A/N: I own nothing.

Alright, this whole creative writing thing is new to me. I don't do it often outside of college classes so any critique on how to improve would help me immensely. This fic is inspired by Fission Battery and Lucky Chaos, who have done two excellent Monster Girl SIs already.

I saw MGQ and Monster Monsume, but none for MGE. And I thought to myself, "Hell, if they can make those settings appropriate enough for Spacebattles, then I can make this work too!" I know the rules, and what's allowed and what isn't. If I do post something that is a gray area, do tell me so I can rectify it!

Regardless, I hope you all enjoy. Writing is difficult, but quite rewarding. I hope to get better during my stay on this forum. Thanks once again, and enjoy!

Fanfiction is much more lenient when it comes to how they describe a "Mature" setting. Therefore I'll be posting all unedited chapters for the story here.

It had been quiet the night I went out for my last ride. I couldn't hear anything but the sound of crickets in those rocky fields that bordered both sides of that dilapidated backside road. I could only focus on weaving in between those faded white lines, the way the wheels of my bike glided seamlessly over the grayed asphalt of that road. I remembered how quickly I had left the house that evening. I remember the anger that propelled me forward to climb on my motorcycle and leave my cell phone and wallet behind. I could recall that time where I didn't want contact with anyone. I just wanted a few moments to myself, to go to a place where I could think clearly and get my head straight.

The reason was petty- why I had made my little sister cry. She was just a kid, she didn't know any better. It wasn't the first time I had a falling out with my loved ones. I just never expected it would be my last.

It was stupid of me to wear a heavy tinted helmet in the middle of the night. It was stupid of me to leave the house in an infantile fit of frustration and rage.

Running away seemed like the best choice at the time. There wasn't a moment where I didn't think I was a bad brother and an even worse son. I just thought...that why would anyone want a dumbass as their kid, you know? Hell, I just wanted to drive somewhere far away. I guess that deep down we were all a little fucked up.

If people hated you, and you didn't understand why, then why not give them a reason?

All my horrible decisions and emotional outbreaks caught up with me in a single moment. I didn't notice that the road gave way to an intersection. I realized my mistake pretty damn fast when I smashed into a guardrail at ninety miles an hour, feeling myself being lifted into the air as my Victory Octane crumpled and all but exploded underneath me. As I felt that warm summer breeze whistling pass me on my path forward, I could've sworn that I could count every star in the Florida sky. The crickets had stopped singing, and I felt myself being sucked into an all consuming void that enveloped me in darkness. My eyes only widened in surprise as the silence got to me, followed by a choked back gurgle that tore through my throat as I felt an audible crunching sensation in my neck.

A sharp pain shot its way up my spine, and I felt my toes curling as I struggled to maintain consciousness.

I felt a fear that was unfamiliar to me; I didn't even have a chance to scream. I blinked and I was dead.

Dying was scary, but never getting to say goodbye was downright terrifying.

-

I felt frigid.

My blood felt like ice coursing through my veins, a crimson slush that pulsed in my arteries and sloshed around in my heart. My tongue felt brittle as it hung loosely in my mouth, and as I ran it over my lips, I noticed they were cracked and split. With every breath my lungs rattled in protest, and suddenly I was hacking and wheezing as I my eyes shot open.

I began to sit up, only stopping as I felt something pushing up against my chest. I blinked, my mind racing as I looked around, desperately hoping that I could find something that would help me understand just what the hell happened to me. Yet, in the dim light I could find nothing but the outline of some apparition, a pitch black figure that somehow managed to be darker that the blackness around it.

"Calm down, young man. You are safe now." A voice called out to me. It was masculine, smooth, low and refined from years of experience and education. It sounded Italian. Strange, all things considered.

"W-Who're you?" I stammered out, my voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

I felt the pressure on my chest being lifted, instead shifting over to my neck as I felt a pair of fingers gingerly grasp my chin. Suddenly, light flooded into my vision as I groaned and pulled away.

