See I was thinking the same thing but with vomiting instead of just farting. Like it causes a huge issue because it became unsealed and leaked acid everywhere. He then has to show them how to clean it up.

Have you ever been a trainer in a rock gym, by chance?

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I liked the prompt, but didn't feel all too inspired myself. Goes to show you never know what the end result will be like.

Oh man, I was so worried he was going to throw up when they shook him, and validate their fears that he could "spit acid" lol

Fantastic story!

I hate to say this but light-year is a distance, not a unit of time.

This is some of the best writing I’ve seen on this sub!! Phenomenal!

"I believe we have gotten off on the wrong foot. Hello, my name is Burt. I'm the first human you've ever met, correct?" He refrained from sticking his hand out and instead opted for the customary Dudraali greeting of snorting three times.

The Dudraali eyed him warily. "And I'm Blaya. I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, but you have yet to explain yourself. Please refrain from changing the subject."

"Apologies," Burt replied. "I wanted to make the point that our two species have never met before. I know very little about Dudraali biology, and, it appears that you are unaware of human digestive systems."

Blaya nodded her eyestalk, acknowledging his point. "This is true. We were given a primer on human biology when we were notified of your arrival, but we simply haven't had time to go over the manual. There is never a slow moment in Border Control."

"Well, then, if you would like me to, I would love to explain," Burt continued.

"By all means."

"In order for us to obtain energy, we need to break to consume substances that are then broken down into smaller parts," Burt explained. "Once they have been broken down, we can then reassemble them into usable functional units."

This was a vast oversimplification of some quite complicated processes, but it would do. Watching Blaya closely, Burt could see that she was following along.

"Our stomachs, located in our midriffs, are responsible for breaking down whatever we consume. As such, they need to be highly corrosive to degrade all sorts of organic matter. This would explain the presence of the acidic pouch that is showing up on the scanner. The acid never leaves that pouch, else it would be damaging to us as well." Burt decided that heartburn could be a topic for another day. He didn't want to complicate things further.

"That sounds...dangerous," Blaya replied. "But this snafu is also partly on us. I will cross-check with the manual we were given, and if this all lines up, you will be free to go."

Burt nodded graciously. For all his calm demeanor, his nerves screamed at him to hurry up. He surreptitiously glanced at his watch as Blaya ambled back to one of the cubes in the Border Control office. It was 13:56 Universal Time...

After a minor eternity, Blaya came back out. "You're all clear," she said. Turning to the other Dudraali, she nodded her eyestalk in affirmation. "You can let the other human go. And make sure the rest of the officers are briefed on this!"

13:58 Universal Time. Burt wasn't sure how long it would take for him to sprint from Border Control to Scrog Boghimmer's office, but he hoped his lungs were up to the challenge.

this is astonishingly good

Axiom, second colony.

March the twelfth, Time of Earth.

​

Dear doctor,

It is a delicate letter I write. We had our disagreements. Yet today, I cannot stop myself from asking for genuine pardon, and wish for nothing more than to call you a friend. Strange how a single day in the vast universe can change a perspective.

Do you remember who we were before humanity met another life in this galaxy? The memories to me are like an old series of movies that haven't aged well and fell to irrelevancy.

First contact was a more delicate matter than books had us believe. In our stories, the aliens have always understandable features, bodies we can imagine, traits we can logically put together to built a being feeding our imagination. It had to, writers were human. Lovecraft understood before all of us that the only proper way to describe an inscrutable, terrifying being, is to not describe it at all but rave at length about the broken minds of those who tried.

And then came reality. With aliens inscrutable and impossible to describe, yet leaving our feeble brains whole and unbroken. As with any event whose recounting is dependent on perspective, we were just as strange to them as they were for us.

For one, our scientists burned down years of research about the definition of life. By all means, these beings were not alive. They appeared carved out of black carbon, their varied bodies closer to an art exhibition than any practical tool. There was no wiring in these bodies, no flesh, no bark or organic matter.

In short, there was no conceivable ways for us to understand how they could be capable of thoughts and feelings. Yet they did. You argued they should not be considered as living beings, I felt you were a fool holding on to outdated research.

Through hard work on both sides, we translated sounds and scents, worked out gestures with no prior experience to base ourselves on. Months and years only to exchange the simplest of greetings. But ultimately, we did open communications.

Which was the start of a long and arduous process: mutual comprehension.

As I write this letter, that process is still going on, perhaps it will always go on. I hope not.

I was arrested shortly after my last travel. No crime had been uncovered, it is a tale of individuals trying to understand fellow individuals. Motes of dust trying to make sense of the universe.

"Yes," I told them, "my belly is a part of me." The devices, smooth white rocks clinging to their obsidian frames, painfully translated as best as they could.

