Thu-thud. Thu-thud. Thu-thud.

The first thing Niko hears is his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. Every beat makes his throbbing head pulse with pain and pushes against the back of his eyes uncomfortably. He clenches a hand, foggy mind confused when what feels like dirt and grass is grasped between his fingers.

Thu-thud. Thu-thud. Thu-thud.

Unbidden, memories return one by one. The EMP, the missile barrage, the escape, the missile strike, the crash... The crash?

Thu-thud. Thu-thud. Thu-thud.

With a herculean effort, the enlisted airman cracks open his eyes and scans his surroundings. His natural eye is blurry and seeing double, but the cybernetic implant in the right eye socket is perfectly clear, filling him with dismay instantly. As he lays there prone on his stomach, Niko is treated to the sight of Minerva's twisted and destroyed frame.

The poor drone looks as if she hit the ground doing the better part of Mach 1. Her angular and graceful form is now mangled into little more than a black scrapheap. Her nose is buried deep into the ground, no doubt destroyed beyond recognition, while her left wing is barely hanging on by wires and bits of the skeletal aluminum frame under her exterior. Her right wing is completely missing, letting Niko peer into the fuselage where several shorted wires spark dangerously. With the rear of the drone body facing upward several degrees, it puts the weapon bay doors on display. Both are hanging limp and open, with the left one only hanging on by one hinge. Bits and pieces of her airframe are scattered around the clearing, and more than a few are buried in the dirt of the trench that Minerva kicked up when crashing. Niko even spies one rectangular plate lodged into a distant tree like a throwing star.

… Wait, tree?

Niko tries to rise to his feet, only to bite back a cascade of curses when his left arm flares in agony and refuses to hold his weight. Favoring his right side, the staff sergeant stands slowly and unsurely, trying not to jostle his obviously broken arm. He looks down at his tattered and frayed uniform, then to his left arm, which is missing most of its sleeve to show off his scraped and bruised flesh. With his right hand, he probes his left bicep and hisses when the limb protests with a shock of pain that runs down his spine.

"Yeah, that's definitely broken…" Niko grunts, letting his eyes wander. His natural eye still refuses to focus, and just thinking hurts. Around him is a woodland clearing filled with greenery and the sound of birdsong. Directly behind Minerva's ruined body is a long trench stretching for what has to be at least fifty yards. The violent crash uprooted multiple trees and completely flattened numerous shrubs and bushes, leaving an ugly brown scar in the scenery.

The wounded airman scours his memory for any location near the Afghanistan airbase that would have a green and densely wooded forest like this. Maybe some sort of small-scale terraforming project? An oasis owned by some rich prince? Try as he might, Niko can't recall any such location. "What the hell…?" Then he suddenly remembers the still smoldering drone just feet away.

"Shit! Minerva!" Niko's heart leaps into his throat. He steps closer as quickly as his broken arm allows, jogging around to the front of the drone, where her nose is buried deep into the ground. His eyes dart all over the junction between the nose of the drone and the main body, looking intently for any signs of leaking coolant. If the little chamber where Minerva's AI core is stored was breached…

It could already be too late.

Niko shimmies his fingers under a loose aluminum plate on the neck of the aircraft and gives it a sharp yank, gritting his teeth when the motion jostles his broken arm.

Crcrcrink!

To his relief, the weakened rivets underneath give way, and the plate is free to slide to the ground with a metallic clatter when he lets go. Underneath, the sensitive innards of the machine are exposed. Although Niko picked up bits and pieces of mechanical knowledge from the maintenance crews back on base, the mess of crisscrossing wires and pipes is still an intimidating sight. The foggy realization that he has no tools to use to free Minerva's core makes him groan.

"…ver here, sir! I see the source of the smoke!" The voice of a young man filters through the distant trees, making Niko turn around. Has rescue come for them already?

"Sharp eye, newblood!" A deeper, more authoritative voice complements the first. "Guardsmen! Advance and be wary for any devilry!"

