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A Shootist Disarmed by Arcie Emm You may wish to see prior Shootist stories: 1. The Shootist 2. A Sylph Protected / A Shootist Avenged Chapter 1 - Ms. Dupensk Bursting forth from Transition, the exploration ship detected a habitable planet, causing her pilot to begin dreaming about spending his discovery bonus. Drifting closer, his ship's sensors collecting more data, those plans grew smaller. He determined it held an abundance of minerals, yet few were rare and those were buried under deep seas. He had found a water planet, with the only livable space being islands, none large enough to hold a decent sized city. Bitter at his discovery's apparent uselessness, particularly to himself, the pilot named the planet Pyrite. He proved correct, few paid attention to his find. The main reaction coming from the clerk at the Interstellar Discovery and Charting Partnership while drafting the official chart entry, when he cursed the predictability of exploration pilots and officially designated the planet, Pyrite 23. Its brief flirtation with civilization over, the planet returned to obscurity. The next period of forgetfulness passing in an eye-blink to the planet, but lasting over nine centuries for humanity. Not until another, more fortunate, exploration pilot found a nearby band of asteroids, dense in rare minerals, did Pyrite 23 find a purpose, at least to the mining companies intending to exploit the new find. Recognizing how loneliness, danger, and the emptiness of space could prey on a miner's thoughts, the companies operated ten day shifts, before removing a miner for four days of R&R. Which introduced the question, where too send them, for the frugal employers. Transportation to nearby, settled worlds seemed a reasonably priced option; however, it came with the loss of control over the men. Instead of arriving for transport back to the asteroids, many ended up in jails, hospitals, or somewhere drunk. The second option involved contracting pleasure ships. This solved the control problem, but at greater expense. So whenever possible, they found a relatively close, uninhabited world, then built and operated their own facilities. Pyrite 23 fit those requirements. Crews descended upon the planet, choosing islands, and building facilities. By the time any miner showed up, there existed a frontier port, complete with bars, dance halls, theatres, inns, restaurants, and brothels. Yet unlike most such ports, usually on planets that were empty due to inhospitable weather, beasts, pests, or foliage, Pyrite 23 did not require a protective dome. The temperate climate of the islands made the outside enjoyable, opening unusual opportunities, on a miners R&R haven, for entertainment. These, more wholesome activities, kept the port from taking on the dingy and run down atmosphere so common amongst its kind. Particularly when others, beyond the miners, started seeing Pyrite 23 as a place to visit. First the management of the mining companies, then those seeking adventurers upon its seas. Yet these advantages could not keep the planet going as the asteroids dried up. Pyrite 23 depended upon the operating funds from the mining companies and the money wasted by the miners. However, instead of returning to obscurity, an entertainment conglomerate purchased the entire operation. With free rein upon the planet, they built resorts and theme parks, often spanning multiple islands. Yet, the massive casinos proved the biggest draw, turning the planet into a destination for the masses. And like that first pilot, most who broke free of Transition had dreams of fools gold. Not all. For those who did not seek short-cuts to wealth, lucrative employment contracts existed. Particularly for attractive women, management recognizing the temptation this offered men, hoping, though usually failing, to get lucky in more ways than one. Old school thinking, but nobody denied the profits. Thus the passengers aboard the Siren's Cove Employee Transit Tram could cause a visitor from Darson to go into seizures. Even the more worldly would find it difficult not to gawk. So the casino minimized the gawking, here where nothing could be earned, by keeping tourists off the employee trams. As for male employees, most grew used to the sights, preferring to spend their commute like anybody else, anywhere else in the universe. This day, like most days, the tram's passengers, male or female, engaged in sleep, reading, or quiet talk with seatmates. All except one, who sat upright, alone, and stared fiercely out the window at the passing seas. Like many of the tram's passengers, she required a second look. That look would show her older than first glance implied, but that her beauty had a warmth to it, though cooled at the moment. A frequent visitor or a fellow employee would think her a dealer, probably in one of the more expensive rooms, until she stood, showing her height, leanness, and grace, then they would recognize her as a dancer, probably in one of the stage productions. At one time, they would have been right. Nearly twenty years before, when Ellene Dupensk had first arrived on Pyrite, she danced as a chorus girl at Flickers, a small casino, pulled down twelve years ago. From Flickers she moved to larger casinos, until she reached Siren's Cove, where they recognized talents of greater worth than those of a showgirl. She provided a calming influence over her often high-strung colleagues, being a natural peace-maker, problem solver, and confidante. So despite never having children of her, they contracted to use her natural mothering instincts, first with the dancers, then, over the years, to all who worked at the casino. Very much upper management, she only rode the tram in order to allow employees to approach her with their problems. Something not happening on this day, everybody saw the anger in her eyes and knew the cause behind it. The disagreement between her and the new head of marketing having served as recent grist for the rumour mills, a disagreement that everybody knew she lost. Just as they knew that today was the start of the new marketing gimmick and that Ms. Ellene rode along to judge its impact, harshly from all appearance. Nobody would call her a prude, she had spent her time on stage wearing nothing more than a headdress, heels, and a smile. Nor did she complain about the costumes her girls wore at the casino, despite how little most covered. But both situations occurred under the watchful eye of casino security. Not when the girls made their way to and from work, away from such protection. She cared less that many of the girls wore similar things on their own, Siren's Cove's earned no responsibility for those bad decisions. However, the casino deserved responsibility for what she saw today, as the tram crossed the chain of four islands housing the majority of the planet's single woman. Every time she spotted another example of what that smarmy pervert, Elston Dinwald, deemed as showcasing the beauty of their female employees, Ellene's teeth clenched a little tighter. She admitted Dinwald and his staff had done a fine job of choosing candidates, each girl wearing one of the outfits numbered amongst the casino's most attractive, none needing the styling of a tasteless pimp to showcase their beauty. The outfits were hideous. Dinwald had started on the right track, the rompers and mini-dresses were the same as those worn by the waitresses in the casino's premier nightclub, The Pearl. They hugged curves, but she had always liked them, particularly their colour, a deep midnight blue. If they had stopped there, she would have dismissed most of her fears. Instead, some genius decided to make them sexier by cutting away additional material to show more skin. Even worse, they garishly emblazoned Siren's Cove, in large, glittered, silver lettering, across the back of each girl. They embarrassed her, making her wonder how high were the bonuses required to