Page 6

CHAPTER 6

ROKKON

T he glow from the compad on my desk casts a faint purple light across the room. My claws click against the screen as I swipe through a dozen messages, each more urgent than the last. Managing a human business empire while juggling Veritas duties isn’t for the faint-hearted, but I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge. Still, I’d rather be out there, tearing through Grolgath nests, than stuck in this leather chair. The quiet hum of the manor’s systems is a poor substitute for the roar of battle.

A ping pulls my attention. It’s from a Veritas field agent in St. Louis.

“Potential Grolgath sighting in the Gateway City,” I mutter to myself, scanning the report. “Five witnesses report a man with ‘unusual eyes’ seen entering an abandoned warehouse in the industrial district.”

I tap the compad, activating the secure channel. “This is Rokkon. Deploy Surveillance Team Delta to St. Louis. Grid search the area. If it’s a Grolgath, I want it neutralized before it can burrow deeper.”

A crisp reply comes through. “Understood, Commander. Delta is en route.”

I lean back, the chair creaking under my weight. The Grolgath are getting bolder. Or maybe they’re just getting desperate. Either way, their presence is a threat to the timeline—and to Vicki. The thought of her soft, human form sleeping upstairs tugs at something deep inside me. She’s fragile, yes, but there’s a strength in her I hadn’t expected. The jalshagar bond only deepens that connection, though I’m not ready to admit just how much.

Another ping. This time, it’s the financial portfolio of Jim and Debbie Sloane. I scan the numbers, my lips curling into a frown. Their mortgage is drowning them, and their credit is a trainwreck. I don’t understand humans’ obsession with paper money, but I understand debt—it’s a prison just as surely as chains.

I grab a stylus and a sheet of heavy vellum, the kind humans use for formal correspondence. My claws make the handwriting jagged, but the message is clear.

"My Sweetness,

I must depart to deal with urgent business matters. Until my return, please indulge yourself with my manor’s many facilities and the fully stocked kitchen. You may also order any food or merchandise you wish and charge it to me.

You may touch yourself if you wish, but you're not allowed to cum without my permission. And don’t go trifling with that door even though the key is hanging on a hook by my nightstand."

I smirk as I set the note on the nightstand. She’ll rage at the tease, but she’ll obey. I’ve seen it in her, that need to submit, to let someone else take control. It’s not weakness—it’s trust. And trust is something I don’t give lightly.

Next stop: Veritas Base Alpha. I activate my image inducer, the human disguise settling over me like a second skin. “Rocky Anderson” stares back at me from the mirror—red hair, purple eyes, all sharp edges and human arrogance. I hate it, but it’s necessary. The Grolgath won’t see me coming until it’s too late.

The holo-projector on my desk flickers to life, casting a bluish glow across the room. A 3D map of Ohio materializes, with the Sloane residence marked in red. I’m not just going to settle their debts. I’m going to make sure they never jeopardize Vicki’s life again. If they’re smart, they’ll take the deal. If they’re not… well, I’m not known for my patience.

I grab my coat and head for the door. The manor feels too quiet without her.

The Jaguar purrs to life as I slide into the driver’s seat, the leather creaking under my weight. To the untrained eye, it’s a luxury car—sleek, black, and dripping with human opulence. But under the hood, it’s a Vakutan shuttle, complete with a cloaking device and enough firepower to level a city block. I tap the dashboard, and the car hums with energy, the holographic interface lighting up in shades of blue and purple.

“Engage cloaking,” I mutter, and the world outside the windshield shimmers as the car vanishes from sight. The engine roars, and we’re airborne in seconds, the ground falling away beneath us. The sky stretches out, endless and inviting, but I don’t have time to admire the view. Veritas Base Alpha awaits.

The flight is smooth, the shuttle cutting through the atmosphere like a blade. In minutes, the Atlantic Ocean sprawls below, its surface glittering under the sun. I descend, the cloaking device masking my approach as the water parts to reveal the base. It’s a marvel of engineering—a translucent dome housing a city of light and steel, a testament to what my people can achieve even in this primitive era.

I land in the hangar bay, the shuttle’s engines whining as they power down. The air smells of ozone and salt, a familiar scent that grounds me. I stride through the corridors, my boots clicking against the polished floor. The base is alive with activity —Vakutan soldiers, human operatives, and mechanicals moving with purpose. I nod to a few familiar faces but don’t stop to chat. I’m here for one thing.

Jareth’s lab is tucked away in a quieter corner of the base, its door marked with a holographic emblem of a gear and a lightning bolt. I step inside, and the scent of oil and ozone hits me. The lab is a chaotic mess of wires, tools, and half-finished projects, but Jareth thrives in the chaos. He’s hunched over a workbench, his yellow scales gleaming under the harsh light, a pair of magnifying lenses perched on his snout.

“Rokkon!” he exclaims, looking up as I enter. “I guess you’re here for this?” He holds up a thermos-sized glass canister filled with a shiny black liquid, its surface rippling like oil.

I take the canister, turning it over in my hands. “I’m not here for this,” I say, stowing it in my coat. “But thank you.”

“The instructions are included,” Jareth blabbers, barely pausing for breath. “You’ll find that I was able to increase the contextual rigidity by over forty percent, and the sync rate with the remote is, dare I say, perfect?—”

“Jareth,” I interrupt, my voice firm. “I’m not here for this. Though I thank you and look forward to testing out your engineering genius. I’m here for Compound X.”

Jareth freezes, his eyes widening. “Compound X? Rokkon, that’s for specific cases only. It’s not something to be handed out lightly.”

“This is a specific case,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument.

