Hello.
It's me.
Look down here. No, not at the text. Look at the person narrating this mess.
I am Xecta, not Arararan.
You probably expected Arararan to continue, didn't you? You got comfortable with her incestuous little fantasies and her clak-clak noises. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but the little Quarso is currently stuffing her face with Leocrash steak, and I am the one stuck with the microphone.
Welcome to dinner on the Xeca.
It sounds boring, I know. You are flipping the pages, or scrolling down, looking for the part where clothes get ripped off and fluids start flying. I know what you are here for. You are here to see how Capt uses his Melios to turn us into quivering puddles of ecstasy.
But tonight? Tonight is different.
Tonight, the air smells of roasted meat, garlic butter, and high-grade anxiety.
We are all gathered in the mess hall. It is a large, metallic room that usually echoes with laughter or the sound of Chef sharpening her knives with a menacing glint in her eyes. But right now, the only sound dominating the room is the sound of a domestic dispute involving thermodynamics.
"You ruined it," Chef hisses.
She is standing at the head of the table, her hands on her hips. She is wearing her pristine white chef's coat, but the top buttons are undone, revealing the curve of her cleavage which is glistening with sweat from the kitchen heat. She looks delicious.
Angry, but delicious.
Next to her, Navi is shrinking into her seat. They are twins, mirror images of each other, but right now, Navi looks like a kicked puppy.
"It was an accident, Gin," Navi mumbles, poking at the bowl in front of her.
"An accident?" Chef's voice drops to a low, dangerous growl. "This is Leocrash bone marrow soup, Tonix. Do you know how hard it is to extract the marrow without shattering the bone? Do you know how long I simmered this? Twelve hours. I spent twelve hours caressing this broth, coaxing the flavor out of it like I coax an orgasm out of you."
I feel a flush heat up my cheeks. Even when she is talking about soup, Chef sounds like she is talking about sex.
"And what did you do?" Chef continues, leaning over Navi. "You froze it. You used your Glace Melios because you said it was 'too hot'."
"It burned my tongue!" Navi protests.
"It is supposed to be hot!" Chef slams her hand on the table. "It is supposed to slide down your throat like liquid velvet, warming you from the inside out! Now look at it. It is slushy. A savory, beef-flavored slushy. You have insulted the ingredients. You have insulted me."
I take a spoonful of my own soup. It is perfect. Rich, unctuous, and savory. It tastes like comfort. But watching Navi, I know exactly what is going to happen later.
Navi is going to pay for this.
I can see it in Chef's eyes. Later tonight, when the lights are dim, Chef is going to drag Navi into their quarters. She is going to make Navi beg. She is going to use that ice power against her. I bet she will make Navi squirt until she is dehydrated, just to teach her a lesson about moisture control.
I shift in my seat. My panties feel suddenly damp against my skin.
Damn it. I shouldn't be thinking about my teammates having angry makeup sex. I should be eating.
I look to my left.
Prof is sitting there. Or rather, Raya is sitting there, but she isn't really there. Her eyes are glued to a datapad that is glowing with complex charts and biological readings. I know those charts. I have been staring at similar ones all day in the Med Bay.
She isn't eating. Well, her main body isn't.
A clone of Raya stands behind her, holding a fork. The clone, naked as the day she was summoned, calmly spears a piece of roasted vegetable and brings it to the original Raya's mouth. Raya opens her mouth absently, chews, and swallows without ever looking away from the screen.
"The cellular degradation is slowing down," Raya mutters to herself, her voice barely a whisper. "But the hormonal reconfiguration is accelerating. It is a paradox."
I know what she is looking at. She is looking at Capt's data.
My heart gives a painful little squeeze. It feels like someone is gripping my chest with cold fingers.
I force myself to look across the table.
There he is.
Or... there she is.
Capt. Ragia. My hero. The Inquor who filled me with golden light and made me feel whole.
She is sitting next to Vice.
It is strange, seeing him like this. The transformation is complete now. The broad shoulders are gone, replaced by slender, elegant curves. The rugged jawline has softened into a delicate, heart-shaped face. His hair... umm... her hair is long and silky, black as the void outside, cascading down her back.
She is beautiful.
Objectively, stunningly beautiful, but she looks tired.
She is picking at her food. A small piece of steak is balanced on her fork, but she isn't eating it. She is just staring at it, her eyes unfocused.
Vice is sitting close to her. Too close for regulations, but no one cares about regulations anymore. Vice is cutting her own steak with precise, military movements, but her attention is entirely on Capt.
"Eat, Ragia," Vice murmurs softly.
"I am not hungry, Iya," Capt replies. Her voice is soft, lacking that booming resonance it usually has. It sounds like wind chimes.
"You need the protein," Vice insists. She spears a piece of meat from her own plate and holds it to Capt's lips. "Open."
Capt sighs, a small, defeated sound, and opens her mouth. Vice feeds her.
It is intimate. It is incredibly, painfully intimate.
I watch them, and I feel a lump form in my throat that has nothing to do with the food.
They look like a married couple.