convince the girls to wear such eyesores. So ridiculous were the outfits, she found herself questioning if she had blown everything out of proportion. Such thoughts were brushed aside as they pulled into the next station and she spotted the dark haired girl waiting to board in a too-tight romper, complete with a belly button exposing neck-line and a bottom that gave only a half- assed effort at coverage. Protests to the contrary, mothers often feel more protective of one child over the others. Ellene acted no different. As much as she hated what they wore, she had confidence that each of the prior girls could handle the additional burden of their outfits. Less confident did she feel in the pretty, little miss, on the platform, proudly perched atop high-heeled boots like some junior member of the streetwalker sisterhood. Despite a history that had shocked Ellene to read, the child had the survival instincts of a lemming, seemingly always willing to follow someone to her doom. Instead of the scowl, which she had directed at the previous bonus seekers, Ellene gestured for the girl towards her. Proving somewhat aware of self-preservation, the girl hesitantly approached, nervously asking, "Hello Ms. Dupensk, you wished to see me?" "Hello, Sascha, won't you take a seat?" "Umm...okay. Thank you?" "Tell me about your new outfit, it's not your normal style." Glancing quickly downwards, as if she had forgotten what she wore, Sascha said, "Oh, it's not, but Mr. Dinwald offered me a bonus to wear it on my way to work. To advertise for the Cove." "Sascha, you know, just because Mr. Dinwald asks you to do something, doesn't mean you have to do it." "Yeeeah, I guess. Is he going to ask me to do something that you don't want me to do? I heard that the two of you were having a disagreement about something." Reminding herself that they had not hired Sascha for her brains, Ellene said, "We were disagreeing about the outfits, I do not think they are appropriate for you and the others to wear." "Oh? Oh! Why not?" "Do you think they're appropriate?" "Don't tell Mr. Dinwald I said this, but they're kind of tacky. I like the Pearl's version better, they're nice" "Very true, and also rather skimpy." Giggling Sascha replied, "Not when you compare it to some of my work costumes." "Well yes, but casino security makes sure that nobody bothers you when you are wearing those." "Nobody bothered me today, Ms. Dupensk." "You can't be too careful, Sascha. So many visitors come from off planet who we are unable to screen. We can't keep out the scum. And worse, some of th wealthy and powerful, don't believe the rules apply to them." "But when will any visitor see me? I came directly to the station from my apartment, got on the tram, and will get off at the employee station at the casino." Ellene almost blurted an answer before processing what Sascha said. However, as the girl's itinerary bludgeoned its way into her thoughts, she suddenly realized the meaningless nature of the argument between her and Dinwald. They both ignored the most important factor, not surprising, since neither of them were treated as a resource like Sascha and the girls. They did not live on an island that, like the employee tram, had restricted access. As Sascha said, nobody would see her, well at least not the dangerous perverts, she feared, nor the regular ones, Dinwald hoped to attract. She laughed at the silliness of the entire affair. "Ms. Dupensk?" "It's nothing, Sascha, I guess it's okay for you to wear Mr. Dinwald's outfits. Just don't wear it when you go out." "Oh I wouldn't do that, people would laugh." The grin upon Ellene's face caught the staff, in the casino's offices, by surprise, all of whom had planned to tread quietly when near her that day. Yet she did not explain the reason for her mood. Still stinging from the lost argument, she eagerly waited for the next quarterly review. By then multiple bonuses would have been paid and she could ask Dinwald how nobody seeing the girls in their outfits affected his marketing strategy. Petty yes, but maybe others would think twice before messing with her girls. Chapter 2 - The Tank Sascha also began work with a smile on his face. Even if Ms. Dupensk thought him a silly fluff-head, who could not look after himself, it made him feel special to have her worry about him. Caring had not been something much experienced in his life, even his time with Foster now seemed more a case of shared need. He felt happy that chance had brought him to this place. Never could he have foreseen such a positive result, during that grim period alone aboard the Lady Tramp. Nor had rescue brought immediate joy and happiness, as many of the crew aboard the Commodore Tony Blaus had initially looked upon him with suspicion, until they reviewed the video, stored in the Lady Tramp's systems. Though only slightly improving their view of him, as he learned when overhearing a female crew member, assigned to guard his quarters, refer to him as a psychopathic cock-ornament. Those words confirmed the fear that had manifested when Lieutenant Bandle first broached the idea of escape from Darson, that he would be disdained by real women. As a result, the week on the Blaus caused more self-torture than the months alone on the Tramp. Delivered, along with the ship, to the civilian authorities on the nearby planet of Aliston, Sascha underwent another round of investigation before being released, with his possessions (little more than clothes), to an organization supposedly meant to assist refugees. Pathetically underfunded, they offered only bad advice for the scared, new arrival. Advice similar to his plan to find a man to look after him, though more liberally applied. He may have taken it, if not for the stinging memory of the crew member's slur. This, in combination with a lack of opportunity faced by all refugees, led him to taking a waitressing job at a dive, charmingly named The Monkey's Left Nut, where they limited his exploitation to the number of hours he worked. The owner's wife keeping her husband far away from little Sascha, who served their customers dressed in his fantasy wardrobe, the sole remnant of his time as Foster's companion. A nervous and confusing period for Sascha, forced into the world, no longer locked away in the bubbles that had served both as refuge and prison. But he survived, as he had survived harsher challenges. Thrived even, his temperament, appearance, and years as personal slave to Prince Fallan making him a skilled server. Quickly he found himself recruited to work at better quality bars and this appreciation of his skills, ones that had always seemed secondary in importance, provided a boost to his confidence. He grew independent, less frightened, to believe a Sascha could exist as an individual, not just an extension of some man, be he kind like Foster or a maniac like Prince Fallan. So he ignored ample opportunities to become someone's companion. Yet, despite appearances, his mindset meshed with most teenage males, fantasies were a common habitant of his thoughts. The only difference being he pictured himself in the role of the partner usually missing from making most young men's fantasies true. When he finally took back his own sexuality, from the lingering insult, it happened while working in his third bar, one catering to navy officers, Sascha proved fortunate in his choice. He chose the Blaus security officer, who had led the boarding party that found him on the Lady Tramp, someone who had played an important role in a number of fantasies since the encounter and who Sascha felt deserved a reward. However, as eagerly as he desired the reward, Ensign Deng Hikona did not do so under false pretense, letting Sascha know he just wanted a good time. Appreciating the honesty, Sascha preceded to provide an extremely good time, before sending an exhausted ensign back to the ship at the end of his leave. In the months that followed their friendship grew, but the relationship