“INSERT YOUR TICKET, PLEASE,” the door said.
Kyle swiped the plastic pass.
“THANK YOU, SIR, AND… ENJOY!” the metallic voice chimed.
The interior was retro-styled, centered around a large stage at the back, and dotted with small round tables. The first floor of the Nine Wonders was dedicated to female attractions, and the crowd was predominantly male, representing dozens of different species.
Between acts, an Alcorian in a tuxedo pounded an old piano. Six of his eight legs danced across the keys, producing a pleasant melody.
Kyle immediately spotted the bar in the far-right corner despite the smoky half-light. Several women with elaborate hairstyles perched at the counter. Many were pretty—some stunning. Their exaggerated laughter and affected cheer made it clear they were club hostesses.
Kyle was about to signal the bartender when a voice rang behind him.
“Well, look at this! Must be my lucky night!”
He turned to see a human girl. Pretty—though not traditionally so. Her mouth was a bit too wide, her eyes a little too close together, but the expert makeup softened these minor imperfections.
“Do I know you?” Kyle asked, without looking away from her curvaceous silhouette wrapped in black lace. She was tall—on heels, she could meet his gaze head-on.
“No, you don’t. Not in this lifetime, at least…” she said, smiling slyly. “I’m Iris.”
“Kyle. Pleased to meet you, Iris.”
“Kyle… hmm! My ex-boyfriend was named Kyle. But you don’t look like him at all.”
“You mean I’m better?”
Iris chuckled, a cascade of blonde curls shaking over her shoulders.
“Maybe. But that’s not what I meant. You don’t look like the usual Lady Jessica fan.”
“Oh… I don’t even know who she is,” Kyle admitted. “You want a drink?”
Iris climbed onto a high stool, crossing her legs.
“Meshém wine, please.”
“Two,” Kyle told the bartender.
A servodroid brought the drinks.
“I’m looking for someone,” Kyle said. “Name’s Odie Binx. Do you know him?”
She took her glass and thought for a moment.
“No… never heard of him. A friend of yours?”
Suddenly, the room went dark. A single spotlight lit the stage. Whistles, gasps, and a few giggles rippled through the crowd.
“What’s happening?”
“It’s Lady Jessica’s number!” Iris clapped.
To the rhythm of a sultry, bass-heavy melody, a long, tanned leg slid through the curtain—followed by the rest of her: legs like columns, hips like poetry, and breasts like marble. Wearing a red evening gown with a daring slit, the vamp parted her full lips and began to sing. Her husky contralto set every humanoid pulse on edge.
As the curtain rose, she moved forward, hips swaying.
Kyle’s jaw dropped.
“That’s… Lady Jessica?”
“Yep. Not bad, huh?” Iris grinned.
The beauty began to strip. The gloves and dress were flung into the crowd, leaving her in nothing but a thong and a tiny bra. Cheers erupted each time a piece of clothing hit the floor, climaxing when the last one vanished into the fighting crowd.
It seemed the show was over… but it wasn’t.
Lady Jessica stepped to the edge of the stage and placed a hand behind her neck—then something strange happened. As the music swelled, her skin went slack and slid to the ground, revealing a stainless muonium skeleton.
Only her head remained… for a moment.
A metal finger pressed a button, and her face split open—revealing a small, furry creature inside.
Thunderous applause.
“Disappointed?” Iris teased.
“Well, I…” Kyle took a sip. “Let’s say that was a bit too… exotic for my taste. I’m more… traditional, okay?”
“Oh, really? Then why not tell me all about it?” she purred, licking her lips.
“Well… I mean… Don’t get me wrong, I’d really like to… ahem… It’s just that I’m passing through and…” He gulped, temples pounding. “I just need to find that guy.”
“What a shame,” Iris sighed. “I liked you. With you, I could’ve even done it half-price.”
She leaned closer, and her intoxicating perfume mixed with the alcohol Kyle had consumed. His head swam. When had he last been with a woman? His last girlfriend had dumped him months ago. Then he’d been stranded on Dabih Major—a planet where humans were one in a million. The thought of that miserable place snapped him out of it.