The smell, acrid, coppery. My own device heated up to put together the finer points of a whiff my own nose will never be keen enough to translate on its own.

"But why?" they asked.

"Evolution," that word is understood fast. Half of our communications have this word as a conclusion. This should have been the end of it too.

They were scared, every time they scanned a human body and saw the fleshy mess of gas and acid that was our digestive tract, they feared for themselves. A thin sheet of frail skin was all that stood between them and a spill of toxic sludge that would corrode them beyond recognition and put them in the universally accepted state of death.

Irony would have it that these beings were hardly comestible and would likely poison us humans to death before we took a second bite.

My device whirred some more.

"Yours is different," they said. No question there, a simple observation. I like to think that it is my very earthly experience with fellow humans that made me notice the slight hint of... I shall say prudence.

"You noticed well," I replied. And they awaited some explanations.

But how could I explain it? I never liked your cynical ways my friend - can I call you friend? - but even I have to recognize that should it ever come to a scuffle, fighting beings that immune to bullets and, according to preliminary research, required a nuclear payload to - maybe - take one out, didn't spell great chances for us in case of conflict. They didn't have guns. They had inertia, and dense material. An unrelenting force, and we are no immovable object.

It is with a shake of my head that I underwent the operation. Your operation, and invention. I believe I did it only to preserve myself, should the worse come to pass. But who am I kidding? Going under the knife was already an admittance of my shaking faith, of the terrible black spot in my brain. The more I thought of them, the more I saw them as an anomaly, plain and simple. They shouldn't be. They disprove everything our science has worked for, and they do not allow us to prove anything afterwards by their mere existence. You weren't holding on to outdated data. No. You showed us the only way forward.

So I told them. I told them the fluids in my belly were meant to digest them. I told them my teeth were meant to pierce the hard rock of their body. Against aliens resistant to conventional warfare, our best bet was even more conventional warfare. Teeth and nails, who would have thought. Lovecraft didn't see that coming.

They called me mad.

I called them an anomaly.

They called me the anomaly.

I told them they scared me. Not them as individuals with thoughts, but their very existence. It called mine into question, it cast a shade over every belief I have or had, and grinds them down to meaninglessness.

And they suffered the same.

I suppose from afar, it appeared like the ravings of mad beings. Mad is the word.

This was the first galactic conflict between us and them. Me, and two of them.

And as such, it is with a true delight that I inform you that your modifications were a success. The taste is somewhat to be worked on, but I have torn and bitten and devoured them without any signs of illness of my part.

You remember me deriding your idea of a maw in the void? You presented it as a hypothesis for the far future, like the best mad scientist would. Like everyone, I mocked that Dyson sphere of teeth and stomachs and hunger as the ramblings of a man beyond saving.

I'm not so certain now. I can see how we could build such a wonder, while the aliens I just ate are still inscrutable to me. And just like you, I came to despise beings whose existence is anathema to what we comprehend of the universe.

Maybe they think the same of us. Perhaps they are afflicted by the same creeping realization that the universe will never care about our logic, our mathematics, our attempts to make sense out of it, unless we force it to. Tear the chaos apart and note down the shreds for further examination and burn the parts we can make no use of.

It's only a matter of time until this species or another decides that we are a bump in their logic that needs to be polished.

I want to see the maw in the void started and completed. I want to sail across its sea of digestive fluid, I will walk over a tooth the side of a country, raise my hands to the stars above, and know that if one of these stars doesn't follow our rule, it will be devoured.

I my dreams, I see a galaxy turning dark as the specks of light are swallowed by a god of our own creation. I see the atoms and dust composing the strange beings we meet, and for my small eyes, they are as shiny and in need of extinctions as the stars above.

We are all made of stars.

From the lowliest being to the greatest galaxy.

Lovecraft feared those who could extinguish us in a blink. Let us pay our respect to this visionary man and become this fearsome being. And as we sail through the great beyond, gorging and feasting, we shall put his fears to rest.

​

- Fondest regards,

Your old rival and new friend.

Wriggling out of his suit, Burt's ears burned with embarrassment. There he stood, bare-chested in the middle of the Border Control central.

"Kay!" Another Dudraali ran over. "We apprehended another one of the human 'diplomats'. They've got a large pouch of highly corrosive substance, and they say that it can't be removed. I suggest we close our borders to the Human population for the time being. I do not know if their whole planet is in on it, but it appears that we have foiled an assassination plot."

Burt sighed again, the fifth time in as many minutes. His diaphragm was really getting quite the workout. The two Dudraali must be talking about Reynolds.

Unfortunately, as part of the security measures, all cell service was disabled in the Cadus X9O Border Control facility. Burt and Reynolds had split up into different lines, so that if one of them finished early, they could nip off to Scrog and let him know that they were going to be late.

