A/N: Adult content. Read at your own risk.

"Atten-hut!" Boomer bellowed at the fore of their parade form display. Every merc on Illiana stood tall and proud. Ten weeks of fierce training under Darkness and Light had made them into a stronger unit than any of them had ever thought possible. Space chatter on stellar com lines resounded with the ferocity of the Pirates of Illiana. What had originally been a rag tag bunch of mercs had morphed into a tight unit that filled the hearts of all they passed with fear.

Fear was an amazing emotion. It made strong men weak, the powerful powerless and the few men like Darkness and Light – it made them into Gods. Beside him, to his right, Gun Master stood her ground. She had been strong before Light upped their training; now, she could almost match Light – almost.

A hush fell across the ranks. All faces turned up to the raised platform that gave Darkness and Light the ability to scrutinize their troops. Boomer looked up to the pair, once more trying to find the tell that told they were an item. He never could find anything. Neither man stood too close to one another. Neither touched, caressed, groped or even looked at each other outside of what was absolutely necessary. Their commanders could have been worse enemies, yet the entire crew had seen all the sordid deeds the pair did to one another within their quarters. Security had not notified the commanders of mandatory room sweeps after Stitch had cleared Darkness post-regrowing his testicles. No one had remedied that situation ever since.

After they initiated the new training, especially with the 'Pets', Security had taken to making full videos of what the mighty pair got up to. The first time was a doozy. Boomer felt his blood surge and his pants get just a hint too tight at the thought. He swallowed tightly as the video he'd first seen the pair fucking each other replayed in his mind. Darkness had been mindless; Light had been obscene in how he devoured the smaller man's penis. There was something disturbing in how Darkness had demanded that kiss afterwards, just before he rode Light like a veteran ox breaker.

Gun Master cleared her throat just loud enough to pull him back to the present Boomer flinched. Yeah, she caught him that time. He stared forward and focused on the pair now just stepping up to the railing. Light looked good these days. He had muscle tone under his synthetic skin. The feat of picking up a massive crate he had performed ten weeks ago had become child's play. No one had known that Light had been still damaged from his accidental double amputation – now, nothing could stop him.

The silence stretched on. They let it linger until the breathing of the troops smoothed out. It was as if their ship's breath hushed and sighed instead of a full complement of merc soldiers.

"Shadows." Iason let the word hand in the air. This word was what they were, who they had become. The Shadows of Illiana. Pirates never seen, save for the destruction they left behind; the name had filled every space chatter line after their destruction of the pirate vessel. Now, it was know throughout all the shipping lanes.

"Tomorrow we face Amoi." Hundreds of voices rallied in unison. They had trained, been molded; they had brainstormed every contingency the collected minds of twenty planets could conceive of. At every turn Rikki had shown his true Mongrel nature and had challenged, questioned and faced head-on every idea until the entire crew could act and react flawlessly to any situation.

"There is only one last facet of your training to finish." The voices silenced. Iason let a ghost of a nod slide a silken cascade of hair down one shoulder. Immediately, it felt like they had ridden too fast down an elevator, like they were floating in free fall, or a failure in the artificial gravity had suddenly made their legs wobbly.

"You have trained in an extreme environment these past weeks. Now we have reduced it back to that of Amoi." His orders were implied: relearn to control their bodies in weaker gravity, master fighting, stealth and destruction before they landed.

"On touchdown no one will falter." Malevolent intent turned the order into a sinister promise. Failure equaled something far worse than death. No one on board, save Darkness, had ever seen Iason mad. Light and Darkness turned and left, neither one seeming afflicted with the change in gravity.

"Damn, and here I'd thought we was just getting' stronger from the training." Boomer shook his head and sighed.

"No such luck. Light is out for blood, and we're his attack dogs." Gun Master smiled darkly. The running joke of them all being on a tight leash had grown since the creation of the Pet Unit. Gun Master cast her eyes on the tight-knit unit. There had been rumors of the mercs becoming mindless sex-slaves. No one worried about that now. Each merc in that unit had studied under Darkness until they understood the difference between Pet pedigree and Mongrel pride.

Boomer eyed the braided black thread encircling Gun Master's neck, they all wore the collars now, it was their only token of whom they served. Each merch wore something different, but all wore a black chain, choker, thread – a token of their master.

Light had tried to reach Amoi, tried to find what had happened on his former planet. Instead of reaching information, he had reached a voice only he and Darkness had recognized. Neither had sounded pleased when they had hissed 'Latthiew'. Whoever that was, Boomer did not want to be in that guy's shoes.