"Guardsmen?" Niko murmurs to himself. "What are the nasty girls doing out here? Did Minerva fly all the way back to friendly territory after taking a missile strike like that? And 'devilry'?" Regardless, he sends a silent, mental apology to Minerva and turns to face the direction of the voices. After a moment of internal debate, where he reasons that the clear English speech of the encroaching people means they are most likely friendly, Niko cups his mouth with his one good hand and yells; "this is Staff Sergeant Niko Kohonen of the USAF! I'm injured and my aircraft is inoperable! Requesting assistance ASAP!"

A curse cuts through the air coming from the direction of the approaching national guardsmen. "Move you dogs!" The authoritative voice yells again. "We've got a fellow hurt at the disaster site! Spread out!"

Before long, Niko can hear boots stomping through the underbrush along with the curious noise of clanking metal. What could the guardsmen have that would make such a racket?

Then from the tree line, someone in the best Renaissance fair costume Niko's ever seen breaks through a cluster of bushes.

The man looks as if he stepped out of one of Niko's own daydreams. His head is clad in a pointed kettle helm of well-worn steel, with a small triangular chunk taken out of the hat-like brim and a strap of leather running across his chin to keep the helmet in place. Upon his chest is a tunic-like surcoat dyed an eye-catching red, somewhere between the color of blood and the shade of a setting sun. In the middle of the cloth covering, there is a design of circles within circles, each one larger than the one it encompasses and white in color, with seven circles in total. It's difficult to tell what sort of armor is under the surcoat, but judging from the dirty, studded gambeson sleeves emerging from the coat, it must be something light. Tied to his left arm is an armband with a glittering metal badge depicting some serpentine beast, but Niko can't make out the fine details. In the man's right gloved hand, a plain spear is held tightly as his other hand rests on the handle of the equally unadorned longsword sheathed at his left hip. Simple black leggings and leather boots finish off the very authentic appearance. He's even very well in character, considering the confusion on his stubble-covered face.

Before Niko can address the man, eight more men clutching spears emerge from the woods, stepping through the low-hanging branches with a medley of crunches and cracks. All of them look younger than the first man to step in the clearing, with cleaner armor and lacking the armband badge. Slowly, they spread out to form a half-circle perimeter.

The man with the silver armband, who stands with the bearing of an officer, steps forward a few paces and clears his throat. "I am the lead watchman Lieutenant Hardison. Sergeant, wasn't it? What in the blazes happened here? You said you were injured?"

'Just what the hell is going on here?' Niko takes a deep breath and looks between all the men who stand silently, eyeballing him and Minerva's wreckage nervously. "Uh, that's going to depend. This may come off as a stupid question, but where am I?"

Hardison trades his confusion for a frown, his dark eyebrows meeting under the shadow of his helmet. "This place is a fifteen-minute sprint from the village of Thurbury, Sergeant. The… The thing behind you made quite a racket when it raced above our rooftops to land here. Now, what happened?"

Niko returns the Renaissance actors' frown with one of his own. 'Very keen on not breaking character, huh?' After a moment of mulling over his reply, Niko sighs. "That's classified. I'm not allowed to say," he corrects after seeing a few of the men shoot him confused looks. "You just need to know that the wreckage behind me is property of the United States Air Force and by extension the United States government. As such, tampering with anything here will result in prosecution of the highest degree. The crash landing here was unintentional." He shifts on his feet and winces when his broken arm painfully reminds him that he still hurt. "The Renaissance fair get up is very cool, I'll admit, but we need to be serious for a minute here. I need medical attention and a working phone."

The officer of the group goes back to being mystified. "What? Did you suffer some sort of blow to the head or some other mind-addling malady?" He taps the butt of his spear on the ground impatiently. "I'm afraid you're not making much sense. What is the 'United States Air Force'? A branch of airborne casters perhaps?" His eyes narrow. "If you're working with Fulcorian forces, know that there will be no leniency for you."