never took on a feel of permanence, need, or love. Instead they based it on games and play, mostly revolving around Sascha's flat and bed. Hikona also learned that Sascha loved sports, a remnant of growing up on sports-mad Darson. There the sporting vid-channels often served as his sole company, providing opportunity to dream about playing the games himself. So, Hikona introduced the black haired vixen to sphere hockey, passing on his love of the Aliston Guardians as the two attended games whenever the Ensign could obtain tickets. And when Hikona learned how excited Sascha tended be after a game, particularly a win for their team, he grew very proactive about finding those tickets Yet Sascha gained more from their time together, learning that he did not need to be subservient in a relationship. It also offered him freedom from further pursuit, as no one seemed inclined to horn in on the security officer. The frequency of their bed play, since the Commander Tony Blaus was based on Aliston, even led Sascha to seek medical attention to see if anything could be done to heighten his own pleasure, reversing the negligence of Darson's surgeons. There were procedures, and though he never would be an easy partner to please, it definitely made things more enjoyable. Thus life seemed fairly good, though static, when a finder, Joice Felit, approached him, selling him on the wonders of Pyrite. Near the top of the finder business, Joice freelanced for all the large casino chains. If one needed something obscure, maybe a cask of Delingern Wine, a Benflogian elephant, or a Frudilal dance troupe, they contacted Joice. But the bulk of her business involved recruiting girls to work in the casinos, finding them and acting as their agent. In Sascha, she and her crew saw great opportunity. Artificially created though much of his beauty may have been, the work was extremely high caliber, the type found only amongst the wealthy. Combining this with a wide-eyed sexuality and pre-existing expertise as a server, meant she felt he could induce a bidding war amongst her clients. Here Deng proved a true friend, recognized the opportunity for Sascha and pushed him to accept, which he did after Joice's professional crew subjected Sascha to a battery of tests, both physical and mental. The results determining he had the patience, attitude, appearance, and skills to wait upon the most demanding of clientele, the rich and powerful. A healthy auction followed, ending only when Sascha decided he liked the saucy wench costumes of Siren's Cove better than the slave girl costumes at the second casino. As important as finding him a job, Joice's crew established his identity. An info-tech combed through records, mined from poorly secured systems on Darson, determining Sascha's birthday, proving him just under nineteen standard years old. They assigned him the next step, choosing a last name, none documented at his birth. Deciding against taking the name of someone from his past, believing it would either bring back bad memories or be an unfair assumption, he reviewed fictional characters. The led to his remembering his last, wonderful moments with Foster, while he pretended to be Captain Keleesa Shronsdottor. So he became Sascha Shronsdottor. The last part proved more difficult, his gender, and led to a disagreement between Sascha and Joice. In Sascha's thoughts, he saw himself as a sylph of Darson, a feminized male, not a female, nor did he feel ashamed of that fact. Joice listened, but felt it would be easier to forget his past and to accept that most worlds would designate him as a female. When he argued that to be dishonest, she questioned why someone who had taken the name of a sex goddess and wore a pretty, pink dress to the argument would want to be considered male. He did not deny that he appeared hyper feminine in his appearance and manner, but he thought that due to nurture, not nature. Sascha accepted his situation, more importantly he allowed himself to enjoy it, but believed he would have taken the masculine path, given the choice. Still, he found himself unable to satisfactorily explain this belief and finally agreed to Joice's plan. However, for the rest of the trip, curious as to why Sascha thought of himself as male, Joice observed her find more closely. She noticed what Ivar Bandle had seen the first time he met Sascha, aboard the royal launch, an artificial aspect in the sylph's femininity, though less so after months on Aliston. At the same time, she found his interests and sense of humour were stereotypically male. Though he giggled rather than laughed, it often occurred due to the crudest jokes. Nor could she ignore his interest in sports and gory vids. And while Joice knew women who held these interests, they were more common amongst the men and boys she knew. As a result, when Sascha received his identification it held both his birth and current sex, a compromise he readily accepted. Arriving on Pyrite, Sascha appreciated having first dealt with civilization upon Aliston, otherwise the crowds, sights, and sounds of the holiday world would have pushed him into sensory overload. Even with that exposure, Sascha eagerly accepted mentoring services from Joice's company to help him manage. It left him further in her debt, which provided incentive to work extra hours, resulting in casino management being eager to extend his contract, after probation, even expanding his duties to the more exotic. Yet it also turned him into a bonus addict, which would have made it difficult for him to turn down Mr. Dinwald, even if he had not seen the flaw in the man's plan. Checking the assignment console, his smile grew larger. Instead of slinging drinks, the console showed him assigned to an exotic duty. This morning he would be one of the sirens that gave the casino its name. Hurrying to his locker, Sascha wiggled out of the ridiculous outfit and into a thick robe, before catching the employee tram, beneath the huge casino. Reaching his stop he wandered into the special effects shop, returning greetings, the loudest from a large man who shouted, "Hey-Ho, it's my lovely Sascha Doll. To what do we owe the pleasure?" "Hiya, Dickie, I'm on siren duty." "Ah-hah, a fortunate day to be a visitor at the Cove. Okay, into the canister." "There's no need, Dickie, I'm feeling good." "So you may say, but I am happier to hear it from my toy." Sighing in resignation, Sascha stripped off the robe, ignored the expected, good natured whistles of appreciation, and climbed into the med-canister for a claustrophobic, health check. When the canister popped open with an all clear signal, he said, "I told you so." "Well when it comes to your safety, I trust my machine more than you. After all, it won't be earning a healthy bonus for a morning as a siren. Now over to Niessa, she will get you ready for the tank." Niessa, an older lady who had worked at the casino for years and seemingly found little joy in her job, nodded quickly in greeting and gestured for Sascha to stand in stall where she coated his body with a water resistant, sparkling spray, meant to reflect the light off his curves while submerged. Waiting for it to dry, Niessa gathered specialized makeup and accessories before having him sit on a chair. Beginning to work with his long, black hair, she muttered to Fara, her assistant. "Start on her hands." Smiling, as if to make up for Niessa, Fara treated his nails, despite their chromatic treatment, like those belonging to any other siren. After painting them with a quick-drying, pearlescent lacquer, Fara had him place each hand, fingers spread wide, into a mold with a thin, yet tough, membrane at the bottom. Folding the top of the mold down, he felt a splash of heat that melded it to another membrane, encasing his hand and leaving him with webbed fingers, perfect for swimming and realism. Fara then helped him on with his tail. Created from high-tech rubber, it appeared unspectacular, yet Sascha knew the