Ren awoke, strapped to a chair, a bag over his head. Muffled voices alerted him to other presences in the room.

  "I think he's awake, Boss."

  A muffled slap and a faint grunt, as if in afterthought.

  "Keep your mouth shut, Muscles."

  "Yes, Boss."

  "I said keep it shut. Stop, riiB – using my real name."

  "Okay, Brains."

  Sucking steps approached Ren, and the mask was yanked off his head. Light shone in his eyes, blinding him. As Ren’s vision cleared, he looked up into a set of yellow, unblinking softballs, peering through a black executioner's hood. A moist and sticky tongue lashed out, licking both eyes in one long acrobatic swipe.

  The frog man’s coveralls were rolled up at the knees, and a patch on his chest depicted a frog emerging from a chest covered in jewels.

  “Stop staring, Bo – Brains is sensitive about his outfits.”

  A fist in his side sent electric pain through his kidney. Ren was sure he would have been on the floor, and was definitely going to pee blood later.

  That did not feel great. I need a plan!

  Ren’s head swam, eyes teared up, as he struggled to find a comeback. Angry people made mistakes. At least that's how it went in the movies, right? RL was the same, wasn't it?

  “Let me get this straight – you’re a boss and your name is Boss? Is that – who named you? What are you from a crime family?”

  Brains’s eyes narrowed, his voice coming in an angry croak.

  “My parents – riiB – Ribbit and Lily Pondstrider, were in fact the greatest thieves, this side of –”

  The owner of the fist that had probably ruptured his kidney danced into sight. Tapping Brains on the shoulder, the frogkin’s eyes narrowed.

  Muscles, a towering grizzly, covered in reddish-brown fur, adjusted their newsboy cap as they stooped to whisper in Boss’ ear.

  Brains’ eyes grew wide as Muscles whispered into his ear before narrowing again as he spoke, “Well, aren’t you the clever pink baby, tricking me into revealing my parents, riiB. You must be very dangerous, for your levels. Well, I, Brains, the illustrious leader of the Chest of Wonders, can’t let this stand.”

  Ren thought that sounded a bit final, but he was definitely getting Sir Hops a lot riled up.

  Now it's time for phase two: divide and conquer.

  “Can I just say, Muscles, that I’m a huge fan of your costume.”

  Muscles, blushed, adjusting their newsboy cap as they stood a bit straighter. Brains took a step forward, his foot webs making a sucking sound on the ground, before pointing a finger into his chest.

  “Tell me your name, pink one, and be quick about it.”

  Ren would have scratched his head, had his arms not been tied to a chair.

  “Dilila?”

  The boss’s tongue shot out, sliming Ren across the face.

  “Fine, the hard way it is, [ Mindwarp ].”

  Ren had never had his brain poked before; it was happening now, like a curious child observing a fresh-caught salamander. Ren, in his mind’s eye, saw DJ flicking away the child's hand, the crowd roaring around them, the show must go on.

  Boss hooked webbed thumbs into his coveralls, a smug look in his eyes.

  "Now tell me your name, pond scum."

  Ren resisted the urge to laugh, instead doing his best scared-stiff impression.

  "Mm--my, nnn-ames, Henry, sirs. Pp--Please, don't hurt m--mme."

  "Good, now who sent you, and what was your business with Churi. That one's off limits; all residents of the Wyrmback district know this."

  A chuffing and a voice, a deep basso growl, came from behind him.

  "All know this, the [Apprentice Keeper] –"

  "Shut it, Muscles – stand there and look pretty, if I need anything out of you, I'll ask."

  "Yes, Boss."

  The Hoplings' eyes narrowed.

  "Now tell me your business with Churi."

  Ren’s mind raced – Churi, really, all this over her? I guess this was a protection racket.

  Ren decided to use the information Muscles had let slip, which was the whole point of his plan after all. These two were probably that stupid – he hoped.

  “It was an App – p-please, don’t hurt me!”

  The boss’s neck flared, like an expanding balloon, as he croaked.

  “Spit it out!”

  Ren kept playing up the fear as he stuttered out.

  “It w-was, the ap-Apprentice Kee –”

  Boss, trusting his skill to do its work, ignored the obvious ploy.

  “Thalgor! That snake, was he about this tall, wearing a monk's hood? Clutching a satchel like a newborn?”

  Ren nodded his head vigorously, trying not to vomit, the earlier tongue slaps slime dripping into his mouth, while he spoke.

