Profound Waters

by Staradventure55

Taking place shortly after Greninja's Origins, the Chasers have stumbled upon a collaboration between the big name villains. Their objective is unknown and there are no leads toward an idea or theory. Attempting to balance their new investigation with their duty to protect the people while getting Greninja, a newcomer for both the Chasers and Smash prepared for the worst.

12. Abysmal Void: Rags to Riches

The entertainment district, residing in the treacherous outskirts of Mute City, was a melting pot of high-end technology and entertainment. Outstanding, pompous humanoids and clever scum from the underworld who were better left alone made and lost their fortunes there. The bar lounge, which was part of a larger building called Dollars, was exactly like Weavel remembered. Posters of the latest hotshots hanging on the walls, platinum tables and leather booths scattered across the lounge, and the wall lamps that emitted a neon red brought back a flood of memories. Soon as Weavel and Grexx had walked through the sliding doors, a blast of hot breath, a lingering cloud of smoke, and noisy drunkards drinking themselves into a stupor were what had greeted them. Next came the arrogant people who had either made snarky comments on Weavel's robotic exterior, or quietly questioned if Grexx was as dumb as he appeared. Then, there was always that one drunk reptilian who you had to step over on your way to the counter. And finally, past the bar's counter on the left, further in, there was a wide hallway that led to the betting area with an entirely different atmosphere.

On the bright side, the bartender had the sense to keep the place presentable. Skittish, legless drones hovered hastily from table to table, handling whatever tasks the bartender couldn't be bothered to do himself: cleaning every surface in the room, consistently checking the vitals of lifeforms who drowned themselves in alcohol, and handing out drinks or food. A recent purchase of his was a large round table that sat within the left side of the bar. The Smash logo was etched onto its surface, giving off a cobalt glow. In the middle of the table, a small device emitted a holographic, seventy inch screen that showcased a match between two fighters at who knows where.

When Weavel and Grexx reached the counter, the bartender, who was busy cleaning a stein, gave a quick nod over to the menu booklet sitting upright next to him. They seated themselves, and Grexx immediately probed through the menu. Weavel slouched forward, holding his head up with a hand. He stretched his other hand across the counter, and the crystal within his hand phased up through his palm. It hovered over his hand, illuminating a twilight purple. He overheard a couple of patrons behind him talking about the crystal he had but paid them no mind. He knew they wouldn't be stupid enough to try and take it from him.

"So, what's got you in a pissy mood?" the bartender said, lowering his head toward Weavel.

Weavel lifted his head slowly to meet the bartender's eyes, venting out a vibrating growl. The bartender was human, very much on the heavy side. His yellow shirt, which couldn't fully contain his massive gut, was partially covered by metallic plating running along his left shoulder. He also sported shades, headsets that amplified his hearing, and a backpack that sprouted two metallic arms.

"Lets just say, I'm not looking forward to tomorrow," Weavel answered with a hint of frustration.

"Ah." The bartender backed up, turning his gaze to the stein in his hands. "Got people after you or something?"

"Yes, something like that," Weavel lied, returning his sight back toward the crystal.

"Hmm, guessing a couple of nosy pricks from the military?"

"No, the Alliance has no business with me."

The bartender stopped cleaning his stein, staring at it for a bit before looking up at Weavel.

"I wasn't talking about the Alliance."

Weavel's visor immediately shot up to meet the bartender's serious expression. The bartender quickly scanned through his patrons before lowering his head toward Weavel.

"Is it true you nearly lost your homeworld?" the bartender whispered.

Weavel rose himself slowly until he was sitting straight up. Grexx, who had overheard the question, stared at the two with a gaping maw.

"How the hell do you know about that?" Weavel asked, raising his voice. "What's it to you anyway?"

"Hey now, I know it ain't any of my business, but—"

"You're right!" Weavel slammed a fist onto the counter, creating a boom that cut several conversations behind him short. "It isn't!"

The bartender threw his hands up, backing away from Weavel. "Ok, ok, you're right," the bartender apologized, returning his attention to the stein in hand.

"Now hang on a minute," Grexx intervened, directing his attention to Weavel, "That tussle happened elsewhere, in another universe. How would a random bloke know about that?"

Weavel let loose an irritated breath, burying his head into his hand.

"How many people know?" Weavel asked in a defeated tone.

"Who doesn't know at this point?" the bartender replied. "Those Galactic Feds wouldn't shut up about it."

"Let me guess, they broadcasted their victory in this sector?"

"Of course they did. They were going on about bringing peace and freedom to every universe. Personally, I don't buy it, but what do I know? It's not like I get many of their soldiers coming through my bar with stories to tell."

"Ya know, I gotta say," Grexx said, leaning over the counter, "innit kinda odd not one bloke in here minds space pirates walking about."

"Why would they? Not like your kind went destroying our colonies. Also, it could be they don't know you're those pirates. Hell, if it was just metal man here, I wouldn't have guessed I was looking at a space pirate either. But you, I've seen your kind before. Rowdy bunch, but nothing I couldn't handle. Feds made you out to be mindless killers, the worst thing to invade our worlds since those metal bastards, but I guess it was just a classic case of stretching the truth by a mile."

Grexx let out a hearty laugh and said, "That's probably the nicest thing anybody's said about us."

"Well, don't let the Feds know I said that. Far be it from me to go against their little stories."

"Right right, but anyway, it's true, about our homeworld I mean."

"Grexx," Weavel said in a mildly irritated tone.

"Not like it's a secret," Grexx responded. "So might as well explain our side of things."

You know, now that I think about it, you two are the only pirates I know who can speak English," the bartender said. "Just so we're clear, not all of you can speak the language, right?"

"Leadership thought it was necessary to know the language of our enemy," Weavel explained. "And no, we all can't speak it. They only wanted to teach a handful. Also, we don't often refer to English as English. We call it Common."

"Wait, don't they know more than English? I'm sorry, Common?"

"Yes, and leadership made certain to record their other languages as well. But Federation transmissions were mainly spoken with an English tongue, hence why we called the language common."

"Shame it didn't help you much. The way the Feds were talking, I thought I'd never see your kind again. Must have quite a few tales stashed in your noggin, so why not spill a few?"

"I'm game. Whatcha looking to hear?" Grexx chimed in gleefully.

"How did you two gents survive?" the bartender asked, switching between looking at Weavel and Grexx, sizing them up. He went toward a dispenser sitting behind him on the back counter. He slid the stein beneath a nozzle, and filled it to the very top. When he came back, he slid it to Grexx. "No disrespect, but you have that front line infantry look."

"Heh, right you are." Grexx snatched the stein, causing a bit of ale to splash upon the counter. He took a couple swigs of his drink before slamming it back down. It didn't have the best taste, but it was loads better than the nutritious trash the pirates had had him drinking alongside his rations. "But anyway, yeah, guys like me like to be in the very thick of it."

"Must've had a high ass kill count if you're still living."

"Naw, I wasn't there at the time, and more the pity."

"You weren't there? Then what were you doing?"

"That's a mighty fine question. The bloody hell was I doing?" Grexx rubbed his chin, clicking with his mandibles in deep thought. He snapped his fingers in realization. "Oh right, I remember now. All that was during the phazon craze, so we were busy dealing with that."

"We?"

"Yup, me and tin man here, and a few other chums. We were responding to a distress call on Kelios. Poor saps were being swarmed by fanatics."

"Fanatics, huh?" the bartender chuckled. "Must've ticked off the local inhabitants. What, did they blow up a religious place or something?"

"They were attacked by our own," Weavel added quickly.

"I—I beg your pardon!" the bartender's jaw was gaping wide. It took a minute for him to compose himself. "The hell was going on? The Feds were on all your asses, but you guys had to deal with infighting? Thought you were a bit more organized than that."

"We were, until phazon came into the picture. Heard of it?"

"Yeah, from the Feds."

"Our supplier crashed a meteor filled with the stuff on our planet, corrupting damn near everybody there, including what remained of our leadership. She sent squadrons to various colonies to either convert or kill those who weren't brainwashed. I refused to be her slave, so I killed any pirate who uttered her bullshit until she had no more left to send. And if it wasn't for Grexx holding me back, I would've gone back home to kill her myself."

"Damn." The bartender leaned back, nodding to Weavel. "Never let anyone say you're a coward. But I gotta say, you people are tougher than I thought. Glad some of you managed to tough it out."

"Thanks."

"So anyway, what brings you here?"

"Oh, right," Grexx said. "We're looking to have a chat with the missus who runs the palace around here."

"Mistress?" the bartender yelled, drawing the attention of his patrons. The bar became ghost silent, even the machines stopped what they were doing. Having realized what he had done, the bartender leaned in close toward Grexx and whispered, "The hell you need her for?"