mottled colouring would glisten in water and , like the webbed fingers, it would help him swim, though once strapped on, coming to his knees, it made him hopeless on land. Meanwhile, having finished his hair, pulling it back from his face with mother-of-pearl barrettes and fake pearl strings, Niessa painted his face in the over done look common for performers. They gave way to Elvin, one of the hardware techs. Taking the siren's naval ring, he offered a barbell, in exchange, from which hung a decorative seashell and contained sensors to measure the stresses upon a body. Elvin also attached tiny speakers just inside Sascha's ear canals, synching them with receivers integrated into dangling, seashell earrings. These would allow Sascha to listen to music or receive commands; in return his communication would be limited to 'um-hums' or 'uh-uhs' picked up by the subvocalizer patch the tech attached to his throat. At Niessa's wave, Dickie came over to check Sascha's almost non- existent costume. Judging it satisfactory, he asked, "Everything good, Sascha Doll?" "Yep." Helping Sascha back into his robe, Dickie handed him a pouch and a bottle, containing a nutrient enhanced liquid meant to combat potential dehydration, before speaking to the muscular man, sitting by the door. "Okay, Flen, Sascha's ready. Take her to the West entrance tank." "My pleasure boss." "I'm sure it is." Grinning in response the man stood and sauntered over to Sascha's chair, scooping him up with a moan. "Gah, someone needs to go on a diet." Used to this mode of travel and the accompanying complaint, Sascha said, "Oh dear, it must be terrible to grow old and lose your strength." "Old am I, well you just wait until my back goes out and you fall down, flopping about like some fish out of water." At the groan that this drew from the room, Flen said, "Thank you. Thank you. I'll be here all week, don't forget to tip your waitress." "Not if you hope to keep your job you won't be, Flen. You have a siren to deposit." "Righto. On it boss." Leaving the room, he settled Sascha into the passenger seat of a cart, before jumping into the driver's side and zooming off through the tunnels. Arriving at a vaulted door, Flen scanned them into circular room with a conical bottom of a large tank for a ceiling and filled with numerous water tanks, air tanks, tubes, and piping. Leaving the cart, Flen hurried about checking the equipment. In turn, Sascha began his final preparations. Finishing his drink, he took the dreaded rebreather from the pouch. Specially molded to snuggly fit within the cavity of an individual's mouth, most found it triggered their gag reflex, and so it weeded out the majority of siren applicants. Removing the inner workings, he checked to see that it held a brand new oxygen stick, supposedly good for five hours. Opening wide, he fed the rebreather into his mouth. Feeling the expected moment of panic as it blocked his breath, before he could once again breathe. Satisfied with its operation, Sascha shoved a filter into each delicate nostril, then waited for Flen to finish his checks. Seeing the man approach with a dropper in hand, Sascha tilted his head back for the final step of his preparation. Eyes wide open, he felt Flen squeeze a drop of liquid into each eye and tried not to blink as is spread out, oozing across his entire eyeball, offering a protective coating against the water and chemicals in the tank. It also left him with blurred vision, apparent as he watched a Flen-blob reach out to grab him around his tiny waist, before carrying him to the largest tube, thrusting him through its hatch, and settling Sascha upon a perch. Reaching to find expected handholds, Sascha heard the clang of the door dogging shut, followed by the sound of rushing water. Soon he felt its weight moving his tail, then creeping up his legs. A bit cooler than the surrounding air, he acclimatized quickly. Immersed, he felt cocooned away from the world, something hardly impacted as he heard Flen ask, "Sascha, is everything a go?" "Um-hum." "Very well, three minutes to start." Waiting as the outer ring of tanks, containing sea-life, were lowered to expose the siren tank, Sascha listened to the music coming from the speakers in his ears. This music would be his main companion through the next hours, smooth and calm he knew it would often seem he floated in its notes as much as the liquid around him. "Ready, Sascha?" "Um-hum." "Ok, then. In 5... "4... "3... "And... "Go!" The hydraulics in his seat, blasted him upwards into brightness. Up, up, up, and then he felt air caressing his body. Slowing, seemingly coming to a stop, he piked, fell, diving smoothly back into the blue of the tank, oblivious to the oohs and ahhs of those whose eyes were drawn by the changes to the tank. Hundreds of attempts had gone into perfecting that entrance. Many late nights, hours after full shifts, spent at the practice tank, leaving his entire body sore from crashing down in a splat. Yet in spite of the pain he enjoyed the endeavor, as it kept him from running home, to his little apartment, immediately after a shift. The practice tank offered one of his main social outlets, where they did things, which he always enjoyed, rather than talking about things, which often left him feeling stupid. During those nights of practice, amongst operators like Flen, wannabe sirens like him, or those who already were, Sascha discovered what it meant to be a siren. First, after more than a week of practice, he learned that nobody expected him to be perfect. Failure did not find him banished as had happened to his brothers, instead everybody assumed the new girls would struggle. Still he did not like it and felt others, who had practiced longer than he, used it as an excuse to explain away, not overcome, lack of success. It triggered his competitive spirit, which had won him to horrible victory over those lost brothers, and he returned, night after night, until his entrance was as smooth as drawing his pistols. Next he discovered the secret of tank, one needed to let it do the work, flowing along in its currents, created by the jets of air shot into the tank. As with the rebreather, this was a go or no-go step on the path to becoming a siren. Most could not stop trying to conquer the tank, swimming where they wanted as opposed to accepting where they were taken. And that required a tremendous amount of energy, giving lie to the five-hour guarantee on an oxygen stick. It also took great strength, strength that left an applicant muscled, not soft and curved like preferred sirens for the Cove. But for Sascha, it felt natural. Little different than being caught in the currents of the powerful Prince Fallan. As with the prince, Sascha knew not to fight, being bashed too and fro. Best to accept that he did not control his destination, to focus on what he controlled, the manner in which he arrived. In this he chose grace and elegance, recognizing how much those surrounding him, many who had little of their own, appreciated it. He accepted the conditions of the tank, even relished them once he realized its lack of malicious intent. Often he felt he could float within the tank forever, drifting along in its currents, flowing to the music piped into his ears. A simple twist of webbed hand bringing about a lazy twirl. A flick of his tail causing him to tuck and roll, moving from one current into another. An arch of a back, a twist of hips, a spreading of arms, each and every movement stealing brief control away from the currents in the tank. Immersed, just as when playing games of violence in a Havoc Simulator, but without the pounding of his heart. Sascha found it peaceful, even knowing an audience of potentially hundreds could be watching. Thus it required a special vanity to be a siren. In the tank one was laid bare for all to see. To judge. To want. A siren needed confidence in her appearance, for doubting made her less desirable. And what is a siren's lot, if not to