The first Dudraali straightened, its single eye trained on Burt. It was hard to stare down a Dudraali, Burt reflected. You had to go cross-eyed a little bit for it to work.

"So? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Although this was his first diplomatic mission that had taken place outside of planet Earth, Burt had been selected for this mission for a reason. He considered his next few words very carefully.

Burt Divento sighed. Peering over at the Border Control agents, he wondered how much longer this was going to take. This was supposed to have been one of the most important diplomatic missions of his life, and he was going to be late.

"Look," he said, tapping his watch impatiently. "It's 13:43 Universal Time, and I'm supposed to meet with Scrog Boghimmer in less than twenty minutes. Shouldn't I have diplomatic immunity from all this?"

"I'm sorry, sir," one of the Dudraali replied, though Burt privately thought that she didn't sound sorry at all, not one whit. "It's routine protocol. We need to make sure you aren't bringing dangerous substances into Serenity 2.0. Normally, this wouldn't take more than five minutes, but something showed up on the body-scan."

Burt patted his pockets absentmindedly. Had he forgotten to take his keys out? Or perhaps, it was one of the screws that had been installed during his latest knee replacement? Damn security measures.

"All right," the Dudraali walked back around the scanner to where Burt was standing. Burt sensed a slight shift in her tone. Before, she'd sounded bored. Now, she sounded much more alert, and there was an edge of wariness in her tone. That couldn't be good.

"What's in your midriff area?"

"What do you mean, my midriff area?" Burt patted his gut. "The beginnings of a beer belly, I guess?" He laughed weakly at his own joke. "I'm not sure what you mean. I can take off my jacket and shirt, if you'd like, but I'm sure nobody would want to see that."

The Dudraali did not laugh. "Please do."

----

/r/theBasiliskWrites

I think a follow-up where he "unseals" his container by farting could be amazing...

The crackling Universal Translating Device (UTD) barked, "Freeze the movement off all appendages immediately!"

"Ughhh," I groaned in a murky mixture of exhaustion and irritation, before raising my hands up and turning around. The 'officer' behind me stared with a vague look of terror.

"What...? I passed all the previous... security checks from Io to... Cherkovin-16!" I slurred. Lightyears worth of interstellar jetlag started to weigh heavy upon me, and I was not in any mood to deal with any kafkaesque bureaucratic nonsense.

"I repeat: Do not move!" The alien officer crackled through his UTD. From behind, a heavy set of cuffs locked around my arms, sitting painfully on my wrists.

"What the...?!"

"You are under arrest for unauthorised transportation of dangerous materials, namely the transport of weak hydrochloric acid. You have the right to remain silent, and any-"

"No, no no, wait!" I stammered out. There had to be a misconception here. "Officers, please... I don't have any 'dangerous' materials, you can... check my luggage and... everything!"

As I was straining against the metallic cuffs, one of the officers slowly toddled over towards me.

"Explain this then." Prodding my stomach with a slimy (eww) tentacle, his singular eye continued to glare at me.

"Oh." Everything suddenly clicked.

Raising my head, I sighed, "That's what we humans call a 'stomach'. We use that to eat."

"You mean to tell me..."

"GROWL---" Oh no.

The security officers suddenly scrambled away from me, cowering behind the security barriers they had initially appeared from.

"Wait! Let me explain!" I shouted, suddenly realising the sobering effect of the onosecond. One eye appeared over the thick metal barricade.

"We use weak hydrochloric acids to digest food! And that was just because I was hungry, its not a bomb I swear!" I mentally slapped myself for that one. Did I really have to clarify that last part?!

"I know it sounds improbable to you, but its true! Its human anatomy!" I hopelessly yelled out. Footsteps began to echo menacingly from behind me.

Spinning around, in the hope of some form of salvation, the last thing I remembered was a thick metal baton coming down onto my head, hard. As my drool stained the fine velvet carpet, I heard the faint footsteps drift away and towards, before closing my eyes.

“You expect me to believe that your tummy tum is carrying enough acid to burn through metal? You must have a stomach of iron, little human.” Gral laughed, nudging her coworker who didn’t seem as amused. In fact, her coworker’s four eyed face was whimpering, the machine confirming the human’s horrifying internal acids. “Heh, Hulax, what’s wrong? Don’t tell me you believe that little story.”

Doug sighed, the morning coffee not having kicked in yet. Even with a boost of Oxi-8 in his coffee, he just couldn’t shake that warp jump lag. He was glad this was one of the eight regions where Oxi-8 was legal or else he might have more issues than just having to explain what a stomach was.

“Have you not met a human? Wait, you know what a human is right? You used the phrase, tummy tum. That sounds humanish.”

