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"Where humanity would try to take dominance over their own kind and beyond, most of Chreakind are only concerned with dominance over the self. Take control and master your own situation, and you will not surely die." ~Guide, Chapter 3

Having settled on the fact that we had learned quite a lot and yet nothing at all, our only one thing to do was hunker down and wait.

When a mining camp settles in, it usually doesn't dry up for quite a long time. This particular one has a bit of a history, both with me and Chreakind in general. A lot of firsts were dredged up here. The first proof that humans knew the dreaded substance known as chocolate is indeed poisonous to many of us. The first refrigerator unit. A book about a human holiday that took place around the end of every year when no one made an attempt to kill someone else (for a thousand years anyway). A curious game featuring a space marine on Mars slaying demons. The slugs don't just find raw materials and schematics that they trade to scientists. There's also the heart and soul of the human race encased in an infinitely preserving Ambersteel shell, waiting to inspire us all. My part in all of this? As Set's luck would have it, I have one of the rare and irreplaceable gifts in our world of prosthetic limbs and strange mind powers: vocal chords that can approximate human speech well. Slugs tend to be experts at hacking outdated security measures to pieces, except in voice recognition. While thumbprints or DNA scans can be hacked to accept a Chrea's limb pretty easily today, a typical Chrea's growling or yipping is almost always thought to be a vocal inflection of some sort as we're so different from humans. That's where I come in. My light touch is just enough for a hacked password prompt to accept. That's not to say I'm the only one with a weird voice, but It's an extremely rare trait and I've never personally met another with it.

This exact reason is why I can get the three of us to pass the workers on guard duty down the remaining stairs underground, and through the worksite without depositing our tools and arms. Same with Travis. At the lowest point is the marketplace, where one can only go without weapons. Not to prevent fighting of which there is anyway, but out of respect to the delicate equipment contained within. Unfortunately our destination is not said equipment.

We're immediately greeted by an amalgam of scent that must be hundreds of Chrea. I find it a heady, suffocating aroma. My eyes widened, my ears stood tall, and the fur on the back of my neck stood up, and suddenly I had immense jealousy of Travis's lack of smell. For a couple of minutes it takes all my stubbornness to not retreat for the nearest corner. Since dawn was approaching, it was imperative that we meet with my contact here in the trade emporium. Slug camps usually go hand-in-hand with a Wooly Union sponsored place of trade out of pure opportunity, and this one was no exception with one that was exceptionally large. As opposed to being hewn out of the rock, this far down it's lined out of a reflective wall to further discourage shooting any laser weapons. I've never measured it, but I suspect that this place stretches for quite a few yards. All of it is covered with stands selling everything from food to weapons to rare goods and supplies.

What keeps me from dwelling on alll this is seeing Caroline in her element. She's so quiet and reserved outside of me, unless it's time for trade. I could go anywhere to drink that in. In the meantime I'm quite literally Caroline's strong arm as she works her magic among the stands. Wheeling, dealing, and gambling our way towards enough supplies for the time ahead. I still have no idea how she pulls this off. Especially in that outrageous black suit and pencil skirt the humans would call business attire that she changes into just for these occasions, but I've learned long ago not to impede so-called "delicate negotiations." Still the mystery intrigues me. Most of us view clothing as completely optional outside of protection.

It's not uncommon for such to be done over gambling. Exception being possibly Travis as he's physically incapable of doing a poker face, so he went off on other business. A dog, who appeared to be a Shih-Tzu but with the horns of a ram, was the dealer. I noted the mark of Looking For Master on the back of the cards, it's interesting to see a peaceful member of the fold. Almost all Chrea are hunters of something by nature, but these guys will hunt anything for food or sport. Unfortunately before I could inquire we were interrupted by the thud of a giant bird's leg nearly missing the side of the table.

