Year: 75,350 A.A.
Location: Space - N.D.
Designation: Malak - ESC Merc 225-013

⊶⊶⊶ ❖ ⊶⊶⊶

    Malak strode over to the Glacíen's cell and met her moon-like gaze through the window, but kept his hands clear of the bars. "If you've got something worth sharing, I suggest you do so," he growled. From the sneering curl of her lip, he could already guess her response.

    She'd said all that she intended to, but he wasn't letting her leave off with such a world changing statement. He had his doubts about how successful their new mission would be and this alien wasn't going to make their odds worse if he could help it. The smallest piece of information could be vital to keeping them alive.

    "Do your scientists share nothing with you?" The Glacíen tittered in response. "Surely Humans are capable of understanding such simple concepts as what I just implied."

    "You implied that you have some idea about how the disease works and that what Sloane has done alters that. That is the concept I grasp. Now tell me how those points connect."

    "And if I don't, you will shoot another hole in me?"

    Malak mirrored her sneer. "Gladly."

    Before he could make good on his promise, a hard body shoved him aside. He shot a glare at Zandyr, but didn't protest as his partner took his place. "What good do your secrets do you in there?" Zandyr asked, gesturing to the cell.

    "They're not freeing you and they're not helping your people find you. And why are you so set on letting innocent Humans die? Just to keep what's happening on Nësťys a secret? Are you afraid of what will happen to you if the ESC finds out? Imagine what could happen if you're the one who brings us closer to having a cure? You'd be celebrated for going against your kind and helping us, rather than being condemned with them."

    "You think I want or need Human praise?" She scoffed. "Nësťys is a result of my people trying to contain the plague and remove it from the rest of the galaxy. You may see it as cruel and inhumane, but it is what's best for all of us."

    "Why are you only trying to contain it, not cure it? For over 75,000 years your kind has told us you've been researching possible cures. Has that ever been true?"

    A look of annoyance flitted across her unnatural features, but her lips parted, and Malak hid his pleased grin. "In the beginning, I believe it was. That is why we offered you our cybernetics and abilities. It was an experiment, to prolong Human life and determine if giving you those upgrades could help fight against the plague."

    "And we did see fewer Humans falling ill and living longer, but it didn't eradicate the plague. I don't remember the early years of the Alliance. I had not been created yet, but my mentor has spoken about them to a degree." The alien's gaze met his and narrowed, but Malak only gestured for her to continue.

    Her lips pursed, though to his surprise, she didn't protest. "The plague was baffling to us as well. It defies the limitations of all other illnesses and is nothing like we'd ever seen. It took us by surprise. Glacíens do not fall ill, save for one disease."

    Malak's mouth fell before he could catch it. Zandyr mirrored his surprise and a quick glance at Sloane revealed she was equally shocked. Malak shook the feeling away and stepped closer to the cell door. "You mean to tell us that Glacíens have caught the plague too?"

    "We thought you were immune. That's why the plague victims were left in your care," Zandyr agreed.

    "That is what makes the plague unique," she snapped back. "And why we don't believe the plague was born naturally. Our bodies are not natural, impervious to the threats of life that Humans face. Only something equally unnatural could pose a threat to us. Until now, we believed that once the plague was contracted, it was within a person's blood and nothing could be done to delay or destroy the disease."

    Chains jangled as she pushed herself to her feet and crossed over to the door, her silvery gaze hooking on Sloane. "But if what she says is true, perhaps it is not as completely enveloping as we believed. If it was in her blood, she would have been dead the moment the disease touched her heart, regardless if she amputated her bruised limb."

    "What does that mean?" Zandyr prompted. Malak detected a hint of desperation in his voice, and didn't fail to notice the curled, trembling fist at his side. He still wasn't giving up on Zarina. Malak smothered a sigh and winced as the ringing in his head sharpened, where it had only been a dull drone before.

    "It means the disease begins in the outer body and works its way in. If cutting off her arm stopped the disease from spreading, possibly even removed it entirely, then that means it was confined to that region of her body, not the whole of her," the female explained. "Depending on which proves true, delay or eradication, we would be that much closer to producing a cure."

    Malak closed his eyes, mulling over the information quietly. It was all just guesswork and surmising. They could prove nothing without a blood test on Sloane, and even with that, the theory was full of holes and may come to nothing. And if the Glacíen was lying... The thought dissipated before it had fully formed.

    No, to his own surprise, he didn't believe that she was lying. She wouldn't have revealed her own kind's weakness if she were. Or maybe she was playing a very twisted game with their heads. Perhaps both. He lifted his head once more, meeting the alien's gaze with a crooked smirk.

