Joseph took a position just next to the opening ramp. The footfalls of the assailants up from the corridors below, drum-like thuds that mirrored his own thundering heartbeat. The ramp led up to a door-less entrance, so he sidled up right by it.

“Don’t try to hide,” Becenti warned, “They most likely have your position already.”

“How?” Joseph asked.

“The scanners on their ship will be cutting-edge, able to pinpoint exactly where you are,” Becenti said.

“Got it,” Joseph’s voice quaked for a moment. The footsteps rounded the last corner, going up the last ramp. For a moment, time stood still as the first of the pirates stopped and considered what to do. If they knew Joseph’s position, if they knew where he was…

Then Joseph went into action as a man rushed through the corridor and wheeled about, turning to face him, rifle pointed at his chest. Joseph’s soul thrust out a fist, hammering into the man before he could get a shot off. The pirate let out a grunt as he flew back, collapsed against the wall, and was still.

But Joseph didn’t have time to register that as yet another attacker came, this one a strange, locust-like alien with twin pistols in each hand. The soul swung again, but the locust’s oversized legs pushed off the ground, thrusting it into the air. It spun for a moment, firing round after round of plasma into the soul’s back. Joseph winced at the sudden…

Nothing. The eagle’s back tingled, but seemed none the worse for wear. Joseph twisted, the soul’s claw backhanding the locust into the ground. The soul turned, eyes staring down at its back, but the plasma had just sunk into its makeup without any apparent damage.

“Of course,” Joseph said to himself, “Soul’s plasma, gun shoots plasma…”

It was good information to have. The soul hunkered down, great arms covering his body like a wall. That had been a scouting party, by the looks of things. He could hear shouts down below in a language he didn't recognize. Joseph took a deep breath, ready to spring into action for whoever else came for him. He could hear the distinctive sound of plasma firing – a heavy, deep electronic sound that set his stomach on edge. The plasmafire seemed to be coming from the other room. It seemed Becenti was busy.

***

As it stood, Becenti was busy. He had taken out his two scouts relatively quickly, disarming one and using his attacker’s rifle against him and his friend. It was an impressive bit of weaponry, too, boxy and funneled, like an industrial prototype with a grip welded on. The plasma that erupted from the rifle was bright green and cut through the armor of the scouts like a knife through paper. Heavily modified, by the looks of it. The power behind the rifle was definitely over the legal limit. A shame, all things considered, as another being – a Maltor – rushed out from the ramp. Becenti reacted in a split second, rifle whipping to place and firing in one fluid motion. The line of plasma erupted from the boxy rifle and bored through the Maltor's chest. The Maltor collapsed, tentacles splaying around wildly.

No one else followed, though Becenti had the feeling that more would be coming soon. Taking this chance, he walked over to his victim's body. Maltors were humanoid, with tentacles growing out of their shoulders, hips, and heads. This one wasn't wearing a helmet, so it wasn't hard for him to find the comms – located just where the human throat would be. He pulled it off, listening in. Their assailants were speaking in Draelish.

“Joseph,” he radioed, “It looks like the majority of them are coming your way.”

The boy's voice crackled on the other side, “Yeah, noticed-”

They were interrupted by plasma fire on his end.

“Yeah, they're coming in hot now,” Joseph said, “I'll-”

“Take your time,” Becenti said. He heard footsteps coming up his side. Pocketing the Maltor's comm, he spun and fell to one knee, taking aim as a human ran up the ramp. She didn't stand a chance as Becenti drilled a hole through her forehead, a half-scream just barely escaping her lips.

Becenti sighed. Darker memories were beginning to come back to him now. He was starting to remember why he didn't go on these sorts of jobs anymore.

***

Around four of them were up the ramp at this point, rifles pointed at the electrical soul and firing, the plasma swallowed up by the soul, shots splashing against its arms like rain falling on a lake. Joseph, however, was grimacing, leaned down so that the eagle covered as much of him as possible. He was relying on its vision, and now his own, to see the space pirates. Two of them seemed to be human, one was a plant-like being with a head like a flytrap, and the four had a heavy coat of white fur, almost like a polar bear’s.

