The low, rhythmic hum of the transport ship was the only concession to peace in the chaotic wake of their escape. Inside the main cabin, bathed in the cool, sterile light of the auxiliary lamps, Crystara leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her fist.
She glanced at the watch affixed to her wrist, a sleek, modern device that offered far more functionality than simply tracking time. Thirty minutes left.
Beside her, Pulse was utterly lost to sleep. His head was tipped awkwardly against the high-backed seat, the harsh fluorescent light doing little to soften the lines of fatigue etched beneath his closed eyes. Despite the restrictive armor he favored, the relaxation of sleep had betrayed him: a thin string of drool extended from the corner of his lips, only to be snapped back by the gentle vibration of the ship.
Crystara giggled, a low, husky sound that barely disturbed the cabin's quiet.
She reached out, her fingers, hardened and faceted like smooth amethyst, brushing against the smooth, cold metal of the collar locked around Crystara's throat.
The cabin door slid open, drawing her attention. A member of the flight crew entered. He was young, likely no older than his early twenties, but his build was impressively defined beneath the gray uniform a lclear testament to the rigorous physical training mandatory for Vanguard personnel. He wiped his hands on a cloth, his gaze respectful but direct.
"Crystara," the man began, adjusting the communications piece near his ear. "Our approach has been secured. Police and members of our vanguard are now stationed at the base, running perimeter scans and securing the immediate sector."
He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "Forgive my forwardness, but communication has been sparse, and the heightened security is… unsettling. May I ask what exactly happened? Are we now in open war with the other bureaus?"
Crystara leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, the posture highlighting the crystalline sheen of her skin where her t-shirt ended. "It just happened," she said simply, her tone dismissive. "And I won't say it's war... maybe not yet. But there are certainly people, very desperate people, who are actively after me and Pulse for reasons that remain wonderfully vague."
The crewman nodded, relief mixing with residual anxiety in his expression. "I hope that's all it is. The war between Awakeneds in other countries is just way too brutal; the last thing that our country needs is that kind of internal conflict."
"Oh yeah, speaking of internal matters," Crystara continued, suddenly remembering a recent curiosity. "Is there anything happening back on Tellus? Anything big with our bureaus?"
"Nothing is happening exactly," the man replied, "but I heard rumors circulating through the comms room. High officials from all the branches of the Vanguard Bureau including some of the top brass have been called to a meeting at the Main Headquarters."
Crystara let out a low whistle. "Must be why I couldn't contact her. She must be in mandatory lockdown. It must be something critically important if they're pulling everyone in."
As if summoned by the conversation, Crystara's communication device vibrated, discreetly fastened to her wrist. She glanced at the screen: it was Pyrault.
Pyrault: I'm currently now in the base along with Revara and Skye. We're waiting for immediate triage.
Crystara quickly typed a response. "Thank you, sir, for coming."
The crew member confirmed their status. "We'll arrive in exactly thirty minutes. Hold tight." He offered a small salute and began to turn.
It was precisely at that moment that the air pressure within the cabin shifted subtly. A faint metallic snap echoed, almost lost beneath the ship's drone.
Crystara felt it instantly. The collar on her neck snapped open, the metal band cleanly separated, then automatically shut down, the dead device clattering to the floor.
The crew member paused, looking down at the discarded collar. "Finally, huh?"
Crystara rubbed the side of her neck where the cold metal had been chafing. A genuine smile, free of her usual cynicism, spread across her face. "Yeah. Finally feeling comfortable again."
A moment later, the door opened again. A different crew member entered, this one slightly stockier, with a constant, almost unsettlingly gleeful smile plastered across his face. He waved the previous crewman up.
"You're needed on the bridge, Greg. Priority diagnostics."
Greg nodded briskly and left.
The gleeful crewman then looked intensely at Crystara, and then at Pulse, still sleeping peacefully and oblivious to the shift in atmosphere.
Crystara stared back, rubbing her neck defensively. The new man's scrutiny felt too sharp, too interested.
"Is there a problem?" she asked, her voice hardening slightly. "Do you want anything?"
Crewman A kept his unsettling smile steady. "No problem at all! Just checking you're up, yeah? Standard procedure for pre-landing."
He lingered for a beat too long, his eyes flicking over the controls, but seeming to absorb everything about the two Awakeneds. Then, with a quick, cheerful nod that didn't quite reach his eyes, he backed out of the room.
Outside the main cabin, Crewman A moved swiftly into a maintenance corridor. His smile vanished instantly, replaced by focused, cold anxiety. He pulled out a specialized device, trying frantically to punch through the heavy, layered security protocols of the ship's communications jamming.
The collars are off.
Before he could establish a stable connection, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Hey, A! Stop messing with the restricted comms. Get up to the landing bay, they need you for gear deployment. Now!"
Crewman A cursed silently under his breath, jamming the device back into his uniform pocket. He followed the demanding crewman, his chance to relay the information lost in the noise of the imminent landing. The delay, however short, was agonizing.
Far away, hanging in the blackness between dimensions, a colossal dreadnought of a ship held steady.
The Boss, a figure of immense, chilling authority, stood before a wall of monitors. One particular screen, displaying the status of the remote inhibitor collars, flickered a sudden, clear message: Deactivated.
The Boss's jaw tightened. "Finally."
A1, clad impossibly in polished black armor that seemed to absorb all light, stepped forward. "The collars finally snapped open and turned off."