"That's our business," Weavel intervened. "But don't worry, we're not looking to kill her."

"Oh, I know you're not."

A chorus of cheers mixed with painful groans erupted from the betting area. Weavel reached for his gun, but quickly realised it was just people reacting to a bet that either went very well or poorly.

"Best you be on your way," the bartender said. "It's about to get real noisy here."

"I wasn't trying to spend too much time here anyway." Weavel reached into the leather wallet fastened to his belt, pulling out a stack of bills. He pulled out five bills, paying no attention to the value of each, and slid them to the bartender. "That's for the drink. Come on, Grexx, we're leaving."

"Right behind ya," Grexx said, gulping down what remained of his drink before slamming it back down again.

The patrons' eyes were glued onto the pirates as they headed out. Whispers surrounded them, but Weavel overheard nothing that was of concern. Part of him didn't want to go so soon, though. Despite what his attitude had suggested initially, Weavel found slight comfort in telling his side of things during the war. Very few places allowed him to speak that freely, so he wasn't surprised to hear that pirates had made the outskirts their hangout area.

"How far is this palace anyway?" Grexx asked.

"We still have a ways to go. I'm taking us on the highway to save time."

The exit doors opened, and a flash of sunlight blinded the two momentarily. They blinked away the blindness, looking around the active city. The sun-kissed city was beautiful and welcoming. Every building had their lights on now, making the city look more vibrant and colorful than before he got there. Advertisements were being displayed along billboards and buildings. Hover cars were coming and going from all sides, but few enough in number that Weavel was confident that there would be no traffic jams close to their position. The entertainment district was a big city, and they were merely at the edge of it. They needed to reach the heart of it.

They rushed over to Weavel's ship, which looked like an elongated, pointed version of Weavel's head. The exterior's coloration was exactly like Weavel's armor, and the ship's canopy had the same color scheme as Weavel's visor. Weavel inputted commands into the device on his wrist and the canopy opened up. Weavel manned the pilot seat while Grexx took to the rear. Once the canopy closed, the ship's anti-gravitational device kicked in. The ship started to levitate, and Weavel maneuvered the swift ship out of the Dollar's parking lot and up the road. Weavel soared past cars whenever he could, eventually finding a ramp that led up to a highway that took him high above the city.

"A fella can get used to a place like this," Grexx said.

"The outskirts have something for everybody," Weavel said, checking the ship's systems to make sure everything was in order.

"Even for you, tin man?"

"Remember how I said Dollars had bet races?"

"Yeah."

"I took part in a few of them."

"Is that right?" There was a hint of amusement in Grexx's voice. "I didn't take you for a racer."

"It was a nice way to test any modifications I made to the ship."

"And is that how ya met this Mistress bird?"

"I knew her before she rose to power, but it's been a while since we last spoke. You wouldn't know this, but she served us well during our recovery period. She spied on the Federation, informing us of their fleets' movements, and helped us kill off scouting teams"

"Ah, so I reckon we're trying to net ourselves some help?"

"Yes, but it'll be up—"

An alarm started blaring from the cockpit's radar. With inputs from Weavel, the terminal showcased many vehicles moving behind him. Their placement wasn't random like what you would expect from a gang, but it was organized in a V formation. The ship had identified the vehicles as property of the Galactic Space Alliance. Not only that, they were space fighters.

"Oh brother, what do they want!" Weavel hissed, turning off the ship's weapons safety system.

Within the dimly lit private quarters, a seated woman's teal eyes glanced down upon the sun-kissed Oasis through her glass window from the top of a spiraling tower. In her hand was a diamond, illuminating the room like a miniature star with an emerald glow. Starship freighters flew past her tower, preparing to dock along Oasis' landing zones, and thankfully, they arrived on schedule. The muffled, roaring engines of passing ships and the subtle hum of air conditioners put noise in the otherwise silent room. Her executive chair creaked as it pressed against her black, resolute desk. The desk had a number of things spread across it: shipment documents, pardon letters, a flat computer terminal embedded in the desk, and three clasps to hold her diamond.

Two pokemon, imposing and still like gargoyles, stood guard on both ends of her desk, eyeing the double doors on the opposite end of the room with unwavering focus. They had about the same bodily structure of a wyvern, composed of black and purple scales. Puffs of white fur sprouted around and up their necks. The most noticeable trait was their large, green, circular ears that had two black rings on the inside, making them look akin to stereos. Eventually, something made their ears perk up. They shot a blast of air out of their nostrils, rising onto their hind legs. The woman's large bat ears twitched as she caught the sound of approaching footsteps, and she turned her head a bit. Soon, the guest pounded on the door several times.

"Come in," the woman said with a silky smooth voice.

The guest pushed open the doors, unfazed by the two draconic pokemon eyeing him with almost murderous intent. The guest was human, tan skinned and short brown hair. He donned baggy camouflage pants and a short sleeved t-shirt that hugged his muscular torso.

"Mistress," the man said in a rough tone.

"Antonio," Mistress responded. "How have you been?"

"Better than most." Antonio took out a tablet fastened to his belt, inputting commands through the touch screen as he walked toward the desk. "Had a pretty dry schedule, so I thought I'd help out your miners with the operation in Varasla. I'll have the statistics up for you in a bit."

Mistress spun her chair around to face him, placing the diamond between three clasps that sprouted from her desk. Sky blue makeup coated her eyes. Her twilight purple dress which hugged her curvy body had to have an opening carved into its backside to account for her bat wings. She wrapped a longer strand of white fur on her head around a finger, twirling it as she waited for him.

"At ease, boys," Mistress said nonchalantly, noticing how tense her pokemon were. Both pokemon lowered themselves, resting on all fours.

Antonio placed the tablet on her desk, sliding it over to her waiting, gloved fingers. She started looking over it.

"About thirty thousand kilos of void crystals," Antonio continued. "Some of them are still large chunks, but they can be broken down later."

"Beautiful work. At the rate we're going, I'll have the Alliance eating out of my hands real soon."

"Before we start feeding them our loot, shouldn't we contact the old geezer?"

"I'll get to Gadd later. But do tell me, how is Don enjoying his freedom?"

"He acted like he was grateful, but that doesn't mean much considering who he is."

"True, but I still hope he's more willing to work with me. Breaking him out of a Federation colony was no easy task, and the bounty they placed on his head was a nice figure. I'd be a shame if I decided to collect. Why don't you pay him a visit and explain to him how serious the situation is?"

"I'll get right to it. Can't wait to see the look on his face."

Antonio left for the door. When he got about halfway there, Mistress caught the sound of rapid footsteps approaching the doors. "Wait!"

"Huh, something wrong?"

"Someone's coming. It wouldn't do for your handsome face to get slammed by the door."

Shortly after her warning, the doors burst open. Rushing through was a frail woman in a business suit.

"Mistress!" the woman panted. "We might have trouble coming our way!"

"Do we now?" Mistress said, narrowing her eyes.

"Need me to stick around?" Antonio offered.

"Oh, don't you worry about me, hon. Go on and take care of business."

"If you say so."

Antonio continued straight out the doors, waving farewell before disappearing behind the closing doors. Mistress leaned further up her desk, clasping her hands beneath her chin with a mischievous grin.

"So, you were saying," Mistress said.

"We got a message from the police," the woman continued. "They have enforcers tailing a duo who are suspected to be space pirates. An officer saw them enter Dollars and overheard their conversation with the bartender. Your name was brought up. They hope to get the truth out of them before they cause trouble."

"Really, that's it?" Mistress rolled her eyes, burying her head into her arms. "I swear, when did everyone get so paranoid? I have plenty of ex-pirates who came to me for employment. None of them would be stupid enough to attack me here, and the police should know that."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"Then how about we find out the truth for ourselves."

Mistress spun herself around, placing her hand upon the cold, glass window. The view disappeared behind a dense veil of black that faded in shortly after she made contact.

"Connect me to Dollars' parking lot!" Mistress commanded, raising her voice.

Appearing in the middle of the darkened window, a cobalt circle started spinning. A full minute passed before several active recordings started appearing one after another. The Alliance assigned an ID number to every camera in the entertainment district.

"About how far should I go back?" Mistress asked.

"I think about thirty minutes."

Mistress nodded, deciding to review the camera with a view of Dollars' entrance.

"Expand recording eighty nine," Mistress commanded.

The recording expanded swiftly, taking up the entire window. So far, nothing was out of the ordinary. People were coming in and out of Dollars like nothing had happened. There were no signs of a shootout, no damaged vehicles or ash marks. Whoever the pirates were, they'd come and gone peacefully.

