Tharacenk Qorinth glared at the pool of blood congealing on the floor, his upper set of arms crossed over his chest. Two eyes scanned the room, searching for the flickering heat signatures of any remaining Nisseri. The last he saw of the human female Macbeth, she was bleeding out from a gut shot, the Theros looming over her. What did that overgrown fish -snake want with the human? From his painfully limited intel of the water dwelling race, he knew they were not carnivorous. Did it mean to help the woman? The wound was brutal but the female wasn't beyond his ability to save, especially with access to the Nisseri equipment. If the Theros dragged her off somewhere, she would likely die before he found her. Frustration welled. There was too much blood spattered everywhere to pick out the human female's scent.

A heavily shrouded Nisseri darted out from beneath a tech station, making a desperate dash for the hall. The path would take the poor creature right past him. He didn't move, tracking two human slaves as they launched onto the fleeing Nisseri, bludgeoning their catch with pieces of torn ship rails. Their faces lit with savage glee as they beat the Nisseri to a bloody pulp. Their violence made his fur itch, a quiet rage simmering under his skin. Would they have held back if they knew their victim was a young female? Judging by the vacancy in their eyes, these men had the compassion tortured out of them. Korthos take those Pathosians and their wretched slavery! This mission made him shed from stress.

This was meant to be a multi stage infiltration, going in as a slave in order to slip undetected through the auction market as an unknown Merc. He burned through dozens of contacts to get himself onto one of those horrible ships, only to have the Pathosian slaver take one look at him and gas him. He woke up here, in specially made cuffs, two years of preparation wasted because those sex crazed idiots found his race unappealing as house pets. He warned Command this would happen, but they insisted he try, since they failed to sneak an agent in any other way.

"Thrack?" His upper eyes focused on the mouthy parbreed beside him, sadly still breathing. This one would become a problem soon. Thrack might have to snap his neck. "What are you orders, sir?"

He grimaced at the question, noting the sneering challenge in the man's tone. Leading a bloody coup was not how he planned to break out of the Nisseri hold, but when the female managed to free herself, he quickly opted for the plan. He didn't realize how far gone from reason his fellow prisoners would be. They might continue to listen to him if he only he kept the female at his side. She had a cold intelligence he admired, but she and the Theros had vanished. Thrack huffed, eyeing the bodies of the Nisseri. The Blight had a firm foothold on this ship, despite the violence of their deaths it was truly an act of mercy.

"We need to secure the engine room before they realize control has been taken. They might sabotage the ship. We can use the hold for prisoners-"

The parbreed interrupted him, tightening his grip on a bloodied stun stick. "That won't be necessary."

Thrack didn't pause, feeling the parbreed's wild eyes on him. "They are already dying; forcing them into the hold will simply lessen the work of disposing of their bodies." It was a half-truth, but smooth enough to loosen the man's grip on his weapon.

"You know where the engine room is on this piece of junk?"

Thrack spun his bulk away from the blood pool, startling the parbreed. He bit back a growl as he picked his way through the bodies to a control panel. Humans and Fey didn't expect a species of his size to move so fast. It was a misconception Barloks exploited in battle often.

He read the screen, keeping an eye on the parbreed. He had to step carefully now. None of them had picked up on his knowledge of the ship's layout. They might, once the bloodlust clouding their minds dissipated. He was very away of his singular presence on this ship, and while their hate was focused on their captors for now, they had no trust to offer a Barlok, merc or not. They could turn on him any time.

"Follow the hall to the end, two sharp lefts will bring you to the engine room. I will lock out their access from here." His hands flew over the panel, running a diagnostic scan as he simultaneously locked out the ship's engineers from their own system. "You may meet some irate Nisseri on your way in." The parbreed observed him with an incredulous expression that made his back teeth grind.

"You know how to fly this wreck?" The man asked, though Thrack could hear the secondary question in his words.

"We do pilot ships. I assure you I can manage this one." He allowed a bit of anger in his voice.

The parbreed nodded, giving him a salute with his weapon before yelling for the others to follow him. Thrack was alone in a room full of corpses. The parbreed was wary of him, but he hadn't left a man behind to watch him. Their focus was intent on the Nisseri.

A fresh wave of screams erupted from the hall. Thrack blocked it out, reading the info panel. Nisseri tech was a complicated beast. It was a conglomeration of stolen components from several different races, melded together. If their race wasn't so twisted by the Cult, the Nisseri would have been renowned for their technological genius rather than the monsters parents used as cautionary tales and nightmare fodder.

Thrack tugged the tuft of fur on his chin. One of the scout ships recently launched, though he doubted it was manned by any Nisseri. Had the Theros taken the female off ship? He wasn't aware they had the intelligence to speak, much less pilot a craft. Perhaps the female's injuries weren't as severe as he thought. He pulled up a layout of the ship, memorizing it. The Nisseri tracked the bio signature of every member of their crew, allowing him to track the progress of the slaves as those signatures winked out in a wave along the hall. To his disgust, the slaves weren't making a straight line for the engine room, but fanning out to kill every Nisseri they could find. Wholesale slaughter held little appeal for him. The hands of his race were so thoroughly stained by a history of violence they had yet to shake. He scanned the layout, and paused, focusing on one room. His fur stood on end as a curse ripped up his throat.