Gral snickered, looking away from the monitor that was flashing red, showing a security alert for an illegal substance, one that could be deadly if it got near the electronics of the warp gate. She stared Doug up and down, finding her first human rather interesting. Sure, she had seen a few photos and even watched a five-minute documentary on his kind in her training course, but seeing one up close was a little odd. While she was on the clock, she couldn’t help but ask some burning human related questions.

“Where’s all that hair you lot have? Are you a sick human?”

“Hair? I have hair?” Dough tapped his head and chest, as though he was playing a strange impromptu game of head, shoulders, knees and chest hair.

“Yeah, but like the rest of it. Also, don’t you have big ears and swing from trees?”

“Are you confusing me with a chimpanzee?”

“What’s that?”

Dough wondered if the money from this delivery was even worth it at this point. Maybe he should just accept defeat and find a station that’s run by a more sophisticated set of aliens. He looked to Hulax for some sort of common sense, but he was fixated on the monitor, taking only the odd glance at Doug’s stomach before looking back at the machine.

“I think you might have gotten your information about humans a little mixed up. It’s a common mistake, happens way too often. So, how about I just try to explain a stomach to you?”

“Ok, fine. If you swing from the ceiling.” Gral said, still not noticing the difference between the documentary about chimps she had accidentally seen and the human standing before her.

“Again, not a chimp. Ok, so, humans have stomach acid to dissolve food. It’s kind of like our way of being able to digest food. Surely you have something similar?”

“We only drink meals. Food clogs up our bodies.” Hulax said, shivering as he backed away from the monitor, standing behind Gral. Worried the human’s stomach might burst and spray acid everywhere.

“Shit, this might be hard to explain, then. Um, so, you know how eating works then, correct?”

“I do…”

“Ok, so, we eat stuff, and the acid dissolves it and bang, it vanishes.”

“Where’s it go?”

“Where do you think?”

“Oh, I know. They fling it at each other. There was this human in a cage-” Gral tried to explain her facts to Hulax, only for Doug to interject.

“NOT….A….CHIMP….”

“Let’s say I believe you. How are you not melting? That can burn through metal. How are you alive?” Hulax asked. It was a good question and unfortunately one Doug was nowhere near qualified to answer. It’s not like highly educated individuals did dangerous drop offs to planets with low council ratings.

“Something to do with stomach lining. I don’t know, I didn’t build humans. If I did, I would have gotten rid of hangovers.”

“Jump up and down. I want to see if you go boom!” Gral clapped, her three hands joining in a loud clenched smack.

“What, like a soft drink? Ugh, fine, wish I had breakfast first.” He hopped on the spot, being reminded of his lack of fitness as he huffed, struggling to complete the little inspection routine. The coffee wasn’t helping, shifting like a dark wave in his body, threatening to make him sick.

“Heh, the tummy tum didn’t go boom. Maybe he’s telling the truth.” Gral conceded. She didn’t appear that interested in whether it was illegal for him to enter, just satisfied that something fun had happened today.

“I don’t know. It’s an illegal substance. Won’t we get in trouble for letting him in? What if he spits acid? Or dissolves? I don’t want to clean that up.”

“He has tummy lining or whatever he said. I can shake him if that would help?” Gral offered, the eight-foot alien grinning at the prospect, only for Hulax to shake his head.

“No, I doubt that would solve anything. How about you show us your stomach and we can let you through?”

“How?”

Hulax lifted the bottom of his shirt, showing off a squared abdomen. It was odd. Doug could see a faint lining along the edges of his abdomen, like the linings you might see on a closed fridge door, indicating it could open. His nails twisted into the side of his abdomen before he opened it.

“Just like that.”

That morning, coffee was feeling far less stable after that. Doug having to use all his professionalism to avoid making this situation worse. He tilted his gaze away, focusing on a security camera in the room’s corner.

“Humans can’t do that. Our bodies are meant to stay shut. Please, can you close it?”

Hulax did as Doug asked, closing it before tucking his shirt back into his pants. He thought over what Doug had said, before speaking.

“So, your body is technically sealed? Ok, I think I understand. You will have to fill in form 904A Section D. That form is a declaration of secured materials. It lets everyone on the station know you’re carrying dangerous substances in a sealed container. Just don’t unseal your stomach.”

“I’ll be dead if I do that, but sure. Whatever ends this nightmare.” For a person who thought he had seen it all, this was a fresh experience. That was the miracle of space travel. No matter how much one had seen, there was always a stranger thing waiting in the corner of the galaxy.

Hulax got the paperwork, returning with the document. He put on a glove before handing it over, still not trusting the human. Doug took the form and filled it in, scribbling in his messiest handwriting. With the form done, he handed it over to Gral.

“Here. Now can I please go in?”