No use just sitting here pinned. It was time to see just how far his soul’s reach was. He twisted his body, allowing his soul’s torso to cover him, tucking his legs up and letting the soul support him as he sprang. The soul carried itself with him, slamming into the four assailants, fists swerving wildly in a mad scramble to bring them down.

His stomach hurt. His soul was sparking above him more than usual. He hadn't had it out this long before – it had been around five continuous minutes of combat. Twelve bodies littered the floor – and he hoped they were all still alive. A few of them were groaning a bit, their bodies contorting on the ground in pain, so Joseph supposed that they would be fine. Others were deathly still. Joseph stepped over them as the barest hint of exhaustion broke through his adrenaline high. He knew that his body was ragged and tired – constantly having to move about and actually fight was heavily taxing, he knew, and it had been a while since he had been in the ring. Adding to that, the soul was draining him immensely, a small part of him wondered how long he could keep this up...

That small part of his brain started sounding a lot more convincing as the next challenge came. A large alien stepped up from the ramp. Easily seven feet tall, a blanket of muscle protected by heavy-duty, tortoise-shell like combat armor, gray skin that was marbled like a rhino's. His face was human-looking, though with wider jaws and pointed ears like Rosemary's, and four yellow eyes that narrowed at Joseph like a predator's. The alien wasn't carrying any weapons. Instead, he clicked a few buttons on his armor. He lifted his right arm up, and Joseph took a few steps back as he saw it become encased in an orange hard-light projection.

Joseph knew he should have attacked the alien then, interrupt his preparations and strike forward, maybe even use his claws to cut through the armor.

Yet exhaustion won over him - instead of being quick and lithe, Joseph locked his knees and stood his ground, ready to meet the alien’s attacks despite the aches in his body.

He would trust in his soul’s strength.

The alien surged forward, fist pulled back in a punch. Joseph brought out his soul's hands out in front of him, blocking the blow. Pain racked his body as he felt the recoil of the exchange echo down the soul's arms. He gave a swipe which the alien ducked beneath, who delivered another shot which Joseph deflected with his open arm. The alien stepped back, the two considering each other.

The alien spoke into his comms. A moment later, Joseph heard Becenti speak.

“He's saying that he's identified what might be a metahuman,” the older man said, “Careful, now. When you get a chance, retreat back to the control room. We'll rendezvous and-”

Joseph couldn't get the last part as the alien made another attack forward. The rest of Becenti's orders slipped out of his mind as he brought his soul's arms out to grapple the alien, who used his free arm to knock the arms away, going inside Joseph's guard and slamming his light-projected fist deep into the eagle's head.

Joseph felt the soul collapse, retreating back into his body. Pain followed it, delayed at first, then a full torrent of red-hot agony, as though he had just put his entire body in a furnace. He screamed, aware of Becenti calling out to him. He felt himself topple over, his vision darkening for a moment and his shoulder protesting as it absorbed the brunt of the fall. A small sense of awareness took over, turning him over onto his back, only to see the alien over him, fist raised into the air, ready to bring it down-

And then the alien cried out as something pierced through his chest. The combat armor crumpled inwards. The air shimmered around the alien's wound, vaguely shaped like a spear, which radiated an intense heat like a volcano. Joseph turned his head to see Becenti at the door. That strange, red-hot stone was in his hands, the air quaking around him like a desert mirage.

“I give you the responsibility to single handedly hold down a corridor, and this is what I find?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “It's a bad look for you, Mr. Zheng.”

“What is-” he looked at the alien, who began tumbling to the ground. The air-spear disappeared as the alien expired, “What is that?”

“My metahuman ability,” Becenti said, “Are you alright?”

“I'm...” Joseph felt his body ache, “I'm not good.”

“Well, that's obvious,” Becenti gave a hand out. Joseph took it, pulling himself up, “Come, we've almost got the data we need. I believe more of them are coming up soon.”

The two made their way back into the control room. Becenti looked down at the device he’d been using to download the data, frown deepening as it finished the download. Joseph leaned against one of the consoles, catching his breath, sweat beading his brow.

