, she had everything she could ever want. She had him.

Or…she would have him…hypothetically…

In reality, she had naught but time and longing—her thoughts tugged back to the quiet den, both slowly filling with explosives and loneliness.

She had not asked about the ‘pairing’ application, nor if he would be interested in applying for such with her. She had not sated the desire to spend a moon's rest in his embrace, feeling his bare flesh against the pads of her paws as wakefulness came upon them, his scent welcoming her to an existance no longer unloved. She had not been successful in pretending he had yet to pierce her defences with his sincerity, the affectionate touch caressing shards of her soul that she thought withered and dead.

It was a mystery why she craved to claim him so aggressively—why her core demanded she seek more than kind words and pleasant companionship. The only clues were the aching in her chest and the urges that spoke to her wordlessly.

They whispered to make him her own before another sought her place, stealing the only happiness she ever truly had. They begged her to right the wrong, to reunite with him and make herself whole again. They screamed at her for leaving him unguarded and alone, uncaring of what protections might be in place, for they were not her. She could ignore it all she’d like, but they declared that she was his now, and it was wrong to spend even one more moment failing to ensure it stayed that way.

Yet the waiting continued, the mess was taken care of, and the silent tallies were updated as it got closer to when he would walk through the door to breathe life back into her. She would ask about their future, and then he would answer.

Until then, she need only suppress the incessant thoughts suggesting she finally putting her career to more traditional use, taking down every wall and body that dared stand between them.

She just needed to wait.

- - - - -

The blanket wrapped around Sunundra eased the sensation of dark tendrils constricting her lungs. It had come from Bill's room, and although she refrained from entering his space as long as possible, she needed something to feel like he was near. Like he hadn’t been just a feverish dream of outcomes more favourable. The plush fabric softly bundled the pale-furred female in faint traces of his scent to stop the screeching impulses—a stopgap measure, yet still far more effective than the vacant den.

It was clean, despite how tiring wakefulness was. Truthfully, she hadn’t the energy to do much at all, her form conserving every mote for reuniting with her other. Impulses pulled and clawed at her to act, yet she could only wait for him to return, and thus the protest was made known. Ticks of static droned in her ears.

__nd h__.

Yet she ignored the voices itching at her thoughts, spending every restless moon staring at the exit while her bitter ration bars were the only thing she subsisted on. All that told of the lethargically passing time was the ever-increasing grip of the crushing Void, compacting and cracking her resolve. Yet still, she waited.

She waited until the time she expected Bill to return…which subsequently passed, not even a flicker of his presence gracing the den.

The entire sun was spent with her paws clasped to her chest. Though she knew not the exact number of moons to have passed, her instincts warned that he had been gone for too long, eventually goading her into staying ready to greet him, which she took as a reliable enough metric. If her subconscious claimed he was to return, he was, so she stood just in front of the den’s exit with expectation and a muted sense of anticipation.

She was a mess, but even the smallest sliver of him would be repaid a thousand times over in whatever relief she could have otherwise. His curious smile and teasing remarks about how she donned his bedspread would be worth any measure of embarrassment. All she wanted was the moment that he entered the den to come a little sooner.

Yet he never arrived…

…But it did.

The door buzzed loudly, almost deafening the ear pressed against the frame in hopes of gaining the slightest hint of his steps. The pain barely registered, but the words looming impassively upon the metal fixture certainly did.

The stalwart barrier displayed sterile text devoid of sincerity: a poorly translated apology stating that her cohabitant had been the victim of an unfortunately fatal accident. An offer of a replacement followed, assuming she wished it and if availability allowed, then a closing paragraph consisting of a short gratitude for her continued participation in the experiment.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

It was direct, clear, and prominently visible…yet the words slid tortuously from her perception, gouging trenches into the shattered remains of her sanity.

She knew not how long she spent on collapsed legs reading and rereading the note. Eventually, the usual flat, bland surface replaced it, yet her eyes repeated the motions. The syllables were burned into her vision to be scrutinized and refused again and again, stinging and burning as she rejected the contents.

He was…gone?

No. It was a lie. He left to plead his case and request that the Union pursue their medical advancements in dealing with the defect. He was not anywhere dangerous. He would not leave her behind. He was…delayed! Yes. He was simply delayed and just needed her to… She just needed…

She just needed him.

She needed him so badly.

She needed him to call her his Sunshine. She needed his scent to fill her soul. She needed his tender touch and comforting warmth when loneliness struck, his affectionate gaze placed upon her form.

