Page 2

CHAPTER 2

ROKKON

T he rain slicks the asphalt, and the motorcycle’s tires hum beneath me as I gun it up the winding mountain road. The Catskills loom like shadowy giants on either side, their peaks lost in the low-hanging clouds. My scales itch beneath the image inducer, the sensation a constant reminder of the lie I’m living—Rocky Anderson, billionaire investor. What a joke. I’m Rokkon, a Vakutan warrior, not some suit pushing numbers around. Tonight, I’m shedding the facade.

The bike’s engine growls as I lean into a curve, the wind biting at my human disguise. The Grolgath base is up here somewhere, disguised as a logging camp. Pyke would skin me alive if he knew I was out here, but I don’t care. I need this. Need the rush, the chaos, the blood. Anything to drown out the hollow ache in my chest.

The road narrows, trees pressing in on either side. A sign flashes by: Private Property. No Trespassing. Perfect. I kill the headlight and slow the bike, rolling to a stop just out of sight. The rain muffles the sound of the engine as I dismount, my boots crunching on gravel. I pull the image inducer from my pocket and tuck it into my jacket. No need to waste the charge. The air shifts, my true form emerging—red scales, ridges along my face, purple eyes that cut through the darkness.

I crouch low, scanning the tree line. The camp’s a quarter mile up the road, tucked into a clearing. I can see the faint glow of lights through the trees. No sentries posted yet. Amateurs. Or maybe they’re overconfident. Either way, their mistake.

I move through the woods, my steps silent despite my size. The rain drums against the leaves, masking any sound I might make. The camp comes into view—a cluster of prefab buildings, a couple of trucks, and a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Humans would see a logging operation. I see a thin veneer over something far more dangerous.

I’m almost to the fence when a voice stops me cold.

“You’re a long way from Veritas, Rokkon.”

I freeze, my hand instinctively going to the plasma blade at my side. The voice is low, guttural, and unmistakably Vakutan. I turn slowly, my eyes narrowing as a figure steps out of the shadows.

“Pyke,” I growl.

He’s in his true form, rain running down his red scales. His arms are crossed, and his expression is a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“You gonna tell me how you found me, or should I guess?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

He smirks. “You’re not as sneaky as you think. I’ve been tracking you since you left the city.”

“And you waited until now to show up?” I scoff. “What’s the matter, Captain? Didn’t want to ruin my fun?”

He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbling. “Fun? Is that what you’re calling this? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like a one-man suicide mission.”

I shrug. “I’ve faced worse odds.”

“And lived to tell the tale,” he says, stepping closer. “But this? This is reckless, even for you.”

“Reckless?” I let out a bitter laugh. “I’m tired of sitting around, Pyke. Tired of pretending to be something I’m not. I need to fight. Need to feel something besides this... this emptiness.”

He studies me for a moment, his expression softening. “I get it, Rokkon. I do. But running off on your own? That’s not the way. You’re not alone, you know.”

“Aren’t I?” I snap, the words coming out harsher than I intend. “Every day, I put on that damn image inducer, play the part of Rocky Anderson. Smile for the cameras, shake hands, make deals. It’s a prison, Pyke. And I’m suffocating.”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. “Listen,” he says, his voice quieter now. “I understand. More than you know. But this? Charging into a Grolgath base without backup? That’s not the answer. You’re better than this.”

I want to argue, want to tell him he’s wrong. But the truth is, I’m tired. Tired of fighting, tired of pretending, tired of the ache that never goes away.

“So what’s the plan, then?” I ask. “You gonna drag me back to the city? Make me play Rocky again?”

Pyke shakes his head. “No. You’re coming back with me, but not to play Rocky. You’re coming back because we’ve got a real mission. One that doesn’t involve you getting yourself killed.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And what mission is that?”

He grins, a wicked glint in his eye. “You’ll see. But trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

I hesitate, glancing back at the camp. The lights are still glowing, the Grolgath unaware of how close they came to a very bad night. My hand twitches at my side, the urge to charge in still strong.