Now it's Niko's turn to be confused. He blinks and shakes his head. "Just what the hell are you talking about? I'm trying to be serious here! If you're really desperate for an interview with the feds, then the crashed plane behind me is a Specter-2 piloted by an AI. Do you see how serious this is now?"

"AI?" One of the younger larpers mutters to his fellow next to him. "What do you reckon that means?"

The other man rolls his eyes. "Probably some sort of automata or caster nonsense."

Hardison turns and glares at the two younger men, making them clam up near-instantly, then he turns back to Niko. "Sergeant, I haven't any idea what an Ay-aye is. Should I?"

Niko is floored. Even the most backwater and desolate places on earth know what an AI is. There is no way…

The medieval-looking Lieutenant turns to one of the men on his left. "Newblood Lawrence! You've spent some time with the medics, yes? Get this man some healer's brew! He's obviously struck his head and that arm looks broken!"

The young guardsman, one with baby fat still on his clean-shaven face, stiffens and quickly walks forward towards Niko. "Yes, Lieutenant!" In his haste, the guardsmen named Lawrence almost trips over a root but corrects himself before he can faceplant in front of his fellows. As he approaches, Hardison and the other guards move forward and tighten up the half-circle, leaving Niko more or less trapped between them and Minerva's metal corpse.

The airman takes a step backward, apprehension suddenly boiling in his gut, but Lawrence continues forward at his lieutenant's order. He withdraws a small wineskin from a bag at the small of his back and offers it to Niko. "Please sir," Lawrence says with a nervous sort of politeness. "Feel free to drink all of it. It won't repair a broken arm entirely, but I'm certain it will make the trip to a proper healer much more bearable."

The Air Force Sergeant narrows his eyes at the wineskin distrustfully, his mind whirling a mile a minute as he tries to puzzle out the situation around him. Living through a missile strike? Crashing in a forest? A bunch of men in fifteenth-century apparel confronting him? The more and more he thinks, the more the pounding headache behind his eyes returns. "Look, uh, Lawrence. I'm not about to drink some unknown substance handed to me by someone I don't know. Whatever it is, I'll do without."

The young guardsmen's face takes on an even more nervous appearance at the rejection. "Sir, I insist. The brew in this skin is nary a day old. I think without your aches and pains, my fellow watchmen and I can better help you."

Niko just shakes his head. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"By Rakali's Eye," Hardison finally growls. "It's just a healer's brew! Watch," he orders as he steps between Niko and Lawrence. The officer swipes the wineskin from the junior watchman and plants the head of his spear in the ground. With his right hand free, he bites the thumb of his glove and pulls it off, then he runs his bare thumb across the sharpened edge of Lawrence's spear without so much as a wince. He turns the bleeding digit to Niko before popping the wooden stopper off of the wineskin with his other hand. He raises the wineskin up and lets a splash of the glowing pink liquid within fall into his mouth, swallowing quickly afterward.

The drone pilot's eyes widen at what he sees.

The bleeding cut along the lieutenant's thumb seemingly steams and sizzles, then before Niko's eyes, the slit stops weeping red and the flesh fuses shut as if there was never a cut at all.

Hardison wipes the little bit of blood still on his thumb upon his sleeve and then replaces his glove. Without waiting, he thrusts the wineskin into Niko's chest, who reflexively takes it before it can fall. "It's not poison so sometime today would be pleasant, Sergeant."

Niko ignores the lieutenant's forceful words, too focused on staring at the wineskin in his hand. 'Some kind of cellular division… Something? No, how would something administered orally work that fast? That bandage-in-a-can gel junk only works topically and that takes several minutes, not twenty seconds! And the color, it was glowing pink. The glowing means there has to be some sort of ongoing chemical reaction or something alive in here. Or is there?' Try as he might to rationalize what he's seen, the Sergeant simply can't. With a shaky sigh, he tips his head back and squeezes the wineskin into his mouth.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

His tongue is assaulted by the acrid flavor of chemicals masked by a nauseating amount of sugar, and despite the urge to spit the pink liquid out, Niko grimaces and swallows.