"Never thought I'd be signing a permanent contract." The commanders of Illiana's crews stood together as the rest of the crew streamed back to quarters or duty assignments. The last ten weeks had been intense; they had gone from Darkness' first planned assault to constantly targeting Federation cargo ships, all carrying cargo for distant planets originating from Amoi. With each conquest Light had become fiercer, and Darkness more focused. The pair had fluidly altered from victims to conquerors as they had turned a rag-tag crew into a cohesive whole.

"Strange to be back here so soon." Gun Master followed the retreating troops. All of them looked dumb with giant steps and exaggerated gaits. Light had a lot of faith in them to get their shit together before landfall.

"Six months of deep space and all to come back to the beginning." Boomer shook his head before heading down the corridor to his assignment. This time Light and Darkness would be boarding Illiana on their own two feet – after they put the hurt on this Latthiew. Boomer couldn't wait to see the fireworks.

"You're giving them sixteen hours to relearn how to walk in normal gravity?" Rikki asked once they were in their quarters.

"I believe they have the incentive to accomplish their tasks." Iason replied as he pulled out his remade uniform from his service under Jupiter. The old one, pure white with black seams and trim, no longer served his purpose. He thought back to all the Blondies and sneered at the costumes and theatrics they debased themselves with, all to please the false god of circuits and wires they bowed to. He pulled on the new uniform, form fitting and starlight silver, it moved with him. Neither white nor black nor any of the rich hues Jupiter's blondies favor, the outfit would set him apart completely from his former brethren.

"You look good. At least now no one can get confused and shoot you accidentally." Rikki snorted. He had been the one to demand a different outfit entirely. He used to have trouble, telling Iason from the others. Iason always stood out, but the commanding presence of the other blondies made identification difficult for those who had never seen more than one up close – like the entirety of their force.

Rikki stared at the image Iason made. The Blondie was still slender, his long waist highlighted by a series of six straps across his abs. The metal buckles helped mask the armor below the fabric. Long sleeves hugged Iason's arms and a long tail coat hid the holsters strapped to the back of his waist. Iason looked flawless, and unarmed. Rikki eyed the Blondie for tells that would give away his weaponry, and silently preened that the new uniform masked everything perfectly.

Rikki glanced up through his lashes, eyeing his master as the taller man moved with fluid grace as he tested the feel of the uniform. After this was over, Rikki was going to have fun peeling that uniform off his master – and everything that came after.

Katze seethed in his office, hands steepled before his thin-lipped grimace. The black market was drying up. Latthiew and his operations had the market cornered on every front. Raul Am, the top Blondie of Tanagura held less power now than he had before Iason –

Blood trickled from his broken glove. Katze stared at the slow, crimson trail through unshed tears blurring his vision. Half a year; Iason and Rikki had been dead for only half a year and already the late Blondie's empire was little more than a cold memory. Katze huffed a sigh through his cigarette and walked from the hidden office, uncaring of the blood left to dry on his consul. It might not be his much longer either.

Amoi was dying, Katze could feel it in his gut. Latthiew had opened up trading to off-planet Federation interests. Now the allure of the Tanaguran sex dens was fading, lost to large allotments of Pets sold off world. Rumors abounded of Blondie Pet breeding-program technology being sold off world as well – along with female Pets. That last part burned the worst. The breeding stock of the varied Pet lines was worth more than many small planets to the right buyers. Yet Latthiew's lackeys looked at short-term wealth and lost long term gains from their bloodlines.

Several of the R and D labs had shut down as well. The aquatic, zero-gravity, high radiation, and desert specific lines of Pets had been discarded. Despite the lucrative funds such rare creatures promised. Latthiew was killing Amoi, and Jupiter had yet to notice – or had been made not to.

It all came back to Iason. Katze swallowed tightly and clung desperately to his mask worn since he had been a Furniture as a youth. He had freely offered his manhood to become a Furniture to the Blondies, to escape the nothingness of the Slums. Yet, of all the Mongrels freed from their prison, only Rikki had ever been free.

It was strange, knowing that once Rikki had bowed to Iason's chains, his invisible imprisonment, the small man had gained more freedom than any other human being on the entirety of Amoi had ever known. Elites, Blondies, citizens of every class, even down to the lowest Mongrel was chained into their existence at birth. A mongrel could rise to become a Furniture if he forsook his testicles for servitude. A citizen could rise to become a district representative, but even those illustrious men were only useful in their niches.

Rikki – and Iason – had found a way to break Jupiter's chains. Katze still wondered how they had managed. He had woven himself so deeply into the chains shackled to him by Jupiter and strengthened by Iason that he could never be free. Whatever Katze was in this world, he was the fly in the spider's web, destined to die in this place.

