Gira sat atop K-11 with a flat expression, his eyes glazed over as he inspected K-11’s so-called hunting grounds. The sight didn’t particularly match what he’d envisioned when K-11 mentioned his ‘feeing ground’.
“Is this…it?” He asked, crossing his arms and leaning back slightly.
“Indeed, it is, friend,” K-11 replied, his synthesized voice carrying its usual smooth but monotone resonance.
The strange pair found themselves joining a line of people in the middle of a rather well-groomed park at the edge of one of the massive mega-towers that composed Krreat’s vast superstructure. The manicured lawns stretched out in neat, emerald rows, broken only by clusters of polished ivory benches and artfully placed flower beds. Around them, a surprising number of people wandered about—some lounging on the grass, others engaged in quiet conversation.
Overhead, small mechanoids flitted about, their delicate movements precise as they tended to the vibrant flora, ensuring the park’s perfection remained untouched.
“Howdy, K-11!” a passerby called out cheerfully as he strolled past, prompting a slow, almost reluctant wave from the massive Rak’da.
Gira tilted his head, watching as more people greeted K-11 with familiarity. “Wow,” he said, a smirk creeping onto his face, “you’re pretty popular, aren’tcha?”
K-11 nodded, his massive frame shifting with the motion. “Naturally,” he replied in his flat, synthesized tone, trudging forward in the line without missing a beat.
“Hmm—well, you are pretty cool, so I guess that checks out,” Gira said with a casual shrug, his tone light. His nose twitched as he sniffed the air, the savory scents wafting around them quickly pulling his focus. “So… what kind of food are we getting?”
“Basidrame Bites,” the Rak’da replied as they inched closer to the small building ahead. The structure’s unassuming facade did little to betray the mystery of the treat it promised.
“What’s that?” Gira asked, leaning over to K-11’s side.
K-11 tilted his head higher, his amber eyes scanning the crowd. His gaze locked onto a cheerful man clutching a small bowl, its contents steaming faintly. “That,” he said, his synthesized voice steady as he pointed toward the crispy treat in the man’s hand.
Gira followed K-11’s gaze, spotting a man holding a small bowl filled with crispy, golden balls stacked neatly on top of each other. He watched as the man drizzled a clear, golden sauce over the top, the liquid catching the light before he took a bite. The man’s face lit up with a satisfied smile, his delight almost infectious.
“Okay, but what is it?” Gira asked, still clearly confused.
“It’s a crispy treat that encapsulates the richness of the universe,” K-11 replied, his synthesized voice carrying a rare hint of enthusiasm. His heavy tail thumped against the ground, wagging with excitement, prompting the people behind them to step back.
“Okay…? Welp, I’m looking forward to trying it.” Gira said as they both neared the front of the line.
Before long, the two found themselves at the front of the line, ready to order. Gira, overwhelmed by the sheer number of choices, opted to copy K-11’s order. After a brief wait, both received their food from the Celeste Hollow working the service window.
K-11’s order was handed over in a massive, custom container adorned with a cartoonish drawing of K-11 smiling—a detail that seemed oddly charming. In contrast, Gira received a modest portion in a simple bowl.
“Thanks~,” Gira muttered, while K-11 gave a polite nod to the Hollow before moving toward the shade of a nearby tree. With a loud thud, the massive Rak’da dropped down to the ground, leaning low to allow Gira to slide down his arm with ease.
“Is that you on there?” Gira asked, pointing at the cartoonish drawing on the large container.
“Indeed,” K-11 replied flatly, carefully opening his container and plucing one of the crispy balls. He rested it on his long, muscly tongue before slurping it up with what could only be described as prehistoric delight.
“Hmm,” Gira muttered, mimicking K-11’s method. He carefully placed one of the treats on his tongue, letting the crisp texture linger for a moment before slurping it into his mouth.
The flavor burst in his mouth with a symphony of crisp satisfaction. The crunchy, perfectly seasoned coating delivered a salty, spiced wave of flavor, balanced by the mellow sweetness of the golden sauce draped over the crispy treat. With each bite, the juicy flesh inside released a rich, savory burst of meaty perfection, bathing his senses in a heavenly reprieve. The contrast between the fluffy interior and the crunchy exterior created a divine harmony of texture.
