Pet x Play

Later in the morning, I slipped indoors down to the lower deck. I crept along the banister of the stairwell and leapt to the ground. The wooden floor was extremely dirty and grimy — a fault of having over a dozen rambunctious mercenaries living on a cramped airship — and I didn't like to step through the long tracks of dried mud. I jumped atop a rickety chair as soon as I could and hopped from one island of furniture to another.

As I passed by the scullery¹A scullery is a room in a house, traditionally used for washing up dishes and laundering clothes, or as an overflow kitchen. (see Wikipedia), there was a young half-elf mercenary washing his underwear in the sink.

I didn't know his name, especially since I stopped bothering to learn the names of the temporary workers months ago, but I could infer that he was a lower level player. Like many others, he likely picked up the job posting completely broke and desperate to make some cash. Among the mercenaries, this half-elf was at the bottom of the totem pole, and he was probably trying to avoid the attention of the more veteran players.

Hazing²Hazing (American English), initiation (British English), bastardisation (Australian English), ragging (South Asia), or deposition, refers to any activity expected of someone in joining or participating in a group that humiliates, degrades, abuses, or endangers them regardless of a person's willingness to participate. (see Wikipedia) occurred in many diverse forms on this lawless server.

...This would explain why he was washing his clothes at eight o'clock in the morning.

The half-elf seemed to catch a glimpse of me from the corner of his eye, his bruised hands slowed down to a stop.

"Oh. It's the Boss's black cat," he muttered absentmindedly.

There was a set of wet clothes hanging from a flimsy length of taut string. They were damp and dripping with water, and the half-elf had evidently improvised a drying rack from a piece of torn cloth. Based on his minimalistic attire, this was probably all the clothes that he owned. Some players didn't even possess a single spare change of clothes, so by materialistic standards this young man was doing fairly well for a new mercenary. 

The half-elf wiped his palms on a rag and extended his hand out towards me, as if offering me his fingers to smell.

I stared at young mercenary blankly.

Did he think I was a stray animal?

If he expected me to lick his hand, he was gravely mistaken about my personality.

When I didn't react for some time, the half-elf smiled awkwardly and slowly withdrew his hand.

"Ah... I guess you don't really do handshakes. My bad."

He rubbed the side of his head and laughed awkwardly.

"Yeah, I'm a weirdo. Sorry. Not really used to everything around here yet."

The young man's laughter trailed off weakly, but something felt hollow and empty about his expression. The half-elf's eyes were bloodshot, almost like he hadn't sleep in a week, and his face was deathly pale like a ghost. Honestly, he almost looked as if he was on the brink of insanity. He was barely holding together a fake smile, but the surface of his plastic shell was cracked.

He looked like a fragile glass flower that was just about to break.

I stared at him.

Frankly, there were hundreds of junior players like this almost every day. Everyone who joined Vetita experienced their own version of an emotional crucible, psychologically traumatized players were a common sight no matter where you went. On this server, they were often regarded the virtual equivalents of homeless beggars — people that you averted your eyes from and pretended not to see. Some people even justified their harsh treatment of the emotionally weak by claiming that being too soft would only make them more fragile.

Vetita was a world where only the strong thrived.

It didn't really matter exactly which way you were strong.

Even slaves need to be emotionally resilient.

Successful killers need to deaden their emotions and compartmentalize their feelings.

But this half-elf was failing and starting to crumble.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

Ultimately, I walked away.

I climbed my way up to the rafters and made my way over to the ship's bridge. There was a variety of different pipes and exposed beams that I could use as footholds, and at this point I was well-versed in the layout of the Felicity. Due to some strange human quirk, people rarely look above their heads, and the ceiling beams were the most effective way for me to travel around the ship without being seen.

At this early hour, there were only a handful of mercenaries in the ship's navigation room.

"Why are we flying in circles?" A demon mercenary asked in irritated annoyance.

"The Boss hasn't given any orders." A high elf responded.

"Where is @Jasper?"

"Not here," a third mercenary responded sarcastically.

