On the planet Plumeth, a child was born. Unlike others, it grew at an unnatural pace—walking and speaking within a month. By the second month, the bekanna arrived.
"I can't believe that even after Sern's ascension, we're still stuck doing grant work," High Roller muttered to Spam. The Mistress and Kooky followed closely behind as they approached a modest house.
High Roller stood out, as always, draped in a suit adorned with every piece of jewelry he could find. The Mistress moved with silent confidence, her black leather one-piece catching the light. Spam, in a sweatshirt and cargo pants, carried a knife tucked into a vest slung over his shoulders. Kooky, the odd one out, smoothed the hem of her blue floral dress as she stepped ahead of the group and rang the doorbell.
The woman who answered the door hesitated, her eyes flickering between them, unsettled.
"We need to speak to you about your son," Kooky said, her voice calm.
The woman's grip tightened on the edge of the door. "Who are you?"
High Roller smiled, flashing his rings. "We're with the government."
A moment of silence.
Kooky tilted her head. "Is there anyone else home?"
The house stood alone on a vast farm, the only other structure a weathered barn in the distance. There were no neighbors—no one to witness what was about to happen.
"I'll check the barn while you handle things here," High Roller said, already striding toward the darkened structure.
Kooky turned back just in time to see something shift in the shadows behind the woman.
"Ma'am, for your own safety, please step outside," Kooky said, pushing the door open before the woman could react.
Inside, a baby stood on the couch.
Without hesitation, Kooky drew her gun and fired.
The woman lunged, knocking her aim off. The dart embedded itself in the wooden wall, quivering from the impact. The child—no, the thing—smiled.
"You again," the baby said, its gaze locking onto Spam.
Spam's grip tightened on his knives. "I guess that confirms it. It's the same one."
He let the blades fly.
The baby moved—too fast. It dodged effortlessly, its mother scrambling to reach it. But before she could, the baby's eyes began to glow.
The air vibrated. A pulse of energy surged outward.
Spam lunged, grabbing the woman just as an explosion erupted, sending them all hurtling backward.
High Roller heard the explosion and sprinted out of the barn.
From the smoke, the child emerged—but it was no longer a child. Now a teenager, he stepped forward as clothes materialized over his once-naked body.
The others rose to their feet, brushing off dust and debris.
The Mistress wasted no time. She charged, closing the distance in an instant. The boy swung at her, but she ducked beneath his fist and drove a punch into his right side. He reacted fast—grabbing her by the throat.
She twisted his wrist sharply, breaking free, then used the momentum to flip him over her shoulder, slamming him into the dirt.
The boy's mother stood frozen, mouth slightly open in shock. Kooky seized the moment, pulling her away from the fight.
The boy pushed himself up just as Spam launched a volley of knives. This time, they struck—three blades sinking into his chest.
He barely flinched.
With a flick of his wrist, he yanked the knives free and hurled them back at Spam. As his wounds sealed, his body shifted—he aged a little more.
"The more energy he uses, the older he gets," Spam observed.
Kooky, now at a safe distance, crossed her arms. "I'd rather not watch a group beat down an old man. Finish this while he's still young."
The Mistress launched a flying kick from behind.
The boy twisted at the last second, sidestepping her strike. He caught her mid-air and flung her straight toward Spam.
Spam braced himself, catching her just before they hit the ground.
They looked at each other and grinned.
The Mistress charged again, but this time, he didn't dodge.
He met her attacks head-on, absorbing every punch and kick, mirroring her movements with eerie precision. Blow for blow, they clashed, their fists colliding in rapid succession.
Then she felt it—pain creeping into her wrists from the relentless exchange. A fraction of hesitation. A single misstep.
The boy, now nearly a grown man, seized the opening and swung a brutal right hook.
High Roller reacted in an instant. He ripped the chain from his neck and lashed it forward.
The metal coil snapped around the boy's arm, stopping the punch dead in its tracks. The sheer force of it sent a gust of wind rushing past The Mistress, whipping her hair back.
High Roller pulled off two of his rings and flicked them toward the boy. They snapped around his wrists, drawn to each other like magnets, locking his arms together.
The Mistress stepped forward and slapped him.
He didn't react—just stared at her in silence.
"Careful. He's still dangerous," Spam warned.
High Roller didn't take any chances. He tossed more restraints—one coiling around the boy's shoulders, two more locking his lower wrists in place.
The boy's body tensed, but he didn't struggle. Not yet.
As they escorted him out, his eyes began to glow.
Before anyone could react, twin beams of energy shot from his gaze.
The Mistress's head exploded on impact.
Her body crumpled to the ground.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Spam walked over, staring at her lifeless form. He didn't speak, didn't move—just stood there. Then, slowly, he turned to the boy.
Without hesitation, he drove his fist into the boy's face.
High Roller was already moving. He flicked another ring, and it snapped shut over the boy's eyes, cutting off the deadly beams.
The air was thick with the scent of burned flesh and blood. No one spoke.
The boy laughed the entire way.
But once they were high in the sky, aboard the spaceship, the laughter stopped.
His body began to pulsate, then glow.
An energy wave erupted from him, sending a surge through the ship's systems. Lights flickered. Consoles sparked. The entire vessel shuddered as controls went haywire.
"We're going down!" someone shouted.
As the ship spiraled toward the surface, Spam didn't hesitate—he laid into the boy, striking again and again. But it was too late.
The ship crashed.
When the dust settled, the boy was nowhere to be found.
They spread out, searching through the wreckage. Minutes later, Kooky called out. They rushed over to find her standing over his lifeless body.
Planetary Emergency Services were already en route. They didn't stick around. Bolting from the crash site, they called for pickup and laid low, waiting for extraction.
—
A family wandered through the wreckage, salvaging what little remained of their belongings.
"Tootsie!" a little girl cried, running to pick up a stuffed animal buried in the debris. She dusted it off, hugging it tightly, then took her mother's hand as they walked away.
Behind them, the stuffed animal's eyes glowed.