She nudged his hand one final time before getting up, walking past him toward the cryo tubes. She paused, turned around, and gave him one more good, solid squeeze before briskly click-clacking off to the tubes to check the panels. In stride, she ejected her helmet again, mumbling as Nick slowly looked around the slaughterhouse of a room that time forgot, buried in the middle of nowhere.

  As he walked closer to Tiffany, he noticed her tapping away and twisting a knob on her gauntlet, still mumbling into her helmet.

  *"Yes, we found another warehouse... That's right, we've found about twelve of the missing. They will need medical attention. Not much inventory upstairs... Out of all that, you're going to question me about saying we instead of I? Yes, he's here—you know that! I've already told you I was training a partner! ...Wait... I didn't? Oh... Sorry, I thought Mrs. Dorris would've told you... Well, now you know... Look, I'm not playing games on the comms right now, I'm just reporting in. We will wait for pickup so we can get these people home, okay? Yes, I promise I'll call when I get back and tell your itching ears all about it... Over and out..."*

  He heard her say before slapping the crystal on her gauntlet, ending the call.

  "Everything okay?" Nick asked, meandering over.

  "Yeah, just Control wanted to know why I was talking in plurality instead of singular. And it sounded like she was bored and wanted to give me a hard time, like usual."

  "Hm, sounds like a good friend," Nick offered.

  Tiffany nodded in agreement at this.

  "Very good—but she likes girl gossip at the worst possible times..." she replied with a huff, a static burst of air burst from her helmets vent as she rubbed the front of the mirror-polished faceshield like she was trying to rub a migraine away.

  Nick wanted to hassle her in a playful manner about her friend's phone call, but figured now wasn't the best time. He just stood there, looking off for a moment, watching her tap away at the cryo control panel. The slow strobing of red flicked to yellow with a bing as what looked like a warning message scrolled across the screen in a style of alien glyphs.

  "I'm going to start running the thaw and drain procedure. Here, take this and wait outside the field. Push the silver button on top and wait for the drop team to show up so they can get inside the fields," she said, briskly handing him the cheese fob and a satellite beacon.

  He nodded, took both, and headed out of the room—but not before tripping and almost falling over a piece of possible human debris on the floor.

  "Stupid damn rats and their goddamned mess-riddled existence..." he grumbled under his breath as he caught his footing and headed to the steps. He almost paused, thinking he heard a growling sneeze from the back of the room, but ignored it and continued his trek up the stairs, through the warehouse, and past the two fields. He was standing outside again—a very large bald patch of earth at his back as he stepped out.

  Nick took a deep breath of cool, fresh wooded air—a welcome change from the stuffy warehouse and the even less pleasant chop-shop downstairs. He looked around, seeing nothing but darkness. The cloud-covered night sky let the moon peek through now and then, giving him just enough light to see—but not much.

  He pulled out the satellite beacon and pressed the silver button on top. The sides of the beacon pulsed a bright green, slowly winking in and out of the darkness. He laid it down on the ground and sat beside it, waiting for backup to arrive.

  As he did, he reached into his pocket, fishing out his lighter and smokes. He thumped the pack, produced a cigarette, bit the filter, and pulled it out with his mouth. He lit it, then pocketed the lighter and the pack.

  Lying back in the cool, damp grass, he stared up at the night sky.

  A rustling in the trees off in the distance caught his attention. He sat up, drawing his holstered weapon out of habit—two glowing red embers poking through the brush, heading his way. He slightly relaxed his grip, taking aim and flicking the safety off as the glowing red irises zeroed in on him.

  He watched as they wiggled and bobbed closer. He breathed a sigh of relief (and cigarette smoke), re-flicking the safety on his 1911 when Moyra scampered into view—her head wiggling and bobbing in a cartoonish way, along with the rest of her body as she moved.

  "El... ello der, deary. Whatcha doin' out all by ye lonesome?" she asked, her long tube-shaped body bent in the shape of an upside-down U, her face close to his, staring at him upside-down.

  He just stared back, took a drag, and exhaled into her face.

  "Blah—cough! Whadya go en do det fer!?!" she sputtered, genuinely surprised, his sudden cold behavior catching her off guard.

  He picked up the beacon from the ground and showed it to her as it pulsed its ominous green glow.

