Binary Null

J2 reminded himself often just how lucky he was to be alive. He sat cross-legged on a particularly rusted deck plate, idly clinking a couple links of his chain together. He had a small compartment to call his own, lit by a crack in the hull that permitted a lonely shaft of light. Across the hall, master’s bed took up nearly an entire room. No doors; they were pretty much all missing from the gutted old ship the gang called home. 
Reethagr, he’d learned, was the Boss’s name. He didn’t dare use it; none of the crew called him that to his face, but J2 relished knowing it and thinking about it when he tasted Boss’s cum. Such was the power of Reethagr’s musk, recalling it helped J2 forget he lived next to his own chamber pot. But at the end of the day, he was given food and water. If being used this way was the price for his continued existence… so be it. 
Just looking over at that rumpled mess of ratty bedding brought memories of the potent reptilian’s scent to the fore of his mind. A part of him even liked it, sometimes. J2 tried to ignore that part of himself, though.
A shadow momentarily blotted out the ray of sun. J2 looked up, and thought he glimpsed something red. Huh. One of the gang patrolled the roof, typically, so he didn’t think much of it. He lowered his head again.
There was one thought gnawing at him he couldn’t quite avoid. This was just… existence now. Was it really worth letting them… use him… just to stay alive… just so they could keep using him? The animal part of his brain wanted to keep living, but this wasn’t quite the life he had in mind.
J2’s ears perked up at footsteps in an adjacent hallway, and some broken bits of conversation between the passing members of Reethagur’s gang.
“…be back, right?”
“Dun think he offed anyone …”
“…job with Boss, remember?”
“No shit, but that was on level 3.”
There was raucous laughter, but that wasn’t what caught J2’s ear. Someone had been on a job with Boss… on level 3? That couldn’t be right, could it? They were all still on the first level of the labyrinth. There was so much he didn’t understand about the world he’d been abducted into. 
He dwelt on that for a while instead of his own future.
Reethagr’s heavy footfalls neared. Right outside the doorway, the deck groaned under his weight as he stooped his curl-horned head inside the cell. The space warmed a few degrees instantly. Or maybe that was just in J2’s head. Boss stepped over the protogen, taking a key from an out-of-reach shelf and stooping low to undo the manacles.
J2 lifted his head, and found it right up between Boss’s thighs, the musk sending a happy shiver down his spine. 
“Arkasse wants you.” Reethagr chuckled. “Starting to think he doesn’t like females anymore, except… you might as well be one.”
“Yes, master.” J2 gathered himself meekly and made his way down the hall.

00111010

Arkasse’s scaled hands ran down J2’s back as the protogen’s body rolled, spearing himself again and again on smooth, tapered cock. It couldn’t compare to Master’s in how much it stretched him or how deep it plunged, nor could Arkasse’s sinuous thrusts and gentle grip compare to the feral lust Reethagr conveyed when he claimed the protogen’s ass. But the flutter in his chest, the fact it was Arkasse, made up for it.
His feet were tucked right in next to Arkasse’s hips, giving J2 easy mobility for his heavy hips; his hands rested on his lover’s scaled belly for stability, and his thick tail waved and flailed behind him, providing balance and lending his movements momentum.
His serpentine partner lay back beneath him, his hood spreading from his head and neck, adorned with vibrant blue scale patterns standing in stark contrast to the pale brown hues of the rest of his body. J2 only ever saw those bright colored scales in private; it felt intimate.
The only display the protogen could offer in turn was between his metallic thighs, groin plates spread for his genital vent, his pink erection exhibiting the basest desires of his organic side. He never got this hard anymore when the rest of the crew fucked him. Much as he enjoyed it, he hardly ever came to it. To the others, he was a toy. With the snake who’d shown him the most compassion, though, J2 relished repaying him with his only asset, the only thing he was good for.
So he threw every ounce of his passion into riding Arkasse’s cock. Every roll of his hips was a subtly different angle, twist, or speed, never letting his performance become monotonous. He was intent on every muscle, and the perfect time to clench his tailhole, and matching up with the thrusts of his lover. His eyes closed in his focused state, displaying as thin, happily-arched lines on his faceplate.
His reward was the cadence of Arkasse’s heavy panting, hisses of pleasure, the way the snake tried and failed to keep a steady rhythm as J2 kept changing the tempo, the desperate clutch of needy claws sinking into his lower back as he slowly lost control to carnal pleasure. The best moment was when Arkasse’s eyes rolled back in his head, and the throbbing along his length told the protogen he’d just reached his peak and given in.
Spurts of slimy snake jizz shot up inside J2’s body, and he savored the sensation, ears and tail quivering as he clenched hard again and again on Arkasse’s maleness and milked him of every drop. 
“Jezen…” The snake moaned softly. It was his pet name for J2.