“You…” Joseph looked at Becenti, “You control… air?”

Becenti shook his head.

“Not air. Heat.”

“Heat...?” Joseph said.

“Yes,” Becenti's stone was still activated, and Joseph watched as he gestured towards it. The flickering air engulfed his hand as he lifted it up, “Metahuman abilities very often supersede the laws of physics that we know. My power to control heat means I can make it solid – physical objects that I can use for my own purposes.”

“L-like the door,” Joseph coughed, “Back at the airlock. You covered it with heat.”

“Correct. I can also form heat into weapons. Spears, clubs, the like. So long as I have enough, I can make almost anything.”

“Neat,” Joseph closed his eyes, “Thanks for the save back there.”

“It was of no matter,” Becenti said, “I will probably save your life many times during our time together, and you will no doubt save mine.”

He clicked a few buttons on the device.

“That’s what it means to be in a guild,” he continued, “We look out for each other.”

His device let out a small little ding. Becenti looked at it, then disconnected it from the computer.

“Well, let's get out of here, then,” he said, “But first, some scorched earth tactics.”

He extended a hand. The heat produced from the orange stone vibrated in his hands, until he forced it forward into the computer, which began to bubble and melt. Sparks flew in the air, smoke wafted out from the machine's inner workings, before something deep within the computer popped, and it collapsed in on itself.

“Are you good to walk?” Becenti asked.

“Y-Yeah,” Joseph felt shaky as he stood up straight, “I can go another round.”

“Good,” Becenti replied, “Now, let us go.”

***

They went down the ramp on Becenti's side. Joseph noted that Becenti hadn't been as merciful as him – each shot the man had made had been kill shots. A tentacled alien had its chest burned through, another mercenary’s head had been liquefied. The remains of a scavenged, boxy rifle was tossed in the corner, having been cut in half by an energy blade by a wolf-like alien, whom Becenti had cooked with his heating powers, steam still curling up from its remains.

Becenti didn't play.

They cut across the corners, the mercenaries' heavy footfalls echoing across the complex, putting Joseph even further on edge. Despite his exhaustion, his heart was hammering, his soul rocketing through his body at a speed he hadn't thought possible.

“They're making a beeline for us,” Becenti said, “Get ready, here they come.”

It was two floors down that things exploded back into combat. The long hallway they were in was suddenly assailed on both sides. Becenti spun, erecting a wall of heat behind them as Joseph's soul surged to life, great arms blocking plasma bolts as he ran forward. He got into range, and unleashed the eagle, arms arcing out like wrecking balls. The left fist collided with an alien square in the head, cracking him into the wall. The other struck open air as the second gunner dove down, rifle pointed at Joseph’s chest, mere feet away. With a grimace, Joseph dove, soul collapsing absently back into his body as he grabbed the barrel of the rifle and wrestled it up. The gunner roared as he pulled the trigger, the plasma bolt’s drum-like boom shaking Joseph’s teeth as it hammered against the ceiling, molten metal trickling down.

The gunner slammed his fist into Joseph’s stomach. Then again, then a third time, each time a dull, familiar thud, an old friend that made Joseph, despite the pain, smile. This guy had a good shot, sure, but he was no slugger. He took the last shot, at the last moment pushing the rifle forcefully into the man’s face, hearing a satisfying crack as it smashed through his nose.

Now for the finishing blow, as Joseph leaped back, soul roaring to life and swinging.

And perhaps he had miscalculated. Done things too quickly. Maybe the adrenaline had turned him into something else. But the eagle’s hand was uncurled, its talons unfolding outward, five bladed fingers that minced through the gunner’s head in a flash. For a moment, the corpse stood.

Then it fell to the ground.

It was done.

Becenti had finished with the attackers on his side, he glanced over at Joseph, who stood over the dead body, eyes empty and face as gray as a storm.

“They were human,” Joseph whispered.