A2, shorter and twitchier, her fingers tapping against her thigh rig, snarled, "Our rat should immediately execute those two and explode the hangar where they are landing. We can't let them reach their base."
The Boss didn't even turn, his gaze fixed on the monitor showing the rapidly approaching Vanguard base. "No."
The single word cut through the air like a razor wire.
"The risk of collateral damage and discovery is too high. They are already way too close to the base, in a highly secured area. I'm not risking our operative, our rat, just for those two bitches. We need him intact for future intelligence gathering."
The Boss slammed a fist onto the armrest of the command chair. "Set course immediately. We are pulling back. We are going back to Tellus. Let them have this skirmish. The war is fought in the shadows, not in rushed, visible explosions."
The ship shifted its bulk, turning slowly away from the distant light of the atmosphere.
---
Thirty minutes later, the transport ship glided into the secure Vanguard landing bay, the noise of its engines echoing through the colossal, reinforced concrete structure.
Crystara stretched languidly, relishing the rediscovered feeling of her own power tingling beneath her skin. She looked over to Pulse, resting her hand on his armored shoulder to rouse him.
"Hey, vibrator. We're at the base."
Pulse mumbled incoherently, already beginning to stir. As the ship's vibrations ceased, the thin fabric of his pants shifted where they met his thigh rig.
Crystara's eyes narrowed playfully, then widened into a smirk. The deep sleep, the stress, the sudden relief, whatever the cause, the effect was unmistakable: the distinct, hard bulge pressing against the material of his cargo pants.
She pressed her thumb against her lips, stifling a roar of delighted laughter. "I always wanted to try this cartoon shit," she whispered.
Crystara leaned in close, her eyes sparkling with malicious amusement. Her crystal body naturally felt warmer than normal skin, and the air around her became suddenly charged. She pressed her lips right up to his ear, her voice dropping into a deep, gravelly moan that was unnervingly realistic, the sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure mixed with a hint of desperation.
"Oh God, Pulse! Don't stop! You're crushing me, but keep going, you rotten son of a bitch!**"
Pulse went rigid, his eyes snapping fully open in panic. "What in the hell are you doing?!" he hissed, trying to shove her away.
Crystara ignored him, her performance escalating instantly. She grabbed his knee, gripping it fiercely, and continued the show, her voice rising to a breathless, ragged squeal; the sound of a woman being penetrated roughly, pleasured agonizingly.
"Agh! Yes! Faster! You're too big! Too deep! I'm going to shatter!" She forced a series of short, sharp, shuddering gasps, mimicking violent orgasm. "Oh, fuck! Pulse!"
Outside the cabin, the crewman who had run diagnostics, a large, heavy man named Talo, had been walking past the door, checklist in hand. He stopped dead in his tracks.
Moaning?
Talo pressed his body against the metal bulkhead, straining his ears against the sound of Crystara's performance, the panting, the begging, the raw, explicit cries that seemed designed to carry through the metal door.
Those two are actually fucking? The thought was incomprehensible. Crystara is fucking that slim, quiet, armored guy?
Talo's breath hitched as he heard Crystara's voice, now a little clearer. She was screaming in a higher pitch, laced with genuine distress and ecstasy. This wasn't playful; this was brutal, full-contact passion behind a locked door.
He stuck his ear against the cold metal, hearing the ragged breath work of a woman desperately trying to keep up with an overwhelming pace, interspersed with her pleas for cessation.
Then, there was a sudden, roaring sound from Pulse, followed by a startled yelp.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" Pulse bellowed, his voice laced with shock and a hint of genuine panic.
Crystara burst into a fit of raw, high-pitched laughter that nearly made her fall out of her seat.
"Holy shit!" she gasped out, struggling to breathe through her amusement. "Are you actually a big guy, Pulse? Look at yourself!" She pointed exaggeratedly at the bulge in his pants.
Pulse quickly covered himself, his face still furnace-hot. "Oh, shut up! I'll get you back for this."
The door suddenly began to retract.
Talo, realizing he was about to be caught red-handed, launched himself down the corridor like a panicked gazelle, checklist forgotten. He didn't stop running until he was safely around three corners and halfway up the access ladder.
Pulse watched the retreating figure, rubbing his temples. "Was that guy eavesdropping?"
Crystara, still wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, shrugged carelessly. "Probably. Why else would that random guy run away like his ass was on fire?"
The air ramp dropped open with a heavy hydraulic hiss, slamming down onto the concrete of the Vanguard base.
Standing stiffly in the docking bay to greet them were Pyrault a man whose face was a road map of old battles along with Revara and Skye, their fast-moving, observant asset.
Revara stepped forward first, her relief evident in the softening of her stern features. "Are you both okay? We heard the reports; it was a near thing."
Pulse stepped off the ramp, pulling the hood of his light armor up, needing the familiar enclosure of the fabric. "Yeah, just feeling a bit stressed, Revara. And tired. Very, very tired."
Pyrault, ever the strict militarist, straightened to his full height. "Then get some rest immediately. We need you both operational, not burned out. We can debrief the external contact tomorrow."
Pulse nodded. "Yes, sir."
Crystara, trailing Pulse, pouted dramatically. "Wait, how about my massage? I put up with a lot of crap out there, Pulse. I deserve my reward."
Pulse shot her a dark look, already planning his revenge for the ship cabin humiliation. "After I rest for the day, Crystara. Come on." He knew better than to argue, though. He just needed sleep first.
He walked past the three grim-faced superiors, pulling Crystara along with him toward the portal.