Towering above the crowd was a very large duck-like creature with legs similar to an Emu and very small, flightless wings. Knowing eyes looked down on me, with a heavy beak that looked big enough to cleave anyone in twain. I had seen a Gastornis only once before and it was more of the barbaric type of dinosaur, so this is the first time I really had seen one up close. My contact however was on top. He sat on a saddle wrapped around it's midsection, clearly the Gastornis served as travel for him. The rider appeared to be of a very thick build, but glimpses from under his wool seemed to reveal that he was pretty slim under it all, outside of his hips which seemed to be wide for his figure. One could call him feminine, but most sheep tend to have that quality. I always wanted to smack one right in the jaw, but I could never bring myself to bruise a sheep's adorable gaze. You could tell just by looking at him that he exuded a holier-than-thou vibe. A sassy, yet elegant expression that always asked "why do you trouble me" seemed to be plastered on his face. He tossed a rope ladder out from the saddle, and left his mount to do as he pleased. Suddenly made very rich by his ride, no doubt.

"Rare to see a sheep this time of night. You want in?"

"Hmph, do I know you?"

I've seen this ritual of sorts happen before while with a caravan. I should be the one to address him first as I'm the stronger looking one. This asserts dominance, the cornerstone of anything, therefore giving control over the price to us. Sure enough, he approaches the table and takes what was the dealer's seat out of either pure contempt or curiousity. The game moved elsewhere. "We're here to take care of the forest raiders, looking for our contact," I said nonchalantly while throwing out another chip into what was starting to look like a bottomless pit of lost grass, intentionally keeping my gaze elsewhere. He squints his eyes, these damn sheep are disarming even when pissed. "Young lady, you don't even have a title. How dare you treat me in such a manner. What do I even need with you!?" At some point, most notable bounty hunters or criminals end up saddled with a name they didn't ask for. It makes spinning a yarn about you all the easier. A hand gloved in leather that Caroline would later tell me was colored red and the latest fashionable trend of the time, pointed straight to her. Five fingers, also interesting. "I know of you however. Are you not the one who negotiated the Mark V All-Terrain Probe schematic trade?" Caroline's eye turned up and focused its lens to him while she pretended to stare at her cards. Information is king, but bluffs are the prince. "But I digress. My name is Hans, and I represent Weser Fooy Titanium. Seeing as I have no experience in this area of the worl-" Caroline interjected with a raised claw, an almost sarcastic smile on her face that she undoubtedly learned from me. "That's some story! Last I remember you co-owned all standard trade routes in this and all surrounding sectors, until your brother bought you out."

"Yes.. well, that was quite a long time ago. I could barely remember-"

"The same sibling who is arming our prey against us, a direct violation of the Rat Race Treaty."

"I am hardly my brother's keeper!"

"Oh really? And just who could his source of firearms be? Maybe the sibling who partly owns the forge south of the Vulcan Volcano?" I've never seen Caroline with such fire before, she was literally staring down Hans, and it's a wonder why she wasn't shot on site.

"Alright, alright! The raids in the Korewood dried up the trade route. We were simply... looking for a new opportunity." Hans starts to squirm in his seat. Seeing that really did feel good, to be fair.

"While upsetting the balance of power enough to cause my clan to nearly starve!"

"Look, if the raiders are taken out I promise we'll pull out of the desert."

"And?"

"A-and force a buyback of all weapons. Immediately."

"Full price?"

"Are you ser-"

"You want me to bring this treaty violation to the Wooly Union?"

"Okay, a full price refund."

Getting the entire promised reward was not going to be as smooth as I had anticipated after that. But after approximately an hour, we slowly hammered out a contract in which we were given the entire 50 pounds along with the promise given to us verbally. His promise in any form let alone one of a sheep is as good as mud however, so after this little journey we told Lyra to pass word to the clan so they would act as a "witness" to this. There was just one problem that was quick to point out. "Now that we have it all in writing, there is just one small issue... forgive me, but I've not heard a single story of you. How can I be insured of your supposed skill?" Oh boy, here we go.