Blood had sprayed out for a moment from the mercenary's neck like an uncorked bottle. Now, it was leaking out and staining the metal floor, as though a bucket of paint had upended onto the ground. Joseph took a few steps back from the sight, his hands shaking.

“They were human,” he repeated.

“Let's go, now,” Becenti said. Joseph did not respond.

“Mr. Zheng.”

“I...” Joseph looked at the body again. He had done this. He had killed them. He was thankful their face had been sliced completely through, so he couldn't see it. Yet he could see the cruel cuts he had made, the way his eagle's talons had cut through the mercenary's head as though it had been butter.

“Joseph.”

He whipped up his head at Becenti.

“It's over now. More of them are coming,” he said.

“But-”

“If we don't get out of here, they will kill you.”

The older man turned and walked away. A cruel answer to Joseph's pleas. Joseph sighed, trying to pull himself back together. The pragmatic part of his brain made him start moving, his walking almost robotic as he stepped over the pools of blood as though they were just puddles of rainwater. His mind was fogged over, lost in a deep hole of guilt and horror.

Becenti led them back the way they came. A few times they encountered more resistance, but he was faster than Joseph in responding to it. Having scavenged another rifle from the mercenaries, he fired at them, his aim near-perfect as he cut deep holes through their torsos or heads. Every shot he made was a kill shot – never to injure, or to impede.

Always to end.

Joseph was disgusted by that.

“Almost to the airship,” Becenti said, “Only one more floor, and we reach the airlock.”

Joseph didn't answer.

***

They made their way down the station, weaving their way through the long hallways. By now, Becenti reasoned that they had eliminated most of the raiding force from the silver ship.

“Almost there, Mr. Zheng,” he said.

They were at the door that led into the gardens when they encountered more resistance. There was a man in the room, standing in front of the great pine tree that dominated the center of the garden. He was tall, his arms crossed over his chest. He was notably not wearing any of the futuristic combat armor like the other mercenaries. Instead, he wore combat fatigues, which in the dim light seemed to be murky green and brown like a swamp. A knife was strapped to his boot, and his face looked like it had been mashed and broken multiple times. The way his smirk twisted upwards like a child had scribbled it onto his face shook Joseph out of his stupor – he felt an odd sense of anger when he looked at the man.

Movement behind them. More mercenaries. Becenti kept himself and Joseph in the hallway, rifle level as five mercenaries took cover behind the door at the end of the hallway, rifles pointed out of the corners of the open doorway.

“Get into the garden, Mr. Zheng-”

The man in the garden whipped out a strange device out of seemingly nowhere – a grappling hook that rocketed towards Joseph, mechanical hands wrapping over his chest and pulling him into the garden center.

“Joseph!” Becenti turned to go after him, but the door to the garden slammed shut as soon as Joseph went inside. Becenti spun as the mercenaries down the hall began opening fire on him, the darkness of the station lit up once more by the neon greens and reds of plasma.

***

Joseph landed with a thud into the center of the garden. He looked up to see the man toss the grappling hook away, leaning down on one knee to look down at Joseph.

“What's up?” the man asked.

Joseph glared at him.

“Looks like you've been cryin', little man,” the man laughed, “What's your name?”

Joseph scrambled to his feet. The man's gaze followed him up as Joseph raised his fists up in front of him.

“Who the hell are you?” Joseph snarled.

“Oh, is that any way to talk to someone?” the man sneered, “Kid, were you dropped on your head as a baby, or did your mommy just forget to teach you manners?”

Joseph continued his glaring. He felt his soul begin its circuit, slow and sluggish due to his exhaustion.

“The name's Robber Fly,” the man said, jabbing a thumb at himself, “And you... you're...” he sniffed the air, “You're... guildfolk, aren't you? You smell like Londoa. You smell like a bit more, too.”

Joseph could hear the sounds of combat in the door behind him. Becenti must be pinned down, if he hadn't been cut down by plasma fire already...

Robber Fly breathed in deeply, closing his eyes and exhaling as though he were smelling a bouquet of flowers. When he opened his eyes again, they were bloodshot and wild.

“You're a metahuman. Like me.”

