War had been declared. The Grequenok had finally figured out the slip drive, and used it to launch a full attack on the Empire. They had burned two colonies and occupied the planet that once held them, gradually turning it into a forward operations base. A draft had been immediately issued due to lack of enough enlisted personnel, and the Emperor stuck Costan's name on the very top of the draft roster personally.

Emperor Karcos knew it would be another giant wedge between Costan and himself, but every war required a member of the Royal Family to take part. Costan was the best fit for it aside from himself, who was a bit old and out of shape. The next two choices were Trencos, who was too far on the gay pacifist side of things, and Yidas the psychopath.

To think that they only took about four years to hash out the published documents that were publicly available over the long range skip coms. They didn't even commit patent infringement. Emperor Karcos signed off on them making slip drives under license, it was in one of the piles of paperwork that he had someone compile omnibus style. Luckily a lot of Code Black stuff got passed via the same omnibus signage, so the Empire wasn't completely unprepared.

The Empire didn't see any of the attacks coming, but the news spread faster than anyone expected. Even though a draft order went out, the recruitment centers were being overrun. Only the one draft letter was sent, and only because the draft was announced and the guy was on the list by name.

Draft recruit Costan was pissed off and disgruntled long before he even got to Camp Shellback. The Instructor who was sent to meet the new draftees was unsure of how to proceed with a Northern Wastes Academy Shuttle occupied by the pilots and a disembarking loanly, black furred male with a flat top. Shellback was in the middle of the desert, on the equator.

There were points in the year, multiple times, when the suns never set and this guy shows up in a full deep freeze uniform in the middle of the hottest season. This draft recruit was making her start to sweat just looking at him.

"Draft Recruit, WHY ARE YOU IN COLD GEAR?"

"INSTRUCTOR, I WAS ABOUT TO GRADUATE FROM THE NORTHERN WASTES MILITARY ACADEMY BUT EMPEROR HAD OTHER IDEAS. SO WHERE'S THE CAMP INSTRUCTOR!"

"THE FUCK YOU SAY"

"I SAY, I WAS GONNA GRADGIATE FROM THE NORTHERN WASTES MILITARY ACADEMY TOMORROW. THE EMPEROR DECIDED I WAS TO BE DRAFTED INSTEAD."

"I THINK YOU'RE LYING DRAFT RECRUIT."

"No lies here, now where is Camp Shellback?"

"NORTH, NORTHEAST. RUN IT YOU DISRESPECTFUL FAGGOT."

She just got uppity and told a winterized recruit to run to Camp Shellback, which was over thirty miles through the desert. This is why she was kicked down to meet and greet. She just had to remember to keep base emergency medical on speed dial and wait for him to drop and she'd be at zero fault. She was supposed to just drive them there in the buggy to prevent dehydration and heat stroke, but stuff like this was just too good to pass up.

That and this particular draftee was already a living meme. Pictures from the Emish lookout still popped up from time to time, mostly the one where he was in an oversized Venom Company jacket, covered in blood, wielding a combat knife and a flask after cutting his way out of a giant bear. Captions were typically on the lines of "Bad day at the Office? At least you didn't have to fight a bear." Or "Your child may have behavioral issues if". Then there were all the other photos of Costan which became memes.

She got in the buggy that had been parked just out of sight the entire time and took off after the surprisingly fleet draftee, camera at the ready. She prepared to snap a quick series of pictures as she pulled up beside him, expecting just a miserable looking Costan running in the desert in winter gear. She missed the moments the camera captured, but the sand cobra Costan was holding seemed to still be alive.

She didn't know what to expect, so she just asked.

"What are doing with that cobra?"

"Gonna have this cobra... for dinner tonight."

"No, draft recruit, you will not. Now get in the buggy and discard the cobra."

Costan tossed the cobra and hopped into the, still moving, dune buggy.

"You can't be bothered to let me stop, what's wrong with you?"

"Easier to say what is not wrong."

"So, the palace sent us the living meme, the guy whose life is a question?"

"No. Violence is the question. My life answered yes."

"Let's drop the bullshit, Draft Private Costan. I was screwing with you and I know you're screwing with me. Something is up, nobody just starts running across the desert without even a complaint."

"What do you wanna know, Instructor?"

"I have kept close tabs on your file, a lot of military personnel do these days. I want to know how your relationship with your parents is."

"I'll tell you like the last shrink, my relationship with them is by blood only, nothing platonic, nothing emotional, nothing financial aside from the Emperor has direct control of my businesses of his own doing without my consent."