And he had a lot more to give; four more strong spurts came before his ejaculations’ intensity waned. J2’s ass was overfilled and leaking back down on the Arkasse’s slit long before he finished cumming. He must have been pent up the whole time he was out with Reethagr. J2’s heart fluttered at how much cum his lover had saved, all for him.
With his own erection still throbbing, J2 lay himself across his lover’s chest with a satisfied sigh.
“Jezen… whatsss wrong? You didn’t finish?”
He shook his head faintly, already going soft. J2’s hands traced the scales of the snake’s chest, eyes narrowing to contented slits on his faceplate. I feel wanted. That’s all I need.
Those strong arms embraced him, pulled him close, sending yet another flutter through J2’s heart.
“Jezen, sspeak to me. Please.”
His throat clenched. For some reason that was getting much harder with anyone other than Boss. “I-I’m fine.”
“You’re not. If you don’t want thisss…”
“No! I need this.” J2’s arms tightened around the snake’s lithe waist.
Arkasse sighed, relinquishing the conflict and resigning to stroking the protogen’s ears. “What about the fur? Any better?”
J2 made a noncommittal noise, sucking in a long breath and groaning to draw out the moment. Sooner or later, he’d have to move, or Arkasse would keep prodding. At length, he pulled back from the embrace and rolled off his serpentine lover. “It’s getting worse.”
He brushed along the fur of one arm against the flow. Obviously his coat wasn’t as clean and white as the chemical showers on the Avonlight would get it, but the disturbing part was the discoloration at the roots, where it darkened. Arkasse, being from a desert planet, donated his entire shower ration in the hopes J2 could wash it out. He scrubbed no end, but whatever it was… some kind of infection or a fungus maybe? Nothing seemed to remove it. Thankfully, it wasn’t obvious when his fur lay naturally.
He worried who might notice. If any of the crew thought it was transmissible… and stopped wanting to use him as a result… Then his one use, the one reason they kept him alive, would be gone. What then?
Arkasse’s hands combed through, checking the thicker fur of the protogen’s neck, ears, and back of the head. J2 pressed his faceplate to the snake’s chest and tried to pretend the gentle fingers inspecting his scalp were just petting. “Just stop… I need this to be a good moment.”
“Okay.” Arkasse’s arms wrapped him tightly. 
Quiet ensued. But as J2 grew comfortable against his… Was Arkasse a friend? His mind was uneasy. There was so much he couldn’t say, but slowly, questions he could ask bubbled up. Even then, it took him a while to find his voice.
“I… overheard that boss was on level three? I thought the higher levels were… another place.” 
“Yess. But you can travel between them. Resst of the crew is level two, itsss why the ssscavengers leave usss alone.”
J2’s hands balled up into fists. Why didn’t you TELL ME!? Anger shot through him, but it left him with a quivering sigh. “How many… levels are there?”
“Highesst I heard was sssix. Probably more.”
His heart sank further still. “And passing a level means… fighting, right?”
“Every floor’ss different. But, mostly hass to be fighting, yess.” Arkasse’s fingers ran through J2’s fur. “You didn’t assk the drone thingsss?”
“I asked one.” Maybe I didn’t ask the right questions. How was I supposed to know? The builders were clearly sick and twisted, to offer a kind of hope like that… and keep it so far out of reach. Some indeterminate number of levels, progressing past each meaning overcoming everyone else who’d come so far.
“You’re not thinking about trying yourssself are you?”
J2 flinched. They both knew he’d never make it if he tried. If Reethagr’s crew was normal for level two, if Boss hadn’t make it to four yet, J2 didn’t stand a chance.
He swallowed hard. So this really was the rest of his existence. Arkasse was the one person who made it worth living.
“Jezen. You worry me.”
“I miss home.” But even if I got out of the labyrinth, how would I find my way back to the Avonlight? Would she even… come back for me? That thought troubled him even further. He needed to think on something else. “What was your home like, Arkasse?”
“Wassn’t much of a home. I was just a ssoldier. Mossst of my kin were, middle of a war you sssee. Interplanetary.”
“Oh. I hope your side won.”
He chuckled. “I’m sssure we did. They were a bit pathetic.”
Pathetic? And Arkasse laughed it off. Why were you fighting them, then? J2 was suddenly afraid to form words, a chill settling over him. How could he be so flippant about it? The more questions came to him about Arkasse, his species, the more J2 worried he wouldn’t like the answers.
Could he really call Arkasse a friend…?
In the end, it didn’t matter. He didn’t have a choice. Arkasse was all J2 had.

