Tyson stepped forward and spoke calmly. "Okay, we need your service for tracking and supporting us with a capture. Records show you have been hunting the Wraith, known as the Witch Beast Horror, for years."
The building went quite
BURP
"Excuse me~," Amaru giggled, her manners as piggy as her grin.
"Hey, this bitch is eating our food!" shouted an alien with compound eyes.
"Get her!" yelled another, a three-foot-tall creature with a hammer-shaped head.
Tyson and Moore exchanged a look, then turned back to the droid.
"So, are you open?" Tyson asked.
The droid nodded slowly and pointed toward the side door, inviting them to talk in private.
They entered an office crowded with trophies and framed certificates celebrating his greatest successes: Best Fried Chicken in the Orion Sector of the Milky Way and Outstanding Customer Service. The centerpiece was a massive dragon's head mounted on the wall, its horns curling outward like a crown. Jagged teeth jutted from its jaws, and two enormous tusks flared forward like the blades of a sawfish.
"Agent Tyson, is that a Jürgard dragon? During the Titanic wars in Triangulum Galaxy? This guy is ancient…" Moore whispered and Tyson nodded. "This one was just a newborn, yet this hunter knows its craft." Tyson whispered back.
The droid snapped his metallic fingers, grounding the two.
"Ya ask for me service, not me accomplishments," the droid said.
"Yes! I mean—yes, sir?"
"Dixie."
"Thank you. The KPH's got interest in your work on The Witch Beast Horror, something about its unique ability to create acidic liquid that can be refined into an alternative source of Dark Matter, Dixie, sir," Moore said.
"Tha bloody Witch, she ain't your cunning wit nor crackle one's. How about I show the wit to you all," Dixie said, projecting a flickering hologram of the Wraith.
"Mate, it's got four bloody limbs, two for crawlin' and grabbin', and the other two stick out near the back of the neck, like some kinda mantis from a nightmare. The torso's real slender, almost feminine, gives off that gap-horror sorta feel, y'know, nothin' that makes sense, just wrong in the gut.
Below that, the legs—if ya can even call 'em that—are thin, squirmy tendrils, maybe five hundred of the buggers, all wrigglin' about. And the head… looks just like one of them old Earth blood worms. Gave me the creeps soon as I saw it," said Dixie.
They understood what they were dealing with, or rather, they finally knew what the Witch Beast Horror looked like. Then—
WHAM!
The door slammed open, echoing through Dixie's office.
"Guys?! We need to hide, or cook the bodies?!" Amaru shouted, panic and exhaustion dripping from her voice. Blood and guts covered her from head to toe, spattering across the floor as she stumbled inside.
Moore drew in a deep breath, charging up for a yell. Her movements were sharp and predatory, like a lioness ready to pounce. Before she could explode, Tyson grabbed her collar and pulled her back.
"Don't worry, Amaru. And you too, Dixie," Tyson said, voice steady but laced with sarcasm. "The Director will keep your mistake hidden from the public, even though your reputation's already worse than Satan on happy hour Amaru."