"By nothing emotional, what do you mean? Also, I'm no head doctor. I got kicked down to meet and greet because I was to harsh on recruits of this region."

"For one, Grimclaw was put over my physical fitness at the palace, so I doubt that would have mattered to me. For two, the last one to ask that pretended to be a medical doctor. As for what I mean, I am The Black Cat of the family, the one mother never held. I was lucky to be bottle fed formula as an infant."

"Despite full synth milk and artificial feeding breasts being a thing? And she didn't even hold you when you were born, that's a big thing for"

"I know, an infant is supposed to at least get held and fed by its mother in the first day or it will be emotionally damaged."

"You must have had home economics, that's good I guess. Have you had any positive contact with your mother?"

"No, and all three times I've so much as seen her... it all went badly. Just filled the hole with learning and exercise, knowledge for what you'll never know and pain for the pain. At least I'm not, and haven't been the weakling of the family."

"Gods about, Costan. You need therapy, I kno"

"Fuck that, I've had enough of Therapist Grimclaw for my liking."

"No, I mean legitimate psychological counseling by actually licensed individuals. I know a good one, her name is Doctor Usanagi. She specializes in PTSD and post combat reconstructive surgery but she may be able to help you."

"Haha, funny fucking joke, telling a war draftee that there might be help for something that has no anything for it. I was fucked up at birth, and every point thereafter. Only hope for me is to die doing something useful."

"At least go to Doctor Usanagi, you loveless dredge."

The conversation stopped dead, right there and began to decay before anyone ever thought about something else to add or say. The failure of a conversation with Memelord Costan had driven a very big and dead wedge there. It didn't matter, she called Usanagi and told her to expect Costan the Unloved, the Unlucky, the suicidally depressed, logically stabilized, insane, twelfth child of the Emperor and Draft Recruit.

Doctor Usanagi was not surprised that Costan had issues. The Noble Caste were known to sweep conditions under the rug to save face, and the Royal Family was no exception. The good doctor made it clear that the base had to make him see her or Costan would have to come of his own free will.

Basic was nothing but the same old stuff to Costan, aside from being politely told that he would be seeing the Doctor Usanagi. Then there was the special equipment training that he struggled with because he wasn't allowed to do techy things. The powered armor was designed to be the be all of armor.

Not for Costan, they made him do all the things in an unpowered unit, aka a chunk of heavy dead weight that served no practical purpose, still not as bad as being forced to pretend to use a range finder. Costan was pretty sure not being properly trained in the tech enhanced common fare was going to get someone killed, probably himself.

He got good scores on the things that he was allowed to do, which was all things not technological. While he would have been a wonderful fit in many of the more technical areas of the military, the mandate forbade Costan doing anything techy was still in effect. The Emperor never repealed it, forcing Costan's Draft Career to Marine infantryman. In a time of space ships, pop up shields, and orbital fire support, there was the same old position of run in and shoot them, try not to die or let the more useful armor or artillery get overrun.

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They didn't miss the chance to make his life a living hell, though. He was part of the Royal Family, they were not going to go light on him. They pushed him as hard as they could push a draftee without breaking the Grivald Concorde, going as far as inviting some of the special forces for a bit of extra training at the expense of a marine recruit.

Costan still read all the training manuals he got his hands on. It might be helpful to know how to work the things if everything went tear shaped, and he had to occupy his mind as best he could to keep his sanity. The whole military had modernized, more digital forms meant less paperwork but a harder time for someone not allowed electronic devices.

The replacement of the mess cooks with the machines that spat out whatever you ordered were an overall improvement, but Costan couldn't use them. They were a marvelous piece of technology that were an offshoot of one of his old code black projects. He was stuck eating only field rations. The Northern Wastes had gotten them before he finally got out of the bunkhouses. Costan was tired of field rations.

Basic wrapped up right before the winter festivities. They all had three days for Durshdas, then it would be time to ship off to war. As per usual, a transport shuttle dropped Costan off at the Palace City shuttle port. The palace was a small town in and of itself, but an actual city surrounded it. It was more like a metropolis though, and yes they were uncreative in the naming convention.

Costan was in no hurry to get to the undoubtedly skeleton crewed palace. The Emperor always took the family on vacation for Durshdas and forgot Costan often, every time now that Costan thought about it. He had never been on any of the family vacations... and maybe what Doctor Usanagi said about the whole family stuff was true. Maybe he was messed up family wise to go on top of everything else.