"Rewind at eight times the speed," Mistress commanded.

The recording started to rewind immediately. Since the outskirts were home to a great number of space pirates, she'd seen many of their ships passing through her city. They had traits that easily set them apart from pedestrian vehicles, like being outfitted with weapons. Then, finally, she found what she was looking for.

"Stop!"

The recording ceased. There were many vehicles parked at Dollars, but her eyes gravitated toward the crocodile space fighter near the entrance. Memories and secrets better left buried slowly surfaced into her mind, unearthing forgotten worries and accomplishments.

"Retract!" Mistress commanded. "Show all cameras in Dollars' bar lounge!"

The image retracted back into its smaller form, soon being filtered out alongside other cameras that didn't meet her demands. Four cameras faded into view, and her eyes landed on the bar's counter with a cyborg and a reptilian creature conversing with the bartender. She recognized the crocodile armor, bright yellow visor, blood red ponytail, and even the pistol that hung around the cyborg's waist. It was Weavel. The pirate next to him was a mystery, but not a complete one. Didn't know its name, but she knew the type of pirate it was. The general build of the pirate, his mandibles, and his tiny flaming eyes were dead giveaways. It was one of those slave breeds who had been upgraded to trooper status. She remembered a conversation she'd had with a pirate translator, and recalled how furious they were about how the slave breeds had failed their leadership on Aether. The one next to Weavel was different though. Most, if not all, slave breeds were grown without limbs in order to attach photonic powered scythes, quantum cannons, and robotic legs more easily. That one, however, was purely organic.

The thought of seeing Weavel again brought a faint smile to her face. He broke many stereotypes the Galactic Federation had tried to feed her people. The first time they had spoken together, she appreciated how composed he was compared to his brethren. His English had been perfected, and often fooled people into believing he was human.

"Uh, Mistress?" the woman broke the silence, taking a few steps toward the desk. "What's wrong?"

"Interesting," Mistress said. "They're the ones the Federation claimed to have almost killed off."

With those words, the woman's lip curled in disgust. Throughout Mute City, and beyond the stars, the space pirates were thought to be beyond recovery. She only knew them through the Galactic Federation's propaganda, but when she'd seen images of Federation colonies burned to cinders, it hadn't been hard to accept their words as truth.

"I hope they shoot them down!" the woman spat out. Her meek demeanor transitioned into a righteous anger, flushing her pale skin red.

Mistress, noticing the abrupt change in the woman's tone, spun her chair around to face her.

"Now, now, let's calm down," Mistress said.

"How the hell can I calm down!" the woman yelled, causing the pokemon to shoot their heads up out of shock. "We can't just sit here and wait for them to kill us! It's just two of them, and the police have them outnumbered. Give me the order, and I'll tell them to shoot them down! They wouldn't answer their questions anyway!"

Mistress was wide eyed and silent, thrown off by the woman's demeanor. They'd been working together for over a year, and never before had she raised her voice. Her cautious mentality wouldn't even let her talk ill of others no matter how far the distance between them was, always fearing the idea of being overheard by the wrong person. The Galactic Federation had done a superb job at filling her head with the same righteous fury every Federation soldier had toward the pirates. And it's not like she could blame her either, being that the pirates were guilty of many disasters.

"Look, let's think about this logically. Can we do that?"

"I am being logical."

"Really? You're just assuming they're here to kill us. I mean, think about it, why us? It's not like we funded the Federation. There's no connection."

"Assuming that they need a reason."

"Come on, they're not mindless. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't target us for no reason."

"But what if they have a reason you don't know about?"

"If so, then I'll be sure to ask them what that reason is."

"Huh?"

Mistress inputted commands into the desk's terminal. A phone's ring echoed throughout the room, persisting until ceased by a loud click.

"S.A.L.P, what is your emergency?" a man said quickly through the terminal's intercom.

"Hi, Mistress here. No emergency just yet, darling. I was just wondering if I could have a quick chat with your chief. Is he in?"

"O—Oh, Mistress, I'm glad to hear everything is going well. Yes, he is in. I'll connect you immediately."

Silence filled the room once more, and Mistress hummed a cheerful tone to pass the time. Mistress' assistant simply stared at her with the utmost confusion.

"I assume this is you, Mistress?" an older sounding gentleman with a deep, exhausted voice spoke through the intercom. "I figured it was only a matter of time until you called."

"Ah, so you know why I called," Mistress responded.

"Don't you worry, they won't be causing any trouble. I was about to tell my men to disable their ship and bring them in for questioning."

"That won't be necessary."

"E—Excuse me?"

"You heard me. They've done nothing wrong. I would hate to run away potential customers because of a little misunderstanding."

The chief didn't respond right away. After a while, a stretched out groan filled the intercom.

"Mistress, I don't think I need to remind you of what these things are. You're playing with fire."

"I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself."

"Alright, if you say so."

Weavel had reached his boiling point. The thought of turning his ship around and engaging his pursuers was becoming irresistible. The local police were decent opponents, but Weavel had many opportunities to hone his skills through skirmishes against the Federation. At the speeds they were going, he thought that if he hit the brakes at the right moment, his pursuers would hastily move around him and allow him to take a few cheap shots to take out one or two. But then something happened, an oddity he hadn't accounted for. They drastically decreased their speed, made a hard drift in place, and rode full speed back the way they'd come . Their actions left Weavel so perplexed, he couldn't help but feel suspicious. Perhaps a blockade was awaiting them further ahead and his pursuers no longer felt the need to chase. Or maybe they recognized how outclassed they were despite their numbers, calling in an elite squadron to handle him. Regardless, there was no way in hell Weavel was disengaging his weapons now.

"Did they bugger off?" Grexx asked, secretly looking forward to the dogfight.

"Yeah, they're gone."

"Then what the bleeding hell was the point?"

"Hell if I know. I don't know their procedures."

"It ain't right, I tell ya. Couldn't they find some other tosser to harass?"

"Well, hopefully, we won't have to deal with them again."

For a while, the ride went smoothly. Weavel found himself thinking about Mistress. After their near defeat, for some bizarre reason, she'd come to them. Thankfully, their reinforcements had common translators. Considering how most universes distrusted or hated the space pirates, he was surprised they hadn't killed her on the spot out of suspicion. However, her silver tongue had worked wonders. Soon, she had worked as an agent for the space pirates. Early in her career, Weavel had become her partner. He had been given the order to kill her if she pulled anything funny, but never had to go through with it. In fact, she had been more engrossed in her role than Weavel'd been. By the end, they'd had what one could call a friendship. It wasn't on the same level as his relationship with Grexx, but he tolerated and respected her above most commanders he knew.

"Grexx," Weavel said, breaking the silence.

"Huh?"

"We're here."

Grexx leaned over Weavel's shoulder. Weavel maneuvered his ship closer to the highway's edge, raising it off the ground just enough for Grexx to get a better view. It was like they were looking at a completely different city. Towering structures orbited by massive roulette wheels acting as their planetary rings levitated over the gambling themed city. Dozens of holographic images could be seen flying through the night sky, the most apparent being the massive pink hearts with flapping bat wings moving with the smoothest animations. Most notable were the racetracks sprawled all over the city for their bet races, some of which were currently in use. The portion of the city they were in was called Vegas Palace—or that's what it used to be called anyway. Mistress had renamed it Rouge's Palace.

Weavel took a turn down a ramp, descending onto the streets below. Courtesy of Mistress, the streets were rebuilt with black and white granite. Statues of the King, Queen, and Jack were made, placed in front of buildings Mistress considered important: banks, schools, police stations, etc. Wealthier patrons donned some of the finest renaissance era dresses and robes money could buy, completing the look with glamorous black or white scepters. If Weavel had eyes, he would've been rolling them. Massive clocks that hung on government affiliated buildings were designed like roulette wheels; the sounds they made with each passing second were reminiscent of a metal ball dropping. After inputting a command into the terminal, the ship's canopy opened up, exposing them to a spring breeze. Street musicians filled the air with jazzy tunes, fueling the spirits of the locals who danced to the rhythm.

Traffic, of course, was abysmal. Wealthy and middle class citizens from various planets, various universes, traversed through void gates to try their luck at Rouge's Palace. Then, you had the residential areas throughout the city, which saw significant upgrades and expansions. With so many people coming and going throughout most of the day, Weavel had already given in to the idea that he'd be waiting for a while longer before he reached the big city. There was the option to simply turn off the ship's low flying mode and skip all the nonsense, but after he'd drawn the attention of the Alliance, getting even more eyes on him was undesirable. At the very least, Grexx seemed to be enjoying himself. Grexx bobbed his head to the music surrounding him, shifting his sights between the reflective exteriors of various cars they drove passed. And as they headed down a long road, Weavel sighted his objective. The most grandiose entertainment building on the whole planet awaited them, Oasis.