/* The Labyrinth’s day/night cycle is apparently 16 hours of light and 10 of dark. Many have conjectured reasons for this. Did the creators model the day and night after some extremely rare astronomical circumstances like the daily eclipses of Semestria, or a habitable planet in a binary system? We think it’s unlikely, because its originators’ homeworld has none of these features. Is it related to the proportion of diurnal to nocturnal species residing inside it? While that is our favorite theory, we can’t exactly poll the Labyrinth occupants ourselves to prove or disprove it. Applying Occam’s razor, we are left with the theory that the day/night cycle is purpose built to throw their captives off their natural biological rhythms, as with many subtle features of the Labyrinth. */

Process Suspended

Today, the protogen was tasked with cleaning out one of the fridges.
Once upon a time, this ship had flown, and somewhere along its journey, it got sucked up by the Labyrinth. One way or another it wound up the hideout of Reethagr’s gang. The galley served the same function it always had, but the means had obviously changed dramatically. The fridges now lay on their backs, long since looted of any usual components, little more than vaguely insulated bins for what food they had.
The gang only ever brought back one food J2 could actually stomach; an odd fruit he never learned the name of. It had a thick skin, but the pods inside were decently juicy, though not exactly flavorful. The other fridges housed meat of every description: from cured and stale to still bleeding. Reethagr and most of his gang were mostly carnivorous hunters. When they emptied one, it was J2’s job to clean the nasty out of the bottom before it would be filled again.
J2 made it a point never to ask how exactly they sourced meat. After all this time, the unsanitary lifestyle still didn’t sit well with him. Once he’d finished, he showered on Arkasse’s water budget. He’d lost track of the days, weeks… months? Had it really been that long? The gang was convinced J2 knew his place, so they let him roam when they were present. The lookouts would spot him before he got far, even if he tried to escape. But no such escape attempts crossed his mind. He moved from room to room, quietly offering himself for any crewman who looked at him with so much as an ember of lust, or who looked bored enough he could tempt them. 
When no one else was interested, he cleaned things. Master’s bunch weren’t exactly tidy, and he wasn’t sure they noticed or cared about the kind of grime that accrued in the corners of the ship. It took root and spread like a mold, beaten back only from the most heavily trafficked surfaces. But J2 found old rags and cleaned in the faint hope that made him useful. That was his only survival tactic. He had no fallback plan, no chance to survive on this own, let alone progress the labyrinth.
There was always more to clean inside, but today, J2 climbed a ladder toward the roof. Once, these rungs led to a gun turret. Now it was just a hole to the roof, and everyone knew to watch their footing at the top. Falling into the empty mouth of the munitions elevator would be a bad day. Tonight, J2 just wanted to look at stars.
There wouldn’t be any, but that didn’t stop him from imagining.
It was either light or dark Labyrinth. There were neither suns nor stars to orient yourself by - only the distant metal towers rising up to meet the faux sky. He had no idea how far away the ceiling was. Far enough that no light source they had access to ever illuminated it. Far enough to boggle the mortal mind with the distance. Enough to remind J2 of staring out onto the deep void. 
Back home on the Avonlight, the observation deck had gargantuan windows. It was close to the center of the ship, so spin gravity was weak. A meager hop gave you minutes of freefall. J2 once scaled the window all the way to the ceiling with a toy suction cup. He bounced on his heels, and gravity clung onto him, seemingly concentrated in a dull, homesick ache in his chest.
“Hey, robot bitch!”
His ears flattened and he tilted toward the source of the slur, but he already knew it was Rizz. A canid whose jagged black and white fur patterns bordered on tiger stripes. J2 had never seen him with a shirt; he was apparently from an arctic planet, and only ever bothered with pants. His wrists were wrapped in frayed blue wrappings that apparently held some significance to his culture, but that was just something the protogen overheard - Rizz would hardly talk about about that with him. His muzzle was twisted into a permanent sneer, partly due to his salty demeanor, but also by a nasty scar across his snout that made him look displeased at the best of times. He beckoned, and J2 followed before he even thought about it.
Rizz wrapped his hand around the protogen’s neck; his fingers just about touched. He tried to swallow, and couldn’t push it past the canine’s grip. There was a particular flame in the Rizz’s eye that only burned when he could easily crush a life.
“Come up here to help me keep watch?” He scoffed down at J2. “Wonder what your fancy tech eyes see that I don’t. Too bad you’re not worth it. We don’t need females keeping us safe. Down, Bitch.”
J2 was cast to his hands and knees. From the way Rizz shifted his weight, he was about ready to lift a foot. So the protogen lowered himself fully to the course hull plate until he was low enough to satisfy the canid.
“Good. Stay where you belong.”
Thing about Rizz… He didn’t like males, but as far as he was concerned, J2 didn’t deserve to be one anyway. As long as J2 avoided getting an erection, Rizz didn’t hurt ‘her’. Much. J2 didn’t hate the treatment as much as he maybe should have.
