A/N: Hello! I don't have much to say this time around, other than that I want to talk about an awesome art trade with Rosetta-kyaan on DeviantArt, who drew Vega and Skeet for me. I highly suggest you check it out, as well as my own reference sheet for them.


((Conclusion: Zero hour can't come slow enough.))


It's been about three hours since you and Skeet shoved your way through the massive crowd in the streets of Irk. A few people snapped at you or shoved back, but eventually you forced a path to your dorm.

That's right, you share a room with Skeet.

Great, huh?

"We've got fifteen minutes, Vega," he reminds you. "You might wanna change out of that uniform."

You look down. Pinkish blood continues to rupture the bright emerald green color of your coat.

"True," you muse, forgetting never to admit that Skeet's right. "I'll be in the laundry room."

The laundry room is located all the way in the back of the apartment, equipped with only the fanciest and most elegant sliding door that never seems to close all the way.

Some days Skeet tends to call something out thinking he needs to scream to get through the door, only to blast your antennae out. He's louder than he realizes, most times.

You shrug off your coat and stick it into the clothing cleanser. As you hit the start button, your brain begins to wander as it always does.

Skeet's been acting weird, well weirder than usual, ever since he got those tickets.

Is he hiding something?

No, that blabbermouth couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

Then what's it all about?

You glance back at the door. The sounds of Skeet rooting through the pantry tell you that he's on the lookout for one of those Lik-a-maid thingies he's so addicted to.

Before you can stop yourself, you're singing a quiet note. High C. Perfectly in tune. This never happens by your own free will, but your voice always seems to override your common sense when you're alone.

A random song comes into mind, one with no words. The Irken Planetary Anthem. Key of A flat minor.

You start the song quietly, trying not to get noticed.

The shuffling in the kitchen seizes. Skeet must've found his snack.

No one except for you has ever heard you sing. You're not shy or self-conscious about it, it's just that you feel it's too trivial and useless to the Empire. What kind of use could a singer possibly serve to society?

You remember a day from the Academy when you wondered what would happen if you became a famous singer. You used to fantasize about the beautiful stages you would perform in, blowing the audience away with nothing but your voice.

Wait.

You halt suddenly. There's another voice singing along, belonging to...

"SKEET!" you howl. "Are you spying on me?!"

He instantly shifts into defensive mode. "You were singing! I've never heard you sing before, it's like asking to be spied on! Especially when it's that good!"

"Haven't you ever heard of privacy?!"

"Haven't you ever heard of displaying your talents?"

You fall silent, face flushed with embarrassment.

"Why don't you ever sing?" he asks quietly.

"Because... because..."

His look says, "Well?"

"I don't know."

"Hey, that's not-"

"DINGDING!"

Oh, thank the Tallest.

You snatch your coat out of the dryer, pull it on, and shove past him.

"Hey-"

"We're late. C'mon."


Irk Du Freak is the exact opposite of hard to find. All you had to do was get to the nearest dark alley and pull back a suspicious-looking blue tarp. A strange, spray-painted symbol burns from the side of the wall above it, featuring a version of the Irken logo with pincers at the bottom instead of the usual triangle, plus four antennae rather than two.

A long, metal tunnel underneath the fabric leads to what seems like nowhere, which Skeet is way too okay with.

"I'm soooo psyched!"

His voice echoes ominously off the walls of the gaping hole.

"I hate you," you growl.

"Aww I hate you too!" he chirps, then deploys his PAK legs and crawls inside. You follow suit with an eye roll.

The flume smells like everything you would never ever want to smell. Decaying animal corpse, rotting eggs, bad BO, you name it. It's ALL. THERE.

Your antennae flatten in an effort to keep out the stench, but Skeet's ever-perky ones stick straight up in the air.

"If I get mugged, it's on you."

"That's fair."

"If I die, it's on you."

"That's fair too."

"If I kill you first, it's still on you."

"That's... less fair."

After ten more minutes of skittering around blindly you emerge and breathe in the welcoming scent of...

...alcohol.

Ohhhh, boy.

You look up to find that the entire auditorium surrounding you is hidden within a horde of plants that have grown over a round wire skeleton. All light in the area comes from old-fashioned oil lamps shaped like small pillars, casting an interesting yellow glow on everything.

Countless Irken personnel flood the place, consisting of soldiers, former invaders, janitorial drones, and much more. They chatter among themselves, some looking for seats or scrolling around on their IrkPads. A few are even towing Vortian slaves behind them.

A brightly lit stage completes the atmosphere, sitting there like an ever-present centerpiece watching over everything.

"Wow," Skeet breathes. Even you have to admit it's impressive to look at, especially compared to the dirty, criminal-ridden heckhole you imagined. A bowl-shaped chandelier even hangs from the ceiling.

Your jittery companion drags you over to two of the seats in the front row, practically shaking with excitement.


((Conclusion: There's a good reason why Skeet wants to be here.))


You ponder the thought for a moment, then let it pass. He's just acting on Skeet-like impulse.

The light dims all of a sudden. The show is starting, but who's turning down the lamps?

A quick turnaround reveals that it's a bunch of people wearing black cloaks turning the gas knobs. One, a female, makes eye contact with you and smiles. One of her eyes are red, the other yellow.

Heterochromia?

She then winks at you and fades into the shadows with the other black-clad figures.

"Welcome!" a voice calls out, echoing throughout the chamber. You turn around. "Welcome, one and all, to Irk Du Freak!"

The audience claps, a few individuals letting out whoops of excitement.