Oasis, a resort spanning roughly one thousand nine hundred acres, was the heart of the city. It was host to many titles: the largest mall, the ideal gambling spot, an exquisite dining spot, a ten star hotel, or the true palace. Scanners had picked up a sea of inactive cars resting deep beneath the surface. Weavel darted his ship down one of the many bridges leading toward Oasis' entrance. Both edges of the bridge were brightened by a series of lampposts shaped like playing cards. Beneath him was Oasis' courtyard, host to a collection of offworld flora that gave off an eerie glow, attracting a number of species of night-dwelling fauna. A twisting racetrack levitated over Oasis, connected to the ground via a massive elevator somewhere within Oasis. The entrance's appearance would have one think they were approaching a palace, bathed in light from nearby spotlights. Naturally, due to troublesome traffic and endless noise, there were no residential areas within a three-mile radius of Oasis.

"The bloody hell is this?" Grexx uttered, completely taken aback by the sheer magnitude of Oasis.

"This is where Mistress lives," Weavel answered, chuckling to himself.

"Lives!"

"Lives."

"Sure the bird ain't just compensating for something?"

"Maybe her height."

"Must be a tiny bird then."

Upon reaching the entrance, Weavel stopped his ship. Ripe cherry waterfalls surrounded the entrance, gleaming from nearby mini spotlights. A tall fountain sat within the middle of the half circle driveway, spewing the same kind of water the waterfalls did. Staff members, both organic and inorganic, approached the cars hovering beside the driveway's edge. Weavel positioned the ship behind the closest car, easing it to the ground before killing the engine. A voice came from beside his ship.

"Pardon me, sir."

Weavel and Grexx leaned over the right side of the ship, witnessing a middle aged man fashioned as a butler standing right beside the ship. Had a dignified air to him, kept his back straight, and was unfazed by the cyborg and reptilian creature staring back at him.

"I assume you're Weavel, yes?" the butler asked.

"And so what if I am?" Weavel responded.

"No need to be alarmed. I was informed of your coming from Mistress herself and told to assist you."

"Wait, she knew I was coming?"

"Indeed, but she means you no harm. She did, however, want to know if you were followed?"

"My ship didn't detect anything. I was tailed by some Alliance fighters a while ago, but they left me be. Can't tell you what they wanted. I haven't done anything wrong."

"They're a minor inconvenience, nothing more. She also wanted me to inform you that no one from the Galactic Federation is on our patron list."

Keeping herself safe by making sure I wasn't followed and reassuring my safety by scanning her domain for possible threats. Glad to see she hasn't lost her professionalism. If he had a mouth, he'd be smiling. Mistress had always been exceedingly cautious. Even after she had completed her final mission, she had never told anyone her name. It was a smart move. Weavel knew some idiot would have mentioned her name in data logs, exposing her to the Federation if they had ever got a hold of them.

"So, where is she now?" Weavel asked.

"In her private chambers. You'll need to go to game section B and take an elevator up the tower."

"Am I going to get harassed by staff?"

"Unlikely. She gave a pretty detailed description of your person to all her staff. Your friend should have no trouble either, so long as he stays by your side and behaves."

"Oh, dontcha worry about me, mate," Grexx said, leaping out the ship and landing next to the butler. "I'll be on me best behavior."

"I appreciate the assurance."

"And what about my ship?" Weavel asked.

"Unfortunately, your ship isn't standard. No one will know how to pilot it. However, Mistress is preparing a void relocator to teleport your ship to one of our underground parking lots. Are you ok with this?"

"Sure, I trust her." Weavel leapt down onto the sidewalk, hovering a hand over his pistol. "Will this be a problem?"

"If you're going straight to Mistress, then I suppose not. Just don't go waving it around."

"Naturally."

"Hey, mate, mind filling me in on the place?" Grexx asked the butler.

"Is this your first time with us? Well, officially, Oasis is a resort."

"A resort, huh? Never been to one of those."

"Then your friend has done you a great service by bringing you here." A grin formed on the butler's face. "Mistress has invested much into this resort. You'll be hard pressed to find a better alternative."

"Hell, I'm starting to believe that already."

"In any case, you should stop by the teller to receive an ID card."

"I'll do just that. C'mon, tin man," Grexx made his way to the entrance, getting crooked stares from the patrons exiting their cars.

"I trust you know what a void gate is?" the butler said, looking at Weavel.

"I've seen the first model."

"Good, then you'll have little trouble figuring it out. I bid you a good day."

Weavel jogged after Grexx, engaging the safety locks on his pistol. They converged with the small crowd of people, entering through the tall, glass doors. Greeting them was a gleaming hall of trinkets resting upon red pillows behind glass boxes. Dozens of gold encrusted chandeliers and props being levitated by anti-gravity devices overlooked the expansive hall, casting light upon the red carpet below. Looking up, Weavel was surprised by how high the ceiling was. Twisting staircases led to the higher floors, each consisting of multiple paths that led to other sections. Mythological creatures were carved into the white walls. A dimly lit, sizable lounge area was built deep within the wall close to them. A woman's voice over the intercom was reminding the patrons of how much time was left before the next auction on floor B.

"This looks like, whatcha call it, a museum," Grexx muttered.

"You're half right," Weavel responded. "It functions as an auction house as well."

Patrons ahead of them were passing through waist-high turnstiles, sliding a card through them and passing with ease. Grexx stopped, scratching his head.

"Right, so that's why ya need the card," Grexx said.

"Yeah, but there's more to it," Weavel responded. "It's how they keep track of patrons. ID cards have two modes, present and away. We would be considered away. Slide your card through them, and you're considered present. Vice versa when trying to leave. Can't do anything in Oasis if your card reads away. They also store all the money you have or won so you don't have to carry chips with you everywhere."

"And where would this teller bloke be?"

Weavel pointed to the lounge area on their left and said, "Tellers are in there."

"Then let's get moving."

Grexx and Weavel squeezed through waves of patrons to reach the lounge area. The floor was made of polished wood, reflecting blurry images of patrons passing through. Aside from the light pouring in from the main hall, scented candles and chandeliers cast a sunset orange hue throughout the lounge. Square tables, masked by stainless, white cloth with decorative imprints traveling along the edges, were surrounded by wooden chairs or leather, curved booths. The sight of steaming food piled on top of tables, and the tantalizing aroma of exotic meats and seasoned vegetables, had saliva rapidly building up behind Grexx's closed mandibles. Seventy inch TVs were positioned either on the walls, or held up by pillars all over the lounge.

Further in, there was a circular counter with three staff members, two men and a young woman, behind computer terminals. They were casually talking amongst themselves, becoming silent when they noticed the odd pair of space pirates approaching their station. Grexx swallowed his accumulated saliva in one gulp before speaking.

"Good evening to ya," Grexx said, waving to them. "Mind fixing me with a card?"

"Oh, sure," the young woman teller responded. "Give me a sec."

She disappeared beneath the counter, rising back up with a tablet in hand. As she was inputting commands into it, one of the men looked toward Weavel.

"I suppose you're here for an ID card as well?"

"No," Weavel responded, pulling out an ID card from his leather wallet, "I already have one."

Weavel's card was composed of a black alloy, and was surprisingly weighty. Weavel's fake name was printed with platinum, metallic letters on the bottom left hand corner. Mistress' signature was printed on the right hand side. A platinum heart with bat wings was etched onto the middle of the card. Oasis was written in italics on the upper right hand corner. The man's eyes widened as he gazed upon it.

"Well, well, an Ace card."

"An Ace card, huh?" Weavel stared at the card, shrugging. "To be honest, I thought it was like every other card. Never got around to using it. Got it as a gift from Mistress."

"Really? I imagine you've done a lot of work for her in the past then."

"That I have. We're on very good terms."

"In that case, why not let me see what's on it? I'm sure she put money on it."

"Go ahead."

Weavel handed him the card, watching him slide it through the terminal's card reader. There was a beep, and the man looked up at Weavel.

"Twenty grand," the man said.

"I had twenty grand this whole time?"

"I expected as much. I mean, this is Mistress we're talking about." The man handed Weavel back the card. "Be sure not to lose it."

"Of course."

"Ok, if you can just put down your information here," the young woman said to Grexx, sliding the tablet over to him.

"Uh," Grexx uttered, staring blankly at the tablet.

Dammit, I forgot to give him fake information! After realising his mistake. Weavel waved to get the young woman's attention.