He hesitates, then sighs, rummaging through a drawer. He pulls out a small, lipstick-sized vial of amber fluid and hands it to me. “Remember, it only works once,” he warns.

I pocket the vial, then reach into my coat and pull out a paper bag. “Here. A St. Louis-style barbecue rib sandwich. Your favorite.”

Jareth’s face lights up, his earlier concern forgotten. “You’re a true friend, Rokkon.”

“Don’t mention it,” I say, turning to leave. The vial feels heavy in my pocket, a reminder of what’s at stake. I’ll use it if I have to, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. For now, I’ve got a timeline to protect—and a jalshagar waiting for me back at the manor.

The shuttle hums beneath my hands as I steer it toward Ohio. The Catskill Mountains are a distant memory now, replaced by the flat, endless fields of the Midwest. The cloaked vessel glides over the landscape, invisible to human eyes but still tangible enough that I can feel the wind resistance against the hull. I check the coordinates on the holo-display. Vicki’s childhood home. A patchwork of tar paper, trailers, and rusting cars.

I activate the image inducer, the human disguise settling over my scales. My red hair and purple eyes stare back at me from the reflection in the windshield. Rocky Anderson, billionaire playboy. The thought almost makes me snort. I’d rather be in my true form, but today, subtlety is key.

The shuttle touches down gently on the dirt road leading to the house, the cloaking field masking the landing. I step out, the crunch of gravel under my boots the only sound. The air smells of oil and overgrown grass, the kind of earthy scent that humans seem to thrive in. I walk up to the front door, my shadow stretching long in the late afternoon sun.

The knock is firm, the kind that demands attention. I wait, listening to the muffled sounds of movement inside. A shuffling of feet, a muttered curse. The door creaks open, revealing a man who looks like he’s been through the ringer and lost. Jim Sloane, Vicki’s father. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pale beneath the stubble. The smell of stale beer and cheap whiskey wafts out.

“Yeah?” he slurs, squinting at me. “Who’re you?”

“Rocky Anderson,” I say. “I’ve just purchased the debt on this property from the bank. I’m your new landlord.”

Jim blinks, processing the words slowly. “What, are you kicking us out?” His tone is flat, resigned, like he’s been expecting this. There’s no anger, just a tired acceptance that makes my chest tighten.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “In fact, I’m reducing your mortgage payments to one dollar a month. In perpetuity.”

Jim’s eyes narrow, suspicion flickering in their depths. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because it’s a favor for Victoria,” I say, keeping my tone even. “She’s a friend of mine. And that’s the only reason.”

He stares at me, uncomprehending. “So… you’re not evicting us?”

“No. But there’s a condition.” I lean in slightly, my voice dropping. “You don’t tell Vicki about this arrangement. If you do, the payments go back to their original levels.”

Jim nods slowly, still processing. “Okay. Okay, sure. I won’t tell her.” He pauses, then looks at me with a mixture of hope and guilt. “Are you… are you her boyfriend?”

“Just her friend,” I say, though the words feel hollow. Her jalshagar is all I want to be.

“Well,” Jim says, his voice quiet, “I sure wish you’d fall in love with her. She deserves so much better than pieces of shit like me and her mother.”

The words hit me like a punch. I’ve seen this kind of despair before—on the battlefield, in the eyes of soldiers who’ve lost everything. But this… this is different. This is a father who’s given up on himself, and it’s crushing to witness.

“Mr. Sloane,” I say, softening my tone, “I have something else for you.”

I reach into my coat and pull out the vial of Compound X, holding it up so the amber liquid catches the sunlight. Jim squints at it, his brow furrowed like he’s trying to solve a math problem that’s just a little too hard for him.

“What’s that?” he asks, his words still slow and slurred, but with a spark of curiosity.

“This,” I say, rolling the vial between my fingers, “is something my pharmaceutical company has been developing. A treatment for addiction. One dose, and you’ll be free of the physical dependency on alcohol. No more withdrawal symptoms. No shakes, no sweats, no delirium tremens. It’s a clean slate.”

Jim’s eyes widen, and I see a flicker of hope in them. “So, I just drink that, and I’m not a drunk anymore?”

I chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “If only it were that simple. The Compound will remove the physical cravings, but it won’t touch the mental ones. It won’t fix whatever’s inside you that makes you reach for the bottle in the first place. That part’s on you. And Deb.”

He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I’ve tried to sober up before. Always failed.”

I step closer, lowering my voice. “That’s why I’m offering more than just the Compound. I’ve arranged for you and Deb to attend therapy sessions with one of the best psychiatrists in the world. Free of charge. If you’re willing to put in the work, this could be your chance. But it’s not going to be easy.”

Jim looks up at me, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration. “Why are you doing this? Why us?”

I hold his gaze, unflinching. “Because Vicki deserves better than this. She’s spent her life cleaning up your messes, taking care of her siblings, and worrying about you two. I’m not letting you drag her down anymore. But if you’re willing to change—if you’re willing to prove you’re worthy—then maybe, just maybe, you can be part of her life again.”

He blinks, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Worthy of what?”

“Worthy of being in the life of the magnificent daughter you created,” I say, my tone sharp enough to cut glass. “Because right now, Jim, you’re not even close.”

I place the vial in his hand and step back, my eyes never leaving his. “The choice is yours. Take the Compound, go to therapy, and fight for the chance to be better. Or don’t. But if you choose the latter, don’t expect to see Victoria again.”

I turn on my heel and walk away, the crunch of gravel under my boots the only sound in the heavy silence. I don’t look back. I don’t need to. The weight of my words will linger long after I’m gone.

Let him chew on that.