The Nisseri lived in clans, their ships were their homes, which meant whole familial units inhabited these giant derelicts, down to their children. The path to the engine room would bring the marauding slaves past the nursery. His arms stretched out, bracing himself using the edges of the control panel. His fingers bit into the metal as his mind waged an internal war.

The freed slaves would cut down the Nisseri to the last squalling babe. If he locked down the nursery, the parbreed would know, since he admitted to knowledge of the ship's system. His eyes locked on the cluster of bio signatures. His command would understand. This mission was important, but relied on his survival. The information he gained from these data logs made up for his failure to complete his original objective. His hand throbbed as the metal gave way under his grip, cutting into his palms. If he tried to save them, the slaves would turn on him, far sooner rather than later.

Thrack released his grip on the panel and did....nothing. He brought up the travel log of the ship, studying their route until his treacherous gaze strayed, watching as the lights blink out one by one.

With a roar, Thrack reared back, ripped the console chair from the floor and hurled it across the room. The force of impact caved in the wall before the chair skidded to halt against a body. His blood hummed as he gnashed his teeth. He pressed his fists together, forcing his temper down. One outburst in an empty room was all he could spare. He'd made the choice.

By the time the slaves returned victorious, bearing trophies, Thrack buried his rage deep. The parbreed approached him, his face ecstatic. "Ship's secure. Left a few men behind in the engine room, though only one knows an inkling of mechanics."

"Not a problem," Thrack answered, inputting more operations as he studied the man with his upper eyes. "Most of the functions on this vessel can be placed on automatic." Ah, there was the flare of cunning he expected. "The ship should be stable enough to get us to a port out of Pathosian space." The closest port was Keyos, a Barlok colony, merc run, and information this man did not need to know. There was enough tech on this ship for him to barter his way out of trouble.

"What are our casualties?" Thrack asked. The parbreed frowned at him. Had the man bothered to keep track of his brethren?

"Uh, about ten down. Eleven if you count the female. You know where that beastie took her?"

Thrack didn't bother to acknowledge the question, running numbers in his mind. Only a third perished in the fighting? This increased the odds of them turning against him, and they had the numbers to compensate for his combat skill. "We need a unit for clean up, unless you want to be ankle deep in decaying flesh," he said, using Merc slang. "I'll join in, check out the engine room."

The parbreed wasn't listening, looking at the crumpled wall across the room. "What happened to your chair?" he asked, his voice a bit strangled.

Thrack gave a nonchalant shrug. "Got in my way."

He passed by a few of the other slaves, some dragging bodies, a couple still purging their anger, pummeling the dead. He ignored all of them, his fists clenched as he stood before the nursery. He entered, sealing the door behind him as he slowly took in the scene.

Two decades of battle and self-control kept his stomachs from heaving. The bodies of children and their female Keepers lay at his feet. Animals were slaughtered with far more kindness. Lifeless eyes stared up at him, their faces twisted in a final expression of fear. Innocents. His rage boiled under his skin as he knelt, closing the misshapen lids of the youth closest to him. It was a male, no more than a few cycles old, already sporting several implants. The Nisseri began replacements and upgrades on their infants, born into the cult. Most of the children and their Keepers bore signs of the Blight, but a few, including this boy appeared free of sickness. Guilt rode him hard. He could do nothing for them but honor their passing. Using his foreclaw, he carved the symbol of Harrow, the Barlok Goddess of Death above the boy's heart. He whispered a prayer, for Harrow took all races into her fold. He moved onto the next body, a female Keeper, skin mottled with Blight, and paid her the same service. He owned them this much. Their blood was on his hands. He could feel the stain. He was halfway through the room when he heard it, going still. He held his breath as he approached the sound, trying to make sense of it. There were no bio signatures left in this room.

He crouched in front of the filtration vent at the base of the wall, debating his next course of action. Following instinct, he decided against reaching into yank out whatever hid within.

"I won't hurt you," he said in the Nisseri tongue, hoping his low voice didn't further frighten his little mystery. A soft gasp sighed from the vent before tiny fingers laced through the slats, pushing out. A diminutive figure tumbled free in a trembling heap.

Thrack focused all his eyes on the child as it looked up at him. Wide metallic eyes took him in, framed in a heart shaped face. It was a little girl with delicate ridges rising across her cheeks, her nose, and forehead, creating shadows across her grey skin. She wrung her long braid of dusty white hair in her fingers.

Thrack couldn't stop staring, because it took him that long to realize she was Nisseri. There was not a single implant or upgrade on her. He released the air in his lungs, cautiously extending a hand to her.

"Hello little one, what is your name?" The little girl blinked at him, rattling off a series of numbers in rapid Nisseri tongue. He forgot they didn't award official names to their young until they entered puberty. "We shall have to call you something," he mused. He had to get her off this ship. Could he possibly pass her off as another race? There were several primitive races the Nisseri raided for bodies, such as the Theros. It took him so long to recognize what she was he doubted these men would. His thoughts stuttered when the little girl grabbed his hand and crawled into his arms, snuggling her face in the fur at his neck. She had no fear of him.

He wrapped his arms around her, his thoughts narrowing in focus. He would find a way to keep her safe. He would protect her, by his Honor. He made for the door, issuing a final prayer to Harrow for the fallen innocents. He knew where the scout ships were docked. He would take one for the two of them and leave these vicious men to rot. Thrack barely took a few steps when the alarms rang out over the ship. He tightened his hold on the little girl as the proximity alert echoed between the decks.