THE SHIT WE DO TO WIN

The Zorq was perfect—unfiltered, potent, and sickeningly sweet. My head swims as I retch onto the PeaceSentiel’s boots. I’d downed two Zorqs before hopping into the stolen glidepod. I didn’t hit anyone, but I did manage to crash straight into a checkpoint.

I could’ve taken the pipes. But why crawl through filth when two Zorqs and a borrowed glidepod can get you escorted straight to the prize? A prize that could pay off a lot of debt.

“Ma’am, have you been drinking Zorq tonight?” The PeaceSentiel’s voice is dry, floating above me.

“Of course not. Zorq is…” My stomach heaves again. “...illegal.”

I wipe the Zorq, spit, and stiki soup off my mouth and stand up—kinda. My body slumps against the glidepod, but the ground is definitely getting closer.

“Ma’am, you can’t even stand up, and your vomit is bright blue.”

I smile at him, head resting on the pod, legs sprawled in front of me.

He lets out an exasperated sigh and scans the barcode on the door. “Registration lists you as Sir Drok Malen, fifty years old, Varnak race.”

“That’s me.” I place my hands in front of me, ready for the cool metal bracelets and the free ride to the Reformation Facility. The only Dormaki in this corner of the galaxy is stationed there.

Get the fluid.

Win the List of Legends.

Pay off my debt.

He stares at me, unamused. “Zorq-rolling, crashing into a checkpoint, and piloting a stolen pod.”

“That’s pretty presumptuous. Who’s to say I’m not a fifty-year-old Varnak?”

“You’re five-five and not green.”

I want to laugh, but my stomach rolls again and I vomit. PeaceSentiels are such a boring species.

A few more heaves and I’m strapped into the Peace glidepod—a free ride to lockup. I can almost feel the coins in my pocket now. Too easy.

Somewhere between the checkpoint and the dry desert I pass out, only to be woken by two more deadpan PeaceSentiels, as they zap me with their peace batons. The jolt kick starts my heart, pumping the Zorq faster through my system. An uncomfortable sweat forms on my skin, as my pathetic Liraxi body tries to filter the toxin, we’re not meant to consume anything but algae and water.

“Zorq tank for this one,” a voice from the left says.

I strain to keep my eyes open, logging the scene for when I’m sober, but all I register is cement and the cool stone floor.

I’m dragged to a cell with a shallow pool in the center, meant to rehydrate aquatic inmates like me. The PeaceSentiel leaves me with an arm resting in the pool, body sprawled across the cool floor. Ripples of stagnant water form around my arm gills, bubbling, as it tries to enter. The relief is amazing.

The cell door slams shut and I pull my body further into the murky pool.

“I wouldn’t fully submerge if I were you,” a slithering voice calls from the corner of the cell.

My head sways as I turn toward the sound.

“They never change it out.”

I shrug, this is the only water I’ve got and I need to get the Zorq out of my system.

I’ve got a game to win. The List of Legends doesn’t come around again for another ten years—and I’ve got everything but the fluid.

The liquid feels like sludge in my veins, but sludge that doesn’t make my head wobble. I manage to sit up after a five minute soak.

“I’m sober now,” I call to the PeaceSentiels.

The cell door cranks and slides open. “Let’s go.”

“Bye.” I wave my webbed fingers at the dark corner.

My guide slaps cuffs on me for the move. I smile as we pass more guards. The Reformation Facility on this planet lives up to its reputation. It’s just as big as they say, with possibly a hundred floors. Despite the size of the place, I know exactly where I need to go.

“This is your cell, number eight-fifty-eight.” The guard tosses me into my room. Some inmates are seated at tables while others are walking the open space in the center of the cell block. This cell doesn’t have a pool of water, but three bunks and a toilet-sink contraption in the corner.

The guard walks out and I hurry to the toilet. Knees smack the floor, as I prop myself in front of the metallic basin. Thank Galaxia it’s free of any fecal matter. I close my eyes and thrust my hand into the water. It’s freezing against my delicate translucent skin, nearly numbing it on contact. The water, however, it’s fresh compared to the murky pool, replenishing my aquatic levels. My neck gills frill at the sensation. Like a breath of fresh air. Or so I imagine.

Rejuvenated and ready to win this game, I lock my arms tightly against my chest, close my eyes, and begin my descent.The water in the toilet surges as I slide beneath the surface, my form thinning, flowing into the ancient waste piping. It’s tight, foul, and rust-lined, but it’s wet—and that’s all I need.

I follow the pipes fifteen floors down. The target is laughing at a card game, unaware of what’s coming. I emerge from the drain behind him in a misty plume of steam and sewage.

“Kren?” I ask, throat clogged like the pipes.

He turns, “Yah? What do you want, Shitwalker?” He sneers as the Blorgs around the table laugh.

One fluid strike—my hand wraps around his throat, pulling him close. His scream gurgles as my gills flare against his skin, siphoning the cranial fluid from the base of his neck.

Alarms scream with him. Ammunition unloads from two PeaceSentiels across the rec floor.

Bullets glide straight through my gelatinous form.

“Bye fuckers.” I lurch backward into a drain and vanish with the runoff.

I’m flushed into the exterior drainage shaft. Bruised, covered in shit, but victorious.

Still got it