be desired? To tempt. To promise. Swirling and twirling gracefully about inside the tank, Sascha wondered who watched, who wanted? Was he young or old? Was he handsome or not? Sascha never considered that nobody watched. In this, if in little else, Sascha had full confidence. Long had he grown used to men looking at him with hungry eyes, since before the prince had brought him to Taling. Now, no longer surrounded by Fallan's goons, he had grown used to the propositions that followed those gazes. He expected it, even enjoyed it. But then he needed too, bad enough to be the result of a experiment driven by arrogance, how much worse if that experiment had been botched? Yet he would never have guessed that he would next be caught by another of the other wannabe sirens, Terese Compte, or expected the interesting two months that followed. Despite initial expectations that his male self would exert itself, he found himself very much the girlfriend in their relationship. Liking her as much as he did, that seemed a small price to be in her company and her bed, something he really enjoyed, finding her body absolutely fascinating, even though so similar to his own. But he also found himself baffled by her. He could not read Terese, so different than the obvious natures of the men who had been in Sascha's life, and he always made mistakes, leaving him confused as to what he had done wrong. It had almost been a relief when Terese had broken it off, telling him that she wanted to be with a soft and beautiful woman, not a soft and beautiful man. And though not dense enough to believe that compliment, he secretly took it as such. Proving strange validation to his remembered argument with Joice. The relationship over, it had not taken long for him to be seduced by Flen, who cut a swath through the casino's siren population, into which group Sascha had graduated. With Flen it seemed natural, easy, maybe because of its shallowness. Flen's mainly desired get the siren into bed, not into a relationship. Nor, realized Sascha, did he want one. Maybe explaining why he and Flen, unlike he and Terese, were still friends with favours. Spiralling through the tank Sascha decided to draw on those favours, being some time since his last fling; however, a few hours later, when he exited through the hatch at the bottom of the tank, that thought no longer lingered at the front of his mind. Not that anything else had pushed it aside, he had just achieved the state most sirens referred to as being blissed-out, when thinking did not seen important. By the time Sascha regained his senses, once more sitting in Niessa's chair being divested of his costume, he found Flen already gone. Disappointed, he considered what he should do when he noticed Dickie approaching. "Back with us, Sascha Doll?" "Yeah." "Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm sure, Dickie." "Excellent, I was wondering if you have plans for the evening?" "I was just trying to decide. Are you offering, because I would say yes." "Dear me, I doubt my heart could handle it. Nope, someone else put in a request." "For me?" Sascha squeaked, eyes wide open. "Don't give me that false modesty, Little Miss Popular. You know all the floor captains compete to get you in their crew. Today it's Kalen, he sent me a note to check if you are willing to work overtime." Kalen ran the Conquest Arena and Sascha always enjoyed working that room. Not only did it require minimal work, but he found the game fascinating. The problem was that a match could take hours, even days, and required stamina from both those who played and those who stood around looking pretty, when not fetching drinks or food. Shaking his head, Sascha said, "I wish I could, but after my stint in the tank I couldn't manage." "Not a problem, the match doesn't start until this evening. You have time for some shut-eye first." "Oh? Okay then, can you tell Kalen that I am free?" "Can do. Now scoot and get some food and sleep." Chapter 3 - Conquest Vacating the sleep chamber, one of many lining a wall of the change room, Sascha rubbed sleep-filled eyes and shuffled towards the shower area. Bypassing his preferred water showers, he settled upon the vibra- shower, knowing water would not wash away the sparkling spray from earlier. Finished, and in no hurry, he stopped at the canteen before returning to his locker. Finding his hair wand, he used it to make his hair shine and to curl its ends. Then, precisely following the criteria set forth in the waitressing guide, he made up his face, highlighting the result with large, gold hoop earrings. Ready to dress, he stepped into a short, ruffled, ivory coloured, lace underskirt, after donning matching lingerie. Over this he fastened an even shorter, deep purple, velvet overskirt, cut away, in the front, to show most of the lace beneath. Matching this he pulled on a midriff baring, bell sleeved, lace shirt over which he fastened a cap sleeved, bolero jacket of the same velvet. Dressed, he pulled on polished black, synth-leather, stilletoed boots, around whose tops he tied, with black ribbons, purple boot cuffs. Lastly, he took a purple, pirate hat, girlishly festooned in lace and ribbons, swept his hair away from his face and settled it upon his head. Standing up, Sascha checked his appearance in the full length mirror near his locker, sparing a moment to wonder how different his life would be if real pirates were no more than the fetishist's dream he portrayed. Shaking his head to clear such thoughts, he locked on the smile expected from the Cove's servers and strutted out into the noise and lights of the casino proper. In this outfit, the casino wanted him to be seen and he posed in numerous vid shots, before stepping into the quiet emptiness of the Conquest Arena. Waving to the men, surrounding Kalen, who looked towards the entrance, Sascha surveyed the room. He stood at the top of a circular room with theatre seating, for a thousand spectators, circling a round stage at the middle of the room. There, up to six, competitors would compete in a game as unique to Siren's Cove as its sirens, world domination. Based upon a model developed centuries before by the Texlaxian War College and constantly tweaked by the members of Kalen's team, each competitor, often accompanied by a full staff, would choose a territory and through good government, force, guile, and diplomacy attempt to defeat their opponents. Amongst true aficionados, territories were assigned months in advance, allowing opportunity to prepare, before coming to Pyrite to conduct the endgame, here in the Arena. Descending to the floor, Sascha climbed the steps, trimmed in purple lights, onto the stage. He found himself in a walled in, wedge shaped area that would be his responsibility during the match. Thus, he liked to ensure everything was perfect, even though others would have checked it multiple times. First he tried the lift, in the middle of the wedge, which would take anybody below the stage, to the facilities. Next he tested the heated plate, upon which he would stand, hopefully keeping him warm, despite his manner of dress and long periods of inactivity, in the air conditioned arena. Checking the enclosed room, at the fat end of the wedge, he found it tidy, well stocked, and ensured every console at the table worked. Finally, he wiped down the cockpit chair, as confusing as Foster's on the Lady Tramp, at the front of the wedge. Patiently he waited for the competitors to arrive and greeted his colleagues, five women dressed as he, each in a different colour, before Kalen yelled out. "Okay people, ten minutes to start." Smile in place, he watched the wedge's entrance. That smile grew bigger when he saw the couple who appeared. Dressed in matching, purple jumpsuits, the blonde pair were absolutely gorgeous, a perfect combination of genes and body sculpting. Towering above Sascha, even with his heels, the man lazily drawled. "Looks like someone is happy to see us." Eagerly