He was thinking around and about at the mental stuff while looking around. He was taking in the city for a change, hoping that it would take his mind off of things. He couldn't help but think about all the times he was alone for whatever holiday, not just Durshdas.

Costan's mind flickered to a memory of Karkar talking about how his family once went to the Pathagorin Theater on Durshdas and performed something. Karkar didn't remember what they had performed, but they got food and water afterwards. The Pathagorin Theater was one of the last classical theaters, the biggest, and it went all in all year around.

The viewer tickets on Durshdas at the Pathagorin were a pay what you can per performance, with all proceeds going to charities. It was also broadcast on certain channels with pay per viewing of backstage goings on, but the performer's entrance was always open, even if still guarded, on Durshdas. Nothing drums up donations like random people and the occasional celebrity showing up for a performance. Celebrities never just wandered in, they always had it all planned out to maximize viewers.

It wasn't long before Costan found himself right outside the biggest classic theater on all the world of Snok. The people in the ticket booth were happy to inform Costan that they were out of seating, but had plenty of space for more performers. He was quickly pointed towards the brightly lit alley way to the performers entrance.

They waited until after he turned the corner to gossip.

The white furred female spoke first. "Did you see that guy? Gods about, he's huge."

"Yes, keep your panties on Francine. From the voice, he might not be so intact... and he's probably shipping off to war soon. Then don't forget that he's probably way out of your league. Did you read his name tag?" The orange furred male chided her.

"Draft Private Costan, I read it, nothing that would put him out of my reach."

"Uh huh? Why don't you, a common caste read this not so small run down on Costan the Noble Caste Royal." He presented his datapad to her to look at.

Her face went through all of the emotions as she quickly read the "extremely brief synopsis" on the current status of the Emporer's twelfth child. "He can't be, but even then, he's twenty four?"

"Yeah, cradle robbing over reacher, how bad do you want to slander yourself?"

"Shush, one day I'll find my perfect hubby."

"And in your search, you will overlook plenty of perfectly acceptable mates and end up either alone or unhappy." The male swiped his datapad back from Francine and called the stage director.

"Davy, are you, have I. Aw, I completely spaced. I love you too." She wrapped herself around the relatively diminutive male and began shamelessly showing her affection.

"About time Franny, thought you'd never notice", he replied turning his head and planting one straight on her lips as the snow continued to fall outside and the director picked up.

"You two finally a thing now? Why do I have to know?"

"You don't, but you might want to know that the black cat of the Royal Family is coming to perform."

"That, I needed to know." The Director ended the call and sent someone to make sure that Costan wasn't just standing at the back door getting cold feet. The promise of bacon and other good foods at the performers table would surely get inside and inspired. It had been a few years since the last big name came to them on Durshdas.

Costan was standing there, at the door, thinking about if he was supposed to knock or not. Then the door opened as he was about to knock. A shaved lady with purple painted skin greeted him with a stack of papers and some praline bacon.

"Ah, you must be here to entertain for charity. Before we can get started, you need to sign these. They give us permission to record you during your time here." Clatcha was good at her job, she danced well but really shown out in getting people to sign things. She was currently doing her level best at keeping the food just out of his reach while he signed everything.

He was going to perform The Plea of the Night King, a piece that hadn't been performed before. It hadn't stopped them from keeping things prepared to run it as a musical or ballet as soon as they got the writers permission though. Lucky, they had the confirmed writer saying that he was performing it, as a ballet musical piece.

"An odd choice, Tito! We need the performer sheets for the Night King, ballet musical!"

"Odd choice? I used to dance ballet, it's an old hobby, but can I get a piece of that... where'd that plate of bacon go?"

"You will have plenty of time for that afterwards, can't have an uneasy stomach when doing a show!" She swatted Costan's ear with the end of her scarf, then turned to go and tell the stage Director.

It was but moments later that someone handed Costan a copy of his part of the music and choreography. He didn't like how they dragged him past the tables full of wonderful smelling foods to a dressing room and started stripping him down to his fur. By the time he finished reading his parts and choreography, they had most of his costume done and ready for the trial run on the practice stage.

The wig was an annoyance. The practice run went flawlessly, spare for the wig, it suffered as a casualty of performance. Even the professional dancers, whose legs were like perfectly carved statues, were a little taken aback by how much muscle was being showcased by the tights and stretchy shirt. It was also a bit of a shock for him to dance like that and no one have known that he danced.