Perhaps she had prayed for someone to care about her, yet now all she could think about was the strange male who unearthed his deepest sorrow to show her something wonderful, simply because he wished to tell her that she wasn’t repulsive. The one who reached out to her when the world rejected her very being, and yet continued to do so when she rejected it in return. The one who held her so close when she was lost in memories so far away.

The one who m_de her ________.

A distorted scratching heralded a force she had never felt before, pulling her deeper into the calls of the Void that had been growing stronger with every sun that passed. He couldn't be gone, because then there would be nothing left for her anymore. She refused to believe that her other was stripped from her before she could take him as her own.

She could lie to herself all she desired. She could pretend that the need pulling at her centre didn’t exist. Her prayers were answered, yet she had been too scared of rejection to comply with her instincts, and now they suggest that she had nothing?

She had no den to call her own. There was no pack to welcome her back. No unit sought their missing member. No Bill would be the air to stoke her flame… There was no hope? That was it?

No.

She refused.

She must f__d h_m.

He wouldn't leave his Sunshine behind. She wouldn't let him. She just needed to wait, even as the fragile shards he had spent so much effort in assembling fell into a shattered pile of despondent fragments. She just needed to wait, even as her mind became horrid static and noise, aberrant tendrils of the endless eternity beckoning her forth.

All she needed to do was wait. Either she would be there for his return, or she would greet him in the Void, reunited to spend forever together.

She would hold him again.

_o ma__er wh_t.

She would wait.

= = = = =

Heroon leaned back, his brows almost fused from how skeptical he was of the readouts and the STO's words. Illia had stopped near the end, looking bewildered while confirming with her transcripts that she hadn’t misheard a defect claiming the impossible.

Everything from the mentioned replication of hormones and endorphins to the degree it becomes necessary for those who acquire it.

As much as he would like to claim her ignorance of the signs as admittance of deception, the fact that she wasn’t aware of the significance could be expected for even a perfectly normal Lilhun, let alone one who lacked a single other to teach her about it.

Only six percent of individuals ever encounter someone who might be compatible—and likely only the slimmest percentile of those spend long enough around their potential other for it to be possible. Even the most well-informed could be easily forgiven for not recognizing the signs immediately.

What worried them was that a defective—a disgrace of the species which was proven to be incapable of such—had achieved the unthinkable, and that the way she described it…the words she used…

“You do not take this farce seriously, do you, Heroon?” Illia pressed, an almost hysterical laugh tinting her words. “A bond? With that? With an alien!? Just the mere implication of this scoffs in the face of faith!”

He stopped himself from outright agreeing. The readouts and decades of his career told him that there had yet to be a single lie recorded, as loathe he was to admit. The pale-furred female's story wasn’t quite infallible yet, but only the truth had been voiced thus far. There was more to this tale than he could have ever been prepared for.

It was enough to mute both mirth and bewilderment.

“I feel we should only be more critical,” he stated neutrally. Existence-shaking or not, he had a duty to evaluate the claims of the grey and yellow-furred female, no matter how outlandish they appeared on the surface.

“We need not humour this fiction—”

“—We. Will. Obey. Our orders.”

The tan-furred female flinched back, lowering her head submissively. “...It will be done, high one.”

“Lia,” he sighed, regret staining his voice. He reached out with a paw before closing it into a fist, slowly pulling away. “I am aware of how it sounds. I approve no more than yourself, but we must continue. If this is true, then the rest becomes infinitely more credible…”

“And then we must act,” she finished coldly, a deep resolve settling in her eyes. He nodded, proud of her for seeing reason over emotion.

“Indeed.”

His attention moved back to the captive female inside the holding cell. Subtle changes occurred in the dolorous visage as the interrogation progressed; her pupils narrowed to something more normal, the shifting in her seat dispelled the deceased appearance, and her voice gained some emphasis when the shadows of emotion intensified. She even began wincing as she tried to move, the injuries tearing anew and applying fresh saturation to the bandages littering her form.

Oddly enough, she was particularly insistent on reopening one in her stomach, though he suspected it was not a conscious decision. He doubted much of what she did was a ‘decision’ at all; every twitch and slight jolt spoke of a subdued feral animal waiting for a crack in surveillance rather than a Lilhun encased in a maximum security facility—a beast restrained by gossamer civility, yet no less dangerous.