They look like the cover of one of those romance novels Mama hides under her pillow. The stern, protective wife taking care of her fragile, beautiful spouse. The way Vice looks at Capt... it isn't just duty. It isn't just lust. It is a deep, terrifying devotion.
And Capt? Capt leans into Vice's touch. When Vice's hand brushes against Capt's arm, Capt doesn't pull away. She melts into it. She seeks warmth.
I look down at my plate. The steak looks blurry.
I am jealous.
I admit it to you. I am jealous. I want to be the one feeding him. I want to be the one wiping the sauce from his lips. I want to be the one he leans on when the universe feels too heavy.
I saved his life. I poured my Remido into him. We shared a connection that transcended physical form.
But right now? He belongs to Vice.
I slide my hand under the table and touch the bracelet on my right wrist.
It is a simple device. Prof made it for me. It is a biometric monitor linked directly to Capt's vitals. It is my lifeline. My tether to his existence.
There are four lights on the display.
Blue means optimal. Green means stable. Yellow means caution. Red means critical.
I want it to be blue. I want to see that soothing, cool light that tells me everything is going to be okay. I want to know that the Inquor physiology is doing its job, that the Melios is flowing, that the engine is running smooth.
I look at the display. It is blinking. A slow, rhythmic pulse.
Red, red, and red.
It matches the beating of my own heart. A warning siren that only I can hear.
His body is fighting. The female form is a defense mechanism, a way to conserve energy, but the underlying damage from the Gyra's incident... it is still there. The cracks in the foundation are being papered over, but they haven't been fixed.
I rub my thumb over the blinking light, as if I can wipe the color away. As if I can force it to turn blue through sheer willpower.
"Fluffy?"
The voice is soft. Warm. It smells of chamomile tea and maternal concern. I jump slightly, pulling my hand out from under the table. I turn to my right.
Mama is looking at me. She isn't eating either. Her plate is untouched. Her rabbit ears are drooped slightly, twitching in that way they do when she is worried.
"You have not touched your food, baby," Mama says. Her voice is low, meant only for me. "The steak is going to get cold. And you know how Chef gets when we let the juices congeal."
I look at her. I look at the wrinkles around her eyes, the soft smile that doesn't quite reach them. She knows. Of course she knows. She is a mother. She sees everything.
"I..." I start, but my voice cracks. I clear my throat. "I was just thinking."
"About the soup?" Mama asks gently.
"No," I whisper. I glance at the bracelet again. The red light pulses. Mocking me. "About the light."
I show her my wrist.
Mama's eyes flicker down to the bracelet. She doesn't gasp. She doesn't flinch. She just reaches out and covers my hand with hers. Her skin is warm. Grounding.
"It is red, Mama," I whisper, my voice trembling. "It won't stop blinking red."
"I know, Fluffy," she says softly. "I know."
"Why isn't she.. he getting better?" I demand a sudden flash of anger mixing with the fear. "I did everything. Prof did everything. We are eating Leocrash. We are resting. Why is he still... fading?"
I look across the table again. Capt is laughing at something Vice whispered. It is a weak laugh. A ghost of a laugh.
"He is smiling," I say, tears pricking my eyes. "But he feels like... like smoke. Like if I try to hold him, he will just slip through my fingers."
Mama squeezes my hand. "He is an Inquor, Xecta. They burn bright. Brighter than us. And sometimes, when the fire gets too low, it takes a long time to build it back up."
"But what if it goes out?" I ask. The question hangs in the air between us, heavy and suffocating.
Mama looks at me. Her expression hardens slightly. Not with anger, but with resolve.
"Then we act as the kindling," she says. "We burn ourselves to keep him warm. That is what Melitos do."
"I tried," I whisper. "I gave him everything in the Med Bay."
"And you saved him," Mama says firmly. "But now, you need to save yourself. You haven't eaten since yesterday, have you?"
I blink. "I... I don't know."
"You haven't," Mama confirms. "You spent all night in the lab with Prof, mixing compounds. You spent all morning monitoring his vitals. You are running on fumes, baby."
She picks up her fork and spears a piece of a roasted root vegetable from my plate. She holds it up to me.
"Eat," she commands. It is the same tone she uses when she tells Capt to take a bath. Gentle, but brokering no argument. "You cannot heal him if you are broken."
I look at the food. I look at Mama. I look at the red light on my wrist.
"I am not hungry, Mama," I say.
And...
That is where we are.
I am sorry. I know you wanted a sex scene. You wanted me to tell you how my pussy throbs when I look at Capt.
And it does. Oh, believe me, it does.
Even in this female form, even with the red light blinking, looking at Capt makes me wet. It makes me want to crawl across this table, push the food aside, and bury my face between her legs. I want to taste her. I want to see if her new female chemistry tastes different. I want to find out if she can squirt like us.
I want to make her scream my name until the red light turns blue from the sheer force of her orgasm, but I can't.
Not right now.
Right now, I am just a scared little medic with an empty stomach and a heart that feels too big for her chest.
So, bear with me. We will get to the good stuff. I promise.
But first...