Rizz’ bare paw pushed ‘her’ tail up so he had a view of J2’s tailhole. He chuckled over her. “Not even your first tonight? You’re even more hard working than the last whore. Too bad Boss broke that girl.”
Ears tilting back at the zipping sound, she guessed Rizz had whipped it out to enjoy himself at the sight of her rear. When his foot lifted, J2 wasn’t sure what to expect next.
Rizz’s powerful hand wrapped around both her ankles at once and hauled. She yelped, the rough deck plates painful even through fur.
 “Come along, Bitch,” Rizz laughed as he dragged her across the hull.
Unpleasant didn’t begin to describe the journey; J2 did her best to slide on her chest plate, but that was easier said than done when she was dragged across uneven seams and jagged cracks, acquiring cuts all along her belly and arms. Somewhere along the way she flipped on her back and had to hold her tail off the ground as well, but at least she could make out their destination; a leaning tower-like structure protruding from the hull. Perhaps it once supported a radar dish or somesuch. Now it was just an overhang with old hanging cables.
Rizz kicked her back onto her stomach grabbed a few of the dangling cables, and knelt down to start wrapping them around J2’s thighs. Rizz liked his power trip; of course he liked his playthings tied up. Why wouldn’t he?
J2 was surprised how long it took, though. Rizz never struck her as the patient type, but the canid worked at wrapping her thighs and shins in a very particular way, a lot of the work was done overhead where she couldn’t see. Another set of cables came down and J2 found them wrapped around her chest and stomach at multiple points, laced around her wrists as well, immobilizing her arms behind her back. Even her tail was lashed in a lifted state. It was methodical and practiced. He wasn’t just tying J2 up, he was harnessing her.
Rizz stood up and hauled on a specific line. All the cables went taught, and J2 yelped as she fell away from the deck, hoisted from her ankles, knees, and shoulders. For the moment, she was upside down and spinning. Rizz’s sheath rolled into view and pressed against her faceplate. “Get to work, bitch.”
A shiver of elation running up her spine, J2 formed a muzzle and tongue to obey. But she also had to calm herself. Getting too excited would get her in trouble.
It wasn’t easy fighting arousal while she plunged her tongue into Rizz’s fat sheath, entranced with his scent as she coaxing out his semi. He obviously hadn’t washed in a while; his scent was overbearing, and not in a pleasant way. He tasted like salt and sweat and worse. But J2 took it dutifully, and… it should have been easy to avoid getting hard. She shouldn’t enjoy this. But she didn’t hate it as much as she should have.
While she suckled his emerging cock, Rizz finessed the cables. By the time he was solid, she was mostly parallel with the ground again. Her knees and waist were at different heights, forcing her legs to splay. Don’t get hard, don’t get hard… 
“Come on, you can put more effort into it than that, bitch.”
Empty head. Just suckle, bob head as much as she could. Work her tongue. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how hot his- no. She could feel her desire rising, swelling beneath her groin plate, just beginning to parting the plate and expose her. She was still soft, hopefully Rizz wouldn’t notice.
She wouldn’t exactly call the cables tying her up comfortable, but it wasn’t painful at all. In fact, being hung immobilized was… a little like feeling weightless, swaying gently to the rhythm of Rizz’ thrusts.
“Keep your fucking clit where it belongs, bitch! You’re a robot, switch it off, slut!”
J2 started, realizing she was growing harder. Too hard; she’d angered Rizz. She whimpered weakly, but he didn’t seem to take it as an apology. Drawing attention to it only made it worse. She couldn’t move, cover up, or will her erection to go down. The cock in her mouth withdrew, Rizz growling his displeasure. She didn’t see the smack coming. Right across the faceplate, his blow dazed her.
“Fucking robot, does that even hurt?” Another blow, harder this time, and she saw stars. This was just part of the play, for Rizz. J2 cried out, knowing he liked it when she did. When she dared open her eyes, Rizz’s member was withdrawing. He really didn’t like seeing ‘her’ penis.
Rizz grasped the ruff of J2’s neck, hoisting her vertical with the one arm, adjusting cables with the other, until she hung in a kind of kneeling position. Then he gathered up a coil of loose cable and stepped behind her.
Crack.
J2 cried out again, but it was genuine this time. She drew the line at being whipped with old frayed cables. There was nothing enjoyable about lashed for daring to enjoy pleasing Rizz. Her arousal waned quickly. Rizz’ anger did not. By the time he was satisfied, a dozen lashes later, J2 was numb. She trembled and hung lax in her bindings, whimpering when Rizz touched her, resigned to endure. He wouldn’t kill her. Probably. Stripes across her back stang; some of the cuts felt deep.
Her hands started to go numb from how tightly they were bound. If only the rest of her body were so lucky. Eventually, Rizz speared taint, exacting his pleasure in a blur of lusty growls and violent thrusts. His clawed hands wrapped around J2’s neck as he cackled in her ear. “Be grateful we let you live, bitch. You know all you’re good for, don’t you?”