"I advise you to be still," The voice said again, sounding further away than it previously did. "You are extremely lucky. This was my first time doing reconstructive work on someone's neck."

My eyes adjusted in that dim light, blurry shapes and dull colors contorting among my perception as I blinked once more.

Immediately I knew something was wrong.

Two dark circles stared back at me, the light of what I presumed to be a torch casting a faint glimmer on those black rimmed goggles. The person in front of me was what I could best describe as some old plague doctor from the 15th century. The light flickered and waned against his beaked alabaster mask, his head covered with some wide brimmed hat that dipped below his forehead, covering the uppermost portion of his eyes. He smelled of rosemary and mint, flecks of brown dotting the front of his sable tunic. Long dark sleeves parted way to show gloved hands stained crimson, the scent of iron permeating through the air and causing me to breathe shallow.

"To answer your question, boy, I am Ciro Cardone. My professions are many, my pursuits endless. You've made quite a mess of yourself, young man."

He paused.

"A cracked cervical vertebrae, severe inflammation of the nerves, as well as a few herniated discs in your spine. -That- is what plagues you right now, young man. I've never seen an individual in such a poor state. Luckily I had enough herbs and potions in my bag to revive you. Milk of the Willow is quite effective for repairing muscle tears and bone fractures."

Ciro placed a finger on the tip of his beak, tapping it lightly as he glanced away from me.

"Milk of the what now?" I asked, wincing as a stabbing sensation tore it's way through my neck. "This is very fuckin' strange, doc. What, with your freakin' ancient get up and strange terminology. You sure you just ain't some larper prancing around in a hut in the middle of nowhere?"

"Oh dear, you have quite the mouth don't you?" Ciro replied, a muffled chuckle coming from him as he shook his head. "I should say the same about you. I don't recognize your attire, stranger. You wear some quite peculiar armor. The material of the helmet was quite hard, yet it wasn't any metal I was familiar with."

"What, you've never seen a motorcycle helmet before?" I asked, finally managing to sit up straight.

"Enlighten me," The good doctor began, cocking his head. "What is this 'Motorcycle' you speak of?"

"You don't know what a motorcycle is? What century have you been living in?" I said flatly, my eyes narrowing at him as I felt myself begin to frown.

"The Era of the Succubus, unlike you, you…" He trailed off, looking at me up and down. "Simpleton."

"Stop kidding around, Doctor, I'm being serious." I growled, rubbing my eyes.

Damn, it was still too dark to see.

"As am I, young man." Ciro stood, tapping the wooden floor with his foot before turning around. "It's quite late, you are welcome to join me for breakfast in the morning. However, I must be going to bed. Only then will we play your little game of questions."

He reached for the torch that was fastened against the wall, removing it from it's iron fixture before bringing it to his face.

"Hopefully you will be more pleasant. I do hope you enjoy the bed, it's been a quite some time since I've utilized the guest room."

He walked silently through the doorway, the light fading off into a hallway before disappearing altogether. I said nothing, for I had never been more uneasy in my entire life.

Dr. Cardone, he…

He had outlines. It was as if he was a fucking drawing or something!

I shook my head, ignoring another onset of neck pain before placing my head against the pillow. I was delirious. Everything would go back to normal. It was all just a bad dream.

I hoped.

Closing my eyes, I resigned myself to a restless slumber.

Ciro said he had to check on me multiple times that night. He said I awoke screaming, mumbling something incoherent to him before drifting back to sleep.

He said I fidgeted in my sleep, tossing and turning among the sheets, perspiration dripping from my brow and slithering past my pale, quivering lips. That I whimpered, turned over multiple times and just groaned into the pillow. When my body lurched forward, he grabbed me and forcefully kept me down, watching as my eyes shot open and and began to frantically scanning around the room, fearful of whatever imaginary threat they could conceive in the dimness of his quarters. When I awoke, however, nothing was perceived, save for some old furniture and the softening outlines of my own shadow. It was through this revelation that I allowed my mind to ease, and in turn, cause my frantic heartbeat to simmer down into a light thumping in my chest.