  “Yes, t-thats the –”

  Ren had to close his eyes and look to the side. He spat out a hot, wet glob of mucous. Mumbling as he spoke, his mouth watering.

  “Thalgor, h-he, sent me to speak with Churi. S-she didn’t know what I was talking about. It's all that other guy –”

  Boss was pacing, his feet making those cute little sucking sounds. Muscles had returned to his position behind Ren. More hot chuffs on his neck, his skin crawled, and danger sense rang.

  Phase three – what's phase three!

  Boss stopped his pacing, an air of finality about him. Adjusting his hood – his eyeball movement tended to shift it askew – a webbed hand waved in Muscles' direction.

  Gravity shifted under Ren; the world was spinning as he flew across the room, smashing into the far wall. Blood ran down his forehead, pooling about the ground, his cheek resting on cool stone. His vision was blurry as he glanced in the direction he’d flown.

  Muscles down on all fours – swiped his back legs, like a bull readying for the charge.

  I should have come up with a better plan.

  Ren had enough time for one last thought, as Muscles charged, lips flapping, tongue lolling, and his cap left behind spinning off into the air – that cap, so cute. He hit Ren with a massive headbutt, smashing him into the wall.

  “Grab the body Muscles, we’ll dissolve him in the Alchemist’s Guild, their cleaning solution, might be slow, but it's effective.”

  Ren faded into darkness.

  Ren woke, the sensation of the blood pooled in his head and shoulders. His legs hurt, ropes biting tightly into his calves and ankles. Arms trussed behind him, he wriggled like a worm on a hook. Opening his eyes, he stared down at the ceiling, letting his head drop, he could see crates stacked, filled with glassware of all shapes.

  “I’m in a brewery? A glass blower’s – blowery?”

  Continuing to scan what he could from his limited position, Ren noticed a dim light emanating from a set of narrow windows, where wall and ceiling met. A sickly sweet patchouli filled his nostrils, making it hard to concentrate on his surroundings.

  "It's okay, you're going to be alright, they are probably coming back for you, this is just a scare tactic."

  Images of a snarling Muscles quashed any hope of that line of thinking. Ren was pretty sure they’d meant to kill him. His body felt like he’d been pulped, squeezed of all its blood, and hung up to dry.

  Ren’s wriggling had set him swinging. He got a glimpse of the pool beneath him, his eyes growing round. He wriggled for all he was worth; he couldn’t die like this, anything but this.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Danger Sense?

  "Why isn't my danger sense going off? I'm hanging over a vat of dubious origins, shouldn’t –”

  Ren wasn’t that confident with his danger-sense; he was calling it that. He wanted to go with Spidey – no, that was too obvious. Danger sense it was.

  “This is no time to be thinking about trademarks, get it together, Ren!”

  Dangling from his feet, made it hard to breathe as he choked on the musky stench of burnt wood.

  This smell reminds me of Mom’s green cleaner solution.

  Ren laughed, which caused pain to radiate from his – everywhere.

  “Ow, that Mucles, really did a number on me. Ok, so whatever is below me, probably isn’t acid, so that means – I have no idea.”

  Ren stared blankly at the wall, wondering if all the blood rushing to his head shouldn’t be helping him think smarter. Instead, Ren swung, his mind empty, and spirits sinking.

  “Ok, my guy, the vibes here are all wrong. You’ve got to change something.”

  Ren flexed his stomach; there was pain, but he pushed past it, straining to get a better view– he spotted a lever, sticking out of a platform, “Ok, so I just need to –”

  A grinding screech echoed around the warehouse, and with a jerk, Ren began lowering into the vat. He sighed, a gallows grin splitting his face.

  “Ok, Mom, here’s hoping I can recognise the foul smell of patchouli, I wouldn't want to end up like–

  Ren, like an apple being candied, felt his head being dipped.

  Here goes nothing.

  Ren tried to draw in a deep breath, just before his mouth and nose were covered. The mechanism slipped. Ren dropped, sucking in the solution.

  The taste of a woodsy dirt filled his mouth, with just a hint of spicy undertones. He choked, his nose burning – he swallowed several mouthfuls of the stuff.

  That’s not good.

  He’d expelled most of his air, a rising panic welling up inside him. Thoughts of his mother's face flashed through his mind, then of Churi handing him a glass of tea, the last kind face he could remember.

  Fight! You’re not dead yet!

  Ren curled to his toes, half floating up to his hips. His head broke the surface, and he pulled in a breath, sputtering and coughing as he did so.