Pyke’s grin is sharp, his teeth glinting in the faint light filtering through the trees. “You’re not the only one who needs to blow off some steam, Rokkon. Mind if I join?”

I laugh, deep and loud, the sound carrying over the rain. “Sure, Captain. Just one rule—whoever kills the least Grolgath buys the beer.”

He chuckles, a low rumble that’s almost lost in the downpour. “Deal. So, what’s the plan?”

“Plan?” I snort, my hand already reaching for the ax stuck in the tree stump nearby. I yank it free, the wood groaning as the blade comes loose. I give it a quick swing, testing the weight. It’s crude, unbalanced, but it’ll do. “I’m going to kill some fucking Grolgath, that’s the plan.”

Pyke raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. “You’re going in with that ?”

I shrug, hefting the ax over my shoulder. “And just to give the Skinwalkers a fighting chance, I’m going to use this primitive bronze-age weapon.”

Before he can respond, I’m moving. My boots pound against the wet ground, the ax cutting through the rain as I charge straight into the camp. The Grolgath are huddled under the eaves of one of the prefabs, their reptilian forms shifting in and out of human disguises. They don’t even see me coming.

The first one goes down with a strangled gurgle as the ax buries itself in his chest. I yank it free in a spray of greenish blood, already turning to the next. A second Grolgath lunges at me, claws extended, but I sidestep and bring the ax down in a brutal arc. His head hits the ground before his body does.

The third is quicker, backing away with a hiss, his shape flickering between human and lizard. He grabs a pipe from the ground, swinging it wildly, but I duck under the blow and drive the ax into his side. He collapses, writhing, and I finish him with a savage kick to the skull.

“Rokkon!” Pyke’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and urgent. “We need one alive for questioning!”

I barely hear him. The thrill of combat is roaring in my veins, drowning out everything else. The ax feels alive in my hands, an extension of my body, and I’m grinning like a madman as I stalk toward the next cluster of Grolgath. They’re scrambling now, some reaching for weapons, others trying to shift into more defensive forms. It doesn’t matter. They’re all going to die.

Pyke’s somewhere behind me, his own laughter joining mine as he wades into the fray. I catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye—a blur of red scales and flashing claws—but I don’t stop. The ax swings again, and the camp fills with the sounds of splintering bones and guttural screams.

The rain mingles with the blood, washing it away almost as quickly as it spills. I’m soaked, my scales slick with it, but I don’t care. This is where I belong—in the chaos, the carnage, the glorious, unrelenting violence. I feel alive.

The rain washes green blood into muddy puddles around my boots. I prod a corpse with my ax, counting. "Twelve for me. How many did you get, Captain?"

"Eight." Pyke shakes his head. "Looks like I'm buying the beer."

I crouch beside one of the bodies, rifling through its pockets. My fingers close around a compad, but as I pull it free, the screen flickers and dies. "Damn. Deadman virus. The data's gone."

"Whatever they were planning, they went to great lengths to keep it secret." Pyke nudges another corpse with his foot. "This one turned his weapon on himself when I tried to capture him alive. I think that in your search for a little therapy you've stumbled onto something far more sinister."

"Good. Let's investigate. I could use another fight."

"I'll call in a cleanup crew." Pyke's purple eyes gleam in the darkness. "But you've got a more important mission."

"What mission?"

"Meeting your match."

I bark out a laugh. "Give me a suicide run instead. Send me to infiltrate the Ataxian homeworld. Anything but-"

"This isn't a request, Rokkon."

"A woman will only complicate things." I bare my teeth. "How am I supposed to maintain cover with some female hanging around? She'll probably want to talk about feelings ."

"You don't have a choice."

"This is ridiculous. I'm a warrior, not some-"

Pyke holds up his hand, and a hologram springs to life. My words die in my throat. The woman in the image is... stunning. Curves that would make a Vakutan princess jealous, eyes that spark with intelligence, and a smile that makes my chest tight.

"I suppose," I say slowly, "one must do what one must for the good of the Alliance."