nodding his head, Sascha remembered his place. Dipping a curtsey he said, "Vel Verissa and Vek Ventar, so good to see you once more." "Likewise, isn't it Verissa?" Almost in a purr, the female answered, "Yes, Love, it is always good to see our lovely, little Sascha." Lovely, little Sascha shivered under their combined admiration, reminded how absolutely in lust he was with them. Just like the first night serving them, initially at The Pearl, later in their magnificent suite, after they effortlessly seduced him. Now, whenever they visited Pyrite, they treated Sascha as their favourite toy and anxious to keep them happy, the casino willingly freed him up, providing ample opportunity for play. "In fact I have half a mind to say dash it all to this silly game and take Sascha back to our rooms and ravish her. It's been too long since I had the chance to give a good ravishing." "Poor Ventar. But as tempting as that sounds, think of all the work we put into preparing, the amount it has cost us to enter, and the possibility that Dailmbruk will think he won." "Gah, we can't let that happen, Verissa. Sorry, Sweets, playtime will have to wait, you understand though, don't you?" "Umm...okay?" Sascha answered, having no idea who Dailmbruk was, but knowing the cost to enter a Conquest match. Each entry fee being significantly more than he made in a year, even with top bonuses. Agreement reached, no ravishing, each found their place. Verissa moving to the cockpit seat, Ventar to the room, and Sascha to his plate, after serving the others a beverage. Waiting for the other, larger teams and the small group of spectators to settle in place, Sascha wondered about the mysterious duo. Despite having extracted his entire life story, within hours of meeting, he knew little of theirs, beyond likes and pleasures. Nothing of where they came from, the basis of their wealth, not even the relationship between the two. Nor could he find anything out, either through info searches or gossip, though he learned everybody found the pair fascinating and most had pet theories, ranging from the trashy to the inane. Every thing from them a Prince and Princess banished from their planet for incestuous love, to clones who happened to be inter-sector, master criminals. Sometimes he wished they would take him along when they left, allowing him to answer all his questions. But in wiser moments he knew he would lose his new Saschaness by entering their orbit. Better to bask in their light only for short periods. Distracted from his thoughts by the countdown, Sascha turned to look over Verissa's head, into the open space at the centre of the stage. There, when a bell rung to start of the game, a holograph of a globe appeared, each contender's territory showing in a different colour. Briefly surveying the globe, Sascha looked at the betting boards, ringing the stadium, to see if his thoughts meshed with those betting on the game. Specifically, he studied Purple's position, which in spite of loyalty, appeared only in the third best position for victory. However, it seemed others saw it differently, betting them to be first out. He guessed the size matters crowd were behind that betting, ignoring the defenses and self-sufficiency of Purple's territory. Personally, he thought the sprawling mass covered in red appeared the weakest, almost amateurish, position. Curiously, he checked to see who played Red and felt shocked to see General Bellon von Lurech's name, a top Conquest player and mercenary general. Normally he liked a small territory, at the start, from which he could make quick strikes with mobile units, expanding into lands developed by his opponents. Two teams identified, he quickly scanned the others. Yellow was McIddon, the Nalcon ambassador to the League of Planetary Systems, an aggressive player. While Green was Professor Ack-chong of the Pring University, McIddon's opposite, known for patiently waiting for mistakes, upon which he could capitalize. The last two were new, one proving to be the afore-mentioned Dailmbruk, with Black, and an Isode Keling, with White. Everything seemed normal, except for Red, which meant the general controlled the pulse of the game, everybody else trying to figure out the trap. Duty diverted him from working on the question, being summoned to the back room to prepare Ventar a snack. Still he listened in while the pair tried to guess Red's intentions. "What's he up to?" Ventar asked. "Maybe he overshot?" "Not bloody likely." "You're right, the old fox would never screw up that bad. It's definitely a trap, but I can't see it?" "And who's going to spring it? My money is on McIddon or Dailmbruk. Of course whoever does, will either be first out or win." Placing Ventar's snack beside him, Sascha unconsciously spoke. "It's like he is testing a theory." Turning Ventar asked, "What's that, Sweets?" "Oh sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted." "No, it's okay, Verissa and I are just going round and round, maybe your thoughts can straighten us out." "Well it's strange that the general is doing something new. It's like he's testing something out and doesn't care if he wins or loses." "Ventar, check to see if the General is between contracts." Verissa said. "Will do. Yes, yes, he is. Why?" "See if you can find out who has been courting him. Maybe he's conducting a feasibility test, before committing to a hire." "Interesting, I'll get right on it." Sascha did not stick around to see what Ventar learned, instead, delivering a snack to Verissa. Who, based upon the appreciative way she squeezed his thigh, just below his skirts, seemed pleased with something more than the food. The next hours proved why the Arena seats usually stayed empty. Purple, Green, and Red were content to wait upon Yellow, Black, and White, all of whom jockeyed for position, feinting in all directions. The excitement sapped from the game, Sascha spent his time trying to ignore the cold, noticeable in spite of his heated position. Thus he, and apparently Isode and her team, missed the first significant move of the game, when McIddon followed through on a feint and crossed into White's territory, reinforcements following. White reacted by rushing forces towards the border with Yellow, Dailmbruk, as if inspired, pounced on the opportunity offered by Red. The betting boards came to life, the two attackers receiving the majority of the action. Then, as White slowed Yellow's advance and Black pushed deeper into Red's territory, more money flowed in Dailmbruk's direction, many people ignoring the possibility of a trap. Smart money did notice Black's supply lines stretching and its forces thinning out the length of the advance and, for a time, Dailmbruk had the best odds, both to win and be first out. As the black arrows, piercing deep into the glowing red, all else seemed to pause. Those with money riding on or against Black held their breath whenever those arrows approached a natural barrier, unsure if Red's defense would finally stiffen. Then, just before crossing into the heartland of Red's territory, Black ran into well dug in troops - the available variables designating them fresh, fully provisioned, and with high morale. Furthermore, Purple and Green, proving to have an alliance with Red, suddenly launched attacks upon Black's home territory. Dailmbruk faced a difficult decision, whether to push through, hopefully defeating Red, or to retreat and defend his territory. He made the wrong choice, attempting to pull back left his troops spread out even more, transports running out of fuel and falling behind. In turn, the pursuing Red units gobbled them up like one snake eating another. Few of Black's forces made it home in time to welcome defeat at the hand of the two invaders. As the last black markings were wiped off the globe, Kalen made an announcement, "With the first contender eliminated from the match, we will now take a one and one half hour break. That is one and one half hour. Please do not