It had become a habit, something that usually killed black-market operatives, to walk the tortured corridors of the stellar port. Starships, traders, freighters, civilian and luxury tourist ships of all shapes and sizes docked regularly. Off-world foreigners and local entrepreneurs thronged together in their unnatural, momentary unions.

The docks reeked of ion fuels, sex, hot metal, sewage and ozone. The odors were heady, toxic and addictive, seductive like a slow drug burning in the veins. Katze licked his top lip carefully, tasting the salt of excited perspiration. He could free himself of the chains here. He had the funds, he could step on any star freighter and vanish. Temptation warred with training – and lost. Katze had been molded into a Furniture, despite the freedoms Iason allowed him, he still could only live to serve, and his new master awaited.

Raul Am, tall, the only Blondie with his unique ruddy-hued hair, stood cloaked and cowled in the darkest recesses of a squalid hole in the wall that served what passed for booze. Bodies writhed in the darkness, like an extension of the slums sex could be traded for anything here. Katze let his eyes wander the shadows – even Furniture, it seemed, could barter their bodies for a drink. Older Furniture beyond their serviceable years offered themselves in trade for any means to live another day.

Katze was older, beyond twenty, he would have been sold off if he had not hacked Iason's consul so long ago …

"Distractions are deadly." Raul Am's voice slithered from the darkness and hissed in Katze's ear. The former furniture shuddered with something that might have been arousal, but Raul Am was not Iason - and lacked his former master's proclivities.

"So is not knowing where you stand." Katze flicked his cigarette, ashes flying in the direction of three other figures seated nearby, all Blondies.

The shadows darkened in Raul's deepened frown. Even here, they could not escape the spies of Latthiew. They would dance again, this slow waltz of informant and buyer, each sliding and stepping on their cue, but neither to reveal their hand too soon.

"Seventy crates were shipped yesterday. Five more next week." Katze reported. Raul's gaze slitted into thin lines of white fire in the darkness. Their code was simple, but the news was worse than Raul had expected.

"Any new buyers?"

"None." Katze crumpled his empty cigarette pack and left it on the table as he left.

"So sloppy." Raul muttered. He picked up the trash, and left it in a bin nearby as he headed out a different exit. This was, not the worst it could have been, still not good. Latthiew held seventy percent of the black-market interests. He would control another five percent in less than a month. That left only a quarter of Iason's underhanded empire in Raul Am's hands.

He had no delusions. He was not the entrepreneur Iason had been. Latthiew was closer to Iason in those matters. Still, Katze was looking worse, his keen intensity lessened every time they met. Perhaps it was time to release his control of the underworld, sacrifice his last bishop and allow the Federation to make its play.

Katze had only so many uses.

Sixteen Federation vessels, all small and lightly armored landed at the Tanagura Spaceport in the grey hours before Tanagura stirred. Multitudes of figures faded from their ships. Massive shadows, loomig sillouettes, ghosts here and gone left nothing in their wake. High in orbit, the friendly space freighter New Hope waited in patient, hungry silence.

Latthiew eyed the new string of pets led before him. His pulse pounded in his throat, these pets – he felt giddy – they had scars. The craftmanship was mesmerizing. Soft, perfect flesh marred by pale tracings. One even had a crooked nose. Their arms were toned, muscles rippled beneath the flesh. Males had deep tracings highlighting every ounce of strength. Females showed bands of muscle, here and gone like a coy glance. This could be highly profitable.

The old pet lines were becoming boring, his clients wanted a new spice. Something less tame something with teeth. Something like the fabled Rikki who had sat at Iason's feet. Rikki's beauty and power, his flaws and charisma had spanned the galaxy. Sex dens thronged with cries for Rikki's refusal to obey. The masses wanted something to punish, to push. They wanted a victim willing to fight back - they grew hard for a glance of muscle, and wet for a fight.

"Have these two copulate. And this one, I want her to interrupt." He pointed to three of the figures, his men unchained his choices and led them to the arena. They were beautiful, Pets sculpted into tamed Mongrels. Rikki's legacy still excited his clients. Now his buyers could have a taste of Mongrel fire with a muzzle.

Latthiew swallowed his excitement, throat bobbing in time with the slender brunette girl swallowing the ghostly white length of her partner in smooth, languid strokes. The figures shifted, curved lips moving upwards as the male flipped their positions and took the female with a wet grunt. Wet squelching and soft mewling cries filled the air. The scent of sex penetrated the senses. Latthiew's hand tighten on his cane, knuckles white.

Paler, taller, the second female prowled from the shadows, body barely covered in thin strips of leather that marred her pristine alabaster skin. She paused as she reached the writhing pair, vibrant emerald eyes studied her opponent from behind crimson hair. Deftly, she grabbed the other female and threw her against the wall. The darker figure slammed into the glass opposite of Latthiew. Her breasts swung wide with the impact, drops of liquid sex spattered the ring and her attackers face. Brunette curls fell into the girl's face, legs splayed wide offered her clenching excitement to Latthiew's devouring gaze.