“Y-yes,” J2 rasped, “I-I’m your slut… T-Thank you…”
“Convince me, robot. Beg for it.”
“Please…” The heat fogging her mind overpowered the pain. Part of her wanted it. And she had to push to make that part of her form words. “I-I’m not worth… a-anything but your pleasure. Please use m-me!”
“Not good enough!” His claws squeezed on her neck.
What more do you want!? J2 quivered and whimpered. Coherent thoughts were a struggle. “Please… ‘m not worth hrk… More! HARDER, Please… nnrgh.”
She felt his knot, even as she felt consciousness slipping away. The warms spilling inside her. Fullness. Then the pull shocked her awake, and she yelped as his knot ripped out of her before he was even partway deflated.
He left J2 to hang, face down, splayed, shaking, faint and lightheaded, dripping seed from ‘her’ abused tailhole. With blood rushing back to her head, everything went black.
When she came to, it wasn’t Rizz patrolling the roof. The roof patrols changed every few hours. All she could do was wait for one of them to bother letting him down.
Everything hurt, and she had little to dwell on, so she closed her eyes and resigned herself to more hours of waiting. When the time came, J2 had little choice but to relieve himself on the deck plate beneath. Looked like it wasn’t the first time that patch of deck had been stained. The cuts on his back burned, and he worried about infection. 
Was survival worth this? Maybe it would have been better if he’d been killed off in the first minutes of the labyrinth, along with his fellow batch-mates. Thrash as he might, he couldn’t bend back far enough to catch a cable with his chin, the way Rizz had him harnessed. But something in him snapped when he realized what he was trying to do. 
Why me? I’m not special. They deserved to live. But at least they didn’t have to endure this. I can’t take this anymore! I hate it! I hate what they do to me, and… and what I become… when I’m into it. How can I enjoy this? They’re using me. I’m just a fucktoy to them. It has to end. I just can’t anymore…!
But he still couldn’t move. There was nothing he could do about it.
Emotion slowly drained out of him as he hung hour by hour. 
His ears perked up when he heard Reethagr’s distant voice. He picked his head up and scanned, spotting Boss on the ground outside the ship with a handful of his gang. Rizz and Arkasse were among them, but it wasn’t even half the crew. J2 couldn’t make out words, but Reethagr bellowed something, seemingly to the wind. A glinting object flew towards him from some distant point; a metallic sphere. J2 had almost forgotten about those. One greeted him on his first day in the Labyrinths; he recalled it refusing to answer any meaningful questions. But apparently it was happy to talk to Reethagr.
Mid-conversation, the sphere emitted a cone of light, engulfing Boss and the crew with him; it was bright enough to burn an afterimage into J2’s vision. When the blotch faded, Boss and the others were gone. The sphere hovered momentarily, then sped off in a random direction.
There was so much he didn’t know about the Labyrinth. But from what he did know, he just wanted it to end. Just before he let his head fall again, he glimpsed something red in the sky. A bird…? Huh. He watched it wheel overhead for a while, but when his neck started hurting, he gave up and went limp again. Dusk was falling by the time the roof patrol changed again, and finally someone decided to let him down.

/* One protogen we interviewed equated their management console to a heartbeat. It’s always there, and sometimes you hear it. Most wouldn’t even consider trying to control it. If you have a problem with your heart rate, you see a doctor.
But then, there are examples from hundreds of species who have learned conscious control of their heart rate.
Protogens who naturally develop awareness of the control processes of their cybernetics tend to be those who are obsessive about their own health or given to long sessions of introspection. Jezena’s case falls into a tragic third category: those who experience long periods of confinement or sensory deprivation. */

while()

J2’s ears were ringing, his head hurt. Dehydration and exhaustion. His biosensors coldly tracked his rising cortisol levels. Being chained up in the dark for days at a time at random intervals frayed his circadian rhythm. All he could do was bide his time until Reethagr returned and he’d have a chance to extend his mortal existence a little longer. The bare essentials, at least. He had other problems that would likely never be addressed.
Whole patches of J2’s fur were growing dark from whatever was infecting the roots. More worrying, he’d started noticing black ‘sweat’ accumulating at the edges of his faceplate. If he pushed hard on one spot long enough, he could push a dent into its surface and it would stay deformed for a few minutes. His nanites were losing coherence. His knowledge of his own cybernetic anatomy was lacking, but even he knew that was bad.
Maybe it would be better if Reethagr and his crew forgot about their protogen plaything. Starving might be a more pleasant way to go than falling apart at the seams.
14,703.
He twinged. His Arithmetic Logic Unit seriously had nothing better to do than count how many times he’d asked himself essentially the same question. About a month ago, it had gone rogue and started tracking things whether he wanted it to or not. 