  The mechanism stopped with a jerk, dunking his head again, where Ren, for some unknown reason, swallowed another mouthful of the stuff. Coughing and spluttering, as he bobbed on the surface, his ankles stuck solid on their hook.

  “Uhh, so bad, why do I keep swallowing –”

  Small waves running across the surface of the pool, his struggles in vain, splashed into his eyes and mouth.

  Ren shook his head vigorously, spitting to clear the taste, before taking another breath – more patchouli solution slopped into his mouth, and Ren promptly swallowed.

  A man’s voice, soft yet firm, like the voice of a history professor who also moonlighted as an adventurer, spoke, interrupting his attempts to swallow as much patchouli as he could.

  “Stop drinking the stuff! It will kill you.”

  Ren snapped back at the voice, unable to tell its direction.

  “I’m, pfft – trying, it just keeps going in!”

  A pair of strong hands wrapped around Ren’s head, pulling him to the edge. The lowering mechanism kicked into gear, and Ren’s legs slipped off the hook, as he buoyed up in the tank.

  Ren was hauled up and over the edge and unceremoniously dumped onto the ground. Hands began slapping him roughly on the back.

  “Spit it up, come on, don’t die on me –”

  Ren was getting angry, he was feeling very –

  Projectile vomit erupted from his mouth, a thick black tar that stank of toe fungus, skunk, and sewage. The stuff leaked from his pores, dribbled from his nose, from his every orifice.

  Ren convulsed, spine stiffening and releasing, like a fish out of water, he slapped around on the stone floor.

  A short pause before another round of projectile vomit, his body contracting around his throat – as it continued to wring like a sponge.

  “Please m-make it –”

  Ren was sobbing in between gouts and spurts of tar.

  – stop! P-please. Just kill me.”

  This went on for some time, as the amount of substance to come out of Ren seemed to be without end. When it finally did, Ren stared blankly at a stack of crates marked ‘Happy’s Helpfully Healthy Cleaning Solution: Warning Do not Ingest, call a healer in case of swallowing a large amount’.

  “I just want to go home. I don’t like it here anymore.”

  A pair of hands rolled him roughly onto his back, pinching his tightly bound arms. A pair of Deep-set eyes cautiously peered from behind a swooped leather hood. Their grey lips spoke around white teeth and clay-coloured skin, “What – who are you? How did you survive that?”

  Ren wasn’t in the mood for chatter, still emotionally devastated from whatever had just happened to him.

  The hooded figure vanished, in a shuffling of footstepls and clatter. Ren didn’t care; he could barely move, stuck to the floor in a pile of his own filth.

  A cold splash across his face, spicy earth tones – Ren snapped from his daze, in a splutter, as he coughed and sucked in more of Happy’s solution, “Stop swallowing the stuff! I’m trying to clean you –”

  “Listen! I don’t know why I keep swallowing it! Just stop throwing it on me! And there won’t be –” More of the liquid splashed over Ren. Footsteps pattered away, a dunking sound – the footsteps were coming back his direction.

  OH no, you don’t!

  “[ Bombastic Base Drop ]!”

  Pain erupted from Ren’s left buttocks!

  “What are you doing? The smell is bad, but why are you shooting yourself?” More liquid splashed into Ren’s mouth. The life went out of him. He lay still, mouth zipped shut; he just wanted this to end.

  A warehouse alley, dimly lit, wyrmback monitors clung to the building's walls; munching on sage moss. A side door cracked open, and a hooded figure peered out, searching for any signs of danger.

  The door opened wider, and a second figure emerged hidden behind the first. They moved down the alley, slowly like thieves in the night, the second periodically peeking out from behind the lead.

  “Are we there yet?”

  The hooded figure spoke calmly and without a hint of irony.

  “We have only just left the warehouse, my good fellow.”

  Ren, the second figure, looked down at his sparkling sandals, not a drop on them. The rest of his clothes – hadn’t made it, not even Happy’s Helpfully Healthy Solution could get out the stench left by that – stuff.

  “What was that stuff? – Oh, and thanks for saving my life. I’m Ren, and you are?”

  “[Apprentice Keeper] Thalgor, deep roots, Ren. What did you say to those two? Why were they looking for me?”

  Ren missed a step, realizing who this person was, and wasn't really sure how to answer. He didn’t think he’d ever meet this person when he’d thrown them under the bus with his lies. Best to play dumb here; what's the worst that could happen?

  “I don’t know, they abducted me off the street! I came to, and they started pulverising me, calling me pink one! And going on about hidden treasures, and best dressed competitions!”