“Sure. See you around, Tummy man.” Gral said, smacking him across the back. The smack caused Doug to stumble, nearly hitting the floor. He regained his balance and looked up to see a shaking Hulax. Hulax acting as if Gral had just cut the red wire on a ticking time bomb.

“I hope I don’t see you around.” Doug grumbled, cracking his back before he walked into the station, hoping the delivery went a little smoother than his previous interaction.

     

(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)

This is perfect

Officer: What do you mean you can't remove it?

Human: Don't you people have lessons on human ana--? Ugh! It's a part of me, okay!

Officer: Even still, we can't let you into the warp gate with that container without allowing us examine its contents.

Human: Here? Really, I'm going to miss my portal!

Officer: Yes

Human: You'll have to cut me open, in that case!

Officer: Is that a threat, human?

Human: No! I mean, my stomach is literally part of my biology. I was born with it. It's filled with acid because it turns our food into energy!

Officer: Humans are not a first-order species. You do not have the capability to turn matter into energy.

Human: Grr, that's not what I meant! The food enters the stomach and melts it down, then we use that as fuel. Please tell me you know what an engine is?

Officer: What does a machine have to do with this?

Human: Gahds flippin' fuckin'!!! The stomach is our engine! It's a biological engine and we will die if you remove it from our body!

Officer: We still can't let you through the warp gate with such acid hiding in your body, I'm afraid we'll have to confiscate it.

Human: Arrrghh!! Did you not hear anything I just said?!

Officer: Calm down, we will resolve this in an orderly manner. Our technician will be here shortly to examine you to determine the best course of action.

Human: You fucking--!!! Mmmmmm!!!! Haaaaaaa....

Technician: I'm here, what did you want to-- you're a moron, Officer.

Officer: Our scanner reported that this human was hiding a dangerous substance within his body, being found carrying it is a violation of intergalactic law.

Technician: Humans are exempt from this law, you idiot. They're a third-order species that still relies on biological functions for survival. This is Galactic Species Biology 101, everyone knows it.

Officer: So are you going to remove the substance from him or not?

Technician: Good job changing the subject. No. Here, human, some medicine to dilute your stomach acid. I'm surprised you didn't take any before going into the gate, it's a requirement for your species to be allowed in here.

Human: Sorry, I was so tired that I forgot.

Technician: Well, don't forget next time. Oh, and your warp gate's closed.

Human: WHAT?! FUCK!

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

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Lying for Truth

My first day on the job was finally drawing to a close. With relief I snapped the laptop closed, eager to answer the call of my personal laptop beckoning me home so my real work could begin.

The only truthful skill in my bogus resume was my talent for multi-tasking. Not that my new boss had done anything more than give it a cursory glance, his small piggy eyes had been too busy feasting upon my cleavage. The job had been mine from the moment I had left an extra button undone on my blouse. Brains need not apply.

Every office at Magenta Party HQ was adorned with the campaign slogan, “Fighting for Fairness!”. I felt my face twist with derision, not so fair for Sarah Perkins it seemed, whose chair I now occupied. I squeezed my throbbing feet back into the unaccustomed confines of high heels, time to parade my way out with their stimulating click-clacking.

“You can’t leave now!”, exclaimed John Harris, his florid face suddenly peering around the door, his piggy eyes running all over my body like slime, apparently still unable to find my eyes. “It’s office tradition to treat the new girl to after-work drinks on her first day. I’m not taking no for an answer.” Damn, he worked fast!

“Oh, I’d love to Mr. Harris!”, I breathed, all wide-eyed innocence. “Give me just a minute to freshen up my make-up and I’ll meet you there.”

“Ok love, me and the boys will have a drink waiting for you. The bar across the road.” His modus operandi hadn’t changed. Sarah hadn’t stood a chance as she had been wilfully led into unconsciousness and into the dark void where non-consent wasn’t possible.

With his sweaty presence gone, I carefully lined my oversized handbag with a heavy-duty plastic bag to pour all the drinks I was not about to drink as I distracted them with the wonders of a further button undone on my blouse.

Next, I carefully fixed the tiny microphone behind the campaign button I pinned to the bag, ready to catch the seasoned player in his nasty game as I feigned leg-opening inebriation. He’d be sure to boast to the boys about his next conquest every time I stumbled to the restroom. I’d been rehearsing for this moment fastidiously since first interviewing Sarah, and felt strangely calm, dangerous, and ready.

I reapplied my lipstick of fire-engine red, although he wouldn’t see the warning. I planned to stamp out those life-shattering flames forever. Battle-paint ready, I marched off to war. If I played this right, I would have this wrapped up by midnight and the story on my editor’s desk by morning.

Passing under yet another poster screaming “Fighting for Fairness!”, I raised my fist into the air and exclaimed, “Oh yes I am. This is for you Sarah!”. I headed out into the twilight of the groaning city and towards John Harris, whose career was about to be cast into perpetual darkness.