    If it was a game, he'd find out soon enough, and he could play a few of his own too. "Then we'll get that blood test. Maybe it will tell us what else you've been lying to us about."

    "Don't overestimate yourself," she huffed. "You wouldn't know what you do now if I hadn't chosen to tell you."

    "Why did you?" Zandyr asked. Her lips stretched thin and she jerked her gaze away without answering.

    Malak did it for her. "She's starting to work things out in that head of hers. Working against us won't help her or her people, and now we may just hold one of the keys to curing the plague. That must be causing a few internal dilemmas." Dry laughter climbed his throat as the Glacíen flashed a glare his way.

    His laughter was short lived and soon replaced by a harsh wince as pain needled through his temples. Malak closed his eyes and threaded his fingers through his hair, squeezing his scalp lightly. The pressure did nothing to ease the pain, and frustration swept from his lips in a hiss. Malak stormed out of the room without a word, ignoring the odd glances that Sloane and the Glacíen threw after him.

    The pain only doubled outside the room, growing strong enough to force him to pause. Malak braced a hand on the wall and sucked breaths in through gritted teeth, though he couldn't hear them beyond his own ringing ears. It was even louder than before, as if something had blanketed his senses if only for a moment, and then was cruelly ripped away. A pattern he'd been noticing the past two days, but paid little mind to.

    He pushed himself forward finally and ducked into the privacy of the cockpit. A freshly rolled joint of radix was between his fingers as he dropped into his seat, and Malak wasted no time lighting it. Smoke curled down his throat and in his nostrils, tasting of dry sands and rich spices, almost smothering as he held it there as long as he could bear.

    Revulsion followed the smoke when he finally exhaled, along with a hint of despair. The radix was barely making a difference. Either he'd become too tolerant of the drug for it to have an effect, or whatever was fucked up in his head had become worse. Malak planted the joint between his lips and rotated his right wrist into view, marking the tattooed date on his flesh.

    For so long, he'd left the past hidden, afraid of what he'd learn about himself if he let it be exhumed. Not that it could make him a more wicked person than he was now, but if his...condition, was becoming worse, those answers might have to be sought. He had never believed this condition to be a deadly one, but that didn't mean it was without its dangers.

    Perhaps his brain was deformed. Perhaps he was insane. Most people thought so already, and if he really was losing control of himself and his senses, he needed to know while he still had enough function to leave and place as much distance between himself and Zandyr as possible. He wouldn't bring his friend down further than he already had.

    Malak swallowed, still eyeing the black lines. He cocked his head and a frown creased his lips. Stark, crisp lines. Made with precision and tact. Maybe even a sliver of care. ESC prisoners had dates, criminal markings, or other identifying features tattooed onto them and at a glance, their tattoos looked like his. But he'd seen several up close, and theirs were not this clean.

    "Hey, are you all right?" Zandyr's voice came from behind him and a shadow fell across the doorway.

    "I don't think I was a prisoner," Malak murmured, half to himself.

    "What? What are you talking about?" Footsteps drifted closer and he held up his wrist, letting Zandyr eye the tattoo for himself.

    "I don't think I was a prisoner," Malak repeated. "Or if I was, I wasn't just another ESC convict. My tattoo is in the same spot as theirs, but look at the lines. ESC agents don't take that much care when marking prisoners."

    He was answered with an incredulous look. "Why are you thinking about that?"

    Malak lifted his joint to his lips again before answering. "I think it's getting worse."

    He could practically hear Zandyr tense. "Your head?" Malak nodded. "Why didn't you say something before?"

    He only shrugged this time. "What difference would it make?"

    Zandyr muttered something incoherent under his breath and slumped into the seat beside him. "So what do you want to do?"

    "Get that blood sample on Sloane and hand the Glacíens and ArchImperators their asses for what they've been doing."

    "I meant about yourself, Asshole."

    Malak met his gaze. "I'm not sure what there is to do about me. I could try to find answers. Everything I don't remember. Maybe whatever's causing my problems and my memory loss are one and the same, but we're also about to be running for our lives so I think those might be conflicting goals."

    He shook his head before tipping it back against his chair, ignoring the dark hair that fell across his brow and over his eyes. "I don't know. It's not easy, but I can bear it for now."

    "And when the day comes that you can't?"

    "I guess maybe you'll get to make the call about whether or not to put me out of my misery."

    "That's not funny," Zandyr grumbled. "You think I want to be on my own?"

    "No," Malak sighed. "I know you don't. Otherwise you would've left my ass stranded in the middle of nowhere long ago."

    He arched a brow as Zandyr leaned over and plucked the joint from his fingers. "You're the one giving me a headache now," was all his friend grunted. Malak only chuckled, then closed his eyes against another splitting wave of pain.