133 days.
No… it couldn’t have been that long, could it? He’d only been in the labyrinth for…
197 days.
Had it been that long since his last real meal with friends and batch-mates? Since a good hot sterilizing shower and a day in Data Missional? Since he heard… What was her number? The one with the sweet, cheery laugh. J2 clamped his hands on his head, as if the pressure could relieve some of his headache and let him think straight. He’d grown up with her, why couldn’t he remember her designation!
Footsteps, movement in the ship. The rowdy chatter and jeers of the crew made their way to him; he imagined them filing inside, telling and retelling stories of whatever mission Boss led them on tonight, and whoever they’d killed or captured. J2 gave up trying to remember his batch-mate and resigned himself. At least he could get a drink and some food soon.
From the sounds of it, he might have to wait, though. They had captured someone new, judging by the pitched, feminine screams. It was the same with every female Reethagr brought back. He pulled himself back to a sitting position because he needed more slack in the chain to cover his ears. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. 
After all, if it were him… he’d be begging for it. He relished being used… even if it turned his stomach. He’d just gotten very good at tuning out the disgusted part of himself when he was with master or the crew, and leave the twisted mass in his gut to wrestle with when they went off hunting and left him chained in the cell.
The female was muffled suddenly. J2 could almost taste a cock, himself, and he shivered in delight. He wanted it, and he wasn’t the one getting it.
Was that really all he could think about? How much he wanted it for himself? This was probably how that female batch-mate he couldn’t remember… died. 
They always died. Why hadn’t J2 died?
14,704.
When the jeers and cries finally faded and the crew had their way with their captive, Boss’ heavy footfalls neared. J2 perked up, putting on his best face for the Boss as the gargantuan reptile ducked through the doorway. The room instantly felt tiny, and Reethagr’s scent washed over him. J2’s heart fluttered as it filled his lungs and overcame his senses. He breathed deeply of it, leaning in, nuzzling against Boss’ thick gray scales and his vent, practically drunk off the scent. His visor formed a tongue, but his advances didn’t even elicit a tip of Reethagr’s hemipenis. “Aww, didn’t save me any?” As the manacles fell away, he wrapped his arms around the large reptile’s waist, pouting. Please don’t replace me. He put on his best coy demeanor. “I hope you’re not getting tired of me…” I’’ll work harder!
Boss’s claws brushed his arms away and tousled the protogen’s ears. “Don’t be greedy. The plaything in the common room is for a special order. Meeting the buyer tomorrow. We’re just helping break her in. Get yourself some food, and feed our lady guest while you’re at it.”
The protogen took a deep breath, savoring it since that was apparently all he was getting tonight. He put on his best cheery smile. “Yes, master.”
Reethagr lumbered across the hall and dropped into his bed. J2 rolled to his feet, staggered into the corridor, and caught himself on the far wall. His stomach turned, and it felt like the deck was off-kilter. His sense of balance was way off, his head spun, throbbing. What was he doing? Right, food. Actually, water was probably more important. Once he’d collected himself, he made his way toward the galley, using the hand rails along the wall wherever they hadn’t broken off.
After downing an entire flask of water and a few minutes to let it circulate, he could walk in a straight line again. So he collected another flask and a fruit that didn’t look too bruised. Off to meet the captive.
The ‘common room’ was less of a room, more of a hull breach. Most tables and chairs the gang had access to were arranged about the grassy, open-air space some seven meters across, surrounded by the jagged edges of ripped bulkheads. Their ‘guest’ was bound hand and foot to a conveniently person-sized table in the middle of it. J2 was intimately familiar with that table, and felt a small stab of irritation that someone had his spot. Not that she had a say in the matter.
She had vulpine features, a dusty gray pelt now badly matted, a torn ear that was still bleeding, and some bruises that even showed through her fur. Red-tinted stripes along her body and limbs looked more like a tribal design than a natural fur color. If she’d had any clothes, they were nowhere in sight, and all she wore now were crusting white stains concentrated around her muzzle, bare breasts, and exposed womanhood.
J2 made a point to drag his feet through a patch of scraggly grass so she would hear him coming and not startle her too much. She picked up her head, and tipped oversized ears toward him, cautiously watching sidelong.
“You weren’t with the others.” Her gaze swept up the protogen’s scuffed metallic thighs. She lingered on the nondescript plates of the protogen’s groin until her eyes snapped to the matted fur of J2’s wrists, which couldn’t quite conceal the red marks from the manacles.
Head ducked, J2 set the flask down and broke open the fruit’s thick skin with a claw. Once the outer skin was rent, it easily tore into juicy pods clustered around the seeds. His faceplate split into a mouth, ate one while the fox watched to demonstrate it was safe to eat. Bland, edible. He offered the next pod to her. Since her hands were bound, he brought it right to her muzzle. She accepted with a shallow sigh. 