Less than a second after the mouthful of the horrific concoction settles in his stomach, Niko feels his skin begin the buzz just below the surface. For an instant too short to even cry out about, the throbbing in his skull intensifies what feels like a hundredfold before fading into nothing just as quickly. His left eye stops seeing double and the bruises dotting his body under his clothes cease aching as if they never existed.

He gasps and looks down at his left arm as all the scrapes and cuts emit wisps of steam. The cuts close as new skin grows from seemingly nowhere over the different abrasions. Deep in his bicep, the pain of his broken bone dulls into a much more tolerable ache. Everything happens in hardly thirty seconds.

"Better? Good." Hardison nods. "Now, you better start making some sense otherwise I'll be forced to take you in for some questioning."

Without a concussion muddying his thoughts, Niko blinks and takes a deep breath, brain firing on all cylinders. 'Okay, things are getting weird. Don't panic, Niko. Either you hit your head much harder than expected, someone is going way out of their way to play a prank on you, or you can take this at face value. You have no backup, are surrounded, and considering the evidently magic potion you just drank, you have no idea what they can do. Think man, think!'

After nearly a moment of silence, during which lieutenant Hardison's frown deepens each second, Niko takes a deep, nervous breath and bows his head. "Lieutenant Hardison, on behalf of the United States Air Force and the sovereign nation of the United States of America, I thank you for your assistance. At this time, I wish to request asylum and further assistance from you, as I and United States Air Force assets are currently stranded in this location. I would also like to see about establishing diplomatic relations between the sovereign nation of the United States of America and your home if there is not an embassy currently in place. I am not trained for diplomatic missions, so please excuse any social faux pas. I hope we can cooperate regarding these goals, and I'm certain my home will be happy to pay reparations for the time and resources."

For about half a minute, the only sound in the crash site is the wind whistling through the leaves, then Lieutenant Hardison lets out a long-suffering sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Rakali's Eye, you just had to make this more difficult for me, didn't you? I'm almost wishing you stayed addled." He looks around at the assorted watchmen with him. "Alright, you louts. This situation just jumped above all our heads, so here's the plan. We are going to escort Sergeant…" He pauses and looks back at Niko.

"Niko Kohonen," the airmen supplies, resisting the urge to wipe his sweaty brow. He can't believe that worked.

"…Sergeant Kohonen here back to Thurbury to see a healer, then we are going to drop him off with the mayor and wash our hands of this, got it?"

Niko clears his throat. "Lieutenant, I hate to make more trouble for you, but we need to address the subject of this wreckage," he gestures a hand to Minerva's frame. Looking at the mangled drone makes his chest clench, but the lack of blue core coolant leaking onto the ground stems any grim thoughts.

"What about it, Sergeant?" Hardison asks tiredly. "I very much doubt your… thing is going to move. Just what is it, anyway?"

"It's…" The Staff Sergeant thinks for a moment about how best to describe a drone to a band of fantasy watchmen of all things. He bites his lip and looks up at the cloudless sky, almost imagining Minerva flying overhead. "Does the word 'golem' mean anything to you, Lieutenant?"

"Like the gargoyles at Castle Steppe?" One of the still-unnamed watchmen pipes up. "Nasty things, those gargoyles. Sitting still like statues only to rise and fight as if possessed when roused. Each one is strong as ten men, I hear."

"No, this great hulk is made out of metal, isn't it?" Another one asks, pointing his spear at the Specter-2 drone. "It's like one of Quill's automata toys."

Hardison slams the butt of his spear into the ground. "Enough chatter! I'll hear not another word until we're back to the village!" He turns and barks, then he returns his dark eyes to Niko. "You were saying?"