Gira’s eyes widened in pure, unadulterated bliss as he chewed the Basidrame Bites. His free hand instinctively came to rest on his cheek, a single tear of joy rolling down his face. “Delicious…” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.
The Basidrame’s lightness tempted him once more, and without hesitation, he reached for another. Stuffing his mouth with abandon, he savored the bites with fervent passion.
Before he knew it, he had swallowed the final bite. Gira fell to his knees, overcome with emotion. Tears streamed freely down his face as he gazed into the endless blue sky above. To be truly alive is to eat truly good food… he thought, the sentiment reverberating through him as his heart soared in gratitude.
Stolen story; please report.
“K-11, that was…” Gira trailed off, his gaze fixed on the endless blue sky above, his tear-streaked face glowing with a quiet reverence. As he communed with the divine—no, with the holy Basidrame Bites themselves. “Perfection…” he whispered, the word carried softly on the wind, as if a prayer to the culinary gods.
Strangers walked past, casting sidelong glances at the peculiar sight—a young man kneeling in apparent awe, streaks of tears drying on his cheeks, and the Rak’da that was peacefully gulping down his share of food.
Brim Brim Brim…
The sudden ringtone snapped Gira out of his trance. “Uh—wha?” he mumbled, blinking as he glanced down at his side pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out the crystalcomm Bern had given him, its faint glow reflecting off his still-dazed expression.
Wiping the crumbs from his face, Gira fumbled with the sleek device, his fingers clumsy against its smooth surface. After a few seconds of awkward tapping, a screen finally flickered to life, illuminating his curious gaze.
He was prompted with a blurred background and two buttons—one glowing a mellow green, the other a stark, blunt red. Above the prompts, bold text read: Unknown Caller.
“Hmmm.” He tapped the green button and the call seemingly went through.
The screen suddenly reflected his own face before connecting with the Unkn—oh, it’s just him.
“Gira?” A familiar voice vibrated from the crystal.
“Lucasss!!” Gira exclaimed, his face lighting up as he shot to his feet, the crystalcomm spinning in his hand. “How’s it going, best bud?!” he asked as he bounced in place.
On the other side of the video call, a clearly older Lucas smiled warmly at Gira. His golden hair, still tipped with vibrant blue, had grown longer and was now tied back in a rugged ponytail that rested over his shoulder. His gaze was soft and steady, a quiet confidence reflected in his expression, and his icey blue eye seemed to stand out even more than Gira remembered.
A gentle, low, cold blue ambient glow surrounded Lucas. “It’s been okay…but first off, I just wanted to say thank you, Gira…”
Gira gave him a frazzled smile, closing both eyes in a serene, apologetic gesture. “You don’t gotta thank me—actually—sorry, uhh. You know—eating Shredder,” he mumbled, his gaze shifting away from the camera, embarrassment creeping into his tone. “I didn’t mean to eat him! It’s just—there was all that smog from the pale thingy and I was just blindly clawing at anything that moved, and—”
“It’s okay,” Lucas interrupted softly, his voice steady but tinged with melancholy. His gaze dropped slightly, his expression growing heavier. “He was too far gone…”
Before the silence could settle too heavily, K-11 leaned in over Gira’s shoulder, his mechanical jaw working as he slurped down another piece of Basidrame. “Oh, Russo’s spawn,” he remarked with casual detachment, his synthesized voice breaking the tension.
“K-11?!” Lucas exclaimed, his voice sharp with surprise as he leaned closer to the screen.
“Oh, you two know each other?” Gira asked, his head darting between the two.
“Yeah,” Lucas replied, shifting slightly on the other side of the video call. “He’s the Rak’da that saved my dad.”
“Oh! Nice one, big guy,” Gira said, giving K-11’s scaly chest a hearty pat before turning back to Lucas. “How’s your dad?”
“He’s safe,” Lucas said, a hint of relief in his voice. “Shaken, obviously, but thanks to K-11, he’s still with us.”
