The Deathsuit

She smiled. Yes, I wish we could have finished as well. We're out of time. It must be Business now.

This "squad" was small, exactly two persons: a Human woman with her "main muscle" being a Stormer 711. They searched for an Ebon to help temporarily with an investigative BPN. It sounded like good opportunity to Adorn. The Xeno Stormers were the chameleon-skinned sneaks, not the brutes, so she could reason this two-Op team didn't charge into combat at the first threat or insult.

The woman spotted her and stood up as the Ebon completed the maze of heavy bodies. Her Human eyes were very dark, but also very warm. A lot like Roya's had once been.

I miss her. May she be happy wherever she is.

"Hello," said the woman with sun-yellow hair, offering her hand. "You must be Operative Adorn."

"I am." The Ebon smiled, accepting the Human handshake. "And you are Operative Fiske?"

"Yes. Cerise, if you like."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I love that color!"

The investigator chuckled. "Hm. Yes, so did my mother. Please, sit. Would you like a drink?"

Adorn couldn't formulate an answer as she became distracted by the Xeno sharing the table. The tall, lanky Stormer already peered interestedly at her with those enormous, six or seven compound eyes. A chill trickled down her spine, then she noticed the current color of his skin.

"Pop quiz!" the Xeno said, his grin of sharp teeth even wider than the chartreuse 'Waster. "Am I magenta or cerise? The Boss an' me always argue. You seem to know, loving color and all. You break the tie."

Adorn opened her mouth to speak.

"By the way, I looove the pearl accents in that lilac shade of your suit!"

"Uh?" The Ebon blinked. "Th-Thank you. Um."

Adorn glanced down, noting how the white curves had wound their way through her Deathsuit, accentuating her curves. If she didn't know better, she'd think it was flirting.

"I have racing stripes, too," the 711 said, motioning to present the accent marks at his flanks, shoulders, and elbows. "Beautiful sky blue. Not that we see the sky outside of a TeeVee set, so I'm sort of guessing the shade here, but still, with this many eyes I better be able know something about color and shades. I pretend they make me go faster when I run, though I could go red with some flame decals for turbo speed. Very handy when something big is on our tail. I could get a tail installed, but posteriors in motion like mine and the Boss's look far better without. In my humble opinion."

Operative Fiske was sitting with her chin in her palm, looking amused. She let the Xeno talk, who clicked claws against his bubbling drink glass as he did. Adorn wasn't sure how he sipped from it with his mouth, either the sharp-toothed muzzle or pausing the chatter long enough to take a breath.

"He's just nervous," Cerise said. "He thinks you're pretty."

"Ouch, way to ruin the mystique," the 711 protested. "I was totally building it up like a Chagrin with a reaper cannon on full auto. Sheesh."

The Operative snickered, her cheeks warming like her eyes.

"And how could I not?" the Stormer continued. "I mean, Ebons look like those creepy, perfect dolls that one BPN had filling his room. All sealed up in humidity-free storage chests to preserve his 'little angels' forever."

The Human poked his hot-pink arm with a sharp nail, quirking a brow. "But?"

"Buuut, I'd never do anything like that, Boss," the Stormer added. "Duh. ...Unless they were into that sort of thing. Then I'd totally have to look into it."

Operative Fiske grinned and shook her head, taking a drink of what appeared to be just water. Neither seemed inebriated or altered as far as the Ebon could sense, so Adorn was left to wonder about this behavior.

Strange pair.

"Where were we?" she tried, leaning to look at the Human.

"Magenta or cerise?" the Stormer said, puffing up the span of his chest and partly blocking her view.

"Magenta," the Ebon answered firmly, hoping this would help.

"Damnit! Alright, good eyes or good guess. Either way, color me impressed."

He shifted skin-tones then, rippling to lilac and pearlesque swirls much tighter than hers, moving his rump a bit closer on their booth's U-shaped bench. She leaned away a bit, and he leaned in harder, grinning like a DNA-Altered Feline.

"Seriously, though," the Xeno said, "what color says, 'impressed'?"

Speechless, Adorn touched her fingertips to her lavender lips, unconsciously squeezing her thighs together beneath the table, still a little aroused from her time in the public toilet. Her Deathsuit embraced her with all impressions of warmth and cuddling rather than social discomfort or threat.

Why am I reacting like this? I don't understand.