Niko swallows dryly, now aware that the 'healers brew' did nothing to quench his thirst. "The wreckage here is from a drone, which is like a flying golem. It's sophisticated and the United States would be sore if something more were to happen to it. I'll need to get my hands on a set of tools and dismantle it myself if help from the US Air Force doesn't arrive in a timely manner. Until then, it'll need to have a guard detail posted here to keep people away as I contact my command. Again, I'm sorry about the inconvenience but I have to insist on this. Can this be done?" Silently, he crosses his fingers in hopes the 'diplomat' gambit will give him enough pull.

The watchman Lieutenant levels Niko with a sharp glare but turns to the pair of watchmen who have been chattering during the whole encounter. "Armand, Kiligan! You two stay here and guard this hunk of metal until relieved!" Hardison orders. "And don't touch anything! If you end up cursed by whatever devilry powers this thing or cause some inter-kingdom incident by breaking something, I'll have both of your hides!"

"Yes, Lieutenant!" Both pound their right fists against their chests and separate from the group, taking posts on either side of Minerva's destroyed body.

Hardison's now sour visage turns back to Niko. "Anything else?"

The blonde shakes his head. "No, Lieutenant. Thank you."

"Then back to the village we go," Hardison taps the end of his spear on the ground one more time. "Follow me."

The remainder of the men take positions around Niko in a formation that is either meant to protect him or prevent him from running away, it is difficult to tell. Then the march back to the village begins.

Before they leave the clearing, Niko turns and gives Minerva's frame a long look. 'Hang tight, Minnie. I'll be back.'

----------------------------------------

True to Lawrence's word, the foul pink substance in the wineskin partially healed Niko's arm, making the half-hour walk back to the village bearable rather than grueling. As they walk along a packed dirt road, a few of the watchmen quietly ask Niko questions about this, that, and the other.

"What sort of uniform is that?"

"Where is the 'United States'?"

"Did that great metal hulk actually fly?"

"Are you some sort of caster or artificer?"

"You don't look like a Sergeant…"

Niko politely answers everything he can and deflects what he can't, beating down his annoyance at the incessant questions all the while. His still-smarting arm eats at his patience, but he just grits his teeth, unwilling to snap and lose what little favor currently given to him.

After what seems like an eternity, the dirt road leads to a pair of open wooden gates built into a stone arch, which stretches out into a great, fortified stone wall encircling the village. Each side of the gate is flanked by a pair of guards with the same dress as Hardison and his men. Atop the arch, a pair of crossbowmen watch the goings-on below with disinterest, each one standing beside a red banner depicting the same seven circles-within-circles on the watchman uniforms. The gate guards, leaning on their spears in obvious boredom, perk up when Niko and his escort approach.

"Who goes there?" The leftmost guard calmly asks, looking as if he already knows the answer. After leaning his spear against the cobblestone wall behind him, he reaches into the satchel at the small of his back and withdraws a small book bound in leather along with a primitive feather quill.

"Lieutenant Hardison of the 4th Watch returning from scouting the unknown flying object seen early this morning." Hardison sniffs. "The source has been found and presumably presents no threat. There was a man aboard the object, Sergeant Niko here," the lead watchman nods backward at the blonde man behind him. "Kiligan and Armand were left behind to guard the site. This is now a diplomatic endeavor, so the good Sergeant here requires a healer and a visit with the Mayor. Can someone send a runner?"

The four watchmen at the gate look between each other, and the leftmost one with the book shrugs as if to say 'not me'. After a few seconds of silent debate, the center-right guard turns and briskly walks through the gates into the village proper.

"An interesting turn, for certain." The leftmost guard with the book remarks with a raised eyebrow. Now that they're closer, Niko can see the impressive mustache the man sports, as it wobbles with every word he speaks. "Sergeant Niko was it?" He asks, scanning Niko's rough form with a keen eye as he jots something down in his little book. Curiously, he has no inkwell to go with his quill. "Please, go on in, son, so that someone may see your wounds."