K-11 slurped down another mouthful of Basidrame, swallowing with mechanical precision. “How is the upgrade performing?” he asked dryly.
“Upgrade?” Gira echoed, tilting his head in confusion.
Lucas hesitated, his gaze drifting away from the screen. “Right… my arm,” he said quietly as he looked at his arm off screen.
“What does that mean? What about your arm?” Gira asked, turning his head between Lucas and K-11, his hair bits twitching in confusion.
Lucas shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at his arm. “It’s not a big deal,” he muttered, “Let me show you…”
He set the crystalcomm down carefully, the lens capturing the swirling patterns of the ceiling above. Their dark creases shifted in response to his shadow. The stillness of the view was broken only by faint shuffling sounds, followed by the gentle shake of the video as Lucas picked the device back up, aiming it at himself once more.
He’d taken his shirt off, revealing the so-called upgrade. His lean, muscular frame had gained definition since Gira had last seen him, but the uniformity of his build ended abruptly at his right shoulder. Deep scars faded into a black synthetic material that wrapped tightly around the joint, blending seamlessly into a mechanical arm.
The arm itself was unapologetically industrial, its black-textured surface segmented with intricate plating. He rotated it fluidly, the motion precise and controlled. Along the lateral side, panels shifted slightly, exposing a hollow interior lined with a complex chamber. Yellow lights flickered inside; their pulsing glow synchronized with each movement, giving the arm an almost unsettling vitality.
“Pretty neat, huh?” Lucas said awkwardly, his voice trailing off as he glanced at Gira for validation.
“That’s so aweso—” Gira started, but K-11 abruptly shoved him aside with a casual swipe of his claw. Cathing the cystalcomm in his metallic hand.
The Rak’da leaned in closer, his amber eyes narrowing as a low, guttural growl rumbled from his throat. “My design has been compromised! Damn Vilebloods!” he complained, his synthesized voice dry and detached, contrasting with the primal frustration underscored by his throaty growl.
“Sorry about that K-11…” Lucas replied, scratching the side of his neck.“As cool as having a chainsaw for an arm would’ve been, I’m right-handed and I kinda need the dexterity to, you know… live.”
K-11 growled low in his throat. “Be it so, Russo Spawn…” his synthesized voice added dryly.
“Also, my name is Luc—” Lucas began, only to be cut off.
“Lucas! When did you get a robot arm? It’s freaking RAW!” Gira shouted, his excitement loud enough to draw a few curious stares from passersby. Snatching the crystalcomm away from K-11, he leaned into the screen, studying Lucas’s arm intently. “Why’s it glowing? Can you shoot stuff out of it? Can you, like, feel stuff? Is it heavy? Did they chop your arm off?” he bombarded Lucas with questions, barely giving him a moment to answer.
Lucas blinked, overwhelmed by the barrage of questions. “Uhh—let’s see… I’m not sure, kind of, yes—sorta, no, and, uhh—not completely,” he said, his tone a mix of confusion and resignation as he slumped down a fluffy white couch.
“That’s so… cool,” Gira muttered, his voice filled with awe as he stared at the screen. “By the by, where even are you? Xizu mentioned something about you moving, but, uh… I’m no good with names.”
Lucas stood up from his couch, a spark of excitement in his voice. “Let me show you!” he said, grabbing the crystalcomm. As he moved, the screen briefly flashed glimpses of his messy apartment—strewn clothes, odd devices, and a faint hum of disarray—before he approached a gray ambient light glowing from off-screen.
With a quick flip of the camera’s POV, the view shifted as he stepped outside onto a snowy balcony. “I’m under the giant’s shadow—I’m in the city of Heilagjǫtunn!” he announced, his tone brimming with pride as he tilted the crystalcomm upward.
The screen captured the shadowy outline of something unfathomable towering above. Its colossal form stretched across the ashen sky, encircled by whirling sparse snowfall, its towering heights fading slowly into the snow-laden haze. Its shady silhouette was stark and otherworldly, its visage unknowable, yet its immense shape was unmistakable as it seemed to gaze down upon the snowy cityscape at its feet.