"This way," Antonio Vicchady said, walking toward the back of the empty warehouse. "I built a room in the back for him."

"So you brought Zerk back here, wounded," Henry said as we followed. "Was it your idea to start using his blood for your neckties?"

"I got the idea from a friend of mine who owns an art gallery" Vicchady said. "He happened to see some of Zerk's used bandages, and he was mesmorized by the color. He begged me to tell him where he could get a hold of 'that hypnotizing orange dye.' That's when I knew I had something really special on my hands."

Vicchady gauged our expressions. "If you're concerned about it – Zerk's – well-being, then please rest assured," he said. "He's completely comfortable here, and perfectly happy."

We reached a second security door in the back corner of the warehouse. Vicchady punched in another code and used his thumbprint, again, to open the door.

The stench hit us the second the door opened – something like ripe fruit, but strong and overwhelming. Henry and I covered our faces with our sleeves.

"Bananas," Vicchady said, waving his hand in front of his face to clear the air.

"That's what you're feeding him?" Henry said as we stepped into a small cubby, about half the size of a hotel room.

Vicchady said, "No, that's what he smells like. The Zerk. He stinks like rotten bananas."

Vicchady wasn't wrong. Aside from the smell, the room was covered in layers of dirt and plastic wrappers, the remains of expired snacks and junk food. A small square of sunlight, beaming through a hole in the warehouse ceiling, offered the only light in the room.

In the darkness I saw a figure curled up in the corner, motionless. His leg was chained to a bolt, driven into the floor. Next to him lay an open bag of dog food, an Italian brand with a picture of a smiling mastiff on the front. Across from that was a foul grey bucket, I forced myself not to think about what it was used for.

"Oh shit," Henry muttered from behind me. I turned and followed his gaze; that's when I saw the jars.

Mason jars, all the same uniform size, were stacked neatly against the opposite wall. Dozens deep and a half-dozen high. A few empty jars lay in front, but most were completely filled with orange Azodii blood: a stockpile of Antonio's precious Vicchady Orange.

"He's probably a little weak," Vicchady said, visibly annoyed that we were paying so much attention to the gruesome collection of jarred blood. "For what should be obvious reasons. Like I said, I could use another one. If you're willing to sell yours."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The crumpled shadow in the corner moved. It let out an exhausted yawn.

"We have increasing demand to keep up with," Vicchady continued. "It would be less taxing on ol' Zerk here if there were another one. You know, to help lighten the load a bit. Plus, I imagine he'd probably enjoy the company of one of his own kind. Don't you think?"

Henry and I walked up to the figure that was lying on the concrete floor. "Zerk?" I said. The prone figure rolled over and stretched, giving off a strong banana funk. An eye lazily opened in the darkness.

"Oh hello," Zerk muttered. "More aliens. How wonderful!"

It took me a moment to realize that Zerk was talking to himself, and referring to Henry and me.

"My name is Evander Marshall, and this is Henry Todd," I said. "We're lawyers. We've just come from doing business on the planet Azodii."

Zerk sat up so quickly that Henry and I both jumped backward. The sunlight from the hole in the roof spilled onto his face and we were able to see him better. Zerk was short and squat, but he looked noticeably thinner than the average Azodii. His skin was no longer bright blue, it was more like purple-blue, the color of a bruise.

The expression on Zerk's face was one of confusion; he seemed reluctant to believe his own ears. "Did you just say," Zerk whispered slowly. "That you came from Azodii?"

"Yes," Henry said. "We had some business with the royal family, and we… learned about your situation."

I said, "We met with King Azodii-Bal this morning. Or, maybe it was last night. The time difference has us all messed up."

"You… you can understand me? You have translator chips?"

"Yes," I said. "Courtesy of our client, the Intergalactic Council of the Territories of Slatt."

"Royal family?" Antonio Vicchady was listening from the doorway, trying to inhale clean air from outside the room. "You mean these things have their own government and stuff?"

Henry turned to Vicchady. "Yes. The alien that you captured, kidnapped, and have been torturing, Mr. Vicchady, is a member of the royal family of the planet Azodii. You must release him at once."

"Release him?" Vicchady closed the door. "Are you insane?"

"Release him into our custody," I said. "And maybe we can convince the Azodii to be merciful."

"Guys, please!" Zerk used the wall to help painfully bring himself to his feet. "Let's all calm down. I think this is just a big misunderstanding –"

"A misunderstanding?!" I felt my voice rising. "He's selling your blood for profit. You're being held prisoner. You're chained to the floor."

"Well, yeah," Zerk said. "But I'm safe here. Mr. Vicchady takes care of me. He took me in, gave me a place to sleep." Zerk grabbed a handful of dog food and shoved it into his mouth. "He gives me food – it's a trade-off. All I have to do is provide a few milliliters of blood once and a while. Watch -"

Zerk grabbed a mason jar off the floor and walked to the corner of the room. He turned and faced the wall, standing a few inches away, then rammed his head twice into the concrete – thud, thud.

Zerk turned, smiling, with blood dripping out of his nose and down his face. Henry and I watched, horrified, as Zerk held the jar under his chin. The blood drizzled down his face and collected at the bottom of the jar. "See?" Zerk said cheerfully. "Nothing to it. It's not much worse than the work I was doing in the Qwazler mines. And we all gotta make money somehow, right?"