"O—Oh, I guess I should've explained his situation first," Weavel said hastily. "Where we're from, people like him are only taught how to hunt and scavenge for the good of the clan. He doesn't quite know where to begin when dealing with contracts or giving information. I taught him how to speak English, but I still have much more to teach him. Do you mind if I fill in the information for him? I know everything about him and we live in the same place."

The tellers looked at each other, worrying Weavel even more. The young woman shrugged, looking back at Weavel.

"I suppose that's ok, so long as he's cool with it."

"Again, I'm sorry. It's just he doesn't know what to put down half the time."

Weavel snatched the tablet with haste, inputting information that was almost identical to his. He returned the tablet to the young woman, and she transferred the information to her terminal. Judging by her neutral expression, she hadn't questioned the information given. A plastic card popped out from beneath the terminal, and the young woman offered it to Grexx.

"Here you go, sir. I wish you the best of luck in your education."

"Right, right," Grexx said bitterly, noticeably bothered by having to play the fool.

After grabbing the card, Weavel and Grexx proceeded out of the lounge area. Grexx smacked his card against Weavel's chestplate.

"I ain't got a wallet," Grexx said

"Very well," Weavel responded, taking Grexx' card and putting it in his wallet.

"Did ya really have to say all that?"

"I didn't want you putting down anything that would come to bite you later. The information on my card isn't true either."

"I know ya had my best interest in mind, mate, but it ain't a good feeling to be looked down on."

"Don't overthink it. The fact that you're even here suggests you're nothing to look down on."

"If ya say so."

As they passed through the turnstiles, swarms of people gathered around one of the items being showcased. A sleek platinum and fluorescent pink sports car rested upon a rotating, angled platform. It was one of the few things in the hall that wasn't shielded behind a glass container, mainly because it was merely a really convincing replica. Lip Spyder was its name, Mistress' personal car that she had pitted against Weavel's ship during one of the bet races he'd taken part in. He guessed showing off her ride was one way of bragging about her wealth. But that wasn't the only thing that caught his attention. As he ventured further down the hall, she had more exotic, and dangerous, items on display: the frozen remains of a deceased metroid, artifacts from Aether, deactivated whips from Bryyo, and even a deactivated tinbot from Elysia. She had likely remembered seeing those planets from the pirate's holographic maps, making it her business to scout them out when she rose to power. Weavel had thought her interest in treasure only went as far as gems, but it seemed she now valued anything that would fetch a high price.

About halfway down the hall, they witnessed a small gathering of patrons waiting in front of a void portal that melded with a portion of the right wall. Two double barreled laser cannons, connected via cables to a kiosk near one of them, shot out a continuous stream of void energy that fused with the wall and created a wide portal. The portal, starting off as a mess of colors that led to nowhere, would gradually morph into a perfect moving image of where it would send you to. The automated voice spewed from the kiosk, telling people where the portal was taking you. People were moving in the image, stopping to react to the crowd on Weavel's side. Some patrons moved toward the portal, going through it and ending up somewhere else in Oasis.

"Wait, don't we have something similar?" Grexx asked.

"Yeah, but ours is still in the testing stage. She must've got the idea from us."

"Right. So, how do we use it?"

"If it's like the first model, then you put where you want to go in the kiosk and wait for your destination to appear. It only lasts for twelve seconds before moving on to the next request, though."

Weavel walked over to the kiosk, stunned by the rows of options available to him. The locations were listed in alphabetical order, so Weavel scrolled down quickly until he got to the G section. It didn't take long for him to find the game section B and jab the icon with his finger. He was given a queue number and went back to Grexx to wait for his turn. The void gate switched between various locations, and the number of patrons dwindled. When the kiosk called out game section B, Weavel proceeded forward before the vortex cleared itself. As they stepped through, the sights, sounds, and smells were instantly replaced with new ones. Red carpet softened their footsteps, and the various lamps that surrounded them produced a softer, dimmer light. Rows of slot machines and black poker tables were everywhere, filled with patrons too distracted to notice their abnormal presence. The one feature that was very out of place was the arena in the middle of the building, surrounded by stairs filled with people.

"I didn't see that on their site," Weavel commented. "Might be a new addition."

Weavel looked high above the arena, finding four bridges converging beneath a golden, hydraulic elevator.

"That elevator might lead to her chambers," Weavel said. "Come on, Grexx, let's—"

A quick glance to his side revealed Grexx's absence. Didn't take long for Weavel to find Grexx rushing down to the arena, converging with the crowd of people. A groan vibrated throughout his body.

Grexx, you can't be serious, Weavel thought. He shook his head, slowly pursuing Grexx. Upon closer inspection, there was an ongoing fight inside the arena. The arena itself was an elevated, hexagonal platform about five feet off the ground. A single staircase led up to the arena, occupied by staff members in white. An invisible force field surrounded the arena, occasionally revealing itself as a violet field whenever a body slammed into it. A burly human male was getting tossed around by a massive, anthropomorphic reptile. It towered over most humans and was coated in emerald green scales that had yet to take any damage. Its head was structured similarly to a tyrannosaurus. A silver chestplate shielded its entire torso, leaving its arms completely exposed. As it stomped down upon the man's bare back, its three sharpened toes dug into his flesh. The man lay still, unconscious and badly bruised. Many patrons erupted in cheers as the reptilian pounded its chest repeatedly. A thin, tall man leapt out from the arena's side and into Weavel's view. He carried with him a cordless microphone, holding it close to his mouth. Weavel figured he was some sort of announcer, sporting an all black uniform. A spotlight shined upon the announcer.

"Aw, what a shame!" the announcer hollered excitedly. His voice was amplified by the intercoms on the walls above them. "All brawn but no brain it seems. All well, better luck next time, champ!"

As the shields dissipated, the staff members in white lifted the beaten man up and dragged him out of the arena. The reptilian smirked as it watched his opponent being carried away.

"That's two wins in a row!" the announcer hollered. "If he wins one more match, he'll leave here a rich man! Or, maybe, no one else has the guts to take the prize from him!"

Weavel's visor scanned the crowd, picking up Grexx's vitals further ahead in the crowd. Weavel squeezed through the crowd, hoping Grexx wouldn't try anything stupid. But he was too late. Grexx's hand shot up over the crowd.

"I'll take a crack at him!" Grexx shouted over the talkative crowd.

The crowd went silent, and the spotlight moved over Grexx. The reptilian locked eyes with Grexx, giving him a mischievous grin.

"What's this, another brave soul!" the announcer hollered, walking over to Grexx, who had moved to the front of the crowd. "I think I saw you running down earlier. Are you sure about this? He ain't as injured as you think."

"I ain't worried about all that. Was just getting bored is all."

"Good to hear. Just head on up those stairs and give us a minute."

Grexx proceeded up toward the arena, coming face to face with the reptilian. Height wise, they were equals. Neither was intimidated by the other. There was a hint of guilt in the back of Grexx's mind for wasting Weavel's time, but he needed to get the sting of looking like a fool out of his mouth. Not only that, he was bored. His homeworld was a barren wasteland when it came to finding entertainment, and his superiors often mocked lesser breeds for seeking such things. Oasis would likely be Grexx's go-to spot for amusement, so he figured getting in the spirit of gambling and risking his health wasn't a bad idea. The reptilian skied a pointed nail across Grexx's chest, nodding to Grexx out of respect for Grexx's hardened exterior. The reptilian started to laugh.

"I wonder what will break first, your mind or your flesh," the reptilian said with a deep, monstrous voice.

"Sorry, mate, the only thing breaking here is your streak," Grexx responded.

"Alright, place your bets!" the announcer hollered.

Patrons pulled out tablets from their pockets or purses, placing their bets with an upper limit of one thousand. Weavel maneuvered himself to the front of the crowd, venting out a hollow sigh. Ridley had permitted Weavel to conduct his business before riding for the new world, but it wasn't like they had all day. He didn't expect the fight to take long though. Grexx's psychic abilities granted him an undeniable edge. Stollox theorized that Grexx would have inherited the impressive durability that pokemon were well known for, but that had yet to happen. Grexx's genetics were still mutating at a slow rate, but the strength of his telekinesis was showing steady improvement. When Weavel had heard about Grexx's smooth development, it had put his mind at ease. He still remembered vividly the day he had seen Grexx's unconscious body being prepped for surgery. Now, Grexx was a super soldier infused with the genetics of a Gardevoir.

"Everyone content with their choice?" the announcer hollered as he scanned the crowd. "Then let's get this show on the road!"

The announcer slammed his hand against the arena, gaining both combatants' attention. He moved the microphone away from his mouth.

"Remember, you're not out to kill," the announcer said.

"I figured that," Grexx responded, cracking his knuckles.

"Good, make sure you keep that positive attitude."