be late. We will start without you." At the announcement, Verissa bounced from her chair, scooped Sascha into a hug, and planted a kiss upon his lips. "Sweets, not only are you gorgeous, you're brilliant. General von Lurech was testing a strategy for a backwater planet called Syble, where his potential employer, Trelifur, is set up very similarly to how Red started the game. When I approached him with this guess, I learned Professor Ack-chong had also made the connection and together we bullied him into an alliance." "And kicked Dick-head Dailmbruk's ass." Ventar laughed, as he arrived and gave both a victory kiss. With his laughter still ringing, the three split up. Verissa and Ventar joining the remaining competitors for a first class meal, while Sascha and his colleagues retreated to a warm break room, where they sank into comfortable chairs, and gratefully removed boots. Even Sascha, with his surgical enhancements enjoyed the massager built into his chair's footrest, as he ate the lunch provided. Then he closed his eyes and relaxed, not being interested in discussing the game or anything else. The break proved too short, soon an arena staffer popped her head into their room to announce that they had five minutes left. Sighing, the five remaining pirate wenches pulled on their boots, touched up their appearances, summoned their smiles, and headed back to the stage. Barely arrived, the Purple team joined Sascha, this time Ventar taking the front seat. As the match restarted it became apparent that the alliance stayed strong, resulting in a pause as McIddon and Keling, after forming their own alliance, protested the variables defining the strength of that alliance. But Kalen's team of judges proved unresponsive to protests, stating recent foes could not instantaneously become a united force. Thus their alliance became little more than a non-aggression pact, the two defending their own territories. This favoured McIddon, both because he had prepared a better defence, something required with his style of play, and because the alliance decided to deal with the less experienced player first. White put up an admirable defense, dragging things out longer than expected, but her attackers stuck together and they proved too strong. Approximately four hours after the break, the second player exited the game. Having dragged things out long enough to give McIddon a stay of execution, the judges deciding to end the game for the night, to resume the next morning. As the other teams filed from the arena, the purple members looked between each other and Sascha. Ventar, as was normally the case, posed the question on all their minds, "Verissa , now can we take the treat back to our room?" "Well she is awfully delectable." "Delightfully so." "But we really should get some sleep." "Probably." "After all, we have to get up early." "Damn, sometimes I hate how you're always right. This game better end tomorrow, because if I have to wait another night I may burst." "Agreed." Decided, Ventar smiled sadly at Sascha and said, "Night night, Sweets, see you bright and early tomorrow." Sharing their disappointment, Sascha wished them good night, tidied up, and headed back to the change room, taking a back way to escape vid requests, soon finding himself in the dark isolation of another sleep chamber. In the morning, his struggles to wake proved the wisdom of their prior night's abstinence. Bypassing slumber for a playful romp, no matter how delightful at the time, would have made it near impossible to rise. Repeating his preparation of the prior day, he found a slightly different variation of his uniform in his locker. The hat and boots were the same, but this time he wore a ruffled lace minidress, over which he fastened a purple, brocade corset, not nearly as rib crushing as it appeared. Dressed, he quickly strolled through the quiet casino to the Arena, finding it empty, nobody having yet arrived. Going through the same checks as the prior day, he was cleaning the team room table when he felt someone grasp him around the waist, causing him to give a startled shriek. However, he relaxed when he heard Verissa, amusement in her voice, say, "Unhand that wench, you ruffian." Not letting go, Ventar disagreed. "No way, I caught her, she's all mine." Joining the game, Sascha looked over his shoulder, eyes peaking from beneath the brim of his hat, to ask, "What dost thou have planned for me, cruel sir?" "Gah, not you too. First that evil harridan, standing there smirking at my plight, offered me no relief last night." "Poor boy, I thought he would sprain his wrist before he could fall asleep," Verissa said, the amusement even more evident. "And then, here is my captive wench, greeting me, while so fetchingly posed. First wiggling her attention getter at me, then piercing my heart with eyes and voice of false innocence. Burst, did I say last night? Nay, it will be a veritable explosion." "We can't have that, it sounds messy. You know, it still quiet out there. If Sascha is willing, and based on the lack of desperation in her escape attempts, never mind the actual non-existence of those attempts, that appears to be the case, you may have time to defuse the situation." "Wondrous Verissa, forgive my earlier harshness, you are a veritable Goddess of Love? Or do you taunt me with lies?" "No, Ventar, as you well know, it's possible. Don't think I didn't guess why you dragged me from bed, earlier than necessary. You knew Miss Diligent would already be here." "Bah, I plead innocence, Fate brought us together, Fate I say. And one must never question Fate, so if it demands and Sascha is willing?" At this question, Sascha, who already had grown glassy eyed from the man's roaming hands, lazily nodded agreement. "And yes she is, proving Fate loves the pure of heart." "You mean, Sascha?" "Mock not the hands of Fate. Will you join us?" "No, I think not, I will go speak to McIddon, who will surely approach with another desperate plea to break our alliance. Besides, us goddess types need time to enjoy are pleasures, unlike you barbarians." "Jealous?" "Desperately. Now you two have fun, but don't take too long." Ensuring that the room's windows were darkened, Verissa slipped out to the sounds of rustling lace and Ventar's saying, "No, hold there, Sweets, don't turn around. Fate brought us together in this fashion for a reason, let's not go against his will." Regretfully watching the beautiful woman leave the room, Sascha spared a thought for the appropriateness of capitulating so easily, before deciding, based upon the casino's tacit approval of his relationship with the pair, that it would be okay, as long as he did not keep Ventar from the restart. Besides, he had trouble thinking with eager hands reaching under the ruffled skirt of his dress. Sometimes Sascha liked to be manhandled, in fact had wanted this since his shift in the tank. And few beat Ventar in the art of manhandling, as proven when he jerked Sascha's panties down his thighs. That thin barrier removed and knowing what was about to come, Sascha still let loose a mewl of surprise at the sudden thrust that tilted him forward on the rockered toes of his boots. Then another and another, causing Sascha to grasp for purchase, with splayed fingers, upon the smooth table top. Yet, even in his eagerness, Ventar was never a greedy lover. Attuned to the body below him, he knew that though perfect for giving him pleasure, it treated Sascha with less kindness. Soon he settled into a rhythm that brought forth whimpers of pleasure and would leave his captive happily exhausted, a tempo where they easily lost track of time. Thus the countdown clock had almost reached eight minutes before Sascha noticed time ticking away. Suddenly their tryst had a rapidly approaching deadline and despite his enjoyment, he knew he needed bring it to an end. So as Ventar pulled back for another thrust, Sascha slipped from his grasp, and, ignoring the man's protests, spun about to