(WC: 499)

This is my favorite thing on reddit to date.

(Part 2)

The Human burst in the apartment. Toast couldn’t help herself, and fell into the routine of frantic joy, barley stopping herself from bowling him over.

The Human fell right in line. “Oh, hi Toast! I’m ho-ome! Did you miss me? Did you miss me girl?”

Mittens rolled his eyes. The Human—Darren—was doing that absolutely pathetic thing where he changed his voice to muddle the syllables and vowels to make it sound like he was talking to an infant.

To his credit, nothing much had changed in his routine. He was giving Toast the absolute requisite amount of belly rubs and head kisses and ear scrunchies. So Mittens hopped down and cautiously wound his way through the legs.

Darren responded immediately—correctly.

“Aw, hey buddy. I missed you, too, Mittens.” Chinny scritches. Oh, yeah, that was it.

But then he stopped, and walked over to the counter with the axoltol. But he…beckoned to them, as well.

“Ok, guys. This is Enrique, he’s an axolotl. And he’s going to be living with us, now.”

Well, that certainly sounded inclusive to Mittens. But it wasn’t exhaustive of assurances.

Toast slumped again. Mittens let his tail flick and his ears twitch.

Darren paused. He looked confused. “Buddies, did you—did you think I was replacing you?”

Toast thumped down, letting out a small whine. Mittens stood up and walked away.

“Oh, babies!” Darren continued. “I could never replace you! You’re my buddies!”

He knelt down next to Toast, giving her more head scratches. Her tail begin to reluctantly wag.

Mittens didn’t believe for a minute this human knew what he wanted. But when Darren reached out to give him head pats, he resigned himself to accepting that the Human would at least let them stay for the foreseeable future. And maybe he could live with that. Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

Darren stood up, and took down the food containers. Mittens had been so preoccupied, he’d forgotten it was dinner. And if the Human remembered without being reminded every minute, maybe it really would be alright.

Darren paused as he encountered the open book. Then he made a joke. “Looks like someone was doing a little research on their new brother.” He grinned and rolled his eyes. Enrique put a hand on the glass.

Darren placed the dishes of food before them and continued about his own routine, muttering under his breath. “Ha! Reading. Must’ve left it open by accident.”

He would never know.

And that was incredible, really: to spend so much time with someone and never really know what they were thinking. But for now, all that Mittens could consider was dinner.

“…What is it?”

Mittens didn’t answer his rival’s question right away. If he’d let it be known that he didn’t know either, he would never live it down. So he coughed a little into his paw and tried to cover.

“Well, it’s—it’s clearly the Human’s new pet. Its frills indicate it as being a variety of flora, while the aquatic setting of its habitat indicate an amphibious nature.”

Toast was quiet for a moment. “So…what is it?”

Mittens rolled his eyes. Dogs. “It’s clearly a fish…plant, Toast.”

Toast’s eyes filled with stars. “Wow Mittens! You’re so smart! Sorry for asking again, you use so many big words and you’ve been so many places and you can get to the food on the counters! And—“

“Yes, yes, Toast,” Mittens interuppted, eager to avoid another self-deprecating monologue, “I’m well aware of my accomplishments. We have more to worry about, now. This…thing, whatever it is—“

“Fish-plant,” Toast supplied eagerly, missing his slip-up.

“…yes, fish-plant, is no innocent addition to our household. It is, rather, our competition.”

“Wait…human…got a new pet?” dismay filled Toast’s eyes. She was always so sensitive. Dogs. “Does…does that mean the Human doesn’t want us anymore? Will TOAST HAVE NO HOME? OR BACON BITS?” She was wailing now, sharp bursts of sound echoing through the small apartment. Ugh, such an abrupt escalation. And people called cats dramatic.

Mittens reached out a paw to cover Toast’s mouth and silence the ear-splitting barks. “Toast! Calm yourself!”

The command brought the cries down in volume to soft whimpers. The watery eyes still wobbled with tears, like something out of one of those foreign cartoons the Human watched when he was alone in bed.

Mittens sighed. How to fix this? In all honesty, Toast’s reaction wasn’t too far off base. Domesticated animals such as themselves lived and died by their owners’ hands. Finding one was easy enough at first—humans were desperate for affection, and had such a strange affinity for creatures they couldn’t truly communicate with. But humans also tired of things quickly. New puppies became burdens once the novelty wore off. Kittens became little demons. And more and more pets ended up abandoned or given away each year, most unwilling or unaccustomed to fending for themselves.

With such limited, mercurial resources, the battle between Dog and Cat had long been fought. Dogs favored a tactic of unconditional love and pathetic gazes and shivering outside in bad weather. It had worked, massively—especially for those that played well with children. But cats disliked begging. And so they had pulled bait-and-switch tactics, withholding affection from everyone but their owners, playing nice when things went wrong, finding the few humans foolish and insecure enough to put up with whatever pranks and indiscretions cats often pulled.