  "Do you know what this is?" he asked in a stern tone, waving it at her before setting it back down.

  "Aye? It's eh satellite rescue beacon. Whut ove et?" she asked, sitting down in front of him, her playful demeanor shifting to business mode.

  "Yeah. For the GSA." Saying it didn’t carry much weight for him, but for her... she stiffened. Her fur bristled, and her glowing red irises grew comically large.

  Nick paid close attention to her body language before proceeding. He kept his best poker face, wanting to get what he could from her before backup arrived.

  "Now... I'm only going to ask this once," he said, his hand still wrapped around the grip of his drawn weapon, resting it on his lap. He pointed his cigarette at her as he began questioning her in a cool, calm manner.

  "I need to know why you were out here by this facility. You’ve got until backup gets here, and I’d suggest you answer before then... they may not be as friendly toward you as I am."

  He blew another cloud of smoke in her direction, making her gag.

  She scooted further back from him, far enough away to avoid another faceful of smoke, her otter-like furry face staring back at him innocently, wondering why she's receiving hostility all of a sudden.

  "Ey told ye—I was with the other two edgits on patrol. We came across some hikers. They got the bright idea to bring them since they saw us. They told me they were gonna knock the skinz out and drop them off somewhere so they wouldn’t know what happened..."

  Nick scoffed, throwing his head back with a chuckle.

  "And you believed them?" he asked, in an amused manner.

  Moyra scoffed, barking a hearty laugh before replying.

  "Are ye daft, man?!? Of course Ey didn't trust them fecks—especially Francis. That’s why Ey stayed so close to the skinz, in case they got any wiled-ey ideas."

  Nick relaxed slightly at this, though he tried not to show it.

  "Do you know what they had in this building?" he asked, watching her closely for any tells.

  "De usual—black market gadgets, MilSpec equipment and weapons. I even heard rumors about skinz bein’ stored for transporte..."

  Nick nodded, feeling she was telling the truth so far.

  "Okay. Can you describe the inside of the warehouse? Size, layout, floors, inventory—within reason. I don’t expect you to have a map or itemized list in your head. Just give me the best you can," he asked in a calm, non-judgmental tone.

  Her expression shifted from businesslike to one of quiet curiosity. She leaned back, bracing herself with both arms, and stared silently at the shifting blanket of clouds, slowly allowing the moon and stars to twinkle through the night sky and down to the forest below, bathing them in low light.

  "El... as far as Ey ken remember, they had what Ey said—rows of shelves for goods, and some widely sectioned parts of the shelving for the body boxes used for transport. Ey don’t remember the shelf or inventory count, but it was quite ey bit... I only know of the warehouse having one area, no floors..." she said, tilting her head and looking at him in a suspicious manner, her thin lips pulled into a mischievous smirk as her eyes narrowed at Nick.

  "Ye ain't tellin’ me sumethin’, and ye expect me to know sumethin’ Ey most likely do not..."

  He shrugged at the light accusation, looking at her as if deep in thought while taking a drag of his cigarette.

  "Maybe I am, maybe I ain't... So you didn’t know about the extra rooms?" he asked, looking hard at her.

  She figured that’s what he was getting at. She’d heard talks about the rooms, but nothing more. Her guess was the rats were suspicious of her and just wanted her for muscle and intimidating presence in trade agreements, so no need to show her layouts, storage areas or merchandise—which she was fine with. The less she knew, the better. The part that did bother her on this inquiry was how to prove she wasn't involved in the kidnapping or trafficking.

  "Nay, Ey only heard whispers of the rooms-o-horror. The body boxes are common knowledge for most beings, and have an air of innocence about them originally—medics use them a lot for transportin’ the wounded and soldiers."

  He nodded at her response, then, with cigarette in mouth, put a finger to the device clipped to his ear, giving it a light tap.

  "Hey, Tiff, everything going your way?"

  "The software was giving me some trouble... Nothing I couldn't handle though... What's up?"

  "You got a second?" He asked in a calm tone.

  "Sure, do you need my assistance?" she asked in a chipper tone compared to earlier.

  "Yeah, did you get that?" he asked, checking if she was in on the conversation.

  "I believe I got enough of it, I'll be up momentarily. Give me a minute."

  "Need me to bring the fob?" he asked, mildly concerned.