‘Broken’ came to mind yet again. Not of those who prayed upon the church’s steps to follow their other after giving apols to the Hunt Mother for failing their task…but of those who had the gift removed. Those who sought its weight in blood as compensation, the voracious appetite of vengeance turning blind to satiation until nothing remained for it to feed upon.

There was just one issue weighing on his mind…

If the female’s words were true, and she had managed to return despite her condition, then who remains to be bled dry?

What prevents her from chasing after her other?

He exhaled heavily, a claw rubbing between his eyes to dissipate the discomfort building on his brow. He depressed the button of the intercom.

“You purport to have waited for the return of the human male, but it is implied that such was not rewarded. I would typically assume a retelling to end there…yet you are here, and thus I must insist you continue.”

The defective female snarled in the most lively display so far, the sound of an enraged growl building until it was transmitting loud enough to make Illia flinch. Heroon adjusted the output to compensate, but the fury stuttered and stopped as quickly as it had appeared, the end of a whimper leaking into the ire.

The pale-furred female glared at the cold food atop the cell’s table, her true focus elsewhere as pain filled the once-dead eyes. “No. Nothing was ‘rewarded’ in the fashion you are insinuating, yet I did gain something.”

“...Elaborate.”

The expressive scowl slipped into a shadow of a sardonic grin, madness glinting in her stare. “They made a mistake, High Quesitar.”

Heroon's gaze narrowed. “Being?”

“They thought too little of what I was prepared to do for him.”

= = = = =

Thoughts flowed languidly through viscous ichor, none taking root long enough to ruminate upon, for they were immaterial and worthless.

They were not Bill. They were not the release Sunundra sought. They were meaningless without him.

And so they drifted away, whatever semblance of life in her form focusing on the flat barricade which prevented their reunion. It was a silent pursuit of the last promise she made to him. She was to wait for his return until she could wait no longer.

If he truly never returned, then she could only ask his forgiveness for taking so long to join him elsewhere.

Until then, she waited, whispers in her blood resurfacing with bitterly increasing clarity.

Find h_m. B____he him. Cl_im him.

But she ignored the warping murmurs, both for her vow to stay behind and for the anticipation of viewing the skydeck with the male who made her heart beat anew. For the future that she had been too scared to ask of, yet fantasized about all the same.

A faint ticking caused her ears to twitch towards the door, the metal entrance muffling the sound from the corridor. Her first instinct should have been to feel joy, yet it was wrong. It was unlike the slight report of claws carelessly contacting the floor, yet also different from the heavier steps that she had come to associate with Bill. He had not returned. The new sound was meaningless.

The odd noise grew closer regardless, increasing in volume until it stopped just outside, a subtle click telling of a halting step. The door popped softly, then cracked to reveal the silhouette of an alien species she had yet to meet, carrying more of those boxes that her den-mate had previously ordered. How ironic that he was not there to accept it, speak with them, or consume what was delivered last time.

Would he greet them? Of course, he would, but the actual question was if emulating him would help her feel better. She would still be waiting for his return, and another person having a favourable opinion of their den would reflect upon him as well…

Yes. He would be delighted if she did so. He might even rub between her ears in that strange, affectionate way, giving soft words of praise and reassurance to the one who feared rejection. The thought drew warmth into the freezing vacancy of her heart. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

She got to her feet as the strange alien bumped the door fully open with its knee, allowing a moment for the pale-furred female to register what the being before her even was.

It was much taller than her, easily a head or two above Bill. Sinewy muscles connected the four limbs and gave bulk to much of its form, though the lack of a tail was interesting. Clawed paws sported stubby yet sharp implements at the end of four forward-facing digits, a fifth facing backwards. Its digitigrade legs ended in three-taloned feet instead of the pads she possessed. A narrow muzzle seemed quite reptilian, though some features around the eyes were more avian. Fine tiny feathers fully occupied the outside of its limbs, a leathery skin peering through everywhere else. Its eyes blinked a tertiary lid, a translucent membrane still allowing the piercing gaze to bore into her, vertically slit pupils adjusting to the dimmer light of the den.

She briefly pondered the alien and the grey-coloured attire that matched what Greg had worn. Still, she decided that although it seemed rather aggressively evolved, it was best to refrain from passing judgment when her previous bouts of doing such had been so misguided. The smell wasn’t as vivid as the last time someone had visited—only traces of the sterile air that usually filled the hallways reaching her senses—which was somewhat disappointing.