Adorn pulled her gaze away from the distracting chameleon and back to the Human Operative. She would wager Cerise hadn't blinked since sitting down, and it finally came to the Ebon that this was a test.

I... If I cannot accept his jokes, then she will not work with me. Adorn peered at those dark, focused eyes, allowing her senses to open. Strong loyalty. Perhaps love? Amazing.

Her suit approved as well. There was no danger here.

Adorn smiled warmly at this unique life created by the Company. "Raw sienna with ice-blue bursts would work for me."

The 711 banged the table and changed color with a hoot. "Done!"

****

The Wraith Raider peered through the scope of his rifle on the windy roof of the apartment complex. He had been perfectly still for over an hour, his breathing slow. Controlled. Watching for their prey.

Adorn offered both of them invisible shelter from the rain, awaiting the moment she might be needed for questioning while as far from the heat of danger as she could be. She observed the Wraith without distracting him, rarely having had this chance over the years.

There were even fewer active Operatives who were Wraith Raiders than there were Ebons, and their removed, calculating expressions were not easy to understand. All Wraith eyes being blood-red didn't help, since Adorn always expected tempers and emotional flares in one of her own race when she saw that, yet the aliens' lavender, velvety fur contrasted this assumption strongly. The Humans called the Wraith Raiders "chilly kitties" for a reason.

Yet he and I both stand out in a crowd, and there is one thing we have in common.

She studied the cooling suit on the young alien, the thin layer of protection between him and his new environment and a reliable technology that allowed their immigration in somewhat higher numbers. Without it, the alien likely would not complete his first chase after a perpetrator in Mort City. A Wraith's death by heatstroke in this cool, rainy place was not unheard of.

Adorn had worked to understand why SLA Industries wanted the primitive hunters of Polo among their ranks. More challenging was her understanding of why a single individual could remain alone for days or weeks tracking, stalking, hunting—even trapped or lost—and never deemed by the Company to need a psychological evaluation afterward.

Do you feel anything at all?

"Stand down, Reys, Adorn," came the voice of Jerrid Frank, their squad leader. "Target's confirmed not here."

Reys clicked his canines in mild irritation. "Understood, Squad Leader."

At last, he blinked his red eyes inside his helmet. Adorn took the opportunity.

"Do you like your suit?" she asked.

The alien quirked his head at her. "Like?"

"Does it perform well for you?"

Reys considered, nodded. "It is useful. Low maintenance. Reliable."

Adorn smiled. "So, you bond well with it."

"I don't understand the question."

The Ebon sighed, dropping it. "Hm. How long have you been on Mort?"

"Fourteen months. Nine in Meny."

"Wow, really?" she laughed. "I needed fourteen months alone to get through Meny! You must be smart to graduate that fast."

"If we don't learn quickly, we die as cubs," Reys said without a drop of the dramatic in his voice. He seemed to believe it a matter of absolute fact.

"Ah. And how old are you?"

"Eleven."

Adorn felt her voice catch at first. "Um, eleven...years?"

"Calculated to adjust for the standard SLA Industries calendar, yes."

"You're only eleven?" she repeated, her mind still not past that part.

He was taller than her. Much taller. Much stronger, and very fit; he could be a model for the athletics department with Ill-Logic Clothing, Inc.

Reys smiled—actually smiled—like he had heard this before. "Wraith Raiders mature by nine. As I said, if we do not learn quickly, we die and are eaten. How many years have you survived, Ebon?"

Adorn's face became very warm. "I'm...twenty-six."

Reys nodded. "If I am alive by then, I will be retired. I will have grey fur and may not be able to hunt."

The Ebon swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" The Wraith Raider looked out over the City. "Humans are slow learners, and there are many of them. It is easy to get what we need."

Adorn felt silent until another call came to move to a different rooftop to wait again. She moved with the Wraith Raider, tried to keep up with him.

She reflected that if she lived that short, her needs would be that simple, too.

But they aren't. I need something more to make it all worthwhile.

****

Adorn gasped, her palms frozen in place upon the counter as he stepped closer.

So close.

He lined up their Deathsuits. Slowly bent her over. Gentle, yet so primal.

She had never done anything like this before.

Seven years as an active Operative in good standing. Ninety-three BPN contracts completed, only eight considered "underperforming." Mostly a freelance specialist, other squads and teams called on her, hired her when they needed the Ebon's help. Her clearance level reflected the trust the Company had in her and her Deathsuit to act on its behalf.