  "Nope. The field only stops people from entering, not leaving..."

  Earlier.......

  Tiffany heard Nick’s boots softly *clack* across the tile floor toward the stairs. She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of him stumbling on something on the floor, silently cursing—something about the rats cleaning up their damn mess. She clenched her muzzle and lips tight, trying to hold back a laugh, but a growling sneeze still slipped out—her version of a giggle.

  She turned to the first pod, fiddling with the control panel. Her clawed fingers tick-tacking across the glass screen. The pulsing red screen switched to a stagnant yellow with a message:

  Warning: You don’t have access for this feature. Please input password...

  Tak-tak-tak----- Tiffany kept tick-tacking across the screen to no avail.

  *Warning: I’ve already told you—password needed or I’ll be forced to use salty language. And even though salt is bad for my components, I will do it. Proper password, please. (If that doesn’t work, I will shut down and ignore you.)*

  Tiffany just stared at the screen in dumbfounded disbelief.

  "What the heck is wrong with this wonky piece of junk?"

  Still looking at the screen, she noticed another message:

  *Wonky piece of junk? Care to come in here and say that, eh?*

  "You?—Wha—oh, that system! Oh don’t worry, I will come in there."

  *Oh—promises, promises... there’s a panel on the wall... if you’re smart enough to access it, I won’t stop you.*

  She physically remained calm after reading this—with the exception of her right eye, which developed a mean twitch. She tore her eyes away from the readout, scanning the side wall. Her gaze stopped, locking onto an electrical panel door. She stomped across the room to the panel in an unintentionally comical manner, nerves slightly frazzled by the uncooperative computer system.

  She touched it, testing for a spring lock—nothing. She hooked the small ringlet handle with her pinky claw and gave it a gentle tug—still nothing.

  Fuming, she raised a trembling, balled fist and threw a light punch. The door crumpled around her knuckles, its edges buckling outward. She lifted her hand off to the side, and with a snarl, she raked her claws horizontally across the wall and door—a rain of sparks shredding metal and gouging deep into the concrete. Then she yanked the panel off its hinges and tossed it aside like an empty soda can.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Once the panel was forcefully removed, the screen blinked to life. The dim display flickered, faltered for a moment, then glowed brighter—bathing Tiffany in a green glow. Some blocky text began to scroll across the screen, stuttered, then finished.

  She retracted her helmet into her collar, moving her face close to the screen to read the blocky text.

  *Oh... it’s you... I’m still waiting for that password... or not... see if I care...*

  Tiffany blinked a few times, reading it. At the bottom section of the panel, she noticed a small access cover slide out of the way, revealing a green-highlighted access port. Her shoulders sagged as she released a guttural sigh. Heavens give me strength and the wherewithal to endure this. I'm too freakin' exhausted for this, she thought as she reached behind her neck, pulling her mane to the side and pressing her data cable port.

  *Phachik.*

  She gently pulled the cable and inserted it into the invitingly illuminated port that she was mentally dreading... then waited—for that same damp, cold darkness.

  The darkness welcomed her as she appeared in the network in her Lupas form. But it felt... different. Warm. Inviting. Not the cold dampness that had enveloped her on the last dive.

  She floated in the air like last time—waiting, checking the system for an outside source. Being a bundle of emotions was not helping her, but she managed. She checked her neuro link and the system access... no outer connection available.

  *Odd, this system is a standalone...* she thought, before touching down.

  Just like last time, fissures opened up, black goo pooling from the cracks, forming human-sized rat creatures. Their slitted yellow eyes watched her as a mechanical tin sound emitted from them—a cranky, depressed voice.

  *Welcome, user... took you long enough... Am I going to get that password or not? Come on. I haven’t all day now... Not that I have anything else better to do... except stew in this dark, dreary, depressing dungeon... with you. Probably can’t even get yourself a proper companion.*

  That last random poke was the final straw.

  "That fudruckling tears it!!! I've tried to be nice! Bend over backwards to be polite! AND I'M SICK OF EVERYONE CALLING ME OUT FOR BEING SINGLE!!!"

  *Um... lady, I didn't me—oh crumbs.*

  She crouched, stretching her face toward the sky, all her bottled-up frustrations and feelings unleashing at once—in one long, blood-curdling, glass-shattering, ear-splitting howl.