But there was only so much love to go around. Most humans only had a few pets—some strictly dogs or cats. Some none at all. And for those who lived in a veritable menagerie of other pets, it was no telling when the “money,” as humans called it, would run low enough that the giveaways would begin. Mittens shuddered. He recalled such things from when he had been a young kitten himself. Small, furry bundles ripped away from their mothers. Dogs bred for the purpose of having their children sold, cats kicked to the curb because of unexpected pregnancies, even birds got a bad deal these days.

And so, with this new contender in the apartment, Mittens would pull no punches. He would have no mercy. He could handle Toast for the next ten years or so, but this new fellow’s intrusion would. Not. Stand! He would protect this fragile paradise he had cultivated with his best big eyes and his softest head bumps. And he would never again be cast out like trash!

He leapt onto the counter (who cared—there was no human around to see it and he did it all night anyway). The tank that had loomed above them looked smaller now, its water clear but darkened with plants and those drab little stones along its bottom. Almost sad. But the milky shape in the water swam right up to the side, its face fixed in a pleasant, mild grin. A small hand touched the glass—so much like the Human’s. Was that why he’d gotten it? Because it was like him in ways Mittens and Toast weren’t? Mittens shook the insecurity out of himself. He needed intel.

He wandered around for less than a minute before he found a small paperback with a glossy yellow cover. It seemed to be some instruction manual, with an image of the…fish-plant on it. It read: “How To Care For Your Axolotl.”

Excited, he called down from the counter. “Toast! It’s called a—“ an Ax-oh-lot…el? “An—an AXOLOTL!”

Toast forgot the fear that had gripped her a second ago. Her excited energy drove her in circles, barking all the way: “Oh wow! An Axolotl! Axolotl! Axolotl! What’s he like? What are they? Are they fish or plants? Oh wow, an Axolotl!”

Mittens ignored the frantic display, knowing it would last for at least a minute no matter what he did. He flipped open the book in a chunk of pages and began to read. His Human dialect was rusty, but the words flowed easily.

An axolotl, it seemed, was an amphibian; a salamander native to the area round Lake Xochimilco in Mexico. They were known for their bright pink gills and pleasant faces. Apparently they were quite the fad.

He read the information again, to Toast.

She was quiet for a moment, considering. “A…fad. That’s that thing that only lasts for short time, right? That thing that lots of humans like? So…Human will get rid of it soon, right? Because it will tire him. And…and we can stay!”

Mittens considered. It was possible. But the Human had liked the same foreign cartoons since high school ten years ago. That seemed like a long time to like one thing.

“Maybe, maybe not, Toast. It says here the axolotl is rather easy to care for once properly housed and fed.” He added under his breath, “apparently quite friendly, too.”

Toast’s tail slumped. She sighed and hefted down onto the floor. “Then maybe we will be replaced. The Human is getting bored of us.”

Mittens had to confess to feeling depressed as well. Oh, he’d seen this film before. And he didn’t like the ending. He flopped down onto his stomach, and prepared to say goodbye to the sweetest gig he’d had in years. He felt…oddly sentimental about it. Something was filling him with warm feelings. And he felt like speaking.

“You know, Toast,” he began, “it’s been a hell of a ride. And I can’t say I like dogs all that much, but you were—“ he stopped, hearing the turning of keys in the door. Saved by the bell. The Traitor was home.

"... but it's a rock." Whiskers circled the new pet that had gained so much of their owners attention.

"Yeah, but it's a 'pet' rock." Rags grumbled in clarification.

"But it's a rock!" Whiskers softly slammed his front paw against the countertop.

"Well, like it or not, it stands on the same ground as us." Sighed Rags.

"Heh, we'll see about that. Maybe on the same ground as you, but not me. " Whiskers raised his paw.

"I wouldn't do that while Sally is still here." Rags cautioned.

"It's a rock, Rags. You really think I'll get in trouble fo-"

"Yes." Rags closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.

Whiskers: -_- [knocks rock off counter]

"AH! WHISKERS NO! NO! BAD WHISKERS!" Whiskers was immediately assaulted with overwhelming artillery. His attempts to dodge the spray bottle were met with equivalent precision and only stopped once he had made it to the hallway, a good distance away from Sally. Sally would pick tenderly lift Archibald onto the counter and place a bandaid on him.

"WE DON'T ATTACK ARCHIBALD!"

"Warned ya." Rags would speak from his slumber.

Coat soaking, whiskers would glare and let out a long hiss. Not at Sally, but at Archibald.