Without waiting for any other response, Hardison begins marching forward again, forcing Niko to walk when the man behind him marches in sync with his Lieutenant. As they pass the threshold, Niko can't help but let his eyes wander and take in the surroundings with wonder.

The village almost looks like something taken out of a European history book. The dirt road branches off down several streets, each lined with houses of stone, wood, and thatch that walk the line between pragmatic and aesthetic. Many of them have chimneys that breathe out lazily rolling clouds of smoke, and one in the distance has plumes of pastel blue rising up into the sky. People of all ages come and go down the street and between the buildings, bearing cheerful faces that clash with their lean, work-formed bodies. The women carry a sort of rugged beauty that Niko has never seen before, and the men, toughened by hard work, come and go with purpose in their steps.

Hardison grunts as they approach the main street leading down to a bustling market. "Alright," the lieutenant raises his voice enough to be heard over the dull roar of the mass of people just a stone's throw away. "Lawrence, take the Sergeant here to Quill since he'll need both a healer and an artificer. The rest of you, return to the barracks and decide on a rotation schedule to go relieve the pair of talkative fools keeping an eye on the flying golem. If you don't have a schedule in place before I return from debriefing the other watch leads, then so help me…"

The watchmen all pound their chests in the same salute that Armand and Kiligan used. "Yes, Lieutenant!" They cry as one before turning and marching off.

Hardison glances at Niko from underneath his shadowed helmet. "Lawrence is a newblood, but he's proven himself dependable… so far. He'll take you to have the remainder of your aches and pains tended to. Once you feel as if you're adequately rested, have him bring you to the mayor's abode and we can begin getting this mess sorted out."

Just as he did with the guards at the gate, Hardison doesn't wait for a reply and simply turns before walking into the crowd of people in the market, quickly vanishing in the throng of bodies.

Niko runs a hand through his hair and exhales sharply. "I really annoyed him, haven't I?"

At his right, watchman Lawrence clears his throat. "Ah, the lieutenant is normally like that, sir. He is the best-performing watchman lead and such a title can be stressful. Please don't mistake his haste as some sort of personal dislike."

"If you say so," Niko shakes his head. "Now, you are going to take me to some kind of medic?"

Lawrence nods his head rapidly, making his shiny helmet bounce on his head. "Aye, Ms. Quill is a jack of all trades. I'm certain she can repair what ails you. If you'll follow me, sir, I will be glad to escort you."

"Just Niko is okay," Niko smiles, recalling his own days as the lowest-ranked airman among his unit. "No need for the 'sir' unless it's really important for protocol."

"As you wish, sir-erm, Niko," Lawrence hastily corrects with an embarrassed flush. "This way!"

The young watchman leads his blonde charge through the bustling market, taking his time so that Niko does not fall behind, giving the airman ample time to glance around at all the strange sites.

There are the usual vendors, with stands selling food, like a standard with various fruits. Many of them are easily recognizable, like apples, oranges, peaches, and a few others. Others, however, look as if they came straight from an alien planet. There are some in the perfect shape of a five-pointed yellow star with a little green leaf coming from each point, another that twists upon itself in a delicate double helix pattern, and even one with perfectly transparent skin and flesh, showing off the clear insides. If not for some imperfections in the pulp of the fruit, it would be all too easy to mistake the fruit as a glass bobble.

Miraculously, many of the signs and labels are written in English. They pass by a butcher shop with several signs in the windows advertising different types and cuts of meat. There's beef, pork, various types of fowl, something called 'steppe skink', and an outrageous claim that for the "low price of 1,200 gaur, a succulent cut of marsh Wyvern can be yours! Felled by a spear and carved by a knife both blessed by Angimon!"

Then the truly strange things began to appear. One stand sold nothing but miniature shrines. There are so many different shrines for different gods that the labels simply blend together the longer Niko looks. Another is a simple cart manned by an old woman and the only thing for sale are unlabeled stones. Beyond that, there is a blacksmith shop with a sign advertising custom jobs and custom "enchantments for tools, arms, and armor."