“Greetings,” she offered weakly, her dry and scratchy utterance irritating her throat. The new alien continued glaring, turning its attention to the rest of the den after a moment. The being's response came as a mixture of a hiss and a chirp in both of her ears, though the translator offered its services promptly.

“Delivery. Where to?”

Sunundra smiled as best she could, but after wearing such genuine expressions around Bill, the facade she had once mastered was now a poor rendition. “The kitchen, please. I will store it.”

The being scoffed before walking past, irritated by her mere presence and that she would insinuate it would help her at all. The usual, then.

She followed after it, each step requiring more and more of her limited energy, but she would not falter. She would make a good impression on this newcomer for her den-mate.

The new one unceremoniously dropped the box on the counter, removing various contents with barely enough care to avoid throwing them across the surface. Each thunk and sifting sound drew a wince from her, but she kept up the mask.

“Do you require assistance?” she asked softly, struggling to resist shrinking as yet another frozen package landed with a bang. The alien tossed the last item out before folding the box and placing it within a pocket of its uniform.

“No.”

Her shattered resolve led to flattened ears and a dispirited expression, unmoving even when the being tried to motion for her to get out of its way. It pressed a paw to her chest, nudging her enough to squeeze past when it grew tired of her noncompliance.

Then she smelled it—faint, but present. Blissful, electrifying, and the reason she still lived at all.

Bill.

Her breath caught as her muzzle skimmed its skin, the familiar scent lighting up her system like a flash fire igniting her soul. She moved instinctively, her paw shooting out to grab the alien by the arm, holding them still with an iron grip.

The whispering in her ears finally became clear shouts, drowning out all else but their demands.

Find him!

“Where is he?” she croaked out dryly, the urges itching in her veins.

The being tugged uselessly on the limb, an aggravated hiss building in volume. “Release. Now.”

It knows.

“Where is Bill?” she voiced more urgently, dragging her gaze from the floor for it to burrow into the alien’s visage. It blinked its clear membrane lids before attempting to shrug her off again. She did not relent. “Where is Bill? You have met with him. He is a human shorter than yourself. Where is he?”

A flinch went through its bipedal reptilian body, the tiny feathers shaking. “Never met.”

It lies. It knows. It prevents.

A creaking sensation travelled through her paw, the claws extending and bending the firm flesh beneath them. Her heart pumped heavily. Her voice grew cold. “You will tell me.”

Another useless struggle met her demand. It knew, yet would not say. It kept her away from him.

The thickened slurry of her mind bubbled and boiled. It knew, yet remained silent.

Make it speak.

A shrill shriek assaulted her ears as the creaking sensation gave way to a sharp snap, her claws piercing and breaking the hollow bone within. The alien’s paw burst towards her face, yet she stood stalwart, catching the offending appendage within her own, uncaring of the burning warmth where claws had cut her temple. She gripped its wrist tighter and tighter, each grinding noise met with a detached stare.

“You will tell me.”

Yet it refused.

It prevents.

It must speak.

Make it speak.

A tug. A snap. A shriek. Panicked motions met with ruthless claws and feral brutality. It knew. It knew, yet would not divulge. It would not speak. She would make it. She must.

Yet it did not yield, kicking futility until she pushed the leathery creature against the archway. Her core’s whispers grew louder, unfiltered by the promise to wait for her other, the foundation of their agreement broken. They had lied to her.

It prevents.

It sought to keep him from her.

It seeks to steal him.

It sought to take him from her.

Growling formed in her throat, escaping gritted teeth as maintaining control became painfully difficult. Images of the enemy in her grasp rendered bled dry and desiccated invaded her mind, joining the overwhelming hiss of static. Fragments from within shredded her veins like broken glass, screaming for her to seek retribution and bellowing the demand for action.

“Where is he!?”

A serrated maw lunged forward, sharp teeth gaining purchase on her shoulder. Pain surged as blood spilt from the wound, yet she hardly noticed. The voices grew louder, mangled echoes ringing in her ears.

It stands.

Why was it still living when it was a threat to her?

It knows.

Because it knew where he was.

It hides.

Why did it not tell her when she begged so pitifully?

It harms.

Because it sought to reduce him to such as well.

It must end.

She must end it.

Her claws plunged into its neck, slamming its form back against the narrow pillar. “WHERE IS HE!?”

Yet it did not answer. It only hissed and spat in defiance. It withheld that which she must know.

It lies.

The alien lashed out at her, more cuts forming on her flesh. She shattered the bone, forcing the pinpoint pressure that grew more accurate with every attempt. Red stained both fur and vision.