Weema… Aral… the damn k’rell… Twiglet…
“Ahem… Listen, Iris, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Ugh, the same old story.” She scoffed. “Let me guess—you’re gay? Odie’s your boyfriend? Got off on the wrong floor?”
“No, not even close. I just don’t have time. I need to find that guy.”
“Stop it, honey.” Iris leaned back, unconvinced. “No guy pays to come here, orders a drink, and turns down sex. Especially at a discount. Unless…“ She eyed him closely. “Oh. I get it now… A woman. She really got under your skin, didn’t she? So? What’s she got that I don’t?“
“Oh, come on…” Kyle chuckled awkwardly. “There’s no woman. I’m free as a bird.”
Iris wrinkled her nose, slid off the stool, and adjusted her dress.
“Go on, then. Run back to your sweetheart. You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Meanwhile, a creature with a long beak waddled onstage and began a monologue in a bizarre language composed entirely of hawks and chirps.
Feeling increasingly uneasy, Kyle headed toward the exit—forgetting to question the bartender. Then, just a few steps away, he heard Iris’s voice again.
“Hey, Kyle! That guy you’re looking for… I remember now. He works with the synths—top floor.”
Two floors above, Twiglet was searching for Odie Binx in the rooms reserved for voyeurs. She wasn’t even halfway through, but she couldn’t take it anymore.
For a mahjit, sex was a solemn affair. Though their average lifespan stretched to three hundred standard years, their fertile periods clustered in two six-year spans roughly a century apart. Each rare opportunity to mate became a ceremonial event, preceded by elaborate rituals. Twiglet was a hundred and thirty-seven years old, and her brief marriage to Whagi Yax had ended more than twenty-five years earlier. Still, she cherished the memory with a kind of wistful tenderness.
She used her pass to open yet another door. A harsh holo-screen glow bathed her in artificial light, displaying an orgy involving a few gaseous inhabitants of Zargon III.
“Excuse me, please! Is there anyone named Odie Binx here?” she asked.
The creatures, sealed in airtight suits, erupted in a cacophony of whistles and metallic thumps from their electronic translators.
“No, huh? Thought so,” she muttered, closing the door.
Leaning against the purple wall, Twiglet sighed. The holo-camera’s neck strap was too long for her frame and didn’t fit in her pocket. She’d considered stowing it in her duffel bag, but that would defeat its purpose—it was supposed to help her blend in. She adjusted it and kept walking.
Three more doors, then up to the next floor. Virtual Loves, the sign read. She grimaced. She already knew what awaited her—men and women bristling with cables, moaning as they “mated” with ghosts.
“If only I could bump into that damn Odie!” she grumbled.
She reached the next door and was about to insert the plastic pass when footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway. Her tongue flicked out nervously. She was entitled to be there—more or less—but getting caught snooping in other patrons’ rooms wouldn’t end well.
The antigrav wells were too far away. Where could she hide?
Stupid question. The door slid open on its own before she could react, and two shrill laughs greeted her.
“Oho! Long time no see! The abominable Mrs. Skunks! You remember her, guys?”
” ‘Course we do! She took all our savings!” a harsh, distorted voice growled.
“Glooorgl!” confirmed a third.
Twiglet froze. “Mr. Wol! How… nice to see you again! Small galaxy, isn’t it?
She forced a smile and took a cautious step back, glancing over her shoulder. For once, she wished someone—anyone—would show up. These three meant trouble.
“Yeah, small indeed,” the human sneered. “Still, Mrs. Skunks, I didn’t expect to find you here. Don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to the ‘orgy and swingers’ section?”
“Hardly,” Twiglet shot back. “But you, Mr. Wol, I’m not surprised to see. A den of perverts suits you perfectly.”
“Ha! Still sharp-tongued as ever,” Wol laughed. “So tell me, what are you really doing here? Returning our money, maybe?”
“Oh, terrible news on that,” she said, stalling. “That money’s no longer in my possession. Someone stole it.”
The footsteps she’d heard earlier were gone—so was her last sliver of hope.
“Really? Now, don’t take offense, Mrs. Skunks. I’m not calling you a liar… but I don’t believe you.” He turned to the hooded figure beside him. “Sjaak, search her.”
Twiglet took several steps back. “Stay away from me!” Running was pointless—her legs were too short, and she wasn’t fast. She’d have to outsmart them or die trying.
