Monster King (Royal Aliens 5)

The more hours pass, the worse it gets. I start to ache all over, every joint rebelling against being inside my body. I’ve had colds before. This isn’t a cold. This is… I don’t even know what this is. Maybe the flu. Maybe I got the ‘vid, though I’m well past the two week isolation period.

One of the scythkin walks in. I don’t know which one it is because there’s sort of a haze over my vision and also they all look more or less the same to me. I hold my breath so he can’t tell there’s anything wrong. Mustn’t show vulnerability.

“You are sick.”

He knows right away. So much for keeping it a secret. I did my best not to sniff or cough. I didn’t even speak. He just looked at me and knew. I must look like complete shit. All hollow eyes and dark circles and sweating brows. I’ve seen myself in the mirror when I wasn’t feeling well before. I’m not saying I’m hot most of the time, but I look especially not hot when I’m ill.

“Roarknight!”

God that’s a name and half.

One of the other scythkin appears. He is also sharp and red eyed and generally a huge fucking dick. Or he might be a really nice guy who pays his parking tickets and never contests them and drives at the posted speed limit. I don’t fucking know.

“Take her to Medic Hermes, Roarknight, and do it quickly. She looks as though she is about to die.”

I feel like I might be about to die.

I am wrapped in a blanket and swept off to another part of the ship where another glowing-eyed pointy sharp creature looks me over and waves some tools in my general direction. I’m feeling too crappy to put up a fight, which is how I know I’m actually sick.

The scythkin doctor hmms and hawws and goes about his examination of me with a careful, but somewhat detached attitude. He might be the only one on this ship who isn’t wildly impressed by my simple humanity.

“Am I going to die?”

He raises a brow at me. “Probably not. Allowing you to die on our watch would be a shame unlike any other.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to be shamed. I better stay alive then.”

“Precisely. You understand me.”

I do understand him. I understand he doesn’t really give a shit, he’s just supposed to give a shit. That’s the worst kind of not giving a shit.

“What’s wrong with me? What have you done to me? What was in that fucking spaghetti?”

“Nothing,” he says. “You’re in withdrawal.”

“Uh, no. I’m not. I don’t do drugs.”

“My scans suggest you’ve been slugging back as much Daise seed as you could swallow. That substance is addictive to humans, and withdrawals are not easy.”

“It’s addictive!?” At first I’m surprised, but then I suppose it makes sense. It tasted really nice. I liked it, and I enjoyed it. So of course, it was bad for me. Of fucking course. Some truths seem to be universal, such as, if you like something, go fuck yourself because it’s probably trying to kill you.

“Highly addictive. You can expect…”

“Headaches?” I don’t have to expect them. They are here, now, crushing my skull in an unseen vise.

“Headaches, nausea, potentially seizures if we do not treat you, or of course, death.”

“Fine. Treat me then. But this makes no sense, because I saw King Brawn’s doctor, and he didn’t say anything about…”

“Not all doctors are equal. And I doubt he examined you after you began consuming the king’s seed.”

“I guess not.”

The doctor begins the treatment, which as might be expected, starts with an injection of something or other. I hate needles, but I don’t have the energy to jerk away and try to karate chop the doctor as I have in the past. The mandatory vaccine regimen was a challenge for me back on Earth.

“I will keep you here for observation. If you respond well to the treatment, you may be feeling better in a matter of weeks.”

“WEEKS!”

“You have been engaging in serious consumption of even more serious substances. I am unable to draw a simile to any of the commonly abused drugs on your planet, because Daise semen is more toxic to the human system than any of them.”

“It didn’t seem toxic at the time.”

“I imagine it didn’t. Nothing creatures tend to overdose on seems unpleasant at the time.”

“True.”

“I will get you some human food.”

“You got hamburgers?”

“We can have almost anything you desire.”

“Hamburger. Please.”

Gotta Get Better

It takes a few days. Or maybe longer. I don’t know. I kind of lose track in between the sweating and the nausea and the borderline seizures which I am medicated from to stop getting worse. Coming off Brawn’s seed is like the worst come down I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some withdrawals happening in our cells. People suffer like hell. I always thought that would never happen to me because I was a better class of person and made better decisions.