As the announcer stepped away, Grexx shifted his attention back to the growling reptilian. He had bent himself over slightly with his arms stretched toward Grexx, preparing to pounce. The shields faded back into existence. The announcer aroused the anxious crowd with hand waves, moving the mike closer to his mouth.

"Alright, contestants, get ready," the announcer hollered, waiting for the right moment to issue his final command. "Go!"

The reptilian leapt at Grexx with frightening speed, reaching out with his claws. Grexx grinned, shooting out a hand toward the reptilian. That's when he felt it, a surge of power rapidly building behind his eyes. The accumulation of psychic energy brushed away any stray thoughts he had, causing a mild headache. Finally, the power coursed through his veins, quickly enveloping his body in a faint, white aura. Just when the reptilian was about to dig into Grexx's torso with his claws, his momentum completely ceased, and he was sent flying for the arena's edge. A thunderous boom echoed throughout the room as the reptilian crashed into the arena's shield. The whole shield illuminated violet, emitting electricity throughout its surface. Gasps erupted from the spectators, and Weavel was left impressed. Many were looking at Grexx in an attempt to figure out what he had done. The reptilian, who had slid down and hit the arena's floor, was able to regain his senses quickly. As the reptilian stood up, a furious growl emitted through his blood-stained teeth. The impact blurred his vision, but he was recovering at a steady rate.

"The hell did you do?" the reptilian asked furiously.

"Sorry, mate," Grexx said, waving a finger. "That's a secret."

"Don't be a wise guy with me!"

Once again, the reptilian charged at Grexx. He tried to slash Grexx's face, but Grexx caught his incoming attack right before it could graze him and delivered a swift punch across the reptilian's face. The punch hit hard, and the reptilian was sent staggering backwards. Grexx closed the distance, moving faster than everyone but Weavel expected him to move. Viciously, Grexx sent a series of swift punches into the reptilian's torso, across his face, and his arms. The reptilian attempted to fight back, but it was clear to anyone with a sliver of combat experience that the reptilian was far more dependent on its brute strength than actual skill. Any sloppy attempt the reptilian made to attack was quickly redirected. Grexx's close quarter combat was a step below average, but he was more than a match for that poor soul. As a finisher to his series of attacks, Grexx headbutted the reptilian. The reptilian staggered backwards once again but, surprisingly, kept his footing.

About a quarter of the audience cheered Grexx on while the rest groaned. It seemed like Oasis was about to get a lot of its money back. Weavel chuckled, expecting nothing less from Grexx.

"Gotta admit, you're better than I thought you'd be," the reptilian spat out, wiping a trail of blood from his lower lip. "But I still have plenty of fight left in me."

"Is that right?" Grexx said. "Then ya won't mind if I get a little fancy."

Grexx stretched out both arms, feeling an ominous sensation flow through them. Tendrils of shadow phased through his wrists, consolidating into growing black orbs within his hands. The sight silenced the crowd, even Weavel couldn't believe what he was witnessing. The genetic division had said Grexx would only develop psychic abilities, but what Weavel was witnessing contradicted that. He was summoning shadow balls, showing little strain as he did it.

"Mate, mind holding on to these for me?" Grexx said sinisterly, gripping both orbs and tossing them toward the reptilian at shocking speed.

Uncertainty and fear kept the reptilian still for a second too long, guaranteeing that the shadow balls would hit him. Desperately, the reptilian threw his arms up in an attempt to block them. The shadow balls collided into him, and an explosive boom accompanied a veil of black smoke that consumed the reptilian. As the smoke cleared, everyone saw the ashened reptilian sitting against the arena's shield. The reptilian slowly, painfully rose himself up the flickering shields, groaning as he did. However, when he finally stood on his feet, his stance and vision were unsteady. Grexx started laughing, pounding his chest.

"Guess all that training paid off," Grexx said.

"Abnormal," the reptilian growled. "The hell are you? A monster?"

"Like ya got any room to be calling me a monster, lizard man. I'll have ya know that I'm a rightly respectable trooper."

"You're dead is what you are!"

The reptilian rushed at Grexx with the savage intent of a wild beast. Grexx still maintained his composure, reeling back an arm in preparation.

"Alright then, let's put ya out of commission this time," Grexx said.

As Grexx kept his arm in place, the muscles started to heat up. Almost instantly, the heat became blistering, causing the muscles to pulsate without pause. But as a result, the surge of power building within his arm was greater than anything he had ever felt before. The power was so great, in fact, that it felt like his arm was on the verge of violently exploding like a thermal detonator. Every fiber of Grexx's being screamed at him to unleash that devastating power, lest the blistering pain overwhelm his consciousness. When the reptilian was within striking distance, Grexx let his arm soar into his foe's torso. As Grexx's fist burrowed into the reptillian's abdomen, the chestplating shattered around the impact area. Blood gushed from the reptilian's mouth, and his serpent eyes became pure white. The reptilian flew away from Grexx, crashing hard into the shields once again. Upon impact, the remnants of the chestplating burst off the reptilian. He hit the arena floor with a thud, twitching like an insect that had been stomped on.

Parts of the crowd erupted in cheers, leaving everyone else either bitter, or so taken aback by what they saw that silence gripped them. The sounds of ringing bells emitted from multiple intercoms throughout the room.

"And he's down for the count!" the overseer hollered, watching the staff members in white rush over to the reptilian's body as the shields went down. He was alive, but he wouldn't be moving around for a while. "Looks like we got ourselves a new champ, and quite the champ he is. But, of course, he isn't in the clear yet. You folks still have two more chances to steal the title, but who here has the guts to take him on?"

Grexx wasn't paying attention in the slightest. A new, terrible sensation had overtaken his arm. The numbness was so profound, it felt like his arm wasn't even there. And though he tried with all his might to move his arm, it disobeyed him. It was like every nerve connecting the brain to his arm were all severed, rendering his arm as useless and limp as a noodle. But, after the thought of losing his arm forever crept into his mind, a tingling sensation swam through his arm. To a slight degree, Grexx regained the ability to move his fingers. Though it was only a miniscule improvement, Grexx decided to trust that his body would recover.

Weavel scanned the audience again, and noticed several other spectators who were well suited for combat. They weren't moving though. In fact, almost all of them had horrified looks on their faces. Naturally, the soft bodied patrons were going nowhere near Grexx. The overseer observed their hesitation as well, and the grin on his face grew even wider. It was a very good thing people had lost the nerve to recklessly throw themselves in the ring, because Weavel had a number of questions awaiting Grexx.

"Oh, looks like they're scared of you, pal," the overseer said as he faced Grexx. "And if no one else will step up to the plate, then there is no sense in keeping you here any longer. Congratulations, my friend, you'll be leaving here a rich man."

The patrons who had placed their faith in Grexx clapped for him in earnest. Though Grexx was still bothered by his somewhat numbed arm, he pumped his good arm in the air. As he let out a jolly laugh, it occurred to him that he didn't know what the prize was. He dropped down from the arena, walking over to the overseer who was waiting for him.

"Oy, mate, mind telling me what this prize is?" Grexx asked.

"You didn't know? It was fifteen thousand dollars."

"Fifteen thousand!"

"It was just going to be ten grand, but Mistress threw in an extra five. I think the stadium is making her more charitable than usual. But enough about her, let me see your card. You want your money, right?"

"Oh, sur—oh, bloody hell!"

"Missing something?" Weavel said, approaching the two with Grexx's card in hand.

"Thank ya kindly, tin man."

"Friend of yours?" the overseer asked.

"Right you are. We got a little appointment with the missus who runs the place."

"Oh, then let's not keep her waiting."

The overseer grabbed a tablet resting on his waist before swiping Grexx's card. He slid the card inside his tablet, and after the tablet beeped, he handed it to Grexx. He took a bow and left after the staff members carrying the reptilian.

"Gotta say, I feel sorry for lizard man," Grexx said, gripping his arm. Though it was uncomfortable, he could move his arm fully. "But get this, I just won fifte—"

"Yeah, yeah, I don't care about the damn money!" Weavel said sharply, jabbing a finger into Grexx's chest. "You need to explain yourself!"

"Explain what?"

"Explain what I just saw. Those orbs that were in your hands were shadow balls, weren't they? And I'm sure that last punch was giga impact."

"Is that what that was? I swear, I didn't think it would do that much damage."

"Grexx, you're missing the point! Those moves should've been impossible for you. Do you have any idea, any idea at all, what this means for you? Anything a Gardevoir could do, you can do. You'll be able to call lightning, shoot flames from your hands, or teleport. You basically have magic now."

"Huh, well I'll be buggered." Grexx started to laugh, feeling the dread that he had built up over his arm dissipate. "And here I thought it was all part of the plan. See, the big heads didn't bother telling me about any limitations. So when I started shooting shadows from me hands, I didn't think much of it."