It takes.

Another strike. Another break. Another painful screech was drowned out by the voices.

It keeps.

Again.

It harms.

Again!

It will bring his end.

And she will have done nothing about it. He would be gone, and she would pass uselessly, letting it happen while losing the only one who would ever care about her.

The only one who could possibly love her…

Her ____.

Flares of crackling static tortuously filled her skull, each deafening wave increasing in time with her pulse. Another snap within her grasp soaked her paws with sticky fluid, drawing her thoughts from the screams that demanded death. What…? When…?

Wasn’t she holding it against the archway? Why was it on the ground? When did she mount it? Why was she striking downward? Why was she in pain?

She blinked, gazing at the sputtering alien on the floor of the main room in the den. It glared up at her with bloodshot eyes, the same life-giving crimson pooling beneath its form, shattered bones peeking out from their fleshy prison. Its arms were splayed limply, numerous holes oozing ichor freely. Punctures ran along one side of its throat, the legs faring little better. Its ribs had collapsed, yet it still breathed, if shakily. All of this, and it still hadn’t told her where Bill was. She filled her lungs with a shudder.

It knows.

Why did it not tell her? What would it suffer to remain silent? Why did her soul ache so badly without him? Why did she lose the only thing that mattered? Why was she doing this?

It took him.

It…took him…?

Her eyes settled on the battered creature… No, on what had stolen that which was hers. What she needed to remove before it could do more.

It must end.

It would not speak. It would only hinder and prevent her from finding him. It had sinned against her, yet it refused to rectify its trespass. It must atone in the Void.

She must send it.

But why did it do such things to her? Why was Bill not here? What did they gain from taking him? Why was she alone again? He had accepted her! A future worth living was possible! WHY!?

She would do anything to touch him again… To see his smile… To hear him call her his Sunshine…

Prove it.

Of course… She must prove her resolve. Her dedication to what she was given. The Hunt Mother does not smile upon the weak of faith…

An unhinged giggle slipped from her lips, blood dripping from the lacerations on her face. Even if her prayers were answered, her trial had not ceased. She must grip what was hers with an ironclad determination, ripping sinew from the bone of whatever sought to take it.

It was simple. Clear. The urges told of the path she must take for him. To deserve him. They offered truths.

She need only listen.

Her claws extended once more in the haze of adrenaline and distortion, bringing them to bear against the enemy.

“...po…”

Her ear flicked at the gurgled response, finally registering her paws wrapped around the alien’s throat, the digits plying flesh to expose arteries she was to sever—the existence she needed to end for stealing a defect’s reason to live. She breathed only for him now. There was nothing left for her but him.

The brutal execution halted as Bill’s reassuring smile flashed in her mind, his gentle tone hiding the pain beneath. His warm words cut through the cold voices, penetrating the miasma surrounding her heart.

‘You’re a kind person, miss. I wish there were more like you.’

Then she was back in the moment, blood spilling over her fur as she sought the death of another, the colourful existence she led in his presence again replaced by the murky monochromatic drudge that constituted everything else… An eerie stillness that made her consciousness sluggish and her thoughts fragmented.

No… This wasn’t… Bill would… He would hate this…

Dampness built in her eyes, hot rivulets running down her cheeks and diluting the red stains wherever they dripped. Fragile sobs contrasted the grisly scene, yet she could only feel remorse for betraying his opinion of her. This was not the kindness he saw in her. This was not what Bill would want.

“The…depot,” the alien voiced again, defeat tinting its gaze. “Depot know.”

The depot? Where was the depot?

It glanced downwards towards one of the pockets on its now red uniform, her shaky claws producing a small terminal from the pouch. A crude map filled the blood-smeared screen, though only one route had been programmed. She recognized some of the layout as the rough area around her den, but the rest led to a large room elsewhere in the complex—the ‘depot,’ she supposed.

It had finally given what she had asked for…

She let her arms fall limp as she took in what had been done. The fading light in the alien’s eyes satisfied the sickening compulsion within her, yet the part which wished to be cherished only wept. Was this the cost of her desire? Even if she expended her entire supply of medicine, nothing would fix what she had done. Nothing would mend the wounds.

They took him.

R-right. They took from her, thus she had taken in return. Bill… Bill would understand. He must.

She stood, sparing only a single glance at the newly created corpse before regarding the open exit and swallowing her shame. Prepare. She must prepare. She must gather enough supplies to escape with him.

They will try to stop her.

She would not let them.