"How about a little test of your ability? My finest bodyguard against yours in a duel, the winner gets complete control of the contract." His smirk was plain as day. There was obviously a trap in both points, but if either of us dared decline he'd have probably torn the whole thing up. In the back of this marketplace not far from the shrine to Hephaestus there's a stage, usually set aside for entertainment for the miners. I've performed a few times here, as did a lot of what you would call traveling artists of all kinds. Now was a more deadly sort of art. Both of us stood about a millimeter apart, with our backs turned to each other. Caroline was still at the same table, but her eye camera was zoomed in enough to get every detail. Probably because she already knew the outcome. Hans had dashed out of range just in case, but he was close enough to set the rule. "Count 10 paces, shoot, and the last one standing wins."

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

It takes a second to realize that I unintentionally have the deck stacked here: I don't need to turn around to shoot. Then it occurs to me that he took one glance at my back while I wasn't looking and guessed that. My blood boils at the thought. The trap started to form in my head along with a plan of attack.

7, 8, 9...

Boiling blood begets bloodlust. Myriad flashbacks of battle dance in my brain as for a split-second I tensed up, the familiar sounding screeds in the name of Anubis involuntarily welling in the back of my mind. Along with a snap grounding of "Never Again" echoing throughout.

10!

The poor bear didn't even finish the tenth pace before I bent over backwards and aimed for his left shoulder. In an instant, the sound of a distressed growl and the smell of burning hair both filled the air equally. With the miracle of a mechanical spine and my pistol at its lowest setting, it was only enough force to disarm him. My opponent was caught completely off-guard, and staggered. The ending was normally to finish the job at any time, but I would never do so. "Get up, your life is not mine to take." Later on I would find out that my unnamed opponent here was taking care of three cubs at the time. He was a former fisherman who did these slow and strong bodyguard jobs to feed the family, while mama bear had the more perilous job of putting the fear of the gods into anyone who would dare trespass to their cave. I would meet the whole family later but at the time this information was unknown to me, and it would've only strengthened my resolve to do the right thing. I may be hard-hearted, but I'm but not ice cold.

Out from a shadow I barely noticed before, Hans had snuck up from behind me. "Well, well... I was hoping to sue you for damages, but it seems that all was unfortunately superficial. I was hoping for at least a disintegrated limb." That's a sheep alright, always attempting to play everyone else as a pawn in their schemes. "I can only hope that those raiders won't only be singed when you're through with them." I had received nothing but disrespect from this man since he sat down, and it was starting to push me over the edge. That's probably what he wanted as evidence to lower the cost, so I bit my tongue enough to taste blood. Luckily, after that he walked down to the table to finalize the deal. As far as we're concerned, all that's left for the day is to meet up with Travis again, get a catnap at the inn, and try to forget that incident ever happened. Alas, I don't simply shrug off things like this and I usually don't tell Caroline about them. Because of that I just couldn't sleep, and Travis was usually just as sleepless thanks to being an Android.

"Hey Travis, you listening?" He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed while I was curled up with Caroline in a sort of universal species bed.

"I'm not in sleep mode yet, what's up Aria?"

"You've been thought of as different for your entire life, right?"

"Pretty much. Hell, earlier today someone tried to buy me again." I chuckle a bit at that.

"How do you handle that? Doesn't it fester?"

"It used to, but over time I learned that it's the least of my worries. Like the time I was in a french-style maid body. Or that time I was shot down as a ceiling spider-camera. Or when I was in the scrapya-" I was starting to yawn, it was too early for this list.

"I get it. These things become much more insignificant as time goes on and we learn from aged experience."

"More or less."

I gained a new perspective that day, and the realization that I was being as vain as a lioness. This was new. Did being away from the clan start to give me a new sense of self-worth? I drifted off to sleep with that thought, saving this conversation for another day.