Her scent was completely obfuscated by sweat, blood, and a lot of cum. He could still smell Boss all over her, but tried to ignore it as he fed her. He took a single pod for himself every two the fox girl ate out of his hand. He offered her the flask; she drank, and she turned her head away when she was done. “Thank you.”
J2 dipped his head to acknowledge her and scooped up the flask and the fruit’s outer skin.
“They’ve really broken you, haven’t they?”
He was halfway turned to leave, but glanced back at he fox.
“Couldn’t help but notice nobody went to guard the entrance when they were… done with me.” Her eyes flicked to J2’s wrists again. “You could leave any time. Even untie me if you’re feeling generous.”
He pointed upward, at the roof around the common area. The roof patrols.
“Ah. I suppose that figures,” she sighed. “You poor thing.” She leaned toward him, surely stretching her arm uncomfortably, just to lower her voice. “There are places for our kind. Safety in numbers. Don’t give up, there’ll still be a place for you. No matter how much they use us, stay strong.”
His head dipped, and he shuffled in place. She meant well, but… Leave Arkasse? What if I want this? For some reason her sympathy put him on edge, made him uncomfortable. How long had this female been in the labyrinth? She seemed to know more about the place, but she didn’t strike J2 as a scavenger, nor part of a gang like Reethagr’s. It seemed incredible that many people could hold onto civility for long. He shuffled back to the dark, musty corridors of the broken ship, feeling her gaze on him until he rounded a corner.
Once he’d cleaned up, he would see Arkasse. That thought alone elated him. When he stopped at Arkasse’s door, the light was off. The room was empty. J2 made himself comfortable in Arkasse’s bed with a sultry smirk, hoping to surprise his lover.
But no one came. For a solid hour, Arkasse hadn’t come back to his room. That wasn’t like him. Unless.. Must’ve been assigned to roof patrol, J2 decided. He rolled out of bed, and headed for the ladder. But when he stuck his head out, Arkasse was nowhere to be found. The hunch-backed, heavy-scaled crew mate on roof patrol was one of the newer recruits.
J2 wandered the halls. The galley, the shower, some of the larger rooms where the gang gathered to play cards. Arkasse must have been scouting, on a longer mission for Boss, or… or…
Rounding a corner, the protogen smacked into a bare furred chest. J2 staggered back, lifting his eyes to meet the familiar canid’s. 
“Looking for your favorite?” Rizz sneered.
J2 forced a smile. “N-No, just anyone who wants… service.”
“Don’t lie to me, bitch.” He reached out and flicked his faceplate. “Guess nobody bothered to tell you.”
“W-What? Tell me what?”
The burly canine crossed his arms and just stood there, leering over the protogen, eyes alight. He was enjoying this, drawing it out. 
“Rizz, please. Where is he!?”
“Snake boy went down in a fight for the last time. You get me?” That cruel grin widened as J2’s eyes went wide. “He’s dead.”
J2’s heart skipped a beat, numbness spreading through his limbs as he stumbled away from Rizz, the canine laughing behind him. Rizz could be lying. A trick. It had to be. It couldn’t be real.
He looked everywhere, he begged the crew, but they just laughed at him. He couldn’t think. He didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to…
14,705.
14,706.
14,707.

#DIV/0!

J2 was already curled on the floor of his cell when Boss came in to lock the manacles on him. The clink of chains barely stirred him. The only thing he really registered was that now his hands couldn’t both touch the floor at the same time. It was one chain, run through a metal ring on the ceiling. 
Reethagr didn’t speak, didn’t comment. Just as well. He failed to mention that Arkasse was dead. J2 really didn’t want to hear Boss’ voice just then. He heard the soft click of the key Reethagr left on a high shelf, well out of reach. His footsteps clomped down the hall, and he roused the men. The captive was quiet this morning. Whether that meant she was resigned or defiant, J2 never knew. Minutes later, the crew was gone.
Did it really take the whole crew to deliver one ‘special order’ captive? Maybe Boss expected trouble. Either way, the protogen was alone. Again.
He’d reached the bottom. He was so exhausted he couldn’t feel it anymore. Maybe it was better that way. He eyed the shelf with the key. If he left, he might starve, or be attacked. He might die. But he had nothing to live for, so… why not?
14,956.
J2 stood up slowly, distantly aware of his motion and intentions, like he was in a trance. He cared so little that it didn’t feel like his own body anymore. His chain stopped him several feet short of the key. And the cell had nothing he could use to extend his reach; he’d thought of the easy stuff in the early days. Best he could do was reach one hand back toward the ring on the ceiling, and give his other manacle as much slack as he could… and it was still an arms’ length again out of reach.