“Get her, boys!”
She hurled the holo-camera, swinging the strap in a wide arc toward the hooded man’s face. To her astonishment, he didn’t scream or fall—he collapsed, leaving behind a heap of rags as the camera smashed against the wall.
In disbelief, Arto Wol rummaged through the remains.
“Sjaak! Hey, Sjaak! What the hell…?”
The jellyfish-like creature waddled closer, its damp suit sloshing as it bent over the pile.
Twiglet seized the moment. She turned and sprinted toward the antigrav well. But as she rounded the corner, her escape ended abruptly—two burly humans were coming from the opposite direction.
She was about to ask them to move aside when she froze.
Them. It was them—the werewolves.
Those eyes. Those sneering smiles. She couldn’t be mistaken.
They advanced, and before she could blink, the horror unfolded: their spines arched, their legs shortened, and their exposed skin sprouted coarse black fur. Fingers twisted into claws; faces elongated into snarling muzzles lined with yellow fangs.
Twiglet was paralyzed. She’d read countless accounts, but none—no myth, no rumor—could have prepared her for this. The sheer otherworldly terror was beyond comprehension. No living being could witness such a transformation and keep their soul intact.
She realized she had only seconds to live. But strangely, at that moment, she no longer cared.
Then, without warning, Arto Wol rushed around the corner—and straight into the werewolves’ arms. He died instantly, throat torn open, blood gushing over Twiglet and the jellyfish.
The sight of his brutal death snapped her out of her trance. Overcome by terror, Twiglet turned and fled down the corridor.
Behind her, a wet, glutinous shriek told her that Glooorgl had met the same fate.
“Allichu, allichu, allichu!”
“I thold you tho leave… didn’th you hear me?” Uful’lan snapped, bored.
He hated that jelly-like thing. He’d been trying to shake it for at least an hour since he’d entered the S & M bar and the disgusting creature had glued itself to him. It was yellow and slimy, speckled here and there with reddish ganglia, and worst of all, it stank.
“Ama hina kaychu!” the abomination gurgled. Uful’lan cast a sickened glance as the thing slithered, rolled, and eventually hoisted itself onto the chair beside his own.
“Dispinsayuway, Cthhlhumi sutiy. Ch’akiwashan!”
Whenever the creature spoke—if those hideous gurgles even qualified as speech—its ganglia crackled with electric pulses, releasing oily, foul-smelling bubbles.
“Whath thhe hell do you wanth?”
“Ch’akiwashan! Ch’akiwashan!”
Uful’lan longed to kick it across the room but didn’t dare for fear of getting tangled in that revolting slime.
“Hey, you!” he barked at a passing servodroid. It approached with a clank, its appearance matching the bar’s fashion: spiked feet, a head like a crown of thorns, and rostrums jutting from elbows and ankles.
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you underssthand thhiss ball of puke?”
“Of course, sir. I am acquainted with all 4,736,539,212 known communication forms in the galaxy.”
“Thhen usse thhem tho find outh whath ith wanthss.”
The droid and the creature exchanged grunts, groans, and slurps that lasted several minutes.
At last, the droid turned back.
“He says his name is Cthulhu and he wishes to make friends, sir.”
“Iss thhath all? Buth you wenth on gurgling forever!”
“Nawpaq syntax is quite complicated, sir.”
“Nawpaq?” Uful’lan echoed, thoroughly disinterested. “Well, thell ith tho leave me alone. I don’th wanth tho be ithss friend.”
“Arì,” the thing cut in.
“Whath did ith ssay?”
The droid translated with professional poise:
“Mr. Cthulhu would be most honored if a being of such noble appearance and incomparable boldness would join him in sipping from the sacred chalice of affinity and shared purpose. The memory of this unforgettable communion will accompany him back to distant Tr’lang, through the long waking nights, in the company of hostile and mocking demons.”
“Excusse me, could you repeath thath? I didn’th geth thhe lassth word.”
“I believe he wants to buy you a drink, sir.”
“Oh, yeah… sso I’d guessssed, thoo…”
Uful’lan paused to consider.