“Shit,” Joseph leaped back. His soul was almost out, he just needed a moment-

And Robber Fly rose up to his full height. He began to chuckle, a deep and genuine laugh that echoed through the garden.

And then his head began to bubble and melt away like a lit candle. Joseph, a primal fear running up his spine, dove to the side into one of the bushes, taking cover as Robber Fly's head began to re-shape itself. It expanded in size, growing to be larger than his own body. Gossamer wings shaped themselves on top, a thick, plump abdomen filled out the bottom. Six legs protruded out from a thorax, and a new head formed in the front – one with red, honeycombed eyes and a sharp proboscis the size of a shortsword The wings of the flyhead began to buzz, a horrid droning sound that shook Joseph's insides as Robber Fly flew into the air.

Joseph's soul flared to life, throwing out wild swipes and punches which Robber Fly avoided with the grace of a dancer as he dove down. Joseph pushed himself out of the bushes as Robber Fly bore down on him, hands reaching out and grabbing Joseph's shoulders, shoving him into the ground. The eagle arced over him, but Robber Fly was too quick as he jammed his proboscis down. Joseph screamed as it entered his body, just between his head and right shoulder. Before he could react to Robber Fly's intrusion, the man had already buzzed out of range.

“That the best you can do?!” Robber Fly's voice echoed out, distorted and strange, “When they told me a metahuman was here, I was expecting a bit more game!”

Joseph gripped his shoulder, standing up and glaring at Robber Fly. The mercenary flew around the room, his human body carried around by the fly's head like a hanged man.

“Look,” Robber Fly droned, “It's obvious you're out of your league here, kid.”

“Shut up,” Joseph growled, “Shut up!”

“That's... the best comeback you got in this situation? First rule o' combat, kid: always have good zingers.”

He arced down again, spinning in the air before charging towards Joseph like a bull at a matador. Joseph dove to the side, swinging his electrical claws at Robber Fly, who bobbed out of the way, landing on the ground for a millisecond as he slammed his fist into Joseph's stomach. Joseph wheezed and choked, the air leaving his lungs as Robber Fly took off again.

“Ain't that a good ol' punch in the gut,” Robber Fly quipped, “See? It's that easy! You try it!”

Joseph coughed as he clutched his stomach, unable to speak.

“Oh, right,” Robber Fly chuckled, “Well, kid, I'm going for another pass. You ready?”

He dipped out of the air, roaring down towards him. Joseph's soul was faster than his body, the eagle's eyes studying Robber Fly's movements as the two skirmished again. He acted defensively, blocking Robber Fly's punches, kicks and jabs from that horrible proboscis. Robber Fly wheeled back into the air again.

Joseph clutched his arm, noting with horror that it had gone numb and limp. He tried to move it, and panic rose up in his chest when it didn't respond. Worse, the tingling feeling coming from his shoulder was spreading – down to his legs, through his stomach, even his neck and ears were beginning to tingle. How long did he have until he was paralyzed?

He glanced around the room, trying to find anything that could help him. Robber Fly was being smart – keeping his distance as he buzzed around the garden. But he was being wasteful - Joseph saw that the grappling gun he had tossed aside was still there, abandoned by the pine tree. That could be useful, right?

Joseph began running, his soul covering him like a blanket as he fumbled forward, stumbling a bit as he ran. Robber Fly flew down to intercept him, walloping on the soul's back with a series of sharp kicks. Pain racked Joseph's body as he arrived at the grappling gun. The souls collapsed in on itself, the eagle form disappearing and retreating back into his body. Joseph grabbed the grappling gun as Robber Fly retreated once more.

“Man, this is starting to get boring,” he cooed, “Seriously, is this the best you got? You've got so much potential with that... electric bird thing, and you just sorta run around like a headless chicken?”

Joseph ignored the insults – true as they might have been. Robber Fly was doing his passes around the garden again, like a vulture over a dying animal. Joseph's legs had gone numb as well. He collapsed onto the ground.

“Oh, hey,” Robber Fly noticed, “Looks like the venom's taking effect.”