She was a success, and with each promotion or bonus, somehow that clip from when she'd been a fresh graduate, just after the long-dead Frother had tossed himself out of her flat, returned. Discovered and played by someone.

My Deathsuit saved my life.

Usually when she refused to remove it for sex.

"Sage," she moaned. You understand...

I do, he answered.

The man of her own race touched warm lips to the back of her neck, covering her armored body, resting his chest against her back, his groin snugged up close to her backside, like so many mating things. Where she was a delicate flower, he was the colors of the greenhouse which grew them: soft earth and tender leaf green.

Adorn pushed her backside out against him, inviting because her suit approved. They barely needed to move while there was contact, as much contact as possible in a crowded, solitary world. The two Ebons could barely tolerate a slow grind, so intense were the sensations once their Deathsuits opened up, daring to be vulnerable in place of their wearers. Nudity by proxy.

"We won't hurt you," Sage promised.

Yes. She believed him. Finally.

Just the four of us.

With tantric patience they bonded. The act held a subtle intimacy which would disappoint any voyeur, for what was most important was not seen, but felt. Pregnancy was impossible, as was the transference of disease, yet Adorn felt penetrated, explored, connected. Even bound, restrained. She could not separate until three others agreed, and the warmth with which they all touched her made her not even want to try.

There was no orgasm. Just a long, consummate state of ecstasy, enlightened beyond flaw within this bubble of light within her soul.

She knew, at last, who protected her.

Aegis.

Her Deathsuit was there for her, always would be. Aegis was there even when Sage would one day soon be caught in a Dark Night bombing near a S.H.I.V.E.R. checkpoint.

****

"Look, Ebon, we're not paying you like a team," Operative Brandon Kramdon groused. "So, don't tell me your Deathsuit's name, eh?"

"Wh—?" Adorn began, trying not to feel insulted. "It is just an introduction, Operative Kramdon. It is only polite."

"Yeah, well, 'Aegis' isn't on your profile, so it sounds like a kiddy telling me what she calls her fluffy bear." He smirked with derision. "Now, can you interrogate our detainee, or not?"

Adorn frowned. "I do not 'interrogate.' I gather insight as I guide healing. This also helps him piece together what happened."

"Great! Then he can take a few more kicks to the head if he doesn't cooperate."

Her lavender eyes shifted reddish. "There are more effective methods, Operative Kramdon."

The Human snorted. "But none that feel better than popping a Soft Company addict that deserves it. He's never gonna change, anyway."

"I disagree. It is possible for everyone to change."

"Whatever. Just do your wiggy-woo thing, Stardust. Don't have all bloody day."

****

Adorn slept deeply in her private apartment, lying atop her blankets, her Deathsuit on full display with the walls as their only witness.

Apologies and regret, Aegis had empathized a few months ago. This shell distracts the quiet center. Perhaps this shell now hides beneath the skin. Unseen in public.

Adorn had smirked. "That would cause even more comment. How would they recognize me without the pearl accents?"

She had been convinced, however. The jests and remarks from the other races about how she must never bathe were getting old. Just because no one had ever seen her without her Deathsuit and thought that was unusual.

They don't understand.

Many hard, life's lessons in her climb within the Company had suggested that she could never force them to understand. There was a wall, or a cliffside, too vertical for some to ascend, and there were a lot more of them than there were of her.

They are where they are. They are what they are.

The public transition had taken over a year, and Adorn's dedication had wavered in many instances where she wanted Aegis out and obvious in her defense. But slowly, after she had learned the difficult skill to interdermalize Aegis. She drew her armor into herself and wore regular clothes on the outside. New eyes could see a mature Adorn as she had been as an inexperienced girl, yet they didn't know the incredible change which had taken place.

Meanwhile, her Deathsuit was still there. Always.

Once, a drug-hopped Frother—another one—had been insulted when she rebuffed his advances. He had taken a pipe and smashed it against her spine when she turned her back on him to speak with his superior. The pipe had bent, and Adorn spun around, unharmed, clasping hold of the man's jaw. Looking into his wild, pained eyes.

Reflect on your choices, she Commanded. Know that we shall not bend, but you shall, with all your weak weapons failing you.

The Frother had begun crying, wailing in horror, and would not stop as his squadmates had dragged him away. One of the Human women rounded on her.

"What the fuck did you do to him, freak?!"