Sure, the thing was a revolting blob. But if it was that eager to be friendly… why not? With any luck, he could even stick it with the tab for the eight beers he’d already downed—and hadn’t paid for. One more pint, then he’d go look for that fucking Odie Whatshisname.
“Thhank ith from me, and bring thwo more,” he said, pointing to his empty mug.
“Yes, sir!”
As soon as the servodroid left, Uful’lan turned to his companion.
“Hey, buddy… You know thhe one abouth thhe human withh a bionic willy?”
The room was awash in bright colors. A couple of holoscreens projected animated cartoons, and children’s laughter filled the air. Some kids played in small clusters, while the youngest—barely toddlers—slept peacefully on the carpet.
Shirl had reached the twelfth floor after failing to access the two previous ones; for reasons unknown, her pass hadn’t worked.
As soon as she stepped inside, she was greeted by a flurry of excited squeals. In seconds, a dozen children swarmed around her, cheering.
“Hello, madam! I’m Twyla!” beamed a human girl, around eight or nine.
“Your hair is really weird!” observed a wide-eyed boy.
“Are you here to choose?” asked a young, blue-skinned humanoid.
“Pick me! Pick me!” multiple voices chanted as hands tugged at her jacket.
Shirl froze. Something felt off. Then she noticed the glassy, too-still eyes. Synths.
“Okay, that’s enough. Back off or I’m leaving!”
At once, they stopped and stared—silent, puzzled.
“You’re not like the other uncles and aunties,” one little girl pouted.
“Uncles? Aunties?”
“The people who come play with us,” explained a belehk youth.
“I’m picked almost every night,” bragged a human girl, maybe twelve. “They say I’m the best!”
“One of my uncles did this to me!” piped up a green-skinned boy, showing bruises on his side.
Shirl’s heart clenched. She recognized those marks. Her own memories—Felix Nagatomo’s whip—surfaced like bile.
And then, the horrible realization struck.
“This is… the baby-sex sector, isn’t it?”
A few uneasy giggles confirmed the truth she already sensed.
“Best in New Xanadu,” said an older boy proudly. “We’re all the latest-gen synths.”
“Programmed with RPS 7.0!”
“I’m a 9000 series!”
“I’m a Yamato-Wyrd 0600!”
“Ha! Slow as a Datapad!” a reptilian kid teased.
“Not true! Odie upgraded my brain—now I’m smarter than you!”
The name stopped her cold. “Odie? Odie Binx?”
“Yes! He looks after us! Fixes us when things go wrong!”
“Where is he? Can I talk to him?”
She turned to a child nearby, but before he could answer, his gaze lifted—fixed on a point behind her. The others fell silent too.
A voice, low and menacing, sliced through the air.
“What’s going on here?”
The man standing in the doorway looked like something out of a nightmare. Pale skin. Shaved head. Hollow, dark eyes like empty wells.
“And you… Who the hell are you?”
Shirl stepped back, heart thudding. His eyes didn’t blink. A slow grin crept across his face.
“I’m… just visiting,” she managed.
“Strange… I wasn’t informed.” He began to approach, each step measured. “You do know this is one of the Nine Wonders’ most exclusive levels… reserved for our most loyal patrons.”
She glanced at the children. No reaction. No help.
She fumbled for her pass.
“I have authorization. See?”
He snatched the card from her hand. “Who gave you this?” he hissed. “Reporter? Sure you are…” He laughed, revealing sharp, stained teeth.
Her back hit the wall. He blocked her path. His breath reeked.
“Please… I haven’t done anything wrong!”
He grabbed her by the throat with one hand, while the other searched the back of her head. When he found the implant port, he sneered.
“Knew it. A synth.”
Shirl gasped, trembling, her mind racing. He pushed her back, gripping tighter, and began to reach toward her clothing with growing aggression.
“Let’s see what you’re made of…” he whispered.
That was the moment her survival instincts kicked in. She struggled, yelling—but he slapped her hard, sending her sprawling. She hit the floor, stunned, trying to crawl away.
Then everything stopped.
A shadow loomed.
A chair smashed across the man’s skull with a sickening crack. He dropped instantly.
A new figure stood over her, voice calm but resolute.
“It’s over. Aloysius Bandelbrox will hurt no one ever again.
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