"Sleeping in?"

"He's not responding to his bell."

"We're sitting ducks in the skies if we keep hovering over this sector. Sooner or later, we'll run into pirates."

"That fucker."

"Who's second-in-command?"

"There ain't one on this airship."

Frustration was rising among the mercenaries.

"What the hell? This is the worst slave hunting operation I've ever seen."

"This is why it's better to fly corporate. Indies³Indie is a short form of "independence" or "independent". In this context, it refers to independent slave traders. can be a total shitshow sometimes."

"Man, I'm bored."

"Anyone wanna go kick down the Boss's door?"

"Dude, I'm literally bored out of my mind."

"There were two confirmed trannies that we picked up last night. I ruined one of them, but the other is pretty fresh if you still wanna have a go at that crying mess."

"Oh? Dickgirls?"

"Nah. Just regular snowflakes⁴"Snowflake" is a 2010s derogatory slang term for a person, implying that they have an inflated sense of uniqueness, an unwarranted sense of entitlement, or are overly-emotional, easily offended, and unable to deal with opposing opinions. (See Wikipedia). Started bawling like true sissies when I fixed their anatomy for them."

"Lol. What did you do? Cut off their tits? Grow their dicks back?"

"Let's just say it was a very convincing hallucination. I wouldn't actually damage the real thing. Still gotta sell 'em afterwards."

"Man, illusion magic is insane. Must have been a crazy mindfuck."

"Heh. I'm gifted."

"Twisted. But I like it."

"Where the hell is @Jasper?"

"Anyone wanna bet he's screwing that pussycat right now?"

"Rofl, you actually think the Boss is gay?"

"I'd buy it. I've never seen that man bang a woman on this ship. He has to be fucking the cat."

"I still think the cat is a chick. @Jasper's a greedy bastard. He'd totally lie about his pet's sex."

"My guess is that Boss is into bestiality. Gender doesn't matter when the animal has a hole."

"Ah, a true gentleman's philosophy, huh?"

"I am an egalitarian. I fuck all species and genders equally."

"Amen."

"Damn Communist scum."

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

"Who's a Communist?" I suddenly said, interrupting the scene out of the blue.

My soft voice sliced through the room like a razor thin knife, instantly silencing every single mercenary in the room. I did not speak particularly loudly, but my pitch contrasted sharply with the deeper intonations of the male chorus. It was plainly obvious that I was not one of them, and furthermore these men had never heard my voice before.

Nearly everyone in the room instantly brought their hands to their weapons.

I was sitting on a wooden beam in the rafters, and my willowy legs swung casually in the air.

Earlier, I had transformed into my human form right above their heads.

They were stunned by my unexpected appearance. My elegant feline tail swayed in the air and a long flowing shawl concealed the subtle androgynous curves of my body. Midnight black hair and fluffy cars ears gave away my identity as the "cat" that everyone knew aboard the airship, and my brilliant amethyst eyes stared unflinchingly into the gazes of all the mercenaries around me.

I lithely dropped down from the ceiling and landed effortlessly on my feet.

My balance was perfect and cat-like.

Incidentally, my magic has more destructive power than anyone else's abilities in this room.

When I set something on fire, it burns very hot.

"Anyone want to repeat what they were saying about my master?" I said calmly.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

uenala

I'm sorry about the transphobic display. Illustrating the degree of toxicity/hatred that exists on the server is critical for understanding the plot for the rest of the story, and one of my thematic goals is to portray the flame wars that occur online in a literal fashion. I don't intend to glorify any particular side (both factions will do very ugly and amoral things), and @Fiie is somewhat intended as as somewhat neutral observer that doesn't affiliate with either extreme (at least for now).

Please be aware that this story is a fictional depiction of extremism. The beliefs of radical feminists aren't representative of feminists as a whole, and the beliefs of QAnon aren't representative of conservatives as a whole. Niche online places tend to drive fringe groups together, and you can expect to see the worst of both sides on a lawless server like Vetita.