"Wait, you've done this before? And no one's examined you yet?"

"Again, thought it was all part of the plan. Learned how to shoot those shadow balls when I was training by me self. But now ya got me excited. Stollox is gonna be bringing out the good stuff once he hears about this."

"I'm sure he will, and that's why I want you to keep this between us for now."

"Uh, why?"

"Because if you do, you'll be immediately transferred to genetic development. Even I won't be able to pry you from the entire genetic division. Call me selfish, but I want you with me when I set off for the new world. There are too many pirates who have a problem with me, so I need comrades I can truly rely on."

"Say no more, I got ya." Grexx patted him on the shoulder. "Besides, can't let ya have all the fun."

"Glad to hear. Now then, let's get moving. We've kept her waiting long enough."

"Aye aye."

They proceeded toward the nearest twisting staircase, passing two burly guards before heading up. The second floor was a circular carpeted path that extended from the building's walls. People leaned upon the polished, wooden railings that went around the path's ledge, looking down upon others who were playing their various games on the lower floor. Restaurants were built within the walls all around the second floor, serving people who were seated upon leather couches or decorated chairs near the railings. It was a floor for those who wanted a break from the action on the lower level.

Upon reaching the second floor, it took a second for Weavel to realise that Grexx had stopped in his tracks. Three individuals stood in front of one of the bridges leading to the elevator. The two on the sides were merely armed humans, but the third one in the middle was what had caused him to halt. A frighteningly tall, anthropomorphic insect stood before them, uttering bizzare chirps that grew less frequent the longer it stared back at them. Neither of them immediately recognized it. Its body was pencil thin, mostly bleach white with all its joints being golden. The torso was segmented into disks, giving off the appearance of a layered pleated dress. Two freakishly long, golden tipped antennas sprouted from its forehead, curving downward and reaching its feet. The strangest trait was its transparent, white, cascading hair, brushing the carpet as it swayed. It maintained a feminine posture as it looked at them: crossed legs, a hand on its hip, and a slightly tilted head.

"The bloody hell is that?" Grexx whispered, feeling his heartbeat hasten.

Weavel stayed silent, for he had no answer. He decided to search it up instead, scanning the creature for in depth information. To his surprise, his visor flashed 'unknown'. Not only did his database host a treasure trove of information from his homeworld, but Mistress had also gifted him with information from the Space Federation's database. There was one piece of information that was troubling: its threat level. After analyzing unknown fauna, his visor would provide Weavel an estimated threat level for his own safety. Its threat level was not only high, but it was higher than Weavel's.

"Don't do anything reckless," Weavel whispered. "That thing is much stronger than it looks."

"Don't tell me we gotta get closer to it."

For Weavel, he was simply thrown off by the creature's odd appearance. In Grexx's case, it was something deeper. His instincts screamed at him to retreat, and his psychic prowess had never felt fainter. The insect-like features were what he focused on, and they made his skin crawl. Its gaze was fixated on Grexx as well, cold and unwelcoming as the vacuum of space. He was petrified, fearing that any sudden movements would prompt it to move. But his fear didn't make sense to him. Nothing had driven that much fear into him before, not even creatures that had similar traits to that thing.

"Hey, Grexx," Weavel said, waving a hand in front of Grexx. "What's wrong with you? Are you ok?"

"Y—Yeah, I think. It's just that thing is rubbing me the wrong way."

"Look, it's just another alien. Mistress likely found it wandering in another universe. I'll state our business and we'll keep moving."

"Sure. I'll let ya do the talking then."

Weavel went ahead, looking back at Grexx who was slowly trailing behind. As expected, the insectoid didn't move. One of the humans approached Weavel, holding out his hand.

"Weavel, right?" the guard asked.

"That's right," Weavel responded.

"And he's with you?"

"Right again."

The guard looked up at the insectoid, "They're clear, Mosa. Let them through."

It stared at Grexx for a few seconds longer before walking out of their way. Grexx speed walked ahead of Weavel, forcing himself to stare at the carpet. Weavel shook his head as he headed for the elevator. It opened for them automatically, and they went inside. Weavel pressed the only button available, causing the doors to close immediately. It soared up the tube, and a series of small lights lit up the darkness that had quickly surrounded them. As soon as the elevator stopped, the doors opened to a lone hallway leading to wooden double doors that led to Mistress' private chambers. Spotlights casting light upon various art pieces Mistress had collected were the only source of light in the dimly lit hall. They made their way to the other end, opening both creaking doors.

They took several steps into the next room, and the first thing to greet them was a pair of draconic creatures dashing at them. Grexx leapt out of the way, but it seemed as though they were more interested in Weavel. Both crashed into Weavel, easily bringing him to the floor. Grexx was baffled to see them licking Weavel's visor, and his friend simply petted them.

"Yeah, yeah, glad to see you too," Weavel said, lightly pushing them off.

They were Mistress' pets. Weavel had met them several times before Mistress settled into her new position. Normally, they were very wary of strangers, but seeing Grexx with him must've been a good enough reason to let him slide. Grexx walked over to Weavel, helping him to his feet.

"Well, look who's popular," Grexx said, patting Weavel on the back. "So, what creatures are these?"

"Noiverns, dual type pokemon. I think they're dragon and flying."

Mistress' sizable private quarters were as decorated as Weavel expected them to be. The entire left wall was a massive display case, showcasing a treasure trove of what Mistress had collected over the years: platinum trophies, gold medals, a diamond that faintly illuminated emerald, a row of bottles filled to the top, polished medieval weapons, and so much more. Two curved sofas sat in front of the display case, facing away from it. The right wall had a wide, electric fireplace built into it, but it was currently off. Hanging above the fireplace was an eighty inch, silver, flatscreen TV. A round area rug, sitting in front of the resolute desk further ahead, rested upon the deep sea blue carpet that stretched to every corner of the room. Then there was Mistress sitting behind the desk, chuckling at what had transpired between Weavel and her pets. The glass window behind her showed Oasis in all its glory.

"You could've just called, you know," Mistress said.

"I prefer to meet in person," Weavel said, walking toward her desk.

"You're the missus everyone was talking about?" Grexx asked.

"The one and only," Mistress flapped her bat wings, ascending out of her seat. She made her way to Grexx and landed before him. "I must say, you put on quite a show down there. Consider me a fan."

"Ya saw all that?"

"I see everything, darling. And I must say, you're a brave man. After so many of your friends died trying to become super soldiers, I thought finding more volunteers would have proved difficult."

"Uh, can't say I know what ya mean."

"Come on, I'm not stupid. You're a hybrid, aren't you? Which pokemon did they end up mixing with you? I'm sure they started with something from the human-like egg group."

"Well, ya see—"

"Its ok, Grexx," Weavel interrupted. "We can trust her."

"So that's your name," Mistress said, sizing up Grexx. "How fitting."

"I could say the same for ya," Grexx responded. "Though, to be frank, Mistress sounds more like a title than a name."

"You're not wrong. Mistress is just a nickname people gave me once I took over. The last manager had one too, Iron Fist I think it was."

"Ah, so you were promoted."

"Barely. Had some nasty competition sitting between me and the manager's seat. Not to mention the manager wasn't even close to retiring. Unfortunately, the poor man died during a business trip. His ship was targeted by space thugs, destroyed in a matter of minutes. And the worst thing, everybody that had a shot of replacing him was in the same ship. It was a sad day for the whole district."

Weavel knew the truth behind that story. In reality, the manager had been assassinated. The space thugs were actually space pirates assigned to destroy his vessel. Naturally, the meager defense squadron assigned to defend his vessel was no match for them. Secretly, Mistress had created distrust between those who she considered competition. Her competition joined the manager on his business trip, and she sent their flight path to the space pirate platoon on standby. There were no survivors. Weavel knew everything, because he was the one that had led the platoon. He was happy to have done it. Leadership owed Mistress that much. Being that Mistress had owned a club before, and all her competition had been killed, it was only natural that they had made her the new manager.

"Oh, wait, what am I doing?" Mistress said, chuckling to herself. "I didn't mean to bring down the mood. You're here to talk business, right? I'll fetch us something."

Mistress flew over to the display case, facing the rows of bottles she had stored. She poked the glass with a finger, and a portion of the glass rose steadily. The glass was actually split into plates that could rise individually, allowing easy access to the objects behind them. Cold air flowed from the bottom of the display case. Mistress was constantly ascending and descending, fixated on finding a drink that would fit a space pirate's tastes.

"Honestly, anything would be better than the garbage your kind drinks," Mistress said.