The paler girl shoved the boy onto his back, and settled onto his length, riding him slowly as she licked the droplet off her lips.

"Like the show shithead?" A deep woman's voice froze Latthiew's blood in his veins. He turned, slowly, eyes even with a heavy pair of dark breasts that lead up to powerful shoulders and a slender neck. Eyes still traveling up, his gaze finally met furious dark eyes. This creature, beautiful, larger than a Blondie with skin of black - was unchained. Latthiew paled.

"Your sorry ass is mine!" Latthiew flew backwards as pain blossomed across his face.

Katze seethed in his office, hands steepled before his thin-lipped grimace. News was pouring in, locations, damage estimates, inventory lists; yet no violence had occurred yet. Was this a trap? Had Raul or Lathiew decided he was beyond his useful years? He huffed a frustrated sigh as he lit a cigarette. One white-gloved finger pressed a green button on his consul, one that activated his many agents in the field. "Get to these coordinates, get all the merchandise. Relocate to the secondary location."

The secondary location, that was one more debt he owed to Rikki and Iason. When Dana Bahn had fallen, taking his master and pupil down in a gout of fire, a new opening had been discovered, one he had taken for himself. The bomb shelter underneath Dana Bahn, complete with old skeletons and the dark reek of death, had become his secondary warehouse. No one went there, no one wanted to face the memories, or look for the bones of the most powerful Blondie taken by a mere Mongrel's insanity.

His agents cast to their duties, Katze left his office. With the reports he was getting, it pinned all the activities on him. Raul Am would not be happy.

"Deploy all police and military units!" Raul Am bellowed over the din. Explosions rocked the tower, fires devoured the city. Someone was taking Latthiew's actions personally. Every attack was hitting one of that Blondie's holdings.

"Get me Katze!" Raul snarled to his guards. It was time that outdated Furniture was removed.

"I am here." Raul stared at the furniture. The man was filthy, covered in ashes with blood staining his sleeve and matting his dark hair. "I would ask to sit down, but I wouldn't want to ruin your couch."

"Is this – no, you value your life too much." Raul dismissed the furniture before he could finish the thought. Seeing the man now, no, this man was not one to be controlled by revenge. The former furniture had always maintained his trained, cool facade. A mere six months without his former master would not have undone a lifetime's worth of training.

"These sites will be targeted next. All material wealth has already been acquisitioned." Katze passed a slip of paper, Raul sucked in a sharp breath at the list.

"This is every holding the Tempest Guard controls." He read on, sharp eyes seeing a grand pattern in the making, something that could be beautiful if directed properly. The flames, like a Mongrel's burning pride, could be molded into something breathtaking.

"He's alive," Katze exhaled a puff of cigarette smoke. Nicotine, tobacco and the sharp stench of ashes radiated from him like a noxious wave. "He lives in the flames. He lived as ice, reincarnated as fire. Iason will devour his enemies."

Raul sighed and nodded once, "It looks that way."

The two men stood side by side as the city's power failed and left them to look over their burning city as the night slowly wore on.

"Man, I'm feeling insulted here." Boomer grinned at GunMaster. They were the tanks this mission. Every gun turned on them, the sheltered souls of Amoi had never seen anyone darker than pale. All crew members had taken to blackface, ashes smeared over pale skin to keep from getting confused with the police and military hemming them in.

"Hey, you're the ugly one. If you'd worn a mask we wouldn't be here." GunMaster yelled over the din.

"Ouch! Woman, that's cruel."

"The truth hurts." She grinned, white teeth flashing like fangs in the darkness. Across the battle line, several forms fled.

"I'm under fire here, you could at least be nice to me."

"Oh, should I? One less warm body means more loot to go around." GunMaster replied. This wasn't even worth calling a firefight. The Tanaguran cops and solders only knew how to fight unarmed Mongrels. In a real fight, they'd all be dead by now.

"All hands, retreat to station beta. Repeat, fall back to station beta." Stubb's voice came over the comm. Across the city the Shadows fell back in small groups, all heading for the space port. To the east, the sun's light slowly brightened the carnage. Blood, corpses, gutted buildings and ashes marred the once beautiful city.

"Where are we going?" Boomer rumbled as their full complement of soldiers returned in jog marched to Dhana Bahn, the broken ruins they had pulled Light from barely six months ago. The dark ruins rose high in the crimson sunlight. Iason's troops took positions, and waited. Hounds at heel, they held perfectly still for the moment they were released.

To be continued...