Adorn frowned a mild warning at the younger Operative, the Ebon's Security Clearance Level badged to her chest, speaking for her while Aegis hummed with Flux. All these young, stupid ones backed away.

"Look, uh, Ebon." The squad leader tried to smooth things over. "Sorry about that. You're not going to report him, are you?"

"I must," she replied, her expression like a placid doll.

"Ah. Hm. Well...he was just playing. He knew you were tough. He didn't mean it."

Adorn lifted her comm to her mouth. "Station Analysis. I must report this BPN incomplete. Dispatch me to the next and schedule me for debriefing."

"You can't do that!" one screeched. "You know what's going to happen to us?"

"Be loyal," was all she said, going elsewhere, later to weep in private for their ignorance.

These days, the Ebon was glad no one saw Aegis anymore. She enjoyed running her hands over their bodies as she lay upon her bed, visibility and honesty in one. No one since Sage had ever been as close as this.

The more she learned, the higher her Formulae and her security clearance in SLA Industries, the stranger it all seemed.

The more removed she stood. Watching.

Like walking in a recurring dream.

She always began in the dark alleyways of the City, where the bricks stained with mildew and moss receded their texture, changing to a frictionless, grey wall. The sound of the rain usually stopped, as if she was deep inside a complex.

The grey pathways always began spotless and well-maintained, yet with each dream where she walked farther into the maze than she had before, she counted more and more Deathsuits lining the path, appearing like beggars in Downtown. Headless, skinless, blood spattering the wall behind them, they reach out to anyone who made it this far, for any small thing which could be spared to sustain them for one more day of suffering.

Adorn had nothing to spare and she kept to the middle of the path. She once reached a point where the walls had begun to whisper, suggesting themselves to be illusionary. The Ebon knew in her dream-logic only that she wasn't yet ready to witness what lay on the other side.

With Aegis protecting her, she could stand here without the true courage or knowledge to walk through or climb above. Contemplating the boundaries of her potential.

Then she would wake up and check her Oyster for the next BPN. She would groom, eat, gear up, and head out. Sometimes, from the corner of her eye as she left her building, she would spot someone watching her on the street.

Whenever she turned to face him, he was gone.

****

"I am glad you returned," Jade whispered, gently pushing her backward upon the bone-laced bench inside Macabre. "I wondered. I waited. I'm always safe, here with my master."

She welcomed his words, needed to hear them. Jade was insightful and knew this. That was why he always said them, always part of his greeting.

Adorn relented in her token resistance and lay down, drawing in air already laden with the ecstasy of other revelers. Jade was a Necanthrope's Vassal and, thus, could never be hers. The Ebon man joyfully belonged to another; he was a servant to the immortal among their kind. Ebb-users at their pinnacle, lifted up, the enlightened and the mad in one, so favored as to be above the streets in all matters.

Adorn did not want to claim Jade away from his Master. Tonight, she only wanted to feel his Deathsuit's hands upon hers.

The Ebon woman gazed up at the ceiling, comforted to trace the vaulted, organic lines of decorative architecture. She knew many of those immortal eyes might be watching from above. Any day in this special place, exclusive even within Mort Central where exclusivity defined every day and night, it could even be the Preceptor Teeth, the first Necanthrope and Head of Ebon Affairs, watching her in Macabre.

Yet even with her lofty SCL, Adorn assumed that most Necanthropes would not be interested in watching her get fucked.

One might be, though.

Jade's Master, who kept him safe, who may never share his name with the likes of her.

Aegis had shifted to the warm rose shade of lavender, the curves of pearl suggestive, welcoming. Jade's Deathsuit, Tidepool, answered with teal emerald touched with jagged, golden lines. The Ebon man crawled up, covered her and rested his weight upon her; their Deathsuits thrilled to recognize the Flux of the other. The innumerable, fibrous creases latched onto each other like tiny mouths, and Adorn moaned, opened her legs to the Vassal. The friction of the effort burdened her with sensations so abrupt and intense, she cried out, wrapping arms and legs around her companion granted for the evening.

Other Ebons and Brain Wasters around her were several hours deep into their own mutual states of bliss. Quavering sounds, threads of voice carrying a scent sharp and tangy, suggesting they walked the border of terror or agony. She might get there, eventually, or she might not. For now, she wanted bonding, no matter how brief. She wanted joy, and to pretend it would last.