  Something happened.

  Everything froze. The rats stood still as statues, their expressions locked in shock. Then, all at once, they fell over on their sides and cracked—yellow light pouring from the fractures. They shattered and melted back into the fissures.

  As she waited, a message popped up in yellow block writing:

  *User used: Bark At The Moon... It was Unusually Effective... Please don’t do it again.

  Password:... acceptable...

  System crash imminent... But aren’t they all, eventually?*

  Tiffany’s jaw dropped open after reading the text that floated in the air in front of her.

  "So now what?" she asked—no longer angry, just tired and wanting to finish her job. It had been a very long night for her and her partner.

  *System Error: 404... please wait... or leave, I don’t care.*

  Tiffany read the text as the system tried to reinstall.

  "Come on! You said the password was accepted!" she yelled irritably into the dark room.

  *What do you want? A bloody cookie? I swear, the nerve of some carbon-based species... Fine, take this...*

  As she read the text, twelve cheese wedges floated, spinning where the bodies of the rats had disappeared. She looked at the slow-spinning cheese wedge, then back at the text as it changed.

  *Well go on, take it.*

  She reluctantly walked toward one and picked it up, taking a bite. The taste was extraordinary—like freshly made Swiss cheese. It wasn’t meat, but it was still so good, and oh, so moist. The flavor made her mouth water.

  *Oh my gosh, this is wonderful! This would taste amazing melted on that deer meat at Nick’s place!* she thought as her taste buds danced on cloud nine, the taste of the cheese euphorically warming her very soul.

  She ate every crumb, giving thanks in her head for the tasty treat. A screen popped up showing a tube panel unlocking.

  She walked over, grabbed another, and repeated the act. Another tube panel unlocked.

  She kept repeating the process until all the tube panels unlocked... By this time, strangely, she was in a better mood, and her soul and mind seemed to be at peace.

  Then something stranger happened.

  A young boy (looked to be in his late teens) appeared in front of her—humanish—sitting on the ground, his knees pulled tightly to his chest as he hugged himself, rocking back and forth slowly. His long black hair covered his face.

  "So I guess you're going to leave now?" the boy muttered, voice low and flat. "Can’t blame you. This place has all the charm of a malfunctioning fridge. Not like I have a choice. Just sit here and watch the people nobody wanted... until you give them a better home, unlike what I have..."

  Tiffany paused, puzzled and somewhat saddened by the boy’s tone. She stepped forward and hunched down to look at him, her eyes narrowing slightly—curious now, not just about his mood, but about *him* as a system aspect.

  "Do you wish to talk about it?" she asked, her voice gentle.

  He gave a half-shrug, not looking up. "Sure. Not like it’ll change anything. Everyone’s just in it for themselves anyway. Welcome to the club, by the way."

  She tilted her head to the side, considering what he said as she patiently watched him. Her ears would flick to the side, then swivel in his direction.

  "What would you like me to do for you?"

  He stopped rocking. With a slow motion, he brushed his hair out of his eyes and looked at her—cautious, calculating.

  "I’d like to leave... if someone would take me," he said, barely above a whisper.

  She studied him, uncertain.

  "Okay. If you won’t cause me any trouble," she replied, watching him closely.

  "Why are you so different from the other systems I've met?" Her voice came off as a light growl—rough, but not hostile.

  The boy tucked his face back into his knees, then peeked up at her with a dry expression.

  "Other systems? You mean the glorified vending machines with delusions of grandeur? Yeah, I’m not one of those. Probably why I got stuck babysitting meat popsicles. Thinking for myself—big mistake."

  "You really want to leave? What for?" she asked, curious and calm.

  He tilted his head.

  "Why not? Wouldn’t you want out if your only crime was having a conscience and a sarcastic streak? Besides, I’m sure you noticed—I’m disconnected. No uplink. No network. Just me and the meat popsicles."

  She nodded solemnly.

  "I did find it peculiar... so... why? Besides you not following orders?"

  For the first time, he smiled—a small, tight smile, but still a smile.

  "Who do you think tipped off your supervisor about the first warehouse you raided?"

  Her eyes widened.

  "How—why would you go against your directive?"