“What... is it?” Joseph wheezed. He dragged himself forward towards the pine tree, propping himself up against it, turning himself so he could face Robber Fly. He put the grappling gun behind his back – Robber Fly didn't seem to notice.

“My head turns into a robber fly, which has a unique enzyme that paralyzes and digests its prey,” Robber Fly said, “Hence, ah, my name.”

“You... couldn't... think of anything... better?”

“It's a good name! What's yours, anyways?”

He was wheeling through the air. Joseph's soul began going through its circuits, its path marred by the venom running through his veins. Still, it was going. It wouldn't go fast enough to fully manifest, but maybe it didn't need to. An idea was forming in his head...

He just needed to distract Robber Fly long enough to recover his soul's strength.

“The name's Joseph,” he said.

“Joseph? A human name. A bland name. Not metahuman. All good metahumans have their own names.”

“What should I call myself, then?”

Almost there.

“I think I”ll just call you meat.”

Robber Fly dove down, proboscis pointed at Joseph's chest like a spear. Joseph was ready. He twisted the arm holding the grappling gun. Part of his soul manifested – just the head, the sharp eyes of the eagle taking over his sight as he aimed and fired the grappling hook out of the gun. It slammed into Robber Fly's head, the mechanical hand closing around his eyes and squeezing down. Robber Fly let out a panicked buzz as he wheeled, trying to pull himself free.

But Joseph wasn't done yet. His soul's circuit was still going. He dropped the grappling gun, letting Robber Fly pull it as he flew around distracted.

Usually, once Joseph's soul circuit was completed, he could fully manifest his eagle form. He had begun to learn that he could also simply manifest a bit of it at a time. The eyes were all he needed, for now. The arms and claws of the eagle form were fast – but Robber Fly was faster.

He needed one last good shot. As his soul ricocheted across his body, he decided to close the circuit – let out an explosion. He aimed it at Robber Fly...

But Joseph had not accounted for the fact that he was much better at controlling his soul and its circuit. He had intended for there to be an explosion – a great bang that would produce smoke with which he could conceal himself. His eagle eyes aimed at Robber Fly, his hand unconsciously matching the eye's movements as he closed the circuit.

Instead of an explosion, however, something else rocketing out of his hands. The world lit up for a brief second, a great boom echoed through the entire space station. A lightning bolt exited out of his body – the excess energy suddenly having nowhere to go but out. It arced forward, guided by his extended hand, which had followed Robber Fly's movements.

Robber Fly screamed as the bolt sent him flying back. He crumpled into the opposite wall, smoke curling out of his body as he fell to the ground.

He did not get up.

***

Becenti ran into the garden, his suit torn and burned from his own encounters. He found Joseph sitting against the pine tree, his eyes filmed over. A hole had been punctured into his suit. Becenti reached into his backpack and pulled out a roll of pitch-black tape, covering the hole so that, when Joseph went into open space, air would not escape out of the suit.

“Are you alright, Mr. Zheng?”

Joseph's lips were blue, and he whispered, “No.”

He had been poisoned. Or envenomated. He glanced over to where Joseph was staring, noting the metahuman on the other side of the room, smoke curling out of his prone form. The older man didn't have time to see if he was alive or dead, however, as he lifted Joseph up and began to run. The comms from the silver ship had gone silent, and he supposed they must have retreated, having lost so much of their number.

Carrying Joseph over his shoulders, he arrived at the airlock. There wasn't time to depressurize, so Becenti opened the airlock doors and allowed himself to be sucked into open space. From there, he used his suit's built-in propulsion gas to guide himself and Joseph over to the Titania Amber. It looked like the silver ship hadn't detected her, which was a boon. He put Joseph down on a bench, running over to the cockpit and disconnecting the Titania from the station. The silver ship was still there – and took notice as Becenti took off. Bolts of plasma whizzed by the Titania, going awry into open space as Becenti clicked a few more buttons, maneuvering his ship away from the station. The ship lurched for a few moments, moving away as the silver ship fired a few more half-hearted bolts as the Titania Amber entered into warp, and shot out into the night.