A spotlight, the first artificial light source so far, shines into the stage to reveal a smiling figure with his arms spread wide and a small staff in one hand.

His outfit consists of a red and black cape-y coat with red stripes, complete with a flashy top hat. The weird logo from before shines silver on the front of it. He blinks his matching red eyes and lowers his hands.

"I'd like to thank everyone for coming out tonight!"

Another round of applause.

"Please, try some of our delicious snacks to be handed out momentarily!"

One audience member screams, "SNACKS ROCK!"

The announcer sends the crowd a smirk and says, "Let the show... begin."

At the word begin, two slits open up from under his eyes and peel back to reveal...

A collective gasp fills the air.

Two. More. Eyes. Underneath his normal ones.

Your brain has a stroke.

"What?! How is that possible?! Can he even see out of them?! What dimension of vision does he have?! WHAT?

Skeet's own eyes are riveted to the stage. He's quiet for once.

"My name is Rue. I'll be your guide through the mysterious world of Irk Du Freak," the announcer continues.

Then he steps aside with a gesture of his staff. A few more black-wearing drones emerge and push forward a gigantic tank on water into the spotlight.

"Introducing..."

Someone bursts out of the water and grins widely, dressed in a blue and green, waterproof suit with small ruffles like fish fins.

"Spawned from a chemical spill in the smeeterie, please welcome... Gill of the third quadrant!"

Gill waves in a friendly manner and dives into the water backwards. Underneath the surface, through the glass, you see small flaps slowly emerge from his neck area. Gills.

Two minutes pass. Three. Five. And Gill stays under the surface.

As the drones push him and the tank out, he smiles directly at you.


((Conclusion: the creep on the street blabbed about me.))


"And next up..."

The spotlight shuts off, leaving you in the audience in total darkness. That is, until the blue bolt of electricity sparks from the stage with a zap sound.

Then again. A lightning bolt shoots forward, this time illuminating the silhouette of a fairly tall Irken male.

The second and third shots cue the lights to turn back on, revealing the creator of the flashes of electricity. He stands cockily with his hands on his hips, chest puffed out in pride like some kind of celebrated hero.


((Conclusion: I don't like this guy.))


"Mutated from the results of an electric storm passing over his lab, please welcome... Volt of the second quadrant!"

Volt tenses up his raised hands and allows sparks to crackle through them, creating an admittedly cool display of bright blue energy.

His eyes flash dangerously at the applause he receives. He's eating it up.

Jerk.

Even Rue seems to give him a sideways glare, but it goes unnoticed.

"Thanks you, Volt! Now, next performer!"

Volt bows melodramatically and sauntered off the stage, making way for the next freak.

"Please note that this next act might be a little disturbing to some viewers."

The performer, dressed in the millionth black cloak you've seen today, steps into the spotlight.

"Please welcome... Phin of the third quadrant!"

At the sound of his name, Phin's cape is thrown off to reveal... well... everything. The audience either screams, gets dizzy, runs outside to throw up, or all of the above.

His heart, his lungs, his squeedilyspooch, it's all entirely visible through that transparent skin of his.

"Told ya," Rue smirks. Phin, to your surprise, laughs with him. You, personally, would've slugged him across the face.

Skeet grabs your hand suddenly, apparently not out of his own accord. He's sweating and whispering, "you're a doctor, you're a doctor" over and over to himself.

"Skeet?" you whisper, actually concerned. "Are you squeamish?"

He nods timidly.

"Why do you think I let you put me on monitor duty?"

Rue's voice brings you back to the stage.

"No one knows how this happened. Word on the street is, there was a glitch in the reproduction tube. Others suggest it may be something more. Who knows?"

Phin bows and saluted the crowd, stepping away on ballerina toes. A collective sigh of relief fills the auditorium. Skeet lets go of your hand, flushed.

"Nicely done, Phin. Now, for performer number 4, I've got a nice little surprise planned for you!"

Some audience members get up and leave at that comment.

"Please welcome Beetle of quadrant four!"

A figure walks out of the shadows.

On his hands.

Four of them, to be exact.

Why does everybody suddenly have extra body parts? Gills, arms, eyes, what's next?

"Beetle got stuck with a broken tube, which didn't detect his abnormality and allowed it to grow! He lived his life normally, unlike many other performers here."

His way of showing off his... special ability was juggling. And we're not talking boring ball juggling, no, this guy is throwing around flaming chainsaws. Talk about freaks.

But by now your brain has already turned off, and it's not turning back on until the winged Irkenette comes into play.

Two more acts pass, a male with quills like a porkpine* and a pair of females that look exactly alike and speak in unison.

Yawn.

Then Rue announced a short break and stepped backstage. The drones turn the lights back up.

"This is so great," Skeet grins.


((Conclusion: Skeet has the memory span of a goldfish.))


"I'm hungry."

I rest my case.

He points to a line of snack tables covered in food, each in front of another freak with a white apron (with that logo on it) on.

"What are you in the mood for?" he asks.


-Vort Dogs

-Plekuvian cake

-Moose-shminkies


A/N: And there's chapter 4! Please, for the love of the Tallest, place a vote. Also, note that you can't cast your decision after the next chapter is posted. I forgot to point that out last time.

If you happen to read "Lost" by Ladyanaconda, I recently posted a really cute drawing of Donut the Indokuro on my DeviantArt.

(Psssst! Inferna-13! That's my username!)

Thanks to Scarecrow345 and that other person with the really complicated username that the site won't let me type for some reason!