He put all his weight into it, metal cuffs biting into his wrists where they’d chafed at him. Now it stung, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t angry, or furious, frustrated. He was just empty, and the sting of iron biting his skin just didn’t matter anymore. Maybe he even deserved it. No sovereign power would give him strength to break the metal; he would break first. He kept pulling, no matter how deep it cut him, no matter how much he felt the tendons and bones protest.
A spike of pain shot through his right arm, spearing into his shoulder. He cried out, but it was over in an instant. His arm fell away from the rest of him, swinging on its chain and dripping black sludge. Dying nanites. J2’s gaze latched onto the detached joint with morbid fascination. The socket was all metal, nothing organic, nothing like a mechanical latch. The nanites were what held him together, and what had given way.
But now the chain had slack. He could pull his dangling arm right up against the ring. Reaching the shelf wasn’t even a strain.
J2 looked back and forth between the key in his hand and his detached limb for what felt like eternity before he remembered what he was doing with it. It was awkward, with his left hand, but he ultimately unlocked the cuffs, picked up his discarded arm, and walked out of his cell.
Through the corridors, through the commons, out the leftovers of the airlock that served as the front door. No one stopped him. No one ordered him to do anything. No one even looked at him. It was surreal. Hadn’t he hoped for this? Yes, but that was back when freedom felt worth it. Now he was just doing it because he wanted to get away from… memories, mostly. Pain. 
14,957.
He followed a well-worn path away from the ship until it vanished. Right about where he’d seen Reethagr disappear in a cone of light from one of those sphere things. Speaking of, one was flying up to him already. A small number 0 appeared in the corner of his vision as it neared.
“Hello! You have 0 points. How can I help you today?”
Take me away, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t find the words. Whatever Reethargr and the others used to teleport or whatever they were doing… That probably cost points. Points gained by winning fights, and by… claiming others. J2 had nothing, would never have anything if that’s what it took to advance in this hellhole they called the labyrinth.
You’re not thinking about trying yourssself are you?
Even Arkasse hadn’t thought J2 could do it.
The sphere hovered and bobbed in the air a moment longer before getting fed up and flying off. J2 picked the opposite direction and started walking. He picked one of the distant pillars in that direction at random and made that his target. He walked until his joints hurt, and pushed on past night fall. By the time the sunless sky lit up to signify daytime again, he could hardly lift his feet, so he shuffled, tail dragging behind him. Finally, muscles burning, feet cut and bruised, heat got to him; he collapsed in a heap, curled around his detached arm.

/* Possibly one of Jezena’s wildest claims was meeting a metaavian. She was very insistent on that point, and if true she is one of the only firsthand sources on their behavior outside the [REDACTED] */
[Editor’s Note: Please bear in mind that, while we hold ourselves to a standard of facts, most elements of this work cannot be verified. We are recounting the story as the subject tells it. As such, we have to account for their creative license. This is not to be considered a purely factual biography.]

Brilliant red wings splayed, a bird alighted alongside J2’s collapsed form. His faceplate and screens were black and lifeless. The bird had the shape of a corvid, a bit bigger than a hawk, but his feathers glistened like rubies and were flecked with gold. His vibrant crest perked up as he looked over the motionless protogen.
“Feh. You’re the next one? A toaster a few quadrillion light-years from from E1. Not even one of the special ones, and already zozzled by the looks of things.” The talking avian carefully folded his wings and leaned over, pecking once at the dark faceplate. It hardly made a sound, and his beak left a triangular indentation. The avian tutted. “Arcaite levels that bad, are they? Still not sure how you even…” He broke off, looking the protogen up and down. “Oh, ah? You’re one of her batches. Go figure. Always planning something dramatic, aren’t you Avonlight?”
The bird tittered to himself, hopping in a circle around J2’s unresponsive figure.
“Well, can’t be helped. You have a long way to go, yet.” He shrugged his wings and turned his head to preen. He tugged a tuft of golden down from beneath his wing, clutching it in his beak as he hopped back toward the protogen’s head. He laid the glistening fluff against J2’s faceplate and drew himself upright. He waited, shrugging his wings, feathers ruffling in annoyance. “Any day now, you microscopic dregs.”
Slowly, the tuft of down began dissolving.
“Yeah, yeah, eat up...”
J2’s faceplate flickered to life and he drew a slow, laborious breath. He tipped his head, eying the avian at his side. “What…?”
“Cool your tits.” He swashed his wing over J2’s face. “Didn’t think you’d wake up that fast. Switch yourself back off for a spell. Going to be a while before you’re stable again.”
“Who… are you…?”
“Feh!” He laughed dismissively, but a moment later spread a wing and struck a pose. “Dejafere, if it pleases you. But if you remember meeting me at all in your state, I’ll eat my talons. Now rest. You’re not allowed to die yet.”