take matters in hand. Ventar's protests did not last long, for Sascha was just as familiar with his body, as Ventar with his. Crouching, he leaned forward, and finished satisfying his companion. It barely left him enough time to freshen up before the match resumed. Though he did not have to hurry as much as his red-haired colleague in green, who shared a sheepish smile with him as she scurried into the break room to deal with the affects of her own morning tryst. Like every other spectator, Sascha felt curious as to whether McIddon had forced a crack in the alliance that had disposed of Black and White. Watching his starting move, Sascha guessed the answer to be no. But unlike Isode Keling, he did not seek to delay defeat, instead he tried to once more become a player in the game. To do that, he needed to break a leg from the triad's stool. So he did what he did best, he attacked, unfortunately he attacked Purple. Not with malicious intent, he did not seek revenge for rebuffed entreaties, Purple just happened to be the best target, being nearest to his own territory. Apparently Verissa and Ventar had expected this, had prepared for it. Yet McIddon was the master of the attack and a worrisome period followed before their defenses held, the attackers finally bogging down. During the attack, Sascha noticed how slowly Red and Green reacted, delaying relief to their ally. Not a surprise, it did not hurt to have an alliance member weakened, something understood by all and resulted in a drop on the betting boards for Purple. Still, caught between Purple's defenses and the tardy relief of Red and Green troops, things were bleak for Yellow. "With the third contender eliminated from the match, we will now take a half hour break. That is one half hour. Please do not be late. We will start without you." The session had barely taken an hour, so nobody rushed to the lunch or break rooms. Ventar and Verissa huddled together, completely ignoring Sascha, trying to prepare a strategy for when the alliance ended. Because it would surely end, either naturally or induced by the judges, who would not allow an impasse amongst the three players. They tried to decide if they could gain more by waiting or acting first. Verissa asked, "What is the chance that Ack-chong will make the first move?" "A little less likely than me taking a vow of celibacy." "Yes, the idea is laughable. How about Lurech?" "Possible, but his flanks are still not that strong, he won't want to expose them in any attacks." "Also agreed. So either we break it ourselves or wait on Kalen and his team." "Well you know how I feel." Smiling, Verissa said, "Yes, Love, of course I do." Frustratingly Sascha did not know, but he did not ask, not being his place to do so. He accepted, as he always did, that though they welcomed him into their world, he would never be more than a guest. But patience was one of his strengths and he knew it would not be long before they answered his question, the break being almost over. Not that it stopped him from considering that, given the choice, he would attack, though he did not know who or how. Best to wait and see. Apparently, based upon the suddenly large crowd, many others wished to know. As soon as the match restarted, they provided their answer. The alliance was over, at least for Purple. With the armies of their former allies still close, after wiping out Yellow, an attack proved easy to launch. They did, the bombardments of artillery that had stopped Yellow, now fell upon Green's troops. As Green retreated under that bombardment, Sascha analyzed the reasons behind choosing Professor Ack-chong, instead of the general. Firstly, it made little sense to attack both opponents, better to focus on one, doing as much damage as possible. Secondly, while that opponent retreated, his defenders may fall into disarray, offering an opportunity the third force could exploit. Lastly, the professor would never take such an opportunity, while the general might take it. So Purple targeted Green's forces; however, either they kept good order in retreat, never providing an opening, or the general decided against attacking. The attack gained Purple space and time, which they used to rebuild resources lost to McIddon's attack. Again the three players found themselves locked into defensive positions, driving the spectators from the Arena. It became a game of waiting, each nibbling at the others, fighting in the lands of the defeated. Stalemate had been reached. Yet stalemates were not good business for the casino. If nothing happened, then the Gods, actually a random generator of natural disasters, would come into play. It would be the moment when Chance, who lurked in all casinos, joined the game. The expected count down, to its arrival, began. Time for the competitors to make another decision. Did they force the play, stopping the clock. Or did they welcome Chance, hoping it favoured them. As the seconds counted down, Sascha realized they all planned to gamble. The clock struck zero. Chance joined the party, but... "We will now take a half hour break. That is one half hour. Please do not be late, as we will start without you." ...of course The Siren's Cove recognized this as an opportunity to build excitement and to open another book on the game. Soon people, even those who did not understand Conquer, were betting on Chance. Gambling on who would be the recipient of the Gods' judgment and whether they would be fortunate or not. Again Verissa and Ventar proved anti-social, even to each other, during this break. Anxiously they waited for the dice to be thrown, ignoring the drinks Sascha placed beside each purple clad arm. This time, as the match restarted, neither Ventar nor Verissa sat in the cockpit. Instead they stood in the open, like the members of the other teams. Waiting on Chance, which manifested itself first as a purple glow, then yellow, then red, momentarily lighting up each teams wedge. Flickering purple, yellow, red, purple, yellow, red, purple, yellow, red...building tension. When it stopped, Sascha notice he was basked a purple glow. Immediately he looked to the holographic globe, hoping Chance had been kind, despite the hiss from one of the blondes. He saw defenses, that had withstood attack, now in shambles, destroyed by a massive earthquake. Turning away from the devastating sight, he saw Ventar watching Verissa, who icily stared at the globe. Seeing her stand, unmoving like a statue, the man bustled forward, taking the cockpit, attempting to steal ward off defeat, as Yellow and Red instinctively reacted to Purple's misfortune. During the time that followed, Sascha's attention moved between the globe and Verissa, then he only watched her, knowing what would happen in the match, but never having seen this side of her. Frigid, like some Winter Goddess. Still beautiful, but untouchable, Sascha preferred the other Verissa. "With the fourth contender eliminated from the match, we will now take a one and one half hour break. That is one and one half hour. Please do not be late. We will start without you." At these words, Verissa turned and strode down the steps of the stage and up those of the spectator seating. Barely glancing left or right, she soon left the Arena. Sascha turned to Ventar, who joined him in time to see Verissa exit. Offering only a shrug, he gently squeezed Sascha's hand and rushed to follow his soulmate. Leaving Sascha all alone. Chapter 4 - Crissum Startled by their departures, it took Sascha a few moments to realize they were not coming back for him. Disappointed, he wondered why things had gone so wrong? He should be with the blonde couple, about to start an afternoon of fun, yet here he was, forgotten. Back in the change room, he checked for messages. Finding none, he submitted a request for a job, but was rebuffed again, the system mandating his overtime was maxed out for the shift. Frowning, he decided to head home, regretting that he had nothing other than the s