Ungardian Underground

Frustration was just about the only thing Samson could register as he paced up and down the very public hall. He ground his teeth together, trying to organize his thoughts before he jumped into something he knew he was going to regret.

Except, organizing his thoughts was damn near impossible when all he could think about was how much he’d like to deck the man causing his frustration.

How dare Myrkr challenge him the way he had! When he had entered his half-brother’s office earlier this morning, he hadn’t expected to be met with such a dilemma. Sure, meeting with the egotistical, backstabbing brother of his was always stressful and twelve times more annoying, but this was beyond any infuriating feat he’d done so far. They’d gotten into an argument about how ‘irresponsible’ Samson was, and amidst the yelling and vague threats, Myrkr had proposed a bet.

“If you’re so responsible, how is it that nobody can rely on you besides yourself?” Myrkr yelled heatedly.

“That’s not true!” Samson protested, his fists clenched as he strained to leave his brother unharmed. It’d always been a struggle, especially since their parents had died, but in this instance, it was near impossible.

“Really? Have you even looked at your history of pets?” There was a firmness in Myrkr’s voice that reminded Samson that he wasn’t talking of simple house pets.

“It’s not like they matter,” Samson growled coldly. “I could go down The Playpen right now and kill one of their products and no one would care as long as I paid.”

Myrkr’s lips curled back threateningly. “You’re disgusting. Why would anyone ever trust their life to a killer?”

“Bullshit!” Samson shouted, slamming his fist down on Myrkr’s smooth stone desk hard enough to cause a fracture on the glossed surface. “What I do in my free time has nothing to do with my work.”

Myrkr sighed, patting down his slicked-back hair and standing. “Actually,” he began in a conversational tone, rounding his desk, “it does.”

Samson stood firm as Myrkr advanced on him. “Just last week someone denied your service because they heard about that little escapade you and your idiotic friend had in Grest.” His jaw was set tensely, and he stopped only a couple of inches away from Samson, his stare dark and threatening. “So if you want to continue acting so recklessly, please do. You’re fired.”

Samson’s eyes widened.

“You can’t do that!”

Myrkr whipped around, pacing towards an ornately designed bookshelf that held a variety of manuals. “Actually, I can,” he quipped calmly, pulling a small blue book down from the top shelf.

“What? So you’re just going to replace me?”

Myrkr turned his head slightly, a smug grin on his face. “That’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Samson, his heart dropping to his stomach, realized that there was pretty much only one thing he could do now: beg. He had to beg for his job, beg Myrkr to change his mind. “Myrkr,” he said lowly, and he discovered his mouth tasted sour. “I really need this job. There has to be some way I can prove myself to you.”

Myrkr perked up at his grave tone. “Some way…” he murmured lowly. “I suppose breaking off your friendship with that idiot Walin would suffice.”

Samson’s hopeful expression fell away. Walin was his childhood friend, the one person he loved through and through, the only one he had infallible faith in. There was no way he could ever abandon him. It was true, he was an idiot, and perhaps Samson became one when around Walin, but he had never minded it.

“I can’t do that.”

Myrkr sighed, running his tongue over his lips as he thought. “I guess I saw that one coming.”

There was silence for a moment and Samson was worried that cutting ties with Walin was the only way to keep his job. He desperately scanned his brain for a way to convince Myrkr to keep him on the set while Myrkr trailed back to his desk, setting the book he’d picked up over the newly formed crack in his desk.

Samson leaned forward, peering at the passage Myrkr pointed out for him. ‘Code 13.’, it read, ‘a good employee is tolerant of any customer, guest, or coworker. Due respect is shown despite race, gender, or family lineage.’ After reading the passage, Samson scratched at his cheek, giving Myrkr a scathing look.

“And what are you getting at with this?”

Myrkr regarded his nails with disinterest and shrugged his broad shoulders. “If you can show me that you are able to respect and meet the needs of a minority, I’ll let you keep your job.”

The casual way Myrkr stated the challenge baffled Samson. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What kind of minority?” Myrkr paused at the question, a smile curling his lips so predatorily that Samson fought a chill.

“Human,” he said lowly. Samson’s grimaced.

“Are you serious? I’m already taking care of Ib because of you, how is taking on another one going to prove anything?”

Myrkr narrowed his eyes, obvious irritation lighting up his features. “He doesn’t count,” Myrkr snapped. “One, you don’t take care of him in the slightest, and two, the only reason he’s with you at all is because he’s not yours. I want you to get a human you don’t have any ties to; one you don’t have to respect, just like anyone you’d meet on the streets.” A look of entertainment crossed Myrkr’s face, a tell-tale sign he’d just thought up an idea he rather enjoyed.

Samson almost gulped in dread at the smile that twitched over his brother’s lips. “You have to get one from Upslin.”

If Samson had thought this was a terrible request earlier, now it was a downright disaster. He shook his head slowly as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What? But the ones from above are so… mouthy.”

Myrkr chuckled lowly, already enjoying his last-minute requirement. “I know. That’s why I want you to take one of those. If you can treat an Upslin slave with the respect they think they deserve, then you can stay on the set.”

Samson’s hands rose to his face and he massaged his temples. “That’s all?” Myrkr nodded with a satisfied air. “And for how long?”

Myrkr tilted his head condescendingly. “I’ll do you a favor--since this is such a struggle for you. After a week you can do whatever you wish with the human.” Samson gritted his teeth at the way Myrkr spoke to him, knowing he was still on thin ice.

“Thank you,” he ground out, and he rushed out the door as fast as he could.

Now, Samson paced in front of an open portal, the swirling colors a mix of gold and a bright, sparkling pink. It was the defining colors of an Upslin portal. Of course, no one that lived in Upslin called it that. Once Samson had overheard a Upslin-born pet referring to the land as ‘Earth’, but the owner had hushed the pet as soon as they’d brought it up.

He blew out a pent-up breath and stopped directly in front of the portal. Was he really going to do this? Yes, he was. He knew he was. There wasn’t any other way, and besides, how hard could it be? Sure, maybe he had a mean streak, but he could endure! There were plenty of people that he was tempted to hurt, but he managed to restrain himself just fine with them. He could do it again.

He placed one foot on the step up to the portal, leaned in, and then turned away, letting his nerves get the best of him. Two women giggled to themselves as they passed by him, giving him sly glances over their shoulders. He knew he probably looked like a regular coward to them.

He sighed and tried to spark his adventurous side, thinking up positive things that could come from this trip.

It’d be his first time exploring Upslin, he could potentially find a new vacation spot if he liked it there, and--if his karma was extra good--maybe he’d even find a decent pet for once. He had plenty of humans, and he was actually pretty decent to them, but they were all Ungardian-born, every single one of them. Ungardian humans were a special breed, wonderfully submissive and very eager to please. They were cute, but not pet material.

No… a pet was supposed to be a challenge; a conquest that one strives to win.

His friend Walin had tried for a number of pets, but none had worked out. He hadn’t killed any of them--he was a lot better at controlling his anger than Samson, but he hadn’t kept any of them, either. The two humans Walin owned currently were practically pets with the way they hung all over him, but Samson didn’t see the spark in them that he was looking for. Also, Walin wouldn’t dare to take them outside like one would a genuine pet. A pet was something you flaunted, something you bragged about, knowing others could never have it. Walin’s humans would sleep with anyone who fed them.

A real, genuine pet, though, now that was worth more than winning this wager.