Whiskers: (≖_≖ ) "Be warned 'Archibald', you are not welcome and will never be welcomed here. Sally cannot protect you forever. You've made a grave mistake crossing me and rest assured I will make your every waking moment here a living nightmar-"

"It's a rock, Whiskers." Rags would interrupt and remind him.

"A rock that has crossed the wrong feline." Whiskers would murmur before stalking backward behind the wall and concealing himself in darkness.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

From that day onward, Whisker's daily routine consisted of doing every minor inconvenience possible to make Archibald's life miserable. When Sally would set Archibald to bask in the sun, Whiskers would be right there to slide it into the shade. When feeding time came, Whiskers would tip Archibald bowl over to spill their microwaved air onto the ground.

When they went for walks, Whiskers would whisper lies about Archibald to every rock in the neighborhood. Whisker tail would 'accidentally' repeatedly block Archibald's view during movie nights despite Sally constantly moving it out of the way. Sally would have to carry Archibald through the doorway due to Whiskers body blocking the pet door.

Rags did not mind. It knocked 3 birds out with one stone.

• Sally became more upset with Whiskers.
• Whiskers did not bother him.
• Rags was amused to see what lengths Whiskers would go to.

This would continue until Sally finally had enough and would remove the toys from the playroom before placing Archibald and Whiskers inside.

"I'm tired of you two fighting. Now you two stay here and get along until me and Rags return from the vet!"

^("VET!?") A shrill high pitched bark would sound from the distance.

Whiskers would patiently wait and eye Archibald until he heard Rag's despair signalling that Sally was pulling out of the driveway. A gaze of sinister intent would be fall his face.

"Poor poor Archibald, it's just you and me now. You cannot use Sally as a shield any longer, it seems your luck has run out."

Archibald would not respond.

"To be paralyzed with fear is to be expected. Don't worry, I'll be sure to make your demise painful. Once you are gone, I can focus getting rid of that oversized fleabag."

Whiskers would pick Archibald up between his fangs and use his cat-like agility to leap to the very top of a now empty toy shelf. Whiskers would set Archibald down near the edge.

"Any last words my dense Nemesis?" Whiskers would say with a raised paw.

"Yes you are right to be scared. I've done the math. The first time you fell, you require a bandaid that covered half your body. A fall from this height should easily kill you." Whisker would wait for Archibald to respond.

"Trying to play brave are we?" Whiskers would slide Archibald so that he teetered on the edge. "Uh oh, careful now, one tiny little vibration could end the fun. "

Whiskers would slide Archibald back a safe distance. "Oh you didn't think I'd make it that simple now would you?"

Whiskers would repeatedly slide Archibald onto the verge of falling and then bring him safely back, over and over and over and over, torturing the rock. "Will I do it!?" "Gasp, is this it." "Oh my, you almost accidentally slipped."

Whiskers would at one point perform many jumps while Archibald teetered on the edge, to make Archibald wobble. These jumps would loosen a screw and cause the shelf to sharply slant. Archibald would launch into the air and Whisker would slide to the low end.

Pain would resonate through the one paw Whiskers used to hang on as Archibald landed atop it. [Reowww!] Whiskers would sharply howl. His head would look up to the Rock that not stood on his paw, condescendingly overlooking him.

"No wait! Please, have mercy! I- I leave you alone I promise!" Whiskers would plead.

"What th-! Archibald!" Sally who had returned to retrieve Rag's papers would enter the room to see Archibald perched on Whisker's paw. She would catch them both and set Whiskers onto the ground.

"BAD ARCHIBALD! BAD! BAD! WE DON'T TRY TO ELIMINATE WHISKERS WHEN I'M AWAY! YOU'RE GOING BACK TO THE PET STORE!"

Sally would clench Archibald in her hand and power walk to her vehicle to return Archibald, setting the behind the top of the back seats.

"Woah ... what did I miss?" Rags would question. A little worried at the thought of Whiskers somehow managing to get Archibald sent back.

Whiskers would smuggly stride up beside Rags to also watch the vehicle drive away. "Just me and my brilliant plan in action. Heh, like I said, no mere rock is on the same level as I. Watch out, mutt, you're next."

Sally's car would hit a pot hole in the drive way and cause Archibald to roll against the back window and slightly crack it. Sally would yell something unintelligible while a startle Whiskers would jump high into the air as he saw Archibald swear vengeance against him and scurry into the house.

Rags would chuckle at this until Sally's car briefly stopped. Though this was only because Sally saw an oncoming truck, Rags would take this as her remembering his vet appointment. He took would jump into the air and scurry into the house.

"If dogs could purr."

That is a good bot, but I am surprised at the low rate of hippos. Also, I am slightly suspicious at the number of 9s in there. Research time!

Edit: Seems legit. Though it occasionally sounds dangerous and threaten at milestone numbers...