"It was just a nightmare, young man." Ciro consoled me, dabbing my forehead with a wet cloth. "That's all it was, a nightmare."

I turned to him, and, noticing that I was still seeing everything as if stuck I was stuck in a cartoon, buried my face into his shoulder, exhaling quietly into his neck before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I remained like that for a few moments, only looking up when he told me to drink the greenish liquid that laid secured in a corked vial between his fingers.

"What's happening to me, Doctor?" I mumbled, "What's going on? Where am I?"

"I...I don't know," Ciro told me, his voice unsteady as he handed me the tube. "But here's something to bring your fever down."

The light from the early morning sun pierced the grey clouds that drifted up above through the window, its rays beginning to seep into the gloomy darkness of the bedroom, bathing the area in a golden shade and causing the furniture to radiate with the flaxen hue of sunlight.

Ciro bid me to wait a moment, leaving the room briefly before coming back, my clothes folded neatly in his grasp as he placed them on my lap.

"Get dressed, and I will tell you what I know."

-
It took me awhile to get dressed, but I was finally done. I rolled my shoulders back, tugging on the zipper of my leather biking jacket before buttoning my jeans. I slipped on my fancy schmancy ballistic touring boots, kicking the edge of the bed as I wedged my foot deeper inside the footwear.

"Rocket." Ciro addressed me, from the doorway, causing me to turn around and cock an eyebrow.

"Rocket?" I parroted, staring at him with confusion.

"Ah, don't mind me. I'm just reading the back of your coat, is all."

"Oh." I said simply, fiddling with my gloves as I walked towards him. "Yeah, my folks got me it for Christmas."

"Christmas?"

"It's a long story."

-
I stared blankly at the bowl of porridge that rested in front of me, poking it idly with my spoon before swirling it around with a sense of morbid fascination. Drawn food...

I wonder if it tastes like acrylic paint…

"Your complexion has returned to a healthier shade." Ciro noted, folding his hands as he watched me from across the table in his kitchen.

"It has? I hadn't noticed. What color was it before?" I asked, bringing the spoon to my lips and taking an ever so small amount of gruel into my mouth.

Huh, it tasted like oatmeal. Fuck, this place is weird.

"I dare say, I could've mistaken you for a male zombie." Ciro chuckled, "You were practically gray!"

"That sounds...bad." I managed to eventually say, dropping the spoon back in my bowl. "I'm failing to grasp something here, what's so surprising about a zombie that happens to be a man?"

Ciro crossed his arms, placing a gloved hand underneath his beak as he looked up thoughtfully. "Well, for as long as I have been alive I can only recall ever seeing female monsters."

"Female monsters?"

"Indeed. Although there was a time long ago in which monsters came in all shapes and sizes, slaughtering people and consuming them-"

"Alright, wait, wait, wait." I interrupted him, holding out my hand. "What are you talking about? Monster girls? Forgive me if I don't believe you."

Ciro stood silently from his seat, placing a black leather bag on the table and rummaging through it, withdrew yet another corked jar, placing it before me so that I could see the label.

Reaching forward, I lifted the jar to my face, my eyes narrowing at it as I examined it closer.

The label was printed on white parchment with navy blue outlines, a big breasted horned woman plastered on the front, staring at the viewer with soft and playful eyes as she smooshed a bronze cowbell between her chest. Her hair was cut short, ivory white with black highlights on her bangs that were distributed evenly around her head.

I nodded slowly, placing the jar back down on the table and looked back towards Ciro.

"Holstaur's milk?" I asked, my faith in God now fully diminished.

"Quite so. I highly suggest you do not drink that. I'm currently using it for some...experiments."

"Alright Doc, alright." I nodded.

Damn, all this time I thought Spacebattles was full of shit.

"One more thing, Doctor Cardone." I began, crossing my arms. "I need my helmet, and directions to the place where you found me."

The masked man nodded, wiping his gloved hands with rag as he spoke. "Very well. I trust you will be on your way then?"

"Honestly," I began, leaning back into my seat, "I don't what the hell to do at this point."