  Ren was pretty sure he sounded like an idiot and a liar, but thinking of the logo on their guild crest, and how completely idiotic those two had been, he’d decided to roll the dice.

  The hooded figure adjusted their satchel, pulling the single strap around their chest. A look of irritation crossed their face.

  “Those two, yes, they are heavy-handed – not known for their intelligence, the Keepers, are well aware of their tactics.”

  Ren’s stomach made loud sounds of protest from behind — Thalgor, who turned to ask a question.

  “Where are we headed? I think it is unwise for me to return to the Spire right now.”

  Ren racked his brain for images of the signs he’d read. To his surprise, a clear picture of the sign he was thinking about leaped to the front of his mind.

  “Sandalwood platform, I’m staying with – a friend.”

  It was Thalgor’s turn to miss a step.

  “D – did you say, Sandalwood platform?”

  He shook his head. It couldn’t be. What were the odds?

  Ren looked down at his stomach.

  “Yep, let's move it or lose it! I’m famished!”

  Thalgor shook their head, gesturing for Ren to lead the way.

  Ren, eager to get back to the comforts of the mezzanine, hurried past Thalgor, his naked butt cheeks slightly pink in the warm City air.

  Ren expected to get strange looks, or perhaps run into some kind of trouble with the City guards or whatever passed for police around here. Strangely enough, he was mostly unnoticed. The looks he got, he suspected, were more about his skin tone. Pink, which didn’t even best describe his shade, seemed to offend everyone here.

  "I suppose living in a city full of beastkin means my nudity is natural. I mean, they're mostly naked anyway, am I right?"

  Ren let out a chuckle at his own joke.

  Thalgor just gave him a sideways glance.

  "You're a human, right? Where in bog's name did you come from?"

  "Hmm, I came from the Crystal Plains."

  Sputtering was the only sound he got from his traveling companion.

  "Ahhh, here we go."

  Ren glanced across the nearest bridge at the sign on the far side that read, ‘Platform Sandalwood A-009.’ He pointed a finger as he spoke.

  "That's our destination, come on, I could eat a horse."

  "We don't have any, this is a swamp, I –"

  "My guy, please, it's an expression. Surely you get that I'm just hungry."

  More spluttering.

  "Take it easy – Thalgor was it. Draven's a good guy; he will take care of us."

  The blood drained from Thalgor’s face at that last comment.

  Ren broke into a jog, eager to get to his destination, now that it was so close.

  Bang Bang Bang.

  "Draven buddy, are you home. I got a bit lost, sorry about–"

  Rens' fist fell into the open air. A grumpy-looking Draven stood in the doorway. Dressed in a nightgown, complete with a Santa cap. Spotted cartoon turtles in various outfits patterned the gown.

  "Do you know what hout it–"

  Draven's speech was cut off. He froze in place. His eyes were fixed firmly on something behind. Ren grew concerned.

  No danger sense, what could it?

  Draven lunged across Ren, knocking his naked form aside, and into the open door.

  "What in the – hey, get your hands off. Would you stop it? He's with me."

  Draven spat.

  "This one's bog scum. A disgrace to orcs. He's, he's –"

  Draven paused. Ren was tapping persistently on his shoulder. Draven's eyes slid sideways, glancing down at the aggravating finger. Then up at Ren's smiling face.

  “This guy saved my life – at first, then he attempted to drown me a second time.”

  “Yes, as I said, bog scum!”

  Thalgor stood in a fighter's stance, left foot forward. His satchel pushed behind his back protectively, the other forearm extended before his face, ready to repel a blow.

  “I’m no bog scum! I’m an [Apprentice Keeper], I know nothing but the truth, and its honest light!”

  Ren looked from one face set in determination to another boiling with rage. The situation wasn't looking good. Not at all.

  “Can’t we all just get along?”

  Both orcs swiveled their heads to look at him, staring daggers.

  Ren raised his hands, then gestured towards the door.

  "Can we please go in and have some of the tea, Draven. There's been an attempt on my life. And this – bog scum saved me, mostly."

  The two orcs adjusted their stances, their glares returning to each other. Thalgor was the first to back down; fists to chest, in a cross-armed salute, and a short bow.

  "Apologies, Draven. Please truce for now."

  "It's going to take more than–"

  Ren delivered a karate chop to the orc's shoulder, which did precisely nothing, as he knew nothing about karate.

  Draven looked at Ren, really looked at him for the first time.

  "Why are you naked?"

  Ren, in nothing but his birthday suit, struck a pose.

  "There was an incident. Also, I'm hungry."

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