The blacksmith itself is not what draws Niko's eyes, however. No, the gigantic six-legged cat casually standing in front of the store and blocking off part of the road is what truly captures his attention. The gigantic feline's pelt is colored a light brown with splotches of rusty red, and the pelt itself is covered partially by armor colored a deep blood red. Segments of armor run down each leg, while a helmet covers the head. On its back, a leather saddle sits, and from the rear of the saddle, flank armor attached with rings comes down all the way to the cat's haunches. Every bit of the dazzlingly red metal is decorated with inlays of whirling silver that shine like polished coins in the sunlight, and the brightest silver is reserved for the same seven circle symbol that Niko still does not know the meaning of.

As he and Lawrence pass, Niko can't help but look at the face of the enormous feline, only to start when intelligent yellow eyes stare lazily back. The great cat yawns, showing off a maw of dagger teeth easily large enough to bite a man in half.

When they finally turned down a side street, Niko can't help himself. "What the hell was that thing?!" He asks, grabbing Lawrence's shoulder with his good hand and stopping the younger man.

Lawrence blinks, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"That… That," the airman tries to come up with an appropriate descriptor as his brain short-circuits from trying to process what he's seen. "That cat, the huge one with six legs!"

"That was a Redwood Skulker?" The watchman replies slowly, as if unsure why he's being questioned. He rubs a nervous thumb along the shaft of his spear. "They're uncommon beasts for certain considering they hail from the far west in Leihan, but that one looked like the mount of a knight, so there was nothing to fear."

Now truly beginning to feel out of his depth, Niko just takes a deep breath and nods. "Sure, sure. My bad. Let's just get to this medic already."

Looking back at him with open apprehension, Lawrence continues walking.

They continue for several minutes, passing into what looks like a residential section of town. The buildings around them are more homes than anything else, and several children openly play in the streets. Finally, Lawrence turns and faces a little home on the corner of the street. As they approach, Niko feels his nose tickle when the smell of dried herbs and spices wafts from one of the open windows. Strangely, there is the faint undertone of… Solvent?

Knock knock knock!

Lawrence raps his knuckles on the door three times, and after a moment, the doorknob twists before the door opens inwards. Niko blinks at what he sees.

Standing in the doorway, a head and a half shorter than he, a large, white-furred, bipedal rat wrings its bare little paws. It looks between Niko and Lawrence before opening its mouth and speaking.

"Oh! Sir Watchman? What can I do for you?" It-no, she asks in a distinctly feminine voice. She blinks her red eyes and twitches her nose, making the fan of whiskers on her muzzle twitch. The bipedal rat before them wears a low-cut, brown dress that exposes her shoulders, letting the voluminous tuft of fur circling her neck breathe. The tuft continues up the back of her neck onto the top of her head, making a short mane of sorts and the illusion of a head of hair when peering at her from the front. Her brown dress cuts off between her hips and her knees, showing them her bare, rodent-like feet, each toe tipped with a tiny claw. Behind her, a thin, hairless tail waves in what has to be interest if the expression on her startlingly anthropomorphic face is any indication. On her left ear, a single gold stud earring shines.

Without even thinking, Niko bites down on his lip with his left canine teeth.

The sudden shock of pain snaps through his growing fatigue and sharpens his senses to a supernatural clarity for just a few seconds, and yet nothing in front of him changes.

The rat gasps when she spies the blood running down Niko's lips. "Goodness me! You're hurt!" Then her gaze moves down to his left arm, prompting her to wince in sympathy. "You poor thing! Please come in! Let Quill ease your pain." She reaches out and takes Niko's uninjured arm in her small, warm hands. As she pulls him into her home, the airman can feel the dull points of her claws and the velvety hairs of her paws. It's all so real.

That's when Niko realizes just how lost he is.

END CH2