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Dernin

The acrid stench of Jorvla’s industrial district assaulted Dernin’s senses as he slithered down the transport ramp with his fellow warriors. His tail muscles coiled and released with each movement, his golden scales gleaming under the harsh artificial lighting of the spaceport.

Commander Thex’s tail thumped against the metal deck plates, drawing everyone’s attention. “Listen up, warriors. Our mission here is critical. The human surrogate clinics and, more importantly, the women who use them need our protection.”

Dernin’s jaw clenched. He’d heard stories of exploitation, of women being coerced or misled. His golden eyes narrowed as he scanned the towering structures around them, already mapping potential security weaknesses.

“Each of you will be assigned a sector,” Thex continued. “Your primary duty is to verify that all participants are willing and that proper compensation protocols are followed. We’re not here to interfere with legitimate business, just to ensure everything stays above board.”

The commander pulled up a holographic map of the district. “Dernin, you’ll take Sector Seven. It’s got the highest concentration of clinics and the most reported incidents.”

“Understood, Commander.” Dernin’s tongue flicked out and tasted the air. The metallic tang of the city mixed with something else—fear, perhaps, or desperation.

“Remember,” Thex’s voice grew stern, “these women provide an invaluable service to those who can’t carry their own young. They deserve our respect and protection.”

“What’s our protocol for suspected trafficking?” Dernin asked, his muscles tensing at the thought.

“Document and report first. We need solid evidence before we can act.” Thex’s tail coiled tightly.

“Won’t let you down, Commander.” Dernin straightened to his full height, towering over most of his fellow warriors. The weight of his responsibility settled on his broad shoulders.

Dernin coiled his powerful tail beneath him as he perched atop one of Sector Seven’s towering structures, surveying the streets below. The evening air carried traces of industrial waste mixed with the sweet perfume wafting from the human surrogate clinics.

“All clear on the eastern perimeter,” he reported through his comm unit. Pride swelled in his chest at how smoothly his first week of assignments had gone.

Kress’s voice crackled back. “Same here. Though I wouldn’t mind some action. Getting tired of watching humans shuffle in and out all day.”

“Better quiet than trouble,” Dernin responded, his muscles rippling as he shifted positions. “Besides, gives us time to learn the sector’s patterns.”

“Speaking like a true veteran already,” Sergeant Vrils chimed in from her position two blocks over. “Though I expected nothing less from our top graduate.”

Dernin’s jaw clenched at the praise, but he allowed himself a small smile. He’d earned his position through countless hours of training and dedication.

Later that night, during their meal break, Dernin joined several fellow warriors at their designated rest point. His massive frame dwarfed the reinforced seating designed for various species.

“How’s Sector Seven treating you?” Mira asked, her own scaled tail curled neatly beneath her.

“Like it was made for me.” Dernin’s golden eyes gleamed. “The layout provides excellent vantage points for surveillance.”

“And excellent spots for showing off those muscles,” Kress teased, earning a round of laughter.

“These muscles aren’t for show.” Dernin flexed deliberately, his golden scales reflecting the light. “They’re tools, just like everything else we have at our disposal.”

“Tools that haven’t seen much use lately,” Voss pointed out, but her tone was approving. “Though that’s exactly what we want. Our presence alone deters most trouble.”

Dernin nodded in agreement, relishing in that fact. Even if the assignment seemed routine, he knew their vigilance made a difference. Every peaceful day meant another day these clinics could operate safely, providing their vital services without exploitation.

The camaraderie among his fellow warriors felt natural, earned through shared purpose and mutual respect. As they bantered and shared observations about their sectors, Dernin felt his place among them solidify. He might be new to the unit, but he’d already proven himself worthy of their trust.

The weeks flowed into a comfortable routine for Dernin. His powerful tail carried him across the rooftops of Sector Seven, where he’d established several prime surveillance points. The morning sun glinted off his golden scales as he completed another circuit of his patrol route.

Below, the steady stream of clinic visitors continued their daily business. His keen senses picked up fragments of conversation, monitoring for any signs of distress or coercion.

“Patrol Seven reporting in,” he spoke into his comm unit. “All clear at the Marina District clinics.”

“Copy that,” Voss responded. “You’re getting pretty comfortable up there. Aren’t you?”

“Just doing my job.” Dernin shifted positions, maintaining his vantage point over three different clinic entrances simultaneously. “Someone has to keep these streets safe.”

A group of warriors passed beneath his position, their tails leaving distinctive patterns in the dusty streets. Kress spotted him and waved.

“Show-off,” Kress called up. “Some of us have to patrol at ground level.”

Dernin’s low chuckle carried down to them. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention in tactical positioning training, you’d be up here, too.”

“Speaking of training,” Voss cut in through the comm, “the other warriors could use some pointers on urban surveillance. Care to demonstrate your technique later?”

“Of course.” Pride swelled in him at the request. His methods had already been noted and approved by command.

Later that afternoon, Dernin demonstrated proper positioning techniques to a group of warriors from another sector. His tail coiled beneath him as he explained the importance of multiple sight lines and escape routes.

“The key is to remain visible enough to deter trouble,” he instructed, “while maintaining the tactical advantage of height and coverage.”

One of the younger warriors raised her hand. “But what about when we need to move quickly?”

Dernin responded by executing a fluid movement across three different levels of architecture, his powerful form making the complex maneuver look effortless. “Your tail is your greatest asset. Learn to use it instinctively, and you’ll never lose your balance.”

The admiration in their eyes fed his confidence. He’d earned his position through dedication and skill, and now he could pass that knowledge on to others. This was what being a warrior meant—not just protecting but leading by example.

As dusk settled over Sector Seven, Kress slithered up to Dernin with an eager expression. “Hey, I hate to ask, but my mate’s wanting to have an early dinner. Mind if I head out early?”

“Go. I’ve got this covered.”

“You’re sure? It’s against protocol—”

“When have I ever not handled things?” Dernin’s strong tail coiled beneath him.

The final hours of patrol passed smoothly, and Dernin soon made his way back to the barracks.

As he slithered through the streets of Jorvla, satisfaction coursed through him at his abilities and leadership.

His mind wandered to the training session he’d led earlier, replaying the admiring looks from the other warriors.

The attack came without warning.

Something sticky and cold wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms. Before he could react, more viscous tendrils ensnared his tail. His nostrils filled with the putrid stench of Jorvlen secretions.

“What the—” His words cut off as a thick, slimy appendage forced itself between his lips. The taste made him gag as another tendril covered his eyes.

Dernin thrashed, his powerful muscles straining against the restraints. But the more he struggled, the tighter they became. His heart hammered in his chest as multiple hands grabbed him, dragging him somewhere.

The ground changed beneath him—metal became stone and then dirt. The air grew colder and damper. His tongue flicked out instinctively, but the gag prevented him from picking up any scents beyond the overwhelming Jorvlen stench.

Voices muttered around him in the Jorvlen dialect, too low and gurgling for him to make out the words. His warrior training kicked in—count the steps, note the turns, maintain awareness. But the Jorvlens seemed to move in circles, deliberately confusing his sense of direction.

Shame burned through him. He’d let his guard down, gotten cocky. If he’d followed protocol, insisted Kress stay... The thought of his fellow warriors discovering his capture made his jaw clench against the gag.

The journey continued for what felt like hours, and his muscles screamed from the awkward position. Without his sight, every sound, every change in temperature or air current became magnified. Water dripped somewhere nearby, the echo suggesting a large, enclosed space.

This wasn’t a random attack. They’d known his patrol route, known when he’d be vulnerable. The realization sent ice through his veins. Someone had been watching him, waiting for precisely this moment.