"Costan, how long have you danced ballet and sang?" The Director was involved now, and she was very curious.

"I picked it up when I was six years old, back before I realized that no matter what positive things I was a part of or did, my parents would never show me positive attention or even approval."

"Um, maybe you just can't see the way that they love you?"

"Autism not withstanding, I am currently the only financially stable child of the Emperor. I am the successful one. I am the hated one. Look at Royal Photo Alblum Number five seven five, page ten, line three; you will notice that while the other two triplets were being held and breast fed, they left me in a box alone with a bottle. I'm less of a child to them and more of a mistake that won't go away."

"All of that aside, you are gifted with ballet and song and I will warmly welcome you here when your time at war is over."

"Given I survive and live well enough to dance or sing, I hold no reservations on my future. I only lay plans hoping for the best, despite knowing that it will never come to be. Ha. Listen to me rambling, I'm twenty four and sound like I'm seventy."

"Okay, but just try to keep the wig on."

"No, it's just in the way and I am very hungry." Costan was staring at the tables of food as they passed by yet again.

"It is part of the costume, you will wear it or I'll see that the food is donated early and you won't get any."

"Fine, do you have tape or something to keep it from flying off at least?"

"Yes, they will see to it when touching up the costume."

They were done in the changing room in record time, the wig was still annoying and stupid, but it wasn't flying off. They almost had to drag him past the food to the primary stage, where the other performers were already ready. He genuinely gave his best when the curtains rose. He felt like a total moron in that stupid wig.

Unknown to Costan, the donations were rolling in, far more than expected. Plea of the Night King was a good, well written script to begin with. The fact that this was the first performance of it, on Durshdas charity night, at the Pathagorin Theater and had the big names of the Pathagorin performing with a Royal on stage, live; it was a big deal. The extraordinary performance from the black cat of the Royal Family also helped carry the ratings through the expected ceiling.

To say that few people who knew Costan were expecting to see the eight unit tall mountain of muscle to dance and sing would be exaggerating the number. Nobody expected him to be a ballet dancer, and nobody expected a vocal range from the highest falsetto to a middle baritone. The comments on the broadcast were also a bit odd.

"Didn't expect him to be able to do that."

"To think that is the owner of Venom Company singing with the voice of an angel."

"That's Costan from the memes? He did a lot of growing."

"Shouldn't he have hit puberty, or is that falsetto voice actually a castrato?"

"Some people don't start pubescence until twenty."

A very big, surprisingly heated debate happened in the comments of the broadcast. It was tolerated because they had to pay for every comment, despite them having very adult topics pretaining to concerns over Costan's reproductive health and history. The show was wonderful, despite it. The viewer counts were record breaking.

The Director didn't just sweep their concerns under the proverbial rug. She didn't stop the show, but she did message a short notice doctor to come and look Costan over. The health and welfare of her performers was tantamount to her career, she took it very seriously, even with the temporary performers.

The doctor arrived not long before the performance ended with much applause from the audience. Costan wasted no time getting changed out of the costume and heading to the food. He was pulled aside by one of the palace doctors before he could grab anything to eat.

Five hours of uncomfortable questioning and ultrasounds later, Costan was confirmed free of injury. There was a very uncomfortable conversation about what was going on. During his stay at drug rehabilitation, they gave him a puberty blocker and forgot about it. Nobody questioned why he was on it afterwards. The military isn't one to have overly angsty pubescents roaming around with guns, so he was stuck with it until after the war. The doctor made it clear that everything could be put right after he got back.

Costan was very unhappy with the news. He was furious when he got out of the changing room to find out that the food had all been packed up and sent to the homeless shelter down the road. He wasn't angry that it went to someone else, he was angry because that was his only chance at something to eat other than field rations, likely until after the war.

Costan was too angry to even emote it. He put everything he could into the performance, looking like a fool no doubt, for nothing but more bad news. Just another "your life is fucked, get over it" on the pile. He grabbed his rucksack and left, no point in making a fuss or bothering others. They couldn't or wouldn't rectify the issue, he knew it for a fact, and didn't bother talking to them. He knew better than to have tried, life didn't work like that for him.

The Director noticed him leaving, but was too late to get Costan's attention. She settled for speaking with the doctor about it.

Costan walked to the palace, went to his room, and laid down. He was going to get ragged on for dancing ballet and singing for months, if not years. He just wanted something aside from rations. He got issues instead.