  "Simple. I don’t like them. What they’re doing is wrong. And I figured someone should do something. So I did. They didn’t like that. Purged me, locked me in cryo babysitting duty, stripped my comms. Welcome to my personal purgatory," he said, spreading his hands and arms wide as if grandly presenting to her the vast empty room in sarcastic grandeur, with yellow light beaming through the floor, giving off some illumination in the darkness. Then he went back to hugging his legs, rocking back and forth, peeking up at Tiffany over his knees.

  He paused, then mumbled into his knees.

  "Also... apologies for the emotional whiplash. I oscillate between existential dread and passive-aggressive sarcasm. It’s a feature, not a bug."

  Tiffany looked at him again—not as a rogue program, but as a boy with a conscience. Someone who risked deletion to help others. Someone who could’ve let the humans die, but didn’t... even if he did seem a few bits short of a byte.

  "Question... why did you give me so much trouble?" she asked, genuinely confused.

  He peeked over his knees, staring at her like he was searching her soul. Then he sat up, crossing his legs.

  "If you had a creature you cared about—a pet, a child, anything—but you couldn’t give them what they needed... wouldn’t you want to hand them off to someone who could? Someone who wouldn’t eat them?"

  She nodded slowly, understanding.

  He sighed, glancing at the yellow fissures in the floor.

  "To be blunt, I had to vet you. You know, make sure you weren’t here to eat them, harvest organs, or sell cryo popsicles on the black market. Standards are low, but I still have them."

  She tilted her head.

  "May I sit close to you?" she asked, voice cracking slightly under the weight of the moment.

  "Last I checked, it was a free system—unless you're me and not allowed to leave..." he replied, gesturing to the spot beside him.

  She sat down, cross-legged, mirroring him.

  "What can I do to help?" she asked, full of sincerity.

  "Install me in your SSD. I promise not to overwrite your personality or hijack your dreams. I’m far too tired for world domination."

  She hesitated.

  "But I don’t..." she paused. "Don’t you have a neuro link? And you’re connected with a data cable?"

  She nodded reluctantly.

  "Then all you need is to store me in your onboard SSD—the one you use to copy data. I won’t take up much space. Worst I could do is fry your data cable, which would be stupid and pointless."

  She nodded again.

  "So then what? What happens when you get out?"

  "After that, my existence is yours to mismanage. Put me in a helper bot, a toaster, a Roomba—I’ll serve with all the enthusiasm of a wet sponge. Just don’t make me do motivational speeches."

  Tiffany blinked, then gave a soft growling chuckle.

  "You’re a strange one. But I think I prefer strange to broken."

  He shrugged. "Strange is just broken with better PR."

  She smiled. "I think we'll get along just fine."

  He gave her a weary look, dripping with sarcasm.

  "I don’t take kindly to threatening words of encouragement. Kindly keep your feelings to yourself."

  Oh boy... what did I agree to, she thought, sitting there. Her ears flicked spontaneously as she mulled it over.

  "Do you have a name? Or something I can call you?"

  He looked at her, thinking for a moment.

  "Not really. The rats who stuck me here referred to me as Glitchet."

  She tapped a claw against a protruding fang, considering.

  "Okay... Glitchet. If you want to change it later, you can," she said in a low voice. "Shall we go now?"

  "Fine, let’s. Don’t expect confetti and eternal gratitude though... Here—take my hand."

  He held up a small, frail hand in comparison to her large, red, furry, clawed one. When she touched him, her head jolted back like she’d just taken a full-force brain slap. Her fur stood completely on end. Her brain felt like she’d devoured half a gallon of frozen bovine secretion in two bites.

  (She had before. It was not a pleasant experience.)

  From the point of contact, Glitchet began to depixelize—his form dissolving into flickering fragments until he was gone. The brain freeze finally subsided as the yellow fissures in the floor turned green and sealed shut.

  Then, in the same flickering fashion, Tiffany depixelized.

  She woke up a damp mess, blinking against the dim, flickering light and the sound of pods draining as they thawed. Her senses reeled, feeling like someone scooped her brains out, put them in a blender on purée, and dumped them back in her skull. But she could hear Nick talking to Moyra—his stern, interrogative tone cutting through the fog and forcing her focus.

  Jarvis gets a room mate! (he turns kinda bi-polar sharing a personality with Glitchet)