"Ya got that right," Grexx responded, walking over to the display case. He picked up a red bottle titled 'Dragon's Blood' with draconic horns sprouting from the top. "Huh, how ominous."

Mistress landed in front of Grexx, carrying an emerald green bottle titled "Frenzied Plant". She took one look at his bottle and chuckled.

"Darling, that is a very acquired taste," Mistress said, offering her bottle. "Here, I think this is more your speed."

They traded bottles, and Grexx was quick to pop off the cap and take a swig. An intense sweetness caused his whole body to twitch, and any fatigue his mind had been experiencing dissipated. He was captivated by its addicting taste, finding himself gulping down the whole bottle. When the last drop graced his tongue, he was immediately disappointed.

"I was the same way when I first tried it," Mistress said. "Nowadays, I only take a sip of the stuff whenever I need a pick-me-up."

"I can see why," Grexx said. "I wouldn't mind drinking this everyday."

"Good luck. It's hard to make and expensive."

Mistress flew over to her seat, pulled out a wine glass from beneath her desk, and carefully filled her glass.

"So, what's this about?" Mistress said, taking a sip from her glass. "You're not trying to borrow money, are you? Debt is a terrible thing."

"I'm not interested in money," Weavel said. "We need some assistance against the Galactic Federation."

"The Galactic Federation!" Mistress spat out the name like it was poison. Her lips curled in disgust, and her glass started to crack beneath her tightening grip. "Oh, you mean the saviors of the fucking galaxy! What I wouldn't give to see them knocked down a peg. Bastards been getting on the Alliance's case about my mining operations in Varasla."

"Really? They should know that's overstepping."

"Oh please, they don't care about any of that. Everyone is just a competitor in their eyes, though they pretend otherwise. You've seen what void crystals can do. Sooner or later, every military organization will be digging deep into Varasla. But the Federation wants to monopolize void crystals, I know they do. Should've seen some of their latest interviews. They were going on and on about how dangerous void crystals were and how the Alliance was irresponsible with them."

"Sounds like them all right. Actually, now that I think about it, wasn't the Alliance building a void generator in the lightning area?"

"They were, and it was completed about three months ago."

Mistress inputted commands into her terminal. A holographic, blue image of the void generator was emitted from the terminal.

"And the Federation took issue with that."

"They don't have a problem with it anymore. It blew up."

"Faulty design?"

"No, it had nothing to do with the structure. Apparently, the energy in the crystal became destabilized, causing an explosion that created a void storm over half the area."

"Is that all you know?"

"Actually, it was Federation personnel that diagnosed the problem. Before the explosion, it was doing very well at supplying the platform with energy. Like the theories suggested, if it wasn't being drained by too many sources, it was capable of producing limitless energy. The Federation sent a research team to check out the generator, seeing if there were any flaws. They had their criticisms, but the Alliance didn't give a damn. A day after they left, it exploded. Funny how that happened."

"You suspect sabotage, don't you?"

"Of course, and so does the Alliance. But the void storm ate up most of the scene, so any evidence they might've left behind was long gone. And you already know the Federation played innocent."

"So where does that leave the Federation?" Grexx said from a distance, sitting on one of the sofas with another bottle in hand. "Can't imagine that'll stop the Alliance from making more of them."

"They're trying a more friendly approach to a monopoly," Mistress said, turning herself toward the window behind her. She cleared her throat and said with a raised voice, "Show me all current Federation council members!"

Dozens of profiles, each encased in a black bordered hexagon, started popping up in succession on the window's surface. Beneath each profile was a name and occupation.

"My sources tell me the Federation is looking to collaborate with them," Mistress said. "But they don't mean working together as individuals. They want to combine into a singular entity. One of the conditions was that half of the council seats would be given to Federation personnel. The problem is the Federation would no doubt find ways to gain more sway over decision making. And when their word becomes law, the Alliance will be nothing more than extra hands and resources."

"And the Alliance is ok with this?" Weavel asked.

"Not completely. The council sets the flight path for the Alliance, and right now, they're divided. The Federation is more advanced than them, and some members see a collaboration as an opportunity to gain an edge over foreign threats. Others see what I see. They fear if half of the council was replaced with Federation personnel as a sign of good faith, then decisions would eventually be made based on which side had the most seats."

For the Federation sympathizers, there was more to it than advancing their own technology. It would be a quick end to their typical quarrels over void resources. Weavel also suspected that a collaboration would be a great opportunity for the sympathizers to thrust some of their workload onto the Federation while maintaining their salaries. Not only that, but the Federation had the most experience dealing with an enemy that the Alliance struggled with, metalloids.

"I can't see the Federation playing fairly. It'll also be bad for you if they gain more power. They'll have greater authority over this universe, and your void crystals."

"It'll be even worse if they find out I worked for you. But, no worries. I have a plan, and it involves you."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I still haven't said all I needed to say."

"You're right, sorry." Mistress turned back around. "You needed assistance against the Federation, yes?"

"The Federation recovered faster than we anticipated. I fear it's only a matter of time before they start attacking our bases again. There's one world we can't afford to lose: Nexus. It's one of our underground shipyards, and the Federation may have found it. Our vessels are spread thin, so we can't build up its defenses, not without leaving another world practically defenseless. I was hoping you'd let us borrow half your fleet."

"You say borrow, but there's a good chance that'll be destroyed."

"You'd be compensated for any losses."

"I got a better idea. To start, tell me how they found the planet."

"I don't know how they found it. All I know is personnel detected a scouting party in their airspace. Thankfully, the Federation didn't see anything."

"So right now, you're just afraid they'll search the planet out of curiosity. In that case, hear me out. Dismiss your entire defense force. I'll have my fleet watch over the planet instead, but I'll need some of my people on the surface."

"Where are you going with this?"

"Nexus isn't a shipyard. The Alliance ordered a third party to investigate the planet in hopes of colonizing it. Worried that they would be attacked by a foreign menace, they decided to have a defense fleet on standby. If the Federation comes by, my people will explain themselves. If everything goes right, the Federation will screw off."

"And you think that'll work?"

"As I said, the Federation is trying a friendly route. They wouldn't want to step on the Alliance's toes by interrupting a colonizing mission. And in case they call the Alliance for confirmation, I'll have some of the council members prepared with a convincing lie."

"I'll have to run that through leadership, but there is sense to this plan."

"But, in exchange, I want something."

"Keep it reasonable. You know our situation."

"I want you to send me your best engineers and architects, a lot of them."

"Can I ask why?"

"Sure, but answer me this. Do you know about the Renaissance project?"

Weavel was one of the few pirates who cared about the project. He had overheard about its existence during one of his scouting missions. Professor Elven Gadd spearheaded the project with hopes of elevating Smash to greater heights. Bracelets infused with void crystals and other materials from the void were capable of drastically augmenting people to superhuman levels. They were also able to alter one's appearance to better represent a gunner, a knight, or a martial artist. Weavel had no need for it, but it was an interesting thing to learn about.

"I know enough," Weavel said.

"It's quite revolutionary, and it'll turn Smash into a money-making machine, "Mistress said. "I'm building a state-of-the-art stadium right here in Oasis specifically for Smash. Its construction was going smoothly, but we've hit a wall. One of the features is a battlefield that can morph itself into any terrain on the fly. Naturally, this requires void technology. Most of the stadium requires void tech, actually, but that's precisely the problem."

"Void technology is too new in this universe."

"Exactly. Even for the Alliance, the stadium is a monumental task. But you guys already have the technology I need. My contractors can handle the basics, but I need your expertise for everything else."

"Ok, let's say I agreed, what would our timeframe be?"

"Two months."

"Two months!"

"If my contractors don't have to worry about putting together void tech, they can double down on everything else. I'll put your advisors in charge of construction if it helps."

"Again, I'll need to ask leadership. You should have a decent shot at approval if your fleet secures Nexus."

"Good, and one other thing."

"What now?"

"Whatever you guys are doing, let me in on it."

"Excuse me?"

"People have been talking in the other worlds. You've been making dealings with some unsavory folk, and I want in. Consider it a collaboration."

"You do understand you'll be on the Federation's hit list if you do this, right?"

"Hon, I'm not passing up the chance to smack the Federation around. And besides, this ties in with my plan for the Alliance. I want to rebrand your kind. If I show people that you are willing to contribute to their society, people's opinion of you will shift for the better. I would much rather have the Alliance make deals with you then the Federation."

"I'll help out whenever I can, but know that your requests are secondary."

"I understand." Mistress extended her hand. "So, do we have a deal?"

"Sure, but I think it's time you told me your name," Weavel said, grabbing her hand.

Mistress smiled and said, "Name's Rouge. It's a pleasure to be partners again."